Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Father Joseph called to ask if you changed your mind.” She crosses her arms but doesn’t look too upset. More worried than anything.

  Why didn’t Gavin tell him like I asked him to? My headache dulled slightly before my nap, but now the pain is back, and I rub my head. My mouth is dry, my eyes wet. Crumbling on the outside too. “We were stopped at a light when… a car hit into ours.”

  “Did you get the driver’s information?” She sits down beside me.

  “Nope.” A fierce fire burns within, and my unshed tears dry. “The bastard drove off.”

  “Crystal.” Mom purses her lips.

  “What? He is one. Mrs. Fuller’s in surgery now. Vince has a concussion.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m fine.” Now that I’m awake, I’m trying to pray and will Mrs. Fuller to health, and my headache morphs into a migraine, and my dizziness returns. Despite this, my lips curl slightly. “You know, I would’ve been able to call you if I had a cell.”

  She crosses her arms. “This is hardly the time to discuss that.”

  Vince returns with two sodas and give me one. “Hello, Ms. Miller.”

  “Hi, Vince. I’m so sorry about your mom.”

  “It’s not your fault. Damn bastard.” He shakes his fist.

  I smile inwardly. We’re on the same wavelength.

  “I take it you want to stay here longer?” Mom asks. “It’s almost nine.”

  No wonder she’s been so worried. Wait, nine? At midnight, I’m supposed to go to the mountain tonight. With all of the hullabaloo of the car accident, I almost forgot.

  “Go. I’ll be fine.” Vince holds up his can. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Of course I’m gonna worry about you.” I don’t want to leave him. Not for the witches. Not for anything.

  “I’m serious,” he adds. “I’ll call you when we hear back from…”

  The doctor from earlier approaches. “Vincent Fuller?”

  He stands, and I do too. “Well?”

  The doctor holds out his hands in a confused manner. “It was touch and go for a little while, but she’s doing much better now. It’s a miracle, really, how she’s bouncing back so quickly.”

  “Can I see her?” Vince bounces up and down, almost jumping and looking younger than his sixteen years.

  “You can.” He glances at Mom and me. “Are you family?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’m sorry. Family only.”

  “That’s okay. They were just leaving anyhow.” Vince kisses my forehead. “There’s no need for you to stay. Go home.”

  “I told you God wouldn’t take her from you.”

  His face twists to despair and then shines with joy. “He didn’t. I really thought he was going to, but he didn’t. Maybe I should start praying again.”

  “Are you coming, Vincent?” the doctor asks.

  “Yes, sir.” He hugs me then my mom and rushes over to the doctor.

  “Vince, wait.” I hurry over and hand him my unopened soda. “You need this more than I do.”

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

  My heart flips somersaults. Did I save Mrs. Fuller? Or had God?

  Does it matter?

  Chapter 12

  MOM ASKS ME questions, but I’m silent for the duration of the ride home. After she parks the car, I jump out and run into the house and upstairs to my room.

  My bed calls out to me, and I curl up on top of my white comforter. I cry for Vince and his mom. Cry for Tommy. Cry for myself and my birth parents.

  Self loathing fills me. I should be with Vince. After Tommy died, I gave him space. In fact, we just about stopped being friends. Vince withdrew into himself and hardly talked to anyone. He saw a therapist, might still be seeing one. It took him almost a year to open up again. Now he jokes all the time.

  Probably a defense mechanism for pain, or something like that.

  About an hour later, Mom’s footsteps approach. She’s going to bed. A half hour creeps on by, each minute longer than the previous one, but enough time has passed that I’m willing to sneak downstairs.

  I log onto the computer. First I search for Silver Tiger. Nothing about the witch turns up. Next I try Silver Tiger and Mount Claymore. Still nothing. Sapphire Belladonna and Mount Claymore also turns up no results.

  Then I try Mount Claymore and witches.

  A few articles pop up. Supposedly, witches came to Mount Claymore long ago because of the rumored magical properties within the mountain itself. Strange deaths occurred to all who tried to use the supposed magical properties, however.

  Interesting. That might explain why I only met two of the three witches who helped my mother become pregnant with me.

  If Lydia only knew how close to the mark her research had brought her…

  Five minutes until I have to leave, enough time for me to check my email. Brianna sent me a joke. Heather wanted to do a project for science class together.

  A new email pops up with no sender. I delete it. Might be spam or a virus.

  Another new email, the same as the previous one.

  Delete.

  A third appears.

  Okay… A little perturbed, I open it. “Crystal, don’t come tonight. –SB”

  Once again, I delete the email. After shutting down the computer, I grab my jean jacket. I’m going all right. Since I can’t be with Vince, nothing is keeping me from the mountain.

  * * *

  MY FLASHLIGHT HARDLY brightens the darkness. Shadows hide rocks and divots, and I stumble and fall several times. The moon provides no light. Whether it’s covered in clouds or a new moon I don’t bother to check.

  All’s quiet, eerie and haunting. Far later than I would have liked, I start to climb the mountain. That surreal silence? Shattered by something that sounds like fireworks or a gunshot.

  Maybe I should have taken the email more seriously.

  Maybe coming here isn’t such a good idea after all.

  With a click, I turn off the flashlight. I don’t want to make myself an easy target. But what if it isn’t a gun? What if it’s magic? Seeing into the future is scary in it’s own right, but using magic to harm someone… Whatever’s causing that noise, it sure isn’t peaceful.

  Like a deer staring into the blinding headlights of a car, I stand frozen. Without light, there’s no way I can climb up or down the mountain.

  Can I leave the witches to their fate? Can I help them?

  Should I?

  I don’t know anything about them. Who knows? Maybe they’re the evil ones.

  I shudder. Marian came to them for help conceiving a child and instead was given a nonhuman girl who was magic.

  And died months after giving birth.

  Coincidence?

  Suddenly, I’m not so sure.

  Without realizing it, I’ve started around the mountain again, moving slowly, testing each foothold. Gradually, the cottage comes into view.

  Someone cries out in pain.

  There’s definitely a battle going on. A magical one?

  I can’t see or hear any signs of the witches. Despite wishing I stayed home or at the hospital, I creep forward until I reach the back of the cottage. Standing on my tiptoes, I peer through a window.

  The inside of the cottage is completely bare. The mirror, the furniture and the keepsakes, everything is gone.

  Two shadows move around inside. One lowers itself to the ground, its head low and moving from side to side, as if sniffing. A dog?

  The front door slams open, and a new figure appears in the entryway. Sapphire Belladonna. A glowing Sapphire Belladonna. Fire forms above her outstretched hand. She whips the fireball. The dog-like creature whines and claws at the floor to scramble away from it. Tendrils of smoke fill the air. The fire connects with its fur. The animal vanishes.

  Dead? Or did it teleport somewhere?

  The witch enters the cottage, hovering slightly above the floor. Her glowing body illuminates the cottage and the other shadow—a m
an dressed in a long brown robe.

  “You should never have come here,” she admonishes. Her voice sounds deeper than I remember, more powerful, lyrical… more magical.

  “We will come back.” He sounds dark, haunting… evil.

  I catch a glimpse of his face, long enough for me to think he looks familiar before he lifts his robe to cover his face. When he lowers his arm, his hand is clenched. Moving far too quickly, he throws whatever he’s holding onto the ground. A sound like a gunshot rings out. A huge billow of vapor appears from the point of contact.

  Sapphire Belladonna holds her arms out then claps them together. A funnel of wind blows the smoke away.

  “What are you doing here?” a nasty voice whispers in my ear.

  I twirl around. A strong grip on my shoulder prevents me from falling. “Silver Tiger?”

  “Shuddup.” Silver Tiger drags me away from the cottage.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. Her pace is so swift I can barely keep up with her.

  “Not now. You need to go back home.” Her grip on my arm tightens.

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Another shot-like noise pierces the prevailing stillness of the night.

  I wince. Each time I hear the deadly sound, I expect to feel pain. “And who’s shooting who?”

  “No one’s shooting anyone.”

  “But that sound—” I stumble over a rock, and she snickers.

  “They aren’t known for using their magic quietly.”

  “Who?” Aggravation begins to overcome me, displacing my fear. Why can’t she answer any of my questions?

  “I said not now!” Her hold tightens to the point of serious pain, but I refuse to whimper. “Go home. You’ll be safe there.”

  I snort. “If another driver doesn’t hit—”

  She jerks to a halt, and I almost fall over. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but I think her face might’ve paled some. “What do you mean another driver?”

  “I was involved in a car accident today. My… Vince was driving, and the car was hit.”

  “A hit and run?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was the car hit?”

  “Why? Do you think it was somehow related to…” I shrug free of her grasp and gesture back toward the cottage. We’re near the base of the mountain. Not quite far enough away yet, if you ask me.

  She darts off, leaving me no choice but to follow. Times passes, enough that I doubt she’ll respond, when she finally says, “You’re around and about so that would suggest no, it’s not related but…”

  I stop walking, and the witch glowers but doesn’t protest. By now, we reentered the town, and the bright streetlights make me squint. My headache threatens to return. The glimpse of the other driver, the hatred in his eyes…

  “He thought I was in the back seat,” I say slowly, horror coloring my voice. “I was going to sit there, but Mrs. Fuller insisted I sit up front. It’s all my fault she got hurt!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You weren’t the one who drove into her.”

  There’s a long pause, and my hatred for Silver Tiger grows.

  “Will she be all right?”

  Too her to long to ask, but at least she had. “Yes. The doctor said she’s recovering miraculously.”

  “Let me guess. You prayed, and she got better. Still think it’s all God and not you?”

  I don’t know who saved Mrs. Fuller. “How can you be so certain I’m magic? I mean, what have I done that would prove it?”

  “Most of the time, you use it during school.”

  “Making the bell ring.”

  One of my biggest abuses of power or prayers. If I don’t know the answer to a question, that’s my big thing. End class.

  And, geez, if she knows how I’ve been using my power, they really have been keeping tabs on me.

  I shake my head as we turn onto another street. “How can I make the bell ring? Wouldn’t everyone notice the bell was ringing at the wrong time?”

  “That’s just it. You aren’t making the bell ring. You’re speeding up time so the bell rings when it’s supposed to.”

  “Oh.” Now that’s a lot to digest. Speeding up time sounds like powerful magic. An uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach. “This way.”

  She points to the left. “This way is faster.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to walk past the accident.” I suppress a shudder.

  “Suit yourself.”

  We walk in silence for a few blocks before I ask, “Who was Sapphire Belladonna fighting?”

  “That wasn’t Sapphire Belladonna.”

  I furrow my brow, distracted, and stumble over the uneven sidewalk.

  “You’re such a klutz.” Silver Tiger holds out her hand, and a light appears. “Sapphire Belladonna had to leave. She’s talking to the heads of several nearby covens.”

  “Why?” I pray it isn’t because of me.

  “Of course it’s because of you. They want you for themselves.”

  I cross my arms, annoyed she’s reading my thoughts. “Who…” I don’t even bother to finish my question. She’ll just ignore me again.

  Silver Tiger releases a loud sigh. “I always thought it was wrong to keep you in the dark all these years, but Sapphire Belladonna was so certain you would find us.”

  “And I did.” Still not sure how I feel about that.

  “Yes, but it may well be too late.”

  “Too late for what?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “The more you use magic, the more they can sense you.”

  How surprising that she ignored my question. I wrinkle my nose. “The more I use magic? But that doesn’t make any sense if I am magic.”

  “How else do you want me to explain it?” Silver Tiger growls. “Do not annoy me or else—”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “You don’t know how to use your power. I do not fear you.”

  I will her to be thrown to the ground, but nothing happens. Of course I won’t dare pray for someone to be injured. Not that I thought God would ever answer that kind of a prayer.

  The witch laughs. “You have much to learn. Now stop fooling around or else I’ll stop talking.”

  Fine. I’m still not convinced I’m magic, but I’m desperate to learn whatever she’s willing to tell me, even though it’s probably not much.

  “Good. The shamans want you. They think you are their salvation, the one who will lead them to the next step of their journey.”

  “That doesn’t sound evil.”

  “They want to use you as a puppet, to have you do their every bidding. They will drain you of your magic until you die.”

  The vision of my bloody, lifeless body floats before me, and I blink it away. “I take it witches and shamans don’t get along.”

  She snorts. “That’s the understatement of the past two millennium. Witches and shamans have been battling for control of Earth and all of magic ever since there were witches and shamans.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I always thought shamans were supposed to be peaceful. With trances and rain dances and stuff like that.” Considering my knowledge of them comes from movies, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to learn I’m wrong.

  “A few remain outside the war, yes, and are somewhat peaceful. But for the most part, they do not care for this world or their bodies. Their minds and their soul, their spirit, that’s all they care about. And that makes them dangerous, very dangerous. They have magic that us witches do not usually invoke.” Body rigid, she walks briskly, staring straight ahead.

  “What magic?”

  “They can shape shift.” There’s disgust in her tone.

  “You mean like werewolves?”

  “Yes, but they can change into various animals, not just wolves.”

  The dog I saw inside the cottage—was it a shaman? “You said shamans want to use me. Do the witches want me to help them in the war?”

  “Right now, our only concern is to k
eep you from the shamans so they don’t drain you.”

  That doesn’t exactly answer my question. Am I on the wrong side? Not that the shamans sound like they’re a better option.

  “Can’t I be impartial?”

  “Doubtful, unless you want to spend the rest of your life running.”

  “Running sounds better than dying.”

  “Enough people have died because of you already.” Silver Tiger stomps up my front porch steps. “When one of us tells you not to come, don’t come.”

  “Who was that other witch? There were three witches the night Marian came to you. Was she the other one?”

  She opens the door and shoves me inside. “No,” she says curtly. “Do not leave your house again until morning.”

  The door closes gently behind me, but I flinch as if it slammed shut.

  I fling it open, but the witch is already gone.

  Chapter 13

  MY MIND’S OVER-STIMULATED with fear and worry, and I don’t sleep much that night, unable to stop mentally watching the car accident, hearing the crunch of impact, and smelling Mrs. Fuller’s blood.

  Then there’s the issue of the war between witches and shamans and how at least one side wants to use me as a pawn.

  And the question of my soul’s existence. If I do have a soul and help the wrong side, even unknowingly, surely I’ll go to Hell. But if I stay out of the war entirely, I’ll be killed.

  So much has happened. While I do think magic exists, the idea that I am magic… that I still can’t accept.

  Can’t or won’t?

  Maybe now’s the time to talk to Mom about the witches and magic. It’s possible she doesn’t know I’m supposedly magic or that my conception might’ve been the result of witches’ helping.

  No. I can’t possibly risk dragging her into the middle of the war. Better keep my mouth shut.

  But, boy, is this weighing heavy on my shoulders. If I could only tell someone, anyone…

  There’s always God. Before, I would’ve talked to Him immediately, been talking to Him all along. It bothers me that I haven’t, but I can’t bring myself to start now. I want to have a back-and-forth conversation with someone about all this, and someone other than the witches.