The Witches of Hant Hollow

by D. F. Jones

  The Witches of Hant Hollow

  D. F. Jones

  Jones Media

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Also by D. F. Jones

  Prologue

  Present Day

  Jasmine peered into her dressing table mirror and froze into a state of trance. Her mind’s eye watched Jonathan step out of the cabin. Suddenly yanked up into the midnight air, he flew over treetops and neighborhood homes. She connected with his rush of emotions heightened by fear of crashing to the ground.

  Not a car or truck in sight on the lonely country roads.

  The woods of Hant Hollow rapidly became apparent as she watched him lower over a small clearing that revealed the Doanhart mansion’s asymmetrical design and gambrel roof with arched windows illuminating a golden glow on the black and white facade.

  He tried to run as soon as his feet hit the ground, but someone grabbed him, digging fingernails into his upper arm, drawing blood. He fought to no avail.

  The massive front porch with elaborate classical elements loomed and distorted in Jasmine’s view as she watched Jonathan stumble up the steps. His eyes widened as the red double door opened of its own accord.

  Bile rose from her stomach, but the knot in her throat pushed it back down.

  An unclear voice, neither male or female, laughed at Jonathan. “Sick? Angry? Hurt? Go ahead and tell me what you really think.”

  An invisible force pushed Jonathan inside making him fall on the foyer’s marble floor.

  Pushing up on his hands and knees, Jonathan released a deep breath and screamed, “I hate you for stealing my life, for killing my wife, and for manipulating me into doing something you wanted so desperately. But your plans backfired, didn’t they? Do you really want to know what I think? I want to wrap my fingers around your scrawny neck and choke you to death.”

  The sinister laughter echoed in the empty house. “Who said my plans backfired?”

  A hooded figure came into Jasmine’s view, gripped Jonathan under the arm, and dragged him up the mahogany spiral staircase with an ornate balustrade. On the stairwell landing, portraits of women, centuries old, came to life nodding and whispering to each other as if they knew a secret Jasmine didn’t, yet.

  Hundreds of candles flickered and floated in the air on the third-floor ballroom. The walls and bookshelves contained antiquities, oddities, and sculptures. The sculptures seemed almost lifelike with terror-filled eyes.

  The hooded figure put Jonathan in an ancient Egyptian throne made of ebony and inlaid with gold and precious stones. Glowing ropes mysteriously bound his wrists and ankles securely to the chair.

  Jasmine glanced away for only a second when she heard Jonathan shout, “You! It was you this whole time?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan noticed her, and she screamed.

  She shouted, but no vocal sounds came from her lips. The hooded figure spelled her.

  Jasmine needed supernatural help. She summoned the Mouijah Stones.

  Chapter 1

  1915 Rockvale, Tennessee

  Jonathan tethered his two-horse team to the hitching post and went up the stairs to the general store to pick up supplies and staples for the farm.

  He glanced to his right and saw a stunning woman standing next to the fabric bin. Her copper curls hung loosely over her shoulders. She turned slightly lifting her gaze to meet him.

  He tipped his Stetson. “Ma’am, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. My name’s Jonathan Rogers.”

  She smiled and lifted her chin. “Everyone in town has surely been hospitable since our arrival. I’m Mae.” She extended a gloved hand, and he looked down and for a second thought about kissing it but instead placed his hands over hers and held it a mite too long.

  She politely withdrew and raised a brow. “My father is the new bank president. Perhaps, you’ve heard of him? Anthony Morgan? You should stop by and open an account.”

  Jonathan chuckled while rubbing the rim of his hat. “I mean no disrespect, but I don’t trust bankers with my money.”

  Mae’s mouth gaped open; then she frowned. With a distinct Southern accent, she huffed, “I’ll be sure to pass along the information to my father.” She turned her back to Jonathan and picked up a bolt of fabric.

  He liked Mae straight away but left her to her business while he attended to his shopping list. Once he completed his task, he purposely ignored Mae as he walked toward the door, carrying several boxes of goods.

  Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed Mae stared at him with both hands on her hips in apparent vexation as he left the store. He chuckled again and made a mental note to attend the Saturday night dance just in case Mae might be there.

  After loading the buckboard, he took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his face with a red and white bandanna. He heard boys shouting and cursing up a storm behind the store.

  He ran around back and found three teenage boys throwing rocks and dirt at a young woman.

  Jonathan shouted, “Stop it right now, or I’ll haul every blasted one of you to Sheriff Watson.” He stepped in front of the frightened woman, and she cowered behind him.

  One of the boys yelled, “She’s a witch. Her grannie put a curse on my daddy’s backside, and he broke out with blisters full of pus.”

  Jonathan narrowed his eyes and said, “Get while the getting’s good, boys. Last chance.” He pulled out his Colt and fired a round in the air. The boys took off like white lightning and disappeared down the back alley.

  He knelt before the crying woman and dried her tears with his fingertips. “It’s okay. The boys are gone. By the way, my name’s Jonathan, and you must be one of the Doanharts.” He noticed the clumps of dirt on her dress and the swelling of her right eye. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to give you a ride home.”

  “Those boys are mean. Oh, I’m Jasmine—Jasmine Doanhart.” Her green catlike eyes widened as she pressed her lips tight with a slight quiver in her chin.

  Jonathan tried dusting off her dark blue gored skirt. “Yup, they’re mean all right. I’m afraid you’re going to have quite a shiner on your right eye. So, how about that ride?”

  With a look of fear, she shook her head no. “My grandmother wouldn’t like that at all.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a ride on my way home, and drop you off just before Hant Hollow. Is this your basket of apples?” He swiftly picked up the shiny red apples scattered on the ground and placed them back into the brown wicker basket.

  Jonathan had never been to the Doanhart’s house, and for that matter, the people venturing there at night never recalled the location.

  “Yes, I was taking the apples and cider to sell at the store when the boys cornered me. They broke the cider bottles and threw rocks at me shouting, ‘Witch.’”

  Jonathan pushed his hat slightly off his forehead. “I don’t believe in witches. People make up things they can’t quite put their finger on.”

  “Why are you so kind to me?”

  “That’s how my daddy raised me.”

  “Oh, okay. If you’re sure it won’t be too much trouble, I’d love that ride.” Jasmine reached for the basket as he helped her into the buckboard.

  “I’ve been craving Dutch apple pie so how about I buy the apples from you?”

  Jasmine smiled and nodded. “Oh, thank you. But I can’t take your money. How about we trade the apples for the ride?”

  Jonathan threw his head back and laughed. “You got yourself a deal.”

  On the road to Hant Hollow, the horse’s hooves clip-clopped in a steady rhythm with the jingle jangle of the harness over the occasional whinny and ne
igh.

  He chatted with Jasmine about the new horror film Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with James Cruze opening at the town’s nickelodeon. “Have you seen the spooky posters and decorations added to the outside of the building?”

  “Oh, no, my grandmother doesn’t allow us to attend any of the pictures. I’d love to see one though.”

  “You’ve never been to any films? They’re wonderful.”

  She gripped the side of the buckboard as it rolled over the grooves on the dirt road. With a frown, she said, “The people in town shun us. They call us names and cross to the other side of the street when one of my family members approaches. And what happened today isn’t the first time one of us has been attacked in town. But they’ll sneak to our house in the dead of night for a healing herb when one of theirs is sick or fetch us to help with the delivery of one of their brats.”

  “That’s horrible. Most of the people in town were kind to my father, and still are to me, but after my dad died, I sold our house and bought a small farm in the country not far from Hant Hollow.” He didn’t mention his weasel of a cousin stealing the family business from him.

  “How did your dad die? Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have asked that question.”

  He didn’t want to broach that topic until he found out what happened to his father. He kept investigating even though the town doctor ruled his death as a heart attack.

  His dad’s cousin, Dale, had been trying to gain control of the family mill and the property that went with it. Dale had something to do with his dad’s death—Jonathan felt it in his gut, and one day he’d prove it. One day he’d get the mill back. He didn’t want the house. Too many memories, and too many ghosts.

  On the edge of Hant Hollow, Jonathan pulled on the reins. “Whoa, Ida. Whoa, Dick.” He turned and placed his right arm on the back of the buckboard’s seat. “That’s a story for another day.”

  Jasmine burst into laughter. “Your horses’ names are Ida and Dick?”

  He chuckled. “Yep. I didn’t name them. The quarter horses belonged to my father.” He pulled on the brake and the horses whinnied and shook their heads. He hopped down and walked around the wagon to help Jasmine.

  She held onto his hand and jumped to the ground. “Enjoy the apples, and thanks for sticking up for me.”

  “No thanks needed. You head along now, and be sure to watch out for those knuckle-headed boys.” He paused for a second then asked, “Hey, you want to go to the movie with me?”

  Jasmine blushed and briefly glanced to the ground before locking those incredible green eyes with his. His stomach flipped.

  She reached up on tiptoe and kissed Jonathan’s cheek. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. Although, you’re like a knight in one of the Grimm stories.”

  He took off his hat and placed it on his chest. “Milady.” He climbed back into the buckboard and snapped the reins. “Get along. Let’s go home.” He watched Jasmine disappear into the thicket of Hant Hollow as the horses moved forward along the road.

  Shaking his head, he mused over Jasmine.

  The Doanharts had never given him any problems. Besides, gossip thrived in a small town, and he never gave the witches rumors any credence.

  On the ride home, Jonathan’s thoughts returned to his dad’s death. The foreman of the mill had worked for their family for twenty-odd years, and he arranged to get a copy of the office key for Jonathan.

  He muttered to himself, “I’ll leave early on Saturday night and make a stop by the mill before going to the dance. Just maybe, Dale left something behind that will implicate him.”

  The day his dad died was like any other day in their small town. Except over breakfast, Thomas mentioned he’d met with an attorney to draw up documents naming Jonathan as a full partner. Jonathan worked for his father since he graduated high school. The larger-than-life man had been the epitome of good health and in the prime of his life. A heart attack seemed unlikely.

  Dale had lost his shares to the family business in a poker game years ago, and he never forgave Thomas for claiming the debt. Then Dale produced a new will naming him the sole heir to Rogers Mill. Jonathan searched for the deed, but it had mysteriously vanished.

  It seemed too coincidental to Jonathan.

  Turning the team down the farm road, Jonathan shook off his thoughts about his family and whistled the latest Ziegfeld tune, “Hello, Frisco.”

  The clouds disappeared, and the sun beat down on his face.

  Things seemed to be looking up for a change.

  He met two beautiful women today.

  * * *

  Mae watched Jonathan leave the store without even a sideways glance in her direction. Since she’d moved to the town of Rockvale, Mae had plenty of attention from male suitors, but Jonathan Rogers captured her attention by just ignoring her.

  Easy on the eyes too.

  He wore a long sleeve white shirt rolled up to his elbows. The cut of the shirt complemented his well-defined physique. The mere thought of Jonathan made her cheeks flush.

  Mr. Hubern, the storekeeper, approached Mae. “My wife’s feeling poorly today, but I’m sure she’ll meet with you in the next few days on making new dresses and such. I’d be happy to wrap up the bolts of fabric?”

  She handed him the silk and linen. “I’d love to meet with your wife. I hear she’s an excellent seamstress. Please charge those to my father and have your wife call on me when she’s feeling better. Oh, one more thing, will the new Sears and Roebuck’s arrive soon?”

  Mr. Hubern placed the fabric bolts behind the counter, took out a ledger, and began to write down the charges. “I ‘spect it’ll come sometime next week. I’ll send a message through the hoot and holler as soon as I get it.”

  She’d heard of the town’s hoot and holler system always opened to two or more parties in point to point communication like Southern Bell in Atlanta. “Wonderful.” She paused before leaving and leaned against the counter. “Uh, Mr. Hubern, do you know Jonathan Rogers?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Jonathan’s a fine fellow. Sad business though. His father owned the sawmill in town. Rumor has it there was some bad blood with his father’s cousin, Dale. Poor Jonathan found his daddy deader than a doornail late one night a little over a year ago. Doc Smith said it was a heart attack, but the rumor circulating is Dale had something to do with it. With no proof, the Rogers family feud cost Jonathan the mill. Half the town is still mad over it.”

  Mae’s hand went to her mouth. She’d heard of Dale Rogers because her father had met with him on several occasions. “Oh my, that’s awful.”

  “Are you all right, Miss Morgan? My wife tells me all the time to keep my trap shut and stop sticking my nose in everybody’s business, but everybody’s business sooner or later ends up at the store.” Hubern shrugged, then turned the ledger around for Mae to sign.

  She swayed against the counter. “I’m a little light-headed.”

  Mr. Hubern stepped over to the soda fountain and poured her a glass of lemonade. “Why don’t you take a seat and have a drink of lemonade?”

  Mae sipped the drink. “Thank you, but I’ll be okay once I get outside. It’s stifling hot in the store. How do you stand it?” She bent over to sign the bill.

  He laughed. “Aw, I’m used to it. I’ve been working in the store most of my life.”

  She handed him the empty glass. “Well, tell Missus Hubern that I hope she feels better real soon. Good day, Mr. Hubern.”

  “Good day to you.”

  Outside in the blazing sun, Mae opened her parasol and walked along the flagstone sidewalk. Her thoughts turned to Jonathan. She wondered if he might come to the Saturday night dance, and pictured herself in his big strong arms.

  She blushed from the heat of desire licking improper thoughts in her mind of the well-built farmer.

  Oh, Mae Morgan, it isn’t proper for a lady to have such sinful thoughts about a man.

  She giggled.

  Shaking her head, she opened the bank door and wen
t inside looking for her father. She glanced to his office, and two men dressed in suits sat in front of his cherry desk. He looked up and smiled, and she returned a silent greeting.

  Mae glanced at the Seth Thomas clock hanging on the back wall, and under it sat a lush potted palm plant. She beamed with pride at her father’s ability to bring in a new Protectograph check writer sitting on the teller’s counter alongside a Webster pencil sharpener.

  She noticed a tall, thin man dressed in elegant Edwardian style leaning against a walnut conference table looking at her as if she wore only knickers. She glanced away from his impertinent stare.

  Several newspapers lay out on a side table next to two straight back chairs. Mae picked one up, and the headline read, Lusitania Sunk by Submarine, 1300 Dead.

  Mae averted her eyes. The threat of war loomed over America. She placed the newspaper back on the table.

  The tall gentleman stepped over and slightly bowed. “Hello, Miss Morgan. I’m Dale Rogers, an associate of your father. He’s in a meeting. Would you like to sit and wait with me?”

  “My father speaks highly of you, but if he’s busy, it’s nothing that can’t wait until dinner.” He reached for her hand, and she took a step back.

  He asked, “Do you like the house? Have you settled in?”

  “I have a few things left to unpack, but the house is beautiful. Now, who did you say were the prior owners? They took such good care of the place.”

  “My cousin, Thomas, and his son, Jonathan.”

  Mae’s heart started racing. She lived in Jonathan’s house. “Why did they sell?”

  “Oh, my cousin died suddenly. His son decided to sell the house and purchased a place out in the country.”

  “And his mother? What happened to her?”

  “She died in childbirth when Jonathan was small. Why are you so interested?”

  “Older houses have such character, and I believe that comes from the people who lived there.”