Pumpkin Roll

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Her eyes rested on the Google search bar on the computer, and she contemplated it for several seconds before she went ahead and typed in the topic she’d been avoiding since the beginning.

  Ghosts.

  She took a breath and clicked the search button, trying not to feel as though she’d caved.

  Chapter 29

  It was a tongue-in-cheek search, to be sure. The sites were immature or Halloween-themed, impossible to take seriously. But Sadie kept reading, if only to convince herself of how ridiculous it was. Other than really poor grammar on most of the silly sites, there was little to interest her other than the profound belief these people had that spirits did exist. The more she read, the more her anxiety began to build. She was uncomfortable with this line of investigation and kept telling herself, “People can put anything online.” None of this could be for real.

  Then she had a burst of inspiration. She was in Boston, twenty minutes from the site of the infamous Salem witch trials during which time nearly two dozen men and women were executed for practicing witchcraft that was proven by scientifically unsound means. It was a tragic and dark story, and yet the fact that she was so close to such a nucleus meant that she had resources other than silly websites full of stories she had no way to prove.

  In-person research was always more effective than reading, and since she already had a prejudice against this information, it made even more sense to go to the source and get exactly what she needed. She went back to the Google search bar and typed in “metaphysical store Boston” and discovered there were dozens of stores in the Boston area. She waded through the links and repetitions until she found an address in Jamaica Plain. She let out a breath and tried to push her prejudice aside as she wrote down the address in her notebook. A good investigator didn’t ignore any options, regardless of how ridiculous they seemed. After packing up her things, she checked the time: 12:50. She had forty solid minutes, and she assured herself this was a worthy use of her time.

  By the time she found the store, she was questioning herself all over again. She had to park almost a block away, but at least she didn’t have to pay for parking. The shop wasn’t part of the main downtown district in Jamaica Plain, filled with colonial and cottage-style buildings that housed antique shops, bookstores, and various cafés and delis. This block held square brick buildings with narrow doorways, cracked sidewalks, and heavy power lines draped between the rooftops. She speed-walked past a pawn shop and a bar with peeling vinyl stickers on the door saying they were open from 4: 0 to 2:0 , and pushed open a door painted bright green with the words Wick’d Which painted on a sign that hung perpendicular to the patched brick. Oh, boy.

  The tinkle of a bell was the same one she heard every time she entered Marie’s Bakery back in Garrison. For an instant she missed her town—missed knowing her way around, knowing what to expect and who she would see when she ran her errands. It wasn’t the same for her at home anymore, but she missed what it once was.

  The store smelled nothing like Marie’s Bakery, however, and the musty, incense-heavy scent in the air chased away any feelings of nostalgia the bell had signaled. Floor to ceiling was covered with either shelves or banners depicting all kinds of symbols and visions of the undead. Near the door was a set of shelves with a handwritten sign that said Pocket Altars to Go! Two women stood off to the side discussing different types of tarot cards; Sadie didn’t tune in. Quite frankly this kind of stuff gave her the creeps. There were some teenage kids in the back corner of the store, and Sadie wondered if their parents knew they were here. Right after she came in, another woman entered who seemed to know exactly where she was going. Sadie wondered if it was always this busy or if the Halloween season had something to do with the afternoon traffic.

  There was a counter toward the back and she went directly to it. A woman about Jane’s age with unnaturally blonde hair but surprisingly normal makeup and clothes was ringing up a college-aged man with gauged ears—the holes were easily an inch in diameter. Sadie closed one eye and shifted so her line of sight passed through one of the holes until she realized the clerk was watching her. She cleared her throat and took a step back. The clerk smiled but didn’t call her on it.

  After the customer collected his bag of tricks, Sadie moved forward. The clerk looked an awful lot like a librarian, especially with the line of books behind her head. However, the book titles were things like Unveiling Your Spirit Guides and How to Use Charms and Tokens. It was hard enough to believe people read those books, let alone wrote them.

  “Welcome to Wick’d Which. Can I help you?” She had a deep, rich voice; she’d be great on the radio.

  “Um, yes,” Sadie said. “I need to do a, um, cleansing.” She’d decided the best way to get information would be to pretend to already have a belief and go from there. She’d gleaned enough from her Internet searches to get started.

  “Okay, for what type of entity?” She cocked her head to the side and looked at Sadie with bright brown eyes.

  “A ghost.”

  The woman smiled a little more, and Sadie sensed that the clerk had pegged her as a novice. So much for Sadie’s Google education. “What kind?”

  “I guess I didn’t know there were different kinds,” Sadie admitted. “The scary kind.”

  The girl laughed. “What signs have you seen?”

  “Power going out, doors being slammed. Voices.”

  The woman frowned. “Voices?”

  Sadie nodded, but she didn’t like that frown. “Is that bad?”

  “Rare,” the woman said. “And not an Antiques Roadshow kind of rare.” She leaned her elbows on the counter. “Tell me about the voice.”

  If not for the incense in the air and the set of large spandex bat wings hanging from the ceiling above this woman’s head, Sadie could imagine they were talking over coffee about something totally routine. She decided to pretend that’s exactly what was happening. “Well,” she began, and then she laid out everything that had happened in chronological order and with intricate detail. Halfway through, Sadie stepped aside so that the clerk could help a customer. When the woman was finished, she said, “Thanks, Grace.”

  Grace—such a solid Christian name for a girl working in such a strange store. As soon as the customer was gone, Grace waved Sadie back, and Sadie picked up where she’d left off. She kept waiting for Grace’s expression to change or show some kind of surprise, but it remained totally neutral.

  When Sadie finished, she paused for breath and said, “So, what do you think?”

  “Honestly,” Grace said, scrunching up her face, “what you’ve explained is kind of a mixed para-phenomenon.”

  “A what?”

  “Well, the electrical is classic earthbound spirit stuff. The rushes of wind and things being moved . . . well, that’s anger-driven but also earthbound spirit-related. Cold mist?” She shook her head. “Old wives’ tale. I mean, sure, you might be freaked out and get the chills, but they don’t use moisture like that. And voices? Unless you’re a sensitive, hearing voices isn’t typical either.” She cocked her head to the side and looked at Sadie a bit more appraisingly. “Are you a sensitive?”

  “Oh, um, I get allergies sometimes, mostly just in the spring. I think it’s the cottonwood trees.”

  She smiled. “Not sensitivity. Are you a sensitive—someone who can sense spirits? Have you had other experiences like this in your life?”

  “Oh, gosh, no,” Sadie said, trying not to laugh. “Just this, uh, one. I’m not sensitive to anything like this. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.” She paused. “I have kind of wondered if someone is, you know, pretending.”

  “Excuse me,” another customer asked Grace from behind Sadie. “Where are your Goddess Watchtowers?”

  “North wall,” Grace said, pointing to her right. “Next to the rack of Mojo bags.”

  The customer thanked her and moved away. Grace’s attention snapped back to Sadie. “The whole unlocking doors thing doesn’t fit either. Spir
its don’t need to mess with locks.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Sadie said, considering how that tidbit worked so well into her growing theory.

  “The thing you need to understand is that most ghosts are either angry, sad, or scared. If they decide they want your attention, they have limited ways in which to get it.”

  Sadie nodded. “But unlocking doors and calling my name isn’t in their MO?”

  “Not that I’ve heard about,” she said. “And believe me, I’ve heard just about everything.”

  The phone rang and Grace answered by introducing herself to the caller. Sadie wondered what a woman like her—normal and smart—was doing working in a store like this. She looked toward the ceiling where a ten-foot snakeskin hung; Sadie wondered if you bought it by the yard like ribbon. Did the shop sell eye of newt to go with the scales of a snake? She heard Grace finishing the call and looked back at her, catching sight of the books behind the counter again. There was a sign off to the side that read “Have you searched our para-database?” That gave Sadie a whole new idea.

  “Do you have a catalogue of books and magazines about this type of thing?” Sadie asked, waving toward the sign. “Maybe that would help me get, uh, familiar with all this.”

  “Sure do,” Grace said. “Would you like me to recommend some reading for you? It’s really a fascinating topic, despite the obvious weird stuff.” She reached over her head and tapped the bat wings, causing them to swing back and forth slightly. “It’s not all Twilight Zone.”

  “I’ve actually heard of some articles written by a guy named Timothy Wapple.” Maybe reading more about what he wrote would help her see any connections to Gabrielle now that Mrs. Wapple was hospitalized and therefore had a perfect alibi.

  “Do you know a title of an article?”

  “I don’t, sorry.” Sadie considered texting Jane but that would mean admitting she was in this shop in the first place. She wasn’t ready to fess up to that just yet. “I know they’re old, late seventies or early eighties. Hard copy magazine, I think.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Grace said with a nod. “My aunt actually owns the shop and she has a pretty extensive database, but eighties magazines . . .” She whistled. “It might require a little magic.”

  She smiled at Sadie but Sadie could feel her smile in return was a nervous one. This woman wasn’t going to cast spells on the computer, was she? Sadie was suddenly in a hurry to leave. “Not a big deal,” she said, waving away her question, wondering why she’d bothered asking. “I don’t mean for you to go to all the trouble.”

  “I have no problem doing a search,” she said, still tapping at the keyboard, then waiting for a page to load. “And if we don’t have it, my aunt’s friend works at the Salem library and I bet she’s got it.”

  “It’s really not important, but thank you.”

  Sadie’s phone beeped, indicating a text message. She pulled it out of her purse—she hated waiting for things. The text was from Jane.

  The girl isn’t with Radio Shack anymore. Not much from the reporter either. How is your stuff going?

  Sadie hurried to answer.

  Good info from landlord, doing some research right now. Heather’s probably home. Are we still on for 1:30 at Wonder Spice?

  When she read Jane’s agreement, she looked up as Grace gave her an apologetic frown. “Sorry, I’ll have to do a deeper search.”

  “It’s okay,” Sadie said. “I really don’t mean to be a bother, and you’re so busy.” She felt silly and turned away.

  “Didn’t you need to do a cleansing?”

  “Oh, right.” How could she forget? After all, that was why she’d come in, right?

  “Let me take your number, too. I might not have a lot of downtime—’tis the season for shops like ours—but if I do, I’ll keep looking for those articles.”

  Sadie hesitated but realized there was no good reason not to cover this base just like she was trying to cover everything else.

  Grace wrote down Sadie’s cell phone number on the back of her own card and slipped it under the cash register so that only a corner of it peeked out. Then Grace moved away from the computer and came around the desk.

  “Even if someone’s having a little Halloween fun with you, a cleansing isn’t a bad idea. I recommend doing them quarterly, and pretty much everyone has a spirit or two that gets a little hopped up on the holiday this time of year.”

  She headed toward the far left of the store. Sadie followed her, albeit carefully, and smiled at the two women they passed who’d been here when she’d come in. They were taking turns holding different crystals while closing their eyes thoughtfully and either nodding or shaking their heads. Grace stopped at a rack full of what looked like bottles of spices. Nearby, clusters of dried herbs hung from a ladder suspended horizontally from the ceiling. Sadie looked for a jar labeled eye of newt but didn’t see any. They must keep that in the back. Maybe it was FDA-regulated.

  Grace reached up to a shelf below the ladder and grabbed what looked like a small, oblong bale of hay bound up with blue bailing twine. “One smudge stick,” she said in triumph. With her other hand she selected one of the bottles of spices and headed back to the counter, where she wrapped the bundle in tissue paper and put it into a bright red bag with the jar of spice. She handed it across the counter and tapped on her cash register. “That’ll be $13.31.”

  “You don’t think it’s a ghost, though, do you?”

  “Believe you can do this,” she said, giving Sadie an encouraging smile, but not answering the question directly. “And see it through to the end.”

  “I think that’s very good advice—with or without a ghost.” Sadie smiled back as she plucked a twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet.

  “Light the smudge stick, but blow out any flame so it’s only smoldering. Open the windows a crack and walk through the house, waving the stick around. Make sure you get the smoke into corners and closets. I’d recommend you hold it over a pan or something so you don’t get ash everywhere. Sprinkle it with the cinnamon every now and again.”

  “Cinnamon?”

  Grace shrugged and tapped the bag. “It makes it smell better, and it has properties of protection that can’t hurt, right?”

  “I’ve always been a fan of cinnamon,” Sadie agreed. She thought of her poor cinnamon twists—the spice hadn’t offered much protection yesterday.

  “Here’s my card,” Grace said. “In case you need anything else. I’ll be sure to call you if I find anything about Timothy Wapple.”

  Sadie took the tiny rectangle that read Grace Owens—Medium, Mystic. She had to remind herself of the urgency of her meeting with Jane to keep from asking Grace what a medium actually did and how it was different from a sensitive. She was curious, but didn’t want to invite more talk of the strange stuff people believed. And she didn’t have time, anyway. She only had fifteen minutes to find the restaurant.

  “Thank you so much,” Sadie said. She headed for the front of the store and nearly jumped out of her skin as a man pulled the door open just as she reached for the doorknob. He was gray—not pale; gray—and his eyes bugged out of his head a little bit. He didn’t smile, but Sadie imagined she’d see fangs if he had.

  “Hey, Bright,” Grace said from her counter. “I’ve got your order in the back. It said to keep it refrigerated.”

  Sadie gave Bright a shaky smile and slipped past him in the doorway, not wanting to know what this man needed that required refrigeration; her mind was already spinning with unsavory possibilities.

  Chapter 30

  Wonder Spice wasn’t hard to find since, as opposed to Wick’d Which, it was located on a quirky corner of the Centre Street downtown district. The spicy lemongrass smell convinced Sadie as soon as she entered that Jane could be trusted on her recommendation. A tiny Asian woman showed Sadie to a table for two when she said she was meeting someone and then brought her a glass of water. Sadie was drooling over the Thai-Cambodian menu items when someone put their ha
nds over her eyes, instigating a moment of absolute panic.

  “Guess who?” Jane said from behind Sadie before dropping her hands.

  Sadie tried to smile, but she did not like that game. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m like a cat,” Jane said, lifting her eyebrows as she slid into the vacant chair. “I’ve heard the Bo-Bo soup is out of this world.” She lifted her menu and scanned it without saying hello.

  Sadie quickly found it on the menu; it did sound good.