A Town Bewitched

by Suzanne de Montigny

  “And don’t forget she’s staying the night too,” I say, remembering our plan.

  “Of course.” Mom says as she takes the last bite of her macaroni.

  After supper, Mom hands out sweets, while Charlotte and I creep from door to door stifling giggles. Parents give us strange looks since we’re anything but little kids, but it gives us hope. It means our plan to pass ourselves off as adults at the Stompin’ Boot might actually work.

  On our way back, we stop at the DVD store to pick up a scary movie we have no intention of watching. Jim, the new guy who’s taken over from the previous owner, welcomes us. I like him. He’s a kindly sort of fellow whose eyes remind me a bit of Dad and who doesn’t mind taking the time to help kids find just the right film, plus he’s an expert on every movie ever made.

  He’s dressed up like a werewolf and smiles at us through his gold-rimmed glasses when we come in. “So what’ll it be, girls?” he asks, leaning over the counter.

  “We want something really scary,” I say.

  “Hmmm.” Jim rubs the stubble of his beard. “Something scary for two girls staying home on Halloween night?”

  I nod. “Yeah, our parents are going to the Stompin’ Boot Pub.”

  “Oh?” His brow rises up for a split second with interest.

  “Yeah, aren’t you going?” asks Charlotte.

  Jim shakes his head. “Nope. Gotta stay here and rent out DVDs to folks like you who can’t go.”

  “Sweet,” I say, amazed not everyone’s into Kate McDonough.

  Jim saunters down the aisles, his forehead creased in thought. After a couple of minutes, he snaps his fingers and pulls one out. “Aha! Here’s a good one. ‘I Saw What You Did’, 1965. It’s a film about a couple of girls making prank calls. And then they accidentally call a murderer.”

  Charlotte and I exchange looks, then nod. “Sure, that’ll do,” I say, taking it from his outstretched hand.

  We walk back to the counter, pay for the DVD and head out the door.

  “Have a good evening,” he calls out.

  “You too,” I call back.

  As we walk away, Charlotte looks back over her shoulder. “He’s such a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, I agree. I just wish everyone treated teens like that.”

  “Me too.”

  By the time we get back home, Uncle Jack has picked up the nine pumpkins, and Mom is about to leave.

  “See you later,” she calls.

  “Okay Mom.”

  We stick the DVD in the player so it looks like we watched it. Then I pull out the makeup box, and Charlotte begins smearing her face. When her skin is witch green, she puts on the glasses complete with a giant nose and mustache.

  “This will add the finishing touch,” she says.

  We share a laugh.

  I examine my face in the mirror. “I think I’ll change my makeup too to throw everyone off.”

  “Good idea,” Charlotte says.

  Our disguises complete, I tie on my clown shoes and we leave, but when we get to the pub, Charlotte starts to get cold feet.

  “I don’t know about this. Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.”

  “No way,” I say, peering through the diamond-shaped dividers of the Stompin’ Boot’s front window. “We’ve come this far. Let’s go through with it.”

  “Well … alright.”

  The pub is filled to overflowing.

  My eyes rest on the stage where Uncle Jack sits close to Kate McDonough, picking away at his guitar, smiling adoringly at her from time to time, the rags of his mummy costume moving with the rhythm. Close by, Mom, her ghost costume still intact, sits with the Morins who are dressed as cave people.

  “No one’s looking.” I grab Charlotte’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  We duck in, keeping low in case Mom should turn around, find a two-seater at the back, and slide in place.

  “Oh, look,” I say in French, staring down at the jack-o-lantern in the middle of our table. “I made this.”

  “Speak English,” Charlotte says, cupping her hands over my ear. “It’s a dead giveaway.”

  “Well, don’t put your hands over my ear either. It makes you look like a teenager.”

  A female vampire creeps up behind us. “What’ll it be, girls?” she asks, her notepad and pencil in hand.

  My heart skips a beat at the word ‘girls’. Sitting tall and speaking in my most adult voice, I say, “Hmmm. I think I’ll have a coke, please.”

  The vampire scratches the order on her pad without looking up.

  So far so good.

  She turns to Charlotte. “And you?”

  Charlotte’s brown eyes are round behind the phony glasses, she’s so scared. “Um, I’ll have a virgin Shirley Temple.”

  My heart leaps at her words, but the barmaid smiles a little, writes down the order, and then leaves.

  “Dummy! Shirley Temples are virgin!” I practically hiss.

  “Well, I didn’t know.” Charlotte gives an innocent shrug.

  “Look, just try to act natural, okay?”

  “I am, but it’s kind of nerve-wracking.”

  I turn my attention to the stage. The music leaps and dives, and in no time at all, the dance floor overflows with writhing ghouls, witches, and goblins.

  “This will be a cinch hiding out in a crowd this size,” I say.

  Charlotte’s scanning the room. Her face lights up like the jack-o-lantern on our table. “Wow! Look at Kate’s costume!”

  I stretch my neck to see through the ghouls and goblins. “What’s she supposed to be?”

  “I don’t know. Some kind of angel, I guess.”

  I have to admit, it’s the most realistic costume I’ve ever seen. Kate McDonough absolutely glows, but I don’t mean that in a normal way. She’s like one of those fluorescent sticks you buy at the dollar store. Her long, white dress flows down, covering her feet. Her red hair is knotted into a bun with small, white flowers dotted throughout. But it’s not just her dress that shines; her hair and skin do too.

  “I wonder how they get the lighting to make her glow like that,” I say.

  “I don’t know, but it’s a pretty good effect.”

  “Must be some sort of cream you put on your face that has sparkles in it, like the ones we used to play with when we were little,” I say.

  My gaze falls to the dance floor where I see the Morins dancing – and Mom too! Her partner is a thin, middle-aged man with a potbelly. A long lock of black, oily hair sweeps over his head to hide his bald spot.

  “Oh, gross! Mom’s dancing with Dylan’s teacher, Mr. Grindlemeer.”

  “Aw, double gross.” Charlotte twists her face and looks away.

  The barmaid comes back, handing us our drinks, and lays the tab down on the table. Avoiding her gaze, I mutter a thank you. When I glance back at Charlotte, her eyes have grown to the size of the coasters under our drinks.

  “Did you bring any money?” she asks, her voice pitched high.

  A shiver runs up my spine. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Well then, what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I pause. “But it’s Uncle Jack’s pub. He’d give us free drinks anyway, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  But somehow my logic doesn’t make me feel any better.

  The crowd continues to grow as more people squeeze their way into the Stompin’ Boot, and soon it’s packed so solid it’s hard to move. I’m feeling comfortable tucked in at the back where no one can see us, sipping our virgin Shirley Temple and Coke. The music spins and skips, and boots stomp to the wild rhythms of the band, and it looks like our plan is working – until Uncle Jack lays down his guitar and stands up, taking the mic in his hand.

  “Are we having a good time?” he shouts. The crowd cheers. “I said are we having a good time?” I hate it when people do that. The crowd cheers even louder. “I said are we having a good time?” Their hollers nearly bring the roof down. “Great. And now that you’re having s
uch a good time, the band’s going to take a break.”

  Loud peals of laughter echo in the pub, and several calls of ‘aw’ shoot back at Uncle Jack. Sweaty couples stroll, arm in arm to their seats. As more and more of them sit down, I realize to my horror, we’re not invisible anymore. What if Mom turns around and sees us? Or spies us on the way to the bathroom? Or what if someone else recognizes us? But nothing prepares me for what’s about to happen.

  Kate McDonough rises slowly, her face as fierce and white as a ghost. She stares in our direction as though something has really infuriated her. I spin around thinking maybe it’s some hoodlums starting a brawl, or maybe even someone sneaking in through a window, but when I look back, her cold, creepy, blue eyes are focused right on me. And what’s worse, other people are beginning to notice too.

  I grab Charlotte. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We push our way through the crowd, past witches, gremlins, avatars, and rabbits. Holding on to Charlotte’s wrist for dear life, I eye the door in the distance, so close, yet so far. We shove through the hordes and squeeze through large, beer-bellied men whose breath smells like booze and women dressed like cats and bats. The exit is close now. We’re nearly there, but just as we get within an inch or two of the door, a huge, green boot slams down on one of my clown shoes and pins me.

  Panicking, I bend over to free my foot. I look back to see Kate McDonough thrusting her way through the crowd, her face a fury of rage. All eyes seem to be on Charlotte and me. Terrified, I do the only thing I can – I slip my foot out of the shoe, kick off the other one, and take off.

  We run for our very lives to our house, race up the walk, and dive through the door.

  “Quick, before Mom comes home!” I order. “Throw on your jammies and turn on the movie!”

  Charlotte scrambles, taking off the fake glasses, and ripping off her costume. Tossing a bag of popcorn in the microwave, I whisk on my PJs over the clown costume. Then we dash to the bathroom where I whip out two face cloths, and we rub our skin raw. The microwave beeps, and I grab the freshly popped corn. We both pounce on the couch as Charlotte hits ‘play’ on the remote. Then, right as we stuff popcorn in our mouths, Mom walks in.

  “Hi girls,” she says in her normal, nice, Mom voice, her hands behind her back. “Have you been having a good evening together?”

  “Yes, Mom.” I make my voice sound like I’m really sleepy.

  “Oh, good. And the movie’s interesting?”

  “Yup,” I say. “It’s really scary.” I glance at the TV and see the FBI warning that’s always on at the beginning of movies. My stomach flips. “It … it’s the second time we’re watching it.”

  “Oh, good.” She draws her hands out from behind her back to reveal the two clown shoes, one of them torn. “You forgot my shoes, and you didn’t pay your tab.”

  My heart stops. Groping around for some sort of explanation, or even a smooth lie, I sit with my mouth wide open. This is far scarier than any thriller. It’s worse than all the vampires, witches, and werewolves combined. I try again to speak, but it’s no use. Mom’s expression tells me she knows everything.

  “Kira, it’s not the fact you were in the pub that matters.” She sits on the arm of the couch. “It’s the fact that you could have made Uncle Jack lose his license.”

  My heart falls, and I bow my head. “Well, I didn’t know.”

  “But you did know it’s illegal for minors to enter a pub, so why did you?” Her voice is growing louder.

  “I was just trying to cheer up Charlotte,” I say, blinking back tears.

  Mom takes a big breath to continue, but then stops. “What’s wrong with Charlotte?”

  I glance at my friend, and she looks back at me. She nods.

  “Charlotte’s being bullied at school. And really bad, Mom. I mean really bad. And me too.”

  “What’s happening?” She stares at us, the creases in her forehead deep.

  We turn off the movie and start from the beginning, telling her about the racism, the music stand, everything. Tears roll down our faces, and when we finally finish the last of the terrible story, Mom’s anger has melted away.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she asks, taking one of Charlotte’s hands in hers.

  “Because it would only make things worse,” Charlotte says in a sullen voice. “They’d just get meaner and nastier, and then my mom and dad wouldn’t take me on their next trip. No offense to you guys, but I’d rather go on the trip than stay here with you.”

  Mom’s eyes grow distant for a few moments, and then she says, “But don’t you girls see that you’re allowing these jerks to get away with it? They need help just as much as you do.”

  “But how?” I ask, curling my knees up to my chest.

  “Kids do that because they’re hurting inside or because they need some kind of guidance. And if we don’t stop them, they could end up with a criminal record later on.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte’s voice trembles. “But what if it doesn’t work? What if they really come after me?”

  “I promise you they won’t. Not if we do this right.”

  We talk until midnight when Mom finally announces she’s calling it a day. Climbing the stairs, we slip into our beds, our eyes heavy.

  “Mom?” I call.

  “Yes?”

  “I saw you dancing with Mr. Grindlemeer. You don’t like him do you?”

  She lets out a hysterical laugh. “Not on your life!”

  Chapter 17

  The Move

  The next day, we wake up at nine o’clock sharp when the rumbling of a half-ton moving van rolls to a stop in front of our house. It’s Saturday, the day of Kate McDonough’s big move. I peek through the curtains and see Uncle Jack hop down from the driver’s side of the truck. He slams the oversized door and struts to the house like he’s the most important man in town.

  Charlotte and I throw on our clothes and run downstairs.

  “Here,” Mom says from the basement bedroom. “We don’t need this old dresser and night table anymore. And the mattress on this bed is still good, but it needs a good vacuuming.”

  We round the corner of the room to see Mom pulling the mattress off the springboard and laying it on the floor.

  “You bet, Pierrette,” Uncle Jack says to Mom, sounding extra cheery.

  Dylan leaps onto the mattress and begins bouncing. “Hey, that rhymes! You bet, Pierrette. You bet, Pierrette.”

  “Get down from there,” Mom orders, “or Kate’s going to have coils sticking in her back when she goes to sleep tonight.”

  Dylan hops down and runs alongside Uncle Jack to the truck where his band members are loading up the stuff. Mom pulls out the long hose of the vacuum and cleans the mattress. After she’s finished, she and Uncle Jack carry it outside.

  “Well that about does it,” Uncle Jack says as they lift the mattress and springboard onto the truck.

  “Oh, wait,” says Mom, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I have some other stuff that never sold at our last garage sale. Maybe she could use it too.” She bounds down the stairs and comes back up carrying a box with the words ‘kitchen things’ written on it.

  “Thanks,” says Uncle Jack with a broad smile.

  Something in his voice worries me. He looks a little too happy. Did Kate McDonough change her mind about him after all this time? Is there something I don’t know? My stomach churns.

  “And make sure you stop off at the Morins. They said they had lamps,” Mom says.

  I know the lamps she’s talking about. They’re baby blue with the form of a Greek woman etched in them. The Morins replaced them last year with some flowered lamps made by a local potter. They told me I could have the old ones, but Mom said they wouldn’t match my room. And now Kate McDonough’s getting them? I grit my teeth.

  “Oh, she’ll like that,” replies Uncle Jack, rolling down the gate of the truck and climbing into the front.

  We wave good-bye, then head into the house where Mom cooks us
a breakfast of pancakes.

  After a leisurely meal, Charlotte packs up her things, ready to go home, her half-full bag of Halloween candy slung over one arm.

  “Oh, I’m in so much trouble.” She pauses by the front door, her hand frozen on the knob like it’s too heavy for her to open.

  “Want me to come with you?” I ask.

  “Oh, would you, please?”

  “It’s okay by me,” Mom calls from the sink where she’s washing the dishes. “Just be back in time for lunch.”

  “Okay.” I say, stuffing a handful of candy in my jacket pocket.

  Charlotte and I take our time walking, enjoying the crisp autumn air. After kicking the leaves around for a bit, I decide it’s high time to reveal the information I’ve found about Kate McDonough to her, especially after what happened last night.

  “You know, Charlotte. There’s something really strange about Kate McDonough.”

  Charlotte takes out a candy and begins to unwrap it. “What do you mean?” she asks.

  I tell her my findings, about the short gigs in small towns across Canada.

  Charlotte listens, and then frowns. “So she’s only there for a few months at a time and then she leaves?”

  “Yeah. Isn’t that weird? And what I want to know is where does she go between those gigs? Like where does she live, or is she … some kind of drifter?”

  Charlotte thinks a moment. “Maybe she goes back to Cape Breton.”

  “But don’t you see? No one knows. Uncle Jack says she never talks about her private life.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t have a life. Some people are like that, you know.”

  “Maybe, but I think I saw her in the graveyard on Thanksgiving Day, and I wonder what she was doing there.”

  Charlotte doesn’t answer. She’s staring in the distance. “Hey, something’s happening at the Medical Dental Building,” she says. “The police are there.”

  I focus my eyes on the flashing lights of the vehicles that block the entrance of the building. My heart quickens. “Let’s go see.” We break into a run.

  Our footsteps echo in the streets until we hit the gravel parking lot of the office building where the RCMP vehicles stand, their blue and red lights blinking. A small crowd is gathering.