A Town Bewitched

by Suzanne de Montigny

  Shock runs through me. It’s Kate McDonough! I duck into a corner where she can’t possibly see me. She knocks again, harder. I scarcely breathe. The knocking persists and I stay hidden until her steps finally click down the walk and to the street. When I’m sure she’s gone, I let out a huge sigh of relief, then saunter back to the couch and pick up the remote.

  About an hour later, while watching a crime show, I hear another knock. My heart racing, I hide again and wait, but the knocking grows more insistent. Moving soundlessly, I peek through the peephole, careful not to touch the door in case Kate McDonough hears my movements. I search through the hole for red hair.

  Brown eyes stare back at me. It’s Charlotte!

  I fling the door open and cross my arms pretending to be mad. “What happened to your date?”

  Charlotte pouts. “He never asked me. He didn’t even call.”

  “Well, that’s what I was trying to tell you,” I say flinging my arms out. “You can’t be available whenever he wants. You have to be able to tell him you’re already doing something with your BFF Friday night so he’ll worry a little.”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re right.” She looks down at the floor. “Can I come in?”

  “Well, okay. Sorry I called you Charlotte the Harlot.” I hide my smile with my hand.

  “That’s okay.” Charlotte says, and then frowns. “What’s a harlot, anyway?”

  I laugh. “You know. It’s one of those girls.” I say, wagging my hand.

  “Ohhhhhh.”

  “Come in.” I yank her arm and shut the door behind her. “By the way, you’ll never guess what happened!”

  “What?” Charlotte looks perplexed.

  “Kate McDonough came and knocked on our door before you showed up.”

  “No way. Really?”

  “Yeah, isn’t that weird?”

  “Well, what’d she want?” Charlotte makes herself comfortable on the couch and digs into the bag of caramel popcorn.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t dare answer, so she left.”

  “How bizarre.” Charlotte frowns as she picks up the TV remote.

  I grab the remote from her hand and lay it down on the coffee table. “Charlotte,” I say, “Let’s go back to her house.”

  She looks at me as though I’m crazy and gives her head a hard shake. “No! There’s no way I’m getting up in the middle of the night to follow her again. Unh-unh.”

  “Not in the middle of the night, dummy. I mean right now, while Mom and Dylan are gone to Chilliwack, and she’s playing at the Stompin’ Boot. We can go look for clues.”

  “Nope,” Charlotte’s eyes bulge, and she shakes her head again. “Absolutely not!”

  A half hour later, we stand outside Kate McDonough’s cabin in the dark, holding flashlights.

  “Okay, so we’re here, and there’s nothing to see,” Charlotte whispers, crouching in the shrub across the street. “Let’s go home now.”

  “No, let’s go inside,” I say, peeking through the leaves.

  “But that’s breaking and entering.”

  Ignoring her, I check to make sure the street is empty and, bending low, I dash to Kate McDonough’s front door. Testing the doorknob, I motion to Charlotte, and she darts out of the bush and leaps into place beside me.

  “Can you believe she’d leave her door unlocked?” I ask.

  “No. Nobody does that anymore. Especially not with that creep running around,” says Charlotte, glancing back over her shoulder.

  “Unless she’s that creep,” I say.

  The door groans as it opens. We walk in, shining our flashlights around the room. Everything lies as it did last week.

  “Let’s see what she has in the fridge.” I grab the handle and pull. The warm air inside smells stale.

  “It’s empty,” I cry. “No eggs, no milk, nothing!”

  We exchange bewildered expressions. I open the cupboard to find the few scattered dishes that didn’t sell at our garage sale. “Not even dried foods.”

  “Maybe she eats out all the time.”

  I remember Uncle Jack saying she wouldn’t have dinner with him. “Apparently she doesn’t eat at all.”

  “But how can anyone just not eat?” asks Charlotte. “Unless ... you don’t think ...”

  We both say it at once, “She eats live birds!”

  Chapter 30

  The Shed

  The next morning, I wake up to a beautiful, sunny, but cold day. The madness of last night has drifted away, but I’m still mulling over Kate McDonough and who she really is. Pouring myself a glass of fresh orange juice and a bowl of granola, I sit down to eat. Then I hear Mom’s slippered feet swish on the floor of the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she says.

  “Morning,” I say, chewing.

  “So I guess everything turned out with Charlotte then?” She smiles.

  “Yeah.” I lower my eyes, feeling like a bit of a drama queen.

  Mom and Dylan arrived about ten minutes after we did last night. Finding us cosily watching TV, she left us alone and went to bed.

  She takes the carafe and fills it with water, pouring it into the coffee machine.

  Cartoon voices drift from the TV.

  “Dylan, do you want some toast?” Mom calls.

  “Okay,” Dylan answers from the family room.

  “Nice day today,” Mom says, waiting for the coffee to drip. “Maybe I’ll go out and rake leaves.”

  “Mm,” I mumble.

  After breakfast, I zip up to my room and type the word ‘occult’ into my search engine. I’m determined to find out if there’s some sort of human that eats raw birds. It’s a longshot, but worth a try. After scanning for a couple of minutes, I find what I’m looking for.

  Witches capture live birds, disemboweling them to use their organs for potions, or to eat raw.

  I break into a sweat. Could this actually be true? My hand trembling, I copy the link and redirect my computer to my e-mail. I type in Charlotte’s name.

  Charlotte,

  Is this the answer to our questions about KM? Not that I believe in this stuff, but suppose she does?

  Kira

  Pasting the link, I press send.

  I peer down into the yard where Mom sweeps the rake over the lawn, piling the dry, colourful leaves. The basement door slams shut with a thud, and I see Dylan dash out and pounce right into the heap she’s raking. She drops the rake and wags her finger, scolding Dylan with a mock face of anger and a clown voice.

  It looks like fun, so I dress quickly and race down the stairs into the cold November air.

  “Want some company?” I ask Dylan. I grab the other rake on the side of the shed and help Mom gather the leaves back up. It’s the biggest pile ever.

  “Okay, on the count of three, you run and jump in,” I tell him, hiding a sly grin. “One … two … three …” I dash ahead of Dylan and leap in, demolishing the pile before he gets there. Turning to laugh at him, I nearly have the wind knocked out of me when he lands right on top of me.

  “Oof!” I grunt.

  “You cheated,” says Dylan.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t have to squash me.” I groan, then get up and brush myself off only to be startled by a huge thud beside me. It’s Mom landing on what’s left of the pile.

  Dylan shrieks, and the two wrestle in the red and gold leaves, Mom digging her fingers in his side while I stand by laughing. Then she gets up.

  “Let’s make another one.”

  Together, she and I race to rake more leaves, piling them higher and higher until they nearly reach the first branch of the old apple tree in the corner of the yard.

  All three of us line up.

  “One … two … three …” we shout, then run at breakneck speed to dive into the mound, screaming. Mom hurls some leaves in my hair. I throw some back. Then Dylan stuffs a handful down my back. I squeal and shove some down his shirt.

  “Take that!” I cry.

  “Noooo!” Dylan howls.

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nbsp; Mom scoops up leaves and throws them at us. We toss them back.

  Finally, we stop, breathing heavily between laughs.

  When we catch our breath, Mom says, “How about we rake up the leaves for real now.”

  “But I don’t have a rake,” says Dylan, making excuses as usual to get out of work.

  “You still have the toddler rake.” I tease.

  “I think it’s in the tool shed.” Mom says, smiling. “I’ll go get it.”

  She disappears into the shed, and then comes back out a few moments later, looking as angry as a grizzly. “Who was using the turpentine?” she asks. When no one answers, she says, “Whoever did, knocked it over and spilled it everywhere.”

  “It wasn’t me,” says Dylan looking so truthful it’s impossible not to believe him.

  I remain dead silent.

  “Kira?” Mom says. “What were you doing with it?”

  My eyes must say it all. I know she can see right through me.

  “So that’s what that smell was the other day. I knew there was something familiar about it. This doesn’t have anything to do with the sign outside of Hope, does it?” She narrows her eyes.

  When I don’t answer, she goes back into the toolshed and snoops around.

  “There are two cans of paint missing and some rags stuffed in the corner.”

  I stand in horror, speechless.

  “Never mind” she says, her voice low and menacing. “I’m going to have a look and see if I can find the Harrison Hot Springs towel in the cupboard, and it better be there.”

  A few minutes later, she comes back outside. “The towel’s gone. You want to explain?”

  “Mom.” I find my words. “We didn’t mean any harm. It’s just … I hate Hope. I hate it with a passion. It’s small and stupid! I wanna move to Vancouver.” I burst into tears.

  “So what? Now I have a delinquent daughter? You’ve given up playing the violin and taken up hanging out in pubs and doing graffiti? It’s bad enough Dad is gone, but now this?”

  With one deathly point of a finger, she sends me to my room where I sit like a prisoner waiting to be sentenced while she makes calls.

  A half hour later, the Morins arrive on our doorstep, furious, with a sullen Charlotte in tow. A police cruiser comes by shortly after.

  Mom orders me downstairs and makes me confess to Constable Douglas. He shakes his head gravely as he listens to Charlotte and my story.

  “So why did you leave all that evidence?” he asks. “I mean, for smart girls, that’s not very bright.”

  Charlotte and I share a look, and she gives me the nod.

  “I know you won’t believe me, but it’s because Kate McDonough came out of the woods and scared us.”

  Constable Douglas looks confused. “Wait a minute. You say that Kate came out of the woods? How can that be when she was at the reception of the concert?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, “but she was definitely there.”

  Charlotte nods. “It’s true. I saw her too.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Mom says. “She was surrounded by people. She never left until the very end.” She flashes me that stern look. “Kira?”

  “Unless it was someone else with red hair,” says Constable Douglas, frowning. His face straightens. “At any rate, Kira and Charlotte, you’ve both been exemplary kids up until recently. And in view of the fact Kira’s father has recently passed away and she’s been under undue stress, I’m going to ask that you both repaint that sign and change it back to Hope. This time I’ll give you a warning. Next time, charges will be laid. A crime such as this is punishable with up to two years in prison as an adult, you know.”

  Charlotte and I are crying by this time and vow we’ll never do it again. We really mean it. Mom fishes around in the shed and finds us more paint. Herb and Sandra drive us to the spot on the highway where the sign welcomes everyone to Hole. Together, Charlotte and I restore the name of our town.

  Cars drive by and honk. Young men whistle. It’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m glad Dad isn’t alive to see this. He’d be so ashamed. I dread school tomorrow where the news will surely go viral.

  Chapter 31

  The Humiliation

  It’s even worse than the first day of school after Dad died. Teens snicker and point at Charlotte and me as we walk by. Even Travis has a smug look on his face, though he keeps his lips shut tight. I cling to Charlotte, glad I have her back again to stick up for me. United, we can withstand all … that is, until Peter comes along.

  “See ya.” Charlotte scrambles, slipping her hand into Peter’s shortly after we get to school, leaving me alone to fight the world.

  “Oh, brother.” I roll my eyes.

  It’s not just the students, but even the teachers act weird when they see me. Mr. Watkins grunts when he walks past in the hall instead of saying his usual, cheery, “Good morning, Kira!” Then in band, Mr. Waring acts like I’m not even there. I feel like I’m just another one of his students. Whatever happened to using me to play difficult passages or asking me tough questions? I kind of miss being the class expert. And then there’s Charlotte’s dad. He’s very cold with me, probably thinking I’m some juvenile delinquent influencing his precious daughter.

  I come to the conclusion that I may have to find a new BFF. Things didn’t work out with Taylor, but there are other girls. I glance around at my choices. There’s the mousy-haired girl with the thick glasses and braces who sits in the corner of French class and never talks to anyone. Then there’s the religious group who carries their Bibles to school every day and prays over lunch, holding hands. And then there are the loose girls that guys leer at known as the Community Chests. I sigh. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough with Taylor. My chance comes again when we get our assignments back in science class.

  “So what’d you get?” I ask, leaning toward Taylor’s desk with a very carefully placed smile on my face.

  Her eyes light up like a little girl on Christmas day. “I got a B!”

  I frown. How could she have gotten a B when I practically did the assignment for her? And she’s happy about it?

  I get my answer fast enough when the teacher hands me my paper, a B- scratched across the top. My spirit sinks. I’ve never gotten anything lower than an A in science before.

  I decide it’s the teacher’s fault. I bet Mr. Fritz marked everyone low, but when I peek at Charlotte’s paper, I see an A written in fancy handwriting at the top of her page.

  Jealousy rages through me, but I stuff it back down because I know Charlotte will find some way to make me feel better about it after class, like the time I got a B on the band test. When the bell hums, I draw up alongside her.

  “Can you believe it?” I say. “I only got a B -. Mr. Fritz is such a dolt.” I cringe at how much I sound like the IGs, but before Charlotte can answer, Peter claims her, leaving me stranded.

  The fact it’s report card week only makes matters worse. On Wednesday, when Mr. Morin hands them out to us, I get straight Bs, and Charlotte gets all As.

  When I show Mom, she smiles weakly and says, “You’ve had a shock this summer. It’s only expected your grades will go down. Just do your best next time, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say like it’s no big deal, secretly relieved she doesn’t seem to care much. But then she goes and drops a bomb on me.

  “Oh, and by the way,” she says, “we’re going to Granville Island this weekend. Dylan wants to try his hand at busking.” She smiles likes she’s telling me the most exciting news in the world. “We’re going on Friday night, and we’ll stay at Aunty Agnes’ place. We’ll be back on Saturday. That’ll give you enough time to get your homework done.”

  She seems to think I’ll be jumping up and down with joy like the last time, but I don’t need to have my brother outshine me on the violin. I’m supposed to be the child prodigy, not him.

  “No thanks,” I say, purposely sounding bored. “I think I’ll just stay home.”
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br />   “But I thought you’d be excited to go back to Vancouver. You’re the one who said you wanted to move there.” Her face has dropped.

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to sit around listening to Dylan play his fiddle.” I flip off the last word like I’m talking about his Dead-Eye Dart Guns. Then I lie. “Besides, it won’t give me enough time to do my homework. I have a lot more than usual this weekend.”

  “Well, okay,” Mom says. “You better stay with Charlotte, then.”

  Herb’s cold eyes glare at me in my mind.

  “Okay …” I hesitate.

  “Don’t forget, there have been strange things happening around town, and there’s a chance the whole thing might be related to Dad’s grave.”

  “I know, but it’s not like we’ve found a dead bird on our lawn.”

  Mom gives a nervous laugh. “True, but all the same, I’d feel better if you stayed at the Morins. And if you need any help, you can always call Uncle Jack.”

  Fat chance of that! He’s too busy with the red-head!

  “Okay,” I say in a dull voice.

  Over the next two days, she’s so busy, she totally forgets about the whole staying-at-Charlotte’s thing, so on Friday night, after they leave, I come to a decision – I can look after myself. Heck, I’m almost fifteen. Girls used to be married at my age. I don’t need to stay with anyone. I throw on my winter coat and boots and head off to pick up a DVD.

  Jim smiles at me through his gold-rimmed glasses when I walk in.

  “Hi Kira. How’s it going?”

  “Ah, so-so,” I say, curling my lip up.

  “Oh? What’s wrong?” His eyes are genuinely warm and caring.

  For a moment I contemplate telling him about Charlotte and Peter, but change my mind.

  “Mom’s gone with Dylan to Vancouver – to go busking, so I need a good movie to keep me busy tonight.”

  “Busking, eh?” His eyebrows rise with interest. “Good for Dylan.” He pauses. “So what kind of movie are you looking for?”

  “Another scary one would be good.”