A Town Bewitched

by Suzanne de Montigny

  “How scary are we talking?” he asks.

  “Madman scary,” I say, breaking into a creepy grin.

  He gazes at me for a moment, amusement dancing in his eyes, and then says, “I may have just the one for you. It’s an oldie, but a goodie. Nothing’s more frightening than this.”

  He wanders through the aisles, sorting through shelves until he finds it. “Here it is,” he says. “I have two copies. The Shining. 1980. Based on Stephen King’s novel. Guaranteed to horrify you.”

  Anything to take my mind off Peter.

  “Great,” I say.

  We walk back to the till and I hand him the money.

  Opening the register, he counts out my change and drops it in my hand. “Take care, eh? You know there’s been a lot of strange things happening in this town lately.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I stuff the coins back in my pocket and head to the door. “Bye.”

  When I get home, I throw the DVD on the coffee table and search the cupboards for supper. Finding a full bag of taco chips and a jar of salsa, I haul them out. I know Mom would have a fit, but she’s not there to tell me what to eat. I can do what I want.

  The sun has set, and it’s growing dark. I make myself comfortable in front of the flat screen TV with my makeshift supper, not even bothering to put the chips in a bowl. This’ll be fun. Heck, I won’t even pick up the crumbs. But as I watch the movie, the hairs on my arms start standing up by themselves, and I jump at every creak in the house. Jim’s right. This is the most horrifying movie I’ve ever watched. His warning words about the strange happenings around town replay in my memory. Changing my mind about staying alone, I dial Charlotte’s number.

  “Hello,” Herb answers.

  “Hi,” I say. “It’s Kira.”

  “Oh, hi,” says Herb, his voice cold.

  “Is Charlotte there?”

  “No, she isn’t. She’s at Peter’s house watching a movie with his family. I’m afraid she’s not available tonight for whatever plans you had for her.”

  I squirm at the sarcasm in his voice, and then reply, “Uh, okay. She can call me tomorrow if she wants.” But I doubt he’ll pass along the message.

  I switch the movie back on, my stomach full from the taco chips. The film goes from scary to utterly horrifying as the husband swings his axe through the bathroom door. My nerves leaping, I click off the TV and check my watch. It’s only 8:15.

  Thirsty from the salt in the taco chips, I grab a cold root beer from the fridge and pull back the tab. Tiny bubbles spray my face as I take a long drink. That’s when I notice my violin lying on the piano like an old friend calling me to come out and play.

  “No!” I say like my instrument is a real person. “You’re not the Gold Violin. I refuse to play you anymore.”

  But there’s no one home, and there won’t be until tomorrow night, so after glancing around just to be double sure I’m alone, I stroll to the open case and lift the violin up. How familiar and welcome it feels to hold it under my right arm again, the smooth wood brushing against my skin. Sure, it’s a little heavier than the Gold Violin, but not that much. Reaching for the bow, I tighten it and add some rosin. Then I place the violin on my shoulder and hold it with my chin. It feels so good. I draw the bow across the strings. An A resonates, lonely, but strong.

  “It’s not so bad.”

  I break into the The Four Seasons by Vivaldi, and I swear my fingers dance with my very soul. Every note sings, every crescendo climbs jagged peaks, and every fermata tortures me with suspense until I allow the waves of sound to wash over it. I play like a starving child lost in the woods, finally found and given her first meal, desperate to fill the ache of an empty stomach, only it’s my soul that’s replenished. This is what I’ve been missing. More so than Charlotte, even Dad. Life can go on without them, but I can’t survive without my music.

  I pull out piece after piece, pouring over them like favourite novels forgotten, until the clock chimes ten, and I’m finally exhausted. I hug my violin and lay it back in its case. It may not be the Gold Violin, but it will have to do until the will comes through. Mom is right. I can handle it for a few more months. When she comes home tomorrow, I’ll tell her.

  Satisfied, I climb the stairs and slip into my pajamas. I pull the cold covers up to my nose, and drift into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  At midnight, I awake. Something’s knocking against the walls.

  “Must be the pipes. I’ll tell Mom when she gets home,” I mumble as I roll over.

  The knocks continue. As I become more conscious, I realize the thumping isn’t coming from inside the walls, but from underneath my window.

  I creep to the glass, careful to peer through a crack in the curtains, rather than shift the drapes to reveal myself. After all, I am alone. Maybe whoever is there thinks I’ve gone with Mom and Dylan.

  A faint glow lights the backyard, and I squint to see what it is. There’s another thump. The glow flashes bright, like a supernova, revealing the form of Kate McDonough! I jump back from the window, trembling. My ears prick, and I listen for what seems forever. The knocking sounds have stopped, so I tiptoe back to the window and peek out again. She’s gone.

  Shivering, I hide myself under my blankets. Kate McDonough is after me. She has to be. Why else would she be there? Forget about her being interested in me because I’m a prodigy. Kate McDonough knows Mom and Dylan are gone, and she’s creeping around our backyard in the middle of the night. I lay in the dark listening, but nothing more happens, so I drift back to sleep.

  The next morning, I get up and inspect the yard. Mom hasn’t cut the lawn in a long time, and I can see the blue-green grass flattened where Kate McDonough stood. There’s definitely been someone there. And underneath my window, rocks are strewn about on the ground. I reach over to pick up one of the stones. As I bend, I see something brown and orange close to the shed. Taking a few steps forward, my eyes rest on the remains of a robin.

  I shriek and run to call Uncle Jack.

  Chapter 32

  Trapped

  The police arrive shortly after Uncle Jack does.

  “So you say you were asleep when the rapping began?” asks Constable Douglas.

  “Yes. And I got up to see what it was. I thought it was the pipes at first.” I walk to the curtain and part it to show the police. “And I saw Kate McDonough in the corner by the shed. The grass is even trampled down where she was standing.”

  Constable Fortier turns to Uncle Jack. “Do you know of Kate’s whereabouts at that time?”

  “She was in the club doing her last set. There’s no way she left. I was playing with her the whole time.” Uncle Jack shrugs his shoulders.

  “I tell you, it was her.” I lead them down the stairs and into the backyard, showing them the evidence. Constables Douglas and Fortier exchange sidelong glances.

  “And over here by the shed is where I found the dead …” I freeze. “It’s gone.”

  “You mean a bird? Could have been taken away by a cat or even a coyote,” says Constable Fortier.

  Uncle Jack stares at me, perplexed. He motions the cops away with a tip of his head. They wander to another part of the yard, speaking in quiet voices.

  When they come back, Constable Douglas says, “Kira, I doubt it’s the same guy who’s been vandalizing the town. There’s no graffiti anywhere, which tells me it may have been a copycat crime. Is there anyone you can think of who would be harassing you, maybe a boy who secretly likes you?”

  “The only one I can think of is Travis,” I say, “but trust me, he does not like me.”

  “Kira and her friend Charlotte were being bullied by a group of kids at school.” Uncle Jack fills them in. “Travis was one of them.”

  Constable Douglas sighs and shakes his head. “That’s one messed up kid, but he’s actually doing a lot better. He’s been taking part in some community service, and it’s been really working out well for him. Now,” Constable Douglas says, turning to me, his pad and pen in hand, �
��tell me who the others are.”

  I hesitate, then give him the names of the IGs. “But they haven’t bothered us at all, lately.”

  “Then who?” Uncle Jack gives a puzzled frown.

  “It’s Kate McDonough,” I say, my arms crossed. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Kira,” says Uncle Jack, his eyes filled with concern. “You’ve been under a lot of strain. Your dad died, and you’ve been bullied. I’m positive Kate wasn’t here last night. She was at the club the whole time.”

  “That’s not true!” I insist. “I saw her!”

  Uncle Jack shakes his head. “Kira, it’s impossible.”

  “Uncle Jack, how many women do you know in this town who have long red hair? There’s only one who looks like her. I tell you, it was her.”

  Uncle Jack looks sad for a moment, and then asks, “What time does your mother get back today?”

  “Around supper time.”

  “Could you tell her to call me as soon as she gets back?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  We walk back to the cars. The police step in their vehicle and drive away.

  “Call me anytime you need me, Kira, okay?” says Uncle Jack laying his hand on my shoulder. “Even in the middle of the night. I care about my little niece, you know.”

  “I know.”

  He reaches an arm and gives me a warm hug.

  As Uncle Jack leaves, I hurry back to the house and bolt the door behind me. Picking up the phone, I dial Charlotte’s number. Sandra answers. I can hear Charlotte fiddling in the background. I ask to speak to her.

  I’m relieved when Sandra says, “One moment.” At least she doesn’t sound like she hates me.

  I hear footsteps, then Charlotte fumbling with the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi!” Now the last thing I really want to know is what she and Peter have been up to, but she starts in right away, and I can’t get a word in edgewise.

  “Guess what?” she says. “Peter and I watched The Shining last night. It was so scary!”

  “Oh,” I say. “I watched the same movie. You’re right, it was scary. And to make it all worse, Mom and Dylan are out of town.”

  “They’re out of town?”

  “Yeah, Dylan wanted to go busking on Granville Island.”

  Taking a breath to continue my story, Charlotte jumps in again with another irritating story of Peter.

  “I went to their house for supper. His mom and dad are so nice. Did you know they have eight kids in all? Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Ah, yeah,” I say. “So you know what happened?”

  “And we had roast beef for supper and cherry pie for dessert. His mom’s a really good cook.”

  I drum my fingers on the counter. “Yeah, well last night –”

  “And today we’re going for a long bike ride. That’s why I’m doing my practicing now.”

  The drumming of my fingers crescendos. “Really? That’s nice. So like I was saying, last night –”

  “Oh, and guess what?” she blabs.

  By this time, I’ve had enough. I slam my fist on the counter and shout, “Would you just shut up? You don’t even care what happened to me last night. All you care about is Peter, Peter, and more Peter. Get a life!” I hang up.

  I stare at the phone in disbelief. Did I actually do that? Why didn’t I listen to her for a bit? She would have finished – eventually. I move my finger to press redial, and then stop.

  “Why should I? I’m not going to beg.”

  I set the cordless phone back down in its port. It rings again.

  “I’ll ignore it. That’ll teach Charlotte a lesson.” I scowl.

  The call display reads Agnes Bain, so I press the answer button.

  “Hi, Aunty Agnes.”

  “Kira? It’s Mom. How are you doing?” She sounds like her voice will bubble over with excitement.

  “Fine,” I say, but before I can say another word, she starts in just like Charlotte.

  “Your brother made a hundred and thirty-five dollars so far today. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “Really? Wow! Good for him.” I say, pretending I’m not the least bit jealous.

  “Yeah. So we’ve decided to stay another night at Aunty Agnes’ place and go again tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Okay. Ah, Mom,” I say. “Last night –”

  “I know honey, it’s two nights in a row, but you’re old enough now, and plus you’re staying at Charlotte’s.”

  “But Mom –” I clutch the phone harder.

  “And next weekend we’ll be home all weekend. Okay?”

  “Mom?”

  “Oh! I’ve gotta go. Dylan’s going to start playing again. Bye. Love you lots.” She hangs up.

  Clenching my teeth, I toss the phone aside.

  The silence in the house echoes. I let out a frustrated scream and slump down on the piano bench, my arms crossed. “Great. Now what am I going to do with myself?”

  For a minute, I regret not having gone to Vancouver with Dylan and Mom, but sweep the feeling away when I remind myself I’m nearly fifteen and independent. I’ll show them.

  “Homework. That should take up a lot of time.”

  Snatching up my backpack, I carry my books to my room. I pull out my textbooks and start in on the math. The silence of the house drifts away as I work and by lunchtime, I’m done.

  Making myself a ham sandwich, I sit alone at the large, empty table until I finish, and then look at my watch. “12:30.” I sigh. “What do I do now?”

  It’s a nice day, so I pull my bike from the shed and take it for a spin. It feels good to be out in the cold air. My anger melts away with each push of the pedal, and I’m beginning to enjoy myself. I’ll do like Charlotte and ride far. Maybe I’ll ride all the way to Harrison Hot Springs. I turn right on Bryce Road and suddenly squeeze my brakes hard. Peter and Charlotte are on the road ahead of me. They’ve stopped and are laughing as though they’re having the time of their life.

  I duck down before they can see me, and then pedal all the way home. When I get back, I check the grandfather clock in the living room – 2:15.

  My violin beckons again. Sorting through a pile of music, I leaf through what should have been my ARCT repertoire. I pick up the instrument and begin reading through the pieces. Within an hour, I have the first part of my Beethoven Sonata going pretty good. Pulling out some Stravinsky, I read through it. It’s slow, but I’m making progress.

  “I bet I could still have these pieces ready for my exam. Mom’ll be so surprised.” I smile to myself.

  After a while, I check my watch again – four o’clock.

  I eye the DVD of The Shining. “I’ll take this back and get another one.”

  Slipping my coat and shoes on, I leave the house and head to Jim’s shop. It’s cold, so I step back in for a minute and stuff a toque and gloves in my pocket just in case.

  When I arrive at the small shop, the bell tinkles as I enter.

  “Hello, Kira. How’d you like that movie last night?” Jim asks, a twinkle in his eye.

  “That’s the scariest movie I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t even watch the end.”

  Jim throws his head back and laughs. “Jack Nicholson at his best. So do you want another thriller?”

  “No way! Give me a love story or something,” I say.

  If I can’t have Peter, at least I can watch a good romance.

  “A love story?” Jim says, raising his brows. “Hmmm, I think I have just the one. Hold on.” He paces back through the aisles, searching, then pulls out a box. “Here it is.” He hands it to me.

  “Love Story?” I laugh. “They actually named a movie Love Story?”

  “Yup. It’s a classic. 1970. Nominated for seven Oscars. Won best music. And you being a musician will love the theme song.” He starts whistling a haunting tune.

  “Sounds perfect.” I say, taking the DVD to the counter and handing him the money.

  “So how’d Dylan do with his busking?” he asks.

  I roll my
eyes and let out a sigh. “He made so much money they’re going again tomorrow.”

  For a moment, Jim’s eyes flash, and then he nods, his lips pressed together. “Wow, that’s great!”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So when are you going to start busking?” He hands me the change.

  “I don’t know. I’m not too crazy about fiddling.”

  “You’re a classical girl, eh?” He gives me an understanding smile.

  “Yeah.” I say as I turn to leave.

  “Well, see ya,” he waves.

  “Bye.”

  When I get home, I search through the freezer until I find a pizza. Unwrapping it, I shove it in the oven. Twenty minutes later, I cut a couple of pieces, then make myself comfortable on the couch for an evening of romance.

  “Hardly ro-man-tic. More like ‘rotic’ since there’s no man around.” I laugh at my lame joke.

  The movie is everything Jim said and more. Ryan O’Neal is such a hottie, and Ali McGraw is so beautiful. The pile of used tissues on the table grows higher and higher as I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

  “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” Jennifer says after they have a quarrel.

  Is that really true? I think of Dad. Jennifer, like Dad, died of cancer. Did Dad have any regrets?

  I dab my eyes and blow my nose some more, and then collect the tissues and throw them away. Double-checking the doors to make sure they’re locked, I get ready for bed, and then slide under the covers.

  A few hours later, the noise under my window begins again, jolting me awake. Peeking out, I search for the glow that’ll reveal Kate McDonough, but the yard’s pitch black. The thuds continue. The music at the pub has ended, and I hear loud voices and car doors slamming as noisy patrons leave the club.

  I peer at the clock. 1:30.

  Looking out again, I make out a dark figure below. Is it Travis? I squint, but I can’t tell. My heart pounds loudly in my chest, and I take small, shallow breaths.

  “Uncle Jack said to call him anytime, even in the middle of the night,” I whisper. But the cordless phone’s downstairs.

  I panic.

  “My computer!”

  Throwing myself in my desk chair, my fingers fly.