Ghostly Curse

by Cadie Snow

  GHOSTLY CURSE

  Natural Witches Book 1

  By

  Cadie Snow

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 1

  Jaime Sanders had lived in Blairsville all her life. The small town in Georgia was her home, and she had no desire to live anywhere else. She sat on the sofa in her living room with a shawl around her shoulders. It was early spring and a bit chilly.

  She sipped hot tea, content that her children were sleeping. The framed photos on the wall drew her attention, so she went over to look at them. Family was important to her. The craftsman home she lived in had been her mother’s, and her grandmother’s before that.

  The house had the typical low-pitched roof and overhanging eaves, with patterned windowpanes and a covered front porch with tapered columns. It was a natural style, not ornate like some newly built homes in the area. The furnishings were a mixture of traditional pieces, some antiques, and more modern items she’d chosen.

  Over the years, she’d learned about her ancestors, even heard tales about the Civil War. The photos on the wall warmed her heart. Scenes of picnics, birthdays, and holidays reminded her of how much family meant—and of how many relatives she had.

  The Sanders were a large family, so Jaime had many nieces and nephews, as well as countless cousins. She was closest to her two sisters, especially since their mother had died and they only had each other. And now she was raising her children by herself. But she wasn’t really alone; she always had family to go to.

  A noise caught Jaime’s attention, and she turned to see her daughter standing at the edge of the hall, looking like an apparition. She wore a long white nightgown, the hem dusting the floor. Her hair was messy from sleeping. Her face was pale, her brown eyes wide. She stood there without saying a word.

  “What’s wrong, Abigail? Couldn’t you sleep?” Jaime walked across the room. Her daughter was twelve going on thirty. She was approaching her teen years, yet in many ways seemed so mature—or thought she was, anyway.

  As a child, Abigail would have reached out with open arms, but she was too old for that baby stuff. “I had a scary dream and had trouble getting back to sleep.”

  Jaime hugged her, whether Abigail wanted it or not. “I understand, honey. We all have dreams. Come and sit down.” Jaime led Abigail to the sofa and sat beside her.

  “There was a house in the dream,” Abigail said. “I’m not sure which one. The image was blurry. And there was a ghost, but she faced away. I couldn’t tell who it was.”

  “It was a dream,” Jaime said, more intrigued than she let on. “You don’t need to worry about it.” The trouble was that her daughter’s dreams had previously connected to particular occurrences. It was disheartening. Jaime had lived with witchcraft her entire life, and she didn’t want that for her daughter.

  Abigail rubbed her eyes then tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Can I sleep with you?”

  It was touching that she asked. Abigail was still a child, despite her propensity to act older. But dreams could be upsetting; Jaime knew that from experience. “Of course you can, honey. I was just about to go to bed.”

  Jaime took her daughter’s hand and led her down the hall, then up the stairs. On the way, she stopped to check on her twin boys. Andrew and Landon snuggled under the covers in their twin beds. The bed frames were in the shapes of cars. The boys were nine years old, and their room was filled with model cars they’d built, baseballs, a basketball, and sundry items of their boyhood.

  The boys were sound asleep. Jaime turned to smile at Abigail then led her to the master bedroom and settled her under the comforter. “I’ll be here in a minute,” she whispered, kissed her daughter’s forehead, then went to get ready for bed.

  When Jaime came back, her daughter was already asleep. She slipped into bed next to Abigail and looked up at the ceiling. Putting aside thoughts of her day, she sighed. Her children were safe, sleeping under their warm blankets. All was well, so she closed her eyes.

  A ray of moonlight shone on the wooden stairs. It pierced the blackness, shifting the atmosphere. Silence was heavy and the emptiness a dark void. No one seemed to be around. Jaime looked up the stairs, but there was no sign of life.

  Boards creaked in the upstairs floor, but there were no voices. Jaime went up to see. Cold air surrounded her, making her shiver. She reached out but didn’t sense any presence. Unsure who was there, she stepped cautiously along the carpet runner.

  Down the hallway, the door to a bedroom was ajar, as though an unseen breeze had blown it. As Jaime looked, the door fully opened and slammed against the wall. The loud noise startled her, making her jump. She wrapped her arms tightly about her waist.

  This was foolish. Jaime didn’t need to be afraid. She was a witch, a psychic one at that. She could see ghosts and communicate with them. She’d done so, many times. There was no reason to fear that this presence would be any different.

  A bloodcurdling scream echoed off the walls, causing Jaime’s heart to pound in her chest. For a second, she thought it was her own voice but then realized it wasn’t. The voice was familiar, though, someone she knew.

  The scene turned watery, so Jaime couldn’t decipher what was happening. A bad feeling permeated the space, making her shudder. “Who is it?” she said, but received no answer. “Who is there?”

  Then a horrible face appeared before her, a man with rotted teeth and dirty clothes. The stench of his body filled her nostrils. Jaime recoiled and the man vanished, leaving a sense of foreboding in his wake. Something awful had happened. She spun around to see the man again, looming behind her.

  Jaime held her breath, waiting to see what would happen. The man leered at her, his form more smoke than substance. When she stepped closer, the image vanished. The urge to leave was strong, so Jaime headed back to the stairs.

  But a high-pitched scream stopped her. It was her aunt; Jaime was sure of it. “Aunt Iris?” She scanned the upper hallway but didn’t see anyone.

  Jaime raced downstairs to see if her aunt was there. She hadn’t known this was her house, yet it must be. She went from room to room but couldn’t find Iris. She wasn’t in the kitchen or the dining room or the family room. She wasn’t anywhere at all.

  Jaime’s pulse raced. Aunt Iris had to be somewhere. She must. If she lived here, she would be around. Then Jaime caught a glimpse of her aunt’s face, only her expression was distorted. It was one of agony, torture.

  Grief filled Jaime as she searched for her aunt. But the image of the face didn’t return. Only darkness filled the rooms, the shard of moonlight was gone, and the thick silence restored. Yet doom seemed imminent. A muffled sound, one of horror, startled her.

  Jaime bolted upright in bed.

  It was a dream, only a dream. Thank goodness. Jaime brushed aside the thought that it meant anything. Nightmares could be like that, frightening but with no more substance than gossamer in the light of day.

  Jaime had a bad feeling, though. Her psychic dreams had more meaning than a nightmare might. Too many times, a dream had been significant. Jaime had known things from dreams and communicated to spirits.

  But Jaime didn’t want to do that anymore. She was done with being a witch. She had children to raise and certainly didn’t want their lives impacted by witchery. Annoyed, she slipped from bed without waking A
bigail and went to the kitchen to heat up the tea kettle.

  It was early, but Jaime didn’t want to go back to bed. Sleep might bring another dream. It would be better to let the daytime hours pass, allow the images to dissipate. It didn’t mean anything—it couldn’t. Aunt Iris was well. She was healthy and doing fine at her home.

  When it was later in the morning—at least after the sun rose—Jaime would call her aunt. Hearing Iris’s voice would put her mind at ease. This was all explainable. When Jaime was unsettled, bad dreams could result. It didn’t mean that she should try to figure out what the dream symbolized.

  She hadn’t used her dream log for some time. She’d decided to give up being a witch. That was a bit harder than it sounded. Since she was a natural witch, her power was inherited. Even so, she didn’t have to use it. Using the abilities only made them stronger.

  After a while, Jaime would rarely feel like a witch. She’d soon be out of practice, so could leave any magical feats to her relatives. Being in a family of witches didn’t help things. It was like trying to give up pastry in a family of bakers.

  Yet Jaime was determined.

  Aunt Iris was eccentric, but she wasn’t missing. She was always around, meddling in everyone’s affairs. She was chatty and outgoing, full of life. If anything, she’d be partying or socializing. She was only sixty years old, and just barely.

  It had been mere weeks since the birthday party. Iris had been the life of the party, dancing and singing as if she was forty years younger. She would outlive most of the family, which was a good thing. Upon her mother’s death, Jaime would have inherited control of the coven.

  Instead, the honor went to Aunt Iris, because she was the younger sister, next in line after Jaime’s mother, Adele. And Jaime was grateful for that, since having to take that responsibility would have put a wrench in her plans. As it stood, she could move aside and let Iris do as she pleased.

  Iris was proud of her powers. She didn’t use them unwisely, but she certainly didn’t hide them. Any persecution she’d endured growing up hadn’t affected her. She ran the coven with kindness and strength, better than Jaime was capable of doing.

  Aunt Iris was adored by the family—and the town, for that matter. She was a little odd, but then, who wouldn’t be while running a coven in a small Georgian town? Such a duty posed unique challenges, and Iris’s good nature seemed to carry her through.

  After two cups of tea, Jaime decided it was late enough to call her aunt. Sunrise cast soft light through the kitchen window. Surely Iris would be up. Yet she didn’t answer Jaime’s call or text. Maybe she was in the shower or out in the garden without her phone.

  Iris wouldn’t ignore her niece; that was certain. Jaime would wait for a bit then try again. A tinge of anxiety riddled Jaime’s belly. She took a deep breath. She was imagining things.

  Jaime had experienced a nightmare. That’s all it was.

  She started making lunches for the kids. It was a school day, so it wouldn’t be long before she had to get them up and ready. She focused on life, real life—the life she wanted. Pushing aside worry, she cleaned up the kitchen, packed the lunches, then went to wake up the kids.

  While they got dressed for school, Jaime showered to get ready for her day. She’d made a career of handling bookkeeping for small businesses. Fortunately, there was a need for that, so she was able to work from her home office.

  Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Jaime went to the kitchen to find that breakfast was in progress. The boys had dressed for school and neatly combed their hair. They had dark hair like their father, but blue eyes instead of the brown eyes so common in the Sanders family.

  Andrew grabbed a box of cereal from his brother. “You had some. The rest is mine.”

  Landon frowned. “Give it back. I wasn’t done with that.”

  Andrew made a face and lifted his hands. “I’ll zap you if you don’t leave me alone.”

  “Boys…please,” Jaime said. “No more arguing. There’s more cereal. That’s not the only box we have.” She rustled in the cupboard for more but was unable to find their favorite. “Share what’s left, and I’ll buy more today.”

  Abigail sat at the other end of the table, nibbling toast. She wore a sweatshirt and her hair was tied back. She had soft brown eyes and light blond hair, a very pretty seventh grader about to become a teen. Whatever would Jaime do when she began to rebel, as teens were expected to do?

  “Is that all you’re going to eat?”

  “I’m not very hungry,” Abigail said, then smeared more jam on the remaining half of her toast.

  Jaime sighed. “Well, I’m scrambling eggs, if anyone wants some.” She had no takers, which figured.

  It wasn’t that easy being a single mom, but Jaime did her best. It was more desirable than living with Elijah Abernathy. He remained a mystery. The courtship had been romantic, as far as she remembered. But her husband had rapidly become an absent husband as well as an absent father.

  If that was going to be the long-term situation, then Jaime figured she’d make it official. Elijah had failed to change despite any talks they’d had. She divorced him last year and hadn’t regretted doing so. She hadn’t changed names when she’d married, so was a Sanders and so were her children. The kids still visited their father, and likely saw him more often than they had when he lived with them.

  “Do we have to go see Dad this weekend?” Abigail said in a whiny voice.

  “You know it’s all arranged,” Jaime said. “Your father wishes to see you every other weekend. And he’s picking you up tomorrow.”

  “I’d rather stay home,” Andrew said.

  “Me too,” Landon said, making it unanimous.

  “You all need to change your attitude, because your father is coming to get you,” Jaime said. “He’s planning for you to spend the night at his place, so you’d best make the most of it.”

  Jaime felt bad about forcing the children to visit. Elijah was the male influence in their life, the only father they had. Encouraging the relationship seemed like the right thing to do. Doubts nagged at her, although she couldn’t fathom why.

  “You should do something different with your hair,” Abigail said, standing beside Jaime. “You always leave it plain.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” Jaime ran her hands through her waves. Her blond hair was shoulder length and had natural curl. She thought the blond waves looked good and accented her caramel-colored eyes. “I thought it looked pretty good like this.”

  “Oh, Mama,” Abigail said. “You should let me do it for you sometime. I could style it, create a trendier look.”

  “We’ll see,” Jaime said. “Now, off to school.”

  A honk signified that Abigail’s ride had arrived. A friend’s mother was driving today. The boys could walk to elementary school, but the middle school was too far away for that. “Bye, Mama.”

  Jaime gave her daughter a hug, glad that she seemed fine, the nightmare forgotten. If only the memory of her own unsettling dream could be as easily put aside—but she’d think about that later.

  “You boys get moving,” Jaime said. “I don’t want you late for school.”

  Once the kids were gone, Jaime cleaned up the mess then went to her desk. She had a small office where she handled accounting. It suited her, as she preferred keeping to herself. There were clients to deal with, and sometimes she went to their homes to go over the numbers.

  Generally, Jaime had her privacy, which she much preferred over a career with other demands. It suited her personality, plus it presented less opportunity to use witchcraft. The less others saw her, the more likely they were to forget her past.

  Previously, Jaime had used her psychic ability for insight into the future. Others had been willing to hire her to do so. But she had refused money for such a task. Although some reached out for the knowledge and believed in her ability, others were doubters or worse.

  After an hour of work, Jaime pushed her chair back. It was difficult to stick to her
task when she was concerned about her aunt. Iris would likely laugh if Jaime told her that it was because of a dream. Jaime hoped her aunt would laugh, as she’d love to hear that infectious sound.

  Only Aunt Iris didn’t answer her phone.

  Puzzled, Jaime was forced to use her ability. After all, this was about a close family member. She wasn’t publicly using her power. This was different. She closed her eyes and placed her hands in her lap. After a few deep breaths, she attempted to contact Iris.

  Since Iris was a powerful psychic witch too, it shouldn’t be difficult to reach her. And it was really only witchcraft if Jaime communicated with ghosts or the dead. This didn’t count. She reached out mentally to feel for her aunt.

  Jaime encountered turbulence, her thoughts thrown off course. She couldn’t get a direct line to her aunt, couldn’t lock on to her aunt’s mind.

  Something was wrong; now Jaime was sure of it. She opened her eyes. It could be her own fault, for failing to practice her skills. Possibly, her psychic ability was failing and that was all that was going on. As disheartening as that might be, it was better than considering something was wrong with Aunt Iris.

  There was only one thing to do. Jaime put her work aside, got in the car, and drove to her aunt’s home. What if Iris needed help but no one was around? Even a witch might need help sometimes. The two-story home was outside of town.

  After a short drive, Jaime arrived to find the place looked normal, although quiet. She got out and rang the bell, but there was no answer. She pounded on the door, calling Iris’s name. But there was no response. Then Jaime felt foolish. Surely her aunt had stayed with a friend. She had many friends, and a lot of family.

  There were many places Iris could be. On the chance that her aunt was inside, Jaime used her key to open the door. She went inside, calling her aunt’s name again. Yet a thorough look around confirmed that her aunt was not at home.

  CHAPTER 2

  Jaime reached out to her sisters for help. As natural witches, each had a unique ability. Together, they could possibly figure out where Iris was. Family stuck together. Jaime and her sisters had each other’s backs.