Paranormal After Dark: 20 Paranormal Tales of Demons, Shifters, Werewolves, Vampires, Fae, Witches, Magics, Ghosts and More

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Is there no God at all?

  No. God exists.

  Doesn’t he?

  Silver Tiger’s lips pinch. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try. Please.” My voice trembles. So do my hands. I hold them to stop their shaking.

  “Magic and faith go hand in hand,” Sapphire Belladonna says.

  “How else do you explain Jesus’ miracles?” Silver Tiger crosses her arms.

  “They were miracles!” I exclaim.

  “Performed by magic,” Silver Tiger counters.

  “So were… are they magic then?” Maybe I’m not alone.

  “They are outside of the mortal realm. The laws of magic, and of time and life, don’t apply to them as they do us.” Sapphire Belladonna touches my necklace. “Where did you get this?”

  I glance down at it. “My best friend gave it to me. It was a birthday present.”

  “Humph,” Silver Tiger snorts.

  “Why? Is there something magical about it?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just a pendant.” Silver Tiger’s nostrils flare a little.

  “Some claim that all religious items, whether they be crosses or statues, all contain a form of… religious magic, if you will.” Sapphire Belladonna flicks the cross so it swings back and forth on the chain.

  “And that’s how miracles happen to this day,” I surmise. “Miracles are proof that He cares.”

  “That, or it’s witches having fun messing with people of faith.” Silver Tiger laughs.

  “I don’t like you!” I snap.

  “I don’t care!”

  “You should care.” The harshness in Sapphire Belladonna’s tone puts to shame the nastiness in Silver Tiger’s, and I’m glad it isn’t directly to me.

  I had so many questions, too many, but to ask them means I believe, and I’m not quite ready for that, not yet at least.

  “I’m surprised you find so much comfort in your religion,” Sapphire Belladonna muses. “Then again, the human race has been using various religions to try to explain the unexplainable for years.”

  “And you know the real truth? Nothing is unexplainable for witches?” I’m still smarting from Silver Tiger’s dismissal of my faith.

  “Faith and reason do not always coincide,” Sapphire Belladonna says, as if reading my thoughts.

  Wonder if the witch can read my mind. I hope not.

  “But no,” she adds, “there is plenty in this world we witches do not understand.”

  “You may well be the key to unlocking the secrets of the universe.” Silver Tiger hangs her head, but I don’t think the witch is truly repentant.

  “Oh, right, because I’m magic.” I flop into the nearest chair. “Why me? Why wasn’t another baby chosen?”

  “A lot of things had to fall into alignment, but that’s a tale for another day.” Sapphire Belladonna points to the door.

  “But—”

  “We aren’t going anywhere. You need not worry. We will never stop watching over you.”

  Although the witch most likely did not intend for this, her words eerily echo throughout the small cottage, and I shudder.

  “We never left you alone.”

  Something in Silver Tiger’s tone suggests she won’t mind doing just that.

  They want me to leave. Fine with me. “I guess I’ll come back another time.”

  “Tomorrow night, when the moon is at its apex,” Sapphire Belladonna instructs. “Silver Tiger, give her a reason for being late for school.”

  “With pleasure.” Silver Tiger’s vicious smile has me retreating until I bump into the wall next to the curio cabinet.

  “With magic,” Sapphire Belladonna adds.

  “Must you always ruin my fun?” Silver Tiger taps a long finger against her cheek before pointing at me.

  A strange force presses against me, and I shriek. I don’t like the coldness, the threat, and I cover my face with my arms.

  “She warded it off,” Silver Tiger murmurs.

  I lower my arms.

  Admiration shines in her eyes for a moment before it vanishes. “You’re older. You do it,” she snaps at Sapphire Belladonna.

  The older witch stares at me as if I’m a puzzle, and I wish I could disappear. “No,” she says. “It appears she’ll have to do it herself.”

  “Give yourself a black eye and dirty your clothes. Someone attacked you.” Silver Tiger watches me with interest.

  I shake my head. “I’ll figure something out myself, thanks. I’ll come back tomorrow night.” I bolt out of the cottage.

  Maybe I’ll return.

  Maybe I won’t.

  Chapter 8

  I WALK BACK into town without a thought as to where I’m going and soon pass my church. In the back is the cemetery, a place I only visited twice before, once for my dad’s—my uncle’s—funeral, and more recently for Tommy Fuller’s. Aunt Patricia prefers to visit his grave alone, and I respect that, but now I’m wondering if there’s another reason why she tried to keep me from the graveyard.

  The wrought iron gate opens with a groan, and I meander through the gravestones. Years ago, during the funeral, the cemetery terrified me. Now all I feel is peace, a completeness, as if the cycle of life to death is the natural order and whether or not there is life after death doesn’t matter.

  Although, of course, I do believe in Heaven.

  I’m just no longer certain I’ll do there one day.

  When I reach the back row of the cemetery, I read each name on the stones and the corresponding epitaph. Although I hardly know any of them personally, I recognize several surnames.

  It doesn’t take me long to find Tommy’s grave. I kneel and pray for him and his family, especially Vince. None of the Fullers have found peace with his passing. Maybe a memorial service will help. The two-year anniversary of his death is coming up.

  Wiping away a tear, I stand and resume my search. Under the sole tree in the back of the cemetery, I find the graves I’m searching for.

  Marian Wynter, devoted wife and loving mother. Absent from the body, present with the Lord.

  Daniel Wynter, devoted husband and loving father-to-be. Absent from the body, present with the Lord.

  I trace their names and dates. Loneliness fills me, and I finally understand Vince’s pain, his anger.

  “Crystal, you know you can talk to me at any time.”

  I don’t turn around, don’t stand. “Father Joseph.”

  “My ears are always willing to listen.”

  How can I talk to a man of God about witches and magic? Father Joseph has been like a father to me. The last thing I want to do is disappoint him, for him to think I’m headed down the wrong path.

  I point to the graves. My throat grows dry, and I clear my throat, wincing at the burning sensation that accompanies it. “Did you know them?”

  “Yes. They were parishioners here many years ago. A wonderful couple, very much in love. God must have loved them just as much to call them to Him when they were still young.”

  A knot forms in my stomach, and I cover my mouth for a few minutes, unable to talk for fear I’ll hurl. Eventually, I manage, “You knew.”

  He squeezes my shoulder before walking forward to stand between the headstones. “Please understand it was not my place to tell you.”

  “I know that. But why did she… why didn’t Patricia raise me as her niece? I could have known all along about my real parents.” The resentment and hurt in my voice mirrors the pain I feel inside. The knot tightens painfully.

  “I don’t know for certain.”

  “But you have a guess.”

  “Yes. Marian and Daniel prayed for years to have a child, many, many years. You were their miracle. Patricia and Richard also wanted a child but never prayed and blamed God for their inability to have one. When the Lord took your parents home, I think Patricia and Richard saw their chance to finally have their own child, even if that child was not completely theirs.”

  A squirrel scurries across the ground
and climbs into the tree, making so much noise it shatters the silence that has fallen.

  Father Joseph touches Marian’s stone. “I still pray for her each day.”

  “She’s been dead for almost sixteen years. She’s had to have found peace by now.”

  “Not all souls find peace.” He glances at his watch. “I have a meeting. Perhaps we can talk more tomorrow. Say, after dinner?”

  His way of saying I should go to school tomorrow. I grin. “Yes. Thank you, Father. I would like that.”

  “Good.” He nods and walks away, his retreating form solid and strong.

  Who knew my parents better—their priest? Or their sister-in-law? I doubt my mother talked to Father Joseph before deciding to follow through with Patricia’s suggestion to contact witches.

  Why didn’t Patricia seek them out herself?

  * * *

  BETWEEN THE WITCHES and the cemetery, I’m spent. No way am I going to school. It’s the first time I’ve cut, and Mom’s sure to learn about it, so instead of returning home, I head for her work. By now, it’s noon, and my stomach’s rumbling, but it might be from nerves rather than hunger. More than a little nervous, I walk toward her desk.

  A mountain of paperwork covers her workspace, and my mom lifts her head to peek above the stacks as I approach.

  “Crystal.” Mom doesn’t sound or look surprised to see me. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem upset either.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t go to school today.”

  Her eyebrows furrow then relax. “I guess I can’t really blame you. Yesterday was not how I expected your birthday to go.”

  “Me neither.” I shrug.

  “Let’s start over and talk this time. I promise I won’t yell anymore.” She pulls up her sleeve and looks at her watch. “Lunchtime already. Times just flies here,” she mutters. “Let’s go eat.”

  I smile at everyone Mom says goodbye to and follow her two doors down. The place is quaint and cozy, and the scent of fresh soup fills the air. Never ate here before. Other than some treats from the bakery, we don’t eat out a lot. Mom doesn’t make a lot as a secretary.

  She pats my back. “Pick a seat. I’ll order for us.” Mom stands in line.

  Only a few booths are available, and I claim the one all the way in the back.

  The bell from the door opening jingles, and a police officer walks in.

  Great. I slide down in my seat. Even if Mom’s with me, I can still get in trouble for not being in school. My first instinct is to pray he doesn’t see me, but what better chance will there be to prove I’m not magic than by failing to use it?

  So I sit up straight. How does one use magic? You don’t see me. You don’t see me. You don’t see me…

  He walks past my booth and enters the bathroom.

  Must be one oblivious police officer. I definitely look my age, especially since I didn’t put on makeup today.

  Mom sits down a few minutes later and removes a sandwich and a drink from the red tray. “The rest is yours.”

  The French onion soup is phenomenal, the cheese on top melted to perfection, nice and stringy, just the way I love it. My turkey sandwich has a strange but yummy glaze on it, and I devour my food as if I haven’t eaten in days. A cherry soda completes my meal.

  “Do you want to talk?” she asks after I’m done eating.

  “I visited their graves.”

  “Honey, you could have asked me to go with.” Mom reaches across the table and pats my hand.

  Don’t let this ruin lunch. I’m not sure if I’m praying or trying to use magic again. Either, I guess. “I did go through the box. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you yesterday.”

  She inhales sharply.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” a male voice asks.

  Crud. I forgot all about the police officer. My mouth open, I glance up at him.

  “Oh, hello, Ms. Miller. Is this your girl?”

  Ms. Miller? How does he know Mom?

  “Yes.” She colors slightly. “She needed a… mental health day today.”

  Mental? Great. Now he’ll think I’m crazy.

  “Don’t we all sometimes. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You didn’t. Thank you, Officer Wallace.”

  The police officer looks to be in his early forties, clean cut with blond hair, a hint of gray at the temples. Good looking enough, I guess, and from the way Mom is smiling, she agrees.

  He tips his hat and walks away.

  “What’s Officer Wallace’s first name?” I ask, more than willing to delay talking about Marian.

  “Francis,” she answers without hesitation before popping the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth. Her already pink cheeks turn red.

  “And how long have you two been dating?”

  She coughs, pounds her fist to her chest, and drinks some of her tea. “We aren’t dating. What makes you think that?”

  “Then you’re hoping he’ll ask you out.”

  “Crystal, how long have I been pushing you to Vince?”

  “Forever.”

  “And how long have you suggested that I go out and start dating again?”

  “Forever.”

  “Maybe we should start taking each other’s advice.”

  I smile as I lower my gaze from her face to the beige table. My newfound understanding of grief does have me looking at Vince in a different light. I always thought him cute. Who knows if he thinks of me as only a friend… or something more?

  Maybe Mom has been pushing me to date Vince because of her own loss.

  “Does Officer Francis Wallace have anything to do with you dying your hair strawberry blonde?” I ask.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mom shakes her head, her hair falling forward over her shoulders. “Now, what were we talking about?”

  Distraction time is over. Don’t let her get upset. “We were talking about the box. I don’t understand why you got so upset. Everything inside it just confirmed what you had told me.”

  I don’t want to lie, but I’m not ready to mention the witches yet or their theory that I’m magic. Better to take things slow, and work to rebuild our strained relationship bit by bit.

  Mom exhales. “I don’t know why I got so upset myself.” She glances at her watch. “I’d love to talk more, but I have to get back to work. You should go straight home. No more playing hooky.” She wags her finger.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  That had been too easy. Does Mom now think the letter is kept somewhere else? How did she know the witches in the first place? She’s not an extremely religious woman, but she fears God and goes to church a few times a year. At least I think she believes in God. Does she dabble in witchcraft in her spare time?

  Mom gathers our trash and throws it away. With a wave, she walks out. Strange. She normally always hugs me goodbye. I miss our closeness already. For so long, it’s just been the two of us. Now there’s ghost Marian and Daniel. And the witches.

  Life is getting way too complicated.

  After a long minute, I leave the store and return home. I’m oddly tired, so I climb into bed. Gradually, sleep claims me, and my dream feature a replay of all the scenes the spell showed me.

  Chapter 9

  BRIANNA BRINGS OVER my missed schoolwork and joins us for dinner. Now we’re sitting on my bed. Bri’s painting her fingernails a bright pink while I work on my history homework. She’s gossiping about classmates, but I don’t care about high school drama and clothes. Not after all I’ve been through the past two days.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Come in,” I call.

  Mom pops her head in. “Did you tell Brianna yet?”

  “Tell me what?” she asks.

  I swallow hard. There’s no reason why my best friend can’t know about my mom really being my aunt, but I won’t tell anyone about the witches, not Brianna, not Lydia, not Mom.

  Staring at my textbook, I mumble, “I’m adopted.”

  “You are?” Brianna jerks back so suddenly
nail polish spills onto the comforter. “I’m such a klutz. I’m sorry.”

  Mom leaves and returns a moment later with a damp cloth. She wipes up the polish then gives me a meaningful look. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

  I stare at the now closed door. “She’s not my mom.”

  “I figured that much when you said you’re adopted,” Bri says lightly.

  I rock back and forth, my arms around my knees. “She’s my aunt. My real mom died in a car crash shortly after I was born.”

  Bri squeezes my arm.

  A huge sigh bursts out of me. “My dad died a few months before I was born. I never… I never got to see him. Not even as a baby.”

  “Wow, Crystal. I’m sorry. So that’s why you stayed home from school today.”

  I nod miserably and start to cry. It’s one thing to learn I was adopted and that my parents are dead. It’s another to have my faith, the one thing I counted on more than anything, be turned upside down. The whole magic thing… I don’t want it to be true.

  “Is there anything I can do?” She looks uncertain, not at all like the overly confident girl she normally is.

  “No.” I swallow past a lump in my throat. In the short time since I learned about my birth parents, they’ve become real to me, and I grieve my loss. After a moment, I retrieve the photo from my pocket—I’ve been carrying it around with me since I found it—and hand it to her.

  “You look just like her.”

  The lump prevents me from answering.

  “They look so happy. Wow, oh wow. How messed up is that? All these years you thought your aunt was your mom. Why didn’t she just raise you as her niece from the beginning?” Bri flops onto the bed and holds out her left hand so she can blow on the wet nails.

  “It is messed up,” I agree. And she only knows half of it.

  “You have more in common with Vince than we thought.”

  I hope I’m not blushing, but my cheeks are definitely warm.

  “Speaking of Vince and boys, there was a new boy at school today. Tall, tan, totally hot. Seems like a loner. Lauren tried to sink her claws into him, but he wanted nothing to do with her. I say one of us should go after him. Fresh meat and all that. The rest of the boys in our school are so… lame.”