“The ghost pointed to something that was obviously important, but as a projection of myself, I couldn’t get a hold of it. It was a plain manila envelope, and it was sitting on an altar.” Sonja paused here, thinking of all the details. “Did you know that Bertha was a witch?”
Belinda nodded. “Yep, I knew.”
“You did?” Sonja exclaimed.
“Bertha was an earth witch. It’s sort of like being a witch in the sense that you worship the earth and elements, but it doesn’t mean she had any magic.”
Sonja shifted in her seat and prepared for a longer conversation than she originally expected. “You’ll have to explain it to me.”
“So, most people who practice witchcraft are not actually witches. They are just people who enjoy reading spells out of books, almost like they are paying homage to the witches of the past. However, there are real witches with actual power. Heck, some people might even consider you a witch.”
“Me?”
“Believe me. You’re not a witch because you can’t use magic, but you do have supernatural abilities. To the lay person that would make you a witch, or at least a medium.”
“I see.”
“Real witches are people who have pledged themselves to the powers of darkness, and in return, they are granted the powers of magic so that they can harness it for evil.”
Sonja shuttered. She couldn’t think of any good reason to pledge yourself to evil or darkness.
“A few of the recorded real witches from history were into some pretty sinister black magic. They were scary stuff.”
“Okay, I see, but none of that explains how my dream is connected to the murder case.”
Belinda shrugged. “Maybe it isn’t.”
“But if it is?” Sonja pressed. She was so certain that there was a connection here that she could almost taste it. “The nightmare, Cass’s book, the altar, the ghost. All of it seems too convenient not to be connected.”
“Well,” Belinda mused. “It is possible that Bertha summoned something she didn’t mean to. Even good people practicing witchcraft can accidently stumble upon something evil.”
“That must be it,” Sonja insisted. “One of the things that have been bothering me is Henry. I mean, he doesn’t seem like he’d know enough to use witch’s gloves to poison someone—heck, in small amounts the plant is downright docile.” Sonja sat back pridefully folding her arms. “I think he’s possessed.”
Belinda shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Based on your description of Henry’s actions alone, I’d hardly say he’s possessed.”
Sonja slumped back in her chair, feeling slightly defeated. “Well, I’m out of ideas. Frank’s arrested Henry, and I’m just not sure if he’s the murderer or not.”
“There is one other option I potentially see here.”
“What is that?” Sonja asked slightly dejectedly.
“Even if Bertha didn’t welcome a spirit through, she might have invited an influence.”
“An influence?”
Belinda stood up. “Follow me.”
CHAPTER 15
* * *
Sonja had been in the basement of the library with Belinda before, but it never got any less creepy. An old arched wooden doorway opened up into the stone stairwell which twisted down into the earth like an entrance to the dungeon in a horror movie.
Once they reached the bottom of the steps, there was another heavy wooden doorway—with a little barred window on it, none-the-less—which opened into the occult section of books in the library.
The room was chilly, the floors and walls crafted completely out of stone. Multiple wooden bookshelves held tomes that looked as if they’d stepped out of the medieval era. Whenever Sonja had a problem with something supernatural, this was the place to come.
“Okay, step into my parlor,” Belinda joked. Even with her humorous attitude, Sonja couldn’t help but feel this was a somber place. According to the volunteer librarian, some of these books held some of the darkest secrets that, in the wrong hands, could be used for the purposes of evil.
Taking a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room, Sonja watched as Belinda scanned the titles of one of the shelves. “Here we are,” she announced, pulling a worn looking title from the shelf.
Sitting down near her friend, Belinda opened the book and flipped through the pages. “Here it is,” she announced and turned the book toward Sonja, pointing at the page.
On the yellowed paper was an image of a skeleton, representing a ghost, who had its fingers to its temples as if it were concentrating. Squiggly lines came out of its head, through a circular shape, and into a living person on the other side.
“Influence projection,” Belinda explained.
“What the heck does that mean?” Sonja asked, not quite grasping the concept yet.
“It means that the influence, personal preferences, or even personality traits of a spirit in the supernatural realm are affecting someone on this side of the veil.”
“The veil?”
“It’s just a fancy term for the barrier between us and the world of the dead.”
“Got it. So, you think some ghost is sending their influence through the veil?”
“It’s a possibility,” Belinda confirmed. “If Bertha did accidently do something she hadn’t intended, maybe she opened a small rift in the veil between the worlds.”
Sonja’s eyes lightened up as she started to understand. “Then it’s possible that an ancient witch is sending her influence through? Maybe even to Henry?”
“Right. What I think is that you, being as sensitive to the world of the dead as you are, picked up on the influence coming through the rift in the veil. You saw a snippet of the ghost’s memory in your dream.”
“Wow,” Sonja whispered. “I can see someone’s memories from the past?”
“Only to an extent, I’m sure. I don’t know exactly how it works, but since the rift is small and they can only send bits and pieces of their influence through you probably got a blurry vision of the memory.”
“Which explains why I couldn’t see anyone’s faces.”
“Precisely.”
Looking back at the picture, Sonja tried to consider these new facts. “What if the spirit is influencing multiple people?”
“It’s possible, but it all depends on how much energy the spirit can expel. If the rift is small enough, they may only be able to influence one person.”
“Like Henry.”
“Yep. And this could be a process that takes place over a period of several years even. Slowly, the ghost’s influence grows stronger and stronger until finally, something snaps.”
“You think Henry’s been targeted through this rift for years?”
“It’s possible. Do you think he really did it?”
“I have no idea,” Sonja admitted. “If it is an influence from beyond the veil, the ghost could easily be targeting anyone, right?”
“While that’s true,” Belinda turned to her friend with a grim look on her face, “it’s up to you and me to make sure we fix that rift. Otherwise, the spirit might go on influencing other people to murder.”
Sonja’s jaw dropped. “You mean, even if we catch the real murderer, more murders might keep happening?”
Belinda nodded. “The spirit could just refocus on a new target for a while.”
“Okay,” Sonja said, unconsciously rolling up her sleeves. “How do we close it?”
“Well, first, we have to find out where the rift is.”
“But the only person who knows that is—”
“Bertha,” Belinda confirmed. The young, dark-haired woman got a wicked smile on her face, “which means we have to hold a séance.”
CHAPTER 16
* * *
Sonja and Belinda scheduled the séance for that coming night at midnight, a time that Belinda called “the witching hour.” Basically, it was the time when the veil was thinnest, and rece
ntly deceased people could speak through.
Supposedly, the longer you were dead, the harder it was to communicate with the living. The only exception was for ghosts who were still stuck between worlds—neither in the world of the living nor the world of the dead.
These were the ghosts who had the most influence on the world around them, and the ones most ghost stories and hauntings were all about.
Sonja had only participated in one other séance ever, and it had been before she realized she had the ability to speak to ghosts. In fact, it was her first encounter with Belinda. It was quite the way of saying “nice to meet you.”
Sonja took the book from the library with her. Belinda told her to “study up” on the topic of influence projection. So, she tucked the book into her purse in hopes that no one saw her with it. What would people think if they saw her carrying an occult book around?
Since Sonja had the whole day off from work, she decided she’d head back to the police station and see if Marie had found out who owned the car. It could be completely unimportant, and the car could just belong to one of the people attending the Easter Garden Party. However, on the off chance that the owner of the car was significant, Sonja wanted to check up on it.
Pulling into the station parking lot, she got out of her car and walked up the concrete steps and into the building.
“Morning, hon,” Marie greeted from behind the desk.
“Hi, Marie,” Sonja nodded.
“Frank is busy at the moment.”
“That’s okay. I wanted to talk to you, anyway,” Sonja admitted.
“Oh?” Marie responded, her painted on eyebrows raising in surprise.
“Were you able to look up that license plate number I gave you?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I did look it up and gave it to Frank since he asked for it.”
“And?”
“Well, hon, it belonged to that sister of Bertha’s, Elanor Hamson.”
Sonja’s jaw dropped. How could she have been so blind? She’d forgotten about the sister. She’d been so preoccupied with Henry, that she’d completely spaced it out. After all, she’d only met the woman briefly.
Sonja even began to wonder if Elanor was also spiritually sensitive, herself. Perhaps that was why she was trying to warn Bertha—not because of some family feud, but because she felt she’d received some sort of answer or premonition from the other side.
“You okay, hon?”
“Y-yeah,” Sonja confirmed. “Was Frank able to track her down, to give word to next of kin and all?”
“He did. Found her staying at the hotel here in town.”
“Do you know which room?”
“Well, dear, I don’t know if I can give out that information.”
“How about free waffles for a week?”
“I really shouldn’t,” she waved a hand. “Now I’ve got work to do,” she said, picking up a pen and beginning to write. Sonja instantly saw the number twenty-six appear. Almost as soon as it had appeared, Marie ripped the paper out of the pad, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the trash.
“Thank you,” Sonja eagerly said, dashing off.
CHAPTER 17
* * *
Much to Sonja’s dismay, when she knocked on the door to room twenty-six at the hotel, no one answered. “Shoot,” she muttered. “I thought for sure I’d catch her.”
While Bertha had seemed certain that her sister was just trying to push the family business, Sonja couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to Elanor’s warning. Did Elanor somehow know about the rift in the veil, or did she simply suspect that someone was out to murder her sister?
Sonja felt a little bad. If anything, Elanor was probably in mourning. Even if she was in the hotel room, why would she bother answering? She could be just trying to find some peace with everything that had happened.
Turning around, Sonja prepared to walk out of the hotel when she suddenly bumped into someone. “Ohhh,” she shouted as the contents of her purse went tumbling all over the carpeted hotel hallway.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman Sonja had bumped into offered, kneeling down to pick the things up.
“It’s quite all right. Just an accident,” Sonja said, also kneeling down. Getting a good look at the woman for the first-time Sonja realized it was Elanor.
“Elanor Hamson?”
“Y-yes?” She said, looking up with a furrowed brow of confusion. “Have we met?”
“My name’s Sonja Reed. My friend and I were running the food booth at the garden yesterday.”
“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “I remember now.”
“Let me offer my condolences for your loss.”
The blonde-haired woman grew misty in the eyes. “Y-yes, thank you.”
“I know you were trying to talk to your sister just before she died,” Sonja mentioned, hoping to push the subject a little further—to find out if there was more to what Elanor had said that day.
“Well, I could have only hoped I could help her,” Elanor admitted.
“I’m sure that’s very difficult,” Sonja comforted.
“But there was really nothing I could do,” she confided in the young woman, proceeding with picking up the contents of the purse and handing them to Sonja. “She made her choice, and now it’s too late.”
“Her choice?” Sonja inquired. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean by leaving the family business,” Elanor said adamantly, forcing back the tears. “I’ve tried for years to get her to come back, but she just wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“You mean because she has a new life here in Haunted Falls?”
Elanor’s face scrunched up. “You mean how she abandoned her family, my dear? She’s the one who turned her back on me, on our parents. And never forget it.” More quickly and adamantly, she began clearing up the items and just shoving them in Sonja’s purse. “You’d think with our upbringing, in the proper manner, that she’d know better.”
“Your upbringing?”
“Our father was a gardener, you see. He taught us our plants in and out.” Slowing down, Elanor sighed happily and stared off into space. “It was the best time of life, indeed. Before the world became really complicated. My Mom and Dad owned their very own garden center. Mother was in charge of keeping the plants alive and well—just the way the customers liked it—and Bertha and I helped.”
“So you guys were learning about plants pretty early on?” Sonja nodded, thinking that it was only fitting that Bertha would hold onto that part of her heritage, even if she wanted to leave the family business. “Bertha must have loved that.”
“It’s true, she did. So, how could she go off and leave the family business? Starting her own garden business, instead of staying and helping out, was a slap in the face to my parents.” Elanor tisk-tisked. “Even planting poisons and such in her garden.”
At this, Sonja perked up. “You know about the poisons?”
She nodded. “It’s awfully dangerous to keep plants like that in a community garden. Why else would someone plant something that was deadly or vicious in the garden unless it was for some sort of witchcraft?”
“Witchcraft?” Sonja gasped. Elanor knew her sister was practicing?
“Embarrassing, really. Leave the family to start her own garden, doing pseudoscience herbal remedies, even pretending she was a witch. It’s all such a disgrace. If only she would have come home things would be better.”
Things were starting to make a little more sense. It was likely hard enough that Bertha had left home and family for a life on her own, but the fact that she was also into alternative remedies and enjoyed practicing witchcraft was probably really embarrassing for Elanor. “Maybe she was happy here?” Sonja offered.
Elanor huffed defiantly and reached for the last item on the floor that had fallen from Sonja’s purse. Gasping, the amateur sleuth realized that it was the book on the occult that she’d borrowed from the library.
“What in heaven?” Elanor exc
laimed, holding the book up. “Don’t tell me you and Elanor practiced this weird, fake magic together?”
“No,” Sonja confessed, feeling her face growing hot with embarrassment. “This is just for study.”
Standing up defiantly with her chest thrown out, Elanor gave the book to Sonja. “My dear, don’t let my sister fool you even from beyond the grave. There isn’t any real healing, physical or mental, that comes from that. The only healing comes from family and loyalty.”
“T-thanks,” Sonja stuttered, “I’ll definitely consider it.” Without another word, she darted off, feeling ridiculous.
“Keep in mind what I said, dear,” she called after her. “Don’t let my sister fool you.”
* * *
Sonja felt horrible. She had hit another dead end in her investigation. She had wanted to believe there was more to Elanor’s warning, but it was nothing more than an old family disagreement.
She felt bad for both sisters, understanding just how hard it must be to have different views on life but still love each other so much. It was clear that Elanor had loved Bertha, but had been upset by her sister’s decision to leave the family business and open a community garden, instead.
Now, what was she going to do? She supposed the only thing she could do was wait for the night and hope that the séance revealed something more significant.
CHAPTER 18
* * *
Sonja made her way up to the Smith Manor, where Belinda lived, at about eleven-thirty. Taking the road up the mountain so late at night, especially for the purposes of a séance, felt like de ja vu. She could remember almost every detail of that night so many months ago. She’d felt so frightened when the raging storm outside had blown the window open and a ghost stepped through.
Nowadays, ghosts and spirits were almost a weekly occurrence in her life, and Sonja knew they were usually visiting her to get her assistance in some matter. She hardly felt spooked at all.
Savory Spring Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 11) Page 6
