Savory Spring Waffle (The Diner of the Dead Series Book 11)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Pulling up to the gate to the manor, Sonja rang the intercom bell.

  “Sonja,” Belinda’s voice echoed excitedly through the little metal box, “come on through to the back.”

  “The back?” Sonja asked, but Belinda didn’t answer. The gate buzzed and began to slowly open.

  Following her friend’s orders, Sonja drove her van around to the backside of the building and parked. Stepping out of the vehicle, she was surprised to see Belinda walking out to the middle of the garden area just behind the house.

  The large yard was a beautiful sight under the clear night sky. An array of lanterns and candles arranged in a large, wide circle illuminated the plants and flowers in a soft yellowish glow. At the center of the garden, directly in the middle of the circle, stood Belinda near a stone pedestal.

  “Sonja,” Belinda waved. “Over here.”

  Walking over, she instantly noticed the familiar spirit board sitting on top of the flat stone surface.

  “We’re doing this outside?” Sonja asked.

  “It is spring,” Belinda pointed out, “and there isn’t a storm tonight. Not like last time.”

  “Are we really doing this?” Sonja asked, feeling suddenly nervous looking at the whole set up. The memory that first time started coming slowly back, along with the fear she’d felt that night.

  “We want to close the rift, don’t we?”

  Sonja nodded. “Right, let’s do it.” Trying to remember how this whole ritual went, Sonja placed her fingers on the little plastic planchette—a triangular device with a circle of glass in the middle—which sat atop the spirit board.

  “Wait,” her friend insisted, “I have to light the candles.” Pulling out a lighter, Belinda slowly lit three tea lights which sat around the board on the stone altar. “There.”

  “Now we put our fingers on the planchette?”

  “Right,” Belinda nodded, placing her own fingers on the plastic triangle.

  Sonja followed suit, feeling a tingle of anticipation running through her body.

  “Do you remember the words?”

  She shook her head. It had been almost a year since the last séance and she couldn’t recall the words they had said.

  “Together, we’ll repeat the phrase, we call you, spirits of the other world six times.”

  “Got it.”

  “Ready?” Belinda asked, closing her eyes and tilting her head slightly back.

  “Ready.”

  Quietly at first, and then growing louder, the women spoke in unison. “We call you, spirits of the other world. We call you, spirits of the other world. We call you, spirits of the other world. We call you, spirits of the other world. We call you, spirits of the other world. We call you, spirits of the other world.”

  As they finished the chant, a cool breeze blew through the garden, chilling Sonja through her jacket.

  “Are there any spirits in the garden here tonight?” Belinda asked solemnly. “If so, please reveal yourself.”

  The two women waited a moment, but then felt the planchette jolt slightly, twitching under their fingers. Slowly, the glass circle came to rest on the word yes.

  They both looked at the answer with wide eyes. Sonja felt her heart speeding up to a quickened pace.

  “Welcome, spirit,” Belinda greeted the air. “Are we in the presence of Bertha Hamson?”

  The planchette moved away from the word yes and slowly moved around the board in a circle until it rested on no.

  Both women looked up at each other nervously. “Who is it, then?” Sonja whispered.

  Suddenly, the planchette started going crazy, going from on letter to the next. B, then u, then r, then n, all over the board until it had spelled out the phrase burn witch.

  “Burn witch?” Sonja asked as the wind around them began to pick up.

  “Oh no,” Belinda whispered. “I think it’s the influence of the ghost at the rift coming through.”

  “What?”

  “We have to hurry and close the circle.”

  “Why?” Sonja found herself yelling as the sound of the wind became more intense.

  “We might be feeding it, giving it more power to influence its target.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sonja sputtered. “How do we do that?”

  Before Belinda could answer, Sonja felt strange, as if she were falling backward into a deep black hole that had appeared out of nowhere. Her friend grew smaller and smaller as the darkness engulfed her until Sonja had no sense of herself anymore.

  * * *

  Bertha Hamson knelt in front of her altar, waving a cinnamon scented incense stick in the air. “I purify this magical space of mine,” she whispered. “I purify it.”

  Setting down the incense stick in the burner, she picked up the old tome of a spell book and opened it up to the page marked by the ribbon. “Bringing the influence of a deceased loved one,” she read aloud to herself.

  Glancing up at the items set upon the altar, she took in the image of her mother and father standing together outside in the old church garden. They were young and beautiful, just like Bertha remembered them.

  Finally, she had a picture of her dear sister, Elanor, who was taking it far harder than Bertha—their parents passing.

  Looking over the spell in the old book she’d found at the library, she was determined to help her sister feel a little more peaceful about the family tragedy.

  Lighting candles on the altar, Bertha proceeded to follow the instructions step by step as outlined in the book. Taking the picture of her parents, she set it next to one candle, and the picture of her sister went by another.

  Slowly, she spoke the words of the spell, closing her eyes and visualizing what she wanted to happen.

  When she’d finished reciting the words, she opened her eyes and squeaked nervously. Both pictures had caught in the flames and were burning.

  “Oh, no,” she muttered, reaching out try and stop the flame. It was too late, the flames grew like two pillars. Bertha watched with wide eyes as the fires came together, almost as if by some unseen force, and formed a tall oval shape.

  She gasped as a face appeared between the flames, a man with a bald head and wild eyes. She’d never seen anything quite like this before and it frightened her.

  The man’s features, the deep wrinkles in his skin, were angry. His mouth dropped in a sickening scowl. “Burn witch,” he muttered. “Burn witch, burn witch, burn witch, burn!” His voice grew louder and louder as his skin seemed to turn a waxy consistency, melting from his face and dripping off onto the floor in puddles. When he shouted his final words, “Burn witch,” he was nothing more than a skull.

  The flames suddenly vanished into the darkness, as if they’d never been there at all.

  * * *

  Gasping for air, Sonja sat upright from where she lay in the soft grass.

  “Sonja,” Belinda was shouting, leaning over her.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she reassured her friend. “Did you close the circle?”

  “Yes, but then you passed out. Your eyes rolled into your head. It was scary.”

  “It was for me too,” she admitted.

  “What happened?”

  “I was Bertha for a moment.”

  Belinda’s mouth dropped open in an O of surprise. “You were?”

  “Yes, and I think I know where the rift is.”

  CHAPTER 19

  * * *

  “It was this very book,” Sonja indicated, pointing to the volume she’d borrowed from the library as they drove down the mountain road toward town. “She cast a spell out of it.”

  “This is exactly why those occult books need to stay in the basement where people can’t get them. If someone who doesn’t understand what they are dealing with uses it, they can cause some serious problems.”

  “I thought you said only a few people who dedicated themselves to darkness had magic like that?”

  “That’s true. Bertha probably didn’t have any magic of her own, but that doesn’t mea
n, if you perform the right ritual, that powers from the other side might not break through.”

  “Got it,” Sonja nodded.

  In a matter of minutes, they’d pulled up in front of the cottage.

  All the lights were off and there weren’t any deputies or police cruisers in sight. “Good. It looks like they’ve finished going over the crime scene,” Sonja noted, getting out of the van.

  Running over to the building the two women tried the front door. “Locked,” Belinda groaned.

  “Let’s try the window into the room with the altar. That’s where the rift is anyway.”

  Heading around the building, Sonja pressed on the window and was relieved to feel it give. “It’s open.”

  Climbing in, they sat in front of the old altar.

  “Let’s get started,” Belinda instructed, opening the book. “To close the rift, we have to light two candles side by side, say the words until the rift appears, and then bring the candles together and blow them out.”

  “Okay, let’s just get this over with,” Sonja said, pulling two candles close. As she did, she spotted the manila envelope the ghost had pointed out before. “Wait,” she ordered, grabbing the envelope and opening it. Pulling out the papers that were inside, she gasped.

  “What is it?” Belinda asked.

  “It’s paperwork to have Elanor Hamson committed. Looks like Bertha was planning on having her sister put away.”

  “But why?” Belinda shrugged.

  Sonja glanced at the two candles next to each other on the altar and back at the paper. “Of course! Because Elanor was the one being influenced by the spirit projection, not Henry.”

  “What?” Belinda blurted.

  “Bertha was casting a spell to give her sister some confidence and peace after their parents passed. When the rift opened, the spirit probably targeted Elanor. That’s why she became so dogmatic and frightening in the last few years. Maybe Bertha was scared about what her sister might do and didn’t know how to reverse what she’d done. So, the next best thing was to have Elanor committed.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, and she didn’t finish it in time.”

  “And neither will you two,” came a surprising voice from behind them.

  Spinning about, the two women found themselves facing Elanor Hamson. “You’re both witches, just like my sister.”

  “We’re not witches,” Sonja argued.

  “Don’t try to fool me. I know what you are and what you’re trying to do. Witchcraft is a crime and must be punished by death,” the woman’s voice warbled slightly, turning from her normal voice to the guttural voice of a man and then back again.

  “You killed your sister,” Sonja accused.

  “She was a witch. She betrayed home and family. She needed to be cleansed,” her voice croaked again. Being this close to the rift, the evil influence was clearly stronger.

  “Start the ritual,” Sonja ordered.

  “No,” Elanor shouted, “No more witchcraft. It’s what took my sister away from me, away from the family.”

  Belinda didn’t listen and lit the two candles, going right into the chant.

  “Stop,” Elanor cried, stepping forward and pulling a knife from her purse. “I was hoping to just poison you two like I did my sister, but it looks like things will need to get a little messy.”

  “You poisoned her with witch’s gloves?” Sonja asked, hoping to keep the violent woman occupied for just a few moments until the ritual could be completed. “From her own garden?”

  “Yes, it was easy,” she admitted, stalling just as Sonja had hoped. “After she refused me again yesterday, refused my offer for redemption, I went to the cottage and found a jar of dried flowers from the digitalis. It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. So, I put over half the jar, likely forty to fifty buds, into her French press where she was already steeping her tea—enough to kill her in a matter of hours.”

  “You didn’t cut them from the garden?” Sonja asked.

  “Of course not. Do you think I’d want to chance being caught?” Holding up the knife, she took a step forward.

  “Where is the French press now? Where did you take it after you gave your sister a dose?”

  “I hid here, in the back, and after she drank I took the press with me.” Taking another step forward, her eyes seemed to glow with hundreds, if not thousands of years of hatred from beyond the grave. “Now, no more questions. Time to face your judgment,” her voice dropped into an evil growl.

  Just as she was about to attack, the two candles burst into pillars of flame and the face of a man shown through. “Burn witch, burn witch, burn witch,” he chanted. Soon Elanor joined in unison with him, her eyes glazing over and glowing more brightly.

  “Hurry,” Sonja screamed.

  Belinda pushed the two candles together, and the man’s voice shouted angrily as the flames closed in over him. Then, with one heavy drawn breath, Belinda blew out both candles.

  With one final agonizing scream, the ghost disappeared for good.

  Instantly, Elanor stopped in place, shaking her head like she felt sick. “What am I doing?” she muttered. Looking at the knife in her hand, she gasped and tossed it to the floor. “What have I done?” she whispered. “I’ve killed my own sister. I warned her, I did, but I still killed her anyway.”

  CHAPTER 20

  * * *

  “So, the spirit speaking through the rift wasn’t a witch at all?” Sonja’s father asked, stabbing his fork into the greens atop his Spring Garden Waffle. The familiar noise of The Waffle Diner and Eatery in the background was a welcoming sound after the few days of craziness. The bunnies and eggs from Easter were still adorning the diner, since Sonja hadn’t had time to take them down yet.

  “The ghost of an ancient witch hunter—which explains why poor Elanor had become so strangely dogmatic and angry. He was influencing her to carry out the same fearful murderous acts that had happened in the past. Part of Elanor knew that something was wrong, which is why she came to warn her sister during a brief moment that she was in her right mind.”

  “I’m just grateful it wasn’t one of those witches,” her father admitted, shoveling a bite into his mouth. “You know, dear, next time let’s leave off all this green stuff.”

  Sonja rolled her eyes at her father, sipping from her cup of coffee. “Anyway, it made so much more sense when I realized it. Elanor was one of the only people who would recognize the witch’s gloves on sight and know how much to use to kill someone.” She shrugged. “It’s just a little sad that she did it all while being influenced by the anger of a witch hunter.”

  Samuel sighed and shrugged. “I wish I could say you get used to things like this, but you don’t. It’s sad every time someone innocent is caught up in the supernatural.”

  Picking up one of the tiny containers of creamer, Sonja opened it and poured it into her mug. “In a way, Bertha sort of killed herself.”

  “She just didn’t know what she was getting involved with,” her father admitted. “In many ways, she’s just as innocent and as guilty as Elanor.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And Frank has enough to convict her?”

  “Not only is she confessing to the whole thing, they also found the French press, full of witch’s gloves, in the trunk of her car. I’m thinking that Elanor is going to try and plead temporary insanity.”

  Her father took another bite of the greenery from atop his waffle, making a face as he chewed.

  “Anyway,” Sonja said, standing up. “Would you like me to bring you out some Cinnamon Sugar Attack Waffles?”

  Samuel beamed up at his daughter, pushing his plate away. “That would be lovely.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “Hey,” he stopped her. “One more thing. Didn’t you say the witch’s gloves plant in the community garden was cut back? Shouldn’t we be worried about that?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “If Elanor used pre-picked f
lower buds, then who cut the plant?”

  Sonja was about to shrug when a lightbulb turned on in her head. “Oh no,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back. Run into the kitchen and tell Vic I had to run out really quick.”

  “Okay,” her father nodded, watching her disappear out the front door.

  * * *

  Sonja knocked hard on the front door to Alison’s house. When the door opened, Ally’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sonja, what are you doing here? Aren’t you scheduled for the diner this morning?”

  “I am,” she admitted. “Can I come in for a second?”

  “S-sure,” her friend nodded.

  Pushing into the house, Sonja headed straight for the kitchen.

  “Are you looking for something?”

  Sonja spotted the small planter in the window and instantly recognized the purple bell flowers growing there. “Yes, this,” she noted, picking up the whole thing and dumping its contents out into the trash.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” Ally exclaimed.

  “You got that plant from the garden on Easter?” Sonja confronted her.

  “Well,” Alison stuttered a little. “Okay, you caught me.”

  “It’s poisonous. Too dangerous to have around Cyndy.”

  “Poisonous,” her friend paled. “Oh no.”

  “Well, it’s in the trash now. Make sure to leave it there.”

  “Okay, you won’t have to twist my arm,” she said, putting her hands up.

  “Good, you’re my best friend. You’re like a sister to me. I wouldn’t want to see anything bad happen to you or anyone in your family.”

  “Thanks, Sonj’.” She smiled. The friends embraced for a moment.

  “Now, I left Vic all alone in the kitchen to come do that. I’d better get back.”

  “Sounds good. And Sonja?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry for taking the plant after Bertha told me not to, I mean.”

  “It’s okay,” she smiled. “We all make little mistakes. I’m just glad Cyndy didn’t accidently eat any.”

  “Me too.”

  Sonja shrugged. “And I’m sorry, too.”