by A. W. Jantha
Something barrels out from beneath it, careening toward my face. I shriek and fall over in my rush to back away.
“Zombie wolverine!” Travis shouts. “Zombie wolverine!”
He jumps onto the collapsed chaise longue and we both stare at the escaped animal.
It’s a Boston terrier with two pointed black ears and a white streak of fur down the middle of its forehead that runs over its chin and chest. It looks up at him expectantly.
Travis gives me a sheepish smile.
“It’s wolverine-like,” I say charitably.
He exhales loudly and steps back down, then kneels to scoop up the small dog. “Hey, guy,” he says, scratching its neck. “What are you doing in here?”
The dog nips his finger, and Travis cries out and drops it, falling back on one hip.
The terrier runs around in a tight circle.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” says Isabella’s voice.
I look around, then back at the dog, confused. Realization quickly dawns. “No...”
“Unfortunately, yes!” comes Isabella’s voice again through the Boston terrier’s muzzle. “When I was running out after you, they zapped me! Will I stay this way forever? I mean, I’ve always joked about how nice it’d be to trade lives with a dog, sleeping all day and living in complete bliss, but it kind of feels like I’m a prisoner in a dog-shaped flesh prison!”
Travis looks at me with wide eyes.
By this point, nothing surprises me.
“Isabella, relax! Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so much like a command,” I say.
“You try relaxing after interspecies transformation! I’m a dog!” She starts swatting at Travis’s leg repeatedly with her paw.
“That’s really annoying,” he says. “But I guess it could’ve been worse. Everyone likes dogs, right?”
We both look at Travis.
“Seriously?” I ask. I turn to Isabella. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you back to being yourself.”
“Please tell me you’ve got the spell book,” Isabella says. Her face is so expressive, even as a dog, that I can almost see the real Isabella staring back at me, chewing on her lip with worry.
“Seriously? Yes, I have the spell book,” Travis says, waving it.
She wiggles her stubby tail without answering and whimpers.
“So, um, I think we should get to the graveyard before the Sanderson sisters come back for us,” says Travis. “Didn’t you say that’s hallowed ground, Poppy?”
“What? Yeah. Yes,” I say, in a daze.
“Come on, come on, let’s go,” Isabella says.
“What about my parents?” I ask, but Isabella is bounding through the door.
“Poppy, we’re smart. We’re capable. We can get them back. Together. Trust me. But first we need to come up with a game plan. Now, come on!” she calls over her shoulder. “Travis is right, we’ll be safer in the graveyard.”
This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.
Travis and I hurry to keep up.
“Oh, I get it. A Boston terrier. Because we’re in Massachusetts. Do you get it?” Travis says to me.
I give him a withering look. “Seriously, not the time.”
When we pass through the gate, I spot my parents’ dark sedan parked on the street outside the Sanderson house, partially hidden by some overgrown bushes.
Travis is already there, racing around and testing the handles on each door of the car. “Locked,” he says. “They must’ve had the keys with them when they...” His voice trails off in a way that makes my heart ache even more.
We push on to the graveyard. It’s still and silent, just like before, but the tombstones take on a more ominous air with my family missing. When I shut the gate behind us, I realize that my hands are trembling. The full weight of the situation hits me all at once.
“Oh, god,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Oh my god, you guys, what am I going to do?” The image of my parents and Aunt Dani, their faces frozen in a moment of shock, dances in front of my eyes, just out of reach. I stop to catch my breath and end up crouching with my head against my bent knees and my hands on the top of my scalp. “Oh my god, what have we done?”
“Poppy, we had no way of knowing that any of this was even real,” says Isabella. “It’s not your fault. We’ll get them back.”
I shake my head. “I wanted to come down here and I read that stupid spell that Winifred’s spell book fed to us. I should’ve listened to my parents! They were right! I’m an idiot.” I feel a rush of hot blood to my face.
Travis gives me a worried look. “We can still be spotted from the road.”
I bite my bottom lip and shake my head, barely believing any of this. He walks over and helps me back to my feet, and together we follow Isabella deeper into the damp, dark cemetery.
“Why did this happen?” I ask Isabella. “Why did the spell book find you? Why did it work? Do you know something we don’t?”
“Last week,” she explains, “my parents gave me a DNA test. They thought it would be cool for me to learn more about our ancestors and stuff—our family history as Richardses, that sort of thing. This week, the results came in, and I learned a ton—like, there’s a whole line of us in Louisiana who I never knew about. And you can trace my DNA back to both Ghana and Nigeria.” She hesitates. “I was surprised to learn that my eighth great-grandmother was born in Salem, but she moved south more than three hundred years ago. And her mom was...Elizabeth Sanderson.”
“That’s why you asked about her in class,” I say, realization dawning. “That’s why the book found you.”
Isabella nods. “I think you may be right.”
“But why now?” I ask. “You’ve lived in Salem for years.”
Isabella frowns, considering. “No idea,” she says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“So what, you’re a witch?” asks Travis.
Isabella plops down and gives her neck a scratch with her hind leg. “Sorry. Having four legs is exhausting,” she says. “Who knows what I am? Right now, I’m a dog. But I thought being related to the Sandersons was this cool, kind of interesting thing, you know? Some fun fact I could use as an icebreaker. And I was going to tell you, but I kind of wanted to know more about Elizabeth first, you know, if she was actually a good witch, unlike her sisters.”
“Okay, so you’re a Sanderson and a witch, maybe. And the Sanderson sisters are back, but I didn’t see Elizabeth. And my mom and dad and aunt are in Hell. What was the spell we read exactly?” I say.
Travis crouches low and opens the spell book, and Isabella sticks a paw on the page.
“Here,” she says.
“‘Swap souls’? What does that even mean?” he says before reading the rest of the page. “It says that, basically, souls of the living are swapped for souls in the beyond.”
“This isn’t happening,” I say, as if saying it can somehow make it true. I turn away from both Travis and Isabella and find my legs carrying me farther up the hill. I can see the cemetery chapel from here. It looks even smaller in the dark. The bell is barely visible, the curve of its top throwing off a sliver of moonlight.
“We have to get to higher ground,” I call numbly back to Travis and Isabella. “And out of the trees. If the witches find brooms, we can see them coming.” That’s another lesson I learned from my family: Aunt Dani only got snatched up by Winifred because she wasn’t paying attention and didn’t see the witch swoop down out of the trees.
I sink onto the chapel’s low-slung porch and drop my face into my hands. “What are we going to do?” I feel the fear creeping over me, gaining leverage, crushing the breath from my chest. I inhale deeply and release the air slowly, trying to formulate a plan. But what do you do when your family is in Hell and evil witches are on the loose, hunting you down?
Travis sits down next to me and puts one hand on my knee and his other arm around my shoulders. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says.
That’s
when the tears start coming, spilling hot and salty down my face. When I open my mouth to breathe, I taste them on my dry lips.
“My parents,” I say. “Aunt Dani.”
“I know,” he whispers, holding me tighter.
My whole body shakes.
Isabella comes over and places her paws on the toe of my boot. “We’re in this together. Poppy, you’re one of the smartest and bravest people I know. We got this.”
Above us, the church bell begins to clang of its own accord.
I feel Travis and Isabella tense, and I take a deep breath.
Pull it together, Dennison, I think.
The three of us wait for the bell to quiet. At this point, I can’t even bring myself to be afraid of it. I replay dropping my camera in the Sanderson house. That’s the least of my worries.
As the last toll dies, Isabella sits up straighter. “Poppy, it’s okay,” she says.
“It’s not okay!” I wipe tears from my face, angry at myself for crying, and angry that I didn’t listen to my mom and did something stupid. “My family is in Hell. You’re a dog!”
Travis opens the spell book again and studies the page as Isabella sits down beside him.
“Wait,” Isabella says. “There. In the book. It says the spell breaks at sunrise.”
I blink at them through stinging eyes. “What?”
“The spell says, ‘On All Hallows’ Eve ere twelve is struck, trade three souls until sunup.’ Once the sun comes up, everything will go back to normal.”
I sit up straighter, the lightness of hope rising in my chest at the thought of this nightmare ending at dawn. I never really believed my parents’ stories about that weird Halloween night when they saved Salem and fell in love, but I always thought that if it were real, I wouldn’t have been nearly brave or creative enough to do the things they did, like embarrassing themselves in front of everyone at the Town Hall party or torching the witches in the arts wing. If I have to accept that all this is real, the fact that the spell will break at dawn seems too good to be true. But I say, “Well, that’s reassuring.”
“And you heard the witches. Not a lot happens in Hell, apparently. Your parents should be safe and sound in the meantime,” says Isabella. “Hopefully,” she adds in a tentative voice.
“Yeah,” says Travis, closing the spell book, “but I don’t think those three witches are here for a one-night joyride. Last time they tried to eat kids, Poppy.”
“No matter what, we can’t let them get the spell book back,” I say. “As long as we have the spell book, we have all the Sandersons’ spells. And if this spell breaks at sunrise, we only have to keep them distracted for a few more hours before they get sent back to Hell and my family comes back to us.” I look at Isabella. “And you’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure,” says Isabella. “But if you could help me figure out how to not be a dog anymore, that’d be cool.”
“Of course,” I tell her, drying my face.
But another voice—a voice I don’t recognize—interrupts our conversation: “It’s all not quite that simple, I’m afraid.”
The three of us turn to our left.
Two figures—a small girl and a much taller boy—are striding around the side of the chapel. They’re both pearlescent, their flowy clothes and pale skin emanating warm amber light.
I’ve never seen them before, but from Mom and Dad’s descriptions, I feel like I know them.
“Binx?” I ask, shocked.
Travis stands up next to me, wide-eyed and sputtering, not quite managing to form complete words.
The boy inclines his head. “Hello, Poppy,” he says. “I’m guessing your dad’s no longer a virgin.”
“Gross,” I say.
He tosses two keys on a key ring—the keys to the Sanderson gate and house—on the ground.
“We tried to warn you to turn back,” he says, “but looks like the hint didn’t really materialize for you.”
Thackery Binx’s ghost appraises us, some of his floppy hair falling in his eyes, the rest pulled back in a small ponytail.
Emily stands beside him, smiling serenely. “Hello, friends,” she says. Nothing’s creepier than a child ghost except for two child ghosts, though Thackery, a.k.a. Binx, looks a good five years older than her, at least. Emily’s blond hair is covered by a white cap, and her matching nightgown stops just above her toes. I can see the woods through both of their filmy bodies.
The Sandersons’ appearance made it clear that my family’s story is true, but meeting Binx and Emily is another thing entirely. I’ve heard so much about them—especially Binx—that it’s like meeting my parents’ childhood friends for the first time.
“Ghosts,” Travis hisses urgently to me. “Pops, there are ghosts.”
“You knew there were ghosts,” I hiss back. “I’ve told you the story.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t believe it!”
“Well, neither did I!” I shake my head, stand up, and take a step closer to Binx and his sister. “How do you know my name?”
“You’re a Dennison. You’re practically famous in ghost circles. Anyway, when we saw you approaching the house this evening, with the spell book in her bag”—he looks at Isabella—“we had a feeling you took after your dad. Speaking of which, Max, Allison, and Dani arrived in Hell not long ago and asked me to keep a close eye on you three. We are able to speak with spirits on either side of the veil, after all.”
“My family! Are they okay?” I ask desperately.
Binx nods. “But not for long,” he says. “I’m afraid the spell book’s logic isn’t as straightforward as you say. The spell does not expire when the sun rises. It becomes permanent.”
“Permanent?” asks Isabella, surprise and fear in her voice.
“Permanent dogs,” Travis says. “Permanent ghosts...It sounds like we’re friggin’ permanently screwed!”
“Well,” says Binx, crouching to get a better look at Isabella, “aren’t you a funny little thing? I guess the Sanderson witches didn’t want a wily black cat around anymore, so they made you a cute, simple puppy instead.”
“I am not simple!” Isabella protests.
“Don’t worry,” says Binx, patting her on the head. “I was only a cat for three hundred years. It worked itself out. Eventually.”
She stares at him, appalled.
“I don’t understand,” I break in. “Permanent? Meaning, my family will never come back?”
“It will be permanent,” says Binx, “unless you can find the blood moonstone and destroy it in time.”
Travis’s face lights up. “Blood moonstone! We overheard the witches talking about that!” he says to me. “They said they were going to look for the blood moonstone and their spell book.”
“What’s a blood moonstone?” I ask.
“It’s a magical item hidden in Salem,” says Emily serenely. “But no one knows where.”
“Great. And we have no clue where the blood moonstone is,” says Isabella. “Now we definitely can’t let them get back their spell book.”
I look at Binx and Emily, unable to process what to do next. “Why are you still in the graveyard? My parents said you’d...crossed over that night.”
“The veil is a bit permeable,” says Binx with a smile, “at least for those of us who are needed.”
I crouch and pick up the keys that unlock the Sanderson gate and house, then stand back up. The metal is still cool from Binx’s hand, as if the keys have been sitting in the refrigerator. I pocket them. “Are you sure my family’s okay?” My voice sticks in my throat.
Emily walks over—though her feet never seem to touch the ground—and Travis and Isabella step aside as she kneels in front of me. Her face is small and angelic, the linen cap keeping her hair out of the way. “Wouldst thou like to speak with them?” she asks sweetly.
While I trust Binx and Emily, I’d still like to see my family with my own eyes. Besides, the three of them defeated the Sanderson sisters before. They’ll know what t
o do now. As I realize this, a swell of hope washes over me, warm and comforting. “Yes,” I say, leaning toward the ghost girl. “Please.”
Emily holds out both her hands, palms up. “Here,” she says with a nod.
Travis and Isabella watch me, and Travis nods encouragingly.
I place my hands on Emily’s. Her skin feels real and yet not. If I hold still, her hands seem cool and solid, as if carved from wood. But when I move, my own hands seem to slip through hers just slightly, with little resistance. I shiver.
“Do not be afraid,” she says with a childish lilt in her voice.
Binx comes and places a hand on her shoulder. At first I think he’s going to ask her to get up and leave me alone, but his dark eyes meet mine. “Close your eyes, Poppy Dennison,” he says gently.
When I close my eyes, the glow of Emily’s face seems to follow me into the dark.
“Clear your mind,” Binx murmurs. His voice is serious and soothing.
Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I only have to clear a million spinning thoughts.
“Breathe when I breathe, Poppy Dennison,” whispers Emily.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to follow the movement of Emily based on the rise and fall of her fingers, which seem to press into and through my own.
“Forlorn girl with a family lost,” someone says, “seeking them at any cost.”
My heartbeat quickens. It doesn’t sound like Emily, and I can’t tell whether it’s coming from the graveyard around me or from inside my own head. I have to fight not to open my eyes and try to find the source of the voice.
“Look for them beyond the veil, past candle dark and shadows pale. Bring them here with spirits bright, then fold them back into the night.” Emily squeezes my hands, and somehow I know to open my eyes.
But it isn’t Emily kneeling in front of me any longer—it’s Aunt Dani.
She’s just as colorless and translucent as Emily was, though her hair drifts around her as if there’s a soft breeze. She’s scrubbed her face, but she’s still wearing the costume dress. Washed-out hearts parade down her skirts.
“Hey, kiddo,” she says gently.
My eyes well with tears as soon as I hear her voice.
