Going Home (Cedar Valley Hauntings Book 1)

by Renee Bradshaw

  Jordan swallowed. “What is this stuff you speak of?”

  “You know.”

  “I don’t. That’s why I keep asking.” He threw a pickle round, and it stuck to my arm.

  “Ugh. Like spells.” Were spells real?

  He coughed. “You guys are going to be witches?”

  “She said it’s kind of like that. But no. I want her to teach me how to make this stop if it happens again. How to make it stop without pushing my way through a twelve pack of beer till I pass out.” His blank stare made it evident, he didn’t understand. “I want the hallucinations to go away too. Usually, when it happens, I can be in a room full of people, and no one will notice anything out of the ordinary happening. I see it all though. I want to figure out how to make that stop. I want to be certain of the difference between reality and these messed up visions, and I want reality to be the only thing I see.”

  “Is that why… with all the drinking?” He eyeballed my trash bag of beer cans on the deck. “That’s a lot of empties.”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes I feel different, and I drink until I don’t anymore.” I flopped back down in the lawn chair, and another strap popped loose in the back, breaking the tension. We laughed as the fear of the day eased out of us.

  Jordan raised his palm. “Do you think you should become a witch though?”

  From what Cecelia had told me, there was no becoming a witch. I had been born that way. “Should I go through life killing people whenever they get on my nerves? I mean...be careful, I might flip your skin right over your head.”

  He snorted, but a dash of fear glinted in his eyes. “If you wanted to, you would have done it in ninth grade.”

  “Nah. Aunt Dee said my fear of Dad blocked my power, until he died.”

  I didn’t tell him about the little things over the years, including the flowers in Tracy’s apartment and the dreams. He slurped his drink, and I stuffed a few more fries into my mouth. The grease and salty goodness filled me. Since I’d been home, food had been tasting like food again, and not just cardboard. Food hadn’t been that good since Mama left.

  Mama.

  “One thing doesn’t make sense,” I said.

  “One thing?”

  I ignored his comment. “If Mama and Aunt Dee could do these things — the things I did today — why did they stay?”

  Tears pricked my eyes, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away, but let them run down my face.

  “You mean, why’d they stay with your dad?”

  “They had options. They could have left, or killed him, or made him better. Why did they let him treat them like that? Kill Mama? Why did they let him do what he did to us?” I fell into my hands, hiding my face as tears streamed.

  “I don’t know,” he said, and I looked up. His phone chirped; he pulled it out of his pocket and turned it to silent. “There isn’t always a reason. Just because someone has power, doesn’t mean they have the power to use it, or leave. Ken’s partner, Jennifer, she left her husband last year, after five years. That’s a woman with a license to kill, a blue belt in judo, who taught women’s self-defense once a month at the station. Love still clouded her judgment.”

  Love. Ha. “Jordan—”

  “No. It’s more than that, and it’s different. I like to think if my mother had been alive when my dad changed, becoming abusive, she would have left. Because I love her. But, would she have been able to see through the other side of the muddled mess abuse fills your mind with? I don’t know.”

  In the silence, a yellow-bellied bird landed on the porch. He had a yellow underbelly, and A black smear on its chest like a crescent moon wiggled as he chirped a quick hello, before taking flight into the woods.

  “Hey, I almost forgot, I snooped while you were sleeping.” He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a long chain. “Found a necklace in a broken box behind the wood pile. Do you suppose this was what Dee was talking about?”

  I accepted the necklace, a purple gem dangling from the end and cool to the touch. One side of the rock was rounded while the other flat. The flat side had an image inscribed, a crude face with a mouth, nose and a line separating two eyes. It looked familiar. “I know this necklace.”

  Jordan went into the kitchen and came back out a moment later with a picture frame. “I thought so too. I looked through the stack of picture frames on the kitchen counter and found this.”

  The picture was of Mama and used to hang in the hallway. It was a photograph I had not paid much attention to, not until the other day when I collected the broken frames from the house and piled them on a counter. I studied it with Jordan, Mama’s face on the other side of spider-webbed glass.

  I never knew how beautiful she was under all of her makeup, but she didn’t wear any in this picture. Everyone always said we looked alike, and sometimes I could see it. The hair color, the shape of the eyes. I never would be as beautiful as her. Mama’s face was full where mine was angular. She smiled a wide joyful smile while mine was a lie. Her eyes shined full of life and promise where mine had always looked emptily back from the mirror. In this picture, she smiled, as though the photographer had caught her mid-laugh.

  Around her neck hung the necklace I held in my hand. She wore a second chain, though it was tucked into her pink blouse hiding whatever charm she kept at the end.

  “Why did they keep this in a lockbox?” I clasped the silver chain behind my neck, closed my eyes and leaned back, just as a wolf howled.

  “I don’t remember hearing so many wolves out here before,” Jordan said.

  “It’s just the one.” The breeze picked up, lifting the hair from my forehead. “But I don’t know what that means either.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  A week passed in a blur. I didn’t take off the necklace, and nothing out of the normal happened. No Aunt Dee. No dreams about Mama. No sparks from my fingertips, and no wolves in the forest. We hadn’t even heard from Perry and Donald.

  Gary came by with a mini fridge, a microwave, and an old love seat that reeked like wet dog. The next day, Jordan brought over a thick mattress cover that we tucked into the cushions, and the odor wasn’t as noticeable anymore. He also set up an old desktop computer with a bulky monitor and dropped off a pile of DVDs.

  Jordan came by for dinner three nights that following week: by himself on Monday, with Ken on Tuesday, and with Nathan on Friday. The night we were alone, we sat on the porch staring out into the woods, waiting for something to happen. The nights he brought someone else, we watched DVDs on the computer.

  On the first Saturday after Bobby, Cecelia became designated Meg sitter. She brought a family sized pizza. Slung over her wrist like a purse, was one of those five-dollar tubs of ice cream you can use to feed a family of ten. Her resemblance to Mama deepened with her weight loss from being sick. We hugged when she walked in the door.

  Cecelia pulled me outside. “Let’s sit outside and eat till the bugs come out. Then we’ll watch the movie. You ever see Bridget Jones?”

  “Is that where they yell, ‘show me the money’?”

  “Same actress.” We stepped out onto the porch where four new lawn chairs had been set up.

  I asked, “Whoa, did you bring these?”

  The old plaid lawn chair still sat there; the book Jordan had been flipping through all week, rested on the remaining straps. “I picked them up on the way, thought it’d be nicer than what was going on out here now. Besides, I gotta get all the fresh air as possible. Fresh air. My doctor actually wrote that on the prescription pad. Isn’t she a hoot?”

  I ate a piece of pizza, picking off all the toppings and dropping them back in the box. She pulled them out and slapped them on her slice. Something heavy fell in the woods, and we heard scurrying and flapping of wings. At least a dozen birds flew into the valley, then straight up, disappearing from sight over the house.

  “I’m sorry about the angels,” I said. “I should have given them to you when you asked about them.” Cecelia shrugged. “Did Gary give
you the ones that hadn’t been completely destroyed? I told him any that looked like you might be able to fix up, you were welcome to.”

  “Yes. Thank you, sweetie.” She squeezed my knee.

  “Do you collect angels?”

  She chewed, still looking at the sky where the birds had disappeared. She swallowed and picked a piece of tomato skin from between her front two teeth with her pinky nail before she answered. “My mother did. When she was younger. Actually, her mother did. And her mother before her. It wasn’t the large collection your daddy had, not quite so many, but there were some. Mostly handmade, a couple whittled by our great-grandfather.”

  I thought about the crude wooden angels towards the top of the bookshelf. Could those have been the same ones?

  “When your mama and Dee left home, Pappy gave them a handful of the angels. Said they’d bring them luck. Mama had loved the angels too, but he didn’t take that into account,” she said with a bitterness in her voice. “He let your mama pick the ones she wanted and sent her on her way. I thought Mama would have liked them back. But if not, I would have liked to have them.”

  Great. I had been selfish. What else was new? I should’ve given them to her the first time she asked, instead of holding onto them in case they had been worth something. If only she had told me the reason. Well, would I have done anything differently? Probably not. Why didn’t she take them before I got here? I never would have known.

  “So, how you been, Meg?” she asked.

  I chewed my crust longer than necessary, deciding how much to tell her. I wanted her help, but did she know how to teach me how to control my ability. If I didn’t tell her, I’d never know.

  I told her almost everything that had happened from the day I arrived to the day I visited her at the trailer. The dirt woman in the diner. The nightmares I had growing up. The way I remembered the parts of Mama’s life I wasn’t around for and had no right to remember.

  She didn’t interrupt once. My voice didn’t shake or threaten to turn into tears as I rambled. She treated everything I said like simple facts, like no one had ever treated me in the few times I tried opening up. At dusk, on our first bowl of ice cream, I ran out of things to tell her. The only thing I didn’t mention was the necklace in the lock box. And I didn’t tell her that Aunt Dee said there was a bit of Mama inside of me.

  I didn’t tell her about Dad killing Mama because I didn’t know if I even believed it yet, let alone if she would. She held Dad on a pedestal. Nor did I mention Bobby had died by my hand, whether myself or Mama pulling the strings. But I did tell her he was dead. One thing kept twitching at the back of my mind, and after a moment’s consideration, I told her how I had seen her head turn into two at the bar.

  “Well, isn’t that just the strangest?” she asked, then shrugged. “When you got the ghosts following you around, there’s no telling what they’ll do to mess with your mind.”

  “You think Aunt Dee and Mama are messing with my mind?” I asked. It wasn’t like everything had been roses and sunshine every time they’d appeared, but just messing with my head? I thought about the other time Cecelia’s face had seemed morphed. “The night Bobby got hit by that truck, earlier I saw you looking in from the mirror, even though you were at the table. It’s like there were two of you, but there wasn’t anyone to make your reflection by the mirror.”

  “Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Oh! I should have realized this right away.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, you know. Us being related and all. And you’ve said before how much I look like your mama. Aunt Dee was probably trying to show you by using me, that she’s here with you. Of course, that’s it.”

  “You really think that’s it?” I asked.

  “I do.”

  Why hadn’t Dee just told me that Mama was still here with me, instead of trying to show me through Cecelia? But then…she’d had several chances to tell me Mama was with me since I’d been home, and she hadn’t told me until after Bobby’s death. Maybe she hadn’t been able to say anything until then, but she had been trying to show me. “Yeah, that had to be it.”

  I believed her, but I still wanted to keep a few things to myself. The pendant remained tucked under my shirt, hidden from view. Mama, hid somewhere in my mind.

  “I can help you, Megan,” she said. She was the closest thing I had to family. No, she was my family. She was blood, familiarity, and she understood things that were still brand-new concepts to me. “I can help you control it and get rid of the nightmares. The extra memories.”

  “Can you really?” How could I learn to stop all the darkness that had happened in my entire life?

  Cecelia twisted a rock off of one of her clunky rings, dabbed her pinky finger inside, and twisted the rock back on. She flicked her hand, and the tree that had been laying on the roof of the garage for the past week stood and then toppled back into the forest. Scurrying and screeching wildlife fled from the movement.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered. She hadn’t looked like she had placed a bit of concentration into the move. I tilted my head. “Hey, you threw a thousand-pound tree like it was nothing. Can you fix things too?”

  She nodded. “It depends on what it is, you know? A crack in a piece of unfinished lumber? Sure. A broken piece of metal or plastic. No way.”

  “So you couldn’t have fixed all the stuff Bobby broke here?”

  “Oh heavens, no. If I could have, I promise I would have told you and done it. It’s something about magic and natural items, that’s all it is. We go hand in hand.”

  The wicker vegetable basket that had been broken, mended itself one day. Had I done that?

  “We’re the same, mostly. We must be. Mama never told me everything about Aunt Geral— your mama. To tell the truth, I think they had some bad blood come between them, and they never fixed it. What I do know for certain, is ya’ll are old blood like us, and Aunt Dee was made up of something even wilder than what we’re made up of. We got ancient blood inside of us, but she was made up of the very things that made the earth. I wonder if that’s how you still see her, cause she’s connected to the earth. That’s neither here nor there when it comes to teaching you to use your strength how you want. Mama told me about spells she never taught me, taught me others, and some I’ve learned on my own. I can help you learn to control it and use it.”

  “I don’t want to use it. I just don’t want anything like...” Zzzip. “I don’t want to do anything bad.”

  “If you let me teach you, you won’t do anything bad, I promise.” When Cecelia smiled, her face moved like Mama’s. Mama that I remembered from when I did have the right to remember. My own memories, not the visions.

  “How do we start?” I asked.

  “First, by putting some meat on your bones.”

  I started to protest at the saying I had heard too many times in my entire life. Fatten her up. All elbows. Bag of bones. But she didn’t let me get a word out.

  “Nope. I ain’t just calling you a skinny minny this time. If you’re going to practice and learn, you’re going to use up more energy than you knew humanly possible.” She raised her index finger, with the stone ring on it. “This here ain’t talcum powder, that’s dried blood. Blood is used in every spell. Every single time you use magic. And the more meat you got, the more you can afford to give up.”

  “Hold on, if blood is used, what about all these things I’ve been doing? Or thought I was doing?”

  Cecelia took my hand and lifted it, pointing at my cuticles. “Girl, I’ve never seen anyone tear at their nails like you do. I’d be willing to bet you’ve had blood to offer up every time you’ve made something happen.”

  I sighed and took another big spoonful of ice scream. “You said we’re witches.”

  She nodded and dropped my hand.

  “Do you mean like...pointy hats and warts on our noses witches? Or more like...listening to Celtic music witches?”

  She didn’t answer at first, but looked at the woods, as if the answer mig
ht hang from a tree.

  “Like both, and like neither.” She shrugged. “It’s legends and myths jumbled all up together now. We don’t know where we start from where the fairy tales begin. There are ones like us, who are born this way, powerful as all get out. Others teach it to themselves. Those New Age Celtic witches, they got power too: intuitions, premonitions, and a way with the Earth. What we are, you and me, we’re different.”

  “Helpful.” I rolled my eyes, and she giggled. I couldn’t help but join her.

  “But, who we are...we’re just born the way we’re born. It ain’t a choice. Like, if you decided to listen to Enya, start collecting crystals and worshiping the Goddess. That’s a choice. Even if your parents were Pagan, you still decide to keep on practicing. Same as you could be born a Catholic, but you’re still the one deciding in your heart if that is the right place for you.

  “With us, there ain’t a choice. It’s in our blood. It’s been in our blood since the beginning, sometimes stronger, sometimes diluted, depending on the men our mothers love. Some say — yes, there are others — that we are an entirely different race. Not quite human. But it’s in our blood all the same. Our grandparents, our Mamas’ parents, both had the blood. Which meant it was stronger for our mothers.

  “They were taught by a woman who had the blood, Granny Darling. That’s who raised Aunt Dee. Aunt Dee wandered onto their path, and together they were made stronger.” Her eyes narrowed and her tone turned sarcastic. “Dee’s made up of parts of the sky and the earth.” She gave me a sidelong glance, shaking her head and smiling. “At least, that’s the way Mama used to tell it.”

  I started to pick at my cuticle and grabbed my hand to stop. “So, what else can you do besides move trees?”

  A smile spread on Cecelia’s face. “You mean we. You’re capable of doing everything I can do, and might even be a little more if your Aunt Dee taught you anything you didn’t realize she taught you.”

  I looked to path by the woods, hoping to spot Aunt Dee walking out. I’d ask her why she didn’t tell me who I was. Teach me what I could do.