by Dean Murray
Sheriff Hollingsworth's words jumped into my mind. I had forgotten until now just how strange Tori's murder had really been. She was cooked alive. The Sheriff had accused me of it, saying that I had certain powers. She'd mentioned the fire that killed my adopted father. She'd known all along that someone like me had killed Tori.
Not Coach King. His wife!
I was kidding myself if I thought this town was normal. American as apple pie and all the bull. Deep down, I knew it was different. Was that why I fit in better here than anywhere else I'd ever lived? It was the real reason they wanted me to be a part of the cheerleading squad. To keep an eye on me. Because I was like them.
A witch.
That was what Jill, my adoptive mother had called me after the fire.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door and I jumped. My heart stopped beating for a second, then started back up again, going ninety miles an hour.
“Yes?” My voice cracked.
“Are you all right in there sweetheart?” It was Mrs. King. Did she know that I remembered? Was she the one responsible for Tori's death?
“I'll be out in a second,” I choked out.
The picture I'd found in the empty bedroom came into my mind. My mother. Lark's mother, the mayor. Sheriff Hollingsworth. They were all there in the picture. Mrs. King was too young, but she had been a cheerleader when she was in school too.
The truth hit me like a ton of bricks, weighing down my chest and making my breathing labored. They were all witches. The whole town was full of them. I had spent my whole life denying what I really was, but now I knew.
“Are you sick?” She sounded concerned.
The black diamond burned my skin. I pulled it out of my shirt so that it was no longer touching my bare flesh. No wonder I had done so well on the rehearsal tonight. I wasn't high on adrenaline. I was high on magic.
Mrs. King knocked lightly on the door again. “Harper, honey?”
I needed to get back to my room and gather my thoughts. I pulled myself together as best I could and opened the door. “I think I might have pushed a little too hard tonight,” I said. “I think I need to go home.”
“I'll get Brooke to drive you and Agnes home, all right?” Her face was full of worry. I was just relieved she didn't look angry.
I waited out by the car until Brooke and Agnes appeared.
“What's wrong?” Brooke asked.
“Just think I've been working too hard,” I lied.
Agnes looked disappointed to be leaving early, but she stayed quiet in the backseat on the way home. When we got to Shadowford, I reached into the glove compartment for the velvet box. I started to unclasp the black diamond, but Brooke stopped me.
“Keep it,” she said after Agnes had gotten out of the car. “You'll wear it tomorrow and you'll do your very best. Do you understand?” Her tone was serious and cold. Threatening.
I nodded. I was in too deep to back out now.
I Have Carried My Fear
That night, I spent a lot of time alone in my room studying the pictures I had found. My coming to Peachville was no coincidence. But it couldn't have been entirely masterminded, either. After all, wasn't it my own actions at the various foster homes that led me here? No, it was more like fate that brought me here to the town where my mother lived.
I had so many questions about her. Why did she give me up for adoption? How did she die? Was she different like me? Could she make things move with her mind when she got angry? In the photograph, she wore her long blonde hair in a ponytail high on her head. A blue ribbon was tied perfectly around it. She was smiling and beautiful, but there was also worry in her eyes.
I wished I could have known her. More than anything, I wanted to talk to her and have her explain this strange town to me. Were the women here witches? Or did they just have access to some kind of supernatural power?
I'd realized I was different at an early age. Ever since the night of the fire, when I was eight years old. I knew. But I never knew there were others like me.
And now I had a chance to join them. Who knew what kind of power they had access to? Maybe they could even teach me how to control my power. So far, it only reared its ugly head when I was angry or extremely upset about something. And then, my emotions were usually so out of control, I ended up causing someone pain or destroying everything around me.
The fire was my fault, but I didn't mean to do it. I was just a little girl and my parents were fighting. Heath, my adoptive father, kept yelling at Jill and hitting her. I couldn't stand it. I went into the living room and watched them, tears streaming down my face. I remember how the anger and hurt inside of me boiled up so hot I could literally feel my temperature rise. I felt so helpless. So small. He slapped her again and I snapped. The anger consumed me. I remember feeling the wind in my hair and thinking a window must be open.
Then the wind grew stronger. More fierce. Suddenly, all of the objects in the room rose up. Vases, picture frames, anything that wasn't nailed down was floating in the air. A painting above the fireplace fell off the wall and clattered to the floor, then rose again. A glass of wine on the mantle. A book sitting on the side table. A candle in the dining room. They all rose several inches into the air.
Heath looked at me in shock. His eyes filled with awe, then, slowly, disgust. He yelled curses at me, told me to stop. He said I was a witch. An evil child. He said they made a mistake adopting me. His words only confused me. I was scared by what was happening around me, and inside, my emotions were out of control. Anger, hurt, confusion. I felt all of those things.
When he came toward me, I panicked. I screamed and suddenly, the objects in the room flew in different directions, crashing wildly against the wall or the floor. I ran, but he followed. At some point, something must have flown into the fire that was burning in the fireplace. The fire marshal said the fire was spread around the room as though a tornado had come through there. It was my fault, but I never meant for anyone to get hurt.
I ran into my room and the door shut behind me without me even having to touch it with my hand. It was like it only happened because I wanted it to happen. Outside, I could hear Heath yelling for me to open the door. Within minutes, smoke began to pour into the room. In the distance, I heard Jill scream. Behind me, the window broke and a neighbor pulled me through. She saved my life and I didn't even know her name. Jill escaped out the back door, but Heath was trapped inside. He died in the fire and Jill never recovered. She didn't want to believe what I had done, but she saw it happen and could never reconcile it in her mind. She spent six years in a mental hospital, then committed suicide by taking a handful of pills one night. I have carried the guilt of that night on my shoulders for the past eight years.
I have also carried my fear. Fear of getting angry and causing something terrible to happen to someone else. Fear of never learning to control this strange power. Fear that no one would ever love me or understand me.
Here in Peachville, though, there were people who were just like me. They were asking me to join them. I knew they could teach me to control it and make sure that no one was ever hurt by my anger again.
They could help me.
But at what cost?
We Were Connected Somehow
A woman in white came to me in my dreams that night.
She was young and full of life. The sun followed her around and she walked in a garden of the most amazingly beautiful flowers. When she laughed, it sounded like happiness.
The woman sat by a fountain, and I recognized it. The fountain from the garden at Shadowford. Only clean and running with sparkling, cool water. She dipped her hand into the water and smiled.
But a cloud covered the sun and filled the garden with shadows. The woman looked up, fear written across her features. She stood, then ran to the house. In my dream, Shadowford Manor was different. Freshly painted, there were no vines crawling up the side and no creaking boards on the front porch. I thought this must be how it used to look a hundred and fifty years
ago when it was new.
I followed the woman in white as she ran up the front steps and into the house. Darkness followed her, turning everything gray. I heard a loud crack as a bolt of lightning shot across the sky.
The woman ran up the stairs, looking behind her as though she were being followed. But she wasn't looking at me. It was more as though I was a ghost and she was merely looking through me.
When she turned her face, I saw that I knew this woman. She was the same woman from the photograph. The picture frame I'd found in the empty bedroom. I wondered who she was. I followed her up the stairs to the second floor, then down to the end of the hall, just past the last bedroom. At first, I thought she was trapped. There was nowhere else for her to run. But she placed her hand on a section of dark wood paneling in the wall and a door opened.
Stairs appeared in the opening. A secret passageway up to the third floor. The woman looked back one last time, terror on her face, then disappeared up the stairs. I tried to follow her, but as I stepped into the shadows, I lost my footing and fell. I fell through the house and down into darkness.
I sat up in bed, out of breath. Sweat trickled down my back. My bedroom was dark, but a sliver of moonlight shone through my window. The picture of the woman in white lay on my bedside table and I picked it up. It was definitely her, but who was she?
Somewhere in the house, I heard a scream. Distant, but real. I rushed out of bed and went to my door. When I turned the knob, the door was locked.
I ran to my desk, got the same bobby pin I'd used the night Tori died, and quickly unlocked the door. In the hallway, it was pitch dark. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, and then I could only make out the dark silhouettes of big objects like the grandfather clock on the landing. I tiptoed down the hall.
I wasn't sure where the scream had come from, but I had a feeling I now knew how to reach the third floor of the house. Was that where they'd taken me when they cut my hand? I wondered.
I walked slowly to the end of the hall. My long nightshirt billowed around my legs and I shivered. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I wanted to know the truth. Whoever that woman was, she had lived in this house before. Maybe over a hundred years ago. And she wanted me to know how to get up to the third floor.
I felt along the wall until I was sure I was in the right place. In the darkness, I could make out the door to the empty bedroom at the end of the hall, and just past that, the wood paneling where the woman had opened the hidden staircase.
With a deep, ragged breath, I put my hand against the smooth wood surface and pushed. I gasped as the panel gave way and a door opened in front of me. A light from above spilled down and illuminated the stairs. They were narrow and worn. I stepped onto them with my bare feet and was surprised to find that they were strangely warm.
I hesitated before putting all of my weight on that first step, remembering my dream. But as I carefully moved forward, I realized that these stairs were solid. I climbed up, letting my hands run along the walls that framed either side of the strange staircase.
At the top, I half expected to find a coven of witches performing some strange ritual on a screaming girl. But there was no one. There was only a large circular room with a round table in the center. A red candle in the center of the table flickered, sending shadows across the room. Someone must have been there or the candle wouldn't be lit. I stepped fully into the room and took a better look around. That's when I noticed the doors. Five identical wooden doors spaced equally around the room. The door was open where I had come through, but all four of the others were closed.
I crossed to the closest door on my left. The door knob was black and smooth and when I touched it, I felt a heaviness in my stomach, like a warning. I turned the knob and slowly opened the door. It creaked as it opened, and I winced at the loud sound, afraid someone might hear me.
Inside was a small library packed with books. A torch glowed on the wall, sending a warm amber light across the room. The ceiling was higher than I thought possible for the third floor of the house, but maybe it was a trick of the eye. Bookcases ran from floor to ceiling all around the room. I walked inside and glanced at the books. There were tomes of various sizes and shapes and colors. Some were ancient looking with cracked spines, while others were bound in materials I couldn't honestly identify. A lot of the titles were foreign, so I couldn't tell what they were about.
I randomly selected one book with a bright green binding from the shelf. The books were so jammed in there, I had to really pull to get it out, and when it did slide out, it was heavier than I thought it would be.
The words inside were handwritten, and when I looked closer, they looked more like symbols than words. Kind of like Chinese characters, but different. I ran my finger along a line of symbols, feeling how they were slightly upraised. The paper itself was ragged at the edges and bumpy, like it had been handmade a very long time ago.
I wedged the book back onto the shelf. I couldn't reach the upper shelves, but there was no ladder in the room, and I wondered how anyone got to them. I wanted to stay longer to see if I could find a book written in English, but I was afraid that if I stayed too long, someone would find me up there and I would be in some serious trouble.
I went back out to the main room, closing the door behind me. The next door down opened into another room of shelves. But this time, the shelves were full of jars and boxes. Spices, strange liquids, spiders, and all sorts of things I couldn't identify. Probably things like eye of newt and tail of rat, although mostly it just looked like herbs and such.
A table along the far wall was covered with small glass vials.
For making potions?
I wondered what type of potions and elixirs a witch could make with all of these ingredients. Would I have the opportunity to learn how?
A tingle ran up my spine as I noticed a large painting of the woman from my dream. Her hair was up in braids and she was smiling. Below the frame, a brass plate said simply, “Prima.” I shivered and ran my fingers across the carved wood of the frame. Whoever she was, we were connected somehow.
Behind the third door was a room with three metal bed-frames. The mattresses had been removed, but there were chains attached to the sides of the beds. It looked like a torture chamber or the kind of place they kept crazy people. I didn't like this room. It was cold and dark and had a strong metallic smell, like blood. I left quickly.
The fourth and final door was heavier than the others. It had the face of a demon carved into the wood. At first, I thought it was stuck, so I gave it a hard yank. It finally gave way when I put all of my weight behind it.
I peered inside.
Oh my god.
My hand flew to my mouth and I backed away, frightened. Through the door was a long hallway. Longer than was possible in a house this size. Doors stretched out as far as I could see before surrendering to the shadows. At least ten on each side that I could count from where I stood.
But how was that possible? The house wasn't big enough for there to be so many doors here at the top.
I must still be dreaming.
I rubbed my eyes, then looked again. This couldn't be explained by a trick of the light. There were too many doors. This had to be magic of some sort.
Slowly, I stepped across the threshold. A cool breeze began to blow toward me, lifting my hair off my neck. My mouth went dry and it was difficult to swallow. What could possibly be behind all those doors?
Somewhere down the corridor, a girl screamed. I froze, my body ice cold from fear.
A door squeaked open. Voices. I thought I recognized Mrs. Shadowford's voice, but she was too far away for me to understand what she was saying. But how had she gotten up here to the third floor in a wheelchair? The two figures forming in the distance were upright and walking. Then it couldn't be Mrs. Shadowford after all. Whoever it was, if they found me here, poking around where Ella Mae had specifically told me not to go, I would be in danger of getting kicked out of Shadowford.
Quickly, I stepped back into the small room and closed the door. I walked down the narrow staircase to the second floor, through the secret doorway, and back to the safety of my bedroom.
It Totally Worked
Thursday afternoon, I sat on the wooden bleachers in the gym and listened as Mrs. King outlined the audition procedures. A panel of judges had been called in to watch us perform, including Brooke as captain of the squad and Mrs. King herself. Each girl would perform the cheers by herself, then all eight of us would perform the long dance as a group at the end of the auditions. Anyone who wanted to watch the auditions was welcome to sit in throughout the entire thing.
“Are you going to stay to watch everyone?” Agnes whispered. “I'm afraid it'll make me nervous if everyone else is like, crazy better than me, you know?”
I nodded, not taking my eyes off Mrs. King. My hand went to my throat where my mother's sapphire pendant was hidden underneath my t-shirt. I had spent a long time debating whether to wear the black diamond. It would pretty much guarantee me a spot on the squad, but at the same time, I would always know that I didn't earn it. Somehow, that didn't seem fair to Agnes and the other girls. I wanted to be a part of the team, but I wanted to really deserve it on my own merits.
Besides, I felt strange without my mother's pendant. It was probably just silly superstition, but I needed it.
Promise me you won't take it off.
A memory intruded on my thoughts. A boy's voice. Promise, he'd said.
“Harper Madison,” Mrs. King said. I stood, my stomach filled with butterflies. “You're up.”
I took in a deep breath and plastered a big smile across my face. I looked to Brooke for encouragement as I passed by the judges' table and she winked. I cleared my throat, threw my shoulders back, and jogged to the middle of the performance area.
