by Rue Volley
I looked down. The high waisted black dress that I was wearing ended at my knees. My laced-up Victorian-style black boots covered my shins, but I have black tights on, with roses intertwined on thorny vines. I paired it with a black velvet jacket that hugs my waist and buttons up to my chin, topped off with soft black tulle. It tickles when I talk. I like that. I like the feel of things. I think sometimes we take those things for granted like touch and smell. Feeling things.
My mind wandered, and that feeling of our fingers touching sparked in my chest.
He said he liked my dress.
I struggled to put on my black lace gloves. I’m usually okay.
As I said, I keep to myself. I don’t bother anyone. I read—a lot. I live in my books. I love them and my family of course, but nothing else! Well, except my dresses and black nail polish—and curling my white-blonde hair—okay I love some stuff, and? What right did he have to interrupt me at such a delicate time? I had just finished my book. The last book! The one I had been waiting on for what seemed like forever, and then he had to come along and startle me.
He changed things. Changed me—somehow.
“Darn it,” I muttered.
I’m not a rude person; I wasn’t raised that way.
Maybe I did overreact. I am emotional. This book has me all sorts of weird.
FINE.
I turned back, and the wind swirled around me, grabbing my white curls, making them dance on the wind. I had very recently decided that straight bangs would suit my heart-shaped face, and luckily it worked because there’s no going back on that one.
Once you cut, it’s done.
The whole scene was exceedingly ethereal for a few seconds until leaves hit my face, and I had to spit out a dried stem. I picked at my lip and then reached up and moved my hair out of my face. The black lace felt soft against my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I had had my gloves on, but they felt wonderful against my fingers.
I immediately scanned the rows of tombstones, but the boy was gone, and so was my chance to apologize. I turned and began to pull leaves out of my hair, letting them drop to the ground, leaving a trail of them behind me. One had wedged itself in my long curl, and I had to tug at my pigtail.
So annoying, just like him. Boys. Middlings!
This is precisely why I don’t talk to any of them at my school. Luckily, I seem to be invisible, which I prefer.
I decided to head home.
I tried, right? I had every intention of thanking him, but he disappeared on me.
Probably for the best. We really have nothing to talk about, and I’m sure we also have nothing much in common. Nothing at all, and who is he? I don’t know him. Where did he come from? Why was he in my spot? Who did he think he was to interrupt me as I sat there in despair? Doesn’t he know that you can’t do that to a girl when she just finished a book? Especially one that meant as much to me as this one does.
He must be visiting, and trust me, that’s perfectly fine, but even then, that rumor would have spread through town like wildfire. Especially about a boy who looks like he does. I mean, it’s nothing special — just a boy with messy hair and pouty lips—pale skin, and a chilled touch.
A Middling.
Whatever.
I need to stop worrying about it.
Darn him with that messy hair, big blue eyes, perfect jawline, and pouty lips.
And what’s with the pale skin? UGH!
I reached the large iron gate and grabbed the cold metal, shoving it forward with a grunt. It fought against me, more than usual, nearly trapping me inside. I dug in and tried harder. I’m leaving this place and going home. No way am I spending another minute here with that boy lurking about. No way!
Finally, it moved, an inch at first, then a few more, and finally, with one last push, I had enough room to pass through to the other side. My coat got caught on the latch, and I had to tug on it to break free. I stumbled out onto the sidewalk as the sky trees bent over from the wind. The storms were coming. I could smell the rain on the wind. The temperature changed, and my teeth chattered once again. I should’ve worn a thicker coat. I tucked my hands in my sides and stared up at the sign that hung over the gate.
This cemetery is my favorite of the five that surround our town — the oldest in Juniper Hollow. I had been exploring it since I was little. Some people might find that odd, but to me, it was just the most peaceful place to read. It wasn’t like I could do it at home with two younger siblings running around like wild animals.
Twins. Boys. Possibly demons.
A surprise really, or so my parents say. I guess that translates to an unplanned pregnancy, but it’s cool. Innis and Gunn are fun. That’s their names.
They’re ridiculous, but fun. Loud, but again…fun.
They’re nine now. They have a birthday coming on Halloween. I’m still jealous that they were born on my favorite holiday. But anyway, I sometimes wonder how it would be if I were the only child, but that’s neither here nor there. They exist, and I love them. I just don’t love the noise. You would think that a four-story Victorian house like ours would allow for some peace and quiet, but no, their stomping and yelling penetrates the walls like ghostly moans.
I kicked at a few fallen leaves while I strolled along the stone wall that held the cemetery at bay. Like a stone wall could stop ghosts from coming through it, but whatever.
My eyes scanned the bottom of the uneven stone. There were small white crosses strewn here and there along with the occasional prayer for the dead, or warding spell. We have both here in Juniper Hollow, by both I mean Christians and Witches. They live in harmony, as it should be, but the amount of paranormal activity here attracts ghost hunting teams, but the town has run them off each and every year for as long as I can remember. Nicely, of course. Stating its law that we provide privacy to all our citizens, both living and dead. We don’t tolerate that sort of intrusion. It’s just one more reason why I love it here and why I’ll never leave. Even if I end up alone in some old house with a million cats, I’d happily tend to all of them as if they were my children. Of course, it would help if I wasn’t allergic to them, too. But things change over time, don’t they? I would hope so.
I stopped dead when I heard a loud bang from an exhaust pipe. I turned to see black smoke leaking from a tailpipe. What? Cars are not allowed in town. It’s bicycles only. It always has been. Oh, someone would be in so much trouble for driving down main street and then parking that carbon-spewing demon here. It sounded sick.
I scanned the blue sky as it began to darken. Sunlight was replaced by twilight, giving everything a soft hue. My stomach churned. Something felt off, but I couldn’t say what it was.
I watched as a man with short, spiky black hair surveyed the wall, and then his eyes landed on me. Usually, I can avoid them—all Middlings, but he was definitely staring right at me. A shorter man stepped up next to him with a hat on. His hair was shaggier, allowing his bangs to cover one eye until he reached up and removed the brown beatnik hat, pushing his hair back on top of his head. The taller man gave the other a tap on the shoulder and nodded in my direction. I shuffled my feet as he began to approach me. I would run, but I’m annoyed. That boy in the cemetery had me so flustered, so I stood my ground as they walked slowly at first.
I’m not a deer in the forest, come on.
The man stepped up, careful to stop at a safe enough distance. The expression on his face was odd. He was looking at me like I was the foreigner here, when, in fact, it was definitely him. I’ve lived in Juniper Hollow my whole life. I belong here. I would never drive a car down our perfect streets. Jerk.
“Hi.” He spoke as I squared my shoulders. I offered a nod. He looked me over. “Um.” He paused like he didn’t know what to say to me. I get that he’s an outsider, but it would probably be best if he just tells me why he’s here. “Ah, listen. We tried to book a room a
t the BNB, called um,” he snapped his fingers, “I just…ya know, I can’t think of the name.” He let out a bit of nervous laughter, “It’s been a very long day. I’m sure you can relate.”
Why would I relate to that? Of course, everyone has a long day here and there, but assuming I just have them all the time is weird.
I didn’t respond, so he shifted his stance, and half grinned. His partner joined him with a camera on his shoulder. He adjusted the lens and pointed it squarely at me. I narrowed my eyes, and he lowered it and held it by his leg. He glanced down at his camera. “I was going to get some footage of the—cemetery.”
“Do you think that’s a nice thing to do?” I asked because I meant it.
The larger of the two men reached up and rubbed the side of his neck.
“Nice?” he asked, questioning me.
I pursed my lips. “Don’t you think that the dead should have a say in whether you film them or not? They have just as many rights as you do. In fact, they have more here in Juniper Hollow. We protect and respect the dead as much as the living.”
Their mouths sat agape. I don’t know why my words would leave them as stunned as they looked, but maybe they could save themselves a lot of trouble by hearing it from me first. The best thing they could do is turn right back around, get in that car of theirs, and leave. Main street goes straight through town. It’s not hard to come and go.
I glanced down the wall and then back to the two of them. I lifted a gloved hand. The temperature was continuing to drop, and soon the sky would be releasing that icy rain. I love the rain, but I don’t necessarily want to be caught in it. Luckily, I live close by. “I should be getting home now.” I had been speaking with an unusual accent. It wasn’t very good, but they ate it up. Again, I’m just annoyed. I tend to mess with people when I’m upset. Besides, they tried to film me without asking. That was enough. I took a few steps and the man called out behind me. “Maybe you don’t recognize me.”
I turned back and shook my head. He coughed into the side of his hand and then smiled. He gave his chest a tap and looked me over. “Sorry, allergies.” He scanned the treeline running the length of the street, “But anyway, I know you probably don’t have a TV in your home—”
I tilted my head and interrupted him. “I’m sorry?” He was making an odd assumption, but I always forget how I look. Wearing these clothes is second nature to me. I love them—they’re a part of who I am. I don’t think about them any more than I do about having hair on my head.
He looked at his friend and back to me. “Because of your,” he waved his big man hands around. “Religion—”
His friend with the camera bumped his shoulder. I wanted to kick them both in the shins, but I composed myself. I’m a lady, or at least I try to act like one, especially when I’m wearing my cutest dress and shoes. They wouldn’t be making me act crazy like that boy in the cemetery had.
But he just had to keep going. “And no offense! I get that, I do. In fact, life would probably be better with a little less noise.” He spoke slowly like I wouldn’t be able to keep up with his language if he didn’t. It was so condescending. I suddenly felt sorry for people who chose to dress the same and keep to themselves. Is this how the world spoke to them? Like they were stupid or something? He honestly thought that I was part of some religious community that didn’t have electricity or television, not that I’m knocking their lifestyle at all, because they have every right to live that way, just like I have every right to dress the way I do.
I remained still, so he pressed further.
“We’re honestly just passing through and our car—well, it’s not doing well.” He paused. “Surely you would help those in need,” he added, trying to tug at my emotions.
I parted my lips, and then his friend snickered. It annoyed me, so I decided to play along.
“So, you have no place to stay tonight?” I asked as innocently as I could. The man nodded, and I blinked a couple of times while looking at the sky. “Well, what kind of person would I be if I turned weary travelers away that are in need, right? Besides, the storms are rolling in, and you don’t want any part of that.”
He glanced at his friend and grinned.
I leaned in and whispered, “The dead don’t like the storms.”
His grin faded.
“Follow me.” I turned away. I wasn’t sure how this would play out, but it was better than dwelling on that Middling in the cemetery. Anything was better than that, I guess, in some weird way. I was almost grateful that they had shown up when they did. It was an effective distraction.
I could hear them rush back to their car, grab a bag or two and shut the doors. I sped up, making them half-jog to catch up with me. I rounded one corner, then another, and finally, I reached my home. I paused for a second while the men stared up at the house. They seemed in awe. It was fairly dark except for the candles flickering in the windows. It definitely gave them the impression that we were going to be stepping back in time. My parents also love Halloween, so the spook factor was cranked up to ten at this time of the year. The wind began to howl through the trees, swaying them back and forth. Both of the men looked a bit shell-shocked. It amused me. I won’t lie.
I made my way up the cobblestone path. The men followed. I stopped at the door and then turned back to face them.
“Our home was built in 1842 when Queen Victoria was on the throne.”
“How long have you been here?” The taller of the two men asked.
“Forever,” I said as cryptically as I could.
He swallowed hard and nudged his friend. I’m so glad that I entertain them, but I swear I’d scare them to death if I could. Maybe then they’d learn their lesson on how to not judge people by the way they look. It’s a terrible quality. But unfortunately, people like them don’t even understand how ignorant their assumptions are. They travel through life in ignorant bliss.
The man with the camera in his hand nodded to me. “I bet you do a lot of studying.”
Seriously? Okay, Jerkface McJerkerson.
I rolled my eyes. “All the time, and praying, of course. I pray a lot. We have closets in the house with locks on the outside of the doors.”
“Excuse me?” the man asked.
I nodded. “We’re locked inside to pray—with bread, water, and one candle. You pray until the candle goes out, but then someone has to come right away, or they’ll want to play.”
“That sounds horrible!” his reaction was amusing.
The taller man shook his head. “Who wants to play?”
I ignored his question because it made him paler.
“Oh no, it isn’t. It’s wonderful.” I said with conviction. The truth was we do pray, but it’s in the way of blessings — my family’s Wiccan. We have been for as long as I could remember, but that isn’t their business. I glanced at the two of them.
I cleared my throat; it wasn’t getting any better. Soon I’d be coughing again. I could feel it, but not before I had these two screaming and running out of town. “I think we should pray before we enter, to ward off the evil spirits.” I closed my eyes and then opened one. “Unless you’d rather sleep in your car, of course.”
They both swallowed hard, then clasped their hands together, prepared to play along. I had to hand it to them; they were lasting longer than I expected. “And I will tell you that sleeping here isn’t easy. The more we pray, the more the spirits rise, especially during this time of the year. Banging, clanging, and moving things around—sometimes moaning so loud it wakes me up!”
Their eyes widened.
“But anyway, let’s pray,” I spoke with conviction. I needed to sell it.
I was just about to speak in tongues and drop to the ground when my dad opened the door, flooding the porch with light, and almost stumbled when he saw me. Sometimes I nearly give him a heart attack because I’m so pale and quiet. I tend to en
ter a room without being noticed, and then he’ll grab his chest and let out a shrieking sound like an animal. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me laugh.
“Ah!” He reached up and held onto the door frame with one strong hand, speaking with a thick Irish accent. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he chuckled while tapping his broad chest. “You had me nearly brickin’ it.”
My mom called out from some part of the house. “Evan, language! Please don’t talk about crapping your pants!”
She hears everything. It’s unsettling.
The men behind me stepped back as my dad narrowed his eyes and looked them over. They appeared white as ghosts once the light hit their faces. We all stood in complete silence until my dad made his assessment of the two and what they were carrying. I expected him to give them the speech, to warn them that this sort of thing isn’t allowed in Juniper Hollow. He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head as Innis went screeching through the house with a fake sword, and Gunn chased after him, dressed up in a pretty impressive dragon costume.
“Rawr…I’m brickin’ it!” he cried out, pawing at the air.
My mom yelled again, sounding as if she was getting closer. “Do you see what you’ve done, Evan?! Our son is now a dragon who is crapping his pants!”
I kept completely still, but I was dying inside. I may find peace and quiet in the cemetery, using it to read without interruption, but the divine chaos in our house provided such hilarity, especially when I was trying my best to teach these two jerk faces a lesson.
“Well, now, I assume that you boys thought we had no running water or electricity to speak of?” His assumption was spot on. I crossed my arms over my chest, welcoming the impending speech that would follow.
I glanced behind me and then stepped up next to my dad. He smiled down on me and placed a hand around my shoulder. This had happened once before. Only that time, it was a pack of college kids who wanted to spend the weekend in a haunted town. I can’t remember how long it had been, but it was fun. They left screaming.
