Ouija, Death & Wicked Witchery Read online

  While Mal waited, there was an explosion of what sounded like glass. Kaden grabbed her arm as he hung up without saying goodbye. He motioned for her to hand him the master key.

  “It sounded like Sylvia’s room,” Mallory whispered.

  “Stay here.”

  Mallory growled at his caveman behavior, before she crept up behind him. Maybe one of these days, he would give up trying to protect her. It was clear the key turned easily, but the door creaked as Kaden pushed it open.

  Mallory gasped. “I am cursed.”

  A large tree limb was half on the floor and half balanced on the Juliet balcony. It had crashed through with such force that it had tangled in the drapes and pulled one side down. Glass was littered across the carpet, and several panes were missing from the window. Wind danced through the drapes still attached as rain sprinkled the scene in gusts.

  “You aren’t cursed. Everyone in town is dealing with storm damage.”

  “Yeah, well, are they also dealing with dead bodies?”

  “Get Emilion to clean this up and tape some cardboard over the window. It will be a while before they are done in Poe’s room, so he should have time.”

  Mallory called Emilion and told him what she needed. She grabbed the small trashcan and started throwing away the larger pieces of broken glass. It didn’t take long for it to fill up. When Emilion showed up, he shooed Mal out of the room, saying he would take care of it.

  Kaden caught up to her on the main staircase just as she headed down. “You’re too quiet, Mal. I know you’re thinking about something. Are you still blaming yourself for Edwin’s death?”

  It was a convenient excuse, and Mallory decided to run with it. “I know I shouldn’t,” Mallory agreed falsely. “It’s just been a long day. And I’m finding it odd that I haven’t come across Willa yet.”

  “I think all of this qualifies as more than one day,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her. “We all need some sleep.”

  Mallory closed her eyes and silently apologized to him for lying. She hated to do it, but she couldn’t tell him what was really on her mind. “Definitely. When are you going back out again?”

  “My shift starts at five a.m.,” he told her. “I hope things are better out there by then.”

  But they both knew they wouldn’t be better with the additional storms. There was only so much emergency services could do to clean up in the dark.

  “Well, I hope we have power in the morning,” Mallory said.

  About forty people were staying for the night, according to Lizzy. Sylvia’s room and Edwin’s room would stay sealed off as crime scenes plus they had the additional damage to the window in Silvia’s room.

  “There’s still space,” Lizzy told Kaden briskly. “I think we have enough food and water to get by another couple of days if we have to. I’m not sure about toilet paper. I’ve looked everywhere. Ms. Vianu, do you want me to look in the root cellar?”

  “No. That’s okay,” Mallory said. “I’ll check down there in the morning. We’ll have to get by until then.”

  They all turned as Emilion sauntered down the stairs and leaned against the wall. “The mess in Ms. Broome’s room is cleaned up. I’m not sure how long cardboard will last, but it’ll do for now.”

  “Thanks, Emilion.” Mallory smiled.

  The pocket doors to the dining room slid open about a foot or so wide and they all watched as Danior in her colorful peasant skirt and purple blouse backed slowly out into the foyer.

  “What are you doing?” Mal asked.

  “Way to scare a person. I’m escaping that madhouse.”

  Just as Danior reached Emilion he straightened suddenly, nearly knocking her over.

  “The generator! We were low on gas a few hours ago. I have to run into town to stock up.”

  “I’ll help you,” Danior offered, as they ran off.

  “I need to get back upstairs. The stiff bedframe movers should be ready to depart soon,” Kaden said.

  “I’ll run interference for you since Emilion left,” Mallory offered.

  After emergency services departed, Kaden and Mallory walked into the lounge area. “Thank goodness it’s night so everyone will be asleep soon, so I have time to look for supplies.”

  Mallory watched as her nana walked in. Looked like they had another escapee.

  Nana took a seat. “Not me. I can’t go to sleep without knowing what happened on my show.”

  “What’s your show?”

  Nana blushed, “Sabrina.”

  Kaden pursed his lips together to keep from laughing.

  “What? It’s a good show.”

  “Well, sorry, Nana, but I gave Emilion orders for certain appliances to be hooked up to the generator and I thought the freezers were more important than Netflix. It’ll still be there when the power comes back.”

  Nana hmphed and turned away. Clearly, she was holding a grudge about Mick, too.

  “Speaking of sleeping, where are all of the guests? I didn’t see a soul when they removed the bedframe.” Mal said.

  “The Great Bamboozle is still reading fortunes. She tried to get me to help her since every single guest asked for their fortune to be read,” Nana answered with a gleeful look. “I told her I thought our powers of prognostication would clash.” Nana chuckled.

  Mallory’s and Kaden’s phones rang simultaneously. They looked at each other.

  “Hello.”

  “Bones.”

  “Mallory, it’s Danior. We’d just turned onto our road when lightning struck that hundred-year-old oak tree behind us. It split in half like a hot knife through butter and fell across our only access.

  Mallory closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then glanced at Kaden.

  He had a grim look on his face. “Okay, thanks.”

  “It’s a good thing everyone decided to spend the night because no one’s leaving, the road is blocked.” Mal told everyone. “I wonder if The Great Bamboozle prognosticated a large tree falling across our road? Did the emergency services manage to get away?”

  “Yes, EMS and forensics had passed by the tree a couple of minutes prior, so we don’t have that to worry about. I’m afraid I’ll have to do some four-wheeling because I have to get home since I left all my equipment there,” Kaden added. “I’ll get my crew to work on your tree first, so five a.m.”

  Mallory walked Kaden to the door. He grabbed her in a tight hug.

  He whispered into her hair, “Please be careful tonight. I don’t like leaving you when there is obviously a murderer here.”

  “We’ll have people everywhere, so there won’t be any opportunity tonight. Besides, one victim per night should be enough, even for this psycho. I now get to chase everyone to their beds or chairs or floors. Be careful tomorrow, Paul Bunyan!” Mal kissed him and waved goodbye. She did a double take. For a moment she’d thought she’d noticed a pair of eyes staring at her from behind the drapes.

  TWENTY

  A ll of the camaraderie after fortunes were told–people playing cards, sitting by the fire and drinking in the bar–should have made her feel better about facing the night. It didn’t. There were too many questions. If the spirit following her was not her father, but instead a maniacal puritan who was able to kill and maim witches, they were all in trouble.

  She’d always had a way of getting too deep into things. Maybe this was one of those times—maybe her father’s spirit was at peace.

  At least Mallory didn’t have to worry about being alone with the ghostly phenomena. There were people tucked into every corner of the manor. She’d given up her own room to a family in need of privacy, and stretched out on a lumpy fold-out bed–accompanied by Eve and Lizzy. Both had stayed on, they said, to help out. Never mind that they couldn’t have left if they wanted to. The BFC crew and other locals had also been trapped at the manor. There were several others on chairs and cushions around the room. Mallory could hardly reach the bed without stepping on someone.

  Lizzy sighed as they lay there,
unable to sleep. “I know I should go home tomorrow, but I’m dreading it. You didn’t hear anything about my uncle’s place, did you, Mal?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Eve sighed too. “I hope I have something left to go home to.”

  Mallory was sure many others felt the same. Staying here at the Caravan Manor for one more night put those realizations on hold until morning. But they would all have to face reality tomorrow.

  Despite not believing it was possible, Mallory fell asleep. She woke up and looked at the time; it was almost two-thirty a.m. She’d been asleep for at least four hours!

  Mallory lay quietly for about twenty minutes, waiting to see or hear something. There was nothing. Maybe her “ghost” had been nothing more than exhaustion and stress. It might not have anything to do with the séance.

  First Sylvia and now Edwin… Mallory had to let it go. There was nothing she could do. Even Bohemian Lake had murders.

  Her stomach growled loudly. Eve groaned next to her and turned over. Mallory was embarrassed to think she might wake her with her internal noises. Lizzy was gone–maybe she was restless too.

  Carefully, Mallory inched out of bed and across the old hardwood floor. It squeaked under her weight–but that was the thing about living in an older home. The sleeping crowd around her sighed and muttered but didn’t wake up.

  Mallory crept down the hall to the kitchen, hoping there was something light to eat in the fridge. She didn’t want a full meal, just something to tide her over until morning. Eve and the others would thank her for quieting her stomach.

  There was leftover cheese and grapes that she happily devoured standing at the island in the kitchen. She let herself glance carefully around the dark room, keeping an eye open for any spirit balls that might be lingering. Nothing. No weird sensations of static electricity, no oppressive, frightening feelings of someone just behind her.

  Those scary sightings of spirit balls and hearing someone speaking to her had probably been triggered by the storm. She put her plate and glass in the sink and headed back to bed for a few more hours of sleep.

  She saw light in the bar area and wondered who would be up drinking at this time of the morning. Nana and Eve had shooed all the drinkers out of there last night with a warning about pellet guns and touching any more unopened bottles. There’d been some grumbling, but the bar patrons had cleared out. Mallory suspected one of the drinkers had returned.

  But when she got to the bar, the room was empty, quiet. Weird. She was sure she’d seen a light. Maybe whoever was holding it had changed their mind and gone back to bed. Which was where Mallory needed to go. Mallory yawned and turned to leave.

  It was then that she heard the chuckle come from behind the bar. Mallory approached the long wood slab carefully, wondering just who was hiding there.

  But as she peeked over the top, she realized the light was not that of a flashlight.

  TWENTY ONE

  T he iridescent ghost light, if that’s what it was, shimmered and grew until it took the form of a man who stood about six feet tall. He had thick, shaggy black hair and a mustache, but it was his attire that really gave him away. The same long, black coat and wide Colonial brimmed hat she’d seen earlier. The most associated with Puritans and Thanksgiving. Without really thinking, Mallory remarked, “I saw you earlier! Y-you killed Edwin…you’re a… a witch hunter.”

  He lifted a bottle. “It’s about time ye saw me. I’ve been doing my damnedest to communicate. I was beginning to question yer sight.”

  “Why did you kill Edwin?”

  “The man in the tub. I did no such thing.” He drank the whisky he’d poured and smacked his lips. “Awful light on the alcohol, isn’t it? In my day, men would string up a tavern keeper who served slop like this.”

  “I suppose you’d prefer to go blind,” Mallory retorted.

  “Well, now ye sound like a bloody puritan.” He set the glass down on the bar with a decided thud and looked down at the puddle below him. “Damnation! Tell me, why’ve ye summoned me?”

  “Summoned you?” It was Mallory’s turn to laugh. “No. Absolutely not. I was reaching out to my father. Is that why your killing people? Your angry that I’ve woken you from your slumber.”

  “Is there something the matter with yer hearing, lass? I’ve killed no one… well, no one lately.”

  “Fine, then you’re free to go, but could you get my father for me.”

  “Yer father, huh? He must be related to me if our business is connected. Is your surname Remy by chance?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “My maternal grandfather lived not too far from here. Nicholas Remy.”

  “I see. Well, my name’s Malhala Vianu and my father’s surname was Lautari. And I doubt my family was related to a witch hunter. We’re witches.”

  “Vianu and Lautari, eh?” He stroked his chin and peered off into the dark. “I don’t know either one but you might be surprised. Ye see, I’m a reformed witch hunter. I even married a witch in the end.”

  Mallory couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say, but all the same, I promise I didn’t raise you from the dead, Mr. Popescu.” Mallory stumbled over her words. “And if I did, I apologize because it was a mistake. So, please go back to your home and stop haunting me.”

  “So, yer father is dead, huh?” He continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “Murdered, was he? That’s why ye’re trying to raise him?”

  “Yes.” Mallory choked a little on the explanation. “He was murdered by a friend—a bandmate who was in love with my mother and jealous of him. His body was never found.”

  He nodded. “Nothing worse than betrayal. That makes sense that ye would have unresolved feelings then.”

  “Mal?” Lizzy’s voice got her attention and Mallory looked away from the bar. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No,” Mallory answered. “I slept. Then I was hungry. I saw a light on in here.” She looked back at the bar and the witch hunter was gone.

  “Silly boozehounds. I thought Eve was gonna shoot them earlier. Did you chase someone out of there?” Lizzy looked around at the empty bar and bottle.

  “I don’t know.” Mallory shook her head. She couldn’t very well admit that she’d been chatting with Balthasar Popescu. Instead she went back to bed. Lying there in the dark, sleep eluded her, and then she remembered the box of ledgers she’d left in the secret passage. She crept quietly out again, narrowly missed stepping on a guest’s hand, and made it to the hallway. When she looked backed, she saw Lizzy snoring lightly, at least she wasn’t creeping around who knows where. She dodged into the passage and made her way up the narrow staircase. The box was where she had left it, so Mal sat on the floor and opened her flashlight app. There were four three-ring binders—ledgers from witch hunters labeled by year in the box, with room for a fifth. Hmm. Mallory needed to ask Mick about it because there was a year missing if they had been in sequential order. She opened the first one to find the historical society had meticulously placed each page on an acid-free base and then slid them into plastic sleeves. Preserving a segment of history, albeit terrible, so that others wouldn’t forget. So many people had been persecuted throughout history. The thought of what people could do to each other made Mal shudder.

  Mallory yawned. Even with her phone, there wasn’t enough light to read, so she decided to flip through the pages to see if anything stuck out. It would be another long day she thought as she flipped through the third—well, technically the fourth— book when something fluttered to the ground. Mal went ahead and flipped through the last book quickly and felt something else flutter loosely to the floor. She replaced the notebooks, then started feeling around on the floor. The light from her phone was being swallowed by the darkness of the passage, making it difficult to see. Of course, that might be because her eyes were barely open. She snorted. Great! Mallory was slap-happy. She continued to drag her hand across the floor, trying not to think about what her finge
rs would touch when she got a paper cut. Those suckers hurt. It must be loose paper. She grabbed again, this time retrieving both pages, and carried the box out to one of the empty rooms upstairs, eager to take a peek. The sun was shining by now and it was time to get ready for her day, but the two yellowing and brittle pages filled with small cramped writing called to her. They must be incredibly old. Moving closer to the window, all she could make out was that they seemed to come from a diary. Hmm. Who’s diary? The person writing spoke of someone named Rebekah while the other page spoke of leaving home. Oh well, time to get dressed. She tucked them away.

  By the time she was ready for the day, all the restless souls were eating breakfast and listening to Cody Lumos explain which roads were closed and how people could best get back to their homes. Kaden must have kept his word.

  It sounded like the roads and the town itself were in much better shape than they’d been yesterday, which made everyone happy.

  A few relatives stopped in to pick up their husbands, wives or other family members who’d been trapped since the storm. As it turned out, everyone raved about The Great Bamboozle and hoped she would be back next year. It seemed like Hexfest would need to be an annual event. One of the last ones to leave was a young, brunette witch named Sera Priest, who’d come for Hexfest but apparently was also a new resident in town.

  She walked with Nana and Mallory outside of the manor, assessing the damage.

  “Not too bad,” Nana said when they got back inside. “We were pretty much spared.”

  “I’m almost afraid to go home.” The young witch admitted.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You bought the old Witch House, didn’t you? The slate gray house with all the gables. It’s in a good spot. Whoever built it knew what they were doing.”