Poltergeists & Change of Life (Mystical Midlife in Maine #15)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T he door to our Sanctum shuddered with all the subtlety of a caffeinated rhinoceros auditioning for “Stomp” after my seventeen-year-old slammed it. I cast a sidelong glance at Stella. She was poring over Lyra's journal with the frantic energy of a graduate student three energy drinks deep and two hours away from a career-defining deadline. The air in the room had become so tense you could have cut it with a knife. That was assuming, of course, you could find a blade capable of slicing through the potent cocktail of fear, frustration, and Hattie's spectral rage that permeated everything.

Catching my reflection in an ornate Venetian mirror, I noted my complexion had taken on the sickly pallor of a vampire who'd accidentally stumbled into a tanning salon. The dark circles under my eyes suggested I'd recently gone ten rounds with a sleep-deprivation demon and lost spectacularly. All in all, I looked nothing like a powerful witch and more like an extra from "The Walking Dead" who'd gotten lost on the way to makeup and decided to improvise.

I inhaled deeply. The scent of old books and impending doom filled my nostrils. "Focus, Phoebe," I muttered to myself as I contemplated the Herculean task at hand with all the enthusiasm of a cat facing a bath. "Just to clarify our current predicament," I began, "Hattie is embracing this whole poltergeist gig with the enthusiasm of a method actor preparing for the role of a lifetime. I half expect her to start demanding her spectral trailer and a ghostly latte any minute now."

Stella glanced up from the journal. Her usual bubbly demeanor poked through the storm clouds. "Oh, come on, Phoebe! Look on the bright side. You're getting a free home makeover. Granted, it's more 'disaster zone chic' than 'Better Homes and Gardens’, but beggars can't be choosers, right?"

I emitted a laugh so bitter it could have curdled milk at fifty paces and turned wine into vinegar as a party trick. "Indeed, this falls somewhat short of my ideal afternoon activities. I was rather hoping for a Netflix marathon accompanied by a tub of ice cream large enough to drown Binx in. Starring in 'Poltergeist: The Home Edition' was nowhere on the agenda. But why settle for boring old relaxation when we can play 'Dodge the Flying Debris' instead? It's just like dodgeball but with more mortal peril.” I lifted a finger and smiled at her. “And fewer middle school flashbacks."

The door shuddered again, making me look up the stairs. The wood groaned like an arthritic giant being forced to do yoga. It would have been comical if it weren't for the imminent threat of spectral dismemberment. It dawned on me that Hattie's malevolent energy was surging against it and causing the sound. Her power whipped around with the relentless determination of a telemarketer who's been told 'no' one too many times and has decided that today's the day they're going to make that sale or die trying.

"Well, isn't this just peachy," I drawled. My voice dripped with enough sarcasm to flood the Sahara and give it beachfront property. "Here we are, cowering like mice in a cat factory while Little Miss Hattie throws the tantrum of the century. If I'd known the afterlife involved this much property damage, I might've reconsidered some of my life choices. I could have taken up a nice, safe hobby like alligator wrestling or volcano surfing."

“Alligator wrestling sounds fun,” Stella replied as she stood at the center of the room. Her arms were outstretched like she was trying to hug the apocalypse. And her face was screwed up tighter than my ex's wallet on date night. The shimmering dome of energy she’d surrounded us with, pulsed with each impact of debris Hattie’s storm hurled our way.

"Stella, how long can you keep this up?" I asked, eyeing the wavering shield. Getting my wayward thoughts together, I cast a spell and sent it to join with hers.

She gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her brow like she'd just run a marathon in Hell. "As long as I have to," she growled.

Right then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, a chunk of silver hurtled toward us like a deadly frisbee. The shield flickered, and for a hot second, I thought we were about to become the world's most magical pancakes. "Shit," I muttered, moving to Stella's side. "We need to beef up this magical bubble wrap before we pop."

Without waiting for her to argue, I slapped my hands on her shoulders. I channeled my energy directly into her. It was easier than waiting for her magic to twine with mine. The power surge between us was like a live wire. Immediately, I braided our energy together. Stella let out a gasp that was half relief, half 'holy crap that tingles'. The shield brightened and transformed from discount saran wrap to magical bulletproof glass.

"That should do it," I said. Maintaining this barrier was about as easy as bench-pressing a truck.

"Fingers crossed," Stella shot back, but I could hear the grin in her voice.

The spell needed to stabilize before we moved on which was why we stood there as the magic flowed between us like the world's weirdest game of hot potato. If we survived this, I was going to need a drink. Or ten. Preferably something strong enough to make me forget I ever thought 'magical pest control' was a sensible career choice. When one of my babies kicked my bladder, I winced and sent them a silent apology. That drink would have to wait.

Stella smiled at me with a cheerfulness that bordered on the pathological. "I’m glad we're in this together.

“Absolutely. Nothing says 'family bonding' quite like facing certain doom as a unit! We should make t-shirts. 'I Survived the Dieudonne Family Ghost Invasion 2024' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Stella laughed as she went back to reading through the journal. We stood there silently as she read and lifted her gaze every few seconds. I kept pouring power into our shield and prayed Hattie would lose steam soon. Stella's triumphant, "Got it!" cut through the room like a hot knife through spectral butter. It momentarily silenced even the steady stream of acerbic commentary running like a ticker tape through my brain.

With her eyes locked on the journal, she explained what she had found. "This passage here," she continued, tapping the page for emphasis with enough force to make me worry for the structural integrity of the ancient tome, "it's about binding spirits. And let me tell you, this isn't your run-of-the-mill, garden-variety 'ghost in a bottle' parlor trick. This is the kind of dark mojo that would make Aleister Crowley sit up in his grave and take notes. She needs a pocket realm to tie everything through. Not just the amulet."

I moved closer and peered over her shoulder. I read the ancient ritual with all the enthusiasm of someone reading their own autopsy report. The language was archaic, yet familiar enough for the underlying meaning to seep into my consciousness like a particularly stubborn oil stain on the fabric of reality. "Binding spirits," I murmured. "Lyra's not just tethering Hattie to the house and putting her on some sort of supernatural house arrest. She's anchoring her to a realm Lyra controls through Hattie’s pain and anger. She’s freaking weaponizing Hattie's emotions like some twisted form of spiritual nuclear fusion. She wants Hattie to reclaim the Pleiades power so she can take it from her. It seems the same rules don’t apply to ghosts."

Stella's scowl deepened, if that was even possible. "Typical Lyra," she growled. Her fingers tightened on the journal's edges with enough force to make the paper whimper. "Always has to go the extra mile in the 'completely unhinged' department. Why settle for a regular ghost when you can have a supernatural WMD? I bet she stays up nights thinking of new ways to be the overachiever of the evil witch community."

I let out a bark of laughter. "Well, ain't that just dandy? Not content with disturbing the dead, Lyra's gone and turned our Hattie into the spiritual equivalent of a nuclear warhead with anger management issues."

Stella nodded sagely, and her brow furrowed in concentration. "Breaking this binding will be no small feat," she mused in a voice that carried the weight of eons. "It looks like it will be akin to attempting to untangle the Gordian knot while blindfolded and wearing oven mitts.”

My intestines tied into a million knots as I added, “Yeah, in a hurricane. On a tightrope. Over a pit of lava."

"Oh, is that all?" she shot back.

I ignored that as my gaze darted to the door when it shuddered under another assault. A crack spread across its surface like a roadmap of our impending doom. "Well then, by all means, let's get cracking on this magical Rubik's cube. I'm sure we'll have it solved just in time for Hattie to use our bones as her new wind chimes."

Stella's eyes suddenly lit up with the kind of manic gleam usually reserved for mad scientists on the verge of a breakthrough. Or caffeine addicts who've just discovered an all-you-can-drink espresso bar. "Woah! Look at this segment!" she exclaimed, jabbing her finger at the page. "It outlines a method for weakening the binding. If we can unearth the object Lyra utilized to anchor Hattie's spirit, we should be able to unravel this tapestry of torment. That is, of course, as long as she didn’t change it in any substantive manner when she conducted it."

I blinked, attempting to process this new information while my brain was still trying to cope with the fact that we were discussing the finer points of ghostly bondage like it was a particularly esoteric knitting technique. "That would put us one step ahead of Lyra.” Excitement surged through me over the thought. “We can find the amulet. And hey, at least it's not some creepy antique doll. I've seen far too many horror movies to be comfortable with that particular object. I draw the line at battling Chucky's more vindictive cousin."

Stella snorted and shook her head at me. "The doll would fit Lyra better than something as cliché as an amulet. Then again, we're not dealing with your run-of-the-mill psychopath here. This is advanced lunacy we're up against. She probably took ‘Villainy 501: Advanced Techniques in Spectral Annoyance’.”

I snickered and said, “She must have graduated summa cum laude."

Just as I was about to retort with another sarcastic quip—because in the face of certain doom, my brain decided that snark was the only appropriate response—the door let out a groan so ominous it could have headlined a death metal concert. The sound reverberated through the room and sent shivers down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention like tiny soldiers preparing for supernatural warfare.

And then, as if summoned by the cosmic forces of 'could this possibly get any worse’, Persephone materialized in the center of the room. Her sudden appearance was accompanied by a soft glow. It would have been soothing if she wasn’t my mother-in-law. And we weren't currently in the middle of a paranormal crisis. She radiated an aura of calm that was so out of place in our current predicament, it was almost offensive.

"Ladies," she intoned. Her voice carried the weight of centuries and the placid serenity of someone who hadn't gotten the memo about our impending spectral doom. "I couldn’t get past the disturbance from the spectral plane.” She gestured to the door at the top of the stairs like Vanna White did the letters she revealed. “I trust I'm not interrupting anything important?"

I stared at her, slack-jawed for a moment before finding my voice. "Oh no, not at all," I drawled. "We're just having a lovely little tea party while dodging flying furniture, deciphering the journal of a demented witch. Trying not to become victims in Hattie's ghost story. Nothing important at all. Would you care for a scone? I'm afraid they might be a tad incorporeal, given our current predicament."

Persephone, either immune to, or willfully ignoring my sarcasm, glided further into the room. She scanned our surroundings with the mild interest of someone perusing a moderately engaging museum exhibit. "I see," she said, in a tone that suggested she didn't really see at all. "And I suppose the violent shaking of the foundations and the malevolent aura pervading the area are just part of your unconventional home decor?"

Stella, bless her eternal optimism, perked up at Persephone's arrival like a puppy that had just spotted a particularly enticing chew toy. "Thank the stars you're here, Persephone. We've stumbled upon some rather... intriguing information about Hattie's binding and hidden realms. Perhaps your vast knowledge could provide some insight?"

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the nearest wall. Instead, I settled for a deep sigh that carried all the weariness of a middle-aged witch who was over six months pregnant. "Yes, by all means, let's have a scholarly discussion about spectral bindings while Hattie here is auditioning for the role of a lifetime. I'm sure she'll be happy to pause her rampage for a quick Q&A session."

Unruffled by my caustic commentary, Persephone gracefully made her way to Stella's side. She peered at the open journal with an expression of mild curiosity. "Fascinating," she murmured. "This is indeed a complex binding. Lyra has outdone herself with this spectral manipulation. It's almost admirable. In a terribly misguided and potentially apocalyptic sort of way, of course."

I threw my hands up in a gesture of mock celebration. "Let's all take a moment to appreciate Lyra's impeccable form in the art of 'how to royally screw over the living and the dead simultaneously’. Perhaps we should nominate her for a Nobel Prize in Paranormal Pandemonium? I'm sure that's a category they've been dying to introduce."

Ever the voice of reason in our little trio of supernatural crisis management, Stella cleared her throat. "As entertaining as Phoebe's ongoing sarcasm is," she began, shooting me a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation, "perhaps we should focus on the task at hand? Namely, how to undo this binding before it's too late?

Persephone nodded solemnly. "Indeed. The key, as your research suggests, lies in locating the anchor object. It will be something of significance to Hattie, imbued with both her essence and Lyra's malevolent intent. We also must find the hidden realm. It might be no bigger than a thimble, but it plays an important role."

I looked at Persephone, hope and skepticism warring within me like two cats fighting over the last can of tuna. "So, can you do it? Can you find the anchor or the hidden realm?"

Persephone's expression was as inscrutable as a sphinx with a poker face. "I will try to use my power," she said in a voice carrying the weight of millennia. "But I cannot guarantee the outcome. The forces at play here are... complex. And there is no way to predict how they will interact with my attempts.”

I couldn't help but snort. "Complex. Right. I'll be sure to have an epi-pen on hand." Having no comprehension of modern medicine and deadly drug interactions, my sarcasm went over her head.

I didn’t bother trying for more. I was too busy debating the merits of letting Persephone unleash her godly mojo. On one hand, we were desperate enough that 'mysterious goddess power' seemed like a perfectly reasonable Hail Mary. On the other hand, given my track record with supernatural interventions, there was a non-zero chance we'd end up opening a portal to some dimension where Cthulhu was waiting with a fruit basket and a 'Welcome to the Neighborhood' card.

But as another tremor shook the house, making dust rain down like the world's most ominous snowfall, I realized we were out of options. Hattie's spectral temper tantrum was reaching critical mass. If we didn't do something soon, we'd be lucky if there was enough of us left to haunt this place ourselves.

"Alright," I said, throwing my hands up in surrender. "Let's do it. At this point, I'm willing to try anything short of a séance with a Ouija board and a bottle of discount tequila."

Persephone nodded, and her eyes began to glow with an otherworldly light. She raised her arms, and the air around us crackled with energy. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm. If it was made of pure, undiluted divinity and a dash of 'oh crap, what have we done' thrown in for good measure.

The room filled with a golden light so bright it made me wish I'd brought sunglasses to this paranormal showdown. Persephone's body grew and towered over us like a cosmic being who'd decided to pop in for tea and world-altering magic. Her hair whipped around her face, defying gravity and probably several laws of physics. As her power reached its crescendo, there was a rumble beneath my feet.

At first, I thought it was just Hattie throwing another supernatural hissy fit. But then, with a sound like the earth itself was yawning after a thousand-year nap, a crack opened up in the basement floor. I stared at the fissure. My mouth hung open in a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"Well," I managed to squeak out, "I guess that's one way to do some home renovations."