Chapter 12
Salem
I didn’t answer right away. How could I? How could I explain that being in this broken-down place was like staring into the mirror of my own shattered life? The farmhouse, with its peeling wallpaper and its decaying floors, felt like a reflection of everything I had tried to bury.
“I know it is. You just haven’t seen enough yet.”
Before he could respond, the wind picked up outside, rattling the windows again, and the same hollow banging from before echoed through the house. My body tensed on instinct, my hand moving toward my knife, even though I knew it wasn’t gonna do shit against whatever was making that noise.
“I don’t talk about my family,” I said finally, my voice low, barely audible over the storm outside. “Not because I don’t remember. I remember everything. That’s the problem.”
Heresy stopped sharpening his blade, his dark eyes watching me intently, waiting. He never pushed, but something about his quiet presence made it easier for me to speak.
“I was seventeen when it all went to hell,” I began, my eyes drifting to the cracked window, where rain pelted the glass like tears. “I had it all—family, a normal life, a future, whatever that meant. But one night… one fucking night, everything changed.”
The images flashed in my mind—flames, smoke, the sound of screaming. My parents were already gone. Then my grandparents who I was staying with were killed in a house fire, one that the investigators said was accidental. Faulty wiring or some bullshit like that.
But I knew better. I’d been messing around with things I didn’t understand—dark things. Trying to connect with something beyond this world, thinking I had control. But the fire… it felt like punishment, like something had come back from the other side and ripped my world apart.
“I lost them,” I said, my voice tight, barely holding it together. “Lost everything. And I blamed myself.”
I felt Heresy’s gaze on me, heavy and silent, but I didn’t dare look at him. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d see the judgment, the disbelief, the pity. All the things I’d seen on so many other faces when I’d dared to open up before.
“After the fire, I ran. My extended family already looked down on me because of the craft. So, I got as far away from that place as I could. Ended up in a hospital for a while. They thought I was crazy, you know? Thought I’d lost it because I kept saying the fire wasn’t an accident, that something else had caused it. Something I couldn’t explain.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Doctors don’t believe in curses or spirits. They sure as hell don’t believe in witches.”
The memories clawed at me, but I pushed them back, forced myself to keep talking. “After I got out, I had nowhere to go. No one. So, I did what I had to do. Survived. Fought my way through shit jobs, slept in alleyways, figured out how to live without feeling anything. Eventually, I crossed paths with the Hell on Heelz girls. They were the first real family I’d had since… since the fire.”
I finally turned to look at Heresy, expecting to see something in his eyes—sympathy, maybe. But all I saw was understanding. That deep, quiet understanding that didn’t need words.
“They took me in, showed me what it meant to belong to something again. And yeah, the witchcraft? The spells and herbs? That’s real. It’s all I have left of my mom. She taught me before… before it all went to shit.”
Heresy nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “And now you’re here. In this haunted-ass farmhouse. Facing ghosts again.”
I snorted. “Yeah, something like that.”
There was a pause. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and I was grateful for it. I didn’t want his pity or reassurances. That wasn’t why I told him.
“I get it,” he said finally, his voice low, rough. “Losing people… changes you. Makes you see the world differently. Makes you do shit you never thought you’d do.”
He didn’t have to explain. I could feel the weight of his own past pressing down on him, the shadows of his own demons swirling just beneath the surface. We were both haunted, in our own ways.
“Why Hell on Heelz?” he asked after a moment, his voice softer now. “Why'd you pick them?”
I shrugged. “They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t judge me for the witchy shit or the fact that I talked to spirits. They just let me be. And they gave me a purpose. A place to belong.”
He nodded again, and for a moment, I thought that was the end of it. But then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “And the fire? You think you caused it?”
The question hit me like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t flinch. I’d asked myself that same question a thousand times.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice raw. “Maybe. Maybe not me, but some dark thing, I contacted. But I do know one thing—I’m never gonna let something like that happen again. Not on my watch.”
The silence settled between us once more, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, sure, but it was also shared. We both had our demons. We both had our pasts. And in this old, crumbling farmhouse, with the storm raging outside, it felt like we were both facing them, together.
“I’ve got your back tonight,” Heresy said after a long pause, his voice steady. “No matter what happens.”
I glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Good. Because if shit goes sideways, I’m gonna need you to cover me while I summon some serious spirits.”
Heresy chuckled, the sound low and rough, but it was real.
Maybe this haunted farmhouse wasn’t so bad after all.