Chapter Thirteen
We stopped for lunch at a quaint diner and sat outside to soak up the sun.
The hills around the town still retained a deep green color, but if you looked closely, you could see they were slowly shifting to their autumn palette; yellow and brown leaves shuffled like a cluster of old wives under the umbrella of youth.
Fall arrived here way later than it did back in Minnesota.
A sleepy waitress brought us menus and water.
"So, what do we have so far?" Mitchell asked.
"Witches, cemeteries, rituals, offerings. Digging up graves to find the grimoire," I said, counting them on my fingers.
Tilly hadn’t exactly inspired confidence, and she hadn’t told us anything new. Duane was still our only lead, and I wanted to get back to him as soon as possible, hoping he’d sobered up.
"Not quite what I’d expect we’d find," Mitchell said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Ow." He winced, pressing a small cut on his otherwise smooth skin. Mitchell was the type to shave every day; his face was consistently hairless, fresh, and dewy. Nick, his polar opposite, was far less finicky. Dark stubble had begun to shadow his jaw, adding to the storminess in his thought-heavy eyes. I couldn’t help but smile at the contrast. It showed in their behavior, too. While Mitchell was quick to speak and take charge, Nick preferred to stay in the background, holding his thoughts in until he was absolutely ready to share. Thinking out loud simply wasn’t his style.
"But maybe it will lead us somewhere," Nick said, joining the conversation with a visibly more relaxed demeanor than earlier. "There could be some kind of cult operating here or—"
"Or a drug cartel," June said.
Nick seriously considered her words and then said, "It sounds plausible, but I don’t know. Was Lucas into partying or something?" The last question was directed at me.
I shook my head and didn’t offer any further explanation. Lucas might’ve smoked weed during the off-season, but only occasionally and in moderation. His sports career was his top priority. I didn’t want them getting sidetracked and blaming his disappearance on drugs.
"A cult that somehow got to Lucas and Amanda. Hmm." Mitchell frowned, deep in thought. His gaze fell on his sister. She flipped nonchalantly through a book at the table, peering up at him as though she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "What are you reading there?"
She obliged and showed him the cover: The Shadows of the Hills: Legends of Appalachia.
"Where did you get that?"
June murmured something inaudible, her cheek resting on her fist. With her round face and light hair, she could pass for a sweet child if she wanted to, especially when she wasn’t spitting sarcastic remarks.
"Did you steal the book from that store?" Mitchell guessed. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Just studying some useful literature. What else was I supposed to do?"
"Not steal!"
"I’m saving your money." June snapped the book shut and waved it in front of his reddening face. "Nellie didn’t pay for that stone for... what’s it called?... her chakra thing! And I got this."
"The stone was a gift," I intervened, grabbing the book from June.
I opened the table of contents, scanning the titles: "The Witch of Willow Creek", "The Raven’s Peak Hills Werewolf", "The Guardian of the Woods"…
"Well," I sighed, handing the book back to her. "I hope you get more out of that than I will the stone."
"Juniper," Mitchell growled, his nostrils flaring. It was the first time he had used her full name, which meant he wasn’t playing around.
"Mitchell," she replied calmly, unfazed by his irritation.
"Let’s go have a little chat." He rose to his full height, and it was clear that a stern lecture was imminent. June reluctantly followed him, and they disappeared behind the building.
"I hope Sergeant Mitch isn’t opting for corporal punishment," Nick quipped, watching them go with a raised brow.
I ignored his comment and turned to face him. "Do you know her? Mathilda? Tell the truth." I sensed this was my only opportunity to ask. He wouldn’t talk in front of Mitchell or June, but maybe he’d open up to me.
Nick’s expression turned defensive. "What? No!"
"Why didn’t you ask her about your mother?"
He hesitated before confessing, "I don’t know. I don’t trust her. And honestly, she freaked me out a bit."
A weight lifted off my shoulders. "Yeah, she was a bit...odd."
June and Mitchell returned to the table just as our food arrived. They both seemed fine, with no visible signs of their earlier tension. I hoped that meant they’d worked things out. June grabbed the book from the table and slipped it into her tote bag. Out of sight, out of mind.
"So, are we all dying to go check out that cemetery?" June asked, seemingly unbothered by the situation.
"Fucking Christ, Junie, don’t." Mitchell winced as if he had a headache.
"Okay, okay, sorry, I’m just eager to bury myself in some research."
"Oh lord." Mitchell rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else, instead giving his full attention to the chicken sandwich in front of him.
Her dad jokes weren’t that funny, but I still fought a smile.
The cemetery was more expansive than we anticipated, with weathered headstones sprawling from the road’s end up the hill’s slope. A separate, "witchy" section was cordoned off, requiring a $5 admission fee per person. We paid up.
"The largest witch cemetery after Salem!
" The grizzled caretaker, in his late sixties, sported a wild shock of white hair and a matching bushy beard.
He waved for us to follow him on an unsolicited tour.
His worn denim overalls were stained with dirt and what appeared to be engine grease.
A faded name tag read "Gideon." He had been tinkering with a rusty old lawnmower before we entered, but seemed to have forgotten all about it now he had a chance to show off the attractions.
He reminded me of a theatrical producer, revealing a circus of the dead.
He guided us through the area, past faded gravestones scattered with offerings: coins, bracelets, and other trinkets.
June nudged me with her elbow. "Told you."
When we asked about the "witchy" graves, Gideon tilted his head, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Well, now, that’s just an old tale. Ain’t nobody knows if there’s real witches buried around these parts or not.
If you ask me, it’s just a bunch of hooey.
Folks around here spin stories like that to keep kids from wanderin’ off at night. "
"Why do they leave them here, then?" June pointed to the nearest grave, adorned with a plastic bracelet, as if she hadn’t heard the story before.
Gideon’s expression remained apathetic, but a hint of routine enthusiasm overcame his old bones. "Some folks believe leavin’ somethin’ like that’ll persuade the spirits to grant ‘em a wish or two."
June widened her eyes, encouraging him to continue. "What do you do with them after?"
The caretaker said this as if it were obvious, "I clean them out once a week or so, when I’m makin’ my rounds."
"Is there ever anything valuable?" Mitchell asked.
Gideon rubbed his whiskers thoughtfully. "Ain’t much else that comes to mind. But I do remember findin’ a weddin’ band here one time. Guessin’ it was a mighty important wish they was makin’."
"Cool." June’s interest waned as she began to decipher the faded letters on the gravestones. The caretaker began to prune dead flowers.
Mitchell picked up the conversation. "So, what’s the story with this graveyard? Are these all supposed witches?"
Gideon knelt beside a nearby grave. "Don’t know about every single one, but I reckon some of them was laid to rest here after that Black Water massacre."
June’s head snapped up. "The what?"
Gideon set his tools down. "Do you know about the witch coven that controlled the city? They were havin’ their gatherin’s, doin’ their devil worship and whatnot. But their leader, he got a might too full of himself. Thought he was above the law, he did."
"Wasn’t it a woman?" I asked.
The caretaker playfully wagged his finger. "No, it was a fella. And ain’t that just the truth, men always stirrin’ up trouble, one way or another." He addressed me and June with a sly grin.
June ignored the gesture and pressed on. "So, what happened?"
"They tried to take down the old man, but he had some tricks up his sleeve and some folks loyal to him. They went at each other, and a lot of ‘em ended up dead. The rest high-tailed it outta here, didn’t want no part of the trouble. That’s what the story says, anyway."
"What about the main guy, the leader?" June asked.
"He was a preacher from Virginia who came to spread his weird ideas. He preached his way right into the woods, he did."
"Is he buried here?" Nick chimed in, gesturing at the cemetery.
"Naw, his body’s never been found. Likely story is his followers, what was left of them anyway, buried him out in the woods somewhere. And that book of magic, it’s gone missin’ too."
We stood there, a little shaken. Hearing the tale in a museum was one thing, but having it confirmed was another. It turned out the story was true: the town had really witnessed a bloody witchcraft massacre.
"Someone told us the grimoire is buried in one of the graves," Nick said.
"Don’t know ‘bout that one."
"Interesting town you have here." Nick scratched the back of his head like he couldn’t quite believe his ears.
"You should come for Halloween. It gets really crazy here."
"Have you ever noticed anything strange yourself?"
"What do you mean?" Gideon poked the side of his mouth with his tongue.
"I don’t know, maybe someone took the story seriously?" Nick offered. "Tried to vandalize graves or maybe attempted some rituals or whatnot?"
"Ayuh, every now and again, for sure. But I’ve got it under control. I shoo ‘em away for good. Whatcha wanna know for?"
"Just curious. A place like this must attract all sorts of people."