3
Demi
There’s always been something spooky about this house. That’s why I bought it. I’ve been in love with this place since I was a kid.
It sits about halfway between the sea and downtown Ivy Hollow, off the beaten path. There’s a tall iron gate covered in vines at the entrance, bearing the name Beaumont Manor ?at the top in looping black metal. The gate opens up to a long, winding gravel drive that leads up a hill to the house.
Beaumont Manor is a thing of beauty. Its facade is painted black with Art Deco trim in amber and dark green.
Two polygon turrets, sharp enough to pierce the clouds, bookend the center steepled A-frame.
Thick ivy climbs the walls and drapes over the wraparound porch.
In the autumn and winter, that ivy turns from lush green to blood red.
Arched windows decorate all four stories.
I’ve seen pictures of a beautiful stained glass window that used to exist at the very top of the A-frame.
It was boarded up after the fire destroyed the attic and killed the last person who lived here.
Now it’s all mine.
Admittedly, it’s a lot of space for just me and my cat. There are five bedrooms, four bathrooms, two living rooms, a kitchen, a library, and an honest-to-god ballroom. All the same, it was a deal I couldn’t refuse at a time in my life when I needed a bit of a fresh start .
That was also part of the stir I caused in town.
I’d been living with my long-term boyfriend, Owen, for just under a year when he lost his job and started drinking too much.
He turned out to be a mean drunk, and I’m not the type of woman who offers second chances.
So, when the opportunity to buy Beaumont fell into my lap, I jumped at it with arms wide open and left Owen the minute the ink was dry on the closing papers.
I’m standing in the foyer with Mittens in my arms when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I set my cat on the floor, and she mewls pathetically.
She’s a huge Maine Coon, bigger than most dogs, but she thinks she’s a kitten.
Actually, it’s more dramatic than that. Mittens thinks she’s my baby, and her favorite thing in the world is when I carry her around like one.
As I pull my phone out, Mittens circles my legs, rubbing against me and knocking into my knees. If I weren’t paying attention, she’d probably push me off balance and flat on my ass.
“Chill out, babycakes,” I say.
She meows sadly in response.
I answer the phone, and it’s my older sister, Blue, on the other end. She doesn’t even wait for me to say hello before she starts talking.
“Did the ghost get you yet?” she asks.
“Not yet. But I just got here, so there’s still time,” I say.
I think back to the feeling that came over me when I walked up the stairs: like someone or some thing ?was there, watching me, sharing the space. It was a sensation that felt both warm and cold at once, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up .
“I’m on my way over with your bed,” she says. “And I’m pretty sure half of Ivy Hollow is following me there.”
Blue is a woodworker who crafts incredible handmade furniture pieces so unique and beautiful that they look like they belong in the homes of the elves of Middle-earth.
She’s wildly talented and the most in-demand craftsperson on the Eastern seaboard.
When she said she was going to make a bed for me, I asked if it was a housewarming gift, and she responded that it was a “Thank fuck you left that dirtbag” gift.
Blue isn’t one to mince words.
“Why is the town following you?” I ask.
She gives me a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I stopped by the Apothecary to say hi to the aunts because I had a little time to kill. ?But they weren’t there.
I tracked them down at Juniper’s. Folks overheard me say I was coming over to deliver the bed and see your house.
Noah was there and volunteered to help.”
Of course he did. Noah Whitcomb, a local fisherman, has been in love with my sister since they were in kindergarten together. She, naturally, is willfully oblivious.
“Then it sort of spiraled out of control, and now everyone is coming to help deliver your bed and see the house.”
I shake my head. “Awesome. The surprise housewarming party I never wanted.”
“Surprise,” she deadpans.
So much for a quiet afternoon of getting acquainted with my new home. Oh, well. I suppose the town’s curiosity is kind of cute, although I know they’ve all been gossiping behind my back. And sometimes to my face.
“How long do I have until the onslaught?”
“I’m about five minutes down the road. Noah is right behind me in his truck with the aunts. Everyone else is following.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“At least half a dozen, but probably more.”
“Love that for me.”
“Gird thy loins, sister,” Blue says with a dark laugh.
“Girded. See you soon.”
Sure enough, a few moments later, I see Blue pulling up the driveway in the moving van she uses for furniture deliveries, followed by Noah’s vintage powder blue pickup truck and three other cars filled with people.
Blue jumps down from the van, her cherry-red curls and pale skin starkly contrasting with her all-black attire. She’s wearing black flared jeans and a black high-neck tank top, showing off her vibrant tattoo sleeves on both arms.
Her late husband was a tattoo artist who used Blue’s skin as the canvas for his most beautiful pieces.
Looking over her shoulder at the small crowd, my sister scowls at them before meeting me on the porch and pulling me into her arms. She’s a person who typically cringes away from signs of attention or affection from everyone.
I’m one of her very few exceptions. We’ve always moved together like magnets, virtually inseparable since I was born and she, at three years old, claimed me as hers.
“I should warn you, the aunts brought their baskets,” she says in my ear .
“Not the baskets.”
Kitty and Mickey St. James are two of my three favorite people in the world.
They fully and unabashedly lean into the rumors of their connection to the occult.
The aunts have been known to be called in to cleanse homes of bad energy or give a psychic reading here and there for a birthday or bachelorette party- hence the baskets: their traveling witchy essentials.
Noah escorts Kitty and Mickey up the porch steps, one hanging on each of his well-muscled arms. He’s a tall man with broad shoulders and dark brown skin, who wears round, wire-framed glasses that at first seem at odds with his size, but make sense once you get to know him.
My aunts look so small compared to him. Two little women wearing flowing jewel-toned skirts and dusters, each carrying a wicker basket overflowing with herbs and detritus in their free hands.
Kitty is the older of two; her hair is pure silver and is cut in a short, sleek bob.
Mickey’s hair is jet-black and wild with unkempt curls.
They have the same blue eyes as my sister and me.
I’ve always felt a sense of kinship with them that I can’t explain.
Blue and I grew up confiding in Kitty and Mickey our struggles and secrets more than we did our own mother, much to her chagrin.
As they reach the porch, Kitty lets out a low whistle, and she takes in the sight of the house through the doorway behind me.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us today, Mick,” she says.
“Oh, yeah. Big time,” Mickey replies.
Blue gives me a knowing look and an eye roll.
“What kind of work, exactly?” I ask .
Kitty narrows her eyes at the house. “The place needs a vibe shift.”
“Are the vibes…bad?” Blue asks with an edge of concern in her voice.
“No!” I reply in defense of my house, at the same time as the aunts shake their heads.
“Not bad,” Mickey says, brows furrowed.
“Just…lonesome,” adds Kitty. Her expression is soft, full of sympathy. “Very, very lonesome.”