27. Witch’s Ghost
Courtney
Elsie and I bundle in jackets, preparing to brave the cold, dark October night and whatever else we might encounter on our mission.
“For the record, I think this is a really STUPID idea,” Elsie complains loudly, voicing her displeasure of our late-night adventure. I turn from her to hide my excited smile as I zip up my outer jacket.
“Come on, Els. Where’s your sense of adventure?”I try to encourage.
“Dead. Like we’re going to be if the witch catches us snooping around her house in the middle of the night.”
“Adventure aside, if we can get into that trunk and find something of Martha’s, it’ll be a huge slap in the face to Milo. Who would probably kill to be the first person to get his hands on whatever is inside.” I wring my hands together in an anxious motion as I continue. “As terrible as it is, a part of me wants to do it to spite him. I want revenge for his part in the plan to lure me here and for betraying the friendship I thought we had.”
Elsie studies me for a moment before zipping up her own darkly colored jacket in solidarity. “Fine. Only because I’m an avid supporter of revenge. Let’s go.” I offer her a look of pleasant surprise as she marches straight out my front door, expecting me to follow.
The pair of us set out on foot for the decrepit two-story house on the edge of Havenwood’s tree line. The very same tree line that that nasty little crow had scared me away from weeks ago, we’re headed for the Witch’s House. That’s the last place Martha called home before she was murdered, so it only makes sense that the key that unlocked her trunk would be there somewhere.
Antsy groans vibrating from Elsie’s throat act as the soundtrack to our mission as we cross town in the dark, not wanting to risk drawing attention to ourselves with flashlights. Every noise we make feels amplified; even the sound of our breathing seems to reverberate off the brick buildings and echo far beyond us.
“The witch’s house is considered a historic building or something so it’s been persevered, almost no one has been allowed in there since her husband moved out of it,” Elsie informs me in a hushed voice.
“When was that?” I question as we sneak along the side of a building.
“Like two months after she was burned at the stake. He got remarried and moved out right away, he left all of her stuff in there.”
“How do you know all this?” I whisper back to the barista. She shrugs, checking over her shoulder for the fifth time.
“We learn all this stuff in school. In fifth grade, we even went on a field trip to the house.”
“With it being untouched all these years I bet the key is still in there somewhere. But I’m guessing there will be some sort of security measures in place?”
Elsie nods, a strand of cinnamon falling from her dark beanie. “There’s alarms and stuff, but there’s no security guard or anything. A lot of the local kids go up there to smoke or drink.”
“There’s two of us so we can search double as fast, that gives us a better chance of finding the key before anyone arrives to check the alarms.” I devise as the surrounding houses begin to thin and give way to the more rural edge of Havenwood.
My phone buzzes for the millionth time today, the shock from the vibration causing me to almost pee myself. I hastily fish it from my back pocket and go to turn it off, the most recent message on my screen causing me to pause.
Finn: Courtney, please answer my calls. I wasn’t honest when I should have been but I’m ready to be honest now. Please give me a chance.
I power my phone off. I did give you a chance, I respond in my head, and you lied. I slide my phone back into my pocket.
“How much further, Els?” I call quietly to her; in the darkness, I can hardly even tell where we are. The barista says nothing but holds up a slightly shaking hand, pointing reluctantly just ahead of us. Thanks to a lack of electricity, the historic house is pitch black and very difficult to see against its forested background, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I’m able to make out its familiar outline. A small rectangular-looking two-story building with a wooden door stares back at me. The same foreboding feeling overtakes me, just as it had the last time I’d gotten this close to the witch’s house.
I take the lead, stealthily crossing the open field that separates the house from the neighborhood, cautiously treading through the wild grass with Elsie following closely behind. As we approach, the sounds emanating from the forest become louder and louder. The humming of bugs and the distant cry of some nocturnal animal sets a freaky Blair Witch vibe.
We scout the outside of the petite house, looking for an entry point but find that all the windows are tightly sealed and the door has a cartoonishly large lock.
“We could try to pick the lock?” Elsie suggests in a whisper. The nearest occupied house is over a hundred yards away but she still keeps her voice low out of fear of something supernatural hearing her. I look down at the heavy-duty lock and then back to Elsie, my expression letting her know that isn’t a viable option.
“We could..” Elsie brainstorms out loud, swaying side to side as she contemplates. We’re wasting time and risking someone seeing us lingering out here. I walk over to one of the downstairs windows, sling my arm back and send my fist flying through the glass. It shatters immediately, crashing to the floor and giving us our much-needed vantage point. Elsie stares at me in pure shock before an annoyingly high-pitched alarm begins to whoop, alerting neighbors, authorities, and any lingering spirits to our presence.
“Why would you do that?!” Elsie hisses over the obnoxious siren.
“We needed a way in. Come on! We have to be quick,” I beckon Elsie to follow as I slide my leg inside the broken window, followed by the rest of me. I ignore the sharp cuts on my knuckles, so long as I don’t bleed all over the floor and leave evidence, the wound can be taken care of once we’re safely back at Queens Avenue. Elsie hesitantly pops her thin frame through the window; even in the darkness, I can see her apprehension.
“You check this main floor, I’ll go upstairs. Find that key!” I encourage, the urgency in my voice giving her no room to argue about our separation. She nods and I rush up the rickety stairs, each one creaking loudly beneath my weight. As I make it to the second-floor landing, I begin to regret my decision to split up, especially regretting leaving Elsie with the only flashlight as dark rooms stare back at me.
“Woman up..” I whisper to myself, taking in a deep inhale for added bravery. I dig into my pocket and turn my phone back on, using the flashlight application to navigate as best I can.
I breeze through into the first small bedroom, keeping conscious of the time as I move on to searching the main bedroom, the one I assume belonged to my ancestor centuries ago. I search below the dusty mattress, in the small chest at the foot of the bed, in the tiny closet—nothing. Elsie and I have been inside for at least three minutes now, and time is running out before we get caught.
I stand in the center of the room, trying desperately to think of more spots to search, when I hear a creak in the floorboard behind me. I don’t dare to move a muscle or even take another breath as the air in the room turns static, the fine hairs along my arms and the back of my neck rise to attention. Suddenly I know I am no longer alone in the room and it is not Elsie behind me nor any other living person. My pupils dart to the edge of my vision but I still can’t see the presence behind me. It doesn’t matter, I know who it is.
“Martha,” I test my voice, unsurprised when it cracks in fear. “My name is Courtney. I found a trunk in my attic with your initials on it, I’m guessing you wanted me to find that.” I hold my arms out to my sides with my palms open, a gesture meant to show that I mean no harm.
“I’m looking for the key to open that trunk. I don’t have much time, I need your help.”
Silence.
A beat passes and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears and the ragged, shallow breathing from the presence behind me. I begin to contemplate whether or not a ghost can cause physical harm when a small scraping sound interrupts my terrified thoughts. I whip around, petrified that I’m going to see a colonial ghost wielding an axe or a similarly horrific scene. Instead, I find the room empty, the night air resumes its normal temperature and the feeling of being alone settles in once again. My eyes dart around the room frantically as I force myself to remember how to breathe.
“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath, clenching my chest as I attempt to comprehend the paranormal encounter I just had. As my eyes are doing laps around the now empty room I notice a drawer that is pulled out of the tall dresser that hadn’t been before. That must have been the scraping sound I heard a moment ago, the sound of the wooden drawer being pulled out on rusted wheels. I approach the small dresser drawer and peek in. I rustle through the small articles of clothing that occupy the drawer, and there it is, sitting in all its brass glory. The key.
“Thank you,” I say into the open air. “We really are related, Martha. I hide stuff in my panty drawer, too.” I admit with a laugh.
“Courtney!” I hear Elsie yell from the base of the stairs. “We have company!”
I quickly snatch the key and descend the antiquated stairs, I’m going so fast that I accidentally put my foot through one of the feeble steps. I yelp as I trip, but Elsie catches me before my face collides with the ground.
“Thanks,” I breathe as I regain my balance and dislodge my foot from the step.
“Courtney, we need to go!” She hisses anxiously, checking over her shoulder.
“Go! Go! Go!” I urge her through the same broken window we entered through just as a cop car rounds the bend, coating the surrounding trees in flashing red and blue lights. There’s no way to tell if the officer saw us but we only have one option.
“Run!” I grab Elsie’s arm and we both break into a sprint, heading for the back of the residential houses closest to the woods. We both dive behind a large bush just as the patrol car parks outside Martha’s house. We watch as the potbellied policeman approaches apprehensively, the beam of his flashlight slicing through the darkness.
Once we see the cop unlock the massive lock and enter the house, we take our opportunity and dart from the bush, taking the back roads to my place.
“Did you get the key?” Elsie huffs, attempting to catch her breath as we finally make it back to the safety of my porch, the space illuminated by the warm glow of the porch light. I don’t respond in words. Instead, I reach into my bra and lift the brass key to our eye level.
Elsie whoops in excitement, throwing her arms around me as we both ignite into much-needed successful laughter.