8. Presley
Presley
I stare at the bookstore through my windshield.
“Well, Penny. Here we go.”
She stands with her front paws against the passenger-side door, staring out the window.
“You’re staying here.”
Her head snaps toward me. The betrayal in her eyes is immediate.
“I’m going inside for paperwork. You’ll survive.”
She sits up like a prairie dog, her little front paw extended like she wants me to shake it.
“Don’t do that.”
Her ears droop.
“I said don’t.”
She sits there, unmoving. Her eyes plead with mine.
“Emotional manipulation worked yesterday. It’s not working today.”
A tiny whine escapes her.
“Fine. I’ll ask if you can come in.”
Her tail begins wagging.
“You’re terrifyingly good at that.”
I climb out and walk around to the passenger side.
A few minutes later, Penny and I cross the sidewalk toward The Crooked Spine.
The bookstore occupies one of the oldest buildings in downtown Hollow Creek. Dark brick. Tall windows. A faded wooden sign hangs above the entrance with gold letters spelling out the name.
Books fill the front window alongside pumpkins, black candles, orange lights, and a small skeleton sitting in an armchair with an open paperback resting across its lap. Someone has placed reading glasses on its face.
I smile. “Okay. I really love this place.”
Penny looks up at me.
I point at her. “You’re not eating anything.”
Her tail wags.
“That wasn’t permission.”
I pick her up, then pull the door open. A bell chimes overhead. The smell of books, old paper, and wood hits me immediately. Something cinnamon-scented burns nearby.
I breathe deeply.
Yeah. This feels right.
“Presley?”
I look toward the counter.
Margaret smiles as she comes around it.
She’s probably in her late fifties, with silver threaded through her dark hair and red glasses hanging from a chain around her neck.
“You made it.”
“I did.”
Her gaze drops. “And you brought company.”
“Sorry. I can take her back to the car if—”
“Absolutely not.”
Margaret immediately moves closer.
Penny’s tail moves so fast her entire ass wiggles against me.
“What’s her name?”
“Penny.”
“Oh, you are precious.”
Penny attempts to climb into Margaret’s arms.
“Penny.”
Margaret laughs. “She’s fine.”
“I’m starting to think she’s going to become more popular in Hollow Creek than I am.”
“Probably.” Margaret smiles at me. “I like you already.”
A smile spreads across my face. “I like you, too.”
Penny leans over and licks her face.
Margaret laughs. “You’ll fit right in, too.” She scratches her ears. “You know Walter?”
I laugh. “Of course she does.”
“He’ll love having another dachshund around Hollow Creek permanently.”
Something loosens inside my chest.
Maybe Stella was right. Not about her witchy intuition. I refuse to give her that much satisfaction. But about this place.
Maybe I belong here.
Margaret gestures toward the counter. “Come on. We’ll get the boring stuff out of the way first.”
The boring stuff includes tax forms, emergency contact information, direct deposit, and about six places that require my signature.
Penny curls beneath my chair while Margaret walks me through each of the forms.
How sad is it that my emergency contact is Stella instead of my mother?
I sign the last form and push it toward Margaret.
“When can you start?” she asks.
“Whenever you need me.”
“How about Monday?”
“Perfect.”
“That gives me a few days to get everything organized.”
She gathers the paperwork into a neat stack. “And you said you’re taking some time away from school?”
“For now. I was working on my master’s in English.”
“Was?”
“Am,” I correct. “Technically. I took a leave of absence when Grandma got sick.”
Margaret's expression softens. “And eventually?”
“Finish it. Then hopefully a Ph.D.”
“You want to teach?”
“College.”
Her smile grows. “So you’re going to spend your days surrounded by books until you can spend your days talking about them.”
I smile. “Pretty much.”
“Not a bad way to spend your time, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Agreed.”
She pushes away from the desk. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
I grab Penny’s leash and follow.
The front of the bookstore is larger than it looks from outside. Tall wooden shelves create narrow aisles throughout the space. Rolling ladders are attached to several of them, and mismatched chairs are tucked into corners beneath antique lamps.
A children’s section sits near the front. Mystery and thrillers farther back. Romance takes up an entire wall in the center.
I stop, staring at all the titles.
Margaret notices. “You read romance?”
“Definitely.”
She laughs. “I knew I hired you for a reason.”
We continue toward the rear of the store. An old wooden staircase leads to the second floor.
“What’s upstairs?”
“More books. Used inventory. A little reading area. My office.”
“Anything haunted?”
Margaret gives me a sideways look. “You've been in Hollow Creek too long.”
“Probably.”
She points toward a narrow hallway beneath the stairs.
“Bathroom is down there. Staff room is the second door.”
We walk farther back, Penny’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor.
At the end of the hall sits another heavy wooden door. Margaret grabs the handle and gives it a hard tug.
Nothing happens.
She tries again.
The door jerks open.
“Storage.”
I peer inside.
Boxes line the walls from floor to ceiling. More shelves. Old displays. Holiday decorations. Stacks of books waiting to be sorted.
“It’s bigger than I expected.”
“Used to be part of the neighboring shop before everything was remodeled decades ago.”
She releases the door. It swings halfway shut, then stops.
“The door sticks.”
“I noticed.”
“It’s temperamental. Humidity makes it worse. Sometimes you have to put your shoulder into it.”
“Good to know.”
“Eventually I’ll get someone to fix it.”
I glance at her. “How long have you been saying that?”
“Seven years.”
I laugh. “I won’t hold my breath.”
She smiles and leads Penny and me back toward the front.
By the time we finish the tour, I’m even more excited than I was when I arrived.
This place is weird. Old. Slightly crooked. And somehow comforting.
Basically, it’s perfect.
Margaret shakes my hand. “I’ll see you Monday at nine.”
“I’ll be here.”
“And Penny is welcome as long as she behaves.”
I look down. Penny is sitting beside me like a tiny angel.
“She’s a good girl.”
“I see that.” Margaret reaches down and pets her.
“Have a great day.” I give Penny’s leash a gentle tug. “Come on, girl.”
We exit the bookstore.
I pull my coat tighter around me as the cold air hits my skin.
“Let’s go get a coffee. Then go home and decorate outside.”
I put my hands on my hips and survey my work. “I like it.”
Two pumpkins flank the front door.
Black lanterns line the steps.
Fake cobwebs stretch between the porch railings.
A wooden sign reading TRICK OR TREAT hangs beside the door.
Small ghosts sway from the porch ceiling whenever the breeze blows.
Penny sniffs one of the pumpkins.
“Grandma would've added twice as much.”
Probably three times.
I glance toward the boxes scattered across the porch.
I sigh.
I’m worn out.
Maybe I’ll call it a day and finish decorating tomorrow.
Penny trots down the porch steps and immediately starts investigating a pile of leaves.
My phone buzzes from inside my pocket. I pull it out.
It’s Stella, calling me back. I left her a voicemail earlier.
“Before you say anything, what happened today has nothing to do with your witchy intuition.”
“You’re in denial. I knew this was going to happen before it did.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You have to stop saying that.”
“I can't help being gifted.”
“You guessed that a bookstore might eventually hire an English major.”
“Of course. Witchy intuition.”
“Delusion.”
“Jealousy.”
I laugh.
“Seriously, Stella, I can hardly believe I got the job.”
“I knew you would.” Through the phone, I hear Stella’s heels clicking against the floor as she walks.
For a moment, envy tugs at me. I picture myself crossing a college campus on my way to teach a class.
“When do you start?”
“Monday.”
“So? Do you like it?”
“The bookstore?”
“No, Presley. The municipal sewer system.”
“Smartass.”
“You started it.”
I smile as I look toward the trees. “I love it.”
“See?”
“Don't.”
She laughs.
“It just feels... right.” My gaze returns to the porch. “Like coming home.”
The decorations move gently in the breeze.
“I think Grandma would've liked me working there.”
“She would've bragged about it to everyone she met.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah.”
“And then she'd tell them you were going to be a professor.”
“Before I actually became one.”
“Obviously.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah. She would’ve.”
We talk for another few minutes before Stella enters her classroom.
“I’ll talk to you later. Love ya!”
“Love you, Stel.”
After hanging up, I start gathering the empty boxes.
Penny chases a leaf across the yard.
“Stay close!”
She ignores me. Naturally.
I carry the first box inside.
Then the second.
When I return for the last one, I stop.
One of the hanging ghosts is crooked. Its white fabric has twisted around the string, leaving the poor thing facing the side of the house instead of the yard.
I stare at it. “Seriously?”
I glance at the stepladder I used earlier to reach the hooks. Then at the ghost.
My legs ache.
My arms ache.
And I've spent most of the afternoon climbing up and down that damn thing.
“Nope.”
Penny trots back onto the porch.
“I’ll fix it tomorrow.”
She looks up at the crooked ghost.
“Don’t judge me.”
Her tail wags.
“It's Halloween. It looks possessed.”
I grab the last box.
The breeze moves through the trees behind me. Leaves rustle.
For the briefest second, I stop and listen.
Snap.
My head jerks in that direction.
Nothing.
I shake my head.
Don’t be ridiculous. Branches snap. Leaves sway. It’s part of nature.
I turn and look toward the woods anyway. Orange, red, and golden leaves cover the ground beneath the trees.
There’s no movement.
No strange shadows.
No one watching me.
I shake my head. “Stop letting that stupid movie bother you.”
Penny follows me inside.
I close the door behind us, then lock it.
I glance out the window in the door.
Outside, the crooked ghost twists slowly in the autumn breeze.
I watch it for a moment before walking away.