5. Chapter 5
“ A witch?!” I laugh. “There’s no way. That stuff isn’t real.” I shake my head, then meet Patrick’s gaze. His eyes hold mine, no hint of amusement in them. I blanch. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious,” he answers, looking around the empty diner. “And yes, it seems like fantasy because we do a good job hiding our existence. You know how well it worked out for our kind back in the 1600s.” He shrugs. “But I don’t think we have to worry about being overheard here.
“My family is from a line of warlocks. Our magic is passed through the men instead of the women. The two covens used to be aware of each other, helping when needed, but we mostly just stayed out of each other’s way. They were hoping to stay undetected.
“One day my great-, great-, great-, however many greats uncle came to ask a favor of the high priestess. As he approached, he felt tingles rush down his spine like he didn’t belong there, but it made no sense. He’d been here before and that hadn’t happened in the past. He pushed through and found the town a lot like you saw it today. Destroyed. Deserted. Dead.
“He could sense dark magic lingering, so he made it our family’s mission to stay close enough to help keep an eye on the area. Make sure the darkness doesn’t spread and infect anywhere else.
“It used to be a growing town, full of life and energy, but since that day, few have come back. I’m sure you felt the shivers when you got here. Everyone I talk to says the same thing. It’s a gut instinct that you don’t belong and need to get out as quick as you can. Few care enough to fight the feeling.”
I shake my head slowly. “This can’t be happening,” I mutter. “I must be having a mental breakdown. Maybe I just need more sleep.” Louder, I add, “Nope. I felt drawn to explore this place, not run from it, so see, you can’t be right.”
“That’s part of what makes me so sure that you are descended from one of the founding families. That and the fact that the houses are still standing. There’s no other reason for why you would want to be here.” He reaches out to pat my hand, but I draw back.
“Or I just like history,” I answer. “And this place hasn’t been thoroughly examined yet to learn what we can from the past.”
“Hmmm, well either way, if you want, we can go look at the house that I believe the O’Byrnes lived in. Maybe you can find something about your family’s past there, or worst case, you can learn more about the town,” Patrick suggests.
“I did come all the way out here…” I start. “And it would be a waste to go home empty-handed… And I could find some more journals or diaries to add to the archives… Okay. I guess it won’t hurt anything to go back up there and do some exploring.” I turn, searching for my wallet to pay for my drink. “Shit! I think I left my wallet in my car.”
Patrick pulls his wallet from his pocket and drops some money on the table. “No worries. I’ve got it.”
He calls a farewell to the workers in the back before leading me out of the diner and back to his truck.
We bounce our way back up to the road. It’s quiet. My mind is spinning with all that Patrick has told me. I don’t want to believe it, but the longer his words circle in my brain, the more right they feel. If what he said is true, that would explain the weird dreams. And all the times I was talking to another kid as a child, but no one else could see them. Those were hard days. All the kids in my class stopped talking to me and started calling me weird. I learned to escape into books and found my passion for history.
The lack of movement brought me back to the present. Blinking, I shake my head, clearing my past away.
Patrick opens his door and steps out. I follow, letting my eyes drift around the circle. The houses stand in various states of disrepair. Some look almost livable, while others look like a strong breeze will blow them down.
“Do you know which house belonged to whom?” I ask as Quoth lands on my shoulder.
“Some are easier to tell than others,” Patrick answers. “The crypts behind the houses have some names. Those have been the most helpful, but we haven’t gone inside many houses. It seemed almost disrespectful of the families.”
I nod. “I get it. Some of my work feels like you’re invading someone’s personal thoughts. Especially with the diaries and journals, but that’s also where we get some of the best information.”
“If I had to guess, I would say the O’Byrne house is”—he spins, then points across the space—“that one.”
“What makes you think that?” I ask.
“There’s a large O formed by the door handles, but I could be wrong.” He shrugs.
“Guess there’s one way to find out,” I say, walking toward the green space.
I shudder, remembering the lady being burned from the last time I stepped onto the grass, then change my path to follow the road around.
We pick our way up to a large stone house. Wading through waist-high weeds, we pass through what looked to be a fence once upon a time, although most of the planks are scattered on the ground, like a big storm came through.
Reaching the front door, I can’t help but be impressed. The door is taller than eight feet and towers above us. The knob is as Patrick described: a black stone carved into an O. The front of the house has two floors of windows, and a massive chimney sticks out of the roof.
I take a deep breath. I have this deep-seated feeling that no matter what is behind this door, my life will change after this moment. Reaching out, I grab the knob. The stone is warm in my hand, which is odd, since the sun hasn’t made it to the front of the house yet. The knob sticks when I first twist it but gives in after a few firm twists, then the door swings open with a screech that startles Quoth off my shoulder. He flies over the house toward the back to explore while we investigate inside.
The inside is too dark to see anything. I scramble into my pocket and pull out my phone, turning on the flashlight as Patrick does the same.
“This place feels haunted,” he whispers. “It’s like something heavy is sitting on me.”
“Hmmm… I don’t get that feeling at all. It’s almost like something is drawing me inside. Like it wants me here.”
I walk forward, leaving footprints in the thick layer of dust. Patrick follows me, shivering slightly. Swinging my phone from side to side, I see a fireplace off to the right. Turning, I make my way into the room, and my light catches on several candles sitting on the mantle. Picking one up, I search for a lighter, with no luck.
“Do you happen to have a lighter?” I ask Patrick.
“Out in the truck, but there should be something around here,” he says, shining his light up and down the mantle. “Ah, here.” He picks up a piece of metal that looks similar to a horseshoe and a large, round stone.
He walks over to the candle and strikes the objects together, creating a spark. After a few times, the candle catches.
We light another long-tapered candle and put our phones back in our pockets. Best to save the batteries if we can.
“Now maybe we will find something that tells us who lived here,” I say, turning to explore the space further. “Houses this nice should have a library or office somewhere in it.”
We cross the room to a back door, passing a piano and a few dusty couches on our way. We enter a large dining room with a long table surrounded by benches. I could almost picture the dinners for the family and friends around this table, celebrating good news or just spending time together.
A woman in a plain brown dress enters the room, head down and hands clasped. She walks quickly to the corner before turning and facing into the room.
“Hello?” I say quietly, not wanting to startle her. She doesn’t react. “Miss?”
Patrick gently touches my arm. “Who are you talking to?”
I turn to look at him. “The lady who just walked in.” I look down at the floor and notice the lack of footprints from the door she came through. “Oh God, you can’t see her, can you?”
“No,” he answers. “It’s just us in here. Why? Who do you see?”
“I’m not sure,” I answer. I explain to him what she’s wearing and how she’s behaving. She stands still as a statue in the corner.
“She may have been a maid for the family. They were often told to be seen but not heard during that time,” he offers.
“Yeah, that would make sense,” I say. “But why is she still here?”
“I have no idea. Should we continue?”
I agree, and we make our way through the back doorway, entering a sprawling room that I think would have been the kitchen. Cabinets and counters line most of the room with metal pots and pans lying around. A large fireplace takes up the fourth wall. Black metal hooks are spread inside the fireplace to hang the pots.
“It’s like being in a museum,” I whisper, not wanting to disrupt the peace of the place. “This is awesome!”
Patrick snorts a laugh, opening the drawers and cabinets around the room. We find sealed jars of fruits, vegetables, and what appears to be dried meats. While interesting, none of it tells us who lived here.
We move through to a room with a large desk in the middle of the room. Empty bookshelves line two walls, and a large window lets the sunlight in, highlighting a layer of dust at least an inch thick on the desktop.
I let out a heavy breath. “If something was here, I bet it was in this room, but it seems like we are too late.” I drag the chair out from under the desk and slouch into it.
“We shouldn’t give up yet,” Patrick says, pointing to the stairs. “There’s another floor to check. We may still find something.”
I try to muster a smile but can’t shake the feeling of defeat. The feeling that I needed to be here is fading and heaviness sits on my shoulders.
“Okay, let’s go.” I push myself up, my knee knocking into the side of the desk. Something drops into my lap with a thump. “What the hell?” I lift out a book bound in black leather. I blow some of the dust off the desktop, trying to clear a spot to examine my new find. Patrick and I both sneeze several times before regaining control.
Pulling the candle closer to the cover, I see the gold etching of a skull lying on roses. Underneath in faded letters are the words O’Byrne Family Grimoire .
“I guess we know it’s the right house,” I say. “But what’s a grimoire?”
Patrick holds his hand out, hovering it over the book before pulling it back. “A grimoire is a family’s spell book. Each family had their own to pass down spells, potions, and knowledge to future generations. It is considered a terrible violation to read another family’s book if anyone from the family still exists. I wonder how it survived all this time?” His voice is filled with awe. “It looks like everything else was cleared out a while ago.”
“Besides being hidden, it almost feels warm. Like it recognizes me.” I catch Patrick’s confused gaze. “I know it sounds stupid, but it almost feels like it was waiting for me.”
Patrick places his hand on my shoulder and gives a light squeeze. “It doesn’t sound stupid, and you might be on to something. The book may have been spelled to be hidden until someone from the family came for it. That would explain how it was missed all this time.”
I nod a little, gently grabbing the edge of the cover and lifting. As the book opens, a loud shriek from deeper into the house makes me jump.
“What was that?” I whisper-scream.
“What was what?” asks Patrick.
“Someone screamed. They sounded like they were in pain. How could someone sneak into the house without us hearing them?” The words tumble out in a jumbled mess.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Patrick says, lifting his candle higher and looking into the darkness beyond this room. Glancing back at me, his face softens. “But we can go check just to be sure.”
I stand, tucking the book under my arm and pick up my candle. “Yes, whoever it is. They need our help. We have to do something.”