"Thank you!"
The pointer starts to navigate over the letters on the board. I hurry my steps back into my room, curious about what he wants to say.
"Neeeeeeeeeeoooooo???" Zilla’s voice interrupts the ghost.Damn it!
Half asleep, I wander to the kitchen. The sound of the cat's paw bones echo through the house. Treading on the dark wood floorboards to the rhythm of the tones the music box creates.
The aroma of invigorating brew is filling my senses. My housemate Zilla makes the best coffee. The scents flowing in the kitchen always makes me want to try her lattes. I take out the cat food from the fridge. It is the only thing Hex cannot open. He always steals food and leaves it on the carpet.
"He already ate. Two times..." Zilla walks into the kitchen cradling her emerald amphibian. Another one she saved afew days ago. She is a vet, so animals... alive or dead, are always in the house. She is the reason Hex is still around us.
He was… is my black American short-hair. He died because he actually ran under a passing car. Now he is just a cast of bones, like those suspended on metal mounts in the museums. Although he is a cat… his appetite is prehistoric, rivaling that of dinosaurs.
What is causing him to remain "alive" other than Zilla’s enchantment? Welcome to Mournton. The grieving town. Because every deceased person or animal remains a mourned host in our community. Regardless of whether someone hauls their cadavers to the other towns. Phantoms lurk around every corner in this haunting locale. Shadows whisper secrets, and echoes of the past dance in the air. Here, spirits roam and share their stories, ensnaring the curious. The presence of the spectral is both chilling and captivating.
Our coven is strong enough to keep them close. Even the most mischievous spirits find a home among us. Poltergeists. And I am blessed/cursed enough to have one after my ass most days. Hex’s soul takes a detour into uncharted territory, while his bones dance among my ankles each morning.
"You have another rose at the door."
"And another note… but this time I was naked in the shower while he watched…"
"Damn… It’s bad, Neo…"
I fill my pumpkin-shaped mug with hot coffee. "Do I have to kill him?"
Zilla laughs. "Oh Coven help me… You won’t feel sorry after he is dead-dead."
I roll my eyes at her. It is bad. Zilla is right. Obviously... she is always right. Her small frame and bright orange hair draw energy and wisdom from the autumn sun itself. Ideas are included in each freckle that is drawn on her perfect nose. I swear on the Moon, this girl is the smartest witch in our Coven-I watch as she gives her toad a kiss-and the weirdest one.
"Animals are waaaay better than men…" She spins and leaves the kitchen, Hex purring at her, carrying on with his feast, which suddenly tumbles to the floor between his joints.
Brown or black.
I am contemplating in front of the mirror which pair of boots to wear today. Dressed in a black long-arm shirt, black high stockings and a woven brown miniskirt. My hair drapes freely over my back, merging effortlessly with the raven shirt. I tilt my head, gazing at my legs reflected in the mirror. Black-my ever-reliable choice. With a swift motion, I grab my bag and keys. A handful of treasured cookbooks from my grandmother fill my arms. Then, I step out into the cold.
The darkness looks too indolent to take its leave. Bathed in the soft glow of vintage streetlights, my walk tothe shop feels serene. Each time the wind whispers to the trees, leaves tumble like confetti, crafting a vibrant carpet of orange and yellow beneath my feet. Glistening spider webs, jeweled with raindrops, dangle from the fences. Ghosts crafted from old bed sheets hang from the twisted tree branches. Reminding me of skeletal fingers controlling the marionette's cords. A scarecrow stands to my left. Stitched together from torn burlap, its eyes seem to track my every move.
Bats sway from hidden cords, their wings agitating the disorder of the gusts. Jack-o'-lanterns grin with a sneaky look on every ledge, filling the air with a burnt pumpkin smell. The perfect Halloween tableau.
I take off my headphones as my spine begins to tingle and check my shoulder to see if there is anyone behind me. A light sensation at the base of my neck—a hint of worry that slips beneath my skin. My footsteps echo a little too loudly against the pavement, and suddenly I am aware of the rhythmic beat of my own pulse. The feeling of someone following me grows heavier, like an invisible weight pressing against my shoulders. Nothing but shadows.
"I can feel you!" I turn completely, rising my voice to no one. The brisk air fills my lungs. And as soon as I turn around to proceed with my walk, I smack into a tall, powerful as hell form garbed fully in black. He holds a helmet tightly as we crash into one another. His unkempt black hair falls on his forehead as he leans his head to look down at me.
"I’m sorry!" My voice slips from my lips. I gaze up at him, eyes memorizing the tattoos covering his neck.I bite.Pierced with black ink into his skin. A bat with its wings spread right next to it. A vampire. Fantastic. "I thought someone was following me…" I move my thumb over my shoulder to show him the path behind me.
"Was it?"
Oh, for the Covens sake… deep voice.
"Sorry?"
"Following you." his fingertips slide that coal hair atop his head and he fits the helmet on, locking the chin strap.
"I guess not…" I walk past him. "Have a nice day!" Cigarette smoke with notes of amber, blood orange, wood and leather contribute to his wild scent. I try to catch another glimpse of him with the corner of my eye but he is already turned and looking at me walking away.
I smile when I hear his motocross bike revving up.
As soon as the store's door chime sounds, I wrap the red chewy sweet in its packaging and clean my hands. Laughter and banter fill the shop. Footsteps echo around the space. Holding fast to the black cloth, I make my way to the front of the store. Two of the dudes are carrying a collection of sweets to the register. A guy is propped up against the door with his arms folded over his chest, a red lollipop already resting on his lips. He is the only one I recognize. Obviously, he opted for the sizzling bloodsucker. Vampires—I roll my eyes—my new recipe; I used real blood in the mix. I expect it to be a chart-topper this year. As thefourth one spots me, he leans into the counter. With a flirty poise, his elbow finds a home on the warm wood. Slowly, he unwraps the candy, unveiling the scent of fresh blood.
