On both sides of me, the trees turned dense, skeleton-like figures tunneling Archer Avenue. They were white against the black backdrop of the night and seemed as if they were twisting, turning, moving! I shook my head, believing it was my imagination. Then after a few miles, I couldn’t believe what was in front of me.
I slowed the car to a stop, staring at the entrance to Weeping Hollow.
The arched sign hovering the road.
“What?” The single word came out like fog.
I turned to look behind me, seeing nothing but a road fading into darkness.
I faced forward again, the town’s radio station pumping a new eerie song through my car speakers. A chill skated up my spine, and I gripped the wheel tightly, pressing on the gas to maneuver the car around in a three-point turn.
“You can’t keep me here,” I whispered, straightening the steering wheel. With reluctance, my gaze moved to the rearview mirror. I didn’t know what I was expecting. The town couldn’t be moving! I was surely losing my mind.
My foot lay on the gas. My eyes darted back and forth from the rearview mirror to in front of me when a sharp static broke through the song that was playing on the radio. The engine stalled, the steering wheel locked, and I’d lost control of the car as it veered off the road. I panicked, turning the key, spewing curses, banging my palm against the locked steering wheel, trying anything as the car rolled off the pavement, heading straight for the woods.
The front of the car crashed into a tree and metal crunched as it crumbled. Smoke rippled out from under the wrecked hood, floating up lazily toward the stars. Defeated tears pooled at the corners of my eyes, and I dropped my head back against the headrest. Marietta was right.
Weeping Hollow wouldn’t let me leave.
Not until it was done with me.
Having no other choice but to go back, I sucked in a breath and pushed against the car door. Metal screeched as it opened, and I planted my foot onto the pavement.
As I reached for my bags in the backseat, a pearly-white cat pounced from the woods and took a seat in the middle of the street. One green eye and one blue eye fixated on me, the Weeping Hollow sign behind him.
I yanked the suitcase through the small door. “You must be in on this too,” I said to the cat, and dropped the suitcase onto the street with a thud. “And I’m talking to a cat.” I’d lost my mind.
The ravens mocked me as I trotted past with my suitcase rolling behind, the white cat in tow––the long walk back to Gramps’ house.
“Good morning, Wiccans. It’s Thursday, and September is closing in on us, celebrations already igniting the streets at midnight. But, in the midst of celebration, the body count is rising. Please keep the Gordon family in your thoughts, and let’s give thanks for the good fortune wehavereceived. This is Freddy in the Mournin’, and remember … no one is safe after 3 a.m.,”the broadcaster announced solemnly from the kitchen radio.
Moans grumbled up my throat as I took the stairs down in a sluggish and unmotivated manner. It had been close to five in the morning by the time I’d returned to Gramps, and I barely got any sleep. Flashbacks of the Hollow Heathens, the fire, the woods, the goat, all kept me up the remainder of the night.
“Great, yah still heyah?” Gramps mumbled with sarcasm from his chair in the same butter-yellow kitchen with the daily crossword puzzle laying across the table in front of him. “I thought yah got fed up and left. Just like Tobias, leavin’ me heyah with a lousy lettah. Didn’t have tha guts ta tell me ta my face,” he growled, pinching a pencil between his fingers.
“Please, Gramps, I’ve had a long night.” I brought my fingers to my temples and moseyed toward the coffee maker.
The cat from last night weaved between my legs, having not left my sight since we’d met. He’d followed me to Gramps’, and when I didn’t let him inside the house, he’d climbed the outdoor staircase to my bedroom and cried on the other side of my French doors with the neurotic wind.
I’d caved. I’d named him Casper.
Static crackled through the radio, and Gramps pounded his fist over the top. “This damn thing,” his husky voice rattled, cut short by a coughing fit. I turned to see him pull a tissue out of the box and cover his mouth. His shoulders lurched forward until he cleared his lungs. “What happened to yah? Yah look like roadkill. And wheyas yah cah? It’s not out theya on tha street.”
I ignored him, more concerned over the subtle shivering he was trying to hide and marched over to him, pressed the back of my hand against his clammy forehead. “Oh, my god, Gramps. You’re burning up.”
Gramps pushed my hand away. “I’m fine.”
“No, I’m taking you back to bed.”
He cursed under short breaths and shook his head.
“If you don’t go to bed, I’ll get Mina over here,” I threatened.
Gramps’ eyes bulged out of their sockets, staring blankly at the newspaper.
That’s right, Gramps. I knew Mina’s name, the elderly lady with the braided hair from the diner, would get his attention. There was a reason he didn’t want me to go there and had recommended The Bean instead. He didn’t want me talking to her.
“Come to think of it, the bed doesn’t sound so bad aftah all, Moonshine,” he muttered, standing to his feet. “Make me that tea, will yah? I can walk on my own, no need ta coddle.” A slow smirk formed on my face, and I pulled it back as Gramps balanced himself over the table, preparing to walk.
