“I guess it’s busier in the summers?” I say to him as we head out.
“Eyep. We get a lot of winter visitors, but it’s definitely not as busy as summers. And fall. Fall is really nice here.”
I ask him more questions about the area and he gives us lots of interesting details about the lake and the region.
“We were hiking yesterday,” I tell him. “We went to Ridge Falls.”
“We came across a grave,” Nikki puts in. “Marek said it was a witch’s grave.”
“No, I didn’t! There’s no such thing as witches.”
“You did say that!”
“I said I’d heard there was a witch cemetery. I didn’t believe it.” I pause. “But you did.”
“Oh my God, we heard something. Are there ghosts there, Harvey?”
He grins. “Legend has it, there are.”
“Ah!” Nikki describes the noise to him.
“It could have been a screech owl.”
“It wasn’t really screeching,” Nikki says doubtfully.
“No, they don’t screech. I don’t know why they’re called that, but that’s exactly what they sound like.”
“So it wasn’t a witch’s ghost?” She slides me a mildly let down look.
“Well, you never know,” Harvey says. “Aliza Binkerhoff is buried there. As the legend holds, she was believed to be a witch. She was beheaded in 1878.”
Nikki gasps.
“Many people claim she’s buried with the axe that severed her head.”
“Oh, dear God.”
I shoot Nikki an amused glance.
“Some accounts claim Aliza wasn’t alone in her dealings with the occult and she was actually part of a coven of witches.”
Nikki’s wide eyes meet mine.
“The locals put up with the coven until their witchcraft started causing problems and terrorizing the non-witch folks. Some say there were other witches who were also beheaded and buried in the same place, so folks called it the Witch Cemetery.”
“Ohhhh.” Nikki nods, still big-eyed.
“The witches are said to haunt the area. People have noticed strange winds, drops in temperature, mysterious noises.”
“Yes! We heard them! Itwasn’ta screech owl.”
“Could be.” He nods. “There’s also a legend that if you step on Aliza’s grave you will meet a gruesome end within forty-eight hours.”
“We didn’t step on it!” She turns to me. “Did we?”
I bite back my smile. “No, we definitely didn’t.”
“We get lots of visitors looking for paranormal experiences—ghost hunters, teenagers looking for a thrill, that kind of thing,” Harvey adds as he pulls into a parking lot. “Well, here we are at Brambleheart Estate.” He names a time that he’ll pick us up to drive us to the next winery.
