Twice a year the lovely Witchy Chicks write a round robin story for our readers. It’s posted free on the Witchy Chicks blog.
It’s unscripted, undiscussed and often takes strange and interesting
turns as each Witchy Chick adds to the story on a daily basis until
we’ve all had a turn.
This year I was thrilled (okay, terrified) to be given the chance to
kick off the story which I’ve named A Dread and Awful Secret. Stop by
and see what we’re up to and leave us a comment.
We hope you enjoy this year’s halloween story.
***
After a few minutes of sitting in the cobbled driveway, I forced myself
to open the door of my small car and get out. No amount of stalling was
going to help and I needed to get this over with. Overnight bag in
hand, I forced myself to walk up the cobbled walkway to the small
cottage my grandmother had willed to me, along with everything else she
owned. My boots suddenly seemed filled with lead but I managed to get
up the walkway onto the wide front porch.
The small cottage was
just as I remembered it and any moment I expected my grandmother to
open the front door and greet me with a big hug, then letting her
fingers run over my face to “see” what I looked like that day.
The
crisp fall air held just a hint of cinnamon and cloves, as if she had
my favorite baked apples in the oven, ready for my arrival. The scent
of woodsmoke mixed with the rich spices for a moment and my stomach
clenched at the sheer normalcy of it all.
But nothing was normal now.
No
trace was left of the crime scene tape and the only evidence I could
see of the activity following her brutal murder was the trampled
remains of her fall flowers. Grandma’s neighbors had taken turns
cleaning up the house and taking care of her plants and the
neighborhood stray cats after her death while I wrapped up my affairs
and traveled back to Washington to claim my inheritance. It had taken
weeks to get everything in order and I’d been forced to claim I was
doing volunteer work in Africa to explain the time it took me to get
here. At least it was a story they’d buy, unlike the reality.
Of
course, Maeve MacDonald had no blood connection to me either. But when
she’d saved me from being sacrificed to my aunt’s insatiable appetite,
she’d taken me under her wing and taught me everything I needed to know
to survive my new life as a half-human half-gorgon who lived on dry
land. Not bad for a woman whose human friends considered blind and
disabled. She was more able than just about anyone I knew.
I
braced myself and unlocked the front door, then slowly pushed it open.
The house was warm since I’d gotten the utilities switched to my name
instead of having them shut off and the antique hall tree was still in
its place. I hung my blue parka up and took my boots off in favor of my
ancient pair of slippers Grandma kept ready for any visit.
“Dammit. I miss you, Grandma. What the hell happened?”
The
living room was just as I remembered, furniture in the exact spot it
had been from my first memories of it, but a faint scent of chlorine
and pine cleaner overlaid the lemon and spices.
Bag in hand, I walked slowly down the hallway to my bedroom. I couldn’t take Grandma’s room. Not now, maybe not ever.
Just as I reached the door, a strong scent of salt water hit me.
“What in the world? You didn’t start keeping fish, did you, Grandma?”
Sniffing
the air to see if I could tell where the smell was coming from, I
walked down the hall to the next door, always kept closed. Grandma’s
altar room. I’d been in it a few times, at her request, but it was
always her room alone. Her secrets.
The door seemed to radiate
an icy chill and the doorknob glimmered with frost. A misty fog wrapped
around my ankles and twined up my legs, carrying with it the deep,
briny smell of the ocean and the coppery scent of blood. Against my
will, my hand reached out and turned the ornate brass doorknob and ..