After the 3rd period bell rang, the teachers closed their classroom doors in near perfect unison to begin their lessons. The hallways went dead quiet, and I was officially late. I’d need to knock on the door to get in and I just knew my teacher would give me a hard time and would make me apologize to the entire class for the disruption. As I stood in front of the metal door, fist raised and head hung low, my back pocket vibrated. It was my cell phone. There was a text message from Jay that read: “I’m out front. Make an excuse and meet me.” That guy always has perfect timing.

  I walked out to the parking lot, the smell of fall filling me with an excitement I couldn’t explain. When I spotted the Firebird, I made a beeline for it, the call to adventure drawing me in like a dog sniffing out a steak. As I got close to the passenger side, the door opened and a tall, lean guy stepped out and folded the seat forward to let me in the back. He had dark, wavy hair, green eyes, and bronze skin. Wow.

  “Hey. You must be Blake. I’m Paul, a friend of Jay’s.” He shook my hand, and I blushed. This was the most attractive guy I’d ever seen in real life. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine, and he had a silky smooth voice to match.

  Is my hair OK? I can’t believe I’m wearing this hoodie for the fourth day in a row. I hope it doesn’t stink too bad. Should I be saying something right now?

  “Hey, bud! Get in!” Jay leaned forward in the driver’s seat so he could see me through the open door. I realized I was still staring at Paul with my mouth open like a trout and snapped myself out of it.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Paul,” I said, the words rushing out of my mouth as if I could fix the long awkward silence. “Hey, Jay!” I slipped into the back.

  Paul returned to the passenger seat and Jay hit the gas, cranking Marilyn Manson’s cover of “Cry Little Sister” on the stereo. He said they released the original song as a backdrop to a classic vampire movie that came out in the 80s. I let the music wash over me and lost myself in the magic of the moment. There was something about being nostalgic with older guys that made me feel grown up - cool even. Jay was the coolest guy I knew, and though I didn’t know a thing about Paul, I could tell he was somebody I wanted to know. I really hope he doesn’t hate my shoes.

  We drove for a while before anyone spoke again.

  “Got some good news, man,” Jay said. “Paul here is going to be your new boss.”

  “What? Are you kidding me?” My eyes went wide and my heart started racing. “That’s awesome!” I wondered if my smile looked weird and tried to pull myself together. “Wait. Umm.” I wiped nervously at my mouth, which was now producing way too much saliva. Get your shit together, man. “What do I do? When do I start?”

  “Eager! I like it.” Paul turned back to look at me. His smile revealed perfect teeth and the most interesting dimples. I tried not to stare. “The job doesn’t really have a title, but you’ll have one of the most important roles in the business. I’m really counting on you to put your best foot forward and Jay says that I can trust you.”

  “For sure. Absolutely. I’ll do whatever it takes,” I gushed, nodding enthusiastically. Oh my God, stop it. He'll think you’re a psychopath. I dialed it back.

  “Alright. Well, rule number one - you can’t talk about this with anyone - and I mean anyone. All of this is off the books, and you’ll get paid cash. Are you good with that?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Of course!” Keep dialing it back, you idiot.

  “Good. So, it’s a simple gig. I’m going to drive some soccer-mom looking car - a Honda CRV or some shit to your school and hang out in the parent pickup area when class lets out for the day. You’ll come out (as usual) and get into the back of my car. I’ll hand you a nylon backpack with some small, addressed packages. You get out of my car with the bag and deliver the goods. Jay says you don’t have a car, but you have a bike. It would be like having a paper route. Easy, right?” Paul said. His emerald, jewel-like eyes had my full attention. I think I nodded again, though I might have still been nodding from before. “You never open the packages. You make your deliveries. You get paid one K a week. Sound good?”

  “Yeah. I mean, yes! I mean... wow. Thank you!” I didn’t know what I’d just agreed to, but I let it go and kept my focus on the big picture. Paul was gorgeous, and I was going to be rich.

  28 GLORY WALKER

  October 26

  The Walmart checkout line moved faster than I thought it would. I was hopin’ to catch up on what the Kardashians were doin’, but didn’t want to add the Star magazine I was flippin’ through to my cart. The cashier was a heavy lookin’ guy with ginger hair, light brown eyes, and freckles on his pink splotched cheeks. He was breathin’ through his mouth and was makin’ a kind of snortin’ sound that made me want to wretch. I watched him as he scanned my things and didn’t imagine the look on his face would be any different if he were shovelin’ piles of manure from one corner of the room to another. His name tag read: Hi, My Name is Corey.

  “That’ll be eighty-nine dollars and sixty-seven cents,” Corey said without lookin’ at me. I handed him my credit card. He swiped it through the machine twice before he spoke again. “Sorry, ma’am. It says it’s declined.” He raised his eyebrows and slapped the card between his fingers.

  “Oh. There must be some kind of mistake. Maybe the card reader is dirty?” I forced a polite smile and looked at the line that had been formin’ behind me. The woman who’d be next after me lifted a huge frozen turkey onto the counter and rolled her eyes in my direction. “Try it again,” I said. Corey swiped it as I watched nervously.

  “Declined. Do you want to try another card?” Corey offered, cockin’ his head to one side like he was talkin’ to a child. At that point, I couldn't tell whose face was more red, mine or his. I could’ve sworn I made a payment last week. Was it maxed out already?

  “No, I don’t have another card. I’ll just pay with cash.” I scrambled to find my wallet in my over-sized purse and pulled out every bill I had. The sighs from the folks behind me were gettin’ louder, and I didn’t dare glance back. “… eighty-one, eighty-two.” I had laid down my last dollar. Now for the humiliatin’ part. “Um. I guess I’ll need to put somethin’ back.” I took a peek at the items in each of the bags and removed the only thing I didn’t need for Trent. It was a box of tampons.

  “No problem.” Corey looked disgusted to be handlin’ the cardboard box of cotton for ladies for the second time in less than a minute. He punched somethin’ into the register and grabbed the microphone. “Bob to cash nine, please. Bob to cash nine.” He stared off into the distance until Bob arrived.

  The customers behind me groaned. Some of them dramatically pushed their carts over to a different cashier line. Frozen turkey lady stayed put. Bob, a middle-aged man wearin’ a crooked toupee, showed up, and Corey handed him the box. When he realized what the product was he, recoiled as if Corey had tried to hand him a live grenade and then looked at me as if I was the one who put him up to it. The man entered his special supervisor code and walked away, leaving the box with Corey, who finished the transaction and handed me some sweaty change. I tossed the loose coins into my purse and marched out of the store, forcefully pushin’ my cart full of bags in front of me.

  My eyes stung with the prick of tears as I loaded my truck. I wish Coop would let me get a job. He really didn’t understand how expensive Trent’s medical bills were gettin’ and there was only so much budgetin’ I could do. I couldn’t bring it up with him, though. The last time we fought about it he said that havin’ me work made him feel like less of a man, like he wasn’t providin’ for his family. I tried to reason with him and told him it’d be temporary and that I’d quit as soon as he came back home, but he swore up and down that the neighbors would look down on him. I didn’t know why he cared so much. Most of the neighbors looked down on us already.

  With the truck loaded, I pushed my cart to the carriage-return area, and though I kept my head bowed low to hide my watery eyes, I felt someone starin’ at me. A smartly dressed white-haired woman leaned against a nearby lamp post and lit a cigarette. I could feel her eyes penetratin’ the cloud of exhaled smoke that billowed from her lips, but it wasn’t until the breeze carried it away that I got a good look at her face and saw she was the same senile woman who talked with me and Trent in the park. Did she drive herself here? Is the poor thing all alone? I thought about askin’ her if she was alright, but as I went to approach her, a red vintage sports car full of young men blastin’ god-awful music came barrelin’ down the lot. I had to jump out of the way to avoid bein’ hit. The nerve of some people! When I looked back at the light post, the woman wasn’t there anymore. There was no sign of her (not even her cigarette) and I wondered if I had even seen her at all. The image of her face weighed heavy on my mind the entire drive home. Who was she?

  It would be an hour before I had to pick Trent up from school, and I plopped down on the family room couch and threw my head back. Why is life so hard? Why is everythin’ so unfair? Feelin’ sorry for myself, I glanced down and noticed the basket with Nanna’s knittin’ inside. As I picked it up, the softness of the yarn took me back to memories of her, and I managed a short-lived grin. I laid the small bit of stitchin’ out on my lap and wondered if Nanna knitted because she enjoyed it or because it gave her somethin’ to do when she just couldn’t pray anymore. I picked up the needles and started knittin’. My hands were awkward at first, but after a while, they found a rhythm. I must’ve added a good three inches before I got the surprise of my life.

  “Good Lord!” I yelled into my empty house as my cell phone lit up with a message from Coop. All I saw was the subject line, which read: Coming Home.

  29 CHARLOTTE MILLER

  October 26

  Getting out of bed this morning was a challenge. My head ached from the wine I drank the night before. I shuffled to my bathroom, pinching the bridge of my nose to suppress the throbbing pain that was boring a hole in the spot between my eyes. There were some extra-strength ibuprofen capsules in my medicine cabinet, so I popped two of them in my mouth and leaned into the sink, slurping dripping handfuls of tap-water to help the medicine go down. Closing the cabinet, I faced myself in the mirror and stared. I looked exhausted, if not haggard. When did I get so old? I barely recognized myself.

  As if having a silent conversation with the woman in the mirror, I kept eye contact with her as I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and applied my collection of face creams. Our back and forth sounded like this:

  “Ophelia will be back today. Do you really want to continue treating her?” the old mirror woman said.

  “No, but what choice do I have? She’s my only client right now. I can’t afford to refer her to someone else. It wouldn’t look good from a professional standpoint either.”

  “The girl has trouble written all over her. You need to be careful not to get sucked into her delusions. You remember what Daniel Larson-”

  “I don’t want to think about Daniel right now. Ophelia is a different patient. This is a different place. Everything is different.”

  “But you’re not different. You’re the same woman you were back in Dallas. Only this time you’re completely alone-”

  “That’s ENOUGH!” I set my bottle of cleansing oil down a bit too hard, sending a large dollop flying up and onto the counter with a splash. “Shoot,” I muttered to myself as I wiped up the mess with a face tissue. I took in a deep breath and finished up without so much as a glance at the mirror again. It was the only way to keep the woman behind the glass quiet, and I didn’t want her looking back at me.

  I went downstairs and headed to the kitchen, hoping that a cup of coffee would provide some relief. As I crossed the hall, I noticed something strange floating just outside the bay window in the living room. I squinted to get a better look.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” My eyes were wide as I stared at the large oak trees on my lawn. They were beautiful and majestic and also covered in toilet paper. The coffee would have to wait. Pulling a trench coat over my short nightgown, I burst through the front door to investigate. Of the four massive oaks on the property, two of them were completely littered with white bathroom tissue.

  I scurried down the steps as fast as I dared in my slippers and made my way around the overgrown shrubs along the side of the house. As I rounded the corner, I came face to face with an unexpected visitor and I let out a short, ear-piercing scream.

  The white-haired woman was standing just inches away from me, her gray eyes looking me over with a non-plussed expression on her face. The tissue fluttered in the tree behind her, and I suddenly grew angry.

  “Did you do this?” I pointed at each of the trees and looked at the stranger expectantly. “I’ve seen you here before,” I added, never taking my eyes off her out of fear she might vanish like she had done the last time. The thought of her disappearing into thin air while she stood directly in front of me sounded both absurd and possible at the same time.

  “Of course not,” she answered matter-of-factly. “And yes, I have visited before. My apologies if I frightened you. My name is Isra Kawn. I’m a teacher of sorts, but I also have other talents and I have a message for you.”

  A message? My mind switched over to therapist mode, and I proceeded with caution. As old as Isra appeared, I thought she might be dangerous, and took a few cautious steps back and a deep breath before continuing to engage with her.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Isra. I’m Charlotte. I must admit that you caught me off guard this morning, but I’m glad to be speaking with you. You have my full attention. What would you like to tell me?” I asked, leaning into the universal truth that most people simply wanted to feel heard and understood. I brought my face to a well-practiced neutral state and stared at the woman until she spoke again.

  “I can see that you have put a lot of work in restoring this house, but sometimes homes as old as these need more than plaster and nails to rehabilitate them. Much like a person, sometimes a home cannot let go of the past, and the trauma it witnesses stays with them forever. Such afflicted things can influence others and impact their health as well. But, as a therapist, you already know all of this.” Isra glanced at my business sign on the lawn and then turned her attention back to me. Lowering her voice, she continued. “I am someone who is very sensitive in detecting such things in objects, and I am here to tell you that there is much confusion and anguish in this place. It’s palpable from down the street,” Isra said.

  “That is a very interesting observation.” I nodded and backed a little farther away. This lady is clearly delusional. I wondered if she was on medication, or worse, off her medication.

  “You don’t believe in such things. I see. That’s alright,” Isra said. “But let me ask you this: have you experienced anything strange since you moved into the house? Have you seen things out of the corner of your eye? Are you hearing unexplained strange noises? Have you even met your neighbors? My guess is that you haven’t.” Isra looked at the houses to the left and right. “There is a repelling force that keeps people away. Bad for business if you ask me.” She nodded at my sign again. A cool breeze kicked up and my bare legs broke out into goose pimples as a chill ran through me. How did she know about the noises and that I haven’t met my neighbors yet?

  “This is all very interesting,” I placated. “But you said you came to give me a message.” I rubbed at my arms to disguise my agitation as I pressed for Ms. Kawn to get to her point so she could be on her way.

  “This house is poison. You have been good at resisting its influence so far, but it is taking hold of you bit by bit. I can appreciate how much effort you have put into it, but the sickness is well into the soil the house sits on.” Isra cast her eyes down as she spoke. “I want to buy it from you. I am prepared to pay full market price.”

  “What? Is that what all of this is about? My house is not for sale, and how dare you make up a story like that to manipulate me!”

  “I promise you, I come with the best of intentions. I need a place to open up a school for... special children. I am skilled at treating spaces and objects with ailments such as the one that plagues this place. It would take a considerable amount of time; however, I know I can heal it. And you would feel so much better in another home. I can’t imagine things have been easy for you here.” Isra glanced at the toilet paper in the trees and then pointed at something I hadn’t noticed on the side of the house. I leaned forward to see the words “WITCH!” scrawled in sloppy black spray paint on the white wooden exterior. My jaw dropped.

  “YOU did this! I knew it. Get out of here right now. I’m calling the police!” I stormed up my front steps, my body trembling. Isra nodded, holding her hands up and shuffling away as I flung the front door open and slammed it behind me. The audacity of some people! I don’t care how out of my mind this house makes me feel sometimes. This lady has crossed the line. Marching into the kitchen, I made myself a pot of coffee and phoned the local sheriff’s office.

  There was a knock on the door at 4:00 PM. I opened it to find Ophelia clutching a pile of forms, her arms crossed against her chest.

 

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