Page 10 of Wallflower Witch

“How about we go outside first?” Patrick murmurs when I take a startled step into him.

His hand glides to the small of my back, turning me, then he pushes me towards the kitchen. We’d found a door to the backyard there while searching for the source of the scream, and none too soon, we were breathing in the fresh evening air.

“Can you still see her?” Patrick asks, running his hands in comforting circles up and down my arms.

I scan the grounds around us, shaking my head. “No, not anywhere he—AAAAAH!”

The woman suddenly appears halfway through the door we exited. She’s leaning forward, still beckoning me closer, but now she no longer seems to be attempting to make words. Instead, I can almost imagine hearing snarls as her face twists in anger.

“Oh my goodness.” I place a hand over my pounding heart, trying to calm it down. “She’s there in the doorway, but she seems stuck, almost like she’s tied to the house?”

“That’s quite possible.” Patrick nods, leading us farther away from the ghost in the door. We’re crunching through dead earth, what looks like it might have once been a garden. “My grandmother always said that the dead have their own morals and priorities, and you can’t trust that an encounter with one won’t end with a broken neck at the bottom of some stairs. Not all ghosts are bad, mind you. But sometimes the evil things that happened to them can twist their minds, and they get lost in a spiral of agony, taking it out on anyone they see. Grandmother always believed that they could be healed and thus find their way to the afterlife, but it’s only a theory.”

The ground shifts in front of me, transporting me to a place with fresh, vibrant vegetables growing under my feet, and birds chirping gayly and children’s laughter ringing in the air from somewhere unseen. I turn, trying to figure out where I am. The house, my ancestors’ house, is standing there, tall and proud.

The door opens, and a woman in pilgrim’s clothing steps out, a huge smile on her face as she walks towards me with a basket. “Edith, make sure the children learn their alphabet before they come out to play!” she calls over her shoulder before bending to pick ripe produce.

I shift, and she notices me, glancing up in confusion.

“Oh, hello there, strange friend. Who might you be?”

I open my mouth to reply, and the shriek from earlier splits the air, coming from somewhere in the house. The lady and I look up, watching in horror as something red coats the upstairs windows moments before a small body is thrown through it. The woman screams and rushes to it, but my attention stays on the window, on the woman from earlier—this time in another pilgrim-style dress—standing there. She’s sobbing, fighting against some unseen force even as her hand raises and turns a pistol towards her head. The gun shot follows a moment later, and I squeeze my eyes shut, falling to my knees, then empty my stomach contents onto dead earth.

“Are you okay, Morrigan?” Patrick whispers, holding me tightly to him. “You just suddenly went blank and weren’t responding. Did you see something again?”

I groan, pressing a hand against my suddenly aching head. I try to get to my feet and stumble, grateful Patrick is there to steady me. “Yeah. It was horrible.” I press my lips together, nausea swirling as I try to make sense of what happened. “There were multiple deaths. Bloody deaths. The lady from the stairs was… I don’t know, being controlled or something?”

I wince, recalling that horrible moment before the shot. “She was staring at me as she… as she…” I swallow the words, too disturbed to say them out loud. “I think she was still trying to tell me something. She kept motioning towards that dead tree on the edge of the lawn, and at the crypts.”

Patrick watches me with concern, keeping me bundled under his arm. “Are you up to checking it out? It’s understandable if you aren’t. I can take you back to my truck and look around a bit more if you need a break.”

I shake my head, forcing myself to dig deep and find some strength. “No, I need to do this. For those poor people.” I shudder again. “Whatever happened, the evil is still corrupting this land, making all these ghosts suffer. I can’t just leave them be if there’s a way I can help them.”

“Hey.” He turns me to face him, cradling my face between his large palms, and a wave of security washes over me at his touch. “Take a deep breath. You won’t be able to help the ghosts if you don’t take care of yourself first.” He breathes in, waiting for me to follow before releasing it, then he repeats that pattern a few times until I calm down slightly. “Good. I can’t begin to understand what it must be like to see the things you are seeing. Just remember that you aren’t alone in this. You can rely on me.”

I nod. “I know. You’re the only reason I made it through that house. I promise, if I need you, I will ask.”

“Good.” Patrick presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Now let’s go see what that ghost was trying to tell you. Creepy old tree or creepier old crypts first?”

I chuckle, some of the tension leaving me from his teasing. “How about we have the big, strong man check out the crypts while little old me goes to the tree? If something happens, we shout, and the other comes running.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to split up? That never works in horror flicks.” His eyes search mine. “Okay. If you need me, I’ll be there in a flash.”

I swallow hard and nod. I can do this.

The crunch of long-dead weeds is the only sound as we part. I make a beeline for the tree, a pit forming in my stomach as I recall how big and welcoming it had been in the past. Now it is just an old hunk of rotting wood, and most of it is destroyed.

Quoth doesn’t seem to mind that it's dead as he swoops onto it at my approach, cawing out a hello before preening his feathers. “Hey Quoth. Enjoying the fresh air?” He cocks his head and croaks out an answer, then flies off towards the crypt and Patrick.

It looks like any old tree, and I wonder why the ghost wants me to check it out. Maybe this is one of those ‘ghosts have their own priority’ things Patrick was talking about, but the fear and desperation on her face as she died made me believe that isn’t the truth.

“Maybe it’ll just drop into my lap like the grimoire,” I mutter, circling the base as I contemplate my choices. Touching the tree does nothing and I can’t see anything while circling it.

A strange energy hums when I pass a specific area, and I pause, then circle again to make sure. I step on a large chunk of root, clambering up until I can see into the hollow center.

At first, I see nothing beyond darkness. With a groan, I wiggle around until I can pull my phone from my back pocket, balancing on my stomach, with my feet flailing outside the tree. Finally getting it free, I flick the flashlight back on and shine it in. The light catches on something turquoise and shiny. I reach for it, but my arm is too short by a couple of inches.

I wiggle farther in with an irritated growl, still not able to reach it.

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