Page 5 of Haunted Desires
I write the truth of love could not be more obvious on the paper and roll it into a tiny scroll. If he desires me, I will know it without doubt. The highest of feelings he has for me are shown to me and only me. I do not wish to change his heart, only for myself to know it.
That’s the heart of this spell. It’s not to force Finley to do something that’s wrong for him, or that he doesn’t want to do. It’s not to change him in any way. It’s to bring clarity to the tension between us and let us both see what’s possible before we go any farther. Before I move from my apartment and buy a leather chaise. At that thought I snag the dark blue sodalite from the small bowl in front of me.
“For clarity,” I whisper and then gently place it beside the iron plate.
Then I light the candle and watch the flame burn into the dark for a few moments, breathing deep. I stare at the flame and whisper once more, “For the good of all and to the harm of none, let me clearly see the feelings he holds for me.” The air around me is practically vibrating. I wouldn’t be surprised if a spirit actually materialized—that’s how real the energy feels.
I believe in this spell. I believe in what I feel. It’s as real as the library, or my apartment.
“For the good of all,” I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. “And to the harm of none, do what you must to make Finley realize his feelings for me.” I’m speaking to everything as I cast. All the forces in the universe that could bring us together or keep us apart. I’m speaking to energy and fate and destiny, and I can almost hear it listening. I can hear how it’s holding its breath to catch every word.
“Let him feel the most intense and highest feelings of passion that are possible in this lifetime for us. Let him understand them and see them clearly. I—I want it now.” A lump appears in my throat, and my voice falters. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this until I spoke those words. I tried to tell myself I was only interested in Finley, but I was lying to myself. I’m more than interested. What’s between us feels as old as fate, and I need to know if he feels that, too.
“I need to know,” I admit to myself, and to my spell. “Show us both if he is capable of wanting me and loving me. Make him feel this knowledge in the depths of his bones. Make me feel it in the depths of my soul. Make me know.” The energy in my living room swells, and the hairs on the backs of my arms stand up. Whatever power is listening to my spell, it knows I’m almost finished. It knows there’s only one more element to add—the element of time. It might be the most important element, because without clear boundaries, the spell could take longer than a lifetime to work. “Make me know by tomorrow’s eve.”
I hold the tiny scroll with truth of love written on it above the candle flame, and it catches immediately. The scroll turns to ash on the iron plate, and the energy in the room seems to tighten around me until it takes my breath away.
Then, just as suddenly, it releases.
I know there’s no gust of wind in my apartment.
I know there aren’t even any open windows.
But there is a puff of air, like someone whistling, and the candle goes out.
Finley
The library is vacant.
I know it for a fact.
The teens who came in to work on a group project left to go get food at the diner. They couldn’t have announced their decision louder. The weekly stitch-and-bitch club, a group of ‘fiesty’ grandmothers, left at six to go have a glass of wine at the bar. Nobody else has been in.
Yet, someone’s watching me.
Their eyes burn on my back, giving me a sense of unease. Someone is here. It makes the hairs on my neck stand over and over again. That’s not the kind of feeling anyone would be able to chalk up to paranoia or an overactive imagination, and certainly not me. Not after years of being here.
I’ve worked in the library long enough to know someone is watching, and that someone is dead. I swallow thickly, running my forefinger down the edge of the ancient text laid out on the counter.
The library is haunted. For as long as I can remember, the spirits reside in the depths of the shelves. It took a long time for me to be still when one is felt. A longer time to communicate, to understand and to not be startled. This presence is notable though.
The library is housed in one of the oldest, most-active buildings in the entire town. A section of the floor down the aisle that’s nowhere near where I’m standing creaks as if the building can hear me thinking about it. My eyes shift as goosebumps flow down my shoulders.
I stack the old books in the crook of my elbow and leave the circulation desk with easy strides. The reaction is instant. My breath gets short and a chill races down my spine and the feeling of being watched—being followed, closely—gets so strong that I almost react.
I don’t turn around, though.
It’s a game these ghosts play, I think. They used to startle me. They still try to do so. My lips kick up in an asymmetric smirk.
There are other games they could play if they wanted to drive me crazy or run me out of town, but other than a few books thrown off the shelves and doors opening and closing when they’re not supposed to, nothing ominous has happened.
Other than the general haunting. They simply exist and want their presence known. Perhaps that gives them comfort.
Clearing my throat, my shoulders back, I step into one of the aisles to reshelve borrowed books that have been returned. Movement flickers in the corner of my eye, but I pretend I didn’t see it.
Some spirits or ghosts don’t want to be looked at, and they’ll use the shadows to their advantage. You’ll see a creepy face when you don’t want to, or a figure that doesn’t look right, and then you’ll never be able to un-see it.
I’ve worked here long enough to know better.
