Pumpkins & Poltergeists, Confessions of a Closet Medium, Book 1 Page 14

  Arthur circles her several times, a bit more standoffish, before he jumps on the sofa and lies down behind her. He also looks at me and blinks, his tail flicking back and forth.

  Psychic abilities or not, I know my cats. Lancelot believes I should try the meditation and Arthur’s letting me know he’ll protect me if necessary.

  Frustrated, I stomp off. Then find myself circling back.

  With a dramatic sigh Mama would be proud of I plop onto the empty cushion and close my eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I fall asleep and dream of Aunt Willa. We are sitting in her kitchen, both of us much younger. She makes my favorite mint tea, putting honey in it.

  She sets the cup in front of me and sits. “You need to go up in the attic.”

  “I don’t like the attic,” my little girl self replies.

  From the floral sugar bowl she scoops out a spoonful of pink crystals and I watch them dissolve in the warm liquid. “Nothing can harm you.”

  A blue butterfly lands on the sugar bowl. In order not to answer—or argue—I sip the tea. There’s a slight bitterness under the mint flavor.

  The dream shifts and I’m now at the open door of the staircase leading up to the attic. The darkness above looms over me, blanketing the upper steps.

  “I don’t like the attic,” I whisper. My legs and feet are frozen to the wood planks of the floor. The butterfly beats its wings around my head.

  “Find Teddy.” My aunt points a hand toward the shadows overhead. “He’s waiting for you. He’ll be so happy to see you.”

  Teddy, the stuffed bear I carried everywhere and slept with until I was too old for it, seems to beckon me. A part of me wonders why I abandoned him to the scary darkness above.

  The butterfly wings its way up several steps, returns to my face, flies back to the steps. Back and forth it goes, as if it too believes I should journey into the shadows.

  “There’s nothing to fear,” Aunt Willa says. “You’re always protected inside this house. You must learn to control your abilities, control how far you step into the veil and the doorway between worlds.” With final emphasis she says, “Find the bear.”

  Do butterflies ever feel scared? The blue wings flutter about my face, the tiniest of breezes tickling my skin as it urges me to follow. It glides up the stairwell in lazy arcs and a chill sweeps over me, raising goosebumps on the flesh of my arms.

  Placing one foot on the bottom tread, I see Aunt Willa smile. As my weight shifts, the moment I fully commit, a bright, blinding light fills the stairwell. A burst of cold air blasts me back.

  I jerk awake, gasping, and find myself outside sitting on the cold damp lawn.

  Stars twinkle overhead and the goose flesh is real on my bare arms.

  “Get up.” Persephone appears in front of me. “Get in the house, now!”

  “Why?” Wooziness weights my head and makes my ears buzz from the dramatic shift of the dream world into the real one. “What am I doing out here?”

  “Sleepwalking,” she hisses. “In case you weren’t aware, you stink at meditating.”

  “Why are you talking so softly?”

  She hitches a thumb over her shoulder toward the tree line along the fence. I hear movement there, and, gaining my feet, I brush damp leaves from my backside. I lower my voice now, too. “I had a dream.”

  “I know.” She glances toward Mr. Uphill’s. “We’ll discuss it inside.”

  A breeze rustles the leaves and lifts strands of my hair. I hear a puff of laughter in the air and a new wave of arctic air snakes down my spine.

  Calista is back.

  “Ava?” A man’s voice calls softly across the lawn. Mr. Uphill appears at the hedgerow, the very top of his head and eyes barely visible. He must be standing on tiptoes. “Everything okay?”

  I lift a hand in greeting and fumble for an excuse to be out here this time of night. “Yes, fine. Tabby got out.”

  Although I can only see the top of his head and eyes, I know he’s screwing up his nose. “At 4 a.m.?”

  It’s four o’clock in the morning? I must have slept longer than I realized. I wonder what he’s doing out here this early. Probably working on his precious flower bushes again. “You know cats,” I offer weakly.

  “I saw Ty Durham hanging around rather late last night. How’s it going with the wedding?”

  “Fine.”

  His eyebrows quirk, “I heard the Burnetts are calling it off.”

  Another blast of icy air hits me in the back of the neck. Calista’s voice rings in my ears as she screams at me, reciting the same litany of guarantees that Ty is hers and she’ll never let him go.

  In my mind’s eye, I see the butterfly bravely going up the stairs. I remember Aunt Willa’s words about my abilities and the veil. I’m sick of this ghost and her capacity to have so much control over the situation.

  A spurt of anger flashes through me and I feel myself mentally shoving the ghost away. I visualize her landing on her butt.

  At the same moment, I hear her suck in a breath. Her voice grows distant as she curses at me. Persephone, apparently still able to see her, watches something a few yards away and quirks one corner of her mouth in a grin.

  The sensation of pushing Calista empowers me. I nod at Mr. Uphill and start for the house. The back door to the porch is wide open and I hope I won’t actually need to search for Tabby come sunrise. “We have a few details to work out, but the wedding and reception are still on. See you at the parade.”

  Calista attempts to chase me as I draw close to the porch, but once more I send a mental shove her way. With an angry hurrumph her frigid energy disappears completely.

  Inside, I’m shaking, so I search for my robe and rub my hands together to warm them. I’d love a cup of hot tea, but I’m too impatient to make one. Persephone follows me up the stairs to the second floor. “Where are you going?”

  “In the dream, I opened the door at the end of the hall and looked up into the shadows of the attic.” I head for it now, flinching when the old door makes a high-pitched squeak. “You were the butterfly, weren’t you? You know where I’m going.”

  She hovers beside me, the darkness above us seeming to ripple a little. “To the attic?”

  “Yes.” I quell the childhood fear in my stomach. “We’re going to the attic.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A click of the single overhead lightbulb brings the attic into view, throwing a deathly pallor on assorted furniture, covered with dusty sheets, old suitcases and trunks, long forgotten rugs, paintings and other miscellanea.

  A desk near the back catches my attention. Teddy sits on a stack of books, his brown glass eyes seeming to follow me as I weave around various obstacles to get to him.

  Tabby suddenly appears at my feet, nearly tripping me. She meows at me, jumping onto the desk and knocking the bear off. She paws at the top book, and as I bend down to retrieve the stuffed bear I notice how cracked and dusty the leather-bound volume is.

  Teddy’s not in much better shape, spots of his fur worn, one ear torn, and a side seam unraveling. He smells of dust and dry air. Using one hand, I brush dust away before reverently laying him aside and picking up the book.

  The leather creaks as I open the front cover, the inside paper is dry like parchment and stained the color of weak tea. Old-fashioned handwriting with scrolls and flourishes declares this is the diary of Tabitha Holloway.

  “This is yours?” I ask the cat.

  Even in the dull light, her eyes gleam. Her paws knead at the desktop and I hear her purr. I’ve never heard her purr and the sound relaxes me slightly.

  Persephone has disappeared, and there’s no butterfly either. A nearby rocking chair, with a needlepoint pillow, beckons me to have a seat. The light is poor, but I sit and begin devouring the diary.

  Virginia, 1788. I have found the true soul mate I have been searching for…

  Tabby hops onto my lap as I read. The combination of penmanship, the age of the book itself, and
great-great-however-many-times-grandmother’s descriptions catapult me back to a different time and place. I read ravenously, barely able to decipher some of the information because of the outdated wording and phrasing, but the gist is there.

  Her entries speak of love, companionship, healing and magick. Of dreams and desires. Birth, death, endings, and transformation.

  By the time I finish, the first rays of sun are peaking over the horizon. Samuel Thornton and Tabitha Holloway were run out of town by his wife Redemption. That one little fact changes much of what I understood from Mr. Uphill’s history.

  In his rendition, Tabitha seduced Samuel away from his wife and kids, but now I know there’s another side to this story, and this one definitely shows a different perspective. It’s a fascinating account, and as I flip to the last few pages at the back I absentmindedly stroke Tabby’s fur. She rubs her head into my hand and the purring continues.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I tell her, and she dips her head as if in acknowledgement.

  The pages at the back display a family tree—not in the vintage handwriting of Tabby, but my aunt’s. Several of the later entries surprise me, and I close the book and sit for a long minute, digesting the information and realizing what it all means.

  A floorboard squeaks, startling me out of my thoughts, and Persephone appears. “I believe your poltergeist is a type of revenant.”

  “What is that?”

  “She’s tied to someone still alive, and I don’t mean like in the sense of you and your aunt. Someone is controlling Calista, and they’ve purposely brought her back from the grave and sicced her on the happy couple. She’d be a strong poltergeist, but as a revenant? Superpowers.”

  I sit and rock, my mind volunteering an ugly thought. “Powers strong enough to kill someone?”

  Judging by the flicker behind her eyes, Persephone knows what I’m asking and nods her head. “A revenant has been raised by a master. Find the master and you can sever the connection.”

  “Master?” I shudder at the thoughts of the one called Master in the Whitethorne woods.

  “This is different. That was an evil non-living being. The person controlling Calista is human.”

  I immediately think of Ty but can’t imagine the man I met earlier being able to raise a ghost. He obviously has some level of belief in them and considered it bad luck. I can’t see him raising Calista and controlling her in order to get out of marrying Miranda. “Could someone raise the ghost without knowing it? Like an accident?”

  Again, the spirit guide’s eyes let me know she understands. She shakes her big hair. “This raising was deliberate, but it doesn’t necessarily mean the person knows how to control the ghost.”

  “So Calista has a lot of power, the master may not be able to control her.”

  A nod.

  “How do I stop her?”

  “Sever the link between them.”

  I sigh and push out of the chair. “Which I have no idea how to do.”

  Persephone winks. “You’ve got me. What else do you need?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  As I get ready to leave the attic, I take one more look at Teddy and replace the diary on the stack of books. Propping him on top, I ask him to keep it safe, and tell him I’ll be back. If I’m staying, this attic is going to get a good clean-up. Who knows what other family secrets I might discover?

  Movement outside the window on my left draws my attention. I’m looking down into a section of Mr. Uphill’s backyard. I move closer to the window, the backyard cast in shades of purple from the coming sunrise. Mr. Uphill and Prissy Barnes are in amongst the gardenias.

  As I squint and watch them in the shadows, it appears they’re arguing. I observe for several moments, Tabitha jumping on the desk and also peering over the window ledge, and a plan formulates in my mind.

  That gardenia patch. The night Mr. Uphill was digging in it…last night catching me sleepwalking. There’s something not right about any of it. I feel the thread, the tug, of a mystery pulling at me.

  “Come on, grandma.”

  The cat gives a haughty sniff, as if not appreciating the title. However, she comes with me, Persephone floating behind us.

  The back screen door squeaks too much for us to sneak up on the pair, so I lead them out the front, planning a silent trek around the side of the house to the backyard. As I quietly close the wooden door behind us, the cat knocker whispers, “Be careful.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I whisper back.

  Yes, I give up. I’m talking to inanimate objects with no worries about my mental health.

  As we tiptoe down the wooden steps, the gargoyle guardians on each side of the railings chatter away at me.

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I whisper and keep going.

  The three of us sneak around the opposite side of the house, through the lawn, and keep low as we tiptoe over to the hedgerow.

  “Why is the wedding still on?” Prissy’s voice is rigid even though she’s trying to keep the volume down. “You were supposed to make sure Miranda turned to me. Why is Ava still here?”

  I can’t hear Mr. Uphill’s reply, possibly because all he does is make a face. Prissy speaks again. “She’s the last one of them. We have to get rid of her, then there’s no one left of the Holloway line, except the mayor, and she’s too old to have more kids.”

  The blood in my veins turns frosty. I’m the last one of Tabby’s descendants, except for Mama, and they want to get rid of us?

  Mr. Uphill speaks in a quiet tone, but more calmly. “We don’t want to draw attention. I’ll make sure the wedding doesn’t proceed, and your business will be successful once we run off Ava. We’re not doing anything to her, outside of getting her out of town.”

  Mr. Uphill is working with Prissy to try and sink The Wedding Chapel business? Maybe I misunderstood what she meant about getting rid of us. She’s just like her name, prissy, and trying to expand her own business at the expense of my aunt’s.

  “If you don’t get Ty and Miranda to come to me for their event tomorrow,” she hisses, “I swear I will take matters into my own hands to get rid of Ava.”

  Another chill runs through me at her words. Just exactly how does she intend to get rid of me? My mind swims back to Aunt Willa’s death.

  Mr. Uphill says. “Oh, right, because doing that worked so well last time, didn’t it?”

  Prissy snickers. “Willa had a heart attack and fell in the creek. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Mr. Uphill’s tone sharpens. “I warned you not to mess with that stuff. You’ve created something you can’t control.”

  “You let me worry about Cali.”

  Cali? Does she mean Calista?

  Persephone is motioning at them and nodding her head, as if reminding me what she said about a revenant. Is it possible Priscilla Barnes purposely raised a ghost to do her bidding? Is that what Mr. Uphill means about her messing with that stuff?

  Priscilla, who’s as down to earth as they come…does she even believe in ghosts?

  The sound of the bushes shifting alerts me to Prissy walking away. I stiffen as I hear her stop, sniff. “Do you smell that?” she calls back to Uphill in a stage-whisper.

  “What?”

  “Over here. It smells like…onion rings.”

  She’s directly on the other side of the hedge. My stomach drops as I realize she smells…me. I flare my nose, my nostrils picking up the faint scent of fried food from the Thorny Toad.

  “Who’s there?” she demands through the hedge, but I’m sure she can guess.

  With a shuffle, the hedge trembles and a hand jets through the foliage, barely missing my shoulder. I dodge, holding my breath, and freeze once more.

  Tabby comes out of nowhere, dashing into the boxwoods and startling Priscilla. She shrieks and her hand disappears.

  Mr. Uphill shushes her, swearing under his breath. He’s afraid she’ll wake his guests. As he apparently chases after Tabby, calling h
er a litany of names, Priscilla grunts and stomps off.

  Shaking, I silently thank the cat and sneak back to the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Shivering and shaking, I climb into bed with the cats, my mind numb. Eventually, I fall into a deep sleep, and when I wake, for a brief second I wonder if I dreamt the previous night’s shenanigans, including Persephone, but the stains on the cuffs of my pajama bottoms tell me differently.

  Once I’m showered and ready for the day, I head downstairs, snag coffee from the pot Rosie has already started, and compartmentalize.

  Focus on what you need to do first.

  Rosie greets me with a “good morning” and informs me she’s already fed the cats. Arthur, Lancelot, and Tabby are in their usual places in the sunlight coming through the front windows. I swear Tabby winks at me when I walk by.

  I wink back, sipping coffee, and tell Rosie about my plan for using the vineyard. “It’s an idyllic spot for a wedding, plus I know the Durhams and Crosses could capitalize on a joint venture in events and gift baskets.

  “Wow, that will be amazing! Oh,”—she ruffles through papers on her desk—“that reminds me. There were two voicemail messages. One is from Mrs. Durham. She has a hair appointment at nine, but she and her husband will be here with Ty at eleven. Miranda and her mom will be here then, too.”

  At least they’re willing to come see me. The timing isn’t ideal, putting me behind on decorating if we’re a go, but it frees me up this morning to do some online research about poltergeists and revenants, as well as dig deeper about Sam and Tabby.

  I want to see if there’s anything else out there that’s not contained in Mr. Uphill’s history or Tabby’s diary. Anything that might give me more perspective.

  Over the next hour, I discover there isn’t much, except the textbook info that local children learn in school and a short newspaper piece from the Atlanta Tribune, written a few years back and spotlighting Thornhollow in a Small Town Charm feature. It quotes from Uphill’s history, concerning the original founders, Sam and Tabitha, and mentioning their unorthodox manner of life at that time.