The White Cat

          Lola stood at the stove, monitoring the current sandwich on the skillet, occasionally prodding the bread with her spatula. Raphael was to her side being an excellent sous chef, preparing the construction of the sandwiches by buttering the thick slices of brioche and layering on slices of cheese. The chatter and laughter from her friends around the kitchen island wrapped her in an effortless embrace of warmth.

          “What’s that grin for?” Raphael asked, leaning over to gently bump his shoulder with hers.

          “Oh, nothing,” Lola replied, her smile growing wider at being caught in a daydream. “I just love our family, that’s all.”

          She looked up at him, and Raphael saw a peace shining in her eyes he hadn’t seen since the day she came home with Lillian’s grimoire, and he couldn’t help but kiss her. The tender contact eased his heart of the lingering wisp of memory stuck on repeat of his beloved clutched in the terrors of her nightmare.

          “I think it’s standard kitchen etiquette you’re not supposed to swap saliva over food you’re about to serve your guests,” came Jack’s timely quip, followed by tiny chortles from the others.

          “He acts as if kissing is the worst thing we’ve done in here,” Raphael whispered so only Lola could hear.

          “Stop!” she whispered back, giggling and flustered. “You’re distracting me. Oh, look, now this side is burned.” Lola flipped the sandwich and sighed in annoyance at the sight of the overly charred bread.

          “My apologies,” Raphael said with a good natured laugh. “That one can be mine. I’ll scrape off the burnt parts.”

          “Go pour coffee for everyone or something, I can handle it from here,” Lola said, playfully shooing him away with her spatula.

          “I’ll help,” Lazare chimed in, moving to speed along the progression of lunch.

          Once the grilled cheese sandwiches were made and all the tasty morsels of the charcuterie board had been assembled and placed upon the kitchen table, the friends gathered, sitting to enjoy their meal.

          “Lola, before I forget,” Jack started, pausing his sandwich midway to his mouth. “You left your debit card at the shop yesterday. I brought it with me as well as your completed birthday video.”

          “Oh, my goodness! Thank you, Jack! I didn’t even realize it was missing,” Lola admitted. “And I can’t wait to watch the video. Hey! Maybe after lunch, we can all watch it together,” she suggested. “Were you able to find any evidence of our ghost hunting from that night?”

          “Not to give away any spoilers, but there are a few good finds,” Jack answered. “However, nothing will ever compare to that apparition peeking around the door in Lillian’s library.”

          Lola stiffened on reflex, taking in a small sharp breath at the mention of the famed library. She felt Raphael’s comforting hand on her knee under the table, the touch giving her reassurance she was safe. She knew the flash of emotions on her face was quick and hoped her recovery was quicker, but when making casual eye contact with Modesta, the confidence at masking her expressions deflated. Her best friend had a sharp eye and was never one to miss on subtle details, especially when it came to reading body language. She shifted her gaze away from the squint of curiosity that observed her from across the table.

          “Speaking of the Northcott Manor House, what are we going to do about CJ, and why haven’t you gotten your newsletter yet?” Lazare asked, turning the question to Lola.

          “Before we get into all of that, I want to know what happened with these fires you mentioned,” Lola said. “Why do you think CJ is responsible?”

          “We’re pretty positive it’s because of those newsletters he gave us,” Lazare replied.

          “That statement is going to need a little more explanation on how the two are connected,” Raphael said.

          “When I opened our newsletter,” Jack began, motioning to Modesta and himself, “inside was this strange looking business card. The only thing on it was the number one written in silver ink.”

          “Inside my newsletter was the same type of business card, except mine had the number two written on it, also in silver ink,” Lazare added.

          “Jack tore up the business card and threw it away,” Modesta said. “After dealing with the crawler incident, our trash can self-ignited,” she summarized.

          “I also tore that business card up and tossed it. At the end of the day, I took the trash out to the dumpster behind the pawn shop where it self-ignited,” Lazare filled in next.

          “That’s pretty crazy---wait, you had a crawler? Did you have a crawler, too?” Lola asked, looking to Lazare.

          “Actually, I’m not sure. I didn’t have any extra activity happen in the store that I’m aware of, except, there was this one really loud knock at the front door while I was closing up,” Lazare said, retracing his memories of last night. “Spirit told me not to open the door, so I left through the back instead, which, thankfully, in hindsight, forced me to take the trash that had CJ’s business card to the dumpster.”

          “That’s what happened to me,” Jack said. “I heard a single loud knock right before the crawler made the lights go out and started flipping the crystal tables.”

          “It flipped tables?” Lola asked, her jaw dropping open.

          “The shop looks like a bulldozer came through. I’m going to have to close down for the next few days until I can clean it up,” Modesta said with a hard release of frustrated breath. “Any help would be greatly appreciated,” she added. A tired smile lifted her lips as everyone around the table instantly agreed to pitch in and help with the recovery efforts.

          “You might want to be on the lookout for an uptick in activity, Lazare,” Jack said. “We trapped our crawler in the supply closet with an iron railroad spike.”

          “How did you manage to do that?” Lola asked, fascinated by the retelling of events.

          “When it scurried into the closet, I put the spike on the doorframe,” Modesta said. “Now, it can’t get out. Iron keeps it from crossing the threshold.”

          “Interesting.” Lola’s eyes flicked to the basement door behind her friend, lingering on the possibilities and benefits to having an iron spike up there.

          “Which brings us to this current tricky situation,” Modesta continued, the seriousness to her tone pulling in everyone’s attention. “CJ was hand delivering newsletters to the addresses you gave him, and if we had the number one written on our business card, and Lazare had the number two written on his, then most likely you’ll have---.” Modesta let the statement hang in the air, encouraging Lola to finish the line.

          “I’ll have number three,” Lola quietly spoke, realization dawning in her mind. “He asked for three addresses, which means our house could go up in flames next!” she shouted, whipping her head toward Raphael. “He knows! I told you! It’s my fault and he’s retaliating!”

          Raphael pulled her into himself and she buried her face against his shoulder, turning away from her friends as she trembled. The spark of her carefree spirit from earlier was snuffed out again, and he vowed in that moment CJ was going to pay---dearly.

          “It’s okay, Dandelion, breathe. It’s not your fault,” he consoled in a hushed tone, hugging her tighter.

          “Lo, you didn’t know CJ was a pyromaniac,” Jack said, trying to lighten the drastic shift in mood.

          “The good news is you haven’t gotten a newsletter from him, right?” Lazare asked. “And if you do get one, you know now not to open it, or at the very least, tear it in half and throw it away.”

          Lola took in a deep breath, implementing the breathing exercise Raphael used to help her regulate from the aftermath of the night terror, and she pulled away from his shoulder once she felt in control of her wild emotions and heartbeat.

          “Be that as it may, all of this is still my fault,” she declared. “I stole Lillian’s grimoire.”

          Exclamations, gasps of shock, curses, and questions were only a few of the jumbled reactions tossed around the table from the friends, the sudden bombshell of her comment leaving them stunned and confused.

          “The day I gave our addresses to CJ was the same day I took the grimoire. I swear, I had no idea he was going to attack your businesses. I don’t even know how he found out I was the one who took it, but when Jack said CJ was replacing a journal that was stolen from him, and now, knowing who he really is---.” Lola’s sentence was cut off as Modesta interrupted her.

          “What do you mean who he really is?”

          “CJ is Carrington Jacob Northcott, heir to the Northcott line and great, great grandson of Cornelius Northcott, Lillian’s husband,” Raphael recited.

          A quiet hush blanketed the friends, the otherwise bustling activity of conversation and breaking of bread squelched under the chill of learning the identity of their newest charismatic acquaintance.

          “If CJ has access to the library,” Modesta said at length, putting puzzle pieces together in her mind, “and he knows you stole the grimoire, then that means he knows of the grimoire’s existence.”

          “Do you think he could be…practicing from it?” Jack asked, hesitant in voicing the possibility. “Like, he’s into dark magic, like Lillian?”

          “That could build the case against him for instigating those supernatural fires,” Lazare said, agreeing with Jack, “along with that crawler and the both of you getting those scratches,” he added, tilting his head in Modesta’s direction.

          “Hold on, you have scratches?” Lola asked, her pitch raised in shock.

          “I receive three scratch lines on my shin from the crawler, and before you ask, yes, they are very similar to the ones you got at the Ren Fair,” Modesta said, absentmindedly smoothing her hand over the marks hidden under her jeans.

          “Everything is so messed up,” Lola wailed, dropping her face into her hands. “And now we’re stuck with the darn thing.”

          “What do you mean by ‘stuck’ with it? Wait, you don’t still have the grimoire, do you?” Modesta asked.

          “We tried to get rid of it this morning by returning it to the Manor House,” Raphael shared as he placed a hand on Lola’s back. “Unfortunately we were met with a slight hindrance to our objective. The Manor House had a break in last night and the police have the building closed off for their ongoing investigation. The library was ransacked.”

          Lazare made a hard dry-heaving noise which startled everyone at the table, wide eyes turning in his direction.

          “Sorry! Sorry!” he apologized, pounding a fist at his chest while clearing his throat. “Ooh, I just got hit with a wave of chills when you said that. Whatever happened in that library disturbed something in that library, and I do not like this energy I’m picking up on.” Lazare shook out his hands with a full body shiver. He then reached for his coffee mug to chase away the chill.

          “Disturbed?” Jack parroted.

          “Riled up,” Lazare clarified after taking a sip. He continued to hold his mug, warming his fingers. “It’s just…weird and I can feel my hackles starting to rise. I keep hearing this phrase on repeat in my head: when Death comes a’knocking.”

          Three loud knocks, at that moment, followed by the doorbell ringing, filled the house with such a jarring calamity that it caused Lola to dive under the kitchen table in fright, and the others to let out shouts of surprise or startled jumps in their seats. The kitchen hummed with a deafening silence as confused glances eventually turned toward Raphael to see if he would answer the door.

Taking that as his cue, Raphael pushed himself away from the table, but as he stood, a hand shot out to grab onto his pant leg, stopping him before he could take a single step.      

          “Don’t you dare answer that door,” Lola ordered from under the table.

          “I can’t just not open the door, Lola,” Raphael said, beginning the journey across the kitchen to make for the front door.

Lola held onto his leg, his movements dragging her out from under the table. “Sure you can! I do it all the time! I pretend I’m in the shower,” she said, struggling to hold Raphael back. “Didn’t you hear what Lazare said? Death is knocking at the door.”

          As if to prove her point, three more knocks rapped upon the front door.

          “See? Now just…pretend…you’re in…the shower!” Lola grunted between scoots as Raphael continued to drag her along the kitchen floor.

          “Dandelion, it could be important. What if it’s the Ren Fair Committee with news about the return of our horses?” Raphael asked. “Please, let go, you’re starting to pull my pants down.”

          “That’s a great idea! You can’t answer the door if you’re not wearing pants!” She gave his trousers a firm tug and he scrambled to hold firm the belt around his hips. “Come on, who needs pants, anyway? Oh! I know! Let’s have sex!”

          Raphael paused, mildly stunned as he stared down at Lola clasped around his leg. He couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at her tactical request while giving a hefty sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose before commenting.

          “Though I appreciate the enthusiastic initiation for consenting intimate activities, I feel I would be more inclined to oblige if one, your proposition wasn’t being made coming from a place of panic, or two, our friends weren’t presently sitting at the kitchen table.”

          He gestured to the others who sat in amused entertainment watching the scene play out, enjoying the remaining light finger foods of the charcuterie board like popcorn at the movies.

          Lola glanced over her shoulder, following the direction of his arm, and her face brightened in a warm flush from embarrassment when she realized the others were staring, unfazed by the obviously weird spectacle taking place before them. She glowered, annoyed they’d rather sit back and enjoy themselves instead of helping her in keeping Raphael back from answering the door. She harrumphed audibly when Jack had the audacity to wave at her.

          With her attention preoccupied, Raphael felt her embrace slacken, and he took that opportunity to pull his leg free, but she was quick, however, to wrap her arms firmly around his knee.

          “You are an insufferably stubborn silly goose,” Raphael declared with an exasperated huff, and leaning down, hooked his hands around his beloved to vigorously spider his fingers in the hollows of her underarms.

          She wriggled and shrieked, his tickle attack having the desired effect, for she instantly let go of him, rolling away to protect herself while releasing a stream of hard laughter and cursing. Unencumbered at last, he swiftly headed toward the front door. Lola was quick to recover and jumped to her feet to chase after him, her favorite four letter words trailing behind for her friends to hear as she disappeared into the front hallway.

          It sounded like a freight train barreled through the house behind him; chairs scraped across the floor, dishes clattered, and Lola’s swearing grew louder as her running footsteps brought her closer. He hastened his steps, reaching the front door and lock just as Lola threw herself upon him, her arms circling around his waist trying to yank him backward. He managed to get the door open, revealing the person who patiently occupied the front step.

          “CJ!” Lola squeaked.

          The playful exuberance of the couple in the hallway immediately froze solid, the breath ripped from their lungs as icy fingers slithered up their spines to grasp firmly around their hearts, giving a painful squeeze. CJ, in a three-piece linen suit of loden heather and slicked back brown hair, smiled in a broad grin that crinkled the corners of his striking gray eyes.

          “Oh, dear. Am I…interrupting?”

          CJ’s gaze slowly traveled up and down the forms of the breathless, flush cheeked, rumpled appearances of the two standing in the doorway. Lola shivered when his eyes stayed on her for a second too long, and Raphael must have sensed her distress, for he took a protective step forward, blocking her from the other man.

          “Carrington,” Raphael said with a warning rumble in the back of his throat, the name leaving a bitter aftertaste as it rolled off his tongue.

          “Raphael Glenbrook, at last we finally have the chance to meet,” CJ greeted, his tone warm, friendly, and yet, despite the pleasantry, threatening. “How fortuitous that it is your lovely wife that brought us together? Or, at least, soon-to-be-wife. Tell me, when is the happy nuptial?”

          “What do you want, Carrington?” Raphael asked, moving so his full frame shielded Lola.

          “Please, I insist all my friends call me CJ, but I know you’re a man of business, so I’ll get straight to the point. I’m here because of your wife,” CJ announced.

          Lola wanted to run, to scream, to hide, to melt into the floor and disappear, anything if it would spare herself from being linked to CJ and his schemes. The spot in the middle of her back between her shoulder blades burned, and she shifted uncomfortably. Movement in the dining room next to her caught her eye, and upon glancing over, noticed the others peering out the windows as inconspicuously as possible to observe the confrontation on the front walk way. Modesta was crouched the closest to her, rubbing her shin, and when they made eye contact, a quiet understanding passed between them regarding the residual claws that marked them.

          “This is something you felt needed to be done in person?” Raphael asked, drawing the attention back to the scene at hand.

          “I’m known to be eccentric,” CJ said with a shrug as he reached into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a white envelope and held it out in the space between Raphael and himself. “Congratulations!”

          “For what?” Raphael asked, his eyebrows lowering in question and mistrust at the item and its presenter. He folded his arms in front of his chest, refusing to accept the envelope.

          “You won the drawing for a free night’s stay at the Northcott Manor House. Well, Mrs. Glenbrook won the drawing, technically, but the voucher includes a guest, which I assume will be you,” CJ said. “The voucher is good for this Saturday. Mind you, it’s for this Saturday only.”

          “Wait, wait, wait,” Lola said, coming around Raphael to stand beside him as she addressed CJ.

Her curious mind overpowered her fears and trepidations of the man in the linen suit. He was leaving breadcrumbs toward a cryptic endgame, and despite all of her internal alarm bells warning her to leave well enough alone, she took his bait.

          “What about the break in?” she asked. “Will the police be done with their investigation by then to have guests stay the night?”

          “News travels fast,” CJ said, taken slightly aback by her abrupt appearance and forthcoming question. “I wasn’t aware the media outlets released that information to the public yet. As for the break in, no need to trouble yourself. I can assure you the whole affair will be settled by the time of your stay.”

          CJ held out the envelope toward Lola. “Please take it. I don’t want to have to become pushy.”

          Lola took a small step forward and reached out a hesitant hand to take the envelope, but Raphael stopped her by gently resting his palm over her arm.

          “We can’t accept the voucher,” Raphael said in a tone that brooked no argument on the matter. “We have prior commitments that require our time and attention.”

          “Surely you can finagle arrangements to make it so you are able to accept,” CJ said, layering on the smarm of his greasy charm. “This is quite the opportunity. The voucher includes a free dinner,” he added as extra incentive. “Consider it a little romantic date night.”

          “It’s a non-negotiable,” Raphael firmly stated.

          “Oh, tut!” CJ scoffed, unimpressed, waving away the declaration. “What could possibly be so encompassing of your time to interfere with a complimentary dinner and night’s stay at a historic landmark?”

          “Honey Love,” Lola called sweetly, moving Raphael’s attention toward herself instead of burning a hole into CJ’s skull from his hardened grimace. “I’m sure we can work something out with the Renaissance Committee for this one weekend. CJ’s right, after all, this is our golden opportunity.”

          “Are you talking about Newberry’s Renaissance Fair?” CJ asked, his eyes lit with excitement. “I myself go every year. Isn’t it fascinating to be in a place where one can be disguised as a character while at the same time embodying their true authentic self? It’s simply a marvel, a true character study of people.”

          “I’m sure with your eccentric personality you blend right in,” Raphael said.

          “More than you know,” agreed CJ with a chuckle that hid secrets. “Well, if your obligations lie so strongly with the Renaissance Fair, then---.”

          “No!” Lola shouted, interrupting CJ. He was in the process of rescinding the envelope, and she panicked, watching her chance to return Lillian’s grimoire slip through her fingers. “What I mean is thank you, CJ. We’d love to accept the voucher.” She held out her hand, palm facing upward to receive the envelope.

          “A wise decision, Mrs. Glenbrook,” CJ said, a creeping grin splitting his face as he placed the envelope into her palm.

          Lola recoiled, yanking her arm back away from CJ’s reach once she had the voucher, not wanting to make any type of physical contact with him. Her eyes flicked down to the glint of gold filigree scrawled across the envelope, the sharp, slanted letters catching her by surprise as she read her full name.

          “Wow! That’s some fancy calligraphy,” she stated. The elegance of each letter strung together in their confident flourish was impressive, and yet, to her confusion, danced on the edge of familiarity.

          “Thank you,” CJ said, puffing his chest out with pride. “I’ve been told I’ve inherited my great, great grandfather’s handwriting. Well! I am pleased you have accepted your winnings, and with that, I won’t take up anymore of your time. Continue enjoying your party.”

          CJ waved his arm out to indicate the set of dining room windows, turning his head to acknowledge the friends spying through the glass. He smiled as he watched the three interlopers duck out of sight, clearly caught guilty in the act of eavesdropping.

          “Until we meet again,” CJ said, and with a toss of his hand, departed from his place upon Lola and Raphael’s front walk.

          Raphael ushered Lola inside the house, eager to shut the door and rid themselves of CJ’s presence. Lola held the letter containing the voucher, staring hard at the gold lettering that caught the light in innocent glimmers as she maneuvered the envelope from side-to-side.

          “Is that the newsletter?” Jack asked. “We couldn’t really hear all of the conversation too clearly from in here.”

          “Why did you accept the newsletter? Do you want CJ to burn your house down?” Modesta asked.

          “Carrington handed out newsletters in envelopes like this?” Raphael asked, and when the three nodded at the same time, his eyes widened with a sudden realization. “We’ve had our newsletter the whole time,” he said on a quiet breath.

          “What? We have? How? When did that happen?” Lola asked, turning to match his expression of surprise.

          “I noticed it tucked in the stack of letters I brought in from the mailbox yesterday. It’s still on my desk.”

          Raphael turned on his heel, disappearing into his den behind them, and in a matter of seconds, returned to the hallway with a mirror image of Lola’s white envelope held in his hands. He tested the thickness of the contents, giving cautious squeezes until he could feel what he thought was a firm rectangular shape.

          “I think I found his calling card,” he said, a sneer curling his upper lip.

          “Don’t damage it,” Lazare warned. “I think those cards are cursed. Once the seal, those numbers that are written on it, is broken, it will unleash the negative entities and then ignite.”

          “It’s not Lillian’s!” Lola shouted, blurting out the statement with enough force to create a reverberating echo in the entryway. “It’s not Lillian’s!” she repeated, laughing in a mixture of both relief and enlightenment. “This is not Lillian’s!”

          Lola turned the envelope outward, showing the gold script to the others as she pointed to the letters.

          “It’s not her…address?” Lazare asked, darting confused looks around the group.

          “No, the handwriting. It’s not Lillian’s. I knew it was familiar,” Lola replied, though she mainly spoke to herself as she pushed through the cluster of friends.

          She picked up a canvas tote bag off the foyer sitting bench and marched into the back parlor room with everyone else following behind. Walking over to the coffee table, she gave an abrupt turn on the ball of her foot in a dramatic spin to face the others as they entered the room. In her flair, she took out Lillian’s grimoire from the canvas bag, and plopped it straight onto the coffee table with a satisfying thunk.

          “This,” she reiterated, waving CJ’s voucher, “is not Lillian’s.”

          Lola opened the grimoire to a random page near the middle of the book where elegant slanted letters written in a confident stroke covered the brittle paper. She then tossed the envelope she had been holding on top of the pages and took a step back, spreading her hands at the two objects as if the evidence couldn’t be any clearer.

          “The quicker you tell us what we’re looking at, the quicker you can put that thing away,” Modesta said, taking a step backward into the hallway as she physically shivered.

          “Sorry, I’ll hurry along,” Lola apologized. “Lillian’s grimoire is not Lillian’s grimoire. It’s her husband’s. It belonged to Cornelius. Look at the handwriting,” she continued, pointing to the envelope and the open pages. “Sure, there are subtle differences, but the handwriting is nearly identical.”

          “Carrington’s handwriting matches the grimoire’s,” Raphael said. He came up to the coffee table, leaning in to get a better look as Lola delivered her findings.

          “And CJ just told us he inherited the style from his great, great grandfather.”

          “Cornelius,” Jack said, the threads of information connecting together in his mind.

          “If it’s Cornelius’s grimoire, why was it hidden in the floorboards of Lillian’s library?” Modesta asked.

          “May I make an odd request, Lola?” Lazare asked as he scrutinized the open spell book.

          “Of course. What is it?” Lola asked.

          “May I hold the grimoire? I’m getting a vibe of its energy from here, but if I can hold it, I might be able to tap into its essence.”

          “That would be amazing if you can. Give it a try,” Lola said with excitement, picking up the grimoire and handing it to Lazare.

          He held the book out comfortably in front of him, sandwiched between his hands, and then closed his eyes while taking three deep breaths. His facial cues changed the longer he held the grimoire, silently communicating to the group the myriad of spectral energy clasped within his palms.  

          “He killed her!” Lazare cried out in a startled gasp as his eyes flew open, the outburst making the friends jump in place. “He hated her,” he then added. “He hid the grimoire under the floorboards to punish her.”

          Lazare snuffled hard, fighting back an onslaught of unshed tears, and Lola handed him a handful of tissues.

          “Why are you getting the impression he hated her?” Lola asked.

          “I keep hearing the word ‘eccentric’ in my head. There were appearances that needed to be kept. Order to maintain. Lillian was a proper lady of her time, to be sure, but she couldn’t be completely tamed,” Lazare explained as he blew his nose and dabbed at his eyes.

          “You can tell all of that just from holding the grimoire?” Jack asked, jaw open and mind blown by the details his psychic friend shared.

          “Oh, yes,” Lazare chuckled. “It’s practically bleeding with Cornelius’s residual energy.” He handed the grimoire back to Lola.

          “Cornelius hated Lillian so much that he killed her?” Lola asked, her thoughts turning somber toward the history of Lillian’s tragic fate.

          “I don’t know the exact reason why he wanted her dead, but his hatred was strong enough to fuel his actions,” Lazare explained. “Wait a minute! Remember the tarot reading from Lola’s birthday?” he gasped, swiveling sharply to Modesta. “Lola was right all along. Lillian was murdered by her husband the Devil.”

          “Now, wait, we don’t have proof of that,” Modesta said, pumping the metaphorical breaks on the runaway train of speculation.

          “Actually, I think we might,” Lola said. “That book I bought from you makes a lot of sense now.”

          Lola sat down on the couch as she placed the grimoire on the coffee table. Raphael mimicked her actions, sitting down next to her, the others following suit as the conversation weighed down the energy of the room.

          “I first read over the chapter regarding haunted objects, since I intended to sage the grimoire, not my fountain pen,” Lola shared, finally voicing the truth.

          “Sage is not going to work on that,” Modesta cut in, choosing to sit as far away from the spell book as possible while still being part of their gathering.

          “We figured as much,” Lola agreed, placing her hand on Raphael’s knee. “The chapter after haunted objects caught my attention. It talked about three common apparition sightings, and why some figures appear all in white, some are shadow figures, and why a few of them are gray. The book speculates on a theory that if a ghost is appearing gray, it’s because they were unalived tragically, either by self-infliction or by the hand of their lover. Lillian is known as the Gray Lady of the Northcott Manor House. What if she’s gray because Cornelius, her husband, was the cause of her demise?”

          “I’m getting the craziest idea,” Jack began, and turned in his seat to address Modesta. “Mo, can you do a quick tarot reading on the grimoire? Now that we know this belonged to Cornelius, maybe the cards can shed some light onto the situation if you can tap into its energy.”

          “That’s not a bad idea,” Modesta said after some thought. “I’ll go get my purse.”

          The friends stirred about the parlor room while Modesta retrieved the tarot deck she kept in her purse, the bubbling excited anticipation for the impromptu tarot reading spreading throughout everyone as they gathered close to Modesta. Lola had taken it upon herself to light a tall pillar candle scented in orange blossom, rose, and myrrh, and placed it in the center of the coffee table. She moved the grimoire closer toward herself as she took her seat at the couch, Raphael at her side, and Jack and Lazare at the single wingback chairs to the flanks of the intimate seating arrangement.

          Modesta took her place at the ottoman across from the couch, holding her well-worn deck of tarot to her heart as she cast a circle of intention and protection.

          “We are protected,” Modesta stated, her eyes closed and breathing even. “I ask that we receive the messages we need to hear, not the ones we want to hear. Please give us guidance and understanding.”

          Once connected to her spirit guides, and honing in on her intuition, Modesta shuffled the cards. The ease with which they fanned and fluttered between her hands was nothing shy of mesmerizing, and after a few skilled shuffles and artful bridging, she smoothed the cards face down in a long line across the coffee table. Taking in another deep breath, she hovered her left hand over the cards.

          “Okay, let’s get some clarification,” Modesta said. “What were the motives surrounding Cornelius Northcott toward his wife Lillian?”

          As before, sitting on the floor in the front parlor room of the Northcott Manor House those many nights ago, Modesta slowly ran her palm in the air above her tarot cards, waiting for the telling tingle to brush along the skin, indicating which one to turn over. She felt the need to turn over a card near the beginning of the row, and flipped the gilded rectangle, letting it lie in the open for everyone to see.

          “The Tower. Interesting,” Modesta narrated, moving her hand over her cards again. She flicked over another card from the middle of the row, setting it next to the first. “Four of Wands, that’s…not good,” she commented.

          As much as Lola wanted to ask questions, she sat in her place with her hands over her mouth, her elbows on her knees, and her legs bouncing in excitement to know what Modesta saw as she read the cards. Raphael’s comforting palm settled on her thigh helped to ease her fidgeting and calm her anxious spirit. Modesta’s soft laughter pulled Lola’s attention from her fiancé’s warm hand toward her best friend, who had selected and revealed the third card.

          “Which one is that?” Lola asked, unable to hold back her questions a second longer.

          “Okay, are you guys ready for this?” Modesta asked, and when everyone said “yes” at the same time to hear the tarot’s message, she held up the first card.

          “There was a shakeup, a crumbling, that happened around Cornelius. That shakeup had to deal with…his marriage,” and Modesta held up the second card. “Something big shook their foundation, enough so that it crumbled into the dust.” She tapped the ruins on the picture of a burning tower being struck by lightning.

          “What caused it?” Lola asked, desperate to learn the story.

          “Three of Cups,” Modesta answered, holding up the last card. “A third party was involved and Cornelius found out about it.”

          There was a pause as the information etched itself deep into the minds and hearts of the friends sitting around the coffee table.

          “So, you’re saying, there was a shakeup in their marriage due to a third party? Lillian was having a secret affair after all,” Lola said, stunned.

          “Is that why he murdered her?” Lazare asked.

          “Cornelius couldn’t have done it, though, he was out of town,” Lola reminded.

          “Unless it was a hit for hire,” Raphael said. “If he had enough hatred in his heart, that could be cause for motive.”

          “Not to mention he had the funds to keep it quiet,” Jack hypothesized.

          “What about the grimoire itself? How does that play in with why Cornelius kept it under the floorboards of the library to punish her?” Lola asked.

          Modesta set aside the three cards she held and pulled one more to answer Lola’s question. Her palm burned over the cards, and she snatched at it, turning over two cards in the process of her quick movement.

          “Ooh, I don’t like this combo,” Modesta said, clicking her tongue in disapproval while shaking her head. “Three of Pentacles: Teamwork,” she said, holding up the first card. “The Devil.”

          She held up the second card and a chill filled the room that left everyone feeling unnaturally cold.

          “Cornelius was in a partnership with something bad and something dark. I’ll bet he used the grimoire to record his teachings. He was doing ‘Devil’s work’ and keeping the grimoire under the floorboards of her sacred space was probably a petty move to make her feel uncomfortable.”

          “He sold his soul to the Devil,” Lazare said point blank. “I don’t like to say things like that, but Cornelius turned into an evil man. Hatred warped his heart.”

          Lola sat in silence, her mind volleying fuzzies back and forth as she pondered the tarot’s messages and the insights of Modesta and Lazare. “Can we get some more information on this third party? Maybe something to do with who he was?”

          “Sure. Let’s see what comes up,” Modesta agreed.

          She moved the cards she held to the side and again hovered her hand over the row of tarot. She paused at the section near the back-half, and frowned, see-sawing on which direction to go.

          “What’s wrong?” Jack asked, his forehead scrunching with concern. It wasn’t like Modesta to hesitate when it came to tarot readings.

          “Normally, I intuitively ask for one card, but I’m feeling called to draw two,” Modesta replied.

          She bit her bottom lip from indecision, and after a few more turns rocking between two cards, gave a huff and pulled them both. Lying on the coffee table were the Ace of Cups and the Knight of Swords.

          “Now these are nice,” Modesta said, relaxing. “Whoever this third party was, he was her Big Love.” She held up the Ace of Cups. “He was also a great communicator, and was swift and precise with his words and actions. He was fast acting, like delivering speedy messages,” she shared, holding up the Knight of Swords.

          The candle in the middle of the coffee table decided it was time to randomly blow itself out, as if signaling to end the tarot session. Goosebumps crawled over Modesta’s arms and she shuddered.

          “So…the grimoire,” she said, distracting herself from the ghostly prickles skittering up her arms. “What are you going to do with it?”

          “Ideally, I’d like to return it to the Manor House and be done with it,” Lola said. “But I don’t think that’ll be enough. I feel like I need to make it go away forever.”

          “It’s not just a matter of returning the object anymore,” Lazare said in agreement. “We have to stop it from spreading its dark magic.”

          “How? Let’s say you guys somehow get it back into the Manor House. CJ could still use the grimoire to do his evil bidding and keep coming after us just for the fun of it,” Jack speculated. “If he knows we all know about his practices in the dark arts, what’s to stop him from conjuring more crawlers, and scratches, and fires?”

          “We need to seal it and bind it,” Modesta said, her tone matter of fact. “If we can get the grimoire back into the House, Lazare and I can perform a ritual to lock in and nullify the negative energy for good, that way, CJ won’t be able to cast any of the spells or conjure any curses. We can hide the grimoire somewhere on the property, and once we do that, we can safely cleanse out any lingering negative energy around our businesses and your house,” she added, motioning toward Lola.

          “No more night terrors,” Raphael said, hugging an arm around Lola’s shoulders.

          “I’d really like that,” Lola agreed on a weighted exhale.

          “Great! So, how do we get back into the Manor House without it being obvious or suspicious we’re up to something?” Jack asked.

          “Luckily for us, that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about,” Lola said.

          She picked up the white envelope inscribed with her name in gold filigree, where inside, rested their hope in the form of a prize winning voucher, the very ticket they needed to end the chaos of Carrington Jacob Northcott once and for all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hiya, friends!!

We're soooooooooooo close to finishing this story, and it is a doozy, let me tell ya! So happy to show you more here in the couple of days! Thanks, as always, for reading!! Until next time, happy reading!

          She heard the muttering shadows lingering in the doorways, sensed the eyes watching from the darkened mirrors, and felt the claws incessantly scraping at flesh while she slept. She let out a barking laugh, wiping away tears caused from her prolonged unblinking stare.

          “You have no one to blame but yourself,” she declared sardonically. “I brought myself into this mess, so I am more than capable of taking myself out.”

          She sighed, cutting a glance to the brown paper bag sitting on the passenger seat with the Curios and Oddities label printed on the front. Inside, the bag contained the all-powerful spiritual tools needed to break the shackles of fear and despair: an herb bundle and a feather. Two simple devices that wielded devastating results. That realization alone took the edge off her anxiety, and Lola smiled. Picking up her bag, she left her car and stepped out into the fresh air and sunlight.

          Despite the confidence she put in her newly acquired purchase, apprehension managed to slow her steps as she traversed the front walk leading to her door. She stopped to stare at her house, her eyes landing on each window, and she worried over what lay hidden inside. A breeze ruffled the leafy tops of the trees surrounding the property, and for the first time that day, Lola heard the birds chirping.

          Who knew the simple cadence of a cardinal could shatter the overwhelming weight of fog determined to drown oneself in nihilistic submission?

          Lola turned her head, finding the bright redbird perched on a nearby branch of the maple tree standing firm and tall in the front yard. She took note of the sunbeams filtering through the abundant leaves that created a dazzling lightshow upon the freshly manicured lawn, and a desperate need to touch grass filled her soul. Kicking off her sandals with a burst of giddy enthusiasm, she stepped down from the walkway. The cool grass met the bottoms of Lola’s feet, and all at once, everything was right in the world.

          She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, connecting with each blade of grass between her toes. The moisture of the damp soil from a recent rain shower stained her soles, and all the while, as she experienced this pocket of Nature’s sanctuary, her cardinal friend serenaded his sweet melody. The sun warmed her skin, the breeze filled her lungs, and any lingering cloud of doom and gloom, for the present moment, ceased to exist.

          Opening her eyes, she saw the cardinal had been watching her. She smiled at him, and he gave one light chirp before flying away. She briefly imagined how it would feel to fly, like that cardinal, and the imagined weightlessness and sense of airborne freedom gave her the encouragement needed to confront the mean-spirited spookies. It was time to take back her home, her peace of mind, and her life.

          “Thank you,” Lola whispered. She patted the tree trunk for good measure and then turned around to face her house. “I can do this,” she announced, and ignoring the creeping sensation feathering the fringes of her perception of someone leering at her from across the street, held her head high as she unlocked the front door and disappeared inside.

          The house was peaceful and cool; not unnaturally cold as it was to get in the evenings as of recent. After setting her sandals in their place under the sitting bench of the foyer, Lola took her brown paper bag with her into the back parlor room. She threw open the French doors to help circulate the stagnant energy of the past three days, and along with the refreshing breezes, came the angelic tintinnabulations of the wind chimes off the kitchen window and the lulling hum of a lawnmower in the distance.

          “I can do this,” Lola repeated, a nugget of hope at the presence of normalcy blossoming in her chest. “Let’s get started.”  

          Determined, Lola plopped down in the middle of the couch and pulled free her new book, “The Peculiar Mannerisms of Ghosts”.

          “This looks like a good place to start,” she said to herself as she read through the table of contents. “’What to do about a Haunted Object’.”

          Flipping to the proper page, Lola leaned back into the cushions of the couch, cozying down for some insightful, and hopefully, helpful reading.

*****

          “Whew! What a day we’ve had,” Jack said, exhaling a large breath as he locked the door after the last customer left Curios and Oddities.

          “With all of the excitement throughout the day, I’m thinking a back massage, some whiskey, and a bubble bath are in order,” Modesta said, stretching her arms above her head to help loosen the tight muscles along her back.

          “Ooh, that sounds nice. Can I get in on that?” Jack asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

          “It’ll cost you,” she coyly replied, leaning against the checkout counter. She gave a sly smile as Jack came from the door to meet her, his hands resting on either side of her body as he braced himself on the counter to hover close.

          “What’s your price?” he asked, matching her sly grin.

          “Hmm,” Modesta thought, playing up the dramatics. “I’m thinking maybe…two-piece and a biscuit.”

          “A hard bargain, but seems fair enough,” Jack said, agreeing to Modesta’s terms. “Here are your two-piece---,” and he gave her two quick kisses, “---and your biscuit.” He turned, bending over slightly to waggle his buttocks as he backed up into his lover.

          Modesta laughed as she grabbed a firm hold of each cheek, giving a playful squeeze. “Here’s your change. Honk-Honk!” She let go of Jack’s backside and he straightened, turning to give her a warm grin and a loving kiss.

          “Do you mind counting down the register while I fill out a shipment order?” she asked once they parted. “I’ve been putting it off for too long, and with as many books as we’ve sold today, I really need to pad our inventory.”

          “Take as much time as you need. It’s only a little after eight,” Jack said as he looked to his watch. “When we get home, I’ll whip up my famous creamy steak carbonara.”

          “Don’t threaten me with a good time. I’ll be quick as a wink,” Modesta promised, and after another kiss, departed into the backroom.

          Jack set to his work, pulling out from the compartments under the checkout counter the necessities for documenting the register till, whistling a happy, absentminded tune while he counted the cash. He made a note in the paperwork about the extra money from the overall projected total due to CJ’s decision to opt out of his change. The thought of CJ had Jack pause his whistling, his lips pressing into a firm line instead as he looked at the freshly printed fifty dollar bill.

          A hard, sharp pinch on his left butt cheek caused Jack to jump and yelp in surprise. “Hey! What was that for?”

          He turned around, expecting to see Modesta, but there was nobody behind him. With a confused frown, he checked his immediate surroundings, hoping to find her hiding spot, and when his search came up empty, he hollered down the hallway leading into the back storage room and office space.

          “Modesta? Sweetie? You still back there?”

          “Yeah!” she hollered back. “Everything okay?”

          “Yep! Just checking! Love you!” he called down the hallway.

          “Love you, too!”   

          Jack returned to his station, rubbing the sore spot on his bottom. Hearing Modesta’s voice wafting up the small entryway from the storeroom proved to him there was no plausible way she could have crept up behind him, give a pinch, and then dart back in retreat without being heard or seen. No one was that fast. Shaking off the incident, he returned to his task of counting, resuming his whistling to fend off the beginning stirrings of foreboding prickling his hackles.

          He thrust a fat stack of bills into the security banking pouch, giving the zipper a firm tug when an inquisitive tapping sound came from one of the large storefront windows. He jerked his head up, startled by the soft noise that was out of place from their usual comforting creaks and groans of the historical space. The tapping persisted, a light little pitter, and despite his better judgement, Jack decided to investigate.

          Peeking out of the storefront window, all Jack could spy was the empty cobbled street. The light from the old oil lampposts flickering in the deepening shades of twilight reflected an amber glow off the historic stones, and the chorus of crickets in the nearby Dead Forest filled the night with their soothing lullaby.

          “Must have been a moth or a June bug,” Jack said with a shrug. He pulled away from the window, satisfied with his debunking of the strange tapping sound. “Ow!”

          Something small, like a rubber marble, struck him in the back of the head, and he whirled around, annoyed. The tapping sound from the window morphed into a skittering scrabble, the clicky-clacky noises traveling along the scuffled hardwood toward the large bookcases, and he watched in shock as right before his eyes a book fell to the floor from its place tucked away on a high shelf.

          “Modesta is going to freak out if we have rats in the building,” Jack declared under his breath, assuming the peculiar noises were animal-made. “This place isn’t haunted, so let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

          Jack pulled out his cellphone, unlocking the screen to access his ghost hunting app, planning on using the dancing skeleton feature to pinpoint where and if an animal had somehow found its way into the store. A singular loud, hard knock at the heavy wooden door made Jack jump with fright, and he fumbled his phone.

An indescribable wave of terror washed over him, and he dropped to the ground, hiding behind a small fixture filled with jars of incense sticks. He couldn’t explain why he became frightened, or why he was shaking, for that matter, but whatever was behind that door was yearning for the permission to be granted access to come inside. If he stayed silent, maybe it would go away.

          “Jack? What are you doing?”

          He nearly leapt out of his skin, Modesta’s approach from behind giving his heart a fierce startle. Quickly, he grabbed at her wrist, and pulled her down to join him on the floor behind the fragrant fixture.

          “He’ll hear you,” he stressed in a whisper, laying a finger against her lips.

          “Who will hear me?” she asked, swatting his hand away, though unconsciously matching his whisper when she voiced her question.

          Her query was a foreign concept, and he stared at her, genuinely baffled. “I don’t know,” he eventually answered. Logical thought cleared his mind to his present situation, and he rose from the floor, feeling a touch foolish.

          “Someone knocked on the door,” he simply stated.

          “And so instead of seeing who it was or telling them that we’re closed you felt the best course of action was to hide?” Modesta asked. She tried to add some levity to her question, hoping the harmless ribbing would ease whatever lingered behind his eyes that made them appear so haunted.

          “I’m not afraid of answering doors, Mo, but something was…‘off’ about that knock,” Jack said, defending his actions.

          “How can a knock feel off?” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the notion, but Jack had a residual aura of panic radiating around him. “I’m surprised you even heard a knock in the first place,” Modesta continued, watching Jack as he left her to put a book from the floor onto one of the mighty bookcases. “Especially with all of your rattling around in the backroom,” she added.

          “What are you talking about?” Jack asked, shelving the book.

          “That little scurrying around you were doing,” Modesta reminded. “At one point it sounded like you were climbing the walls, which, not gonna lie, was pretty creepy.”

          “I’ve been here the whole time,” Jack informed, pointing to where he stood.

          “No you haven’t,” Modesta said after a lengthy pause. “Don’t kid me.”

          “I’m serious, Sweets.”

          “Well, that doesn’t make any---.”

          “Ssh!” Jack shushed, interrupting Modesta. “There’s that tapping noise again. Do you hear it?”

          The two stood in silence, listening to a skittering tapping noise move about the space. Together, they looked up toward the ceiling.

          “That’s gotta be squirrels,” Modesta said, though she didn’t fully believe her own assessment.

          “I don’t think it’s squirrels,” Jack said, slowly shaking his head. “I think something else is here.”

          Once more, Jack got out his cellphone. He walked back over to Modesta so she could see his screen as he activated his ghost hunting app.

          “Looking for dancing skeletons?” Modesta asked with a smile.

          “It’s been a proven technique to have come in handy in the past,” Jack replied. “Okay, let’s take a look. If there are squirrels, hopefully this’ll pick up the bothersome critters.”

          Jack slowly panned his phone around the room. The screen was black with a few gray, large pixelated blobs indicating the furniture, highlighting the spatial cues for reference points. He scanned the bookcases, finding nothing amongst the tomes. He turned in a half-circle to look at the front door and windows, and again, found nothing bizarre except for their own reflections as skeletal armatures in the glass.

          “So far so good,” Modesta declared in a whisper. She held her breath as Jack scanned the store, prepared to see a dancing skeleton, yet hoping none would pop up. When he panned slowly over the checkout counter and the entrance of the hallway to the backroom, the screen void of skeletal frameworks, she let down her guard. Jack, as well, appeared to be relaxing, his shoulders dropping from their tense position from around his ears.

          A blob came into view on screen made of tightly coiled yellow circles when Jack panned his phone over the back wall of the store where the tables of crystals and tumble stones were set up. Text appeared next to the strange image in bold letters: ANOMALY DETECTED.

          Jack shivered, but held his phone steady. “It’s on the wall,” he whispered, taking a peek around his phone to see the physical location of where the anomaly registered. “Over there, by the corner.”

          “I don’t see anything,” Modesta said, her voice low. She hid behind her boyfriend for protection, peering over his shoulder to watch his phone screen.

          “Ope, it went away.”

          The anomaly vanished in an instant, then just as quickly reappeared in the same spot near the corner, but as a fully grown humanoid shape. The two jumped in place, surprised by the figure standing in the corner, mapped out in circles for joints and lines for limbs, creating the form of the unseen presence.

          “That’s definitely not a squirrel,” Jack stressed.

          “Should we talk to it?” Modesta asked. They watched as the figure on screen fluctuated in place, its jarring movements disjointed and unsettling. “Hello, over there. We can see you in the corner. Can you wave and say hello?”

          Finding her courage, Modesta demonstrated what she requested of the dancing skeleton and held her arm up to wave at the space where the invisible presence stood. To their shock, the slim arm of the figure jutted high above its head, mimicking the friendly gesture.

          “There you go, good job,” Modesta praised. The uneasy sensation of fear ebbed as she observed the dancing skeleton wave. “We don’t usually get visitors who are like you in this place. Do you need help with something?”

          “Did you wander in from outside?” Jack asked. “Where are you supposed to be?”

          The figure continued to stand there, waving.

          “It’s not doing anything,” he said at length, lowering his voice so as not to offend the figure. “What are we supposed to do? Should we ask it to leave?”

          “Wait, it stopped moving,” Modesta noticed, pointing at Jack’s phone.

          The two took a closer look at what was supposed to be a dancing skeleton, but was now instead a frozen statue. If the stilted, clumsy movements of the figure before were considered unsettling, then seeing it suspended in frame was unnervingly terrifying.

          “That’s never happened before. Maybe the app is glitching.” Jack moved his phone to a different part of the store and the screen reacted in real time to the surroundings the camera lens captured. “Nope, the app is fine. It’s gotta be the figure.”

          As Jack pulled the camera up once more to focus on what lurked against the back corner, the power to the building cut out. Curios and Oddities was plunged into pitch darkness with such violent abruptness that Modesta let out an alarming scream and Jack swore with a sharp intake of breath. Not even the comforting ambient glow of the streetlamps could penetrate the deep shadows blanketing the inside of the store.

          “Ow! Something was thrown at me!” Modesta shouted. “Ow! It happened again!”

          “Are you okay?” Jack asked, trying to find his girlfriend in the dark.

          “No! Ow!” She cursed, her anger rising as what felt like tiny pebbles pelted her body.

          “It’s the dancing skeleton!” Jack proclaimed. His phone screen mapped out the large and agitated armature, its flailing arm movements matching the timing of Modesta’s outcries followed by the tiny clatter of whatever was thrown at her bouncing along the ground. “I think it’s throwing the tumble stones at us. Ow!”

          “Knock it off!” Modesta shouted.

          Apparently, the figure didn’t appreciate being yelled at, as Jack watched the dancing skeleton from his phone screen rush toward them through the tumble stone displays.

          “Watch out!”

          Instinct fueled Jack’s swift actions. He reached out in time to pull Modesta toward him as the horrible sound of wood scraping against wood filled their ears. Modesta tripped over her feet and she lost her balance, falling into Jack and knocking them both to the floor just as the crystal display came crashing down before them. Thousands of tumble stones and crystals scattered in every haphazard direction, strewn in wild abandon from the force of hitting the ground. Just as the first table fell, a second one was not far behind, splintering as it toppled over.

          “Did that thing just flip a table?” Modesta asked with a groan, pulling herself up into a sitting position. “Where’s the figure now?”

          “Oh, shit! We’ve got a crawler!” Jack shouted as he scanned the room with his phone. “It’s on the ceiling!” He watched the jumble of yellow circles and zigzagging lines scuttle above them, making its way over to the bookcases.

          “I do not like crawlers,” Modesta griped with a shiver. “What’s it doing?”

          As she asked her question, the books from the top shelf of the bookcase closest to them came flying off all at once.

          “Get back!” Jack warned.

          The two scrambled to safety, ducking behind the checkout counter, fumbling around in the dark while dodging books that flew off the remaining shelves.

          “Fuck me sideways, this thing is a nuisance,” Modesta cursed. “We have to get rid of it.”

          “Any ideas on how?” Jack asked. He poked his phone above the counter, trying to locate their new friend. “It’s on the move again, and heading this way,” he informed, scooting back until he felt the brick wall behind him.

          “Quick! The breakroom!” Modesta leapt from the floor and booked it toward the back storeroom while activating the flashlight feature on her cellphone, lighting the way in the blanketed nothingness.

          Jack scurried closely behind her. He turned over his shoulder, cellphone out, and located the crawler on the ceiling of the small hallway above them. “Goddamn, it’s following us. I’m gonna have nightmares about this!”

          Modesta and Jack turned the corner, entering the backroom where the break area, inventory, and the manager’s desk was situated. The small light from her phone was bright enough to illuminate an opened box on the corner of her desk. She sprinted toward it, plunging her hand inside, and retrieved an iron railroad spike. She murmured something at the item clutched against her palm, then turned to find Jack.

          “Where is it?” she asked.

          “Crap, I lost it,” Jack swore, scanning the ceiling. They stood in the middle of the breakroom, silent, waiting for the crawler to make itself known. “Do you think it left?”

          A skittering, tapping noise clicked its way across the wall beside them. Jack held his camera up to scan the wall but couldn’t find the entity. Modesta shrieked.

          “Ground! Ground! It’s crawling on the ground!” she screamed.

          Jack whipped his phone toward the floor, locating the crawler, and jumped back when he saw how close it was to them. “It’s moving! There! It went into the supply closet!”

          Modesta rushed forward, chasing the crawler as it darted inside the tiny alcove. She flung the door closed, slamming it shut. Taking her railroad spike, she placed the large and hefty item on the top ridge of the door jam.

          “Locked and protected,” she declared.

          Modesta stepped back from the supply closet door, holding her breath. One loud singular knock banged against the door, causing her to recoil, bumping into Jack as she retreated from the closet. Silence followed. The lights flickered on overhead, and both Modesta and Jack let out a relieved breath as the power to the building returned.

          Jack put away his cellphone as Modesta plopped down on the couch, and he noticed her wince as she rubbed at her shin. “Are you okay?”

          “I think so,” she said, rolling up her pant leg. “That thing ran up against me, and it’s starting to burn where it touched me.”

          She revealed the part of her leg that stung with needle-like prickles as Jack knelt down to help inspect the area around her upper ankle. He sucked in a breath through his teeth before giving her a worried look.

          “There are three scratch marks,” he said. “You’re not bleeding, but blood has definitely been drawn to the surface.”

          “Three scratches?” she asked. “I don’t like the coincidence of that,” she added as Jack took a picture of the scratches to show her. “Hang on. Do you smell something…burning?”

          Jack smelled the air, trying to find the scent Modesta detected, and when glancing up, saw a thin wafting tendril of smoke rolling into the breakroom along the ceiling. “Smoke!”

          He bolted from the floor, racing down the hallway as the fire alarms bleat their high-pitched whine. The smoke around the ceiling grew thicker as he neared the front of the store, and coming out of the hallway, was met with large flames spouting from the wastebasket tucked by the wall next to the checkout counter. Fire licked the hundred years old bricks, threatening to burn the hanging décor and fragile handmade dreamcatchers. He grabbed the nearby fire extinguisher, pulled the pin, and smothered the growing flames in a plume of charged white powder.

          Not far behind him, Modesta ran toward the front door, hopping over piles of debris, and threw the heavy wooden barrier open to allow the remaining smoke a channel to air out. The onslaught of adrenaline took its toll on the couple, as now, free of chaos, their bodies began to shut down. Jack slumped to the floor, resting against the wall marred with fresh scorch marks while Modesta took full stock of the damage before her.

          To call the store a disaster would be a disservice to the extent of wreckage that befell Curios and Oddities. Clusters and pyramids of crystals were shattered, the once carefully organized tumble stones now mixed together in a jumbled mosaic mishmash. Some of the heavy display tables were overturned, one even broken in half with a nasty crack down the middle. Books, with most of the spines broken, lay in haphazard heaps, littering the hardwood floor.

          Modesta took careful steps to stand in the middle of the tangible aftermath of the crawler’s destruction, at a loss for how to even begin the process of recovery.

          “At least the fire alarms stopped chirping,” came Jack’s attempted quip from where he sat on the floor.

          “Yeah,” Modesta said. Her attention was centered on the mess she stood in, her mind too wrapped up in the post-mayhem to fully acknowledge his comment.

          “How did you manage to trap the crawler in the supply closet?” he asked.

          “Iron railroad spike. It’s a talisman to drive away negative energy. I put it on the doorframe so it can’t cross the threshold. Jack.” Modesta turned to fully face her boyfriend. Tears blurred her vision and a hard lump in her throat cracked her voice. “How am I going to fix this?”

          “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Sweetie,” Jack consoled in a comforting voice, quickly getting to his feet. He embraced her to his chest as she sobbed, and he gently rocked her to help ease her distress. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’ve got you.”

          He felt her nod of affirmation through her tears and he smiled. Modesta was a tough cookie, and he knew that once she allowed herself to completely vent her frustrations, she’d be ready to take charge of delegating and orchestrating the speedy cleanup. She would bounce back from this and have her store up and running without even a trace of the crawler by the end of the week.

          “Lazare’s is on fire,” Jack stated, freezing in a jolt of surprise as he looked out the open doorway.

          “Wrong time for jokes, Jack,” Modesta scolded with a snuffle.

          “I’m not joking. Look!” Jack turned Modesta around in his arms to show her what he saw. “There’s smoke coming from the roof.”

          Modesta wiped at her eyes, brushing away her remaining tears as she focused on Pyrite’s Pawn Shop across the street. Jack was right, the old building’s roof appeared to be burning. He left her side, going to stand on the sidewalk, and she soon joined him, getting a better view of the rising black smoke cloud billowing upward into the growing night.

          “It’s not the roof!” Modesta gasped with sudden clarity, clutching his sleeve. “It’s coming from behind the building. Quick! You call 9-1-1, and I’ll call Lazare.”

          “I’m going to check behind the pawn shop to see what’s on fire. Stay here.”

          Jack was across the street before Modesta could bring her phone to her ear. He dialed the emergency number as he rounded the side of Pyrite’s Pawn Shop, and thankfully, the emergency dispatcher answered as he came upon the dumpster in the back alley engulfed in flames.

          “Holy Jesus!”

          Jack retreated from the wall of heat that blasted him when he turned the corner. Stunned motionless, all he could do was watch, hypnotized, as bright yellow flames danced in the air, toying with the lip of the roof to Pyrite’s Pawn Shop in a dangerous whisper.

          “Sir? Sir? What is your emergency? Are you in danger?”

          Jack heard the faraway voice of a controlled yet worried operator around his ear, and the sound snapped him back to reality.

          “Hi! Yes! I need a firetruck!” he blurted out. “Please hurry! The dumpster behind Pyrite’s Pawn Shop on Historic Old Main Street is on fire, and it’s threatening to take the roof!”

          “Sir, I need you to get to a safe location away from the fire. I have units on their way. Are you able to stay on the line until help gets to the scene?”

          “Yes, I can stay on the line. I think I can hear some sirens now.”

          Jack left the alley, going to stand on the main sidewalk in front of the pawn shop. Observing the rising smoke, he noticed the once pure black plumes were now tinged with an orange glow, signaling that the fire was growing stronger. He raced across the street to meet up with Modesta.

          “What’s going on? I have Lazare on the line, he’s on his way over,” Modesta said as Jack trotted toward her.

          “The dumpster behind the store is on fire,” Jack stated. “Oh, good, I see the firetrucks.”

          Jack hopped off the sidewalk, waving his arm in the air to try and flag down the blaring engines of flashing lights and sirens. Modesta ducked inside her store, standing under the threshold to watch the firefighters as well as to better hear and communicate with Lazare.

          “Did Jack just say the dumpster was on fire?” Lazare asked.

          “Lazare, did you happen to throw out your sage bundle while it was still smoldering?” Modesta asked, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for the fire emergency.

          “Of course not, I brought it home with me,” Lazare answered. “This is so weird. I took the trash out to the dumpster when I left the store tonight. I almost didn’t even bother, since there wasn’t that much we collected, but something in my gut told me I needed to take it out. Good thing I listened to my intuition,” he added with a chuckle filled with ironic hindsight.

          “I wish some of your intuition had rubbed off on me. We had to put out our own fire here at the store. It was in our wastebasket by the register,” Modesta shared.

          “You had a fire?”

          “And a crawler, but I’ll tell you more about that later. I don’t like the connection of these fires happening in our trash receptacles. Can you think of anything that was in your trash that could have caused a fire?” Modesta asked. She left the doorway to lean over the checkout counter to spy into her wastebasket, but it was burned to a crisp and covered in fire extinguisher residue. She would get no clues from there.

          “There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just some junk mail, some used wads of tissues…and CJ’s newsletter,” Lazare said.

          Modesta’s hackles prickled and the marks along her shin burned and tingled. “Did you get a chance to read CJ’s letter before throwing it away?”

          “Briefly, but he had creeped me out so much I had to get rid of it.”

          “Did you notice anything weird inside your newsletter? We found a business card tucked inside ours with the number one written on it.” There was a lengthy pause on the other end of her phone, and she checked to make sure the call was still connected. “Hello?”

          “I have literal full body chills,” Lazare announced. “I did have a business card in my newsletter. Mine had the number two written on it, in silver ink. I tore it up and threw it away.”

          A wave a nausea slammed into Modesta, and she wobbled, forced to brace herself against the counter. “We tore ours up and threw it away.”

          “Wait a minute. If you had number one, and I had number two---.”

          “Lola has number three,” Modesta finished. “CJ asked for three addresses to send newsletters to, and Lola gave him hers, yours, and mine.”

          “And he was out hand delivering them today. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! What do we do?! Do we call her?” Lazare asked. “What if her house is already on fire?” he shouted on a hard gasp.

          “Okay, don’t panic! Focus on getting here safely, and I’ll call Lola.”

          Modesta hung up on Lazare, then swiftly punched in the number for her friend. The phone rang on in an endless drone, and Modesta cursed vehemently that Lola still hadn’t set up her voicemail inbox. She tried calling again as Jack stepped into the store, followed by two police officers, who gave a curious eye to the haphazard remains of the crawler’s calamity. 

          “Modesta, this is Officer Salem and Officer Winchester. They need to talk with us to get our statement about Lazare’s dumpster fire,” Jack introduced.

          “Sure! Yes, of course, good evening, Officers,” Modesta said. “I’d be happy to help.”

          Before joining her boyfriend and the police, Modesta sent out a text to Lola:

WHATEVER YOU DO DON’T OPEN CJ’S LETTER!

          She heard a pinging notification as she shook hands with the officers and glanced down at her phone screen. She knew her face drained of color as a cold sweat beaded her forehead. Lola replied.

I haven’t gotten mine yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

H-eeeeeey! Sorry for the cliffhanger, mwha-ha-ha!

Y'all, this story is ramping up, so strap in, because it's about to get wild! You won't even see it coming, and I'm so excited to share more! Love you all!! Until next time, happy reading!