#carriegessner

Grace sniffed. Yep, she definitely was. “Give me a minute!” She paced her bedroom and dialed a phone number. It was late, especially on the east coast, so getting his voicemail didn’t surprise her. The beep sounded. “Hi, Mr. Davis. I just wanted to say I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be selling the bed and breakfast, after all. Thanks.”

She ended the call and tossed her phone onto the bed—her bed now. That left one thing more to do before going downstairs for Classic Horror Wednesday. Without bothering to sit down, she opened the family bestiary to the first page and used her grandfather’s old-fashioned ink pen to inscribe her name and the year on the line below his. She smiled. The things they would all accomplish together. Her grandfather hadn’t just bequeathed a bed and breakfast. He’d done what she hadn’t been able to do—help her find a place to belong.

Downstairs, someone had managed to make an unburnt batch of popcorn and three bowls of it sat on the coffee table. Grace snatched one up before claiming a corner of the couch. Imhotep lounged on the other end, and Phee reclined in his usual armchair. Rosie walked in from the kitchen, TARDIS mug in one hand, and sat down in between Grace and Imhotep. The dog nuzzled up to her.

Honoria floated into the living room, paused, and then breezed out.

“She doesn’t like horror movies,” Phee explained.

“Naturally.” Grace stretched out her legs on top of the coffee table. “So, what are we watching?”

“The Wolf Man,” Rosie said, scratching Imhotep behind the ears.

Grace popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth. This was it. They were her friends now. They’d be the ones to always have her back, to always rig up a system to pull her out of hell more easily.

As the opening credits began, Grace said, “You know, I’ve been thinking. Pembleton Family Supernatural Agency doesn’t really work anymore.” Though family, Rosie and Phee weren’t Pembletons. “We should change it.”

And thus began an argument that would undoubtedly last the length of the movie. Outside in the distance, Barnaby—for that’s what they decided to call the thing in the pond—splashed and growled contentedly. A pet water monster and a resident ghost—nothing about this would ever be normal. And funnily enough, Grace was more than okay with that. After all, she could see the stars here.

The house in question was a three-level gray Federation period with a wide front porch and lots of windows. Grace walked up and rang the bell. The beige front door featured an autumn wreath. Even with it shut, the squawking was audible.

The door opened, and a woman carrying a baby rushed out. 

“December 14th! Slip on the ice! Broken tailbone! Lots of Jell-O!”

She slammed the door behind her and swiped a hand through her loose brown hair. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and the kid was maybe six months old. It might have been a boy. Babies all pretty much looked the same to Grace.

Eyes wide, the woman sighed and said, “Thank you so much for coming. You must be Pete’s granddaughter.”

The whole town had known about Grace probably since her birth, and she’d just found out about Witch Wood last week.

The woman switched the baby to her left arm and extended her free hand. “Emily McCready, and this is Noah.”

So it was a boy.

Grace shook Emily’s hand. “Grace Pembleton.”

“You don’t have any of your tools.”

“Uh, I’m the advance guard. Need to find out what we’re dealing with before bringing in the big guns, you know?”

“That makes sense. I’m going to stay here for Noah’s sake. If you need anything, just holler!”

“Thanks.”

Emily grasped the doorknob. “Brace yourself. It’s rather loud.”

An understatement, considering that even through the closed door, the screeching was clear enough to make out most of the words.

Grace rolled her neck and tensed her shoulders. “I’m . . . braced.”

As soon as Emily opened the door, Grace darted inside. God, this house was gorgeous—lots of light, polished hardwood floors, decorative crown molding. In the living room off to the left was a giant window seat. Must be an awesome reading nook in the afternoons.

“Valedictorian! Carnegie Mellon! Engineering!”

“Flat tire! Three weeks!”

“Early frost this year! Cover your plants!”

She followed the voices down the main hallway and into a family room with a ginormous-screen television and a comfy-looking tan couch. The birds—three of them, big and black—were flying in circles close to the twelve-foot-high ceiling.

When her Converse crossed the threshold, the fortunes changed.

“Wasted potential! Unsatisfactory career!”

“Quixotic! Best life is in the imagination!”

“Black sheep! Disappointment! When are you going to get it together?!”

“You’ll never belong, never belong!”

Lovely. Even the birds knew Grace would never amount to much. She forced a deep breath into her lungs. Out again. It was harder to pass these off as another joke. If they weren’t, though, what in Avalon was she supposed to do about them?

Her head pounded. The birds, uninterested in her presence, circled overhead. Since she accomplished what she came here for—to assess the situation, to see for herself if this was real life—she left, the birds’ cries of misfortune dogging her steps. Once on the porch again, she slammed the door to shut out the cacophony.

“So,” Emily said, bouncing the baby in her arms, “what’s the verdict?” 

“I’ll have to consult with Rosie and Phee. We’ll figure it out and be back. Is there someplace you and Noah can go in the meantime?”

Whatever happened to Don’t make promises you can’t keep?

Emily nodded. “Sure. I’ve got errands to run anyway.”

“Great. I do have one question before I leave. Where’d the birds come from?”

“Darned if I know. They must have flown in through an open window.”

“Okay, thanks,” Grace said. “We’ll give you a call when it’s safe to come back.”

As she traipsed down the porch steps, she shot off a text to Rosie and Phee:

This is Grace. We need to have a meeting. B&B in ten minutes.

~~~~

Cautiously, she slid out of bed, got onto her hands and knees, and groped about. This was not happening. She couldn’t be blind in this eerie, unfamiliar room. What if she tripped over a battleax or something equally ridiculous?

She sat back on her haunches. As her glasses definitely weren’t where they were supposed to be, having no way of locating them left her with one recourse. She tiptoed to the door, taking care not to accidentally smash her spectacles.

“Rosie?” she called. ”Phee?”

After some pots banging around downstairs, a blurry figure appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

“Good morning.” Rosie said. “What’s up?”

Grace stubbed a toe into the floorboard. “This is embarrassing.” 

The second stair creaked as Rosie walked up. “I guarantee you I’ve dealt with worse.”

Grace wasn’t a very good adult on the best of days, but losing her sense of sight exacerbated it, left her vulnerable. Maybe growing up visiting her grandparents on holidays and during summers would have tempered that feeling, tamped it down in the soil before it could grow. “I can’t find my glasses, and since I don’t know the room that well, I’m afraid of stepping on them.”

Rosie laughed. “That’s understandable and definitely nothing to be embarrassed about. You probably knocked them under the bed by accident or something. Let me take a look.” She stepped past Grace and into the bedroom. “Oh, they’re hanging from the ceiling-fan chain.”

“They’re what?”

Rosie knelt on the mattress to untangle the glasses. “Here.” She placed them in Grace’s outstretched palm.

As Grace slipped them on, the world became clearer. So much better. ”Thank you.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t do that,” said Rosie, hands on her hips.

Grace shook her head.

“I thought not. Honoria! No messing with Grace!” The taller woman smiled. “She’s just getting used to you is all."

Right. The resident ghost. Having still not decided whether this was all an elaborate prank on her grandfather’s part, she stayed quiet. Besides, she had a plan now. She’d spend the day going over the B&B’s books to prepare for the meeting with Mr. Davis. Once that was done, she could sell it and forget all about this place, with its ghosts and monsters and delicious tea.

Rosie shifted her weight to one long leg, cocked her hip. “How’d you sleep last night? After the talk we had, I mean. I know it’s a lot to take in, and—” 

“It’s fine,” Grace said, crossing her arms. “I’m fine. No sense in worrying about it. I’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Sure,” Rosie said.

Strange how one word—one syllable—could call a blush to Grace’s cheeks. Despite what was written in the will, this wasn’t her business. This wasn’t her life. Staying here like they wanted her to would put her on the path to loserdom—crappy job, crappy friends, crappy life—an even faster path than her current one. She needed all the help available to pull her hot-mess self together, and she most certainly wasn’t going to get it in Witch Wood, Kentucky.

“Well,” Rosie said, turning to descend the stairs, “Phee made some breakfast. Come down whenever you’re ready.”

“Great. Thanks.” They weren’t friends, not really, so why did it feel like she’d let her down?

~~~~