Charlotte takes a deep breath. “It started off small. Things going missing, odd noises. While it’s a new home for us, the building itself is hundreds of years old. I thought it was a matter of acclimating myself to a new property. When the strange occurrences continue, strange smells, sounds, and the feeling of being watched. I thought maybe we had a ghost or two. It’s a plantation home. We all know the ugly history tied to such locations.”
Ugly history. Years of mistreatment and inhuman living conditions, demoralization, and inhuman atrocities can be wrapped up in a proper sentence. I sneer.
“What changed your mind?” Sacha asks.
“The tone changed. I started to be afraid of being alone in the house. The knocking grew louder, more agitated, if you will, rattling doorknobs and shaking beds. Then I started to see them.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Them?” I ask.
“The shadow people,” she whispers.
Chills run down my spine. “Can you describe them?” I ask, skeptically.
“They’re not black. Not in the way we normally understand the color. They’re darkness. A shape no light can penetrate. They’re all long limbs, reaching to the ceiling and bending in ways no human could ever manage. They stand at the end of my bed, moving closer with every blink. I catch them out of the corners of my eyes in other rooms. They whisper to me.”
Shit. The woman is one of two things: mentally ill or under siege. Part of our job is determining which is the case.
“Charlotte. We have to ask you a series of questions before we agree to take the case. They may be a bit personal, but we need you to answer them honestly. Please keep in mind, we’re here to help, not judge.”
“No, I’m not on medication, nor do I have a history of mental illness. I’m not a heavy drinker, and I wasn’t under the influence of anything when I had my experiences,” she says haughtily with a smirk. “I did my research. I’ve tried smudging, ignoring, and questioned my sanity a number of times only to come to the same conclusion. This is really happening.”
“How long has this been happening?” Sacha asks.
“Eight months.”
“That’s a long time to deal with what you’re describing,” I state.
“I exhausted all other venues before I came here.”
“Do you have a problem with witches, Mrs. Addington?” I lean back, narrowing my gaze.
“Not personally, but the open association with them would be bad for my husband’s business. I’m a newlywed. It’s too soon to be rocking boats. A girl’s got to look out for number one.” She flashes a faux smile.
“And how do you propose we help you with your issue without ‘rocking the boat’?” I air quote.
“Well, I’m not a saint. I can have friends over for girls’ night.” Her pleased grin has me struggling against eye rolling.
“Clever. We’ll be happy to accommodate your needs.” Fel schmoozed like a socialite, and I grit my teeth and remind myself not everyone is grateful for the help they receive. No. Mrs. Addington apparently feels she’s entitled to it. Thankless jobs are often the ones most necessary.
I continue to take notes as we arrange a time and date to explore her home and see her out the front door.
“You didn’t like Charlotte at all,” Fel remarks a few moments after she leaves.
“I didn’t say a word.” I stir the honey into my rosehip tea and she snorts.
“Like you had to?”
“I was polite.” I shrug.
“Yeah, and nothing else,” Sacha echoes.
“Shut it, Sach. You didn’t like her either.”
“Yeah, but I’m a better bullshitter.” Sacha winks.
“I didn’t have it in me to pretend with another person. I have enough ass to kiss in everyday life. She rubbed me the wrong way.”
“I think she knew it, too,” Fel says.