“Did you get everyone moved over from the old barn?” Dr. Fisher asks as we make our way into the barn. I left the horses and donkeys in today since the vet was coming, and they all whinny to me, annoyed and wanting hay since they’re stuck standing in their stalls.
“Yeah. Just like a week ago,” I answer, a smile coming to my face when I step into the barn. I’ve had a horse long enough to know that simple is best when it comes to a barn set up, but I didn’t skimp on anything. Every once in a while, I get hit all over again with just how fucking grateful I am to have this life. I’ll do anything to protect it…and those in it. “And I’m loving the automatic waterers.”
“Those are game changers, that’s for sure.”
I get Mystery out first, bringing him into the aisle so he can get a dose of tranquilizer before Dr. Fisher starts on his teeth. Nik joins us halfway through, fascinated to learn that horses need to have their teeth filed down once a year to get rid of sharp edges and hooks that can cause pain.
We’re out in the barn for a few hours, and my mind is at ease the entire time. There’s just something about horses that has always calmed me, offering a distraction from all my problems. Ethan has already left for work by the time Dr. Fisher leaves. I spend some time cleaning up the yard and then walk around to the front, trying to remember what Aunt Estelle had in the now-empty flower beds.
Most of my memories are back, but I don’t remember everything. It’s normal, I know, to not recall things from that long ago.
“Whatcha doing?” Nik asks, coming onto the front porch holding a steaming cup of tea.
“Do you remember what kind of flowers Estelle had here?” I point to the stone flower bed beside the porch. I already planted a few flowers around the steps, and they’re not doing too well. I’ve never had a green thumb, and I don’t have to cast spells to know I’ll never excel at green witchcraft. “I know it was pretty and I called itthe fairy garden. She even bought me little gnomes to put around it.”
“You know, I’ve always found it amusing the way humans stereotyped us fae. We don’t live in mushroom houses or collect dew drops to drink. But we do like flowers and are quite good at making them grow.”
“So, you’re saying you’ll help me with my garden this spring?”
“I can’t stand to look at the dying flowers much longer,” Nik says and we go inside. I head upstairs to clean Romeo’s cage, bracing myself for whatever mess he inevitably made. Then I shower, straighten up my room, and make a list of everything I need at the grocery store. It’s a rush to get there and back in time to meet Keith at the house, and I’m tired by the time I pull down the street.
“This really is isolated,” I say to Hunter, who’s lying on the backseat. Like Thorne Hill, Paradise Valley has a lot of farmland. There are cornfields on either side of the street, freshly plowed and ready to be planted as soon as the ground is dry enough. It’s a landscape I’m used to since my house is on the outskirts of town with few houses on my street.
The neatly plowed fields give way to an overgrown weed-filled yard lined with maple trees. At one point this was a grand estate, and it’s sad to think how it was left to rot. I slow, GPS telling me I’ve arrived at my destination, and turn onto a once-gravel driveway that’s mostly just mud and weeds now. I drive between two dilapidated brick pillars that used to hold a gate.
The gate itself is rusted on the ground, bent like a car had smashed into it years ago. There are several apple trees along the length of the driveway. A few still have rotten apples hanging from the branches. I’m already getting an eerie feeling from this place.
The long driveway continues down to the house, circling around a circle of crumbling stone that might have been a fountain.
“This place would have been impressive back in the day,” I say out loud, slowing to a stop and parking behind Keith’s car. I kill the engine, unbuckle, grab my phone, and get out of the car, leaving the door open for Hunter.
“Hey, girl!” he calls, getting out once he sees me. “On thank god you brought him.” Keith crouches down, waiting to greet Hunter as if he’s a normal dog. Acting the part even though Keith knows the truth, Hunter runs over, tail wagging, and demands to be petted.
“Figured we could use the help,” I reply and look at the house again. “This place is huge!”
“Yeah, it’s a beast, that’s for sure. I did a little digging into the history if you wanna—”
I hold up my hand. “Don’t tell me yet. Let me see what I’m picking up.”
Keith smiles. “I’m excited and slightly terrified to find out what’s actually going on inside the house.” He shudders. “It creeps me the fuck out.”
“It has a…a…presence.” I turn back to the house, running my eyes over it. It’s a colonial-revival style house, which was popular at the time, two stories tall with a large attic that looks like it must have been finished and converted into livable space since there are curtains on the windows. The white siding is covered in moss and mold, and all the first story windows are boarded up.
“Are you getting anything?” Keith stands up and Hunter comes back to me, standing loyally by my side.
“Yeah,” I say. “There are definitely spirits here.” I close my eyes and feel like I’m being watched. “Two girls,” I go on, hearing their voices but not able to discern anything they’re saying. “And something…darker.” As soon as I say it out loud, that negative energy withdraws, slinking into the shadows. “And it’s intelligent.” Closing my eyes, make sure my mental shields are all the way down. I used to work hard on a daily basis to hold them up, not wanting to accidentally talk to a ghost thinking it’s a real person, as I’ve done before. In public.
But now I don’t need to hide that side of me from Ethan, and whatever protection spells Aunt Estelle cast on the house keeps spirits at bay.
“Whoa,” I whisper, getting hit with another wave of emotion. “Did you find out who built the house?” I ask Keith, opening my eyes and taking a few steps toward the porch.
“Yeah. I did.”
“This is what I’m picking up…kind of.” I go onto the porch, recalling memories that aren’t my own. “So, the people in the area were still struggling with the aftermath of the Great Depression in the 40s. And there was some sort of issue with that.”
“You’re good.” Keith’s brows go up. “Want me to tell you?”
I nod. “Minimal details, though.”