truth speaker of the tribe on speakerphone.
― Anthon St. Maarten
I'm trying to find out why I'm receiving spooky messages on my i-phone. I tried the 'geniuses' at the Apple store but they were no help and frankly, I'm feeling creeped out.
Melody Bride, my book shepherd, aka literary agent, thinks I should ask Ella James, the town's resident spiritist and naturopath about the history of my house because all these strange occurences happened after I moved in.
She's right though--maybe I bought a haunted house, but if that's the case, I'll put it up for sale aand move out--back to the city where the freaks all stay downtown and my biggest complaint is smog.
To add to my angst, it's been gloomy and rainy lately but the storms have finally cleared up and the sun is shining. I'd take that as a good sign but Ella’s naturopath studio looks like the Curiosity Shop from Bell, Book & Candle.
She’s behind a beaded curtain at the back of the store—probably diving the future by examining the entrails of birds.
“Be right out there folks,” she calls.
Melody’s dawdling looking at some herbs and spices by the open door and crows are cawing from the field across the road.
I intone in a sepulchral voice, the raven is hoarse that croaks my fatal entrance under these battlements.
Melody rolls her eyes. “Really, James. How old are you?”
She looks incredibly lovely silhouetted against the sunlight—or maybe I’m just deprived of ultraviolet radiation.
Ella comes out and her eyes brighten in recognition. “Oh, you two! Are you an item yet? You make a such a lovely couple.”
I glance at Melody expecting to see a smirk, but her eyes are sparkling. But maybe I’m just hallucinating, over-wrought and seeing bright flecks. Yeah, the sun does that sometimes.
Sometimes I see red suns after the sun sets—I’m talking about after images—not the burnished red of Melody’s hair. At least, I hope not.
“What can I do for you folks?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me about the history of my house—you know the century home at Hell’s Corners?”
Melody smiles darkly. “He means Hickory Corners, Ella.” She shoots me a smoldering look—not of desire, but lots of anger. She can be one passionate lady, Melody Bride.
“Hickory Corners. Aw shoot—is that where you two are living?”
I’m itching to correct her—tell her we’re not an item, but Melody stares daggers at me.
I nod resignedly. “That’s us.”
“There’s a sad story surrounding that house. Back at the turn of the century, the parents of a teenaged girl were killed in a train wreck. The girl was only fifteen but was considered old enough to live in the house with her elderly aunt. But the aunt had dementia—called it hardening of the arteries back then, and the young girl was stuck caring for her aunt.”
Melody’s eyes grew moist. “That’s so sad.”
Ella shook her head sadly. “It was hard for that young girl—Loretta Willard was her name. She was quite attractive, but all that time spent walled away from people in that house made her shy. She was like a delicate night flower, blooming while all the world was asleep to her beauty.”
I had to ask. “What happened to her?”
“She caught the Spanish flu and died that August in 1918.”
“So she never had a chance of a life.” Melody whispered.
“I suppose not. Oh, folks say they see a light occasionally when they pass by and the outline of a young girl at the window, but that was when the house was vacant—long before you two moved here.”
I‘ve heard enough—I’m outta here.
“Thanks Ella, for your time and the history lesson.”
She brightens. “Don’t mention it. Always happy to see you both.”
She hands Melody a sprig of pretty bluish-purple flowers. “This is for you, Love. Keep it by your pillow.”
Melody seems touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Ella—it’s lovely. What kind of flower is it?”
The old woman’s eyes twinkle. “It’s rosemary for remembrance, Dear—to remind you you’re intended.”
And then, anticipating my reaction, Ella looks directly at me. “I only tell what the stars foretell.”
I don't want to tell her what's on my mind right now, but I'm not sure it would make much difference in her tiny world.
I'm. dreeading the thought of having to move but this berg is getting to me.