Let’s ignore the fact that I’m twenty-two and have taken care of myself for as long as I can remember. One little freak accident and here I am under lock and key, heavily scrutinized by everyone. It was enough for them to force me here, stuck in holy-spirit-up-your-ass-ville. Where I’m a pariah.
I miss my friends.
After the accident, they abandoned me, just like everyone else in my life.
It’s because you’re not worth the headache.
Fuck.
I run my hand down my face at the dark turn of my thoughts and decide I’ve had enough. The gesture accidentally tugs on my split lip, and I press the back of my hand against it to get it to stop throbbing. When I pull my hand away, there’s a small dab of blood there. I lick the offending spot and try to control my breathing, and reassure myself that I’m not worthless.
I already have all A’s and a killer GPA; I’m on track to demand my freedom. To prove to everyone else that I am not an invalid.
Throwing all of my shit into my canvas messenger bag, I lift the few library books I was reading and carry them back to the shelves. Putting them away gives less opportunity for the Crypt Keeper to spy on what I’m reading “for school”. Not like she can’t see the spines of the books while I’m sitting at the table, but hopefully this gives her less ammo to feed Grandma Julia.
Sliding the last book where it belongs, my eyes catch on what looks like a card sitting on the floor. Something compels me to inspect it further, like a whispered voice drawing me in. But there’s nothing and no one around.
So, I squat in front of it, making my sore knees pop. Groaning, I silently curse that damned prayer stool which I had to sit at for four hours last night. I tried to be sneaky, and skip a few parts, which she caught of course. Then she made me repeat the whole damn thing three more times!
I pick up the heavy cardstock and run my fingers along the smooth images. The side that was facing up looks well-worn. The navy blue card has a series of moon phases lined up the center in gold foil.
I’m half tempted to drop it and leave it where I found it, just in case its owner returns. But that sensation from earlier compels me to flip it over. I hold my breath, terrified of what awaits. Which is absurd. It’s just a card. However, the power emanating from the card tickles my fingers and sends shivers up my spine.
In a neat script, it saysYasmineand an address.
What in the actual fuck?
Pocketing the weird as fuck card, I zoom out of the library like my heels are on fire, ignoring the glare from Grandma Julia’s spy. The space suddenly feels too claustrophobic. I don’t breathe until I’m outside and at least a block away.
Pausing, I stare up at the clear blue sky and breathe deeply. My lungs fill, and I feel my body relax with the much-needed fresh air. I walk through the small town aimlessly, more at ease than I’ve been in at least twenty-four hours. I know Grandma Julia has plenty of others watching me throughout the town, but I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly who. However, it’s hard to deny it when she asks questions or nitpicks my whereabouts throughout the day that she wouldn’t know otherwise.
Right now, though, I can’t bring myself to give a shit.
I stop randomly to pull the card out of my back pocket. Inspecting the script closely, I run my fingers over the words. The pull is magnetic, as if I’m too dense to understand what it’s trying to tell me.
When I glance up to make sure no one sees me acting like a total weirdo—not that they would notice much of a difference—my heart leaps into my throat as I realize where I’ve stopped. My eyes bounce from the card to the address over the door, back and forth, while my heart thunders in my ears.
This is it. The address on the card.
I turn this way and that, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The derelict businesses and overgrown lots prove how abandoned this side of town has become. Honestly, now that I’m here, there’s sort of a beauty in this hidden side that’s been more or less left to nature. It’s not a section I’ve ever ventured through, sticking primarily to the main streets.
Suddenly I’m heavily torn between seeing what all of this means and running in the opposite direction. Before I can think better of it, I’m moving up the front steps; not really sure if this is losing or winning my inner battle yet.
My eyes never stop scanning my surroundings, waiting for someone to jump out and call me out on their prank. But so far, there’s nothing. Though the hair along both arms stands up straight as if the air is charged. Leaving me to wonder if the power I felt holding the card is only amplified in this space, emanating around me.
The deep porch at first glance is just like any other porch I’ve seen in the South. Tinkling wind chimes of various sizes are sprinkled around the porch creating a symphony of notes that somehow are pleasing to the ear without being dissonant. The ceiling is painted a soft blue color, resembling closely to the color of the sky on a clear day, like today. The superstitious call it “Haint Blue” due to its supposed ability to repel ghosts. The windows on either side of the porch have large dreamcatchers hanging in them, with a variety of crystals dangling around it refracting rainbows of color around the space.
On the door is a wooden sign with a neat script that says ‘Open’, implying the card has led me to a business of some sort. Below the sign is a bundle of dried plants. I lean in closer to sniff the plants to guess it’s a mix of garden sage and lavender. Reaching for the doorknob, my feet crunch against something. Glancing down, I see a line of salt spread across the threshold of the door.
My heart thumps heavily against my ribs, urging me forward in hopes of finding a like-minded person inside. Because whoever is inside is not from around here, since there is no cross in their collection of knickknacks. The rest of this would be considered devil worship.
So, I don’t fight my feet as they carry me over the threshold. Even though, I hold my breath as I push open the door.
Inside the spartan space are a series of candles, salt lamps, and sage burning to create an almost cloying presence. On the far side of the open space is a wooden counter. Behind it is a series of shelves looking almost like an apothecary with the mix of glass jars and baubles spread out.
In the center of the hardwood floor is a chalk circle filled with a large star and symbols I don’t recognize. Gripping the card tighter into my hand, I walk over the marking on the floor. A chill runs through my body until I pass through and suddenly feel stronger than I have in a long time. As if there had been a literal weight sitting on my shoulders and it’s no longer there.
“Hello?” I call out when no one greets me.
