Page 49 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

Smirking.

Plotting. She had been plotting.

Of course, she had wanted me to go into the cellar eventually. That’s why she had kept bringing it up for those many years. Now she had gotten me where she wanted me.

“Is it always here?” My younger self whispered.

She shrugged, only acting with part of her body. The smile never left her face as I stared down into the well.

“It comes and goes.” She said, staring down at my younger self leaning over the edge of the well. “Shows itself when it wants to or needs to.”

“Why’s it here?”

“I done told you.” She said. “It’s the source of all your family’s magic. It’s here for you if you ever need it. Unfortunately, some of your kinfolk have been dippin’ into it over the years and—”

“Dipping into it?”

She made a crude sound but never stopped smiling. Oma had gotten me exactly where she had needed me to begin moving the pieces on the chessboard.

“Yeah.” She stated flippantly. “Idiots used some of the magic. Thinkin’ it could give them money or power or some other nonsense that they wanted. They used it for wishes.”

“Wishes?” My younger self breathed the word, fascinated.

“Wishes.” Oma reiterated. “Thought the well could solve their problems instead of handlin’ the problems themselves. But wishes are only as good as the person making ‘em. Bunch of idiots. Now, we need to get out of here.”

“Would it grant me a wish?” I had asked dreamily, staring down into the dark depths of the well.

There it was. Looking at this scene from the outside, I saw the grin on Oma’s face widen. That’s what she had wanted me to know—she wanted that thought in my head, chewing away at all of my other thoughts for as long as it could.

“I suppose.” She said, then suddenly the grin was gone. “Now, get off that damn well. We’re going back upstairs, and I never want you to come down here again. Don’t even think about it. Don’t talk about it to no one.”

“Oma.” My younger self pushed back from the well and looked up at her, my bottom lip jutting out.

“Don’t ‘Oma’ me, mister.” She jabbed a finger at the stairs. “I ain’t got many rules around here, but this one I mean.”

“Fine.” My younger self rolled his eyes and started marching towards the stairs.

As my younger self disappeared out of frame, Oma’s eyes followed him. When he was gone, Oma took one last look at the well, the grin returning to her face. She laid a hand on the edge of the well, giving it a soft pat as she smiled down at it, then she too was heading for the stairs.

‘Everything Little Thing She Does Is Magic’ by The Police was playing on the little radio on the kitchen counter when I walked into the room. Bright summer sunlight was pouring through the windows in the house, making everything look white and golden and nearly celestial. All of the curtains and drapes had been pushed back on their rods to help welcome the first day of summer. The house was sparkling clean and smelled of Oma’s favorite lavender cleaner. I staggered down the stairs, all wonky elbows and joints, my hair surely sticking up in spikes all over my head, rubbing my fists into my eyes. My bare feet padded down the stairs and then across the floor of the living room towards the kitchen. It was my last summer before I started Big Boy School. Talks had been given to me over and over again about what to expect, the friends I’d make, the teachers I would love, the things I would learn. All I cared about that summer morning was getting some of the food in the kitchen that was scenting the house from top to bottom: bacon and eggs and butter and maple-y goodness.

When I entered the kitchen, I immediately saw her standing there, back turned to me, poking around in a skillet on top of the stove. My eyes lit up as an evil grin came to my face, and I tiptoed across the linoleum floor in the kitchen, sneaking up on her. I grabbed ahold of her sides, my head barely coming up past her butt, making her scream out in feigned shock. She had heard me walking up behind her, but it didn’t matter. She let my five-year-old self pretend that I had snuck up and startled the daylights out of her. She spun around, hand to chest, gasping as she looked down at me with wide eyes. Then her face broke into a smile, and she dropped to kneel before me. Her arms went around me immediately as she smothered my face with kisses.

“Good morning, Robbie!” My mother managed to get out between my squealing and squirming as she smothered me with her kisses. “Good morning, my little ray of sunshine!”

“Mommy!” I squealed, pretending that I wanted to get away, but I was really wanting my mother’s kisses to keep going until I was exhausted and collapsed in her arms.

I wanted to feel my mom’s arms around me, comforting and loving me, leading me to the table for my breakfast. The smothering kisses and squeezing arms lasted for what was a very long time, but not to a five-year-old. Finally, my mom pulled back, her hands going to my shoulders so that she could get a good look at me. Immediately, one hand went to my head, to try and pat down the multitude of cow-licks in my hair. She smiled to herself as she gave up after a few seconds. My hair never wanted to do what she wanted it to do, and that was a battle she was slowly losing. Her hand went to my chin, pinching it between her fingers as she winked at me.

“Did you leave your appetite in bed, or is it here with you?”

I giggled. So silly.

“I’m so hungry, mommy!”

“What do you want for breakfast, baby?”

“What did you make?”