Page 2 of Stalked By the Boogie Man

“Can’t we trap him or find a spell to banish him back to Boogie Land or wherever he comes from?” I ask.

She pauses at my bedroom door, her shoulders rising to her ears.

My stomach tightens. We’ve had this conversation dozens of times, and she has a dozen explanations. I’m sleepwalking, I’m coming into my power, I need to give my magic more time to settle.

Blah, blah, blah.

No force in the universe could ever convince me that I smashed up my entire room in the middle of the night and awoke without so much as a bruise.

“Alienor,” Grandma enunciates the syllables with a sigh. “There’s no such thing as boogie men. Only witches and non-sentient magical beings.”

I run my fingers through my hair. “But what if there’s more—”

“If such spirits existed, your locket would trap them.” When she turns to face me, all the sparkle escapes her eyes, which now tighten with concern. “If the situation bothers you so much, we can rebind your magic—”

“No.” I rush forward and grab her hand.

All witches have their magic bound at birth and it’s kept in place until we’re emotionally mature enough to wield their power. For the past three years, my magic hasn’t bloomed as quickly as I’ve wanted. The last thing I need is to lose it.

Grandma gazes up at me for several tense heartbeats as though assessing my sanity. This is the first time she’s ever mentioned taking away my power. If I don’t stop talking about the Boogie Man, I might never become a real witch. Then that will mean no spells, no broomsticks, no midnight masses. I might even die before I reach a hundred.

Straightening my posture, I smooth out my expression and don’t exhale until she turns back to the bedroom.

She swings her head from left to right, surveying the carnage. “Claw marks on the wall, now? I wonder if that makes you a budding animancer.”

My teeth worry at my bottom lip. “Only a bear animancer could gouge out so much plaster. Or a dragon.”

Grandma bursts into peals of laughter. “Darling, no witch is capable of transforming into a magical creature.”

A tiny laugh bubbles up in my chest. At least she’s no longer thinking about rebinding my magic.

“Maybe you’re right.” I lean against the doorframe, watching grandma wave her wand with the elegance of a conductor.

Tendrils of smoky magic dance around the room, knitting together torn curtains, fixing the furniture, and replacing the plaster on the walls. It reminds me of the Disney cartoon where the heroine gets her animal friends to do the housework but without the cheery song.

I gaze down at my hands, wondering if I might be capable of animancy. It’s a rare branch of magic that allows witches to transform into specific beast.

We’ve never had an animancer in the family, and I doubt we even carry the gene. I shake my head and frown. Grandma’s just saying that to make me feel better about whatever’s happening at night.

She curses under her breath and picks up the pieces of my phone. Witches use technology as much as the next person, but too much power can fry the circuits and make gadgets explode.

“Do you think I should set up my phone to record what’s happening at night?” I ask.

“Let Grandma concentrate, dear.”

I place a hand over my mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”

It’s not a bad idea, considering whoever is trashing my room isn’t using magic. With a bit of luck, I’ll catch a glimpse of the fiend before he smashes my phone, then the next day, I can replay the recording. That way, I can prove my theory. If I’m wrong and I’m an animancer as Grandma says, then at least the knowledge will put my mind at ease.

“There we go.” She slips her wand back into her pocket.

“Thanks, Grandma. What did you think of my idea?”

“It’s worth a try.” Her dazzling smile returns. “From tomorrow, your cousin will come when your locket activates.”

My brows knit together. “Which one?”

“Agnes.”

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