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What the hell does she mean by that?
I lean forward, seeing a couple of books, that look as if they’ve been loved and used for years. My hand goes out, and I brush the yellow leather cover that has faded into a light cream. I lift it up, setting it into my lap as I read the title.
Ares Family History
I narrow my eyes. A book about my family lineage? How would that help anything at all? My eyes lift toward the door, and I can almost feel my grandmother snickering on the other side.
What does this mean?
Setting it down, I wonder if giving me this book was a mistake. Perhaps she meant to give me a different one.
I pick up the second book, more worn than the first. The brown leather is old and tearing at the edges, and a small string ties the pages together. I pull on the loose knot, letting the leather ties fall on each side of the book.
Light Against Dark: The Guide for Wiccans
A spell book? I have about a dozen of these books already on my shelf. I turn it around, seeing a rigid, but blank back.
None of this makes any sense. How will either of these books lead me down the correct path?
I groan, setting them aside and pushing them to the foot of my bed. Leaning over the side, I grab my bag, digging in blindly until my fingers wrap around the old, leather-bound journal tucked into the bottom.
Then, rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling as I hold it in front of me. I can feel this coming to an end, as if the strength and evil in the air are becoming stifling, a thickness that can’t be waded through. We are all going to suffocate if I don’t figure this out.
I open the journal, flipping toward the back and reading one of the final entries.
May 12th, 1967
We are near the end of times.
I can feel it within my grasp. This place has been filled with such darkness and wrath you can barely breathe. I’ve hidden in my house for so long, but it is no longer safe. I came home last night to see my final blood, my daughter, gone.
Taken from me.
She was all I had left during these dark times.
Now, without her, I have nothing left to fight for.
My grief has turned into an overwhelming rage to fight and tear apart.
People wish for misery on others, while I hope for the devastation of the entire town.
The blood moon has not stopped hovering over Castle Pointe. We no longer see the light of day, only darkness.
I go back to where my mother once lived, hoping to find some peace, some guidance, but all I found were the townsfolk in search of me. Burning sticks and pitchforks in their white grips as they attempted to hunt me down.
They will not find me. I will not allow them that satisfaction.
Though, I know my time is limited. I have cursed the town, and no one is allowed to leave. Those who wish to flee this wicked town will not, they cannot. If they find a way, they will always come back to this darkness, because the sickness is in every single soul that walks through here.
Hexing this town has one downfall, and the same goes for myself.
I can no longer leave. Though, even as I wish to find a life elsewhere, I could never leave. My son and my husband have lived and died on these lands, and this is where my life will end as well.
It is coming, and it is coming soon.
I can feel it in my aching bones and my fiery blood.
I don’t know how much time is left, but I know my minutes are limited. I can no longer go to my home, and the old town of Castle Pointe is overrun with angry mobs. They search for me.
