The Moonstone (Enchantment Book 1) (4 page)

Am I nuts? Is the white-haired woman a witch like I imagined when I was a child? If I believe that, then I also have to believe in the existence of magic. Yes, I am curious by nature. And yes, I adore reading books about legends. But I still prefer they remain in the land of make-believe. They’re easier to control on the pages than in real life. There has to be some logical explanation. Maybe the man threw in some sort of powdered chemical fire-starter into the pit, maybe the trees moved because of the wind. That’s a lot of maybes…I’ll go to sleep and tomorrow I’ll wake up and none of this will have been real!

I open the bathroom door and making fists with my hands, I look right and left, ready to defend myself. I’m sure a girl like me wouldn’t last long against three lunatics like them. I can see there’s nobody there, so I go into my room and lock the door behind me. I put on my nightgown and some boxers and slide under the covers, making sure to hide my head well. After two hours of tossing and turning I hear a familiar tapping on my window. Nyx!!! My savior! I run to the window, maybe with her here I’ll finally get some sleep.

“Come on, Nyx, it’s about time.”

She does not move but sits on the windowledge and stares at me with her one eye. After a few unsuccessful attempts at pulling her inside, she turns away and jumps onto the tree before going back down. Never before has she refused to come into my room.

“Oh no, are you serious? There’s no way you’re going to disappear at the very moment that I desperately need you!”

Nothing is working out today, it would seem that the universe is plotting against me. It’s time for me to take control, Nyx has to come back with me and I need a good night’s sleep. I can see that the cat is sitting on the side of the road, almost as if she’s waiting for me. I throw on my sandals and my favorite leather jacket and run down the stairs. It’s cool outside and Nyx’s only eye glows under the full moon.

“Here kitty, come on kitty! I am completely wiped, come on, I’m begging you!”

She doesn’t move a hair, so desperate times call for desperate measures; I’m going to have to catch her. I walk slowly towards her, but she immediately runs away down the path. Oh, this can’t be real. Why? Anywhere else, but not there! I don’t have a choice. I have to go. I’m lucky that there’s a full moon and the sky is lighting my way. I arrive at the corner of the lot just in time to see the traitor cross the witch’s property. My initial motivation starts to weaken as I go further and further into the sinister surroundings. The trees bend towards the earth and give a macabre feel to the space and the cool night air reminds me that my outfit is not the most appropriate for a nocturnal escapade. I end up in front of the dilapidated house and find the turncoat sitting on the front step.

“You little brat! Come here and let me catch you! Come here or you’ll be stewed for the witch’s supper tonight!”

As the words leave my mouth, the door opens a crack and Nyx slips in. No! That’s it.  I’m done. All I want to do is go home and drink a cup of chamomile tea, but I can’t abandon Nyx at this point. She’s always been there for me and now I complain about lack of sleep. I have no other option than to go to the window and see what’s going on inside. As I bravely start to walk up the steps, the door opens and I see long, crooked fingers beckon me inside. Am I imagining it, or is she pointing at me? I turn to look behind me and yes, I am the only one standing on the overgrown path, and so she must mean me. The witch will obviously not be satisfied with stewing my cat, and her hunger is commanding her to add a young woman to the menu. I look to the driveway and realize that the classic cars are now gone. Perfect, I should be able to hold my own with a single old lady. I am however mad at myself for not thinking of bringing my purse and pepper spray along. Arming myself with false courage, I cross the lawn, or rather the weed strewn field, in a couple of large strides and arrive on the doorstep. I raise my hand to knock on the door with peeling paint and it starts to creak and open on its own.

I smell an incredible scent of baked goods and my empty stomach howls at me for having so rudely ignored it during the day. As the door opens I’m rendered speechless and I can’t make sense of what I see. On the other side of the room sits a grandmother. I mean that the woman is the perfect representation of what a granny should be. I never had one since my mother’s parents died when she was young and my father’s moved to France; I only met them once. In fact, my father’s parents aren’t very invested in family and they more or less disowned their only son when he told them that he would become a video game creator. Anyways! The woman in front of me looks nothing like a witch, in fact, just the opposite. She has short, grey, curly hair…her perm seems to have been created with the precision of a surgeon. Her round, rosy cheeks seem to go with her general physical appearance. Her small square-framed glasses sit perfectly on the end of her nose. She has magnificent pearl earrings and I can smell her violet-scented perfume, what a coincidence, my favorite. Wearing a flowered dress with lace cuffs, she has a smile that makes me want to hug her and let her rock me while telling me that everything will be ok, and God only knows how much I need that right now.

“Come in, my child, it’s much too late for a young woman like you to hang around outside”, the old woman whispers in a calm and comforting voice.

I wonder who she could be; maybe she’s the white-haired woman’s sister. Whoever she is, I tell myself that a woman as charming as this could never want to harm me. I’ll make sure to capture Nyx and this will certainly be easier than waiting under the window. As I walk into the room I’m dumbfounded. The exterior of the house gives the impression that the interior would be a haven for spiders, full of garbage and covered in dust. In fact, the interior is spotless; the parquet is shining and the walls are covered in wallpaper as only a grandmother’s can be. Frank Sinatra is playing on the radio and the scent of sugar fills the room. What a shock! The furniture is all solid wood and placed on a patterned carpet that seems comfortable enough to sleep on. On the coffee table there is a dish that’s found in all proper homes. You know, the one that’s filled with hard candies that force you to take the whole plate-full when you reach for one because they’re all stuck together. How could a dilapidated and eerie old house on the outside be so welcoming on the inside? There is even a stone fireplace in the living room where a gentle fire softly burns. I could spend hours sitting on one of these sofas, book in one hand and hot chocolate in the other. It is the complete opposite of what the outside projects! I notice knick-knacks of cats are placed on the mantel, the perfect set to complete the perfect granny décor. Speaking of cats…

“Where is Nyx?” I say out loud as if to call her.

“Nyx? Who is Nyx, dear?”

“It’s my cat, she’s white and black and she snuck in right before I came in.”

“Oh, yes! MY cat,” she says, coughing.

“She must be hiding in the basement, she likes to hunt for mice.”

“Would you like a turnover, they’re fresh out of the oven?” she says to me, offering me a platter of pastries so immense that each one is larger than my hand.

Their creamy filling is oozing out and I’m drooling already. But, wait a minute… HER cat!!

“Did you just say, your cat?? It’s my cat that you’re talking about, I’ve had her for the last twelve years.”

“Oh, my dear, I believe that we have been sharing the cat this whole time because she’s been spending her days with me for same number of years. I found her meowing at my door one morning and as I was lonely, she turned up at just the right moment. Go ahead, take a turnover, my dear, you won’t ever eat a better one.”

Normally I would say no, but I think that my stomach would never forgive me, and anyways, they look divine!

“Yes, please, thank you. Do you live alone? What’s your name? Where’s the lady with the long hair? Why have I never seen you before?”

“My child, that is quite a few questions for such a late hour.  I live alone, yes, and my name is Gertrude.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gertrude. Don’t you want to know my name?” The woman starts laughing.

“My dear, I know who you are. I’ve lived here a long time and I’ve known you since you were a little girl…Lou Mills.”

Incredible, she’s completely nuts. Has she been spying on me, or what? How does she know my name, even though I’ve never set eyes on her? I need to get out of here quickly, something is wrong. As I stand up to leave, she grabs me by the shoulder and I sit right back down.

“My poor child, I know your name because I spoke to your parents a few times…I like to know a little bit about my neighbors.”

I suddenly remember my father’s expression this morning when I mentioned the word witch; he probably does know her. But I’m not actually thinking about the same person, because this grandmother has nothing in common with the old witch.

“Eat your pastry, my child, and tell me if you like it. I don’t often have company and I like getting feedback on my culinary skills.”

I take an enormous bite, because at this point I can no longer resist.

“Oh my God! It’s delicious! I’ve never eaten such a good pastry!” I take a couple more bites before continuing. “You say that you don’t often have company, but I noticed that you had visitors today.”

There was no point in playing the innocent with regards to this afternoon’s intrusion; the three weirdoes must have already mentioned my disturbance to Gertrude.

“Yes! I saw you today, and about what you saw…”

I interrupt her immediately, shocked by her affirmation.

“But you weren’t there, how could you have seen me?”

“Lou, I absolutely have to talk to you, it’s very complicated…”

She stops talking and her whole body begins to tremble…she looks like a rag doll. You know, like those subliminal images that are inserted in commercials, images that appear for a fraction of a second and that somehow leave a mark on your soul. That’s exactly what I’m looking at. For a fraction of a second I see a vision of horror. The whole room becomes a nightmarish scene filled with a fetid odor, and then everything becomes normal again. The woman suddenly stops trembling and takes a small brown leather bag out of her apron. She opens it, throws the contents into the air, and it falls like a rain of shining dewdrops.

“Darn Charles, he lied to me, it lasts for minutes, and not the hours he told me it would.”

“What are you talking about Gertrude? You’re scaring me.”

And with that my vision of horror materializes. A wave like a color television show that slowly goes to black and white rolls through the room, except instead of the colors disappearing, it’s the comfort and joy that escapes the room. The music squeals, producing a disembodied voice worthy of the greatest horror films. The solid wood furniture transforms into damaged wrecks. The perfectly shined parquet flooring becomes a series of greyed and used planks on the floor. The walls are lined with bare boards and spider webs fill the space at the same time as a layer of dust settles on the floors and walls. The scent of sweets and flowers that filled the space are replaced with an odor of putrefaction. But the most troubling part of the image is the old woman facing me. She starts to tremble once more and her body rises into the air. She is taken over by frantic spasms and morphs in front of my eyes. Her body thins, her skin wrinkles and becomes dry and milky. He hair lengthens as I watch and becomes matted and pure white. She drops onto her feet on the ground and when she turns around I am faced with a ghost from my past.

“The old white-haired lady,” I utter without considering my words.

“Is that what you call me, my love?” says the woman in a much less honeyed voice.

“You are…who are you?”

“My dear, goodness. You know who I am!”

“I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Listen, Lou, I got some illusionist’s powder from a friend to create a soft little nest here for you, to give me the time I need to explain a few little things without you running away, but my friend didn’t tell me that the magical effects would be of such short duration. I wanted to create a reassuring ambiance before revealing everything, but the effects were supposed to last much longer!”

“Magic? Are you a fairy?”

“Oh, my dear, no, not at all! Fairies don’t exist.”

Well, somehow that doesn’t reassure me at all. After all, maybe these stories of magic are just illusions and the pastries have made me hallucinate, but I want to hear the old woman out, who, after thinking about it, doesn’t seem so mean; although her appearance would have me think otherwise.

“It’s true, I am a witch, and yes, magic exists, and that’s only the beginning, dearest.”

Ok, that’s not what I was expecting for an answer… she must be senile, the poor dear. I sit down on the sofa trying to avoid the springs that literally replace the usual cushions. I have to close my eyes. Maybe if I do, when I open them I’ll find that all this will have disappeared. The stench is so bad that I can’t stay here for long. Opening my eyes, the décor seems to have stayed the same, but the woman is no longer there, where can she be? I lower my eyes for an instant and what do I see at my feet? Nyx! I am instantly calmer. I must grab her as quickly as I can and go home before Gertrude returns with a pot to cook us in. As I advance towards her, she backs away. Already she has betrayed my heart once today, this little feline who shares her life between us, it’s unbearable.