Photo by Dylan Fout from Unsplash

***

The pain in my leg faded as I drove away from the school, and the painkillers kicked in.

First, you need Mrs. Crawford's journal.

There's nothing in it, Mama. I've searched it again and again.

Don't you remember the power of an enchantment? She wouldn't have wanted her hard work to be read just anywhere. You can never be too careful with who you trust.

I thought of my father and the many ways he'd side with anyone but my mother. The excuses he'd make for her behaviour to strangers. The way he yelled and demeaned her in private. I closed my eyes and was transported back to my childhood bedroom.

"Don't you dare corrupt the boy with your madness!" My father's voice had boomed.

"It's not madness, Frank. These are protection spells. Dark spirits are coming for us."

"Do you hear yourself? Spells, magic, dark spirits? You're a grown woman with a son to raise. Let this go."

"You don't understand, but I do. If I don't perform the ritual—"

A loud slap interrupted her. I pulled the covers over my head with trembling hands. If I helped her, he'd shout at me too.

"You will do no such thing! You've disturbed Winston more than he needs in a lifetime."

"But Frank, if I don't—" Her words turned to gasps before she sputtered and coughed. More muffled sounds came, but they were too inaudible to decode from behind my bedroom door.

"Do you understand?" my father's voice boomed.

"Yes."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Our family could be happy again if she followed Father's rules. Keeping our minds pure and functioning at their best was the key to a stable and fulfilling life.

A week later, my mother took her last breath. I'd always believed it was because the voices drove her to her demise. But what if she'd been right about the spells and spirits, and they'd attacked her while we ignored her? What if everything my father had told me was a lie?

I parked the SUV in front of our room at the Nid de Corbeau. The door had been kicked in. I dug for the blood-crusted knife on the floor. Mike would have said I should have learned my lesson earlier, but a suspicious psycho might be lurking. I had no other option.

Inside the room, the drawers were ripped open, the sheets were torn off the bed, and the mattress lay ajar. No shadows or voices lingered in the corners. I tightened my grip on the knife and proceeded toward the closet whose door was closed. Within, the blankets and pillows were awry. I eyed the iron. Would it be better to knock the person out or use the deadlier option while risking stabbing myself again? The odds had to be low, so I stuck with the knife.

I crept into the bathroom where meowing came from the bathtub. Milo! I rushed to him, set my weapon aside, and picked him up. He purred in my arms, miraculously unharmed.

"Thank goodness you're okay." I stoked his fur that was much healthier than it had been yesterday. Warmth filled my chest, and my muscles relaxed. "Did you see what happened?"

Milo meowed and stirred. I loosened my hold so he could hop onto the floor and lead me back into the bedroom. He led me to a narrow gap between the bed and the wall where Mrs. Crawford's journal was wedged. Had I placed it there or had Mike?

Grab it and leave. We have little time, my mother said.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. As I pulled it out, Mike's name flashed on the screen.

Don't answer it.

He's my husband. I can't have him worried about me.

"Where are you? Things are getting heated here, and Officer Potts is looking for you," Mike sounded tense and out of breath.

"I wasn't feeling well and went to the motel to rest. Is it urgent?"

Don't tell him where you're going.

Why? Where am I going?

You need to do this alone. Hang up.

"The police found a body, Winston, in our backyard! They think we might be connected to it. Did you see anything or anyone at the house?"

Before I could answer, the lights flickered off, and the call hung up. I waited for the temperature to drop as it had in the medical office, but it remained consistent.

Take the journal and Milo, and go. Your life depends on it.

I tucked the book under my arm. With no prompting, Milo hopped off the bed and followed me to the car. The motel lights were out, as were the street lamps and the businesses around. Only the full moon brightened the streets. Once I opened the vehicle door, Milo leaped onto my seat and into the passenger one. I set the journal in the centre console and started the engine.

Where do I go?

To where it all began. To Mrs. Crawford's.

Won't it be swarming with cops?

Not if you leave the car at the park and use the running trail through the woods.

I exhaled. Was I going to trust a voice in my head that sounded like my mother over advice from the police? Wasn't this what happened to Mama? I was walking to my death.

Drive to the park. I'll explain everything there. Hurry, Winnie!

Milo yowled and pawed at the journal. Was he trying to tell me something or did it just remind him of his former owner? One who'd perished in those woods.

You and Mike will be next. You heard the other voices. Your inaction will cost you both your lives. Please, Winnie, you can beat this. You can make the woods safe. You have all the tools, and I'll guide you. Let me protect you now. I never wanted to leave when you were young, but it was the only way to shield you.

My mother's voice sounded so sincere and vulnerable like it had when I was a boy. Could this be her? Was she making up for my childhood trauma?

Winnie, even if you're still scared and apprehensive, please go to the park. You don't need to enter the woods if you feel threatened, but I must show you the truth I've been protecting you from since the night I died. It's not safe to do it here.