Dark Corner

Chapter 27

What About Albert?

“She’s gone, Terra,” Mrs. Twiggs said with a bemused air.

“She can’t be a witch, Mrs. Twiggs, or a human.”

“Terra, that leaves a lot of choices in between doesn’t it, dear? I felt what you have, the awakenings in the wood and even in downtown Asheville. The good and the evil. We’ve thrown a pebble into the pond of magic, and the ripple has gone out. How do we find her, Terra?” Mrs. Twiggs reached in her cloak pocket and felt the leather pouch that Mrs. Owen had given her. “Terra, we have to try the premonition potion again. We have to know what’s coming our way, and we have to find Mrs. Lund.”

We hurried to the Leaf & Page, which was ablaze with light. “That’s funny. I don’t remember leaving the lights on.” Mrs. Twiggs fiddled with her key at the door. She unlocked it and called out for Albert. She screamed in horror when she saw his picture shattered on the floor. “Albert,” she screamed again with no response. Then we glanced around the room to find it in complete disarray. Books were thrown off shelves, tables overturned. The only clue left behind was the smell of electricity, a burning copper taste in my mouth, a singed smell in my nostrils. The smell that a ghost leaves in its wake but not a friendly ghost. “How can this be, Terra? I enchanted the store. Albert kept watch. Where is he? Where’s Albert?” Mrs. Twiggs strained to hold back her tears.

“They took him, Mrs. Twiggs. The ghosts took him.”

“Why? Terra, he can’t defend himself. He doesn’t know he’s a ghost.”

“Mrs. Twiggs, take me to the Fillmore.” I hoped that Bradley might have some answers.

We rushed out the door and headed to the Fillmore. Bradley greeted us, never moving from attention as the guests, some alive some less than alive, walked into the hotel. “Little miss,” he said with a smile. “You’re back. And you brought a friend.”

“This is Mrs. Twiggs. Her husband, Albert Twiggs is missing,” I said.

“Yes, of course.” He nodded politely as a guest went by. “I’ve had occasion to exchange hellos with Mr. Twiggs. A fine gentleman, speaks the world of you, Mrs. Twiggs.”

“Have you seen him tonight?”

“No, little miss. I have not, then again I’ve been so busy with all the new arrivals,” Bradley said.

I looked around, hoping to see Albert. I saw ghosts both new and old, more than I’ve ever seen, not just entering the Fillmore but strolling the streets around Pack Square. Some garbed in today’s wear, others in gilded-age finery. Across the street by the fountain I saw one such apparition in his evening coat, opening and closing his pocket watch. The rocking chair man, his soulless dark orbs staring through me from across the street. Mrs. Twiggs couldn’t see him. The ghosts couldn’t see him. Only I, a witch, could see him. He was a familiar from another world. Mrs. Owen had traveled to another world and brought him back. He snapped his watch shut after counting thirteen times. He smiled a toothless grin. Then he climbed up the side of the Jackson Building, crawling like a maleficent spider on all four appendages, a shadow darting along a serpentine web, and then he was gone.

“Terra, what are you looking at?”

“All the ghosts. I thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Little miss, I almost had forgotten that soldier boy was back. I told him he might try the Leaf & Page to find you. I told him it was one of your favorite haunts,” Bradley said with a smile and wink.

“Thank you, Bradley. Please let me know if you hear from Albert or the soldiers,” I told him.

“Of course, little miss.”

We turned and went back to the car. “It’s too late to go back to the cabin.”

“Terra, I have to be at the store for opening.” Mrs. Twiggs’s way of dealing with tragedy was to stick to her routine. I respected that.

“Mrs. Twiggs, are you okay? Are you okay to go back there?”

“Yes, I hope whoever took Albert does come back,” she said with a steadfast look. I almost felt pity for the criminal who would have to deal with the wrath of Beatrice Twiggs.

We spent the rest of the night cleaning up the mess at the Leaf & Page, Mrs. Twiggs doing most of the work. I did what I could. My first priority was making the store safe from intruders. I should have known better than to leave it unprotected with all the activity around Asheville. I underestimated the power of the black magic that was rising. Albert was no match for his captors, and they had broken right through Mrs. Twiggs’s enchantment spells. The only person that could have stopped them was Abigail, and she was in no state of mind to battle the apparitions that had taken over. She was not ready. She was still a girl. I walked along the top of the bookshelf, eying each spine until I reached the book I sought. It was a book on Appalachian folklore. The pages were worn and tattered, but they held the answers we so desperately needed. The mountainfolk had fought dark spirits for hundreds of years in the Carolinas. By trial and error they came across spells and potions that only the most advanced witches would know. Agatha Hollows knew the people living in these mountains understood the power of the woods. I grabbed the spine of the book with my teeth, pulling at it until it fell to the floor. Mrs. Twiggs turned around. “This is what we need, Mrs. Twiggs,” I said.

She picked up the book and sat by the fire. “With all the spell books and witches’ potions we have, you want us to rely on human folklore?”

“Folklore is based in truth. The spirits we are fighting come from these woods. The creature that took the form of Mrs. Lund and the ghost that took Albert they’re from these woods. They have been dormant until we woke them with our white magic. They are as much a part of these mountains and woods as you and the coven are.”

“Very well, Terra.” Mrs. Twiggs ran through the receipts, as the Appalachian folk called them. Following their advice, she gathered sage and burned it in each corner of the room. She laid salt at all the windows and doorsteps. When she had finished, she placed the frame that held Albert’s image and his ghost over the cash register. It was five thirty a.m. Friday, which meant muffins. Mrs. Twiggs let in the others, the stray cats and dogs from the alley. When they were done feeding, she opened the store for the humans. It was a slow day—some usual customers, a few out-of-towners looking for first editions and specialty teas. As we were about to close, Detective Willows pulled up and squeezed himself out of his unmarked police car. By his solemn look, I thought he was not here for pleasantries.

“Oh, Detective, I was just closing,” Mrs. Twiggs said as he came in the front door.

“Beatrice, I’m here on official business. We need to talk. Can we sit for a bit?” Detective Willows said, his face distressed.

“Of course.”

He sat at one of the small café tables in the dining room.

“Can I get you anything? I think I have some muffins left or scones.”

“No thank you.” He pulled out his notebook. “I have to ask where you were last night around ten p.m.”

Beatrice Twiggs cannot tell a lie. It is not in her. Even at the risk of incriminating herself, she stared at Detective Willows. “What is this about, Butch?”

“There was an incident at the county morgue last night. We checked the traffic camera on the street, and your car was parked out in front of the morgue. Were you driving it?”

“Yes, I was, Butch.”

“Why were you at the morgue last night?”

“I went to see Mrs. Lund’s body.”

“Why did you do that?”

I held my breath waiting to hear Mrs. Twiggs’ response.

“Because she was killed with a silver sword. I thought she might be a witch,” Mrs. Twiggs said.

Detective Willows burst out laughing. “Oh, Beatrice, you are a card.”

“Butch, look around you. I’ve spent the past ten years collecting vintage books, tales of the occult, spell books. I have healing stones, special herbs, and love potions. When June Loblolly told me the colonel’s sword was pure silver, I thought that whoever killed Mrs. Lund believed she was a witch and that was the only way to end her existence.”

“Beatrice, I don’t believe the witch part, but I do believe she was murdered. I don’t think a mannequin would just accidentally fall over and land on top of her, stabbing a sword through her heart. However, without a body, I can’t prove murder.”

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Twiggs asked, hiding her knowledge of the missing Mrs. Lund.

“I’m saying Mrs. Lund’s body is missing from the morgue. The security guard has no record of anyone entering the building. I checked the surveillance tapes, and nobody came in or out last night. And I checked back several days, and Mrs. Lund certainly did not walk out of the building. I had to ask you why you were in the area.” He paused for a moment. “Beatrice, it’s more than Mrs. Lund. There been a lot of unusual activity.”

“What do you mean, Butch?”

“At the cemetery by the River Arts District, headstones have been knocked over and graves dug up,” Butch said. This was new to me. I hadn’t known any of this was happening. He continued, “I wrote it off as kids getting into mischief but then the 911 calls started coming in reporting floating orbs in the woods, flickering lights, and whispers at city hall.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Butch?”

“Beatrice, I wouldn’t say this to anyone else but you. But I could have sworn I saw Annabelle. It was a flash of her out of the corner of my eye. I was walking down Biltmore Avenue in broad daylight, and I swore I saw her walking in the crowd.”

“Butch, that’s not so unusual. You miss her and think about her.” Mrs. Twiggs reached over and took his hand.

“No, it’s more than that. It was her. She didn’t turn around, but I know that profile. I know the back of her head. I know the way she walks. It was her, Beatrice. I haven’t told anyone else because they would think I was crazy or senile, but I knew you would understand with all the books you’ve read on the paranormal.”

Mrs. Twiggs released his hand and sat back. “Butch, there’s a lot more unnatural in this world than the natural. I believe our spirit moves on but also leaves traces of who we were. It’s possible that your wife wasn’t ready to move on. She misses you and is looking for you.”

Butch stared at the empty frame over the cash register. “Where’s your picture of Albert?”

“It fell and broke.”

“Do you ever have the feeling like he’s watching over you?”

“Yes, all the time.”

“That’s all I came to say.” He slid the chair back from the table and stood.

“Hold on just a minute.” She walked over to the counter that was filled with healing stones. She handed him a milky light green stone. “This is apophyllite. It will connect you with spirits.” She then handed him a clear stone. “This is clear quartz. It is the ultimate amplifier. It boosts the energy of any crystal you use. When you see Annabelle, even a glimpse of her, hold up the quartz. You’ll be able to look at her directly through the stone. She’ll be drawn to it. It will help lift the veil between you two.”

“I’m not buying into this.” He shook his head and then grabbed the stones, putting them in his pocket.

Mrs. Twiggs interrupted. “You miss her deeply. I know, Butch. Keep the stones in your pocket. No one has to know.”

He gave her a half smile. As he walked out, he reached over and petted my head. His plump big fingers nearly knocked me over, but I could tell he was a kind soul. Still I pulled away. I leaped up on the end table and said, “Mrs. Twiggs.”

“I know, Terra. How do we stop the black magic that’s awakening? What creatures are coming? What creatures are real? I’ve read every book on the supernatural and on monsters and myth. What is true, Terra?”

“There’s a little bit of truth in all those books. The monsters are the ones we create from our dark sides. They feed off our jealousies, our anger. They feed off those emotions. We put that negative energy out into the universe, and then it comes back to destroy us, but just as that negative energy comes back so does the good energy. We have to find our army, Mrs. Twiggs. The battle is coming.”

The silver bell above the door jingled. We both glanced toward the door to see Abigail and Charlotte come in. They were both wearing green army jackets. Abigail was carrying Pixel, Tracker by her side. “Mrs. Twiggs, check out what Char and I picked up at the thrift store. Pretty authentic, what do you think?” Abigail spun around, showing off her jacket.