Gypsy Magic - J.R. Rain Page 0,4
creature (and possibly even the woman) had been nothing more than a trick of the fading light combined with my overactive imagination, I couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it.
I could still see the glint of sunlight off the thing’s antlers, and I could remember the way it trailed long claw-like fingernails along the tops of the tombstones, as it limped forward, all hunched over.
What are you saying then? I asked myself. That monsters are real?
No, I wasn’t saying that. I knew enough to know monsters weren’t real. Yes, magic was real, but magic was something that characterized humans—humans like gypsies and witches. I’d lived my life walking the line between reality and what others perceived to be surreality and never once had I come across anything mythical or fantastical.
Then why can’t you shake the image of that thing you think you saw in the graveyard?
It just… I could see it! There was something there!
If that were the case, don’t you think the woman would have screamed? Or would have called for help or ran off? You would have heard something!
True. Unless…
Unless the woman and the creature were one and the same…
***
An hour later, we’d checked into the Haven Hollow Inn, which was a bed and breakfast dating to the early 1900s. It was a quaint, two story Victorian, painted green with white gingerbreading. Inside, it was overstuffed with antique furniture and ancient rugs. And there were so many knick-knacks covering every possible surface, my claustrophobia kicked in double-time. There was also a very unwelcoming cat that sat in the window and glared at you every time you made the mistake of looking at him. His name was, unfittingly, ‘Happy’.
Luckily, we were still in time for dinner and Ethel, the elderly woman who owned and ran the place, was only too happy to make us whatever we wanted. Finn, being the opportunistic child he was, immediately requested pancakes with extra butter and two scrambled eggs, but no bacon.
No, it wasn’t room service, but Finn seemed okay with the fact that he was getting breakfast for dinner.
“And why don’t you like bacon, dear?” Ethel asked as she served us at the enormous oak table. Apparently, we were the only customers Ethel had this week.
“Because Piggy is my best friend and he’s a pig,” Finn answered as he held up his pink stuffed-animal pig, something he’d had since he was a baby. Yes, he was probably too old to still be so attached to the thing, but Piggy had helped him get through many episodes with a poltergeist at our last house, so I wasn’t about to take Piggy away now.
“Well, he’s a very handsome pig,” Ethel said as she handed me my requested salad and then studied Finn for a few seconds. “And if it’s okay with your mama, I think Piggy would love some of Aunt Ethel’s famous apple pie!”
I smiled up at the kind old woman and nodded. “It’s okay with me as long as I get a bite…”
Ethel laughed and her large stomach rumbled along with her. Then she disappeared into the kitchen as Finn dove into his pancakes. A few minutes later, Ethel reemerged with two heaping plates of apple pie à la mode.
And there goes my diet… Again.
Sheesh, this last ten pounds was becoming a permanent fixture. Not that it really mattered because there weren’t any men in my life, aside from my son. And I didn’t see that changing anytime soon.
After finishing up dinner, we thanked Ethel and helped clear our plates, regardless of her protestations. Finn was especially pleased when Ethel produced a tiny sweater she’d knitted for Happy but, unsurprisingly, Happy wasn’t very keen on it. Turned out, it was the perfect size for Piggy. And, thus, the overstuffed, pink pig inherited Happy’s sweater.
Once we said goodnight, we retired to our room upstairs. As soon as I unlocked the door, my phone rang, the caller ID revealing it was my mother.
“We just got your message, sweetie,” Mom started as soon as I answered. “And we just think it’s a great idea!” she enthused.
Fiona Morton’s voice held what many of the older gentlemen in our hometown would have considered a sexy amount of rasp. She’d smoked from the time she was sixteen, quitting cold turkey when she discovered she was pregnant with me. Second hardest thing she’d ever done, as she continuously reminded me.
I held the phone away from my mouth and looked at Finn as I whispered, “You need to go