A Witch's Curse Part 1

A WITCH'S CURSE.

Paul Martin.

DEDICATION.

I want to thank all the great people at Secret Cravings for all their help in making story this possible. To Sandy Sullivan for believing in me. To Trena and Ariana, my fabulous editors, and Dawne Dominique for her beautiful art work.

I also want to thank a very dear friend, Sable Hunter. Her encouragement and great advice has helped shape this story in many ways and she has also had a positive influence on my life.

TRADEMARK ACKNOWLEDGEMENT.

The author acknowledges the trademark status and the following trademark owners mentioned in this work of fiction:.

Volkswagen Beetle.

Chapter One.

Carolyn Waters guided her car between the stone gargoyles guarding the opened wrought-iron gates and continued up the gravel driveway to her new home. The windshield wipers on her old, battered Volkswagen Beetle worked overtime to keep up with the torrential downpour. A brilliant flash of lightning eerily lit the hulking, three-story mansion in the predawn night. Formally named Wexford House in the sixteen-nineties, the ancient manor soon earned the nickname of Spook Central for being the residence of the infamous Harrisonville Ghost, and it now belonged to her.

When I think of all the years Mom and I didn't have two nickels to rub together, and all along we were related to the richest woman in town, I could just scream. Why hadn't mom told me about her? Even if this Ester Carter had been poor, I would've wanted to know her.

Shutting off the engine, Carolyn got out of the car. As fast as she was able to in the pouring rain, Carolyn unloaded her boxes, took a deep breath, and approached the foreboding entrance. The large, iron, skeleton key rattled in the lock. Remember to add new locks to the to-do list.

The door swung open with a loud creaking, reminding her of an old Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k movie. Recalling the mult.i.tude of rooms in the enormous house, she made another mental note; add an extremely large can of 3-in-1 oil to the list.

Stepping inside the foyer, shivers ran up and down her spine at the sight of the thick clumps of cobwebs hanging from every nook and cranny in the room. "Yuk! I hate spiders." Going back to the porch, Carolyn gathered her cleaning supplies and cat carrier.

"Here we are, buddy, our new abode," Carolyn said as she unlatched the gate on the portable cage to let Chester out. "What do you think? Not quite the Ritz, but I'm sure you'll find lots of interesting places to explore."

Chester sniffed the air attentively before boldly stepping out and padding across the floor, his nails clicking on the hardwood surface before settling in front of the sliding, mahogany library doors. With one eye turned toward Carolyn, he let out a long meow.

"What? You want to go in there?"

Chester meowed again. As soon as Carolyn slid the doors open, he ran inside and jumped on the hospital bed to settle down for a nap. "Funny you should pick this room. This is where I was told Grandmother slept when she couldn't get around anymore. Well, I guess you'll be okay in here."

Carolyn started in the kitchen, stripping the cabinets of their contents before putting in new shelf liners and moving on to scour the large, cast-iron, gas stove while the refrigerator defrosted. With those tasks finished and crossed off her list, Carolyn paused long enough to scarf down a tuna fish sandwich, after which she scoured the grimy, blue, ceramic tile flooring to a l.u.s.trous sheen. By late afternoon, she moved into the foyer, knocked down all the cobwebs, washed the walls, and scrubbed the white marble floor. Allowing the scrub brush to fall from her hand into the bucket, she stretched, easing the kinks from her stiffened back.

Satisfied she made a significant dent on the first floor, Carolyn dragged her tired body into the living room. Old paintings and photographs of women covered the tables and walls. The style of clothing they wore ranged from present to what Carolyn thought might be as far back as the early 1700's.

Prominently hung above the mantel, she set eyes on a portrait that had to be one of the oldest in the room. The grimy, oversized, oil painting showed a woman in a white satin wedding dress with a man standing next to and slightly behind her, obviously a bridal portrait. Settling down onto the large sofa in front of the fireplace, Carolyn studied the painting. In an instant, Chester curled up on her stomach.

"Well, Chester, old friend, what do you think? Yeah, I know the place is older than dirt, but that's no way to talk about my familial home," she said, vigorously rubbing his ears. "A couple of weeks ago there wasn't a soul in the world I had to call family, besides you, of course, and now look. For nearly three hundred years my relatives lived right here in this very house. I wish there was a way to make these walls talk."

An insomniac for the better part of her life, Carolyn knew she wouldn't sleep, though she still needed to rest before taking on the next room. The soft bonging of the grandfather clock in the foyer announced midnight as Carolyn nestled deeper into the yielding cushions. Within a very short s.p.a.ce of time, Carolyn's breathing slowed and her eyes closed as sleep overtook her.

An incessant pounding on the front door jarred her awake. Ma.s.saging the kink in her neck, she opened the door to discover her partner, Maggie Wells, standing on the porch, holding a mop and broom. Together, they owned an organic food store in town, Herbs and More.

"About time you answered! My hand hurts from knocking and ringing that d.a.m.ned bell. Hey, do you always greet your guests with your b.o.o.bs hanging out? Really, what if I had been the milkman?"

Carolyn gasped when she noticed her blouse flapping in the light breeze like two sails. Re-b.u.t.toning her shirt, she quipped, "He'd have left me an extra quart of cream?"

She stepped aside to allow Maggie to enter, "Come on in, Mags. Sorry about keeping you waiting, the doorbell doesn't work, and I didn't hear you knocking. I fell asleep."

With a puzzled expression on her face, Maggie asked, "You what? But, you don't sleep."

"I know. Weird, huh? Not only did I sleep, but I had a dream. At least, I think I had a dream. Are they always so real? As if they're really happening?"

"Oh, this ought to be good. Spill," Maggie urged.

"Good doesn't come close. Hot and indecent is closer."

"Fantastic! Indecent dreams are my favorite. I want every dirty detail...and don't you dare leave out a single morsel. Here, take these while I make some coffee," Maggie said, pushing the mop and broom into Carolyn's hand on her way into the kitchen.

"I thought you said you were asleep?" Maggie called from the kitchen.

"I was. Why?" Carolyn answered as she propped the mop and broom against a wall.

"So who made the coffee?"

"What coffee?" Carolyn followed Maggie into the kitchen and stared in bewilderment as Maggie held up a full coffee pot. Carolyn's nose wrinkled at the fresh brewed aroma. "What the...? I didn't put the coffee pot on."

"Well, if you didn't, and I didn't, then it had to be the ghost."

"Come on, Mags, surely you don't believe in the old fable about this house being haunted, do you? There is no such thing as a ghost."

"You know as well as I do there've been some mighty strange things going on in this house over the years."

"I'm sure there is a logical explanation for each occurrence."

"Yeah, the ghost," Maggie said.

"You're so gullible. Do you want me to tell you about my dream, or not?"

Maggie filled two mugs. "More than anything, girlfriend."

Maggie followed Carolyn into the living room, and taking a chair next to the sofa, handed Carolyn a mug. "Just how hot is this dream? Smoking? Scorching? Or sizzling?"

Mug in hand, Carolyn curled up at the end of the sofa and blew lightly to cool the steaming, hot liquid. "I'm not sure I want to tell everything," she said, a slight blush staining her cheeks.

"Everything," Maggie insisted, her face bright with antic.i.p.ation.

"Okay, okay," Carolyn replied hastily, knowing full well Maggie would cross-examine her like a Spanish Inquisitor if she didn't. "Last night, after I finished scrubbing the floor in the foyer, I came in here to lie down on the sofa to rest for a while and became absorbed in this painting," Carolyn pointed to the portrait above the fireplace. "Before I realized, I guess I fell asleep. I can't think of any other possible reason to explain what happened to me. In the dream, I was walking in a garden. I could barely see anything, the night air was thick with fog, you know what I mean, the pea soup kind where you can't see more than a foot in front of you?"

Maggie nodded quickly, leaning closer.

"The path was lined with meticulously trimmed hedges. After about a minute or two, the path turned into a small courtyard. The mist dissolved rapidly and there was a fountain right in front of me, the water spraying high into the air. And there, on the fountain's low concrete wall, sat a man. I swear he was the same man as the one in the portrait, only he wore different clothes."

"That's a perfectly normal reaction. You were looking at him right before you fell asleep, and he is certainly hot enough to make me want to dream about, even if he has been dead for what...three hundred years?"

Carolyn ignored Maggie's interruption and went on with her story. "He wore highly polished riding boots, skin tight jodhpurs, and a white shirt with lace trim on the cuffs and down the front. He ran a hand through his hair, stood, and looked right at me. My knees went weak at the sight of his face. His lips were full and inviting, and he had the most charming smile. I couldn't believe what he did next. He actually called me by my name.

"With two quick strides, he stood right in from of me, his face inches from mine as he put his rough hands on my cheeks. At first, a chill ran through me, then the instant he touched me, my entire body heated, causing my skin to burn under his fingertips. His eyes were the most piercing blue I'd ever seen and the saddest. He leaned closer to me then paused, our lips almost touching. Mags, I never wanted to kiss someone as much as I did right then. After what felt like an eternity, he finally kissed me. His lips tasted as soft and sweet as fresh honey, and even with my head spinning, I could feel his hands caress my neck and cup my b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

Carolyn closed her eyes, extended her arms, and mimed the action she described. "His thumbs ran circles around my nipples, making them hard, aching for his lips."

Maggie edged closer. "Go on. Go on. What did he do next?"

A dreamy smile formed on Carolyn's lips, her voice soft, "He began to nibble on my ear, his hot breath caressing my neck. I'd never been so turned on in my whole life," Carolyn said as she leaned into the soft cushions and sipped her coffee.

"Go on. You can't stop now!"

"Sorry, the next thing I remember was you knocking on the door."

"Oh, pooh," Maggie said, clearly disappointed at the sudden end to the story.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." Carolyn fanned herself with her hand. "What I don't understand is why I fell asleep and dreamed? I never sleep, let alone dream."

"Or wake up half naked?" Maggie teased.

"No, not that either."

"Well, if you ask me, you need to get laid."

"Mags! s.e.x is your answer to everything."

"Hey, I've known you for what, seven, eight months? In all that time, you've never had a single date, let alone, an affair. Last night, you were tired from working your a.s.s off getting this place livable, and the last thing you saw before you fell asleep was a hunk of man any girl would want to screw. All of your pent up s.e.xual frustrations tumbled out in your dream. The only solution, girlfriend, is for you to get laid, and soon," Maggie said with a grin and a wink.

"I haven't found anyone I like," Carolyn temporized, hoping Maggie wouldn't bring up Willie. Sure, a lot of girls thought Willie to be good looking, in a high school jock sort of way. He would stop by the store at least once a week to ask her out, but if you looked up c.o.c.ky, dumb ox in the dictionary, Willie's picture would be staring back at you. She needed a man with substance, not only a pretty face and a hunky body.

"Your problem is you're too picky." Setting her mug onto the coffee table, Maggie said, "Now, tell me more about your inheritance. You were very sketchy about the details on the phone last week. Didn't you tell me when we first met you didn't have any family?"

"Mother never talked much about our family. She did tell me about my dad once, how he walked out on us when she told him she was pregnant. She said he left because he couldn't face his responsibilities, and we were left all alone in the world. I've no idea as to why she lied to me about her mother being alive."

"But this Mrs. Carver was your grandmother, and you're her sole heir?"

"No, not the sole heir. According to my Grandmother's lawyer, there is a distant cousin who inherits everything if I don't live up to the terms of the will."

"What terms?"

"I'm required to live in this house for a year before I can sell, if I so wish. When the year is over, the house and money will be mine to do as I want. If I don't stay the full year, then my cousin inherits it. Whoever she is."

Maggie's eyes widened, her hands rapidly rubbing together. "How much money are we talking?"

"From what I understand, a lot, possibly several hundred thousand. He said there used to be a very productive oil well on the property, and the firm he works for reinvested the royalties into stocks and bonds, things like that. That means I'll receive a small but steady income in addition to what I'm making at the store."

"So, my partner is rich as well as gorgeous. Men will be hanging around you like flies. Promise me your leavings?"

"You can keep them all, Mags. I grew up in this town, and the only decent men left are all married."

"I hear you, sister. Hey! Maybe we can import some. You can afford to bring them in by the busload."

Chuckling, Carolyn said, "Not for another year, I can't."

"So what's this about a cousin? Last week you were an orphan, and now, you've a rich grandmother who leaves you a fortune and a cousin to boot?"

"Mr. Hargrove, Grandmother's lawyer, says she's more a rumor than an established fact. He didn't think finding her would be worth the expense only to tell her, sorry, you were almost rich. He will though, if I don't fulfill the terms stated in Grandmother's will, then my unknown cousin will be the one who's rich."

"But, why wouldn't you stay?"

"There's no reason I can think of to make me leave."

"Not even the ghost?" Maggie kidded.

"Not even a ghost could budge me from here."

"Good for you. Now, how about a giving me a quick tour before we get down to serious cleaning. I've always wanted to get a good gander of the insides of Spook Manor, and I guess I should see what I got myself into when I volunteered to help clean this inst.i.tution."

Maggie stood, her head swiveling back and forth as she studied the room. "How many rooms are there in this bizarre fun house? Oh, I brought some cleaning supplies and a house warming gift, I left them on the porch." Maggie headed for the door, and over her shoulder, she added, "I bought you a marigold plant. I thought you could use something bright and pretty to help chase away the drab. I mean, this isn't exactly the most cheerful house on the block and living right next door to a cemetery...eww."

Carolyn drained the last drops from her mug and followed Maggie to the door to help bring in the a.s.sorted buckets and boxes. "The cemetery doesn't bother me, Mags, and once I'm finished decorating and remodeling, this will be a very nice place to live, thank you very much. How many rooms? Hmm, there are twenty rooms, counting the foyer, which is certainly big enough to count as two."

She turned and walked toward a pair of closed doors to the left of the kitchen. "You've already been in the kitchen and living room, which, in the olden days, I believe they referred to as the parlor. Over here is the formal dining room," she said, pulling the pocket doors apart.

"Formal indeed. You can sit an army at that table. Would you look at that chandelier? That has to be crystal."

Carolyn crossed the living room and foyer and said, with a playful, sophisticated air, "Oh, but of course. Nothing but the best for us rich folk." Then, with a laugh, she added, "The library is over here. I'm told Grandmother moved her bedroom down here when she wasn't able to climb the stairs anymore."

Sliding the doors open, her face brightened when she spotted Chester lying on the hospital bed. "There you are. I wondered where you went, buddy. How did you get in here? Did I lock you in here all night?" Chester paused from licking his paws to grace her with a momentary glance before continuing his grooming.

"When did the local library open this branch?" Maggie said, gawking at the floor to ceiling shelves filled with books.

"Come on, I want to show you the master bedroom." Carolyn led the way up the curved staircase and flipped on the hall light at the top.

Maggie paused and stared at the overhead light. "I thought this house was three-hundred years old? I didn't realize this in the kitchen, but you've got electricity?"

"Of course I do. And gas, heat, and even indoor plumbing, all the conveniences of a real home."

"I'm impressed."