Read Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) Online
Authors: Christiana Miller
There was a large back yard, full of herbs and flowers. I took a deep breath, savoring the smells of basil and wild mint and night-blooming jasmine along with the heady musk of roses. There was a flowering apple tree, a cherry tree and a weeping willow. Everything was a bit overgrown, but it wasn’t too bad. The grass was long and wet, the yard was littered with fallen apples and my shoes were getting soaked, but it was obvious that Tillie had kept the place up well while she was alive.
Further down the way, there was a boathouse and a wooden pier that stretched out into a lake. At the end of the pier was a wooden platform with a heavy, wooden Adirondack chair and a wooden block for a table.
The lake was so peaceful. And beautiful. And teeming with life. A family of ducks waddled out of the water and back to their nest. A pair of loons glided effortlessly across the water. An eagle swooped down, majestic in the dying light, and grabbed a fish its powerful talons.
Unfortunately, I was running out of daylight. So I took a deep breath and turned back to the cottage. All I needed was the courage to actually go inside.
The sky was getting darker and I kicked myself in the mental keister for my procrastination. At this rate, I was going to be unloading Zed using headlights for illumination. I took a deep breath, fished the cottage keys out of my pocket, then climbed the stairs again, to the front porch.
“I come in peace,” I announced to the cottage, feeling slightly foolish. This time, the temperature stayed steady. No sudden dips. Whatever had been here earlier had, apparently, vacated.
I inserted the key into the lock and the door swung open on its own. As if the cottage had been waiting for me to arrive.
The inside smelled musty. The furniture had accumulated a light coating of dust and cobwebs since Tillie’s passing but, all in all, it really wasn’t bad.
Happily, the electric company had activated my account. So, as I walked through, I turned on all the lights.
The kitchen was an old-fashioned, good-sized room, with a table and chairs tucked into a charming alcove with oversize windows. Not like the laughably small, mini-kitchenette I had gotten used to in Los Angeles. The living room was gorgeous, with a fireplace, a large bay window and a built-in window seat. Down the hall was a library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built into the walls, a standing harp and a small piano. There was even a full bathroom on the first floor.
My heart soared. A good house cleaning, a few weeks of weeding and this place was going to be phenomenal. Gus was right. He was probably right about everything. I couldn’t believe I was so wrapped up in the world of my nightmares that I was ready to pass the cottage up, sight unseen.
That was the other problem with being a witch. Sometimes things that look like impending death, just mean impending change. The death of the old and the start of something new.
I installed the toad in the living room, on an end table. “Well, Grundleshanks, it looks like we’re home.”
He blinked in agreement.
“I suppose I should unpack, huh?” I looked at him, waiting for an excuse on why I should put it off, but all I got was silence.
“Feel like lending me a hand?”
Not even a blink.
“Next time Gus wants to give me a familiar, I’m gonna push for a sherpa. Everyone should have a sherpa.”
Grundleshanks sank down into his mud so that not even his eyes were visible.
“Oh, come on. Don’t sulk. I’m sure you’d make a great sherpa, if you were about five feet taller and could walk upright.” I tapped on his tank, but he ignored me.
Well, he obviously wasn’t in the mood to be social. So I left him alone and climbed the stairs to see what was on the second floor.
The master bedroom had an attached bathroom with a huge Jacuzzi tub. Tillie certainly knew how to live. Although, I doubted the cottage was originally built in this condition. So it must have been okay with being remodeled and updated, just not destroyed.
Across the hall was a guest bedroom, if I ever had the desire to be social. Or if I could talk Gus into a visit. And down the hall was a sweet, little room that would make a great temple space. It looked like Tillie used it as her sewing room. At the end of the hall, there was a stairway leading up to an odd-shaped door. That must be the attic. I tried the door but it was locked. I was going to have to track down the key.
This was so worth leaving California for, with its overpriced real estate and bottomed-out job market. Best of all, I’d been through the entire place and there was no sign of a ghost.
As I went back downstairs, I opened the windows to air out the smell of neglect. I could already feel my spirits soar and my lungs breathe easier.
Until I walked into the kitchen and noticed a small, dingy, wooden door. Probably to the cellar. This one, at least, had an old, iron skeleton key in the lock.
I put my hand on the key and a cold wave of darkness washed through me.
The entrance to a hungry tomb…
I slowly backed away, wiping my hand on my jeans.
While I’ve always hated underground rooms, I needed to get a grip. I couldn’t start wigging out. I had a lot to do and there was no one I could call to come over and hang out with me to keep me sane.
“You can wait ‘til morning, too.” I told the door. I’d check the cellar out tomorrow, when everything was cheery and warm and sunny.
I shook my head and walked out of the kitchen. There were times I really hated living on my own. And this was one of them. At least, back in Los Angeles, I could have called Gus to come over. Out here, it was just me and my toad. With a sigh, I trekked out to Zed and began transferring all my crap into the cottage.
As I hauled the last of my boxes into the foyer, I was grateful I had sold off my furniture. Not only would they have been an unnecessary encumbrance, but my thrift store rejects would have clashed with the charming dŽcor and antique furniture Tillie had so lovingly put together.
I had thought Gus was silly, labeling my boxes. It’s not like I had that many. But right now, I was grateful. It would make unpacking so much easier. I separated out a box of occult books and schlepped them to the library/music room. Some of the bookshelves just held knick-knacks and photos, which seemed astounding to me. How can you have so much gorgeous bookshelf space and not fill every inch with books? A little rearranging and there’d be room for all of my most treasured tomes.
I hummed as I browsed through the books on the shelves. Mostly classics. The Brothers Grimm and Mother Goose and Shakespeare and all the authors I was supposed to have read in high school. There was also a large number of mythology and folklore books.
I was practically vibrating with happiness. Not many people are as addicted to books as I am, and to stumble across such a treasure trove… I mentally thanked Tillie again. She was obviously a woman of taste. And I loved that there was a standing harp and a small Steinway piano in the library. I ran a finger over the harp strings and the notes twinkled through the air. Everything was just magnificent.
As they say, appearances can be deceiving. If I had to pick a leit-motif for my life, that would probably be the one. What you see is definitely not what you get. But I’m getting ahead of myself. One of the things that amazed me most, when I arrived at Devils Point, was that I suddenly felt more capable than I ever had before. Without Gus or my Dad or Lenny to fall back on, it was all falling on my shoulders. So I could either freak out and run, or man up and face life head-on. Unfortunately, there are times when facing life head-on is vastly over-rated. But really, what other option was there?
By the time I finished unpacking, I was exhausted and the accumulated road grime and sweat was driving me crazy. After a quick shower to wash the worst of it off, I filled the Jacuzzi tub and sat, letting the jets of warm water work their magic on my tired body. I felt guilty about the waste of water, taking a bath after a shower, but my body sure appreciated it.
When I started nodding off, I figured it was time to get out. I dried off and ransacked Tillie’s bathroom cabinets, looking for something to ease aching muscles, and scored an economy-sized tube of Ben Gay.
As I rubbed it on my back and shoulders, I reveled in the familiar pepperminty scent and warm, tingly feeling slowly spreading across my skin. I loved that smell. It reminded me of when I was a little girl and my dad was still alive. He would take me horseback riding whenever we had extra money and the next day, we would both be slathering on Ben Gay. I never was a very athletic child.
My stomach loudly reminded me that now that I was all clean and relaxed, it was in need of sustenance. The emergency road rations were great and all, but it could do with some real food. That’s when I remembered that I had forgotten buy groceries. I’d have to get on that, first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I pulled on a pair of baggy sweats and a long-sleeve tee-shirt, and went off to the kitchen, in search of any nosh Aunt Tillie had left behind.
There wasn’t much in the way of food — Aunt Tillie must have eaten like a bird — but there was a veritable cornucopia of teas in the kitchen cupboard, so I put a kettle on to boil. Moroccan Mint sounded promising. I also came across a slightly stale package of Stella Doro’s. Not exactly health food, but better than nothing. Best of all though, I found a mud-room off the kitchen that had a washer and dryer.
I sat at the table in the alcove, sipping a mug of steaming hot tea and listening to the sounds of the evening: waves lapping against the shore; wind rustling through the leaves; the haunting wail of a loon. Even the soft hooting of an owl. Just outside the window screens, thousands of crickets fiddled their insistent song, adding to the night music. It was so peaceful.
As the night progressed and the temperature dropped, I was loathe to close the windows and shut out my private symphony. So I walked to the front room to retrieve an afghan throw I had seen neatly folded on the couch.
It was incredibly cold in the living room. Even colder than in the kitchen. Regardless of the beauty of the night, I was going to have to close the windows or risk turning into a human popsicle. But as I walked through the room, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye.
A shadowy figure sitting on the rocking chair.
I froze and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Great. My first night and I had spirit contact. Gus would be on the next plane out. I reached out with my mind and felt the energy. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel malevolent. At least, I didn’t think it did.
So I took the initiative. “Hello? Can I help you?”
It didn’t say anything.
I eyed the afghan longingly. “It’s getting cold outside.”
Still the figure didn’t say anything.
It just sat there, the rocking chair creaking, as it rocked back and forth.
“Aunt Tillie?” I asked. Well, it was a reasonable guess, given that she was the latest deceased occupant. “I know you’re here. I can see you.”
A cloud passed over the moon and the transparent figure slowly solidified into an old woman with granny glasses. “For heaven’s sake, child. Get a wrap around you before you freeze to death.”
It was Aunt Tillie. I moved slowly, smoothly, not wanting to frighten her. I quietly wrapped the throw around my shoulders. But when I sat down on the couch, a big poof of dust made me sneeze.
I looked up, expecting the sudden noise to have frightened her away, but she was still there, giving me the hairy eyeball. As much as ghosts can, at least. Not what I was expecting, at all.
“I see not much housecleaning has been going on since my passing,” she sniffed, offended by the state of her cottage.
“I just got here.” I protested. “This place is gorgeous, by the way. You took great care of it.”
She seemed slightly mollified at that. “Of course, dear. It’s my home.”
“Was. It was your home.” She gave me a narrow-eyed look that should have shut me up, if I had any sense. But I was so tired, my mouth just kept babbling on without me. “I mean, I’m okay with sharing, but it’s my home now. You died and left it to me.”
If looks could singe, my hair would have burst into flames. But what the heck. Best to make the living situation clear up front, right? Rather than get into a fight about who had the right to live where?
I couldn’t help staring at Aunt Tillie’s face. It seemed so alive. Last time I had seen it, it had been twisted into a mask of horror and shock. And she still had both eyes, unlike her corpse.
“Things are not always what they seem,” she said, her voice ice-cold.
I swallowed hard. I hated cryptic messages. Although they seem to be the ubiquitous in the witchy world.
You have what you hold. Eyes to see, ears to hear. If you’re meant to know, you will.
That kind of stuff always drove me crazy. At least Aunt Tillie didn’t seem to be confused about her current state of non-being. Which made me wonder why she was still hanging around.