Blood Creek Witch Read online

  Immortal Works LLC

  1505 Glenrose Drive

  Salt Lake City, Utah 84104

  Tel: (385) 202-0116

  © 2018 Jay Barnson

  http://rampantgames.com/blog

  Cover Art by Ashley Literski

  http://strangedevotion.wixsite.com/strangedesigns

  Formatted by FireDrake Designs

  http://www.firedrakedesigns.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For more information email [email protected] or visit

  www.immortal-works.com

  ASIN: B07B293JT9 (Kindle Edition)

  ISBN 978-0-9990205-6-2 (paperback)

  For Julie, Rowan, and Brenna.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Jenny Morgan waited on pins and needles all day Friday, hoping for a text from Eric, the cute boy from her jiu jitsu class. She came home from school to find her parents gone, and half-packed cardboard boxes everywhere. Jenny barely managed to shut the door and cover her face with a couch cushion before screaming. She paced and sobbed. She read and re-read the note on the refrigerator: “Help yourself to anything, and get packed. We’ll be back late tonight.”

  After two years, Jenny had almost convinced herself that the constant moving was over. Before High School, they’d rarely lived anywhere longer than six months, and never more than a year. Still, maybe this time would be different. Maybe she misunderstood. Maybe they were just moving to a bigger apartment. She debated calling Cyn Arbuckle and preemptively asking if she could stay with their family for the last weeks of school. Cyn was as close to a best friend as Jenny could remember. Wasn’t that something friends did?

  She made no calls. She knew better.

  Jenny packed most of her things, a process which took longer than usual. She had more things, now. She made herself some soup and found a bag of microwave popcorn in an unsealed box labeled “pantry.” Her father hadn’t unhooked the television yet, so she turned it to a movie channel and sat in the darkened room, eating popcorn and trying not to think that by this time tomorrow, they could be out of the Chicago suburbs, maybe outside Illinois, heading to who knew where.

  This time, as soon as Patricia and James Morgan came through the door, Jenny would ask questions. As a child, they ignored her protests. Now she was nearly seventeen, and she had a right to know why they were uprooting her life again. Why not in five weeks, at the end of the school year? Why not in a year and five weeks, when she had a diploma in her hand, and could choose whether or not to go with them?

  Fury and frustration gave way to sleepiness. Around midnight, she fell asleep curled up in the love seat while the TV played some forgotten film from the 1980s. She dreamed. In the dream, she played with Vanessa, a childhood playmate she had nearly forgotten. They were out in the backyard of the house she’d lived in when she had known Vanessa in real life, when Jenny was in the first grade. Her mother appeared beside her.

  “Jenny, we have to talk.”

  When this had really happened, years ago, there’d been no talking. Her mother had been upset at seeing Vanessa. Jenny didn’t know why. Maybe it was because Vanessa had such strange, dark eyes. They’d moved days later. Jenny had never seen Vanessa again. In this dream, Vanessa’s eyes were normal, and Jenny’s mother ignored the child. Patricia stared sadly at Jenny.

  Distantly, a man’s voice called out. It wasn’t her father’s voice. This voice was older, nastier, with a southern drawl. Jenny made out the word “troublesome” amid other barely audible speech.

  “I don’t want to move again,” Jenny said.

  “Didn’t want this…” the man’s voice murmured, almost like an apology.

  “I know,” her mother answered. “I’m so sorry. I tried to keep you safe. Cities are safer. Lots of people, emotions drowning things out. It’s easy to hide. We always taught you to hide and to blend in with crowds. Maybe that was wrong, but we wanted to protect you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to.” She glanced over at Vanessa again, who played by herself, oblivious to their presence, trying to jump on her shadow’s head. “Did you know you have an aunt in West Virginia? My sister, Hattie. Hattie Rose.”

  “I remember hearing her name.”

  “Her phone number is in my old red phone book in the kitchen. I don’t think it’s packed yet.” Her mother turned to her, tears in her eyes. “You should call her in the morning.”

  “What’s going on, Mom?”

  The stranger’s voice mumbled something inaudible, followed by, “…love you Amelia.” Jenny didn’t recognize the name.

  Her mother ignored the voice. “Your father and I love you very much. Give me a hug?”

  Jenny embraced her mother, and felt the warmth coming from her body. She felt something else, too. Fear. Something was wrong. These were strange details in a strange dream.

  In the next moment, Jenny and Vanessa were alone. The little girl played as if nothing had transpired. Jenny searched the backyard of her temporary childhood home, calling, “Mom? Mom, where are you?”

  No one answered.

  Jenny awoke in a panic. The living room felt unfamiliar, a minefield of cardboard moving boxes. On the TV, a pitchman enthused about the virtues of a paint roller that wouldn’t drip. The clock on the wall, not yet packed away, read 1:07 AM.

  Jenny took a deep breath, and tried to convince herself nothing was wrong. It had only been a dream brought about by shock and the heartbreak of having to move again. She undressed and prepared for bed, but it was impossible to take comfort in routine when half her life was packed in boxes. The lingering fear from the dream didn’t leave. She tried calling her mother’s phone, and then her father’s. Both went directly to voice mail.

  She took her phone with her into the bathroom, setting the ring tone to full volume before placing it on the counter and taking a shower. As she’d hoped, the shower calmed her down and cleared out the worst of the dream’s lingering horror. She texted both of her parents before going to bed. “Call any time! I’ll be up!”

  Sleep didn’t come easily. She stared at the shadow of her phone in the darkness, expecting it to light up and play Fall Out Boy’s “Uma Thurman” any minute. As her worry grew, an old memory surfaced, a rhyme h
er mother had taught her to say when she was frightened as a little girl. It took her a moment to remember it, and she recited the words out loud for the first time in years.

  Angels surround me

  Angels protect me

  Angels enfold me

  Angels direct me

  Protect me asleep

  Protect me awake

  Keep evil afar

  And never forsake

  Somehow, as silly as it was, the childhood rhyme comforted her and made her feel safe. She could imagine being encased in light so well she could almost see it, like an electric-blue night light. Her worries didn’t entirely recede, but sleep finally overtook her.

  The sun was streaming through the gaps in her blinds when the doorbell woke her. Jenny waited for her parents to get the door, but the bell rang a second time. Her annoyance evaporated after the third ring. The rest of the house was silent. Even if her parents had let her sleep in, they should have been packing up the last things in preparation for the move. Her family moved so often they had it down to a very efficient system, and the apartment should have been a bustle of activity.

  Jenny was alone. She threw on sweatpants and a t-shirt before padding out to the living room and peering through the peephole. Two police officers stood at the door with a woman in a charcoal-gray pantsuit.

  Jenny opened the door, standing partway behind it as if it were a shield. “Can I help you?” she asked in her most neutral voice.

  “Are you Jenny Morgan?” asked one of the officers, a black man with a scar along the side of his jaw.

  “Yes. What is this about?”

  “I’m Sergeant Thompson, this is Officer Balenko, and Claire Daniels. May we come in?”

  Her parents had told her never to allow police into the house without a warrant. She meant to refuse, as they’d taught her. Instead, she opened the door, as if in a trance.

  “Were you going somewhere?” Office Balenko asked, looking over the boxes.

  “We’re moving today,” Jenny answered, a little too flatly. Innocent people didn’t act bored when questioned by the police, her mother had taught her. Play to their expectations so you don’t attract their attention. But this was different. She already had their attention. Something was wrong.

  Sergeant Thompson motioned to the couch in front of the television. “You may want to sit down.”

  Jenny sat on the arm of the couch, bracing herself with a white-knuckled grip. She didn’t want to sit on the cushions. It would be admitting that something terrible was happening. The world seemed to tilt, and her heart raced. She practiced her best poker face and calm voice, because maybe if she acted like everything was fine, things would turn out okay. “What is it?”

  Thompson took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Miss Morgan. Sometime shortly before one o’clock this morning, your parents were in a single-car accident on South Chester road. Paramedics pronounced both dead at the scene. At this time, we haven’t determined the cause of the accident, but we believe no other vehicles were involved.”

  Jenny’s world quit tilting and simply dropped out from beneath her. If not for the arm of the couch, she would have fallen to the floor. Yet, she’d known. She’d had the dream. While she’d convinced herself otherwise, she’d known her parents had died around 1:07 in the morning.

  Thompson clenched and unclenched his hands, glancing to the other two adults. After some hesitation, he said, “I’m truly sorry for your loss. If there’s anything we can… If you have any questions, just ask. Claire will stay with you today and make arrangements for your care.”

  A question shot through Jenny’s shock. “How did they die? What kind of accident?”

  Thompson hesitated. “Uh, is this something you want to talk about right now?”

  Balenko spoke up. “The car flipped over on the side of the road. There were no skid marks we were able to see. We don’t think they were going too fast or trying to brake. We haven’t determined if alcohol or any other substances were involved.”

  Thompson glared at Balenko. Balenko shrugged. “Hey, she asked.”

  “Thank you,” Jenny muttered, slowly sliding down onto the couch seat.

  “We’ll show ourselves out. Claire will be here for you as long as you need her here. Claire, is there anything you need before we go?”

  Claire waved them off. “We’ll manage, thank you.” She turned to Jenny. Jenny expected tears to flow, but nothing came, yet, beyond the weight of the sheer impossibility of it all. She must be dreaming again, but this time she couldn’t wake up.

  Claire touched her hand. “Is there someone you can call? A relative who can come?”

  On autopilot, Jenny answered. “My aunt. Hattie Rose. In the old red telephone book. With the kitchen stuff.”

  Claire searched through empty drawers and two boxes before finding the phone book and Hattie’s handwritten number. “Do you want to call her, or should I?”

  “I’ll do it,” Jenny said, even though she’d never spoken to her aunt before. She dialed the number.

  “Hello?” came the voice on the other end of the line. Even with a single word, the West Virginia accent came through.

  “Aunt Hattie? This is Jenny Morgan.”

  “Oh, my sweet little girl. Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it?” The woman on the phone didn’t sound surprised. Like Jenny, she knew.

  “Mom and Dad are dead.”

  “Your area code is near Chicago. Is that really where you are?”

  “Yes. We live in Naperville.” As Jenny realized the word “we” no longer applied, she choked back the first of many sobs.

  “Give me your address. I’ll be there late tonight.”

  Sean Williams graduated from high school early and sailed through his program at West Virginia University, on track to graduate in only three years. His councilors called him “highly motivated.” They had no idea just how motivated he was, and they never asked why. He had no time for a social life, nor did he care. At least not until the night he met Debbie.

  He didn’t go home during the break between summer and fall classes before his final year. If it weren’t for obligatory holidays and closed campus, he’d never go home at all. Temporarily without an overloaded schedule, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His idiot of a roommate, Blake, suggested the back-to-school party on campus. “There’ll be a whole bunch of incoming freshman girls,” Blake said. “They are like, barely out of high school age!”

  “I’m barely out of high school age, Blake.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” It wasn’t what he meant. “It’s perfect! And you can let off steam before going back to school.”

  “I just finished summer term classes last week. I’m not going back anywhere.”

  “Then you need this more than anyone, Sean! Go! Find some girl you can get to first base with, man!”

  Agreeing with anything Blake suggested made Sean feel like he needed to take a shower, but he grudgingly admitted the party sounded better than sitting around the apartment aimlessly browsing the Web while Blake got drunk. Again.

  While all students were invited to attend, the party in the “Lair,” the student union building, was really geared for incoming freshmen. The more veteran students held their own parties off-campus with a lot less free popcorn and sodas, and a lot more alcohol. A mirrored ball straight out of the 1970s acted as the centerpiece of the decor, probably inspired by the theme on the banner proclaiming “a proud legacy.” Sean didn’t recognize the music, but a few brave souls gravitated to the center of the floor and danced.

  He spotted her hovering within easy retreat distance of the exit. She wore a green floral skirt and a white short-sleeved blouse, her dark brown hair simple and straight. Unlike the two girls beside her, she bore no visible tats. She seemed lost and out-of-place, as ready to bolt for the exit as Sean felt.

  It took him seven minutes and thirty seconds to build up the courage to ask her to dance. He timed himself, looking at his watch every thirty s
econds. She started glancing toward the door, and he knew he was out of time. As he drew close, he nearly lost his nerve and changed course to the refreshment table. Then she looked his way. Their eyes made contact, and he realized he’d passed the point of no return. She seemed both fearful and hopeful. Raising his voice over the music, he asked. “Do you want to dance or something?”

  She bit her lip as she hesitated. Sean mentally prepared himself for a rejection. “I ain’t… I’m not very good,” she said. She made an effort to conceal her accent, much thicker than those of most students from the state.

  “Neither am I.”

  She shrugged and offered a faint smile. “Okay, then.”

  They threaded their way to a clear section of the floor and started dancing just as the music ended. Sean smiled an awkward apology. The next song was much slower. They stepped closer together, and spent several seconds in mutual confusion determining where their hands were supposed to go for a slow dance. They settled with his hands on her hips, and hers resting on his shoulders.

  They swayed more-or-less in time with the music. “I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” Sean said, and then felt himself flush with embarrassment that he’d said something so stupid.