The House

Thea

Wow what a delicious mystery!
The house lent itself beautifully to my art and had everything I needed to succeed.
I heard envy in the storm but was unconcerned- my intent was far more interesting.
I was too busy to pay much heed to the far distant cry of a
Fauthosholf and time was not on my side. I had to finish the project this night and leave before the Shalisad awoke.
At least I had all my faculties and wits about me this time.
The energies in the magic were strong and I could feel them ringing in my bones all the way to the soles of my heavy weathered fighting boots.
I felt strong determination as I went about my business. I watched as the fire lit itself and the chair began to rock. “No matter,” I thought. “Just let the ghosts of this place do their thing., for the last time.” I laughed inwardly.
Speaking of which I realized now was not the time to be weaponless. There was an amazing weapon hanging on the wall as if for me. I tested the blade and saw it needed sharpening. I did it methodically as I’d been taught years ago by my master.”Ha! If only she could see me now, she’d never believe what I was about to do…”
Time to go. Everything was prepared.
As far as I knew I’d done everything right.
Glancing at the rotating sand clock imuminated in the sparkling blue vapor of the magic I realized I only had a few moments left.
I took my leave walking swiftly down steps to the covered passage to the boarded staff house taking the vial and weapon with me. No one was about. That was good.
My head was the strongest part of me- least breakable- especially with the bandages wrapped around it. It took me only a few hits to get in. I slammed the door behind with my foot.
I was in the garage. The hair on my arms stood up as the vial reacted immediately with the dank air. A TV screen illuminated brightly in one corner of the room and electric static filled the air and leapt from light bulb to lightbulb.
The whispering started but it was the flickering light that pointed me to the brick wall. I’d have to go through it. It wasn’t hard to hit the first five bricks. And easier still to remove ten more.
She was here. And very much alive…

Angela

I came to listen to the Witch’s Kitchen and found this incredible new post unexpectedly. You guys are absolutely AMAZING!!!! After seeing Thea’s tale through my mind, I’m insanely curious Adam how your version of this story plays out.
I’m in a happy mood this morning so my story kept dancing between creepy haunted-ness and scenes from more pleasant memories. I remember rummaging around up in the upper attic room of the old wooden storage barn type building on a hot summer day. Filtered light through ancient grungy small windows filled the room with just enough light to cast a slightly amber glow on the old warn surfaces and dirt-brown dust covered cupboards, wooden chairs, counters and myriad of stored items. The sound of heavy outdoor play shoes on the old wood floor boards brought back the smells of dust and straw and old wood. No matter how bright the day, that upper room always felt like the background sounds of the creepy haunted night were emanating from the wood chest and cabinets with creaky cabinet doors and sticky drawers. I just knew the spiders were lurking under and around everything I considered reaching out to touch or move and the beady eyes of sinister attack mice were surely watching my every move! You almost always had to move aside a pile of heavy towing chains or box of clanky car parts to get close to what you were looking for. Sometimes, the hanging tools would swing and give out that screechy, scratchy metal to rusty metal sound that shreds the nerves in your back. Heavy things tied with rope over roof beams would swing and make that eerie creaking sound of rope pulling along worn wood. The footsteps going downstairs and out a door led me out the basement and out a side door to an overgrown garden path dotted with rose-filled grey weathered wooden trellis and fencing all bathed in hot filtered sunlight where the air was heavy with the dry dusty heat of late summer. At the end of the path was the garage where my father was working on the car with an old static-y AM radio playing not so well and barely tuned to the station properly playing in the background. I would scoot up an old box or shuffle around the parts like heavy old brake drums and tires to find a place to sit and watch him. Sometimes I would find myself leaning over the front fender peering in under the hood to watch or lend a helping hand to hold the wires out of the way or to poke at something and ask “what is this?” or ” what does that do?” I was small then, just getting myself up tall enough to lean over the fender was a huge effort sometimes and I’d end up huffing and puffing when I finally made it to a comfortable vantage point. Dad would always smile.

I gotta listen again! I’ll be back to read what everyone else writes…So MUCH FUN!!! Can hardly wait to tell the gals at work to come listen to this one and encourage them to write their tale too!
Thank you!!