Page 4 of The Hermit on the Hill

Colorful wildflowers sat on the table in a unique clay vase. It looked like… I stepped inside for a closer look.

A face was carved into the clay. An unusual, whimsical face with several missing teeth.

Folk art.

I ran a finger over the surface. Hard to tell if it was newly made or an older piece. My specialty was the stories, the oral traditions of folklore, and my work didn't focus solely on the folklore of Appalachia or the South. I studied folklore from all over the world and looked for similarities and differences that taught us more about culture and the people who told those stories, believed in the magic and the creatures, and used the charms.

As I moved to study the vase from all sides, a flash of red caught my eye from the room just beyond it.

"Hello?" I called, my voice echoing through the large house.

No one answered.

I peeked into the room. A red ribbon had been tied to a branch that stuck out of another vase, this one large enough to rest on the floor. It was filled with more branches, all of them tied with red ribbons as well. I hadn't heard of a charm used in such a way, but red ribbon was commonly used to ward off spirits. It would seem Sam was being haunted or believed he was.

I stepped into the room. Bookshelves crammed with books lined one wall. Three shelves held photos and various items set up like they were on display. An old pipe, a small flower vase, a pocket watch, a turquoise necklace. They looked like shrines to lost loved ones, but I could be wrong.

I'd seen so many indications that Sam was a practitioner of folk rituals that I might see them where they didn't exist.

A large, light wood desk took up the corner of the room opposite the bookshelves. Whoever sat there would have a beautiful view of the forest and the mountains. It would be perfect for sunset watching. In the center of the room sat a leather couch and two leather chairs with a coffee table at the center of the circle.

Did Sam have guests? Did he have friends? I couldn't reconcile the Sam I'd met at the university conference with the hateful hermit everyone talked about in town.

On the wall behind the desk was a dry erase board with the names of charms, followed by their ingredients, written in blue and black marker.

I moved forward, forgetting where I was. I just wanted to know what those charms were and why the ingredients seemed so very odd. Before I got to the board, I caught sight of an ancient-looking, leather-bound book on the desk.

I shouldn't touch it. It looked really old and my fingers could damage the pages inside. Gently, so very gently, I lifted the cover with one fingertip and gasped at what I saw inside.

The handwriting was lovely, looping and flowing so that the writer was drawing me in before my mind had registered the meaning of the first word. It took me only a moment to be pulled into the story as well.

The author told a tale about a difficult birth, the first she'd attended without her mother by her side to guide her. It was as much a medical report as it was a journal entry and the author had taken precise notes of every action and the results.

The baby hadn't survived, but no one had blamed the author of the journal, because she'd saved the mother's life.

I lifted the book to open it a bit wider, lost in the tale, and my elbow bumped a pile of books on the desk.

They hit the hardwood with a loud crash and I froze. I shouldn't be in there. Sam had to be somewhere nearby. Unless he had a second vehicle, he could walk in at any second and see me.

I glanced down at the book in my hands. At the end of her notes about the delivery, the author had listed the ingredients of the poultices and charms she'd used. I'd just look at them real quick, and then I'd get out of Sam's house.

First, I put the leather-bound journal down and picked up the books I'd dropped on the floor. Bent, I gathered all six of them, heavy, thick hardbacks, in my arms. When I moved to stand, I banged the back of my head on the sharp corner of the desk.

"Ow." I dropped the books and slapped a hand over the back of my head as I stood. Stars danced around the room and my head throbbed where I'd jabbed it. I pulled my hand away, but there was no blood.

I'd probably be okay. Until my head stopped spinning and the pain subsided, I'd rest. Journal in hand, I sank into the nearest chair.

It was incredibly comfortable for a leather armchair. I leaned my head back. I'd rest for a moment, read a bit more of the journal, and then I would absolutely get the heck out of Sam Oakley's house.

CHAPTER TWO

Sam

Ishut off the water and reached for a towel, but froze when a crash sounded from downstairs. I listened hard and heard it again.

"Fucking bobcat," I muttered, already moving.

It had better be the bobcat who'd been hanging around the house, because if my grandmother had gotten inside to cause more mischief after all the charms I'd put up to block her, I might have to sell.

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