Page 1 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

Chapter 1

Willow

"Mom, please. I'll be back before you know it," I repeat, ignoring my mother's worried glower. Her baby blues almost get to me, but I find my resolve. I've been planning this for a whole month, and I will not have my plans derailed by one pitiful look.

She sighs through her nose, her mouth pulled in a line so tight her lips turn pale pink. I say nothing, having no more to offer her. We've had this argument three times already. This particular time is lasting longer than the others, but Fraya Devall should know by now that my stubbornness rivals her own. I very much take after my mother, and it's not always a good thing.

"Honey, I'm not trying to spoil your somewhat thought out plans. I just… I don't think this is a good idea. Not tonight. Can't it wait another week?" she pleads.

Walking by her, I move toward the door and remove my long black jacket from the hook beside it. I snatch my wide-brimmed hat off the entry table, turn, and say, "I could wait another week, but it'll be less likely to work. It might not even work at all, but the moon is full tonight. There's something in the air, and I have a good feeling. I'll be fine. I'll make sure I'm safe."

Mom doesn't look convinced, but that's no surprise. She's been trying to derail my plan since I explained it to her last week. In a way, I can't really blame her. I mean, everyone knows how stupid it is to play with ouija boards on the best of days. All Hallows Eve, of all nights? Yeah, I can understand her worries.

What Fraya fails to realize is that I've planned this all out. Down to the very letter, even if she thinks otherwise. The only thing that will happen tonight is I go to the Wicca Tree inside of the Hollow Grove woods, ask some questions with the board, and see if I get a reply. If I don't, then it's my own night wasted and I'll come straight home. If I do, then I'll get some of the answers that have been clawing at me for the last nine years. I deserve that much after the secrets she's kept from me. Plus, it's not like these boards ever really work. It's my own wishful thinking that has me following through with my ridiculous plan.

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Willow. That's all," she tells me, her eyes misting over with a thin layer of tears. Ugh, I hate it when she cries. My heart can't take those tears.

"I know, Mom. And I won't, I promise," I assure her, pulling her into a tight hug that she reciprocates immediately. "Nothing is going to happen. You don’t have to worry."

She sniffles against the collar of my coat before nodding and moving back. Her nose and cheeks are red from crying, her eyes a little glassy, but she finally relents. "If anything happens, you come straight home, you hear? If a single thing sets you on edge, I want you to come straight back without a second thought."

"I swear that's exactly what I'll do," I tell her, inwardly rolling my eyes. She’ll soon understand I’m twenty-five and not fifteen. I own my very own art studio and make enough money with my artwork for me to move out and have a life of my own. Yet here I stay, with my mom, because I’m a total sucker and can’t bear to leave the woman on her own. The main reason I stay is because she’s only here for short amounts of time since her job demands she travels a lot. It pretty much feels like I live alone with the occassional guest, but I keep that to myself since I enjoy the freedom and I’m not stupid enough to risk Mom thinking I’m lonely and cut down on her traveling.

I drop a kiss to her cheek and place the hat onto my head. Scooping up my bag that holds everything I'll need, I hook it over my shoulder and turn to leave, opening the door to the darkening sky of Salem. The rustling leaves hanging onto branches have turned orange and brown, many scattered over the road and sidewalk. Halloween decorations are littered everywhere, streamers in the trees and hooked over several pretty white picket fences. Our house is at the end of the cul-de-sac, away from the other houses but close enough to see the beautiful lights and spooky decor that hang on the outer side of the homes that line the street.

I step outside, breathing in the crisp air. A breeze ruffles my black hair, the locks that reach down to my ribs tickling my neck.

Just as I make to leave, my mom calls out, "Be careful, honey."

"Always am, Mom." I don't look back, but I give her a wave as I walk down the line of mismatched slabs of stone that make a path to the dark rickety fence that surrounds our quaint bungalow.

Most people think my house is creepy which means growing up here in Salem was tough. Bullies came out in droves when I was in school. They'd call me a witch or a satanist, anything and everything they could think of all because they thought my house was scary as fuck. To me, it has a certain charm to it. The roof is slanted awkwardly, the shutters are red and chipped, and the stone is dark and aged, but it has character. To me, it says it's lived a long and interesting life. I like it, my mom likes it, and that's all that matters.

It's not just my peculiar house that always drew the bullies in. My style matches my house almost perfectly. My hair is raven black, straight as a board, and so long it reaches my ribs when it’s hanging over my shoulders. My super pale skin with zero freckles makes me look more like Casper the Ghost than an actual living being, I’m stick thin with only the curves of my hips and boobs to show my femininity, and I'm never seen in anything other than black. Well, sometimes dark shades of purple or blue if I'm feeling adventurous.

So, sure, growing up here wasn't all it's cracked up to be despite looking like a safe place to raise kids, but here is home. It's where the judgemental folk of Salem live for gossip, whispering under their breath as I walk by. It's the town where weird things happen and the townsfolk blame it on the supernatural like it's the most normal thing to do. It's the town that believes in horror stories and legends, the town that hunted innocents believed to be witches way back in the sixteen hundreds. But it's also the home that I've known for nineteen years of my twenty-five. It's where I was raised to fall in love with quirkiness, where I learned to grow a thick layer of skin and take Salem in my stride. It's not for everyone, but it's the only place I know.

I smile as I walk through the street, watching the first wave of children pour from their houses in their adorable costumes. Adorable Frankenstein's monsters, skeletons, and the cutest witch with her pet cat on a leash rush by me, their excitement like a charge in the air. A brilliantly constructed Sally chases after a Corpse Bride to my left while a group of teenagers dressed like zombies languidly stroll to my right, following after a small gathering of children just ahead of them.

"Dani, we've already been to that house! We're going to the next one over!" One of the teens yells at a kid in the smaller group. He’s dressed in tattered gym clothes and covered in fake blood, a poor attempt at a zombie costume, but he looks like he’s having just as much fun as the others.

"But Mrs. Elderman always has great candy!" comes a pouty reply and a chorus of affirmations from her friends. I find myself smiling bigger while the teens laugh and race to catch up to the younger ones, shoving each other as they go.

I love Halloween. The smell of cinnamon and pumpkin always seems to linger in the air at this time of year, the joy and squeals of children having fun trick or treating to be heard from each house. It's my favorite holiday in my favorite season. Halloween was a day I always got excited for, being able to dress up as someone else for the night, gathering as much candy as I could until Mom dragged me home once it was too late. I only feel secondhand excitement from the children nowadays, but it still makes me smile. Halloween will always have a special place in my heart.

"Hey, Low!" A voice calls out from behind me. I’d recognize it anywhere.

I turn my head with a grin already in place, coming face to face with a decked out eleven-year-old boy dressed to the nines as Gomez Adams. A kid after my own heart.

"Gomez?! Is that really you?!" I dramatically proclaim, throwing a hand over my heart for added effect.

Max sends me an eye roll, but he grins at my theatrics. "You're not trick or treating? You could come with me if you haven’t got anyone else to go with. Be the Morticia to my Gomez. You’re dressed for it already!"

Laughing, I shake my head and fix a mock pout on my face when I tell him, "As much as I'd love to, I fear I've grown too old for these folks to hand over free candy to me, Gomez."

Max chuckles, falling into step beside me as we walk along the sidewalk. "I'll try and get some extra for you."

I snort and hook my arm over the boy I've known since he was but a baby. "Don't tell your mom you're trying to hustle more candy for your babysitter. I won't hear the end of it."

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