Page 75 of The Witching Hours

October is the most dramatic month and not just because of Samhain.

Just as I finished that thought a sudden breeze kicked up and coaxed a colorful avalanche of falling leaves. We must’ve had a year where a list of nature’s mysterious precursors had been satisfied and the result was magnificent fall color.Breathtaking. Leaves floating toward the ground whispering the age-old message. “Everything is temporary.”

If anything is worthy of a needlepointed pillow, it would be that wisdom transformed into inescapable reminder. Celebrate good. Endure bad. Think of the unknown as an exciting journey full of adventure and exploration.

October doesn’t just mark time. October is on the way to something different, tired of the old hairdo and ready for the kind of change people notice.

What will “different” bring this time? For one thing, when the tree limbs were finished baring, there’d still be a panoramic view of water. But no bridge.

I’m making a point of being more proactive about my future these days. I spend time with Twelve Universal Laws; speaking or writing or drawing what I want instead of letting Fate screw me over in ever-increasingly mean and creative ways. I’ve realized that even my metaphysical mistakes leave me with a better result than putting myself in the hands of Fate, Queen of Random.

Some people, if they could hear my thoughts, might describe this as a pity party. I’d call it obligatory periodic self-reflection.

Taking stock, what I lacked in my love life was counterbalanced by personal success on my terms. On the coattails of the rise of PC, I discovered that there were a lot of people who were interested in structured classes on practical magick. With a little effort and a steep learning curve, I started an online school with lessons that could be heard and/or read with accompanying workbooks. By the time the initial subscribers completed First Year - Lesson One, Lesson Two was ready to go. In that way, I developed a four-year comprehensive study program so that people could learn the old ways from anywhere with new technology.

Who would’ve thought it?

As the school grew, so did my professional reputation and, before long, I had a side gig I’d never anticipated. People started contacting me for help with a wide variety of supernatural phenomena.

My initial reaction was negative, my reluctance due to my awareness that soooooo much can go wrong when you attempt to change the course of an extranormal event. But after a while, my fear morphed into the mundane usual – the risk of being sued. Before the latter overcame the former, I managed to populate a dedicated journal with a few interesting accounts.

The final such encounter was the critical mass catalyst that caused a breakup with the man who was living in my house at the time. I don’t know what to call him. Boyfriend? Live in? He definitely could not be called “partner”. Being able… No. Beingencouragedto talk about parts of my work that are not personal is a big reason for putting up with significant others. If the person on the other side of the dinette isn’t interested in my day, they’re not significant. They’re just “other”. End of story.

I supposed I’d grown comfortable with waking up alone. Sleeping alone was wonderful and without interruption. No kicking. No snoring. No talking while dreaming.

As if my cat, Wolf, interpreted my thought in his feline way, he jumped on the counter and meowed.

I laughed. “I didn’t meancompletelyalone. Of course, I haveyou! I just meant I’m not paired with someone of the same species.”

Another meow told me Wolf was okay with my explanation.

It’s a good thing I’d grown accustomed to being the only human in my space because all signs pointed to that being my lot in this life. I appreciated a good body buffing now and then. AndI had a network of colleagues with whom to discuss topics not found common in everyday conversation.

I had a few friends who were, shall we say, civilians. Meaning people who are wearing blissful blinders. They’ve decided the safe side of the supernatural debate begins and ends with the contents of high school science textbooks.

God love ‘em. What can I say?

Except that there are three kinds of people in the world. Those who’ve had brushes with the unseen world that is populous, busy, and sharing space with us and admit to that experience. Those who’ve seen something but dismiss, rationalize, or reject it as an illusion. And those who may not have encountered anything outside the common understanding of “reality”.

So far, the argument has gone to volume over merit. In other words, the loudmouths win.

The technology that rules our modern life and fills the air with electricity has only exacerbated supernatural activity. Sometimes civilians faced with a paranormal event will accept the idea of psychotic break before being willing to admit that, yeah, Uncle Dan may have decided to move into the guest room after he died. And he doesn’t like it when your teenage son and his friends play pool in the basement. When people are unequipped to live with other spiritual species or other humans no longer in physical bodies, sometimes their poor minds aren’t flexible enough to accept a new reality. Unfortunately, they break.

I don’t deal with those people. My clients are believers, but there’s a pitfall in that as well. Some have gone so far around the bend they’ve met themselves coming back. That is to say, they conjure hallucinations then see, hear, or sense something that simply is not there. So, who’s to say what’s an hallucinationand what’s a phenomenon, you ask? I know it sounds arrogant, but yeah, that would be me.

The collapse of the Talmadge Bridge would affect hundreds of thousands of people. Lots of incomes would be affected. People would have a hard time commuting for, well, a long time. In the short term, it might affect groceries on the shelf. I knew this. And I knew it would be arrogant for me to take a tragedy of that magnitude as a sign meant for me. On the other hand, I rationalized as I took another sip of coffee, why should I underestimate myself?

It felt unusually cold for that time of year. Normally, I wouldn’t need a sweater until some time in December. If I was lucky. Currier and Ives might as well be cultural residue from another planet. I pulled my unbuttoned cardigan over my chest, again, and rechecked the thermostat. Nothing wrong there.

Setting my cup down, I was thinking I should get one of the thermos-type doohickeys with a lid to keep my coffee from cooling off too fast. Should I shop for it online before or after checking email?

I took one last look, still trying to process that there’d be no bridge, before turning to my desk to see what oddball thing email had in store for me. I didn’t need to think about the process of opening email. If anything had been permanently committed to muscle memory, it was that.

I’d half decided to shop for a thermos thingy first when the subject line of a new email caught my eye. It read , “HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP!”

“Okay,” I said out loud. “You’ve got my attention.” When I opened it up, I could see it was a very long email. So, I put on my computer glasses and settled back.

Dear Ms. Danann,” it began.I am your student, in my third year of the program and will be eternally grateful for any help you can provide.