Everytime (American Horror AU 5)

Chapter 9

Two days had passed—no ghosts bothered to socialize with Cordelia and her two adopted daughters. Clara had been at classes, and Amy had taken Cordelia's advice in searching for a job. Anything, she had thought to herself while scrolling through a job search website, I don't care, as long as I make money.

When Saturday came around, Clara found time to tend the garden she had created in the backyard. Rather than making any new flowers grow, she poured water at the base of each plant with an aluminum watering can and concentrated enough to make any browning leaves turn green with life again. Smiling, she placed the watering can down—Fleetwood Mac had been playing on the portable radio she had brought downstairs with her, and she had been wearing the shawl once belonging to her mother. Looking down at its distinctive floral print, she extended it out as the music caused her to spin around, her skirt billowing out as she looked to the clear, blue sky:

"Listen to the wind blow
Watch the sun rise
Run in the shadows
Damn your love, damn your lies…"

She felt the warm breeze caressing her long, raven black hair as she closed her eyes, feeling it on her face as well as she sped up to the chorus of Stevie Nick's impeccable singing:

"And if you don't love me now,
You will never love me again
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain…"

As the song began to slow down to the next verse, Clara let the dizziness take over as she fell back on the ground, her hair touching the lush, green earth as the white, puffy clouds slowly moved across the baby blue sky. She listened to the music while wrapping herself snuggly in the shawl inherited from her late mother. It still had its distinctive, earthy-perfume scent, but Clara suddenly got visions from repressed memories.

She ran down to the ancestry room, nearly fainting at the sight of the bloodied, heavily wounded bodies of not only her aunt, but her parents laying on the floor right next to the threshold of the doorway. Chase and Julie seemed to be piled up on top of Misty's body at certain parts, and a slight trail of blood led to the doorway.

"AAAHHHHHH!" she had screamed.

Clara had tears forming in her eyes, holding the shawl closer to her as she struggled to forget what had haunted her for years, the traumatic images branded into her mind. She couldn't, so she shut her eyes.

"But no! I want to bring them back! My ma taught me to make a poultice. Stitch the wounds, put it on, and yeah! They'll be good as new!" she had exclaimed.

"Hey."

Clara opened her eyes form the frightening images to see Tate standing above her, crouching down to see if she was alright. Their eyes met, and the ghost seemed to be curious, mostly about the music playing.

"Oh, hey," Clara said, wiping her eyes on the shawl."

"Got any Kurt Cobain on that thing?" he finally asked.

"Uh, no," the witch answered. "Who is that?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," Tate responded expressionlessly. "What's with the hippie songs?"

"They're not hippie songs," Clara began, her voice getting more enthusiastic. "It's Stevie Nicks! Fleetwood Mac!"

"Who?" The teenaged ghost looked somewhat confused as he followed Clara closely behind toward the radio. She had simply crawled over and began to hum along with the song that had just started to play.

"Stevie Nicks, the White Witch," Clara explained. "My aunt was a white witch, and my mother loved Stevie Nicks. She played it all the time when we were kids."