Amara Gilbert

Chapter 9

Sapphire eyes narrowed thoughtfully as they stared up at the familiar weatherboard house.

Her mind had been in overload, trying to find an explanation for how she'd been able to interact with the living world, and her thoughts led her back to the hazy memory of when she had first woken in her own hell.

When awaking in the woods, the small pebbles of the riverbed had dug into her back and her thoughts had been jumbled. Her emotions out of control, she forced herself to calm down.

Not until yesterday has she remembered that in the first minutes of her new existence as a spirit, that she'd fallen down, hitting a leg.

She'd bruised her shoulder joint, felt pain.

The mailbox was the second success she'd had with interacting with the living world.

She'd tried everything she could think of of to try to replicate the two events.

But nothing worked!

So here she is, waiting for Sheila Bennett outside her house, for her to come home from Whitmore College and open her front door.

While Bonnie may have been Elena's best friend, it doesn't mean they hadn't been close. They had actually been very close. Bonnie would always say her Grams' had problems with alcohol and crazy stories about witches and psychics. Amara had never given the rumours and unkind whispers a second thought, enjoying the old woman's humour too much to avoid her presents.

Until now.

She now know for a fact, that life after death did exist. If that was true, how many other things were true?

Not knowing what else to do, Amara had walked here with the determination to enter Sheila Bennett's house to observe her. Observing her for however long it took until she was satisfied.

She turned her at the sound of a old pick-up truck chugging down the street, with bright yellow headlights on the darkened road. Sheila Bennett forced open the the rusted car door with her foot, hands full with collage papers.

"Finally," Amara grumbled under her breath, walking beside the rumoured witch as she made her way up to her front door.

As soon as she had opened the doors, Amara slipped past her, inviting herself inside.

Without any guilt whatsoever for invading the older woman's privacy, Amara crossed the room to the bursting book case in the living room. She tilted her head back to read the faint gold lettering on the spines of the books.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Amara glanced back at Sheila, she was putting her coat over the arm of a chair. Amara then followed her into the small but modest kitchen and plopped down onto one of the old chairs. For the next forty minutes Amara watch the sixty-five year old woman make and have dinner.

Amara had no idea what she was hoping to happen, what was she even waiting for? Her bitter thoughts turned her already dark mood blacker as she glared at the woman as if it were her fault.

Her mind moved to other possibilities open to her as she began to give up, then something changed.

The mood abruptly changed, like a breeze had rushed through the house. Sheila's wrinkled face hardened becoming harsher as she got up from her chair, depositing her empty dishes into the sink.

Amara straightened, sapphire eyes widening with interest.

With both caution and habit, Sheila began closing each curtain that lined a window to the outside world.