The Blackwood Chronicles: The Crystal Harbor Witch

Part 1

I didn't set out to become a witch, but by the end of the day, I would be one. It would be nice if days like that started with any sort of warning. A little heads up that something strange was going to go down would have been helpful. Instead, I woke up that morning to the sun shining through the window and the smell of coffee and bacon drifting in from the kitchen. As I entered the kitchen Dean smiled and handed me a glass of orange juice. "Good morning, Adeline," he said. "Thank you for offering to come with me today."

I leaned in to kiss him. "I'll always be there to support you and the community. I just hope I can find the right things to say." I knew that I couldn't hide my nervousness and I hated that it always crept into my voice with an unflattering squeak.

He took my hand. "Mrs. Sullivan just lost her husband. There are no right things to say. As her pastor, I'm simply there to pray with her and provide comfort. As my wife, by just being there with me, you're showing her that she's not alone. He gave me her a wink. "Not to mention your famous apple pie you're bringing always does wonders for the soul." His words seemed to melt my tension away and in spite of the solemn task ahead of us, I felt a sense of optimism. Dean always had that effect on me. He had that effect on the whole town really. Which is why he earned the title of youngest Sr. Pastor at Crystal Harbor Community Church so quickly.

I just hoped that I wouldn't let him down. I wasn't good at helping people with their pain. It wasn't because I didn't care about them, I just never knew quite what to say. Do I hug them, do I not hug them? What if I hugged them and they just wanted to be alone? It was always easier for someone as socially awkward as me to just avoid those situations altogether. But then I became Adeline Graves the pastor's wife and uncomfortable situations are now part of my duty.

Jane Sullivan was almost unrecognizable when she opened the door to welcome us in. Her normally perfectly styled black hair hung matted over her shoulders and now seemed more gray than black. Her face, which was usually made up and pretty, was now puffy and red. She had clearly been crying for a very long time, but I saw that there was something other than grief in her eyes when she opened the door. I could swear that it was fear. "Pastor Graves, Adeline, thank you for coming," she said her voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

We walked in and she must have noticed my surprised look because she immediately apologized. "You'll have to excuse the mess. Our new dishwasher just up and broke, the plumbing is all backed up and I just haven't had a chance to get it fixed. That was always stuff that Tim took care of." She buried her face in her hands and began to shake with sobs. Dean put his arm around her and gently guided her to the couch. I sat there beside them unsure of what to do besides let her sorrow pour out like water from a broken dam.

"That wretched woman, she's cursed us!" Mrs. Sullivan cried out the words as she clinched her tear-covered hands into fists. Dean and I both looked at each other in confusion. For once he seemed to be just as lost for words as I was. I certainly didn't want to upset her anymore but asking her to elaborate on her odd outburst.

"Mrs. Sullivan," I said as I put my hand over hers, trying to ignore how warm and moist it felt. "I'd be happy to help you with the housework and I'm sure Dean would be able to take a look at your plumbing issues." Dean smiled at me gratefully.

Mrs. Sullivan blew her nose into a tissue dean offered her and looked up at me. "That's very kind of you dear, and please call me Jane. I'd very much appreciate the help. It's been so overwhelming since Tim passed."

"Of course, we're more than happy to help. I'll go cut us a few slices of the apple pie that I brought while you two talk." I made my way into the kitchen and was startled again by the unsettling appearance of the room. When we had visited the Sullivan's a few months ago for their fourth of July BBQ, I admired how their home looked like it could have come right from the pages of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. But this... this was more like an episode of hoarders. Not one thing was in its proper place.