Spirit Week - Short Story Collection

(SW) ii. Throwback Thursday

That night, we smuggled several dozen old books from Aunt Betsey’s store, and stayed up until sunrise poring over their contents. By the time our mom woke up, (we’d keeled over at around 4 am, in between A Witch’s Guide to Conjuring and Pushing up Daisies: The Graveyard Invocation Almanac), Meredith and I were ready to meet Violet Winchester.

All day during school, we reviewed our plan. We muttered incantations under our breath during French. At lunch we reviewed our list of tarot cards, gems, and candles that we needed to filch from Aunt Betsey that afternoon, and Meredith bravely entered the boys’ locker room after school to steal Cory’s football gloves, for the spell called for something of Violet’s descendants to complete the conjuring.

After dark, we walked to Old Souls, flashlights and supplies in hand. Using the wrinkled old map we had found in the shop, we located the grave of Violet Winchester, a crumbling sandstone slab marked with the initials “V.W.”

We arranged five candles in a wide circle around the grave and placed five specific tarot cards in front of each candle: the High Priestess, the Empress, the Lovers, Justice, and the Queen of Wands. A star pattern drawn with amethyst crystal powder connected the five points, completing the pentagram. I walked around the pentagram and lit the candles and then Meredith turned off the flashlights. We stood in the pentagram, facing the gravestone.

“Mere, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I pulled the 1980s style track jacket I’d found in the back on my mom’s closet tighter around me. Audrey and I were still in the themed outfits we’d worn to school that day.

“Get a grip, Audrey.” She pushed up the sleeves of her acid-washed jean jacket, flipped her teased curly hair over her shoulder, and began to chant.

“I summon thee,

return to me,

the dark one in the night.

I summon thee,

return to me,

the dark one in the night.”

On the third time, I joined in.

“I summon thee,

return to me,

the dark one in the night.”

A wind rushed through the field of the dead, ruffling our hair and our parachute pants and extinguishing our candles. I grabbed Meredith’s hand, my heart racing in anticipation.

Nothing happened.

“Told you, Meredith,” I sighed in relief. “No ghosts.”

“Pardon me?”

I dropped Meredith’s hand like it was on fire. My knees wobbled.

“You’re here,” Meredith gasped.

Hovering over the gravestone in front of us was a pale young woman in an old-fashioned gown. Her dress and hair rippling in some spectral breeze while the air around Meredith and I stood still. Every couple of seconds, the ghost flickered out to reveal the poplar trees behind her.

We’d successfully summoned the dead.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Meredith whispered, her mouth open with shock. “I’m Meredith Castell.”

“Violet Winchester.” The apparition curtsied. “And you?”

“I’m Audrey. Her sister.” A handshake seemed the proper gesture, but Violet’s insubstantial hand passed right through mine, and it felt like ice.

“How did thou come across me?”

“We read about you,” Meredith said. “You’re the wife of Jacob Winchester, right?”

The ghost glared. “That scoundrel,” she muttered.

“Sorry, what?” I asked.

“That scoundrel!” she exclaimed. “He must’ve killed me, of course. That’s why my hand passed through yours. I’m a ghost, aren’t I?”

Unsure of the etiquette of telling a ghost she was dead, I just nodded.

“Well, that settles it. What year is it?”

“Um, 2014.”

“Though we’re dressed like the 1980s.” Meredith added. “It was ‘Throwback Thursday’ at school for Spirit Week.”

“And a throwback to the 1700s,” I muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” Violet asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Meredith laughed.

“All right, then. What for did you summon me?”

“Well, we, um—“ I hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“We want to know how you died.” Meredith blurted.

I kicked her in the shin for her lack of tact, but Violet didn’t seem to notice, for she responded simply, “My husband killed me because I was a traitor.”

“What?” Meredith exclaimed. Her fingers twitched, itching for her notebook. This scandal would make a great story for the school newspaper, or perhaps the Winchester Gazette itself. “How?”

            “I wasn’t truly a traitor,” Violet explained. “Or, at least I did not intend to be. Jacob Winchester brought me over to the New World to find a new home. But first, he had to expel the Frenchmen, which meant a bloody battle had to be waged. Two of these Frenchmen were my friends, Alexandré Bouchard and Chauncey Delacriox. I met these fine gentlemen during my studies at university in Paris, and I could not, in good conscience, let my husband kill them. Thus, Jacob slashed me in the side, and I suppose I died after that.”  She turned to the side, and lifted her arm to expose a deep slash in her fine dress. Silvery blood stained the fabric.

            “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,” Meredith said.

            “What for did thee want to hear my tale?” Violet asked.

            “There’s a boy at school—Cory Winchester—he’s Jacob’s descendant and a total jerk,” Meredith responded. “I just wanted something to hold over his fat head.”

            “An ancestor, you say?” Violet said coldly. “Well, that is interesting.”

            “We’re going to have to send you back now, before it gets too light out,” I told her hurriedly, exchanging glances with Meredith, who nodded reluctantly. Violet’s angry eyes made me nervous. “It really was nice to meet you.”

            I began the converse chant. “From whence it came, from whence it came, from whence it—“

            “I’m sorry,” Violet interrupted. “But I’m afraid I simply cannot return to the spirit world now. For I must seek out my revenge.”