Lucinda paced the room, from stone wall to stone wall, periodically peering through the wavy glass covering the narrow windows, her footsteps muffled by the wall to wall Persian rug.
Hearing the lower door slam and the sound of someone running up the stone stairs she moved to stand in the centre of the room, face expressionless, shoulders back, the energy around her crackled with anticipation.
Seated in the back booth at Mulligans Tavern and Grill, surrounded by the low hum of conversation and mellow 80’s rock coming from the speakers, the mouth-watering scent of hot wings and fries in the air and drinks on the table.
The good news is that Mrs. Miller will be okay, antibiotics for the infection, rehydration and rest. They are concerned about her mental state, she’s been talking about shadows and demons cutting off her hand. And I can’t tell them she’s probably right.
Rose ran, flinging the door closed behind her and taking the stairs two at a time. Not bothering to lock the outside door she ran to the front street and her car, frantically trying to get the key in the lock and shrieking when a hand touched her shoulder.
Finally...a way to break free from the rules and restrictions imposed by her family, family…that’s rich, they were a coven, she was surrounded by women all day every day, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters. All of them so controlled, so boring, so weak.
Running through the long white hallway, dodging people and equipment, spotting Rose sitting outside a room.
“What happened, how is she?” panting slightly, “where’s the doctor?”
“She’ll be fine, they weren’t intending to kill her.
And I don’t know what to freak out about, you screaming at shadows with teeth that aren’t there, a kid chewing a finger, oh a dismembered finger, or hands without bodies. Oh! I know, how about an envelope full of hair and teeth. That’s probably enough spooky stuff to start with.
Rattling the keys and moving to the back of the house, “let’s get this done, I’ll check out the suite, yell if you find anything.”
The basement suite was accessed from outside, stepping out of the back door and looking around the lights from the kitchen showed a narrow path along the side of the house, leading to the back yard. A quick look revealed a snow-covered space, a dilapidated shed against the back fence, a rope swing hanging from a tree branch.
“Sir, sir, this was left at the desk.” Baxter rushed to intercept them, holding out a plain white envelope, “it’s not really addressed to you but look,” pointing at what was written on the front, “I’m sure it’s for you, I mean…look.”