Welcome to Wednesday's Words where I share a snippet from one of my stories using yesterday's word from the New York game Wordle. Yesterday's Wordle was PIANO.
The moon cast an eerie glow upon the worn bricks and faded sign of the old mortuary. A wrought-iron gate creaked open.
A grizzled-haired man stooped with age and clad in a tattered cloak greeted us. “Welcome to the realm of the macabre,” he said in a voice that spoke of years of tobacco abuse. He held an inverted top hat by the rim for Jamie to drop his donation into.
I moved for my wallet, but Jamie stopped me. “I got this. You didn’t even want to come.”
True story.
“This probably isn’t a very good time to tell you that I’ve never been very brave,” I admitted, wrapping my hand around Jamie’s arm.
“Really?” Jamie asked. “That surprises me.”
“Why?”
“Well, because you came all the way to Cascadia, a town that no one knows, from Mexico! By yourself! I don’t know what made you do that, but I think it took a lot of courage.”
“Maybe it was scarier to stay.”
Jamie placed his hand over mine. “You don’t need to be scared here. This place is run by the local senior center. Everyone is harmless.”
Together we climbed the steps. Inside, the air was thick with must and billowing mist. Dim, flickering lights illuminated the narrow hallway, and cast long, dancing shadows along peeling wallpaper. Cobwebs lined the corners, and dust particles danced in the glow. Antique furniture draped in dusty sheets lined the passage. A chilling breeze swept by as a distant door opened and closed.
Another attendant with a lace shawl draped over her shoulders, gave us a wicked smile. Her wrinkled hands held a flickering candle that cast an eerie shadow on her faces.
We ventured deeper. Lifelike mannequins dressed in vintage funeral attire stood frozen, their hollow eyes following our movements. The attendants, with theatrical flair, whispered among themselves.
In the front parlor, the haunting melody of an old piano drifted through the air. The knitting circle, a group of senior ladies dressed in black, huddled near a potbellied stove, their needles clacking. Cobweb-covered candelabras, faded funeral bouquets, and antique furniture filled the room.
Jamie and I exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of where to go next.
One of the old ladies looked up, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, young dearies, you've stumbled upon our little sanctuary. Care to join us for a seance?"
"No, thank you.” Jamie steered me back out into the hall. “We'll just, um, continue our tour."
This place gives me the creeps," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the distant creaking of floorboards.
Jamie chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, Belle. It's just a bit of fun. What could go wrong in a place like this?"
We moved through the narrow hallways, guided only by the flickering light of vintage chandeliers swinging overhead. Dust particles floated in the air, catching the light.
We rounded a corner, and the door to the embalming room groaned open. Stainless steel tables, now draped with moth-eaten cloth, lined the room. Antique embalming tools were displayed in a glass case, their once-sharp edges now dulled by time.
I tried not to sprint the exit. I breathed easier once we were outside. Orange lights strung overhead lit booths where locals sold pumpkins, painted gourds, and crafts. A man dressed like a vampire played The Addams Family Theme song on an accordion.
I willed myself to relax. “It was silly to be such a scaredy cat.” But those words just made me think of Scout and I shivered.
“Are you alright?” Jamie asked, sounding more concerned than the situation deserved.
“Of course.” I added a chuckle to be more convincing.
“Young Haywood!” An elderly woman dressed in a raggedy wedding gown toddled toward us. “Can you help me?”
“Of course, Mrs. Pearson.” Jamie stood up taller. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s Hector. He’s climbed a tree and refuses to come down.” Mrs. Pearson waved her arms in distress. “I think the haunted house has him spooked.”
“You’ll be okay if I help Hector?” Jamie whispered in my ear.
I thought of pointing out that he wasn’t on duty, but reconsidered. What harm could come to me here? “Of course. Go! Save the cat!”
Jamie dropped a kiss on my cheek, before hurrying after Mrs. Pearson. I raised my hand to wear Jamie had kissed me and a tingle traveled through my fingers, down my arm, and settled in my belly.
He was too good to be true. He was much too good to be lied to.
“Excuse me, how much is this?” A woman about my age wearing a witch’s hat and a long black dress held up a gourd for the man in the booth to see.
“Seven dollars,” he answered.
I stared at the woman. “Faith?”
She flashed me a glance. “What? This is hardly the place to preach your religion.”
“I’m not…sorry.” My thoughts stammered. “I thought you were someone else. Faith. Faith Taggart.”
The woman gave me a frown, paid for the gourd and moved away.
Feeling awkward, I bought a cup of hot apple cider from a woman stirring a smoking cauldron, and sat on a hay bale to wait for Jamie to return.
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