It’s almost here!

Agatha listened wearily on the secret staircase going up to the mothball filled air of the attic and thought “in the darkness, it will be found” a phrase that has come to her again and again since the move with her two sisters from the Virginia woods. Gone is her forest, a home to ancient trees that housed spirits and animals that responded to her with keen awareness. Feeling her way in the dark, she tried to remember a time when she didn’t feel the pain of loss. Loss of loved ones, loss of her old, stone cottage covered in ivy that produced berries for the birds in winter. Her home, she left, vibrated with bees collecting nectar from the flowering vines. The marsh that glowed green from the natural gases produced by rotting vegetation cutting off oxygen and the mist that danced above the still water creating ethereal shapes. During the dark moons she would listen to the chorus of frogs that guided her into a nightly meditation. The swamp allowed the darker aspect of nature to freely express itself without judgment. 

Pricking her finger on the splintered handrail brought her back to the present. Sharp, like a thistle, it produced 3 round droplets of blood, without much light, resembled little lady bugs crawling on the wood.

The task at hand was to figure out what was causing that sound. The noise stopped, then started again, rattle, rattle, scrape. The stillness of the staircase is causing too much lamenting about the past. Abandoning the search to discover the cause of the sound, Agatha descended downstairs, looking for her sisters, Annabelle lee, they call Tooley who is 9, and Mirabelle, they call Belle is 12 years old.

Tooley was in the linen cupboard reading by a sliver of sunlight projecting itself onto her book. Agatha opened the door wide. Tooley, with the audacity of an irritated adult, peered above her glasses at Agatha and asked “Well did you find the source of that noise?” Agatha answered her with a stern look and pointed finger, ushering Tooley out of the cabinet. “The sun doesn't linger this time of year and nor shall we, it’s time for the candles to be lit and start dinner, said Agatha."

Their first night in the new house, Tooley was excited. “Surely there will be stories to tell when we gather around the table!” She loved a good mystery, and this house was full of them. The strangest was the disappearance of the bride and groom that had this house built. Last seen on a ship coming back to America from Ireland.  All their luggage returned to the house without them. Agatha gave Tooley a look of weaponized empathy to dampen her morbid curiosity. A survivor of tuberculosis, Tooley was granted some leave of manners from time to time, released from the responsibility of proper communication and commonly spoke in riddles and rhymes. After dinner they would go up to the attic together to investigate.

The three girls took up their candles and walked single file up the witches’ staircase, Witches’ stairs have alternating treads that are spaced out in what appears to be a checkered formation. It’s rumored that they were designed in the 17th century to keep the witches out, that somehow it was hard for witches to ascend these stairs. This was obviously false. The attic air was thick and still, devoid of energy. The moon lit up the ceiling and walls as it peeked through the windows, bringing with it strange shadows. The spider webs gleamed, clinging to the 20-foot-high roof beams. The girls carefully navigated the rooms packed with antique belongings of the bride and groom. Coming upon a locked door, they could feel a strange power. A rusty key hung on a beam, allowing them to enter. As they opened the door the chilled air showed their breath. In the mist and dust an old steamer trunk revealed itself.

They looked at each other in apprehension, all three opening the trunk at once.

...and that's where they found them. Holding each other, their bony fingers intertwined, preserved almost perfectly, possibly by the salty air and the trunk's airtight seal, two skeletons dressed in decay. The bride's tulle and lace dress, now yellowed and the groom’s tuxedo crumbled under the weight of the oxygen, exposing their fragile bones. Tooley recited a line from Shakespeare “May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest”

Was the sound they had been hearing the spirits of the bride and groom? Was it murder? A love pact? Was there some secret that held happiness in death for them, an eternal rest together? Whatever the cause, it is buried in the depths of the ocean. The truth of their deaths might forever elude the sisters.

Hidden among the tattered belongings was a spell book. They were witches, bound by tradition and duty. Somehow, they knew This book was their birthright.

Reaching out with a shaky hand Belle opened the book slowly. As she did, words in the air glowed and hovered above and then slowly settled on the page. this wasn’t just a book. It was a doorway, a portal. Each was feeling the power of the book radiating through them, a kind of raw energy. They felt connected to something bigger.

The sisters knew then that they would share their gifts with the community. Inviting everyone to discover the strength in incantations and meditations. Teaching people about potions and herbs. Encouraging people to take stock in the beauty of nature and the synergy of life that surround them. That every day is full of enchantment and everyone has power over their lives.

Their journey had just begun.

The future remains full of new magic and wonder.