I stared up the hill at the shack that loomed at the top. The Whispering Shack was what people in my town called it. And it was kind of a major landmark. It was a run down farm house that had sat on that hill for as long as the town had existed. Whatever family or group that owned the house had steadfastly refused to sell the plot of land or demolish the house for generations now. No one lived there, and hell, I couldn’t even remember anyone even repairing the house. Even so, it’d managed to stand for forever and a day. But that didn’t explain why people thought it was haunted. 

And I was the dumbass who agreed to spend a night in the house for a dare. 

“You can do this Olly.” I tried to psych myself up. 

I wiped the sweat that I’d worked up on my bike ride over here and began my ascent, feeling gross. Midwest summers were always muggy and horrid. I hated how they made me sweat, and the smell that came with it. The hill was covered in knee-high unkempt grass, which made trudging up it an unfun task. Seriously, why had I agreed to this dare? The setting sun cast eerie shadows across the town, and the wind lazily moving through the grass made it sway with a life of its own. As I placed one foot in front of the next, I remembered some of the stories I’d been told about the shack.

The house had been built by a pair of sisters, but they were chased from the town when rumors of them sharing an incestuousrelationship began to spring forth. They disappeared and left the house empty. Decades later, someone had seen lights on in the house and heard women laughing, but by the time they got there to investigate, it was already empty. Years after that, a woman came down the hill and traded a heaping pile of small jewels for several days worth of supplies. She seemed pleasant at the time, according to the man who ran the store, and he let his daughter escort her back to the house. But neither of the women were seen again, and the owner shouted witchcraft to anyone who’d listen until he died. Over the decades since, there have been people who’ve claimed to see lights or hear sounds. The majority of the time it’s just people making shit up or seeing teenagers… doing what I was about to do. But there was still an aching air of wrongness about a few of the stories. 

I wiped my forehead again and miserated the heat. I always hated sweating, it made me smell terrible and made me feel inimically horrid about my relative lack of fitness. Like, I wasn’t fat, but I hated my body as I’m sure a lot of other teenagers do, which made it a challenge to work out. I looked up at the house again now that I was halfway up the hill. It was a two story house made of wood and brick with a nice little front porch on the front. If it had ever been properly cleaned up, it would have honestly been a very cute building, but over decades all the wood had blackened with age.

I rolled my eyes  when I noticed that someone had hung a few fake animal bone charms in the ivy on the porch. A small pile of cigarette butts and beer cans was stacked by a corner of the house from some teenage escapade years ago. Most of the windows were intact, albeit cracked. However one window near the front was broken and had an uncomfortable brown stain on a few of the shards. I felt anxiety well in my gut, but I choked it down and continued forward. 

I peered through the window and saw more or less what I expected. A run-down empty house. Leaves and dust covered everything. Some scraps of fur and bone in a corner made me think a fox lived here, and I heard the scuttering of some kind of animal from the second floor. 

Bile filled my throat as I stepped towards the porch. I just did not understand why I was feeling so sick. It’s not like I believed all of those ghost stories, but still something was eating at me. It felt like the house exuded a presence. Like it didn’t want me here. I swallowed my anxiety once again and stepped onto the porch, or more accurately, through it. As soon as I stepped onto the wood platform my foot went through a rotten plank. A rusted nail sat millimeters from my ankle, embedded in the ground with its point bent at a slight angle. If I’d been even slightly off balance I’d have wound up in the emergency room. 

With a relieved sigh, I pulled my foot out and stepped fully onto the porch. I tested my foot on each plank as I crept forward. Thankfully the wood held my weight and I approached the door. I let my hand knock simply out of muscle memory and I waited patiently for someone to answer. 

After an uncomfortably long amount of time I smacked my face as I realized how much of an idiot I was. This is obviously a front door. You knock on the front doors and wait to be let in. I was very smart. I shook my head and opened the door.

~

I don’t know what was more startling, the fact that I was now looking into a well-lit, air conditioned, and clean living room instead of the dusty and empty room I’d seen moments earlier, or seeing an unbelievably pretty girl standing in the middle of this room with a bowl of granola. She had the spoon half way in her mouth and was staring at me slack-jawed. She was wearing a long t-shirt with a college logo on it and pajama pants. Her brown hair was wrapped in a somewhat messy bun, but a few strands of hair had gotten lose and framed her face in a cute way. 

She swallowed her spoonful of cereal and did a weird motion with her hand. “Go outside, wait a few seconds, then try the door again.” Her words washed over me like a spring breeze. I’m not being metaphorical here either. I literally felt the words touch me. 

“Why?” 

Her bowl hit the floor and shattered into a mess of ceramic and granola as she stared at me. Her expression had shifted to horrified confusion.

“Uh…” Her brain seemed short-circuit. 

“Are you ok? I’m really sorry for barging in, I didn’t think anyone lived here.” We stood there staring at each other for an awkward amount of time. “I’ll, uh… I’ll go ahead and leave then.” 

“No!” Granola girl jumped to try to stop me. She motioned at a chair. “Please, sit there. I’ll make us some tea.” I carefully stepped over the shattered bowl and sat in the seat she pointed to. As I shifted, she stared at the floor and held her hands out with a faint green glow emanating from them. She whispered something under her breath and the shards of the bowl flew off the floor into her hand. As the pieces touched they stitched back together, the granola followed shortly after. Without a word she turned and left me in the room, with her re-formed bowl of cereal.

I sat on the chair with what I assume was a completely stupid expression on my face. It was a stunned half smile that was equal parts confusion and shock. It took about another thirty seconds before I felt panic well in my stomach. What. The. Fuck. I had just seen first-hand proof of magic. And this girl could cast magic. That’s neat. She could probably kill me with a flick of her fingers. I began screaming internally while maintaining that stupid expression. I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I ever stopped. 

The room around me was very homely, with a rustic charm. The fireplace on the wall next to me was lit with a comforting warmth emanating from it, despite the heat outside. The walls were covered in pictures and knick knacks, a couple horseshoes here, some pressed flowers placed in a frame there. Above the fire was a beautiful painting of a forested cliff on the edge of an ocean. The wood floor was covered in a yellow and red woven rug that could have probably used a good vacuuming. The wall opposite the fire was just shelves with hundreds of books, most looking weathered and old. The term “grimoire” popped into my mind. 

Across from me was a leather couch that looked like it’d seen better days. A few burns here, stains there. One cushion seemed to be mostly patches. There were a few cute decorative pillows on the couch and a quilt draped over its back. In the center of the room was a coffee table with a binder open on it. It kinda looked like homework, but this homework had odd sigils and symbols that if my mom saw, she’d declare as satanic and probably go complain to someone at church about it.

The girl returned to the room sans granola, but now with two steaming mugs. The one she handed to me had the word “Witch” painted on the side, but the first letter was crossed out and a “B” was painted below it. “It’s peppermint.” 

She sat down on the couch opposite me and gave me a look that seemed somewhere between concerned and angry. I sipped awkwardly at the tea and looked at the bookshelf again. 

“So what are you?” She asked to break the silence. I continued my staring at the wall and tried to ignore her eyes burning into me. God, her eyes were pretty. I mentally smacked myself. Now is not the time, Olly.  

“What?” Good response, me. I forced my gaze back onto the woman.

“How did you get in here? No one should have been able to get past our enchantments. Are you a seer? If you are, you’re the most powerful seer I’ve ever seen. Which Brand do you belong to?

“Ok, look, you’re throwing a lot of words at me and expecting me to know what they mean. Let’s pretend I’m an idiot who has no idea what’s going on. Okay?”

She considered me with a raised eyebrow. “Pretend?”

“Ha ha” I responded flatly, and I noticed her lips flick into a smile for a moment. 

“Well, you’re a seer. Non-magical people who can see magic. And are occasionally,” she throws a side eye glare at the door, “unaffected by it. Who are your parents?”

“Bill and Melissa Coyler. We live down in town.” 

She furrowed her brows before hopping up and pulling a book from the bookshelf. She flicked through the pages, waving her hand in annoyance. “No, that's impossible... Have they changed their name at all? Who are your mother’s parents? Your father’s?” 

“I don’t know and I don’t know. Both of their parents died before I was adopted-” The girl slammed the book shut and I jumped at the clap. She stormed over to me, and I did the only thing that felt natural in the moment: took another sip of tea. 

“You could have mentioned that.” 

“Well I didn’t know it was relevant.“

“Of course it’s relevant! Seers are hereditary.” 

“I thought we already established that I was an idiot.” 

She groaned and rubbed her face before plopping back down on the couch. I took another sip of the tea. It was honestly really good tea. A question formed on the edges of my mind. 

“So uh, ma’am-” 

“Fern” 

“Fern. What kind of magic do you have outside this place then?. Because it looked abandoned when I got here.” 

“It’s an illusion enchantment , and a minor transport spell on the door. Any human who gets near the place will feel super uncomfortable and see an abandoned house. If they try to come in, they get sent out in the woods somewhere and forget they ever tried to come in.”

“Oh, that’s neat.”

Fern sat upright and looked at me again. She muttered to herself again, and I vaguely heard the words “Wildling” and “Impossible”. She stood up again and her face shifted. “What’s your name, boy?” I flinched involuntarily at the term and mentally chided myself for doing so. 

“Oliver Coyler. People call me Olly.” It felt wrong saying that, and not even in the normal way.

“When were you born? And tell me your address.”

“We think early January, 1997. And 521 East River Road.” The words sprang from my lips unbidden and I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop any more from spilling out. “What did you do to me?”

“I gave you a minor truth potion. Because I really am not happy with you breaking into my domain and interrupting my studying time. I needed to make sure that I didn’t need to call anyone to deal with you. Now, I have finals to study for. So could you please get out. 

My brain, being the wonderful thing that it is, decided to respond with “but I was dared to spend the night in here.” 

Fern glared at me again, and I noticed a fire glowing behind her eyes. “Then you failed the fucking bet. This is my house. Now get out” There was an odd echo in her voice, and she yanked me up by my shirt. I would have been surprised at her strength if she hadn’t immediately shoved me towards the door. 

“I’ll, uh, be leaving then.” 

Her expression flickered again. “Wait, Oliver… Show me your arm. Your left arm” At this point I was very confused, but I obliged the scary lady. Fern pulled my sleeve up and pressed firmly onto a spot just below my shoulder. She stared at the spot for a few seconds before letting my arm go. “Yeah, just like I thought. Impossible. Go home now. Someone may show up in a few days to figure out your seer situation. But for now. Just leave me alone, ok?” 

“Yeah, sorry about bursting in again.” She slammed the door in my face. The sun had already dipped past the horizon but the heat of the day still lingered in the air, and I immediately felt myself beginning to sweat again. I heard a bird caw from some tree in the distance as I walked down the hill, and it was answered by an owl. Night was quickly falling. 

~ 

I retrieved my bike from where I’d locked it and began the trek home. I could have just ridden home, but the cooling air soothed me, and I felt the need to process. Magic was real. I was a seer. That’s actually kind of cool. It felt nice to feel special. I’d always been middling in school, and I was never particularly great at any hobby I tried my hand at. Maybe there’s like a college for seers. I’d just graduated from high school a few weeks ago, so it’d be a nice next step. Or maybe I’ll be taken in by like my actual family. Wouldn’t that be wild. I chuckled to myself as I turned down my street. 

I heard my neighbor before I saw her. Her squeaky rocking chair on her front porch was kind of a mainstay for our street. And she was out there every evening during the warmer months. Miss Belinda was an elderly italian woman who’d lived across the street for as long as I’d known. I’d heard a few of the neighbor kids joke that she was permanently old and could never die, and she never did anything to acquit those rumors. She acted as a surrogate grandmother for everyone and was always pleasant for a conversation, if you had the time in the evenings.   

She smiled at me when she saw me walk down the sidewalk. “Ah, my child. How have you been this evening?” Her accent had nearly faded with her years spent in America, and I remember how she once commented that she wouldn’t be able to sing opera again without it. Because you simply couldn’t sing it properly without one, evidently. 

“I’ve been fine, Miss Belina. Isn’t it a bit late for you right now?” 

She shook her head. “Nonsense. I was waiting for you.” 

“Did Mom ask you to watch for me?” 

She shook her head again. “No, child. I remember it is your birthday soon, yes?” 

I nod a bit sheepishly, “Tomorrow, yeah.”  

“How many years has that been? Eighteen now? Time is difficult to read as you get older.” She racked out a laugh that sounded more like a cough and stood up, grabbing a cane that was leaning against the wall. “Come help me inside. I have made a cake for you. This is a momentous time for you. It would be good to talk. Have you had dinner?”

“No, I’ll just grab a sandwich when I’m home-” Miss Belina poked me with her cane to silence me. 

“Nonsense child. I shall make you something. Please, please, come inside.” She held the gate open for me and I stowed my bike just inside, before opening her door to help her in. She smiled at me once she stepped through; it was a grandmotherly smile that always made me feel warm and safe. I closed the door behind her, and threw the deadbolt. 

“You would have been such a gentleman, child.” She gave me a curious look, before adding “Were this a different age.”

Her comment threw me. I’d never really wanted to grow up to be a gentleman, and honestly the thought scared me. I steered myself and gave her a cheeky grin as I guided her to the kitchen. “Is that some snide comment about how uncivilized kids are these days?” 

She returned my grin in spades. “Yes, of course. All of these hooligans and their telephones. Now, sit yourself down and I shall prepare you supper.” She began moving through her kitchen with an odd grace for someone her age. This kitchen was her territory and she knew it well. She fetched several jars of varying sizes from the ornate cabinets and a package of meat from her refrigerator and began emptying them into a pot that she had left on the stove. As she stirred the ingredients together, I let the familiar environment seep into my soul. 

This was a familiar place. My family had enjoyed numerous dinners here over the years. Everyone in our street did. All of the hand-carved furniture was old, but well manicured, and a faint cinnamon smell would often linger in the air. The walls were painted earthy colors: green in the kitchen, brown in the sitting room. There were jars and cans scattered all over her kitchen, mostly vegetables that she tended in her garden and canned herself. There were few ornaments or decorations around the house, but she kept a vase of rowan flowers on the sill of each window. I couldn’t tell you how she got them throughout the year, as they were always fresh. Old lady powers probably. I closed my eyes and let the smell of the soup waft over me. 

My stomach decided it was rather hungry at that moment and gurgled loudly. Miss Belina chuckled from the stove. “My child, it sounds as though a sandwich would not have sufficed. It is good you came by, yes?” She laughs again and I chuckle with her. 

“You know you can just call me Oliver, right?” I said, running my hands through my hair. “I’m getting older. It just kind of feels weird to always be called ‘child’.” 

She whipped around to look at me. “No, I have been with you for every step of your life. I have helped raise you. And you are young yet. You shall always be my child, even if not by blood.” She pulled a ceramic bowl from another cabinet and began ladeling the soup into it. “Plus, you do not like your name. I see the way you flinch. Now, eat, child. You must grow.” She slid the bowl in front of me. 

“My name’s just fine, thank you very much.” The words felt hollow before I’d even finished saying them. I stared down at the soup, and a brief moment of suspicion found its way into my brain. “And this is just soup, right? I had something weird today, and… I don’t know. Life just feels out of whack right now.” 

She sat down in the chair across from me and smiled at me, a wide smile, disarmingly kind. “No, I would not give you anything except food without you or your parent knowing.” 

I tested the soup. It was delicious, as expected. A simple vegetable and beef soup. My stomach rumbled again and I began eating it as quickly as I could. Miss Belina watched me eat and a sadness crept into the edge of her eyes. I stopped my slurping for a moment. 

“Is everything ok, Miss Belina?” 

She nodded and the sadness was gone, instantly replaced by the usual soft kindness. We sat like that for several minutes, her watching me, and me enjoying her amazing soup. I realized I hadn’t actually had dinner with her like this in some time. And my heart ached as the thought crossed my mind. She must have seen something in my face because she leaned forward somewhat. 

“What is on your mind, my child?” 

“Sorry. I just realized how long it’s been since I was over. I kinda feel bad about it. I know I missed your big birthday dinner this year.”

She smiled at me again, her disarming one. “Do not worry, child. You are here now. But I sense there is something else on your mind. Tell me.” 

I stopped eating for a moment and looked out the window at my house across the street. I stopped and started speaking what felt like a hundred times, my mind never quite grasping on the threads of what I wanted to ask. 

“Do you believe in magic? Like actual magic? Like witches and wizards and things?” I finally blurted out. 

She considered my question for what seemed like an eternity. I returned to my soup in the lull. “Yes, I suppose I do. There are many things in this world that your science and technology cannot explain… There are places in this world, where old magic rests. They are few and far between, but they do exist.” 

“Do you… do you know what a seer is?” 

She froze, but after a pause she reached out and held my hand gently. “My child, do you think you are a seer?”

“I… kind of met someone who said that that’s what I was. It’s a girl, she’s living up in that old haunted house.”

Miss Belina smiled at me again. “I do not believe you are a seer, my darling. But I am just an old woman, who am I to know?” A conspiratorial flint flashed into her eyes and disappeared a moment later. 

“Wait, how do you know about magic? How much do you know?” I had so many questions and I wanted them all answered right now.

She winked at me. “I am very old, darling. You do not get to my age without having seen the wonders this world can offer. We may talk later.” Her deflection cut me, but the hope that I’d be able to talk to her about whatever was going on was enough to keep me from commenting. She looked around the kitchen for a moment, before her gaze settled on a white box tucked in the corner of her counter. “Now, let me give you the cake I have made. You may share it with your family tomorrow. But it is time you got home, yes? I have already kept you far later than I should have already.” She got up from the table without looking at me and retrieved the box. I don’t want to say she shoved it into my hands, but that was the sensation I got from it. She gave me a light hug then asked if I could show myself out. She returned to the table and looked out the window pensively. 

Taking my cue, I let her be and headed home, waving at her through the window. 

~

All the lights were still off when I got home, which told me that my parents were still gone. Both of them were music teachers for local schools, and some convention in Michigan had called them away for the weekend. They were supposed to be home this afternoon, but I wasn’t too worried. Their car was a junker and I wouldn’t be too surprised if it’d broken down on their drive back. I shot them a quick text as I tossed the cake in the fridge, just to make sure everything was on the up and up. 

A few minutes later, my phone dinged. 

Mom: Hey, buddy. Something came up and we have to stay the night in Detroit. I assume you had dinner with Miss Belina because she said she would feed you so don't order pizza. We both love you very much. We’ll miss you.

It was odd of her to end her texts that way; it felt too final. I felt the weight of the past evening beginning to press into my mind, and I instantly felt like something was wrong. 

Oliver: Is everything ok? Can you call?

I hit send as I raced up the stairs.My room was a somber affair. I’ve never felt the need to cover my walls in posters or decorations, so the walls are depressingly bare. Clothes and detritus littered my floor and I winced when I realized my parents had told me to clean my room before they got home. I was suddenly thankful for their sojourn in Detroit. I loved my parents, adopted or not, but they were always a stickler about keeping my room clean. 

I was honestly thankful they gave me as much leeway as they did. I never really had a curfew, provided I texted them. They never pushed me to try out for sports (thank God) or even forced me to go to church. They seemed like the kind of parents who did a massive amount of weed in college, but mellowed out considerably once they graduated. It was the least I could do to clean my room. 

I flopped backwards onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling as everything began to crash into me. Magic was real. Holy shit. And I was… something. A seer? Who knows? I felt my breathing stop as the implications of this dawned on me. Perhaps they could- no. I quickly stamped that thought down. It’s inappropriate. I fell asleep like that, at least for a few hours. I hadn’t even realized I was that tired. 

I woke back up just before midnight. As I groggily sat up on the bed and noticed my blanket had fallen off my mirror again. I told myself that I put it there to block the sun, which reflected right off the mirror and into my eyes when I was sleeping. My parents had asked why I didn’t just move the mirror or my bed, but that felt like such a drastic thing to do when I could just put a blanket over the problem. In all honesty, I just hated my reflection. It was ugly. I was a dumpy white boy and honestly that sucked. I felt like there was nothing I could do to look good. And my reflection haunted me with that. It stared back at me with its depressed eyes. Too flabby to be hot. Too wrong-shaped to be attractive. I sighed in disgust and tried to look everywhere but the mirror. 

I winced at my reflection again as I got up and grabbed the blanket to put back over the piece of furniture. As I reached down, the bell tower in the catholic church down the street began to strike the chimes of midnight. 

With the first chime, pain exploded in my chest. I cried out and fell over, writhing as waves of agony poured through my body. With the second, my lungs managed to function again and I sucked in as much air as I could in that brief moment. By the third chime, I found I could stand the pain. It felt as though my heart had been replaced with a car battery, but if I grit my teeth I could sit up.

As the fourth chime peeled across the town, the pain redoubled but I willed myself to ignore it. My hand clutched my neck, feeling for a pulse. I choked in relief as the consistent beating met my fingers. I wasn’t dead yet. The fifth chime found its way through the pain and something broke inside of me. A sense of wrongness flared within me and I instantly knew I couldn’t be in this house. Something bad was happening, and a gut instinct told me to leave. I managed to make it to my stairs by the sixth chime. As the bell tolled, something audibly snapped where my heart should have been. Blue energy began to pore over my skin like little crackles of lightning. Everywhere they touched burned and I screamed again. 

I stumbled out of my home and nearly collapsed on the sidewalk. I dragged myself forward, unsure of where I was supposed to go. As the final chimes from the church rolled through the street, the pain dimmed. It didn’t disappear, and the flickers of lightning stilled burned with every spot they danced over, but I could catch my breath. With that brief moment of rest, I looked at Miss Belina’s house. The lights were off and I had a sinking feeling she wouldn’t be any help. There was only one place I could go. 

I turned towards the hill with the haunted shack on it. She had to help me. I just knew she had to.