“Smells like it, too,” Cat laughs.
“Right?” I say, flipping my left hand upside down and pointing her direction.
“Okay, before you get started, you should know, you may not like everything you find,” Colton says, placing his hands on the table and leaning in.
“Mmkay. Ominous,” I say.
“I just wanted to be up front,” he says, tilting his head. “There’s a lot down here and, well…whatever you find needs to come to you. Does that make sense?”
“So, is there anything you can actually just tell me? Or is this some sort of initiation kind of deal where I need to do it all on my own?” I ask, grabbing the back of a chair and pulling it out.
“A little of both, but first, it’s sorta better if you uncover a bit on your own. Because, well, you probably wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” he says.
My eyebrows tug in. What could they possible say to me that I wouldn’t believe? I go to a supernatural school and I’m surrounded daily by people with incredible gifts I could only dream of wielding.
I turn to Cat, who simply nods in agreement.
“All right. Hit me. What should I check out first?” I say, taking a seat.
“Uhm…” Colt says, twisting around and walking over to one of the shelves. He tilts his head to the side while his right pointer finger follows along the spines of the old books.
From here, I have no idea what on earth any of them say. Their etchings are worn and scrolled in a strange kind of typography I’ve never seen before.
“Ah, here it is,” he says, plucking one of the books out and walking it back to the table.
He places the huge book, nearly the size of a scrapbook, on the table and shoves it across the dust to me.
“Start here,” he says.
Cat pulls out the chair beside me, then casually drops into it. Her expectant gaze is hard to read.
Pulling the book to me, I run my hand along its worn binding. The brown leather on the front cover is completely blank, but the spine has words along it that have all but rubbed off.
Colt continues to pull books from the shelves, adding to a growing stack in the middle of the table. My eyes widen, but I shake my head and flip open the one he handed me.
Inside the first few brittle pages are handwritten scribblings in the margins. But I finally come to the title page that reads:
Windhaven est. 1786
“Is this some sort of history of Windhaven?” I ask, glancing up.
Cat nods, her face a furry of anticipation.
“Okay,” I begin. “Weird place to start.”
“Trust me, you’ll want to read this. It’s important,” Colton says, shifting the books aside to take a seat on the table beside me.
“You know there are hundreds of pages here, right? You’re not expecting me to read the whole—”
Cat giggles, “No, no. You’ll be able to skim it. The important pieces will jump at you. Trust me. It’s the way this goes.”
Scrunching my face, I narrow my eyes and turn back to the book.
She’s not wrong. The very first page pulls me up short as elements inside almost highlight themselves in a glowing light. To the right, in a large picture which as been clearly drawn, is a home that looks oddly familiar. The front façade is older and has slightly different architecture than it does now, but the resemblance is still undeniable.
“Is this my—?”
“Yes,” Cat says before I finish.
“Okay…” I say, staring at the black and white image.
A man and woman stand beside the front entry, their faces stoic and blank. The woman’s in a light-colored dress, and instantly conjures up images of the woman I saw laying on the entryway floor. In an upstairs bedroom, it almost looks as though children look out of the window.
What would make the artist draw things this way? Why would the children not be drawn with the adults?
I raise my hand, running my pointer finger gingerly over the woman. Could this be the same woman? And if so, am I losing my mind?
“That’s your great-great-great, who knows how many actual greats, grandmother,” Cat whispers with an air of reverence.
“Keep going,” Colton urges.
I flit my eyes to him, then back to the book. Turning the page gently, a more modern account, as if cut from a local newspaper, is enclosed in the pages.
The Blackwoods
The first residents of Windhaven, Warren and Abigail Blackwood, began construction on their estate in 1790 and it was completed in 1797. Their home stood as a monument and testament to those who considered venturing out into the wilderness the way they had. The Blackwoods were instrumental in developing the layout of the original town of Windhaven, as well as recruiting similar families for their small community. They had a vision they wanted to fulfill in establishing the small town. With Warren Blackwood’s innate ability to commune with the dead and Abigail’s gift of healing and regeneration, the couple had no trouble in accomplishing their vision. Unfortunately, Abigail met an untimely death in…
I stop reading and look up, horrified and confused.
Cat leans over and begins to read where I left off, as if she knew exactly what made me stop. “Unfortunately, Abigail Blackwood met an untimely death in 1800, just as the town was beginning to gain more residents and get itself established. She was found dead inside the residence, having fallen from the second-floor landing. Authorities were called in, but no evidence of foul play was found. Her death was ruled a suicide.”
I lean back in my chair, my memory flashing to the woman I saw, and the surprise and terror it invoked. Could I have actually seen her?
I glance up, looking both of them in the eye.
Should I tell them?
“Your great-grandmother met an untimely death, which is sorta sad itself. But that’s not the part we need you to read. Keep going,” Colt says.
Pushing away the surprise, I nod and continue to read out loud, “After the death of
