DeadTimes by Yvonne Navarro

Author:Yvonne Navarro [Navarro, Yvonne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press

They hadn't taken anything, at least as far as Myra could tell. She had an excellent knowledge of everything in her place, since she had to know immediately if she already had all the right ingredients to turn away a trick, like today, or make up a new charm. Myra hadn't paid much attention to regular personal possessions since the fire; as a result she didn't own much in the way of clothes: a couple of shifts made from donated fabric, a slip, a few pair of underwear. A quick search accounted for everything, including her towel and washcloth, and her one set of sheets. The only shoes she owned were the sandals on her feet. She knew better than to ever leave hair or nail clippings where someone else could get to them.

That left little besides Myra's storehouse of herbs, powders and mixes from the swamp, but even there nothing seemed amiss—and besides, all these roots and such were generally used on other folks, not herself. The whole thing was spooky, knowing someone had been here, knowing someone had gone through her things, but not understanding why. She couldn't begin to guess if one of the jujus of straw and herbs was missing, but again that didn't matter; they weren't personalized to anyone yet and they were all white magic anyway, nothing that could be twisted around.

What then? Myra went over her "inventory" again but still couldn't make a connection, and for the first time in weeks the troublesome question of her killer reared again in her mind. The attacker was still unknown and, presumably, lived in town. Was he—or she—finally getting ready to strike again? What would have happened had she been her for the person's visit? She shuddered.

After a third and final search, she shook her head in defeat. Her bag of rice was open and almost empty, and to be safe Myra tossed it in the corner to be disposed of later and opened a new one. As she fixed a light supper of seasoned rice and hot sauce—there had been no time to hunt in the swamp for turtle or frogs' legs today—she wondered if it had simply been one of the children from town, looking around inside her shack on a dare from friends, outright bold but too nervous to actually steal anything. That might explain why nothing seemed to be missing, but her sense of balance, of self, was disturbed and Myra knew she was not wrong. Someone had been inside her home and, more important, had done something.

But what?

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