Witches in Wonderland by J. D. Winters

Author:J. D. Winters [Winters, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-07-05T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Suddenly I remembered the map Rennie had given me, the self-guided tour of the official haunted houses. I’d stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans. Reaching back, I found it and pulled it out. The houses were plotted out graphically, very simple, very clear. I certainly didn’t have a better plan. Why not visit a few of these and see if ghosts of a feather flew together?

The closest one was only a block away and I started toward it. My cell phone rang as I turned the corner. Rennie’s name was on the screen.

“Hey girl,” I said. “So I guess you found your phone?”

“Huh? Oh, yes.”

“What’s new?”

“Have you seen Gordon?” she cried. “Or heard anything about him?”

“No.” I frowned. She sounded distraught. “Is he still missing?”

“I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve tried all his friends.”

“Well, he is a grown up now, isn’t he? Doesn’t he ever go off on his own for a time?”

“Yes, of course, but not when the sheriff wants to see him!”

“But if he doesn’t know the sheriff wants to see him…”

“Oh, that doesn’t help. They’re going to end up arresting him for murder if he doesn’t get over there and explain himself. If you see him, tell him to get his butt over to the Sheriff Station immediately.” And she rang off.

“Nice talking to you too,” I said to the empty air.

But I was in front of the first haunted house. It looked haunted in a phony, Halloween-decorations way. Styrofoam gravestones had been placed in the front yard and a giant, grinning plastic spider hung from the pear tree just inside the gate.

It didn’t look very lived in at the moment. I got out my rose colored stone and tried to be receptive—even did a little jig and hummed a little song-- but I got no sense of occupancy as far as the ghostly community was concerned. Then I went up and knocked on the door. A buzzer had been set up to send out eerie, spooky music once that buzzer was pressed, but no one came to greet me. Not even Hector.

I sighed and started off toward the next house, half a block away. It presented a more stately aspect to the world, all gingerbread and turrets and Victorian charm, nicely painted and decorated. But it too was empty. If Rennie’s project was such a roaring success, you’d think more of the haunted houses would be packed to the gills with happy scared tourists, but that didn’t seem to be happening. My stone didn’t show any sign of red, and my senses didn’t quiver.

I went around to the back, just to make sure I’d checked out everything, and as I came back toward the front, I noticed someone familiar across the street, pulling up into the driveway, then stepping out of her car and walking toward the back door of the house with a large package in her arms. It was our friendly neighborhood Ghost Keeper herself, Rosy Grenada.

My first thought was—oh, good—we can join forces looking for Hector.

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