Legend of Witchtrot Road by E.J. Stevens Page B

said.
    I could feel my brow wrinkle and twisted my pajama top between my fists in frustration. Why did the spirits who actual y spoke to me have to speak in riddles?
    “Your wolf is a strong protector, but even great warriors have weaknesses however smal ,” said the scarab. “Lady Moon holds sway over your wolf each month. Beware those who may do you harm, whether they be mortal or spirit, when your wolf runs beneath the light of the moon.” I felt a chil run up my spine and goose bumps sprout on my arms. My spirit guide had a point.
    “I’l be careful,” I said. “I won’t let you down.”
    “Do not worry about letting me down, child,” said the scarab. “Worry about those who are lost in the darkness.” The scarab waved her arms and I turned to look behind me. The air shimmered and blurred to show hundreds of ghosts wandering the in between realm. The feeling that emanated from them was sadness so deep it bordered on despair.
    I could look at their torment no longer. Brushing tears from my eyes, I turned back to face the scarab.
    “Think of how much suffering your untimely death would bring to these lost souls,” said the scarab.
    Untimely death? I definitely didn’t like the sound of that.
    “So, um, are you trying to tel me something?” I asked.
    “Like, am I going to die?”
    “Maybe, maybe not,” said the scarab. “I am only your guide. I do not have the gift of far sight, but I have heard whispers on the wind and I have watched you as your powers have developed. Heed my warning, little one. Do not rely solely on your wolf warrior to protect you.” The scarab turned away and I took that as my cue to leave. There wasn’t a way out that I could see and I didn’t want to turn around in case the lost spirits were stil visible behind me. I considered asking for directions, but just then I heard a shrieking sound and woke up.
    My ears were fil ed with a high pitched wailing, but I smiled rather than hide under my pil ow. I was actual y happy to hear my morning alarm—it meant that I was home.
    I turned off the alarm, feeling a teensy bit guilty about letting it run so long on a Sunday morning. Sundays were the only day of the week that my parents could sleep in.
    Sorry.
    I slipped into my smiling skul slippers and padded downstairs to the kitchen. The least I could do was make breakfast. I poured water into the coffee maker, remembering what my mom’s note had said yesterday.
    You never met Grandma Stennings, but she always suffered terrible headaches.
    My headaches were caused by smel impressions—
    the stronger the smel impression, the worse the headache became. According to my mom, Grandma Stennings used to get terrible headaches. Was it possible that my grandmother had been able to smel the dead too? It was definitely something to look into.
    Maybe I inherited my psychic gift from my dad’s family.
    It would be awesome to learn more about my unique talent.
    Perhaps I could find some riddle-free answers in the boxes of Grandma’s stuff in the attic.
    My spirit guide wasn’t being al that helpful. It wasn’t like how they made it seem in Shaman Camp. Cal dragged me to Shaman Camp the first time to discover our spirit guides. It was muddy, buggy, and way too touchy feely. I also wasn’t too happy about being told that my spirit animal was a dung beetle, especial y when everyone else received cool guides like wolves, bears, eagles, and bunnies. Why couldn’t I get something cute and furry? Oh no, I get a giant bug that disturbs my sleep and speaks in riddles. Lucky me.
    When we returned to Shaman Camp the second time, looking for answers about my emerging gift, I had a private session with the head shaman. Cal somehow arranged the whole thing, but it wasn’t as swanky as it sounds. I guess it’s an honor to be invited to sit at the head shaman’s fire, but it was just as muddy and buggy as my first trip to Shaman Camp. The news I received was just as discouraging as the first time. Not