The Trouble With Witches by Shirley Damsgaard Page A

looked for what I'd touched, but nothing was in sight. Only an old, abandoned cabin, sitting in a clearing about fifty feet from where I stood.
    I remembered Rick's map of the Butler estate. Had he drawn a cabin this far away from the main house? I didn't think so. And all the cabins he'd drawn were inhabited. Eyeing the cabin, I didn't think anyone could be living in it. Sections of rafters peeked out from holes in the roof. The main door hung crookedly from rusted hinges, and on either side of it, windows, their panes broken, stared out toward the clearing. Two steps, with the treads half gone, led to a sagging front porch. And along the porch ran a wooden railing with several posts missing. It reminded me of a smiling mouth with several teeth missing.
    Ghost lights. Abandoned cabin. Was this where Fred Albert, Violet's brother, spent his last days?
    I took another step forward, only to be shocked again. But by what?
    Perplexed, I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, while I studied the ground at my feet. Could there be some kind of invisible fencing buried in the ground? Like the ones people used to keep their dogs in their yards? No, an invisible fence only worked with a collar that acted like a receiver. But maybe my psychic talent acted the same way.
    Kneeling, I picked up a stick and dug at the ground, but the hard-packed dirt snapped the stick in two. When the stick broke, the smell of cedar filled the air. I sat back on my heels and examined the broken end. I took a deep breath.
    Yup, definitely cedar.
    My eyes skimmed the clearing, but I didn't see any cedar trees. Examining the ground around me, I saw another stick to my right, then another to my left. The sticks seemed to be in a pattern. Standing, I followed the trail of cedar sticks. They ringed the cabin. And with the sticks, in regular intervals, lay bundles of leaves, tied in the middle with rough string.
    I didn't need to smell the bundles. I recognized the leaves by their silver-gray color. Sage. One of Abby's favorite herbs.
    No way. This couldn't be a piece of Abby's work. She hadn't been at the lake long enough to do something like this. But if not Abby, then who? And why?
    I stood and took a calming breath. Opening my mind, I sent a tentative finger of energy toward the circle of cedar. I felt a shock, but not as strong. I tried again, only instead of a finger of energy, I pushed with both hands against what felt like an invisible wall.
    The wall seemed to bend inward against my hands while the scent of cedar grew stronger.
    I shoved harder this time, and felt the wall crack.
    Warmth seeped out and enfolded me with soft, gentle hands. The cedar smell that had been so strong only a moment ago was replaced with the aroma of apples and cinnamon, reminding me of childhood days spent in Abby's kitchen. I relaxed, and as I did, I thought I heard a muted voice in my ear.
    "
Let me take care of you. Everything you desire will be yours
," said the sibilant tones.
    Take care of me
? I tugged against the invisible hands that held me, but their grip strengthened.
I don't want to be taken care of. And everything I desire might not be good for me
. I tugged harder.
Without need, want, and struggle, you don't learn, you don't grow
. In my mind, I saw myself prying grasping fingers from my wrists.
    As I did, the air around me changed with a sudden surge of cold. The cloying scent of something rotting replaced the comforting smell of apples and cinnamon. And the soft, warm hands? The flesh melted away until nothing was left but bone. Bone that poked and pinched as if trying to find a point of entry into my body, into my soul.
    As I struggled, I looked at the cabin, with its broken windows and crooked door, and it appeared to take on a malevolent look. Black dots feathered the edges of my consciousness while I stared at the leering facade. My last thought before the dots merged into total darkness came out of my mouth in a rough whisper.
    "Abby."

 

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