Witch's Storm

By Thomas Cox

Albert Canady, his sister Pepper, and his friend, Airlia Moss, a witch, investigate a strange calling from a reopened school building that had sat empty for many years. Ghostly appearances and fantastic indoor storms set the stage for the youngsters quest for the truth of a long-ago tragedy that cost lives and gave rise to restless spirits. Trapped inside the building, with darkness encasing them, Albert, Pepper, and The Witch are forced to face their fears and fight back against unseen, poisonous, and flesh-eating creatures that are always in pursuit. Other adversaries include another witch with a personal agenda and people threatened with losing their minds to their inner guilt and horrible memories. Albert realizes that solving the mystery is the only way to save innocent lives and bring peace to the disturbed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468573046

Thomas Cox

Thomas Cox is an award winning writer of adult crime stories in the mystery/suspense genre. He also writes adventure and fantasy books for your readers. Currently the author lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.

Book preview

1

Albert Canady followed the Witch through an alley-like access street to the rear of the dark, sprawling, two-story, brick building. The sun had set a few minutes earlier, and the two youngsters were in the deepest shadows away from the nearest street lamp.

A tall, wrought-iron fence with a padlocked gate enclosed the back of the building, separating it from the wide, cobblestone alley on the other side of which were a row of dumpsters and the rear of another old brick building. A sign in bold lettering read: No Entry at Rear. Enter from First Street or loading dock on Baines Avenue.

Airlia Moss, the Witch, guided Albert to the gate. This is how we get in, she whispered.

The sign says no entry, pointed out Albert.

Trust me. Don’t use the flashlight.

Albert held the unlit flashlight down at his side. He could barely see the Witch, dressed as she was in black jeans and dark shirt and with her skin the color of creamed-coffee. She had informed Albert she was a descendent of African-American, Seminole Indian, and southern Creole mixes, among those being witchdoctors and Indian shamans. Her problem she admitted was that whenever other boys and girls found out she was a witch they didn’t want to be friends. Albert had found it intriguing that a family of witches had moved into his neighborhood and that the youngest, Airlia, was also twelve and would be going to school with him.

They had developed a good rapport even though Albert still considered most girls to be a nuisance. That was especially true of Pepper, his sister. It was Pepper who had befriended Airlia first and introduced her to Albert. Albert had to admit that the Witch certainly was pretty enough, and he was fascinated by the luminous dark red fingernail polish and lipstick she wore as he watched her hands fumbling at the padlock.

The padlock came open, and the Witch removed it from the latch. See? she said.

So it was unlocked, said Albert. Big deal.

It was locked, Albert.

Was not.

Was, too, said the Witch. To demonstrate, she put the padlock back in place and snapped it shut. You try it.

This is silly, Albert said.

Try as he might, he could not open the padlock. He stepped back to let the Witch get her fingers at it. Watch carefully, she said, opening and removing the lock and swinging the gate to open inward.

Albert was impressed. If it was a trick, it had been a good one.

The Witch said, I checked this out the last two days, before dark. Even the custodians don’t unlock this gate. They go in and out through the front doors to the street. This lock’s so rusty I don’t think it can be opened with a key.

Then how did you do it so easy? asked Albert.

She flashed her white teeth at him in a smile. Because I was supposed to. You got to trust things, Albert. And some of those things are inside you, not outside.

Oh yeah, that really explains a lot, said Albert, not trying to conceal his sarcasm.

Albert, it’s not unlike yours and Pepper’s adventure with the werewolves. You trusted something that was beyond what seemed logical.

I wish Pepper had never told you about that, Albert grumped.

Airlia laughed softly. "Know what I think? I believe there’s a force here that wants us to get inside. I told you about the dreams. Even witches need help. We draw from the energy around us. Most people don’t know the energy they have."

What does it feel like being a witch? Albert asked.

I don’t know. Are you right handed, or left handed?

Right handed.

What does it feel like being right handed? asked the Witch.

Gotcha, Albert said. Okay, you had this dream. So here we are. Now what?

The Witch put her finger to her lips to caution him to keep his voice down. Step by step. I’m following each step according to the dream. She straightened up suddenly. Can you feel it?

No-o-o-o. What am I supposed to feel?

Let your senses tell you.

Albert said, My senses make me wonder why you dragged me here tonight. Was I in those dreams with you?

No, she admitted. I’m by myself. But I asked you because I’m not brave enough to do this alone.

The magic word: brave. Even if Albert wasn’t excited about tagging along with a girl, he still felt his ego take a leap upward at her application of brave to him. If we get caught, it won’t matter how brave we are, Albert whispered in his most manly voice. They’ll stick us in jail for trespassing. He watched her hang the padlock on the gate. What about the janitors? he asked.

It’s Sunday night, the Witch said. If they worked today, they’ve locked up and gone by now. Maybe they got a security person inside, but he’ll be up front in the office area. We’re going in the back way—just like my dream. Don’t trip on the steps.

What steps? Albert said, and promptly tripped on the first step. He fell forward against the Witch, and she caught him in her arms. For a couple of seconds they were in an embrace. Oh Boy, major embarrassment time, Albert thought. Quickly, he got his feet under him and shook off the Witch’s hands. As she giggled, he grumbled and turned on the flashlight.

Those steps, she said. Look at this back door. She let Albert shine his light on a steel-enforced door. Try it. She watched Albert try, without success, to work the handle and open the door. When he stepped back, she said, Now, let me.

She worked the thumb-latch, heard the loud click as the bolt snapped back, and the door creaked open.

By now Albert was totally fascinated. He followed her into the building’s rear corridor that was dimly lighted by a single night-light in the ceiling tiles halfway down. The Witch seemed to know exactly where she was going because she walked ahead of Albert’s light. He had to hurry to keep up with her. The place held an indefinable combination of old smells as well as recent wax and cleanser aromas. Reopening this building for use, whether or not it was a good idea on the part of the city fathers, wouldn’t immediately dissipate the aged mustiness.

They stopped at another door, a smaller one with a sign that said basement and furnaces. The Witch opened it and stepped back. She invited Albert to look down. This is far as I can go, she said.

Why? he asked.

It said so in my dream, was her reply.

The metal staircase curved slightly, though not in a full spiral, as it descended into the basement darkness. From the top, even with the beam of his flashlight and the night-light on in the hallway behind him, Albert could not see to the bottom of the stairway. He made sweeping motions with the flashlight, trying to penetrate the blackness. A half dozen individual steps he could see, plus the iron banister along one side, but he couldn’t see all the way down. The light beam appeared to be striking some kind of invisible barrier.

Inside the heavy door, Albert flashed his light at three switches on the wall. He tried each switch, but no light came on. A groaning sound, something like an animal or human in pain, came from the lower blackness. It sounded almost hollow, as though it were confined in some kind of echo chamber, before dying away. The hairs on the back of Albert’s neck stood up.

A tap on Albert’s shoulder made him jump. He turned and looked at the anxious expression on the Witch’s face. Sorry, she said. I’m scared, too.

I’m not scared, said Albert, though he was.

Are you going down to take a look?

I don’t know. Albert hoped his own expression looked more deeply thoughtful than scared. I’m thinking about it. You want to?

No, I can’t. Pepper said you’re not afraid of supernormal things. She told me about the werewolves.

Well, my sister talks too much, Albert said, gruffly. He shined the light downward, but again, for some reason, it would not penetrate the darkness. What happens next in your dream?

Tell me if you’re seeing what I think you’re seeing. It’s an old iron stairway, and it’s a curve, but you can’t see anything below that curve, not even with your flashlight. And the lights don’t work.

Albert backed away from the opening. It gave him an excuse not to try and be brave. You’ve been in here before.

I swear I have not, the Witch said. I’m not lying to you, Albert. She drew in a breath, looked over her shoulder along the dimly lighted corridor, then back at him. Did I describe what you see?

Yes.

I’m cold. The Witch hugged herself. Don’t you feel it?

Albert wasn’t sure. He shrugged. It’s a real old building.

"Albert, it’s an old high school."

Maybe they turn off the heat at night.

It’s still summer, and they haven’t turned it on, said the Witch. But it’s not this cold outside. And don’t say it’s the air-conditioner. This school never had air-conditioning. Again, she breathed deeply. How about it? You going down?

We’ll go together.

I—I can’t, she said. When he turned the light on her, it was her turn to shrug. "I’m