13 Queer Ghost Stories: Tales of the Paranormal

By Foxglove Lee

Who needs sleep? Not you! You’d rather stay up late reading these spine-tingling ghost stories!

In these thirteen tales of the paranormal, queer characters encounter the supernatural... with blood-curdling results! Get ready for a fright with the following stories from Foxglove Lee’s Queer Ghost Stories series: Witch of the Winter Woods, The Future is Deadly, Ghost Gallery, Ghost Radio, The Moths, Underground Spirit, Ghost Phone, Nightmare Heights, Spooky Little Girl Like You, Off With the Fairies, Devil at the Door, Ghost Family Christmas, and Ghosts of the Living.

Delve into thirteen supernatural stories by Foxglove Lee... if you dare!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rainbow Crush
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005116132

Foxglove Lee

Foxglove’s fiction has been called SPECTACULAR by Rainbow Reviews and UNFORGETTABLE by USA Today!Foxglove Lee is a former aspiring Broadway Baby who now writes fiction for children, teens and young adults. She tries not to be too theatrical, but her characters often take over. Her debut novel, Tiffany and Tiger’s Eye, is set in the 80s and features an evil doll!

Book preview

13 Queer Ghost Stories

Tales of the Paranormal

FOXGLOVE LEE

The Witch of the Winter Woods

A MILLION THOUGHTS flooded Nicole’s mind as she drove the rural routes of Maryland.  Of course she was concerned about the weather. Late December, who wouldn’t be?  She wasn’t familiar with this neck of the woods, never been here in her life.  And on top of all that, she’d be meeting Darla’s parents for the first time.

Darla had told her she was being unfair, painting all small-town folks with the same brush.  Just because Mom and Pop lived way out yonder didn’t mean they were closed-minded.  Darla claimed she never had to come out of the closet with them. Her parents knew she was a lesbian before she’d even heard the word.  And they had no problem with it. 

Not just that, but they couldn’t wait to meet Nicole.  Aside from one blustery relationship in high school, Darla had never really had a girlfriend.  Her parents were excited to meet the young lady their daughter couldn’t stop talking about.

Nicole wasn’t sure if she could take Darla’s assurances at face value.  Maybe she was just projecting her own family dynamics onto Darla’s kin, but Nicole couldn’t imagine a set of parents being as warm and loving and okay with their daughter’s sexuality as Darla claimed hers were.

Oh, maybe she was just jealous.  Jealous of the supportive parents, the spacious house Darla had described to her in detail.  They even had a pet rabbit, for goodness’ sake!

Nicole had been on her own way too long.  She’d had to be self-sufficient from an earlier age than any kid should have to be.

Hey, at least she had a roof over her head now.  A real apartment!  Her 1997 Dodge Caravan had served its purpose, but it was definitely nice to have a place with hot and cold running water, fridge, stove, the works.

But, you know, even if Darla’s parents were as supportive as she claimed they were, who’s to say their support would extend in Nicole’s direction?  What kind of parents actually liked the person their daughter was dating—regardless of gender?

Especially when their daughter met this person on the internet...

Nicole knew there was nothing sketchy about meeting your future girlfriend online.  Well, there could be, but not in their case.  Darla had been out to visit her, so they’d already seen each other in person, spent a glorious weekend together.  But weren’t parents supposed to be suspicious about people their daughter met on a forum? 

Why yes.  Yes, they were. 

So why had Darla’s parents invited Nicole to stay with them for Christmas?  Did they plan to pull her aside for a wee chat?  Tell her to leave their daughter alone?  Or, at very least, warn her they’d be keeping a close eye on her formerly-homeless self?

Maybe Nicole’s imagination was overly caffeinated, just like she was.  Plenty of coffee had accompanied her on this drive.  Maybe Darla’s parents were every bit as sweet and supportive as she claimed.  Maybe Nicole didn’t need to be as nervous as she was.

This might just be the best Christmas ever.

Hey, look at that—it’s even started snowing up ahead!

Nicole had had her trepidations about making this drive, today especially. Winter solstice was an ominous day to travel.  She’d been afraid there’d be a blizzard and she’d get stuck in a snow bank.  Well, luckily, the coast had been clear up to this point.  And now she was so close to Darla’s parents’ place she wasn’t too concerned about the weather. 

She’d arrive at Darla’s parents’ house in a couple short minutes, settle in before a roaring fire. Darla would be waiting at the door with a mug of hot cocoa in hand.  She’d plant a Christmas kiss on Nicole’s lips even though her parents were watching from down the hall.  Her parents would smile and sigh and be happy for their young love. 

They’d all be happy together.

Jeeze, where did all this snow come from?

Sure Nicole had seen a flutter up ahead, but this stretch of road was practically arctic!  Looked like it had been snowing for weeks.  All the trees were weighed down in blankets of white.  The road was slick with compressed snow.  Flakes the size of cotton balls blasted down from the sky. 

Nicole turned on her wipers, but too little too late.  She was coming up on a figure, someone standing in the street.  Why on earth would anyone do such a thing?  Stand in front of oncoming traffic in a blizzard? 

But Nicole had no time to answer.  All her energy went into her valiant attempt to not run down this person in the road.

Swiftly to the left.  Would have made better sense to swerve to the right, but there wasn’t a wide enough shoulder.  Too many trees in that direction.  If she swerved that way, she’d crash for sure. 

Swerving into the oncoming vehicle lane wasn’t exactly smart, but there weren’t any lights shining in her eyes.  What else could she do?  She moved to the wrong side of the road, nearly avoiding a collision with the gruesome hag standing in the street, staring her down, seeming to dare Nicole to slaughter her. 

Suicide by motor vehicle.  Nicole had seen it all before.

Her heart pounded as she swerved quickly around the old woman. 

She returned just as quickly to her own lane. 

When she pulled over, her minivan was blocking part of the road.  It couldn’t be helped. She needed to regain her composure before she could go on.  Her heart was beating way too fast.  She could hear it like a drum in her ears. 

Fear. 

Shock. 

That old woman’s face in her mind’s eye, that serene expression.

When the fear subsided, anger took hold.  How dare that old woman stand in front of her vehicle?  If the old lady wanted to die, she should kill herself the old fashioned way, without involving passing motorists.

Nicole glanced into her rear view mirror. 

Through the cotton ball snowfall, she could see the old woman’s figure still standing in the road. 

Waiting for the next car to take her out.

Hopping down from the van, Nicole trudged through the snow, pulling her unzipped jacket tight around body.

Hey! You! she shouted.  You!  Hey, I’m talking to you!  Answer me, y’old bag!

When the old woman didn’t answer, Nicole wondered if perhaps she was deaf.  Deaf, and blind too.  Maybe she didn’t realize she’d wandered into the road.  Maybe she was confused.

Her heart softened.  Darla was always telling her she really ought to give people the benefit of the doubt.  She was really bad at that.  But she could try.

As she approached the old woman, she was shocked to find the lady looking right at her.  Hadn’t this woman been facing away from her only seconds ago?  Nicole didn’t see her turn around.

Shaking off her surprise, Nicole reached for the woman’s shoulders.  Hello?  Are you okay?  What are you doing out in the street?

The old woman’s beady eyes stared up at her blankly.  Scraggly grey hair cascaded across the burgundy shawl strewn across her shoulders.  Underneath was an old-fashioned nightdress.  Bare feet.

Oh my goodness, Nicole said, realizing what she was looking at: a resident from an assisted living facility, someone who needed care.  Staff was probably searching for her this very minute.  Let’s get you into my van where it’s nice and warm.  Then we’ll call... I don’t know who, but we’ll call someone, get you back where you belong.

When Nicole cupped a concerned hand under the old lady’s elbow, the woman let out a bloodcurdling scream.  Nicole jumped nearly a foot in the air, no exaggeration—that’s how shocked she was by the woman’s cry.

And if she was shocked by the horrific scream, how to describe how she felt when the woman bolted into the woods?  So fast Nicole didn’t even see her run.  One second she was standing in the street, the next she was over by the tree line.

Whoosh.  Gone.

A sense of duty compelled Nicole to abandon her vehicle where it was parked, half-on-half-off the road, and chase after the elderly woman in the nightdress. 

She had no idea where she was headed when she ran into the woods.  The old woman was a whisper of cotton, burgundy and silver across the snow and through the trees.  There was a bit of a path, but not cleared. 

Twigs and branches underfoot. 

How could the old lady move so quickly when Nicole found herself tangled in brambles at every turn?  She’d worn a nice outfit to meet Darla’s parents for the first time.  Now her pant legs were going to be soaked.

Still, she followed the flash of white, the flapping shawl, the silver mane.  She followed until she saw a light in the distance.  An orange glow through the window of a stone cottage.

Did someone really live out here?  In the middle of the woods like this?

Nicole gravitated toward the dwelling.  Hard to not to find fire appealing, especially on a cold winter’s night.  She found herself knocking at the low wooden door, telling herself she was only going to ask if the residents had seen an old lady rush past, if they knew who she might be.

The door swept open and warm air met her face.  She ducked through the door without even asking if she could come in, and once she was inside she was shocked to find herself face to face with the woman she’s been chasing, or at least a reasonable facsimile.

Come in, come in, the old woman said, grabbing Nicole by the arm and dragging her toward the wood burner in the center of the cottage.  This lady had some powerful fingers, amazingly strong for someone who had seemed so frail outdoors.  Warm yourself by the fire, my dear.  It’s cold as a tomb outside.

Yes, yes it is.

Nicole allowed herself to be dragged toward the fire.  She couldn’t quite make sense of everything she’d just seen and experienced.

What can I get for you? the woman asked, brushing her hands down her thick skirts.

Wait, hadn’t she been wearing something different outdoors?  Now she had on some sort of old-fashioned blouse and a brownish wool skirt, tattered leather shoes.  Nicole was certain the woman had been dressed differently before, but as she stared into the flames her mind felt fuzzy.  She wasn’t quite sure of anything, really.

You’ve come from afar, the old woman said.  Come for Christmas, to visit your love.

Yes, that’s right.  Nicole brightened inside and out, sensing a strange camaraderie between herself and the silver-haired woman.  Do you know Darla?  Her house must be nearby.  Did she tell you about me?

Nicole could sense that the old woman was speaking to her, but suddenly she felt so strange.  All that driving and coffee must be catching up with her because she was starting to feel dizzy.  The woman was talking, but all she heard were mumbles. 

Her head felt heavy.  So heavy.  She struggled to remain conscious.

Do you mind if I just lie down for a second? Nicole asked the old woman. 

Without waiting for an answer, she curled up on the floor and went to sleep.

When she awoke, her bleary eyes perceived the elderly woman hunched over the wood burner.  There was a blackened pot on there, and she was stirring it with a wooden spoon.  Nicole could smell something both fresh and medicinal, which seemed strange for midwinter.  This lady must have a greenhouse or something. 

She thought it must be some kind of tea until the old lady fished out a rag and brought it over to Nicole, placed the warm and fragrant fabric across her forehead like a poultice.

What is this? Nicole asked weakly, finding it strangely difficult to speak.  She must have still been half asleep.

The woman shushed her kindly, told her not to exert herself.  You’ve been through enough.

I have? Nicole asked.  What had Darla told this woman about her young life?  I have.  Yes, I have...

Sitting on the floor beside Nicole and in front of the wood burner, the elderly woman said, The name’s Ma.

Nicole smiled meekly.  I’m Nicole, but I guess you already knew that.  Darla must have told you all about me.

When Ma didn’t respond, Nicole said, I’m really anxious about meeting her parents.  Are they nice?  Darla says they’re nice, says they’re not judgmental, but you know what life’s been like for me.  It’s hard to believe there really are parents like that in the world, parents who love you no matter what, who love you so much they’re willing to love who you love.  Are they really like that, Ma?  Will they really love me like family, right from the start?

The elderly woman looked like she was about to say something when a rumbling sound from outside caught her attention. 

A murmur, a mumble. 

Was someone shouting in the distance?  What were they saying?

Nicole’s brain started feeling fuzzy again.  How could she be sleepy when she just woke up?

Come, Ma commanded.

Come where? Nicole moaned before abandoning herself to the abyss.

Wake yourself, girl! the woman called.

Try as she might, Nicole couldn’t respond.

She heard a slapping sound, felt a sharp burn across her cheek.  Had the old woman smacked her?  Seemed so.  She’d been spanked before, in a variety of contexts, and she recognized the harsh sizzle against her skin. But she was still too tired to react.

Git up, the old woman cried.  We need to git! We need to git!

Nicole had slept on many floors in her time, but none so comfortable as this.  She could live on this floor.  She could stay here forever.  Wouldn’t mind in the least.

But what was that crackle in her ear?  What was that new scent infusing her nostrils—fire, but a new kind of fire.  More was burning that just wood.  Much, much more.

She felt herself being lifted by some unknown force, carried through the clouds as if by angels.  What a glorious feeling!  Soaring on the wings of the angels, or perhaps on someone’s craggy shoulder. 

The crackling sound roared and suddenly she felt hot, very hot, very hot indeed.  Burning hair.  What an unpleasant odor.  She buried her nose in something more fragrant, fabric infused by the freshness of herbs.

Colder now.  Colder still.  And in her ear not the crackle of flames but the panting of exertion.  No longer floating.  Falling now.  Landing hard against the ground.  Cold snow.  Sweet cover of white.

And then her name pronounced on familiar lips: Nicole!  Mom, Pop, it’s Nicole!  I think she’s dead!

SHE AWOKE TO THE SIGHT of twinkling fairy lights.  Shimmering globes: green, gold and red.  A real Christmas tree. She could smell the pine-y-ness of it. And another lovely scent in the distance: apples and cinnamon. The warm aroma brought a smile to her lips.

Mom, Pop!  I think she’s waking up!

Darla’s voice.  Darla’s house.  So homey.  This couch, so comfortable.  This quilt, so warm.  Darla’s hand clutching hers, trembling as Mom and Pop rushed into the room from somewhere else.  The kitchen maybe. 

They looked just the way Nicole imagined them: neat and proper, kind eyes, welcoming smiles.

Are you okay? Darla asked.  We’ve been so worried about you.  The doctor will be around as soon as he can get through the snow, but for now we’re supposed to keep an eye on you.

Darla’s mother introduced herself and her husband, told Nicole to call them Mom and Pop.

Nicole sat with great effort, raising one hand to her aching forehead.  Was this a bandage on her head?  What had happened to her?  She remembered a stone cottage, a fire, like a dream.

There was a fire crackling just beyond the foot of the couch.  A fire in a stone hearth.  Maybe that’s what she’d dreamed.

How did I get here? Nicole asked.  There seemed to be a gap in her memory.  I was driving... and now I’m here.

Darla gazed up at her parents, who looked down at her with concern.

You don’t remember what happened? asked Pop.

Nicole shook her head no.  Oh, that hurt.  Easier to say the words.  I don’t remember how I got here.

Darla and her parents helped Nicole to her feet.  Into her coat, into her boots.  They wanted to show her something.  Something outside. 

The three of them walked her slowly along the path and down the long driveway.  Snow-covered trees on either side.  Such a beautiful place to live.  If Nicole had seen this on the way in, she’d certainly remember it.  Especially the trees wrapped in bluish lights that glowed like stars through the snow. 

This was the kind of home Nicole had always wanted for herself. 

Darla’s parents were the kind of family she’d always dreamed of.

Brace yourself, Darla’s dad said as they reached the road.  This won’t be easy to look at.

Nicole couldn’t imagine what he was talking about until she saw it for herself: a burned-out Dodge minivan, black where once it had been red.  Everything she’d packed to bring on this trip, burned to a crisp.  The gifts she’d bought for Darla, Darla’s parents, gone up in smoke.

It was like a punch to the gut, seeing her vehicle damaged beyond recognition.  They’d been together so long.  That minivan had been her home when she’d had nowhere else to go.  There was a part of her that wanted to run to it, wrap her arms around the char, embrace what the van had meant to her over the years.

But she couldn’t move.  Could barely stand.  Barely squeak out the words, What happened?

We were hoping you could tell us, Darla’s mother replied.

Darla held Nicole’s hand.  Held it tight.  Would never let go.  You don’t remember?

Don’t remember what? Nicole asked.

Your van catching fire, Darla’s mother said.  We assumed you must have been in it at the time.

Nicole touched her bandaged forehead.  I don’t remember.  I don’t think so.

We never heard any sirens, Darla said.  And the house is so close.  We definitely would have heard them if the fire department had been called out.

It’s quite a puzzle, her mother went on.  Your van clearly went up in flames.  But how was the fire put out?

Nicole shook her head, but oh that hurt.  She’d have to remember not to move.  I don’t know.  I don’t know how any of this could have happened.  Looking from Darla to her caring parents, Nicole asked, How did I get to your house?

There was a knock at the door, Darla’s mother said.  We found you collapsed on the stoop.

You were unconscious, Darla added.  So Pop carried you to the couch and I called the doctor.

But we thought it was awfully strange, her father went on.  That you’d arrived and yet there was no sign of a vehicle in the drive.  Plus, the smell of fire on the air.  It’s not unusual, the scent of wood fire, not around here.  But this... something just seemed off.

Darla took off her own scarf and wrapped around Nicole’s neck.  So Pop came out to explore, and that’s when he found your van.  You must have crawled to our house.

I don’t remember any of this, Nicole said.

There had definitely been a fire.  She remembered smelling it, hearing the crackle of flames.  But that was inside the cottage, the stone cottage. 

The old woman!  Ma!

Is there another house around here? Nicole asked.  An old one in the woods, tiny, made of stone.

Darla’s mother and father looked at each other, sharing the same haunted expression.

What? Nicole asked.  What’s wrong?

They didn’t want to take her there, not in her condition, but she insisted.  She needed to see the old woman, Ma.  To thank her.  Ma must have saved her from the burning wreck.  What other explanation could there be?  She must have dreamed... she didn’t know what. 

Seeing Ma in the road, was that a dream?  Because she remembered parking her van at the side of the road.  It definitely wasn’t on fire when she left it.  Then she’d followed Ma into the woods, into her cozy cottage.  She’d fallen asleep after that.  Hearing voices.  Smelling fire.

What on earth had happened to her?

She needed to know. 

Nicole insisted Darla and her parents lead the way to the cottage in the woods.  It wasn’t a good idea, went contrary to doctor’s orders, but she had to see Ma, ask the old woman what had really happened tonight.

Traipsing through the snow-covered woods wasn’t exactly fun, not in Nicole’s rough state, not even with three people helping her over the fallen branches and through the drifts.

How on earth was a woman as old as Ma able to move around this forest so easily?  And hadn’t her feet been bare?  Or had Darla dreamed that bit?

Here it is, Darla’s dad finally said.  The old stone house, circa 1670.

Nicole didn’t understand.  The house was in ruins.  Only three of four walls remained, and they’d clearly crumbled long ago.  Nicole could make out the doorway, but there was no door.  No roof.

She insisted on entering the structure, such as it was, but inside was nothing but snow.

I don’t understand, Nicole whispered.  There was a fire here, a wood stove.  There was wood furniture.  There were herbs hanging from the ceiling, hanging everywhere.  She lived here.  I fell asleep on the floor.

Cautiously, Darla asked, Who lived here?

Ma, Nicole replied.  That’s what she told me to call her.  I don’t know what her real name was.  She was old, an old lady, and she had on tattered shoes and a wool skirt and a big shawl.  Grey hair, or silver I guess, and lots of it, kind of wild.  But there must be another cottage.  Hers had a roof. And a door.  And four walls.

There was a lot of whispering between Darla and her parents after that, but Nicole started to feel faint, like something was draining her energy.  None of this made any sense, but her brain was too enflamed to listen harder.  Their voices became a high-pitched buzz in her ears.

I just need to... lie down... Nicole said, slipping from their arms until her knees met the snow. 

Knees, shoulders, face.  Sweet relief.  The cold snow on her hot cheeks felt wonderful.  She could stay right here all night.

SHE WAS IN AND OUT of sleep on the couch, guarded by the Christmas tree, Darla seating on the floor, never away.  The doctor came and went.  His voice sounded like the trumpeting teacher from Charlie Brown, but Darla’s parents seemed to understand and take heed.

The word concussion reared its ugly head.  She was sure of nothing else.

Hazy days blinked by.  She wasn’t sure if she’d eaten anything, had water, even gone to the bathroom.  Darla’s dad did mention her van had been removed from the road, but what could she do?  It was damaged beyond repair.

And then Christmas Day arrived. 

How did Nicole know it was Christmas?  That, she couldn’t say, but she woke up Christmas morning feeling clear-headed.  Finally! 

Her body remained weak, but not so weak she couldn’t rise and shine, wander the main floor of the house while Darla slept in the chair across the room, parents upstairs.

Nicole felt famished, found chocolate shortbread in the kitchen, snapped on the kettle.  Tea in the canister.  The kitchen was easy to navigate. 

When she sat at the island with her tea and her cookies, she could look out the picture window, across the snowy expanse.  She’d never been anywhere as beautiful as this property where Darla lived with her parents.  A twinge of jealous panged in the pit of her stomach.  Her apartment back home didn’t have a scenic view, didn’t have this comfy furniture, this cozy ambiance, this spacious kitchen, this family.

As she watched the peaceful calm of a Christmas morning, a pair of deer made their way across the clearing.  The sight brought tears to Nicole’s eyes.  She wanted to rush to Darla, wake her from sleep, tell her to come look, but she couldn’t budge.  Not an inch.  She just watched the pair prance daintily through the snow, finding fallen apples under the blanket of snow.

It was the most beautiful thing Nicole had seen since she didn’t know when.

Morning deer, said a sleepy voice from across the island.

Nicole smiled.  Same to you.

Darla giggled dreamily, pointing out the window.  No, it’s the morning deer.  We also have evening deer.

Well, aren’t you lucky?

Darla wrapped her arms around Nicole from behind, kissed her head, then immediately apologized.  Sorry, did that hurt?

No, Nicole replied, wrapping her hands around Darla’s forearms.  Felt nice.

As they watched the morning deer prance in the snow, Darla said, You’re feeling a little better today?

A lot better.

It’s a Christmas miracle.  Darla kissed her again, side of her head this time.  We were so worried about you.  Mom and Pop are going to be over the moon when they see you up and about.

Nicole felt warm all over, hearing that.  Someone cared.  Darla did, of course.  But her mother and her father.  They cared so much Nicole could feel it swirling around her heart, such a beautiful feeling.  She never wanted it to end.

Darla started cracking eggs for breakfast. When her parents crept downstairs and found Nicole in a seated position, conscious and alert, they asked if it would be okay to give her a hug.  The question itself brought tears to her eyes, and when she welcomed their hugs and they wished her a Merry Christmas, those tears streamed down her cheeks.  They apologized for upsetting her, but she assured them it wasn’t that.  This was just the best Christmas she’d ever had.

Already? Darla’s dad asked.  Christmas hasn’t even started yet.

The whole family participated in preparing breakfast.  They wouldn’t let Nicole lift a finger.  She needed to take it easy, get up her strength.  Oh, was that tea?  The doctor said no caffeine.  But no worries, Darla’s mother would heat her up some apple cider.  Did she like apple cider? What?! She’d never tried it?  Well, she’d have to.  It was a Christmas tradition in their household.

Breakfast was delicious: sausages, eggs, bacon, French toast with berries and real maple syrup, whipped cream on top, and not even the kind from a can!  And apple cider.  Delicious.  Nicole knew for a fact that Darla usually drank coffee in the morning, but the family didn’t want to introduce that tempting aroma into the air if Nicole couldn’t have any.

Nobody had ever taken care of her like this, not in all her years on earth.  They made her feel so special, so cared for.

After breakfast, they opened stockings.  There was one for Nicole too, full of odds and ends: socks, tangerines, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a notepad with her name at the top and a pencil with a rainbow eraser.

I feel so bad, Nicole told the family as they moved on to the neatly wrapped gifts under the tree.  All the presents I brought went up in flames.

It’s the thought that counts, Darla’s father said, and he really seemed to mean it.

Grabbing Nicole’s thigh, Darla added, That’s right.  You can tell us what you bought us and we’ll ooh and ahhh.

With a smirk, Nicole said, In that case, Pop, I bought you a helicopter...

Wow, my very own helicopter? he asked, all jokey and kidding around.  How’d you manage to fit that in a minivan?

I tell ya, it wasn’t easy.  Especially since I had to make room for the yacht I bought you, Mom.

Well, color me impressed! Darla’s mother said.  And Pop only got me pajamas.

Only the best for my beloved wife, he said, sitting on the arm rest of Mom’s chair and cuddling up to her. 

They were so cute together, Darla’s parents.

What about me? Darla asked.  What’d you get me?

A sudden memory sprang to mind, and Nicole struggled to speed toward the front door.

What is it? Darla’s father called after her.  What’s wrong?

Nicole found her winter jacket hanging on the hook, felt around in the pockets.  Nothing, she said.  Nothing’s wrong.  Nothing at all.

She pulled out the small box she’d wrapped to the best of her ability, though it looked nowhere near as nice as the rest of the gifts.  She’d kept it in her pocket to make sure she wouldn’t lose it. 

And she hadn’t, through all the trials of the past few days. 

She hadn’t lost it.  Here it was.

Did she still have the courage to give it to Darla?

Oh, who was she kidding?  After the couple of days she’d just spent with Darla and her parents, Nicole knew now more than ever what she wanted in life.  It could all come crashing down at any moment.  Best to spend your hours with the people you love, and who love you back.

It’s not the best or the most expensive, Nicole explained.  But it’s the best I can afford right now.  Anyway, it’s only a promise ring.  The engagement ring will be much, much nicer.

Darla’s face dropped as Nicole handed her the box.  She just sat there on the floor beside the Christmas tree, staring as Nicole sat at the end of the couch, close to the fire.

Well? Nicole prodded.  Go ahead and open it.

At first, Darla didn’t react at all.  Then she tore off the foil paper and cracked open the jewelry case. 

Nicole couldn’t read Darla’s expression as she stared at the ring.  Did she like it?  Did she hate it?

Did she want it?

It’s a promise ring, Nicole repeated.  You don’t have to say yes to anything, not just yet.  It’s only a way for me to show you how much you mean to me, and that I don’t want anyone else in my life.  Just you.  And I know we’re still young, but I think one day I’d like to get married.  Get married... to you.

Darla’s parents whimpered like kittens while Darla s slipped the ring on her finger.  The Christmas lights competed with the fire to illuminate those tiny diamonds inset in the white gold band.

I saved up, Nicole went on, since Darla wasn’t saying anything.  I wanted to get you the best that I could.

It’s beautiful, Darla said, and Nicole could tell she was trying not to cry.  She walked over to the couch on her knees and said, I want to hug you so hard, but I don’t want to hurt you.  So I’m just going to put my hands in your hands and...

Darla strained up for a kiss, and for a second Nicole felt self-conscious because her parents were sitting right there.  But when she looked over, she saw that Mom and Pop were beaning back at them, clutching each other, so happy for their daughter.

So Nicole leaned forward and kissed Darla sweetly, and the second their lips touched she knew they’d be together forever.

When Darla leaned back, tears were streaming down her cheeks.  She said, I was so worried, so scared, when we found you on the doorstep and you weren’t moving and you couldn’t speak.  The past few days I really thought I’d never see the old Nicole again.  I thought I’d lost you.

No, Nicole said.  Never.  I’m here.  I’m yours.

Speaking of you being here, Darla’s mother cut in. 

Her father shook his head, said, Honey, I don’t think this is the time.

Time for what? Nicole asked.

They exchanged another meaningful look, like they were having an entire conversation without words.  Then Darla’s mother said, Without your van, you’re going to have trouble getting back home.  We could drive you, of course, but...

When Darla’s mother trailed off, her dad picked up her line of thought.  We know you have an apartment and a job and a life back home.  We don’t mean to diminish that in any way.  But we were thinking... you’re concussed.  That could be very serious.  You’ll need care in coping, and we were just thinking... just hoping...

Nicole looked to Darla.  What?

With a shy smile, Darla said, They want you to stay here.  Live here.  With us.

Nicole’s heart palpitated.  She tried to hide her glee, but it wasn’t easy.  For how long?

For as long as you want, Darla’s father said.  Like I mentioned, we know you have an apartment—

I can sublet! Nicole cried, so loudly Darla jumped, then laughed.

But you still have all your things back home, all your clothes...

I can buy new things, new clothes!  I’m not that attached to my belongings.

Someone’s eager to move in, said Darla’s father.

Who wouldn’t be? Nicole asked.  You’ve got deer—morning and evening!  I would love to live here with all of you.

You could take the guest room, Darla’s mother offered.  Or sleep with Darla.  It’s all the same to us.  We’re not prudes.  But we want to give you your own space, if that’s what’d like.  We could even look at fixing up the basement, making it into a little apartment for the two of you.

Nicole couldn’t even think what to say.  How to react.  Nobody had ever been this kind to her, showed her this quantity of mercy and care.  It was unreal.

And to think: if her van hadn’t burned to a shell, they probably wouldn’t have asked her to relocate, live here with them.  It was true, when people said trying times can lead to the greatest happiness.  She’d never believed that before now.

The day went on, one blissful moment after another, until Nicole caught the three of them whispering among themselves as they prepared Christmas dinner.  The conversation seemed serious.  And she heard her name mentioned.

That’s why she burst into the kitchen, asking, Were you just talking about me?

Darla’s mother said no while her dad said yes. 

It was Darla who whispered, It’s not what you think.  Looking beseechingly to her mother, she said, I think we should tell her.

Tell me what? Nicole begged.  If you don’t really want me living here, it’s okay.  I’ll find my way home.  You don’t have to let me live here just because you feel bad for me.

No, no, no, Mom said, leaving the cranberries to bubble while she wrapped both arms around Nicole.  It’s nothing like that, honey.  It’s... it’s... complicated.

You’ll think we’re crazy, Darla added.

Try me.

Darla’s mother sat Nicole at one of the stools by the island, and said, The night of the accident, you said there was an old woman.

Nicole nodded.  I saw her in the street first.  I swerved because of her.

And she said to call her Ma? Darla’s father asked.

Yes.  Nicole knew not to nod.  She was learning what her head could and couldn’t do these days.  Ma.  She said to call her Ma.

The cranberries were spurting redness all over the stovetop, so Darla took over stirring as she asked, "Is it possible she said to call her Moll?"

Mall?

Darla’s dad spelled it out: M-O-L-L.

Oh, like Moll Flanders?

Like Moll Dyer, Darla replied quickly, like she didn’t want the name sitting on her tongue too long.

Nicole had never heard the name before, but it gave her a frisson and she didn’t know why.  Nobody was talking, or even looking at her.  The only sound in the kitchen was the gloopy popping noise of cranberries and the lid on the potato pot simmering away.

Who is Moll Dyer? Nicole asked anyone willing to answer.

Darla’s dad stepped up, telling the tale as he shaped rolls and set them on a baking tray.  Moll Dyer lived around here in the late 17th century.  She lived alone, kept to herself for the most part.  Lived very near here, in fact.

In that stone house we showed you, Darla’s mom added.  The one in the woods.

Nicole had a sinking feeling, and she wished she had something to do with her hands.  She felt fidgety, couldn’t sit still.

It was Darla herself who continued the story, saying, Moll Dyer was really into plant-based medicine, so naturally all the jerkwads in town here called her a witch.

Naturally, Nicole replied.

And when a harsh winter came along, who do you think the townsfolk blamed?

The answer was obvious.

Lots of people were dying, Darla went on.  They weren’t used to temperatures like this.  There was disease and famine, all that stuff, but Moll Dyer seemed to be doing okay.  The townsfolk were not cool with that.  The took up their torches and their pitchforks—

Literally, Pop cut in.

—and they set Moll’s house on fire.  That house in the woods.  They burned it down.

The image of her crisp black minivan flashed across Nicole’s field of vision.  The vehicle that had once been her home.  Clearly, it had been set ablaze.  But how, why?  These were questions she couldn’t answer.

Do you think the ghost of Moll Dyer set my van on fire?

Darla’s dad said, Moll is said to have put a curse on this town.

And there have been a strange number of accidents along that stretch of road, Darla’s mom added.

Darla didn’t seem to like this line of reasoning.  After all these centuries, people still think she’s evil.  That’s what happens when you’re accused of being a witch: even hundreds of years later, the label sticks.  Just because she made medicines didn’t mean she was a witch.  Just because it was a cold winter didn’t mean she was to blame.  And just because she lived on the fringes of society doesn’t make her a bad person.

Nicole slipped off her stool, skidded around the kitchen, and wrapped Darla in a heartfelt hug.

Watch out, Darla warned her.  You don’t to get splashed by cranberries—those stains never come out.

I don’t care, Nicole said.  I want to be near you, stains or no stains!

Darla’s father said, You’re right, kiddo.  We talk about the witch’s curse, blame Moll for accidents and such, but she was the one who was ostracized.  She’s the one whose house was burned down.  Why don’t we ever blame the townsfolk for their atrocities?  They set an old woman’s house on fire, for goodness’ sake!

Exactly, Pop.  If you ask me, bad stuff happens around here because their hatred poisoned the land.  Their actions replay themselves over time, again and again.  But nobody wants to hear that version of the story.  It’s more exciting to say a witch cursed the place.

Is that what set Nicole’s van on fire?  The ages-old malice remaining on this land?  The hatred still held against those who lived on the margins of society?  Those who’d been homeless, who’d lived in a van?  Those who were rejected by their families?  Those who dared to love according to their hearts’ desires?

Do you think that’s why she stepped in out in front of me? Nicole asked.  Moll Dyer, her ghost, her spirit, whatever that was.  Gosh, she looked so real.  I could have sworn she was real...

Why? asked Darla’s father.  Why do you think she stepped out in front of you?

Maybe she knew my van was going to blow.  Maybe there are dual forces at work here, dueling forces: hatred and help.  Maybe she knew the hateful force would set fire to my van.  So she got me out of it.  She drew me into the woods.  It all seemed so real, the house, and Moll herself.  I remember hearing voices, crackling fire.  And she picked me up, lifted me.  I felt her bony shoulder digging into me.  I really felt it.

The kitchen went quiet again, aside from the pots burbling away on the stove. 

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble...

Setting her head gently against Darla’s shoulder, Nicole asked, Do you think I’m crazy?

No, Darla replied immediately.  I think you’re the best.  I’m so glad you’re staying here with us.  One big happy family.

Darla’s parents replied in kind, making her feel more welcome and at home in their house than she’d felt anywhere else she’d ever been.

And that’s when Nicole’s mind started to construct an alternate theory about the van, about the fire.  Maybe it had been set ablaze to keep her close.  But close to what?  To Darla, she would hope. 

Or was it Moll Dyer who wanted her around?  Moll Dyer who wasn’t done with her yet?

For better, or for worse...

The Future is Deadly

Chapter One

MY AUNT MARGARET MEANT a great deal to me, Nancy-Ann said as she picked up her purse, ready to leave.  You’ll get the best prices possible on all her belongings?

Most assuredly, Tucker told her.  He was always super-formal with clients until he got to know them a little better. If he got to know them a little better. 

Often their clients were surprised when two black guys in their twenties showed up at the door.  Was this some kind of scam?  Bait and switch?  One client had gone so far as to say, You didn’t sound black on the phone. Of course they’d done such a top-notch job, that client had set them up with no fewer than five new leads in a single calendar year, and they were still getting phone calls from people who’d been referred by the man.  So you never know.

Everybody says you’re the best, Nancy-Ann went on.  You and—Bobo, is it?

Boo-Boo, Tucker corrected her.  Like from Yogi Bear.  You remember that cartoon?

The blond woman laughed, tossing her head back for emphasis.  She had lots of crinkly lines around her eyes that made her look older when she was happy than she did when she was sad.

"I remember that cartoon, she said.  Of course I do.  I’m surprised that you remember it.  Goodness, I have shoes older than you are, darling."

Comments about his youth always got Tucker a little huffy, and Nancy-Ann must have noticed the change in his demeanour, because she quickly said, "Boo-Boo—he’s your... your partner, you mentioned?"

Partner in business, partner in life, Tucker replied as he walked her to her car.  Been together since we were seventeen.

Well, isn’t that nice? Nancy-Ann said, though her smile seemed a little plastic.  Oh!  I almost forgot: I had a spare set of keys made for you so you can come and go as you please.  As she fished them out of her purse, she asked, You’re sure you’ll be able to organize an entire estate sale in a week?  Aunt Margaret had a ton of belongings. There’s so much to sort through.  Goodness, I’d be at it forever and a day.

Tucker shrugged.  This is what we do for a living.  We’re experts in our field.

No arguments here, Nancy-Ann said, her smile warming as she opened her car door.  You feel free to call me with any questions you might have.  Okay?  I mean it, any day, any time.  And if I don’t hear from you before the weekend, I’ll at least see you at the sale.

We’ll handle your aunt’s belongings with the greatest care and respect, he assured her.

Nancy-Ann had just started yanking her seatbelt across her chest when that sentiment seemed to hit her head-on.  She stopped, staring blankly through the windshield.  She then snapped the seatbelt into the clicker and looked up at Tucker. 

Thank you, she said, looking almost perplexed.  Thank you.  I believe you will take care.  The greatest care.

He gave her a slight nod before closing her car door and stepping back.  She gave a wave, he gave a wave, and when she backed out of the driveway, Tucker nearly jumped out of his Gucci Ravello derby shoes.

Why did he jump?  Because of the lady hanging out by the fence. 

On the other side of the fence, that is.  Not standing on Aunt Margaret’s lawn.  This woman was in her own front yard, both arms folded casually between the tall pickets, both hands crossed on one point, her chin settled quaintly on her knuckles.  Head tilted, smiling faintly, eavesdropping shamelessly. 

Tucker hadn’t noticed her there while he was chatting with Nancy-Ann.  It was like she’d appeared out of thin air.

She had the kind of hair you don’t see too often these days—not on white ladies, that’s for sure.  One of those styles that required sleeping with a multitude of curlers attached to one’s head.  Gave her an old-fashioned air, making Tucker feel like he was communing directly with someone from the fifties.

Clutching his chest, he said, "Sorry