When the Wind Blows by Tarah Scott

It's the spooky season yet again. What is it that makes us crave the feel of a chill crawling up our spine? Why are we intrigued with the monster that lurks in the shadows? Once the creature steps into the light our fear vanishes...or does it?

What happens when the unknown is illuminated and it's more than we bargained for?


WHEN THE WIND BLOWS

I never believed in the supernatural, had no need for it, but something was wrong in that room.

I laid my hand palm up on the dilapidated table in front of the Gypsy who sat opposite me. Candlelight flitted in distorted shapes across her filmy blue eyes. 

“Ok,” I said, “tell me my future.”                                              

My amusement was met with a critical eye. I shrugged, but she only slid a palm beneath my hand and dragged it closer. Gooseflesh inched up my arm on the inside of my skin.

“Why did you come?” she asked.

I resisted the urge to glance down at our joined hands and nodded toward Julie. She sat in the far corner of the room, hand cradled in the gnarled fingers of another ancient woman who traced lines on her smooth palm.

The Gypsy’s eyes shifted onto them for an instant, then returned to me. “Always the same,” she muttered.

I frowned. “What?”

“Every fool must walk through my door.”

I stiffened, then pulled to free my hand from hers. She clamped her fingers tight with surprising strength, then let go so unexpectedly my elbow hit the back of the chair.

“You can’t hide,” she said.

I looked up sharply while rubbing the fingers she’d practically mangled. “What?”

She nodded at my hand. “I saw it.”

“Sure you did,” I retorted.

“You cannot change the past.”

My lip curled upward. I didn’t try to hide the disdain. “I bet you’re going to tell me you can make it right.”

To my surprise she shook her head. “No one can stop the wind once it begins to blow.” Her voice now dark and gravelly, reminded me of the witch she resembled. “And it blows strong against your house, Marilyn Sutton.”

“I’ll live in a brick house,” I retorted, ignoring the fact she knew my name when I hadn’t given it.

“Come on, Julie.” I rose. “Let’s go.”

“He waits for you.”    

I snapped my gaze back onto the Gypsy. “Who, the grim reaper?”

She angled her head in a more graceful manner than seemed possible for a relic like her. “That one comes for us all.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You people should be run out of town. Using such scare tactics.” I turned to go.

“But, I speak of him who promises to wait for you.”

The odd note of compassion in her voice burned me to the core like hot ice. I forced my feet forward and continued toward the door.

“He waits for you—” she said.

My hand gripped the doorknob.

“—but burns for her.” 

I jerked my head around to see the Gypsy’s bony finger pointing at Julie. I felt Julie stiffen behind me.

I read in the seer’s expression an understanding for the pain of betrayal I had endured for so long. 

“One must put an end to pain,” the Gypsy murmured.

Julie pushed past me. My gaze followed the seer’s as my best friend disappeared down the narrow stairs.

THE END


Remember, once you turn on the lights, you may not like what you see.


I'll be giving away a copy of the spooky story

WHEN A ROSE BLOOMS


                                              

On the fifth year anniversary of Nathaniel Moncreiffe's wife's death, a flesh and blood woman enters the battlefield he has created around his heart, forcing him to choose between life among the living, or life with a ghost.

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A safe and happy Halloween to all!

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