Night Witch: Part I

A short story

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X

You’ve heard of blessings in disguise, making lemonade from lemons. But what about the opposite? When what seems like the answer, your whole life coming together, is actually the unraveling of it? This is the story of a recovering alcoholic. A mother. She finally has a good job, a little fixer-upper on seven acres. The answer to years of hard work and praying. And the end of her life as she knows it.

Photo by Thomas Truhlar on Unsplash

She had only been in the house for seven days when she stopped sleeping. Not because of insomnia or caffeine like in the old days. The drinking days.

“I need it, to help me sleep.”

That was the excuse she gave her mom when she came to visit and had the “hard talk” that she had been hinting at in voicemails before her trip.

Those days were gone now. The drinking days. She was clean and sober. Only two years in and already a steady job. And the house. God. The house was beautiful. On seven acres, which “is a good sign,” her mother had said. A holy number. She had gotten it for a steal. Ninety-five thousand, and only a few percent down.

“You’re a first-time home buyer. They have programs for people like you. To help you get started.”

That had been the smiling, dark-haired loan officer at the bank. Initially she thought he was a charlatan. Good looking and more convincing than the greasy haired used car salesman she had worked with the previous week. But still, she had thought to herself, full of shit.

It turned out that he was right though, and with her job, her first good, decent paying job, and a little help from her father, she got it. No one else had even bid on it.

“Unheard of in today’s market.”

That had been the busy-bodied red head named Cheryl. A single mother. “Just like you.” Smiling and red lipped at all times. “I’m new at this, but I’ve got a good feeling. You’re gonna get this house.”

Again, she had thought, of course she has to say that to me. What is she going to say? You don’t have a chance? We looked into it and realized you’re a lowlife in disguise and we can’t trust somebody who gambled their entire marriage away, then spent the next three years blackout drunk?

But Cheryl didn’t know that, did she. Sometimes it was hard to remember that not everyone knew she was an Alcoholic with a capital A. Not in this new life she was forging for herself. In the old one everyone had known. Especially her friends and co-workers. They had watched her whole life fall apart. Her marriage dissolve. Her custody battle and the eventual loss. Everything she cared about, down the drain, out the window, etcetera, etcetera.

 “Oh well,” she said out loud to the night. She was sitting on the rickety front porch. It wasn’t quite a wrap around, but it was large and covered half of each side of the house. The wood was grey and wavy. The whole thing needed to be replaced.

“Just a little sprucing up is all,” Cheryl had told her. She was digging her heel out of a knotted hole in the wooden plank in front of the door as she said it, working herself into a real sweat. Were those panty hoes she was wearing?

A little young for that, don’t you think?

“You need some help?”

“No,” Cheryl had harrumphed out. “I think I’ve just about—“

Cheryl’s leg came out then like a champagne cork. She was sure she remembered a pop, but of course, her brain had filled that part in. The motion, cartoon-like as it was, had thrown her back to Looney Toons land. She pushed a laugh down.

“Okay,” she gathered herself. “Let’s see your new home, huh?”

Home. She didn’t want to think of this place like that. The familiar shield went up, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. The sentence had caught her off guard, and she felt the slightest uptick in her heartbeat at the word. She swallowed.

“Okay.”

She didn’t step in right away. She let Cheryl lead, listened to the clickety-clack of her heels on old hardwoods.

“You coming?” She was positively beaming at her now, but behind the smile, she could see Cheryl was on to her. Somewhere in the eyes, a slight downturn, a nervous crinkle in her smile. Doubt.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”

And she stepped in.

It had been a beautiful home once. But it wasn’t now. The floors sagged in places, mirroring ceilings that were obvious victims of leaks. The walls were greasy and dirt stained. A few windows were cracked.

“I know a guy.” Cheryl said that about everything, from the glass panes to the broken faucet in the tub.

But it did have its charms. The trim was dark wood, beautifully stained and framing every room, every doorway, every window. The ceilings, damaged in parts, had crowned molding in the same dark wood. There were two fireplaces.

“Unused for God knows how long. You’ll have to get them inspected.”

And a built-in bookshelf in a bona fide sitting room. She hadn’t been sure about the place until she had stepped outside onto the front porch, the same one where she was sitting now, and looked. For miles in every direction, there was nothing but trees and rolling green grass. Birds called in the distance, and every once in a while, the smell of water from a little forest creek down the way, wafted into her nose.

It was late afternoon when she saw the place, but she knew that at night there would be stars. Stars she had never seen, blanked out and outshone by city glow. She could picture a wooden swing set for Amy. Mike was too big for that sort of thing now. On visits it was hard to pull him away from his Game Boy.

“So, what do you think?”

She looked out again at the forests beyond. Her mouth turned up a little and her throat knotted.

“I think this is home.”

To Be Continued…