part0023

The same hazy sense of eyes on me continued as I walked back home. I had no idea who was watching me. The sensation prickled at the back of my neck, and as a witch, I’d honed my senses plenty. I knew when I was being watched.

A mix of screeching and ringing permeated the front door. It was loud, unbearable.

I pushed the door open.

“Shut that thing up!” Ivory screeched. “Now!”

I groaned, listening to the shrill telephone ring. “I’m home now,” I said, cupping my ears as I closed the door with my foot. “How long has it been ringing?”

Rushing to the living room. The phone cut off.

“It’s gone now,” I said.

A second later, the piercing ring came again.

“Hello?” I said, expecting some telemarketer, relentless in their effort to get me to switch energy providers. All I heard was sobbing. “Maureen?” I took a guess. I didn’t need to be bothered by all her drama today, someone had gone missing.

“Oh—oh—oh, Nora!” she sniffled.

“Yes, Maureen. Are you okay?”

“It’s Greg,” she cried.

The phone dropped from my hand, falling to the ground. I didn’t bother picking it up. My heart raced. I set off to Maureen’s house. If Greg was there, I had questions, but also if Greg was there, bleeding, that was another matter.

I was on Crescent Road when the thought of taking supplies hit me.

Maureen stood at her front door, waiting. “I knew you’d come,” she said. “I’m not seeing things this time. I’m not.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, breathlessly. “Where is he?”

She looked me in the eye, her face already breaking into tears. “The compost heap!” she cried.

I ushered her inside, taking a hold of her elbow. “Let’s not make a scene,” I said, trying to keep a level head, but inside I was panicking, my throat bloated with the heated need to vomit.

She stopped in the hallway before the kitchen. “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t look again.”

“What did you see?” I asked.

“He—he—he was just, flopped over it. Half of his body hanging out of it.”

I gulped down the fireball of heat in my throat. “He’s still there?” I asked.

She hadn’t checked again.

I didn’t want to believe what she was telling me was true, for the first time, I didn’t want it to be true.

“He helps with the garden,” she said after a deep breath.

“He helps a lot of people.”

“Did you see any—” my throat clenched. “Blood?”

She sobbed harder into a piece of tissue.

“I’ll see,” I told her.

She let me go alone, although this was one of the times someone behind me for comfort would’ve been appreciated. From the small wooden porch, I couldn’t see anything in the compost heap. Perhaps she was still seeing things. My chest sank with relief.

“Let’s do this,” I told myself, pulling my red blazer tight across my chest with both hands. I huffed, looking around the area for any sign of vandalism, or ravens flocking around in trees. Nothing. Not a single caw and the fences on both sides of the garden seemed intact.

The earthy smell of wet compost wafted in my direction. I pinched my fingers at the tip of my nose, closing my nostrils. The dewy smell seemed new. I approached the bin. Zilch. Not a single print, foot or hand in sight. It was evenly mounded, including the place I’d prodded yesterday.

Something caught my eye.

Hooked to a wooden splinter, sticking out of the side. There was a white strip of fabric.

This was Greg’s. I’d seen it on his wrist. He’d told me about it. It was something his mother would say. He’d been here.

I rushed back inside, waving the piece of fabric in the air. “Maureen,” I called.

She screamed and sobbed harder into her tissue. “I don’t want to know,” she said.

“He was here,” I told her. “He was in your garden. I found this.”

She stopped crying only long enough to see the object in front of her face. “What—what is it?”

“It’s Greg’s,” I told her.

“He was here,” I said, only realising afterwards that I was possibly feeding into the things she’d been seeing. After all, I didn’t see any signs of blood, and Greg would usually come by Maureen’s house to help.

She blew her nose. “I—I—I knew.” She pulled the tissue away. “I knew I wasn’t going crazy.”

She must’ve seen Greg. It wasn’t looking good. He was still missing. There were a lot of points, but no lines to connect them. Was Maureen doing all of this? The minor flickering thought turned my stomach queasy.

“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No idea, he comes around often.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to head home,” I said. “If you see anything, call me, or go out and see, touch it.” I hunched my shoulders in a large shrug. “Maybe prod it with a stick. Then scream, again.”