Seven Turns: A Ghost Story/A Love Story

She kept on, as Bree had instructed, walking down the street past an appliance repair shop that did not appear to be open, and a storefront advertising custom wallpaper and carpet installation. Every third or fourth storefront appeared to be vacant.

Railroad Street intersected Main Street a few doors down from the news store, and as she crossed it Cally spotted Bethany’s car parked in front of a door labeled “Johnston and Reid, Law Offices - Faxes and Photocopies $1 each.” A few more shops faced Main Street on the other side of this intersection, and Cally caught the rich fragrance of good coffee wafting from an open doorway. Above this door hung a wooden sign carved in the shape of a coffee cup, painted steam above it spelling out “The Bean Garden.”

The inside of The Bean Garden reminded Cally of the news store, all wooden counters and floors, except that the floors here gleamed with a dark polish. Paintings of varying genres and skill levels, as well as painted t-shirts and other art objects, hung on the walls with prices written on index cards taped next to them. Cally spotted the painting that had to be Nell’s. It was a somewhat impressionistic rendering of the meadow in front of Vale House, showing the three horses standing peacefully knee-deep in wildflowers, only in Nell’s interpretation, the horses all bore spiral horns on their foreheads. “Our Nell certainly has some talent,” Cally thought.

A couple was seated at one of the small, square tables, both of them bent over and thoroughly engaged in whatever was on the screens of their phones. Three young people stood at the counter, giggling and poking straws into brightly colored drinks in plastic cups. Cally recognized one of them as the girl she had met on the road when she had been so desperately trying to find Woodley in the darkness.

“Hello, Errin,” she said. “I’m glad to see you made it home alright the other night.” She refrained from mentioning the girl’s sudden departure or lack of a proper thank-you for the lift. “Did you ever catch your horse?”

Errin took a quick sip of her bright pink drink. “Oh, yes, she’s fine!” she said. Errin and the other girl (a blonde with incredibly large, blue eyes) looked at one another and giggled at some private joke. Their companion was a dark-eyed boy with an enviable head of long, black curls. He muttered something and looked impatiently at them.

“These are my friends, Mima and Zenbe,” Errin said. “We have to go. Thanks again for all your help. Really! Bye!” The trio collected their drinks and went out the door, the girls giggling and the boy telling them to stop being rude.

“Shouldn’t those three be in school?” Cally wondered aloud as a black woman about her age approached her from the other side of the counter.

“They say they’re home-schooled,” said the woman, “though I’m not sure what they’re learning by buying fruit smoothies. It’s just nice to see young people who think this town is worth hanging out in, I guess.”

She reached around the espresso machine and shook Cally’s hand. “I’m Andi,” she said. “And if I’m not mistaken, you’re our celebrity visitor, Callaghan McCarthy.” The woman’s accent was more familiar to Cally than the soft southern one she had been hearing since arriving in Woodley. She guessed Andi was also “not from around here,” and felt a reassuring sort of kinship with her because of this.

She grinned and looked around behind herself. “Where?” she asked. “Where is this celebrity everyone keeps talking about?”

Andi laughed. “What can I get for you, Ms. McCarthy?”

“You can start by calling me Cally.” She looked at the chalkboard menu above the back bar. “It smells wonderful in here – I can already tell the coffee is good.”

Andi rattled off a list of the organic, free-trade artisanal coffee suppliers she used exclusively, and offered to make Cally the best latte she’d ever had in her life (with organic milk from local pasture-raised cows.)

“You know, I think maybe just a regular coffee, please,” Cally said.

“Any flavorings? Whipped cream?”

“Let’s just go with coffee-flavored coffee, for now.” Cally set her purse down next to the register beside a small sign that proclaimed “Free WiFi!”. “If I had known you had WiFi, I would have brought my laptop,” she said.

“Well, bring your lappy next time,” Andi said, filling a deep white mug from a huge, gleaming coffee machine that had more buttons and gauges than the dashboard of Cally’s car. “You can write your next bestseller in here, and I can brag about it. Here...” She handed Cally a small card with a hole punched in it. “Buy ten get one free.”

Cally put her change in the tip jar and the card in her purse. She sat down at one of the tables facing the open door and gazed out at the view it afforded. The wide windows allowed her to see across Main Street to the north end of Railroad Street, which ran gently downhill to where it crossed the railroad track for which it was named. Cally turned to Andi, who was polishing the already gleaming espresso machine. “Is that the famous haunted railroad crossing?” she asked.

“You’ve heard that story?” Andi asked.

“Well, no. But every town needs a haunted railroad crossing. Generally they have a light that moves along the track as the engineer searches for his missing head, or ghost children who push stalled cars out of the way.”

“Well then ours is even better,” said Andi. “It has disembodied screams in the night. Only on Tuesdays, though.”

“Oh, that is unique.” Cally opened her notepad and pulled her pen out of the spring binding to scribble a brief description of this version of the story.

Andi resumed polishing the espresso machine. “On the other side of the railroad tracks, Railroad Street becomes Bells Road. People who live along that road tell a story, too, about hearing wild laughter in the trees on summer nights.”

“That’s interesting,” said Cally. “I haven’t seen that one yet on the internet.”

“People who’ve grown up here don’t really seem to realize there’s anything unusual about these things.” Andi laughed. “But, I’m Not From Around Here, as you can probably tell!”

When Cally laughed and nodded at this, Andi continued. “When I first got here, this town kind of weirded me out. But I got used to it. Well, okay, I can’t say I ever actually got used to it, but I have grown to love it, over the years. And I’ve heard a lot of stories, if you want to hear them.”

Cally said she did want to hear them, so Andi told her the one about mysterious lights seen over the fields every several years, and another about a banshee said to haunt certain crossroads, even though most of the roads involved had reverted back to woods and fields many years ago. Cally was impressed – the stories were not the usual hackneyed creepypasta often repeated on the internet, and the way Andi told them in her friendly, laughing voice put Cally at ease.

Best of all, she did not seem to expect Cally to believe any of it. “There are a lot of things about Woodley I will probably never understand,” Andi said, “but fortunately that doesn’t seem to be a requirement for living here.”

The couple at the other table got up and left the shop, never once looking up from their phones, and a young man in a pizza delivery hat came in and asked Andi to make him a strawberry chai.

“Here you go, Luke,” Andi said as she got up to make it for him. “Tell this lady about the hitchhiker out by the highway. She’s Callaghan McCarthy; she writes ghost stories. Cally, Jake Lucas – we just call him Luke – makes great pizza and keeps my WiFi working most of the time.”

While he waited for his chai, Luke started to tell Cally about his own personal encounter with a phantom hitchhiker who disappeared as soon as he stopped the car. Cally said, “Oh, I think I met that one! Was it a red-haired girl in a white sweater?”

“It was a man,” said Luke. “He wore an old-fashioned pantsuit, like they used to wear in the seventies. It was white, though.”

“I wonder why they are always dressed in white?” Cally mused. “So they don’t get run over in the dark, I suppose.” She decided she was actually starting to enjoy this role-reversal, asking others about their belief in ghosts, instead of having her own beliefs dissected. She hoped she was being more courteous than those who had used to ask her.

Luke wished them both a good day and left, and before Andi could go back to polishing the espresso machine, Cally said, “What about you, though, Andi? Do you feel you have ever seen any of these spirits or things, yourself?”

Andi spread her cleaning rag out on the counter in front of her, smoothed it with her hands and folded it into a small, neat square. Then, seeming to make up her mind she shook it out and stuffed it into the pocket of her smock. She brought her own coffee mug around the counter and sat down at the table across from Cally.

“Well,” she said, “this building does have its own history. It was once a dress shop, back when Woodley was a bustling young town. It was a big deal, back in the day. Anyway the upstairs of most of these shops was once also the living quarters of the proprietors. Sometimes I think the owner of the dress shop is still living up there.” She pointed at the ceiling.

“And what makes you think that?”

Andi laughed. “Now you sound like a shrink!” Then she leaned across the table and spoke in hushed tones, as if there might still be other customers still in the shop, lingering over their phones and lattes. “OK, it was a couple of years ago. My youngest had just gone off to college. Kids in this town, you know, they don’t stay around. It’s so small, and at their age that’s not charming, it’s boring. And I was really proud of him, of course, but still, I was sad he was all grown and gone. You know what I mean?”

Cally did. “My youngest just graduated. I went through all the same things.” She was going to add “plus a divorce,” but she didn’t want to try to out-martyr Andi, who hadn’t said anything, herself, come to think of it, about a husband.

Andi nodded. “Well, one day I was just feeling so blue. I couldn’t get anything done. Good thing it was a slow day. Anyway, I just sat down, right here at this very table, and stared out the door. I couldn’t even cry.” She sighed and looked over Cally’s shoulder. “And, I don’t know if it was real or not. There was this smell of flowers. Roses, like the kind of perfume our grandmothers used to wear, back when roses still had a smell. And I felt someone put their arms around me.” She hugged herself gently and closed her eyes. “It was like they were just standing behind my chair with their arms around me, not saying anything, like a good friend would do. I broke down and cried my eyes out. And I felt much better after that.”

Cally had a tear in her own eye, and found that she had reached across the table and laid her hands on Andi’s. “That’s a wonderful story,” she said. “Thank you for sharing it.” It occurred to her that if more ghost stories were like that, she might not be so inclined to roll her eyes at them.

Andi stood up. “If you put that in your book,” she said, “please don’t mention my shop. Don’t want to scare business away!”

Cally drained her coffee mug. “I promise. Though Joan up at Vale House might advise you it would attract more business.”

Andi scowled. “Oh, that woman!” She wiped vigorously at the spotless counter. “I think one thing that would attract more business to Ian’s place would be to send her packing!”

Cally didn’t agree out loud, but she grinned. “It was nice talking with you, Andi. I’ll be back. Maybe I’ll remember my computer next time. Thanks for everything.”

---

She still had plenty of time left before her meeting with the Captain, so she decided to take Celeste and Bree’s advice and look for the book store. She had learned, over the past few years, that it paid for authors to be on good terms with book store owners.

Turning left as she stepped out the door of the Bean Garden, she saw there was only one block left before Main Street ended and disappeared into the woods on its way back to the interstate. She imagined it would take a person on foot only a few minutes to make the entire circuit of Woodley’s business district.

It certainly didn’t take long to reach the book store, which was the last storefront on this side of the street before the sidewalk ended. It was just far enough away that the smell of coffee didn’t conflict with the smell of incense coming from its own open door. The psychedelic hand-lettering on the glass door was backwards from Cally’s viewpoint, but, squinting, she thought she could make out “Wyrd Systers Books and Gifts.”

As she paused in front of the open doorway, she got the impression this was not at all the kind of book store she had been expecting. Instead of the latest bestsellers, the deep display windows beside the door showcased dream-catchers and boxes of tarot cards in many styles. Cally had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what was about to happen next, but it was too late to turn away; the woman behind the counter had spotted her.

“Oh, my Goddess!” called the tall blonde in a tie-dyed caftan. “Willow, it’s what’s her name, McCallahan, that author!”

Another woman, very short with a halo of curls dyed bluish black, stepped down from the chair she had been standing on to hang crystals above the cash register. “Well, blessed be,” she said, crossing the store to shake Cally’s hand. “Merry meet, Callaghan McCarthy. I’m Cindy Lucas, but everyone calls me Willow. And this is Jackie Forest,” she said, indicating the tall blonde who had come around the counter to join them. Jackie Forest placed her fingertips together and touched the bridge of her nose. “Namaste,” she said, bowing. “Call me Raven.”

“Um, call me Cally,” said Cally, certain she would not remember their names, especially since they each seemed to have the wrong one. They were both probably in their mid-twenties, but they spoke in high-pitched voices like school girls as they grinned at her, saying “Come in, come in!”

“Everyone is so excited that you’re in town!” said the shorter woman. (“She calls herself Willow,” Cally struggled to remember.) “We have a whole stack of your book for sale over by the summoning supplies. Maybe you could autograph them for us!”

“Cut her some slack,” said the tall blonde called Raven. “I’m sure everyone has been all over her like a pack of puppies since she arrived.”

“Everyone has been very nice.” Cally said, but she smiled at the thought of a pack of puppies. She pretended to be interested in a sign that read “All hand-crafted greeting cards 20% off - Locally made!” Cally thought she could guess by whom.

“We try very hard to source local materials and talent,” said Willow. “We discovered this little town a few years ago, and we fell in love with it. We both strongly believe America needs more places like this, and we really want to help Woodley achieve a stable economy. That’s why we decided to set up our business here. Well, and it also sits on top of several very strong ley lines, so we know we’ve chosen the right place, if you know what I mean. Do you practice Wicca?”

“Uh, no,” Cally floundered, trying to keep up. “I don’t really practice anything...”

Raven rushed to explain. “It’s alright – we support all paths. No one will ever find any judgment here. In the end, everything is love!”

Cally told them she had to agree with that. She looked around to see if there were any actual books in this book store, but amid displays of incense burners shaped like Egyptian gods, hand-held musical instruments, and “genuine” hand-embroidered silk scarves, she saw only a few books for sale. Most of them had to do with holistic healing or vegan recipes.

“We just thought that what with, you know, the subject matter of your writing, you would know a lot about the spirit world.”

Cally smiled and focused on the crystals hanging above the register, trying to change the subject. “Those are interesting,” she said. On closer inspection she could see they were actually necklaces, in myriad colors, each with beads and feathers complementing their central crystals.

The short woman Cally thought was named Willow selected one and took it down to show it more closely to her. “This one is crafted to enhance creativity,” she explained. “The citrine opens the mind to new thoughts, and chalcedony facilitates communication. They are clustered around a smoky quartz crystal to help you access your subconscious energies. I think it’s calling to you.”

Cally thought it was a pretty piece of wearable art, but she said, “Oh, I have never been much for wearing jewelry.”

“But you should!” Willow exclaimed. “You are so pretty!” She held the necklace against Cally’s shirt. “And look, it matches your aura.” She turned to get Raven’s opinion and said, “I think we should give it to her for half off!”

“Actually,” said Cally, “I am more in the market for something to send to my kids.” She moved toward the rack of hand-made greeting cards, and the two women’s faces fell.

“We also have a very nice deck of spirit communication cards,” Raven offered. “They might help you connect with the spirits at Vale House.” She opened the box of cards and fanned them out for Cally, who had to admit that the artwork on the cards was truly extraordinary. One of them depicted a beautiful woman carrying two torches through a storm, with a pack of puppies at her feet. “Well, dogs, not puppies,” Cally thought, but the image still made her smile.

“I understand there are quite a lot of spirits up at Vale House,” Raven said.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Have you interacted with any of them yet?”

“Not so far.” Cally began maneuvering toward the door.

Raven cocked her head and looked at Cally through one eye. “I don’t think that’s true,” she said. “I think you’ve met several of them already. In fact...” She went behind the counter and reached for something below it. “I think you’ve met many spirits throughout your lifetime, haven’t you? Would you like a reading?” she concluded, drawing out a battered Tarot deck. “No charge!”

“Not today, thank you,” Cally said. “I have an appointment to interview someone in a little while, and I shouldn’t be late.” Thankful to the Captain already for his promised tale, she backed toward the door. “It was very nice meeting you. I’ll come again when I have more time.”