Haunting Leigh: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Literal Leigh Romance Diaries Book 4) (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Manic Monday

What is worse than a Monday? Answer—having a dream on Sunday night that it is Monday, then waking up and repeating Monday morning in real time. It’s like a cruel episode of déjà vu custom crafted in your own personal hell.

My early arrival was typical. That is one habit I am happy to have developed in order to be ready for the day. I entered my empty classroom with a sense of trepidation. I knew that it was silly, but expected after having vividly envisioned a wild golem attack, albeit a nightmare. I took a breath and went to my desk to go over a few papers and the lesson plans for the day. When I glanced up at the clock, my eye caught a sight in one corner of the room. The student’s handmade golem was propped up against the wall. The crayon and marker smudged face didn’t seem as cute anymore. There was no way I was going to be able to handle having that thing in the room. The feeling I got from its presence was more than uncomfortable. It was downright creepy.

I started to plot its demise.
I should take that damned thing out back and toss it in the trash bin before any students show up. How could I explain it to the kids? They’ll think it became a real runaway golem.
I imagined myself accidentally crashing into it until it was nothing more than a papier-mâché scrap pile.
Maybe I’ll tell them the custodian accidentally knocked it over
.
No. I can’t.
I couldn’t do it. They worked so hard on their promethean creation.
A golem piñata?
That’s not a bad idea, but I would never be able to talk them into it. I just need to get it out of my classroom. I’ve got it!
I had solved my problem. I didn’t need to destroy the golem, just get it the hell out of there.

I’d need to be very careful. Halloween was officially banned from the secular public school system.
Halloween is in no way acknowledged to exist. Imagine somewhere, a fun-sucking, fuzzy-brained, academic genius decided that we can’t actually have “Halloween” parties or wish each other “Happy Halloween.” The majority of my fellow teachers don’t let that bit of hypocritical silliness stop us from sharing Halloween’s rich tradition of literature, music, history, and folklore with our students. Kids are kids, no matter the religion, race, or culture. All kids love to make a costume and have a day filled with magical Halloween fun. I know I loved it when I was a little girl and I still do today. Judging from the multimillion dollar business that is generated by Halloween, it’s more popular than ever in our culture. So, it’s pretty obvious, I’m not alone in my love for this fun time of year.

It’s strange. Even now that I am an adult, I can find myself occasionally spooked by a vivid nightmare. In all reality, it was just a crazy dream and the golem in my classroom was nothing more than paper and glue. Yet, there I was clumsily picking up the golem and dragging it out into the hallway. My destination was the library. My mission was to quietly place the sculpture among a display of autumn decorations that various classes had created from books they read—not Halloween related, autumn related. Just for the record, in the public school system those are two totally different things.

I nearly jumped out of my pink Sketchers when a high pitched voice pierced my brain. “Miss Epstein? What are you doing in here with that…whatever it is?” She made a weird clucking sound with her tongue. “That better not be a Halloween ghost or something. You of all people know that we do not refer to religious themed holidays in this school.” Great, it was Clarice Can-I Buy-A-vowel-Strznczkl. She was practically the flag bearer for the holiday hating crowd. Her last name had been informally changed by the staff and student body after a previous surprise run in I had with her.

I remembered it well. It was my first day of my first year. In one of my ‘I didn’t know anyone was around’ moments, I was going over a list of the faculty to familiarize myself with the names. When I saw Clarice’s name, I tried to pronounce it out loud. “Stir Zinkel? No, Strazenchekachek. I give up! How about Clarice Can-I-buy-a-vowel?” Unfortunately, I
wasn’t
alone. One should be aware that librarians are stealthy by nature. I never knew she had arrived behind me, along with several members of the faculty. Everyone had a good laugh at my comment. All except Clarice. I felt just awful. I wasn’t trying to insult her, I was only frustrated at my inability to come up with a reasonable pronunciation. It turns out that stealth is not Clarice’s only trait. The other would be her deep and relentless hatred of me.

Think quick, Leigh. You can’t tell her it’s a golem for the display. She knows we don’t have any golem books. She looked. And she thought supernatural creatures were not appropriate for celebrating autumn themed books. She’s one of the fun sucking Halloween haters.
“Oh this? Um…it’s Frosty.”
Damn it, Leigh, Frosty isn’t Halloween!
“Appleseed. As in Johnny.” I have no idea why I said that. Maybe because I felt so intimidated by her. She was an older woman with salt and pepper hair pulled up into a tight bun, a sallow complexion, and a very grouchy demeanor.

“Frosty Appleseed?”

“The students made Johnny Appleseed, but as you can see, it turned out more like Frosty the Snowman. So they gave him a funny nickname.”
Oh shit! Now she is going to think I’m alluding to her nickname.

“I see.” She clucked a little more. “It seems, Miss Epstein, that you have a proclivity for affronting that which should be sacrosanct in our literary heritage and in individual personage.”

What? Who talks like that? An asshole, that’s who.
“I’m sorry. The students didn’t mean to insult Johnny Appleseed.”
You cranky bitch.

“You can leave it here, Miss Epstein, but I must warn you, I have heard some of your students mentioning certain things in regard to holidays that bear a religious connotation. If that is the case, I will have no choice but to report it.”

“Err, I don’t know about any of that. I’m not much of a religious person. So, I’ll leave old Frosty Appleseed right here then. Have a good day, Clarice.”
God, does she always have to be such a bitch? Really? I have never heard of Halloween as being a contemporary religious holiday. It’s F U N, something I’m sure you know nothing about. Bitch.

“Humph.” That was the only sound she made as I turned and walked out of the library.

With Frosty Appleseed the golem alone with Clarice for the day, I returned to my classroom which had started to fill up with chattering little faces. Once we were settled in, I had to break the news. “I’m sorry to tell you that we will not be finishing The Runaway Golem.” They responded to my announcement with typical boos, moans, and questions. Following my nightmare and my subsequent talk with Hunter, I had already resolved to not finish the golem story. Now, Clarice—the fun sucking Halloween hater—had practically offered herself up as an unsuspecting scapegoat.

“Just this morning, I was reminded by our librarian that we cannot have any Halloween themed activities. I removed the golem you made and took it down to the library, where it is now part of the autumn literature art display. Only now you cannot call him a golem. He is now Johnny Appleseed from the story we recently read about him. Also, since he looks very much like Frosty the Snowman, I just told the librarian that we’ll call him Frosty Appleseed.” Subtle moans and groans grew and then faded. Just like that, my golem problems were suddenly gone.

Clarice had created an entirely new problem. When we returned to the classroom, a little girl named Izzy ran up and hugged me. “I’m sorry, Miss Epstein.”

Before I could ask what she had done, I was rushed by Dylan and Peter. “Sorry, too.” Dylan mumbled.

“What happened? Why is everyone sorry?”

Peter explained. He pointed his finger at the other two. “They told on you! Miss Canibuyavowel talked to us. She said she didn’t believe our thing we made was Frosty Appleseed. She wanted to know what it was. They told her the story you read. They told her it was really a golem. They snitched on you!”

The kids sang like canaries and I was sure they jumbled up parts of the story. Clarice heard what she wanted to hear. So what? I got caught in a lie about an art project. I didn’t let it bother me long. I just had to wait and see if Clarice would pull some underhanded trick.

Chapter Eight

Furious Leigh

Even though you are finally done with the work day, Monday has several more hours to play around. She isn’t done messing with you yet, not by a long shot. And Mondays by nature are going to throw something unexpected, unwelcomed,
un-anything
right in your face, just to see what you’re going to do about it. That was the case when I got home.

My apartment was quiet. I had hoped that Hunter would be there, but I was greeted by Luna. I flopped into my comfortable chair, flung my shoes off, and held Luna. She seemed very agitated.

“What’s wrong? Why are you acting all squirrelly?”

“Meow.” She jumped down and returned a minute later. A yellow scrap of paper hung from her mouth.

“Whatcha got there? A note?” I took the note and recognized Hunter’s handwriting. It was a little wrinkled from Luna, but the message was loud and clear. 

Hey Leigh

I found a place 

A little lower on the paper it said

See ya

I stood straight up. “What? You found a place? See ya?” It sunk in quick. My cat had just delivered a break up notice. I actually felt my heart pop like it was a water balloon getting poked with a pin. All the blood ran down to my feet and I just felt empty. I didn’t even sit back down before that blood boiled right back up in an uncontrollable volcanic eruption where my heart had once been. “Motherfucker!” I shouted. Luna jumped away as fast as her fluffy paws could carry her. She wasn’t used to seeing me lose my mind in a fit of rage. I’m not that experienced in all actuality. I must have sounded like a rabid dog as I growled several words without finishing them. I had no idea this was coming my way. I stomped and kicked at the furniture. I wanted to throw something.

I used to have these neighbors, John and Gina Galicki, they seemed like the perfect couple and took ceramics classes a couple of nights a week. Curiously, about one night per month, everyone on the street could hear those two fighting like a pair of wild animals. They screamed and shouted, and most of all they smashed all the pottery they had made throughout the month. Honestly, there were times when I worried the fight was going to spill out into the street and start a riot. The next day they were fine and went on to make more ceramic weapons for their next monthly PMS induced brawl.

The thing is, I don’t own that many nice things. You know, things that you could throw to make a theatrical smashing sound. I didn’t stock up for the occasion by taking a pottery class. Although, it would be a poetic way to say how my little heart had been shattered. As I continued to shout profanities, curses, and words I didn’t know that I knew, I looked around and saw a heavy glass vase. I had bought it to put some fake flowers in. You know the kind of vase I’m talking about. The kind that is about as big around as a soup can and a foot tall. It was cheap, it was heavy, and this situation was worth the bargain buster deal I had bought it for.

I also saw my desk. “Oh, yeah, you sorry son of a bitch. Let’s see you write your stupid notes once I lay some witchcraft on your happy ass! I’m going to make you think you’re a frog. You’ll paint yourself green and hop down Michigan Avenue in nothing but cheap body paint.” That didn’t seem good enough, but it was a start.

I took a quarterback’s stance and was ready to hurl the vase. “Damn, I can’t afford a hole in the wall or a new window.” Now I looked like a quarterback that shifted around trying to find an open receiver. The door was sturdy and provided a nice, sizeable target that even I couldn’t miss. I threw a perfect spiral. It was like a glass bullet. Just as my perfect glass bullet pass was about to make impact, Hunter opened the door and the bottom of the vase caught him right in the forehead.

The sound was a combination of a “thud” and a slightly hollow “clink.” I don’t know why, but my initial feeling was that of disappointment. The vase didn’t shatter into a million pieces like I expected. It just rolled away and out the door. Hunter never knew what hit him, and he had been knocked out cold before he even started to fall backward. The only part of him facing me now were the soles of his shoes. “Hell, yeah! Take that one!” I yelled.

Silence. I didn’t see any movement and my heart pounded, not from the adrenaline but that perhaps I had finally killed him this time.
Okay, okay, it was just an accident
.
Yes, I was mad and if anyone in the neighborhood heard me yelling, they will say I was going to kill him. I didn’t mean it.
Then I panicked. I ran over to him and looked at his face. His face still had the look of shock except for the perfectly round red circle on his forehead. It seemed like he was breathing. I grabbed his legs and pulled as hard as I could. I had to drag him inside. 

“Oh my God, you are so heavy!” I huffed and puffed, and pulled. I finally got him in to the point where I could roll him off to the side, just enough to close the door. His arms were splayed out, in one hand was a small bouquet of flowers, and in the other hand was a small stack of official documents. They looked like legal documents and they had both of our names on them. I was so worked up I couldn’t look at them, but I was pretty sure they had to do with real estate.

“Hunter! Please, wake up! Please!” Hunter didn’t move. “I am so sorry. I don’t mean to keep giving you concussions.” I took a breath. I had to call for help, but the phone was on the desk. “I’ll call 911. Stay right there!” Hunter lay motionless.

Before I could get up and turn around, a puff of green smoke filled the room. A Creole voice that I recognized filled the room. “I’m no doctor, but I’d say you cracked that boy’s skull. Did you kill him?” It was Marie Laveau. She wore a long robe in vivid hues of gold, green, and red. A similar material wrapped tightly around her hair. She looked every bit the Voodoo Queen of Louisiana.

“Marie! Help! I don’t know if I killed him.”

“Oh, no problem, sweetie. I can change him into a bug and step on him. Is he a burglar? Escaped prisoner?”

“No! It’s Hunter, my boyfriend.”

Marie leaned down and checked out Hunter. She put her hands on his neck and head. “He’s still alive.” She put her hand on his chest. “He’s been hit with a pretty powerful jolt of magic. That’s for certain.” She touched his forehead. “And apparently his gourd has been thumped pretty good also. I’d say by a blunt instrument. Vase?”

“Yes, but it was an accident. Can you please help him?” I begged.

“An accident? Hell, I’d hate to see what he’d look like if you meant to bludgeon him to death. What did he do anyway? Was he chasing another girl? Is he a drinker? A gambler, maybe? Cause I’ve come across my fair share of those lowlifes. Let me tell you, I had one ole boy that stole my rings. The jackwad sold them and ran off with some nasty whore from Baton Rouge. Well, you can bet your witchy ass that I caught up with him all right. I turned him into a chicken and fed the bastard to my gators.” She held up her Voodoo necklace and among the various bony things that were suspended on it was a single chicken’s beak. “See this? It’s all that’s left of that one. That’s how you do it the witchy way. A woman has got to be creative, especially with a man that’s lower than a mudbug in winter.”

“No. No, I swear. He’s none of those. See?” I lifted Hunters limp arm. The bouquet was still in his grip. The white daisy heads and small blue flowers dangled down in such a sad way that I started to cry. “Flowers.” I tried to stop sobbing. “He brought me flowers, and I split his skull.” The reality of what I had done hit me so hard at that particular moment. I knew I’d burn at the stake for this incident, and deservedly so. That is, if the state of Illinois even did that sort of thing. No matter, they would probably bring back stake burnings just for me. “I was trying to throw a vase at the door and he just happened to walk in at the exact same moment.”

“Relax, sweetie.” Marie reached into her robe to retrieve her wand. It looked like nothing more than a rough stick you would find laying under a tree. She waved it over Hunter and chanted something mysterious and unintelligible. His body began to levitate. I put my hands over my mouth, trying to keep it together. With a single swing, Hunter floated away to the bedroom. We all followed, Luna included. With small movements of her wand, Marie lowered Hunter gently onto the bed.

“Now what?” I cried.

“The reason I came here is because anytime a witch releases a powerful burst of witchcraft in a fit of rage, an alarm goes off at the union office. We had to set that system up to keep a handle on these sorts of things. Let me tell you, over the years some of these women have been able to really set a new definition for an evil witch. And it’s always because of a man. Always. Always. Always. I remember this one witch, she—”

Now was not the time for an oral history of witchcraft gone awry. “Marie! I didn’t use magic, I just threw that vase.” I pointed to the vase that was lying on the floor.

“Yes, but you were so enraged. You were so furious and you were focusing all of that energy in one single part of your mind. When you whipped that vase out, you not only released your anger, you shot your man right through the heart with magic. You knocked his ghost straight out of him.”

“What? What the hell do you mean? How did I knock his ghost out? Are you kidding?” This went against every bit of logic that remained in my brain. I simply couldn’t even begin to comprehend that thought.

“Yeah, you know—his spirit, his soul, whatever you like to call it. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. Your magic is keeping his body alive in a state of
suspended animation
. At least that’s the way I describe it. I got the idea to call it that after watching a movie about these people that were traveling through space—”

“Marie! Suspended animation. I get it. What about his...his ghost? Where is it?”

“Oh, it’s here somewhere. That sucker will stay close to his physical body. I’ll snag it and put it back in. He’ll be fine after that.” Marie closed her eyes and held her hands up over her head and moved her fingers. She slowly turned around as if she was feeling the air for Hunter’s ghost. It goes without saying, I was barely able to control my tears. This was frightening in so many ways. I prayed that she would find him.

“Bad news, sweetie. His ghost isn’t here. I don’t understand it. Even if you blew it out the front door, it should bounce right back near his body. Something or someone else is involved. I sense that.”

“What? What else? Who else?” I started to shake as the stream of tears flowed harder down my face.

“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to give my best guess…” Marie put her hands out in front of her as she walked to the front door where I had accidentally pummeled Hunter into suspended animation. “I’d say it was another ghost that has been following him around for whatever reason. When you knocked his ghost out…it took his away.”

“Where? Oh my God! You’re saying that Hunter’s been ghost-napped? How do we find him?”

“No. There is no we unless you got a mouse in your pocket. You don’t, do you? Never mind, don’t answer that.
You
find him. I’m outta here. I can’t look all over Chicago for ghosts. You need a medium and a good ole fashioned Ouija board.” She waved her little wand and a white porcelain decanter appeared in her other hand. It had a silver clip that clamped the lid down tight, just like the set of decanters I had in the kitchen. “You need to clip some of his hair, take a few drops of his blood and put them in here. Once you find his ghost, you open this up and tell him to get inside quickly. You will need a medium that knows how to talk to these ghosts, she or he will have to distract his kidnappers, err,
ghost-nappers
long enough for him to make a getaway. Once you get his ghost inside, you get back here and call me.”

Before I could ask Marie where one would go to find a medium, she vanished in her cloud of green smoke. Luna and I lay on the bed next to Hunter and I held him. I cried. Luna cried. I didn’t know what to do next. I picked that battered bouquet from his hand and I retrieved the vase that I hit him with. Once I had the flowers in it, I set it on the nightstand in a fitting display of irony. To make it worse, a couple of the daisy petals slowly fluttered down to the floor as if Hunter’s ghost was playing ‘I love you, I love you not.’

Luna picked up the other papers he had been carrying and brought them to me. They were real estate legal papers all right. From what I could figure out, Hunter had snapped up a house on an auction. He had the deed paperwork filled out in both of our names. I realized Hunter had found a house for us, for our lives together, right here in Lincoln Park. He had been coming in the door to tell me that very thing and I knocked the ghost out of him.