Shadows (Bayou Magic 1)

Lucky me.

“I don’t talk to no mens,” Mom says.

“It’s a good question,” Millie says. “With the second floor collapsed, where do you sleep, Mama?”

“Oh, where’d my manners go?” I frown as I watch our mother smile and push back her hair as if she has unexpected company. “I meant to clean up ’fore’n you came by, but I must’ve got busy with the chillins.”

“Your home looks fine,” Daphne says as if she’s talking to a stranger, and I immediately take her cue. My youngest sister has done her best not to touch anything, but I can see the strain on her face.

“I agree,” I say. “You keep a lovely home.”

“Well, thank you kindly,” Mama says with a toothless, satisfied grin. “Hasn’t been easy to keep up with them girls since I done killed their daddy.”

She winks, to my horror, and gestures for us to follow her to the den off the kitchen.

I trade glances with the others and follow her, surprised at what we see.

Where the rest of the house is utterly condemnable, this room isn’t so bad. She keeps the door closed from the rest of the house. She has a simple twin bed made neatly with old blankets that I recognize from my childhood. There’s an oil lamp and a rocking chair in the corner.

The chair that used to be under the stairs.

The one where a shadow still sits, rocking back and forth.

“That thing never stops movin’,” Mom says and shrugs. “Probably uneven boards or somethin’.”

“Or a ghost,” Daphne whispers, catching Mama’s attention.

“We don’t talk like that in this house, young ’un,” she says sternly. “There be no ghosts here, y’hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Daphne says quietly.

“These girls, always carry’n on about ghosts and goblins.” She shakes her head as if it’s all nonsense. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Mama, do you remember a book that you took away from Millie when she was a teenager?”

Mom narrows her dull eyes as if she’s thinking.

“Can’t read,” she says simply, surprising me.

I didn’t know that.

“It was a book that I was reading, and you took it away from me,” Millie adds. “I really need it back.”

“I burn all the books here so I have heat,” Mom replies with another shrug. “Probably burned that up, too.”

“Do you mind if I look around for it?” Millie asks.

“You’re plum stupid if you think you should wander around through this house. It’s full of evil spirits,” Mom says, shocking all of us.

One minute, we don’t talk of ghosts.

The next, the place is full of evil spirits.

I mean…she’s not wrong.

But her mental illness has clearly progressed so much that it’s hard for her to make any sense.

“I’ll be careful.”

“Don’t matter to me.” Mom waves her off.

“Go with Cash,” I say instantly. “None of us goes alone.”

Cash squeezes my shoulder, then follows Millie out of the room.

“Y’all can sit,” Mama offers, pointing to the bed as she sits in the rocking chair, right on the shadow. “We’re not too fancy in this house.”

“I’m fine,” Daphne says immediately but smiles to soften the rejected offer. “How are you doing?”

“Same as always,” Mama replies. “Ain’t nothin’ change ’round here.”

Except the number of spirits. I don’t know why, but they seem to have multiplied considerably. Doubled, maybe even tripled. Everywhere I look, another shadow lurks.

No wonder she’s crazy.

I would be, too.

“You know, if you ever want to leave this place, there are people who can help you.”

Mama narrows her eyes at me. “Tryin’ to run me outta my own house?”

“No, ma’am,” I say immediately. “It was just an idea.”

“This place is nice enough. My girls never complain.”

“Your daughters are all grown,” Daphne reminds her. “We’re your daughters, Mama. Remember? We all grew up and moved away.”

She frowns as if she’s confused. “But I talk to y’all every day. You visit me here all the time.”

One of two things is happening here. Either Mom is simply certifiably nuts, or the spirits here are taking our shapes to mess with her.

At this point, it could be either.

Or both.

“I haven’t set foot in this house in more than a decade,” I remind her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Brielle.”

“Brielle’s dead. He killed her.”

My skin prickles. My heart skips a beat.

“Who killed her?”

“Killed who?”

I sigh in frustration. She can’t focus on a conversation long enough to make a logical statement.

“What do you do here all day with no electricity or running water?” Daphne asks.

“There’s water out back,” she says, pointing over her shoulder toward the swamp. “I wash my clothes in there.”

She washes her clothes in swamp water.

It’s a wonder she hasn’t been eaten by ’gators or died from a bacterial infection.

“I just talk to my friends, an’ I keep a pretty garden outside. Did you see it?”

“No, ma’am. There’s a garden?” Daphne asks. Our mother did like to garden when we were kids. We spent a lot of time out there with her.