He does little to hide the relief in his eyes as he rushes out of the building, practically running to his Lexus. I drop all the paperwork off in the car and walk down the street, going slow as I look at the different shops. I take a couple of photos to send to Mom, and send one to Harrison as well, asking if this looks familiar to him.

I pause in front of an antique store, debating on going inside or not. I actually love sorting through the junk that consignment stores like this offer for sale. But as a medium, I almost feel like it’s my duty to buy anything that has a spirit attached to it. A few years ago, I made it my job to drive around to as many antique stores in central New York and buy anything remotely haunted. I kept the items in a box in my basement for a while, and then started looking for a way to dispose of the junk without angering the spirits, which is how I met Madame Violet, the fake psychic I ended up working for.

Deciding to pass on the antiques for now, I cross the street and go into the cutest little coffee house called Curlew Café. Harrison texts me back as I’m waiting for my latte.

Harrison: That’s downtown Thorne Hill, isn’t it? Looks the same.

Me: How TF do you remember this?!

Harrison: Again…how do you NOT remember it? Aunt Estelle would take us out for breakfast almost every Sunday morning after church during Mom’s last year of residency.

I close my eyes and try to think back. I remember going to church with Grandma and Grandpa, and I remember a café, and Grandpa complaining about how bad the coffee was. But it was in Michigan, where they lived.

I remember looking out the café windows and seeing Lake Michigan. The café was along the beach, and it must have closed not long after we moved. I’ve wanted to go back from time to time but can’t find any information about it online.

Me: Are you sure?

Harrison: Stop fucking around, Annie.

Me: I’m not. I legit don’t remember this.

Harrison: I always said you were dropped on your head when you were a baby.

I reply with an eye-rolling emoji as I mentally count back. I remember Mom’s last year of residency. It was a hard year, and even as a kid I knew it. Dad was teaching at a local college and had a forty-five-minute commute each way. Mom pretty much lived at the hospital. Harrison and I lived with Grandma and Grandpa, and Grandma’s cancer came back. She was sick and required a lot of at-home care…which makes sense why Aunt Estelle would have stepped in to help out.

“Why can’t I remember?” I mumble to myself and let out a breath. My name is called and I go up to the counter to get my coffee, dropping a few dollars into the tip jar. Sipping my latte, I go back outside. It’s a little overcast today, but warm. People are walking up and down the streets, going in and out of the little shops just like I am.

My phone rings when I’m just a few paces from the bookstore, Novel Grounds. I step to the side and answer.

“Hey, Har.”

“Are you in Thorne Hill right now?”

“Oh, right. I did send you a photo.” I take a sip of my latte. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why the fuck are you there?”

I suck in a breath. “Aunt Estelle died.”

Harrison pauses. “Are you at her funeral?”

“No, she was cremated. I think. I haven’t actually seen her ashes and I didn’t think to ask for them. I suppose I should, right? I mean, we’re the only family she has left. Crap, now I feel bad.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Aunt Estelle died, and she left me her house in her will,” I say with a wince. I’ll tell him about the gobs of money later. “I would have told you the other day, but Jenny was there and I didn’t want to bring it up in front of her.”

“You inherited her house?” he echoes.

“Yeah.”

“Good luck with that hunk of junk.”

Maybe the house was in poor condition when we came here as kids. I wouldn’t know—I can’t remember a damn thing. “It’s been updated. Look, I know how weird it is, and I don’t know why Aunt Estelle left me her possessions. Don’t be jealous.”

“I’m not. I’m, uh, confused. Like you said, it’s weird as fuck she willed her shit to you.”

“I know. And I’ll be home tomorrow. I just had to fly out here today to get things settled.”

“What are you going to do with the house? If it was updated like you said, you could probably make a decent profit off it.”

“I haven’t gotten there yet,” I tell him, though the thought of selling the house seems blasphemous. “I think the house has been in the family a while. I can’t sell a piece of Fowler family history.”

Tags: Emily Goodwin Grim Gate Paranormal
Source: readsnovelonline.net