BeSwitched, Paranormal Romance (11 page)

Chapter 15

Idis’s Victorian house appeared like a big green monster in the night. Pussface approached the habitation with fear running its chilling fingers across his spine.

Peering through a window, the black cat witnessed Idis on her knees in the center of the living
room. Long and black drippy candles burned around her.

The atmosphere had a strange
, red haziness about it, while the witch chanted over and over in an unknown language, raising her voice louder and louder. Once she reached the level of yelling, a soft wind twirled around her, ruffling her dress and messing her already wild hair. Suddenly a ghostly being seeped through the floorboards and floated above her like a mist.

“Yes!” Idis cackled, throwing her head back dramatically.

“Oh no. Idis has gone too far.” Pussface jumped off the porch, heading in the opposite direction as fast as his four legs could take him.

A scratching from Cathy’s bedroom window was so distinct that it woke up Surla. “What is that?”

The black curled up body at the bottom of the bed stirred. “What?”

Scratch… scratch. “That!” she whispered loudly.

“Probably the tree.” Cathy was half asleep.

Scratch… “Hey!” a voice called from outside.

“Can your tree talk
, too?” Surla pulled the bed sheets over half her face in fear.

“No. Not like your mirror can.”

“Didn’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“A voice say—”

“Hey!”
It finished the sentence. “You, guys, let me in!”

“Oh my gosh!” Cathy’s fur stood on end.

“Go away, tree!” Surla said.

“It’s me—
Pussface! Please, I need in!” They finally had the courage to look at the window where two orange orbs stared in at them.

“Yeah right. I’m not letting you in!” Surla sat up with anger and so did Cathy.

“No, but, but you don’t understand. I need to talk to you! Idis is up to no good…”

“Like we didn’t know that already
,” Cathy retorted.

“I’m on your side now
, Surla. I always was, except the scaredy cat in me made me listen to Idis. You have to trust me.”

“Should we trust him?” Cathy asked, being gullible by nature.

“No way! What if Idis is hiding next to him? And as soon as I open that window, she comes flying in like a banshee.”

“Then we’re doomed. You’re right.”

“I don’t know how I can prove it to you, Surla. I just wanted to get some refuge and warn you at the same time. “

“Warn me of what?”

“Idis. She is dealing with Black Magic now. I saw her myself, summoning evilness. Now you know that’s the one commandment the Witch’s Coven holds the firmest—to not deal with Black Magic.”

Surla and Cathy turned to each other with wide eyes.

“Why would I lie to you about something like this?” His voice cracked with sincerity.

“Well.” She slowly approached the window and gazed through it at all angles. “Okay, cousin… I’m trusting you.”

Early the next morning, a little, yellow car pulled into Idis’s driveway. Out stepped a small Chinese woman in a long red trench coat. Her heels click-clacked up the creaky porch steps. She then rang the doorbell, which chimed a slow low tune. From inside her coat, something wriggled around and she held the bundle tightly as she heard footsteps coming to answer. Anticipation was evident as she pursed her lips.

The witch opened the door a crack. Dark baggy circles formed around her eyes from the night before, making her already piercing pale green eyes even more piercing. It almost hurt to look straight into them. “What do you want?” Her big nose pointed suspiciously to the concealed object in the woman’s coat.

A sickened frown quickly appeared. In a strong accent she replied, “I berieve I’ve found Surra.”

“What?! Speak clearer!”

“Surra, your pet. Is there a reward?”

“Oh! Surla! Hurry up, hand her over!” Idis’s long skinny fingers reached out. “Finally those stupid posters paid off.”

The Chinese woman undid a few buttons revealing the tired black body.

“A poodle!” Idis screeched. “A poodle!”

“Yes. Not Surra?” The runny eyed, curly-furred dog was then held out, and it yelped.

“No, not Surrrrra!” she mimicked in fury. “Surla is my cat, not dog.” Idis grabbed a flier and pointed to the crayon picture.

“Oh, it rook very
much rike a poodle,” she disagreed. “See, short tail and froppy ears.”

“You wanna see a poodle? Here!” Her arms shot straight out, fingers stretched and spread. POOF!

“Bye
, Mom, I’ll see you later tonight.” Surla slipped out the door, allowing Cathy and Pussface to follow. It was Halloween night. It was pretty easy to decide on a costume this year. Surla wore a black body suit, nylons, cat ears, and a long tail. Two real black cats and a gorgeous girl wearing a cat costume attracted so much attention walking down the sidewalks, that even little boys running around in Ninja robes looked to each other with dropped mouths.

The three headed
toward Idis’s. None of them spoke a word to each other until they were standing in front of their spooky destination. It sat there, silent and repelling.

“You’re sure she’ll be gone tonight?” Sur
la stood, worried, on the dead grass.

“I’m sure,” Pussface spoke up. “I heard her talkin’ to Gretchen through Vladimirror. Idis can’t miss o
ut on The Witches’ Ball this year, because Marilyn Handsome will be there, entertaining.”

“Marilyn Handsome, really?” Surla’s eyebrows raised with interest. “They’ve been trying to get him for four years.”

“Weird,” Cathy whispered. The moonlight cast a mysterious orange.

Together, th
ey creaked up the porch steps. Spread in front of the door was a pool of water. Before Surla moved an inch closer, a ghostly, barely audible, voice moaned, “Don’t step in a pooooodle.”

“What was that?” Pussface leaned his head back to see Surla’s fear in her face.

“Don’t step in that—puddle,” Cathy repeated.

“No, I’m sure it said ‘poodle,’” Pussface said quickly.

Surla shook her head. “Whatever. We’re obviously hallucinating.”

“All three of us?” Pussface’s ears twitched.

“Yeah.” Surla proceeded, splashing a shoe in the wet spot.

“Ooo!”
they heard a faint voice echo.

“Are you going to say we hallucinated again?” Cathy’s tail went between her legs.

The question was ignored as Surla grabbed the door’s handle. It felt more than cold; it was icy, and it was locked. “C’mon we’ll try another entry.”

“What’s that note say on the door?” Pussface noticed.

“Oh, Idis puts that up every year to scare off the trick-or-treaters.” She tore it off and read, “I eat children for breakfast.” Then it was thrown into the bushes.

A tall, black-iron fence separated the front from the backyard. A thick oak tree twisted up and over it. Cathy and Pussface slid their lean bodies underneath.

The railing, which resembled spears shooting up in the air, was too thin for any human body to squeeze through. “Be careful,” Cathy warned, waiting in the weeds of the side-yard. She saw Surla grab a sturdy branch with both her hands. Surla glanced at her fake nails; their redness glistened in the night. She sighed with worry, then held on tighter as her feet climbed up the trunk. She was amazed at her strength in her legs, but still it was straining. She hopped to the other side with just more than a few inches away from the spear-like points. Once her feet hit ground, the fuzzy-eared headband fell off and she quickly retrieved it.

“Good job,” Pussface complimented.

“It was nothin’,” she kidded, while fixing the rest of her hair.

Red-brick steppingstones wrapped
around the patio. Moss emerged from the cracks, and waving wild grass tried hiding the path. The patio’s cement was severely cracked and exotic plants hung above in old pots. A naked statue of a headless woman caught Cathy’s attention, as it sat captured with ivy, arms outstretched as if it was yearning for help.

“Pussface, Cathy,” Surla called for their attention. Her foot pushed open a plastic cat door. “You two go in and unlatch the window for me.”

“Let’s go, partner,” Pussface said and led the way through the flap.

Surla worked the holey screen off carefully. Inside, a kitchen unwelcomingly greeted them. Black cauldrons of different widths hung above rust-colored counters. Jars were s
trewn around, holding squishy, pod-like things with tentacles. An awful smell like an old corpse filled the room.

Cathy
gave out a couple kitty-coughs. “I couldn’t have imagined it worse.”

“If you think this is bad…,” Pussface wiped a cobweb off his whiskers with a paw, “you should visit
my
witch’s house.”

They heard a tapping
come from the only window, now without a screen, and saw Surla mouthing to them, “Hurry up.”

They jumped to the windowsill, being careful not to tip over a jar full of whatever. A latch was pushed up by the two, ma
king it possible for Surla to slide open the glass and climb through.

“If I’m right…,” Surla pulled in her velvet-sewn tail, “the Spellbook should be upstairs in the library.” She waved a hand in front of her nose. “Woo! Hurry up. I almost forgot how bad it smells in here.”

They went through swinging double doors.

A familiar scene of Idis clipping her toenails on the green couch flashed through Surla’s mind as they passed the living
room. They ascended the winding mahogany staircase. Reprints of Picasso’s early paintings of women lined the wall in the upstairs hallway. Not one depicted a beautiful vision of women.

Surla stopped a moment, like she had done numerous times before to study over one po
rtrait: an exaggerated nose almost jumped off the canvas, red hair framed the sullen face and a frumpy green hat sat atop. Surla remembered Idis posing for Pablo Picasso in his creative, and messy studio.

Surla didn’t know a lot of the newspapers, which were strewn around his studio, were actually used in his artwork;
she thought the Spanish guy was being so friendly to line the room with poopypaper for her, until one day she ruined something that was very important. Then Picasso yelled at Idis, “Your
estupido gato
has ruined my masterpiece!”

It was a long process to finish the well-known Idis portrait, yet in it she remains nameless. The original portrait has been known to hang in San Francisco’s Legion Of Honor Art Museum.

The sound of a book slamming to the floor of the library brought Surla’s attention back to its sole purpose. She entered the library, situated inside the witch’s cap. Pussface and Cathy were already hunting through Edgar Allen Poe sections for the Spellbook. Dust captured colorful moonlight, beaming through tall stained glass and peacefully landing on bookshelves. Cathy climbed those shelves, searching where Surla couldn’t reach. Covers were tattered, bindings broken, pages turned yellow with age, and dirty fingerprints dotted most.

After a long while, the chime of a clock was heard from the next room over.
They all froze as Surla counted the time to be nine o’clock.

“We have plenty of time.” Pussface poked his head from behind a stack of encyclopedias. “Idis shouldn’t be back until waaay after midnight.”

“But we’ve searched through almost everything in here.” Cathy looked at her
dusty paws with dismay. “And look at the mess we’ve made.”

“Then where else could it be?” Surla put her hands on her hips in thought.

“Maybe Idis is smarter than we think. Why would someone place something so important in the most obvious place?” Cathy said.

“She’s right,” Pussface added.

“Maybe…,” Surla bit her bottom lip, “it’s in her room. Yeah! C’mon.”

New energy came over them as they entered Idis’s, two doors down the hall. The walls and ceiling were painted a midnight blue and a red light glowed dimly from a small lamp, casting its hue across a thick black bedspread, which flowed to the wood floor like magma.

Antique perfume bottles with their atomizer pumps decorated a dresser with ornate designs. Vladimirror stood silently next to the dresser, ominously reflecting the three trespassers.

“Is that the magic m
irror?” Cathy asked.

“Yes, that’s him—Vladimirror. He can probably hear us right now, if he’s not sleeping.”

“Aren’t you afraid he might tell Idis what we’re doing?” Pussface reasoned.

“Not at all. He’s tired of the old witch, just
as I am. Besides, we’re friends. Aren’t we, Vladimirror?”

He stood there, still silent. “Vladimirror,” Surla called again. “It’s me
—Surla. I’m switched with Cathy, who’s down there.” She pointed to her body.