Page 6 of Bewitched By the Headless Horseman (The Bewitching Hour #1)

Stevie took off her helmet and ran her fingers through her mussed hair as she peered toward the abandoned house near the end of the street. To wait for Roxy, or to not wait for Roxy—that is the question .

She was never a Shakespeare fan, so she wouldn’t endlessly debate between the two—she would check the house out.

Especially as she thought more on it—ghosts could touch Roxy, not Stevie.

But for her own safety, in case there was some morally gray person, of the living persuasion, who leaned more toward the dark side slinking about …

well, she took out the special brew from her purse that Lucia had made which would work better than any pepper spray.

It would turn the person into a toad for twenty-four hours.

As a backup, she sent her witchy sister-in-law a text after bringing her purse inside the duplex.

So, I decided to go look at the abandoned house down the street. If you don’t hear from me by tonight, that means to come save me. I could’ve been sucked inside the walls and trapped or something.

Stevie smiled just as Lucia messaged her back. Charms and hexes, you’re going without me? You better have the spray I made and your lucky ring still on.

Special attack toad brew already in my hand and ring on my thumb—check .

Stevie then headed toward the abandoned house, the neighborhood quiet.

She rotated the lucky thumb ring, made of glass and embedded with spelled tiny clovers and white petals, round and round, until she reached the driveway that appeared more shattered than cracked when she stood this close.

She stared up at the house, its boarded-up windows, the bars in front of a small basement window behind the dead garden.

On the wood of the entrance door, a question mark was spray painted in faded red.

She had plenty of questions herself—like were there ghosts inside, was it cleared out or had things been left behind, and what was the spray painter wanting to know?

Nothing supernatural wandered the yard. No ghost slipped out from around the house to ask for help with their unfinished business. Vampires wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, and instead they lived the highlife in their extravagant gothic mansions.

Skating her finger over the spray-painted question mark, Stevie studied the door—she might need to go back and see if she could find a crowbar.

If Lucia was there, she could’ve easily unlocked the door with a spell.

But when Stevie tried to turn the locked knob, the door pushed open, a soft creak echoing.

The door frame was splintered, most likely kicked in.

And if it was recent, squatters could potentially be there now.

Stevie gripped Lucia’s toad brew as she stepped over the dirt-smeared threshold.

A musky smell mingled with dust tickled her nose, not wholly unpleasant but not a scent she would want to be made into a candle either.

A thin line of light spilled into what had to be a sitting room, due to the old fabric chairs and a torn leather couch, the cushions and pillows missing.

She removed one board from the window that rested on the sill and wasn’t even nailed into place.

The other two boards were in the same boat as the first one when she set them on the floor.

Full light illuminated the room, casting a charming glow into the other areas of the beautifully dreary home.

Tangled silken spiderwebs decorated almost every corner, and graffiti covered the walls and wooden floor.

Most of the wallpaper was peeled in places, some with chunks missing.

Mysterious black splotches rested on the couch’s leather and before she started shouting for ghosts, she would search the home to make sure it was empty of any living souls.

Stevie took out her phone and turned on the flashlight.

The kitchen appliances were gone, leaving yellow stains in the empty spots.

Most of the doors were missing from the cabinets, and the drawers were all empty.

“Oh no wait, there the cockroaches are,” she sang softly to herself as she shut a drawer that wouldn’t close all the way.

The door beside the pantry led down to what had to be the basement.

The living room came next, and it was as if Stevie had just traveled back in time.

Cracked and worn recliners awaited her in the middle of the room on top of a filthy teal carpet.

Photos of geese wearing bonnets and cross-stitching designs of mushrooms hung across the walls, the glass frames fractured and destroyed.

Two large wooden shelves were empty of figurines or books that might’ve once been there. But….

“Whoa! Look at this badass TV!” Stevie grinned, crouching in front of the busted-out screen.

Aside from that dismal part, it was perfect—no graffiti or scratches marred its surface.

She messed with the knobs, rotating them in different directions, pretending she’d gone through a time warp.

It was a shame the TV wouldn’t work, or she would’ve lugged the heavy thing all the way home.

Might take one of those geese pictures for my living room though . It would only need a new frame.

Brushing lint from her dark jeans, she stood and finished up on the first floor, passing by a bathroom with broken mirror shards scattered across the white ceramic tile flooring.

Dark and questionable puddles sat stagnating inside the bathtub and seashell-shaped sink, the toilet reeking of how she imagined a zombie corpse would smell.

She then went by an empty master bedroom, dusty beer cans cluttering most of it, half the carpet ripped up.

Stevie reached the end of the loop that circled the first floor entirely. She stared up at the wooden staircase and started up the steps, where only a tiny bit of sunlight trickled into the area above. Rectangular yellow spots stained the white walls in place of picture frames that once hung there.

Another large board blocked a window at the top of the stairs, and she used all her strength to tear it off the wall.

The space was empty as were most of the rooms except for the beds, dressers, shelves, and damaged desks.

An ashy odor clung to the cooler air of the second floor.

It might not be her lucky day since there’d been no sign of anything of value or a single hint of a ghost.

She opened one of the doors in the last bedroom, and a narrow staircase led to an attic that looked as if it hadn’t been dusted in decades.

A frayed mattress leaned against a wooden-paneled wall beside a few cardboard boxes containing cheap holiday décor coated in mouse droppings.

Another couple of boxes held moldy hats and ruined fabrics.

In the shadowy corner rested a hoard of more cans accompanied by a pile of …

bones? Lips parted, eyes squinting, heart anticipating something unusual to hopefully happen, she brought the flashlight closer and let out a heavy sigh.

Just a pile of chicken bones that someone had eaten the meat off of and tossed aside, or from a witch who’d come in to perform a little séance.

As she came back to the bedroom, the house appeared to be crystal clear of the living. “Hello,” she called. “Are there any ghosts here?”

She waited a full sixty seconds. No answer came, and she shrugged. It was worth a shot anyway.

Stevie took the board from the window, then inspected the remainder of the bedroom.

Dolls stood in a neat line along one corner, a few of their heads severed and nestled beside them, others cracked and burned.

Broken plates and teacups gathered around them, and in spray paint, beside the grim collection, it read, Our sacrifice for the Headless Horseman .

Stevie snorted before lifting the bed skirt to peer under it. Near the center, a small rectangular paper grabbed her attention.

Stretching through the dust, she grasped the mystery object and yanked it out.

“Jackpot,” she said. It was an old Garbage Pail Kids card folded in half and most likely not of value to anyone else.

Nasty Nick . The picture showcased a vampire holding what looked to be a Barbie.

Stevie would add it to her stash at home.

She tucked the card into her backpack and stood, just as a shrill squeaking sound vibrated within the house, and the creaky stairs protested beneath heavy footsteps.

It could be one of two things. Living or dead.

Fifty-fifty chance since she could hear and see them both.

Raising her toad brew, shoulders tense, she hovered beside the doorframe and peeked out.

She relaxed when a cloud of white struck her vision. Just a ghost.

Stevie was literally one second from shouting a “Hey, fancy meeting you here,” until her gaze swept across the ghost’s whole form and she froze.

No head and a cocky cape. Son of a thousand hexes!

What in all the Holy Spirit was the Headless Horseman doing here?

Was this where he hung out all day until night fell?

She’d bet her entire life he had a collection of prized heads down in the basement that she’d yet to explore.

It didn’t matter now since she would avoid this house like the plague once she left.

Today her lucky ring wasn’t so lucky after all.

Pulling herself from her statuesque state, Stevie plastered herself against the wall and attempted to become one with it. When she’d come in hopes of helping a ghost, she didn’t mean for his psycho self to answer her call. But here the demon ghost was in all his headless glory.

Unless he’d just shown up.

The sound of his heavy boots faded, and she slowly released her breath. She needed to get ahead of him so he wouldn’t catch up and follow her home. It wasn’t her she was worried about, but Roxy’s head staying right where it was.

As Stevie took a hesitant step forward to get ready to fling herself out of the room and down the steps, her phone dinged. She clenched her teeth so hard she believed they might shatter while inwardly cursing the texter. Reese... Any other time would’ve been perfectly A-okay.

I wanted to see what you were doing later this evening.

Stevie ignored the message. Maybe the Horseman hadn’t heard her phone … maybe he would go back to the depths from which he’d come. But the sound of boots pivoting against the hardwood floor reverberated through the walls, thudding in her direction like a serial killer slowly coming for its prey.

New plan. Pretend once again that I don’t see him and casually leave the house. Simple.

Stevie looked around the room, figuring out where to start to busy herself, to seem as if she was on a whole different mission than to help a ghost.

Whistling to herself, she opened a drawer and inspected it.

“No curious or peculiar discovery here,” she chirped.

Behind her, the steps of the Horseman’s boots grew louder as he entered the room.

She didn’t whirl around to face him, just moved on to the next drawer where an empty pack of cigarettes lingered. “No need for that.”

Stevie turned to the cracked oval mirror hanging on the wall, angels embedded into the gold of the frame.

She combed her fingers through her hair, catching a glimpse of the Horseman in the glass’ reflection.

Standing only a few feet from her, his translucent ivory form glowed like a beacon inside the room.

Even without a head, he was much taller, broader, and more muscular than her.

She remembered the full view of his body the night before, not wholly unpleasant …

if he wasn’t a psychopath … and had an actual head that belonged to him.

The Horseman’s sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his pants hugging his thighs.

The only difference now was his mighty steed and jack-o’-lantern were missing in action.

Could he actually see her or just feel her vibrations?

A part of her didn’t want to go, wanted instead to find out what else this so-called legend of a ghost would do, if he would indeed hide inside the basement after leaving this room since she’d never seen him out during daylight, or would he venture somewhere else?

Stevie knelt in front of the pile of dolls and lifted one with half its face melted and burned, then set it back down. “I’ll come back for you pretty ladies soon.”

The Horseman inched closer, hovering in her personal space. Not a single scent wafted from him which was no surprise. But if she were a ghost and could smell him, she had an inkling his scent would be of leather and pumpkins.

Stevie stood and brushed through him, then headed down the stairs at a leisurely pace.

“Hmm, aren’t you brave breaking into a house that doesn’t belong to you. And foolish,” a deep, hypnotic voice rumbled from the Horseman and her eyes widened. She didn’t still, nor did she turn around. But how had the voice come from him? He had no mouth!

The stairs creaked behind her as she reached the last step, and he continued, “Don’t deny it, Pumpkin, you can see me. And I can clearly see you.” So that answered her question—he could easily pick her out of a crowd now that it was verified he knew what she looked like.

He saw straight through her game, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have a demon ghost lurking around her or her family.

Once she hit the fresh air, footfalls didn’t follow her. She wasn’t idiotic enough to lure the demon to her porch either, so she looped around the neighborhood to the park where she would enter through her back gate.

Stevie waited at the park for a few minutes, surveying the area as her fingers twitched. Only one ghost lingered—a little boy wearing a baseball hat sitting on a swing. His gaze met hers and she held his stare.

Her conscience got the best of her, knowing she needed to at least offer the ghost kid some assistance. “Hey! Do you need help finding anything? Figuring out your unfinished business?”

“Stranger danger!” he shouted and fled away from the park with his arms flapping around like a bird, the creak of the empty swing filling the air.

“No more going out of my way to search for ghosts in abandoned places. I’ve learned my lesson,” she whispered to herself as she opened the gate.

Chest heaving, heartbeat relaxing, Stevie took out her phone and messaged Reese back to pretend the incident with the Headless Horseman had never happened. I can’t tonight, but how about tomorrow?

Sounds perfect. I’ll bring dinner to your place.

I won’t shoot that down.

With a smile, she entered her home.

Ghostless.