He chuckled and mumbled "maybe" under his breath.
I laughed off the idea of actual witches. Sure, I'd learned about the Salem Witch Trials in history class, but they were just stories to me. The real scary stories were the ones I lived every day, dealing with stalker dead girls and crazy deceased teens on a mission.
As I watched the scenes pass, I couldn’t help but notice the town seemed obsessed, almost fanatic, with the idea of witches. Every street corner had some sort of historical monument or witch-themed restaurant. I didn’t want to get caught up in the hype and act like some deranged tourist, but this was my new home and I felt the need to embrace every part of its charm. As much as I hated to admit it, the drive was exhilarating. I tried not to look too excited, hoping the curiosity I felt would be masked by my face.
"This is where you'll go to school, Sadie." My dad pointed to a large brick building to the left of our car. Enormous oak trees outlined the long drive leading up to the school. My old school in California was much larger.
I had to stop making comparisons‒Salem and California were two totally different places; hopefully, my new start in Salem here would bring better memories.
After what seemed like an eternity our car finally turned onto a cobblestone street. I peered out the window, glaring at the large homes, most of them displaying historical plaques with names and dates beginning in the 1600s, mounted in the front yards.
My dad stopped the car and my parents introduced me to our new home. I opened the car door, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and peered up at the house. It looked like a creepy Victorian doll's house. Six cement steps invited me up onto the covered, white-columned, front porch. The front door, made of stained Cherrywood, stood to the right of a round, bay window. I looked up to gawk at the three-story home, which seemed too much for our small family.
After both sets of my grandparents passed away my parents had inherited a large sum of money, allowing my dad to retire early and my mom to focus on her painting career. And this was where they'd decided to do it, in the town where they'd grown up.
The gray shingled exterior had many levels, painting the picture of an architect’s dream. Three large trees occupied the front yard, and one large oak tree sat in the side yard, scraping its long arms against the side of the house.
I grabbed my purse and phone from the car and made my way through the overgrown path leading to the front porch. Thanks to the trees in the yard, the path was covered in a dark shadow, and the front steps were almost impossible to see. I stepped lightly onto the porch, slowly inspecting the delicate, hand- crafted, gingerbread woodwork adorning the front door jamb. My hand ran along the edges, feeling every crevice of the intricate design. I looked up to paint chipping off the front door and in dire need of a paint job, but the rest of the façade of the house seemed nicely restored. My dad, who was a sort of handyman, planned to fix the rest of the house up. The last tenants had renovated the home before my parents purchased it, and partially furnished some of the rooms with antique furniture, which was a huge selling point for my mom.
I placed my hand on the gold doorknob and felt an invisible push from behind. I turned quickly around expecting to see one of my parents, but to my surprise, no one was there. I turned to look at my parents who were discussing possible landscaping ideas while standing on the front lawn.
That wasn't weird at all.
"Sadie, go and pick your room," Mom called. The door should be open. The realtor came by this morning and left the keys in the kitchen. The moving truck should be here tomorrow with our furniture and other things. You can start by deciding where you want to put everything."
I took a step closer toward my new home. "Sure thing," I shouted back, trying to sound as enthusiastic as her.
I hesitated and then pushed the large door open to step into the dark foyer. To my right was a large entrance way leading to a small room that would probably become my mom’s studio. Two glass French doors were standing wide open, welcoming me into its embrace. I stepped in to take a look at the small but manageable space. To my left was another entranceway leading to another room which was connected to the kitchen. It was large enough for a kitchen table in front of the wonderful bay window that faced the front yard. In the corner of the foyer was a grand staircase leading to the second story. The dark cherry paneling of the staircase shone as if it had been recently polished. Directly in front of me was a long narrow hallway leading to a larger living room. I took a step forward; the hardwood floors creaked, even underneath my meager weight. A dusty rainbow hovered before me as I walked through the home, a testament to the fact the home had been abandoned for quite some time.
At the top of the stairs was a landing, where four bedrooms greeted me. I walked through each one, disappointed with the choices I'd been offered. When I finally reached the last room at the end of the narrow hallway, I felt the urge to go inside. The other bedrooms were plain and square with no character, no pizzazz. I turned the knob of the last room, but the door was locked, and I couldn't open it. I attempted to open the door a second time, using all of my one hundred and five pounds, but the barricade continued to antagonize me, enticing me to question the secrecy of its contents.
"Mom, this door is locked," I called down to her from the landing.
"There's another set of keys for the rooms in the master bedroom, first room on the right. Try one of those," she yelled from downstairs.
I made my way back through the hallway to enter the master bedroom. The keys were on the large Cherrywood dresser sitting against the far wall. I grabbed the keys and left the room.
I went back, past the landing, stopped in front of the mysteriously locked door, and fumbled with the keychain, searching for the matching key. It took me several tries before I finally found the right one, a small bronze key‒the last one on the ring.
I pushed the key into the keyhole, turned the key, and then turned the knob. A dusty mist swept through the air as I opened the door making me cough, but I pushed through the mist and walked to the window in the corner of the room. The sun was radiating through the panes separating me from the cool air outside. I peered out the window at the shaded sidewalks to see a group of children ride past on their bikes, laughing. A small smile crept across my face‒maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all. I mean, nothing could be as bad as the life I'd been living back in California.