The Thirteenth Witch
Chapter Two Sælicbrook
by Raine Monday

Dusk had fallen as they made their way down the mountain. The trail had provided a convenient path for the water to flow down the mountain, but it had turned into a muddy rivulet, forcing the couple to find an alternate route. To make matters even more adventurous, Thomas thought, a fog rolled in, obliterating the world around them to less than a few feet.

"I can see a town!" Lydia exclaimed, looking off toward the right.

Thomas glanced in that direction. "I see nothing but more fog."

"No, Thomas, it's right there! I can see the lights starting to turn on and everything," Lydia insisted.

Thomas sighed and nodded, angling them in the direction of Lydia's mysterious town.

"Don't sigh at me in that tone of voice," Lydia said.

"Sorry," Thomas replied with a grin. "I'll try to sigh better."

"As you should," Lydia said, poking him. "I know you don't believe me, but there's a town right over there! We're less than a mile away; you'll see."

Thomas tried to estimate the setting sun but it was impossible in the gloom. He wished he could grab his phone; even though they had no signal, he wanted to know the time. But his phone was in the utility pocket of his backpack, and he'd have to stop to get it, which meant setting Lydia down, which in turn meant she might stumble—and she wasn't even wearing a sock at this point. Her foot troubled him. He had seen foot issues like that before, but not sudden ones. They were usually brought on by long hours of wearing the wrong footwear.

Lydia grunted and groaned as she hop-skipped, but they made decent time. He had to give her credit; Lydia was tough.

Thomas's back was starting to complain when they passed through some tall grass, and then...

It was as if they had walked through some barrier. A moment before, there had been nothing but fog, mist, and a light drizzle from the sky above, and then they were in a town, or a village, or... something.

"Willowbrook!" Lydia said, hopping a little faster.

"What?" Thomas said. "How did you know—"

"It's on the sign right there, doofus," Lydia pointed out, smiling at him. He loved her smile, the strange little light in her eyes she sometimes had, the way she laughed at his jokes. He had fallen in love with her laughter five years ago, and even if those five years hadn't had as much laughter as Lydia deserved, he loved her all the same.

TThe homes they passed looked like they'd stepped out of the last century but had been renovated to within an inch of their lives. It was a beautiful town, all things considered, with a bay that stretched off into the distance.

As Thomas passed underneath one of the street lamps, he noticed it flickered, almost as if—

"We're off the grid, if that's what yer wonderin'," an older gentleman said as he puttered with potted plants on his porch.

"They're oil-filled?" Thomas asked. "I read about that but didn't think there were any towns that still did that."

"Yep, and we aim to keep it that way," the old-timer looked over his glasses at Thomas, who was still helping Lydia. "Say, that don't look none too good. Got a bad hoof, do ya?"

"Yeah, we were climbing Mary's Peak and got caught—"

"Mighty bad rainstorm swept up that way a couple hours ago," the man interrupted. "Hope you didn't get caught in it."

"Yep!" Lydia exclaimed, standing on one foot. "We sure did."

"Well, you hop right on down to the Inn just there a little further." The man pointed with his pipe. "They'll call a doc for ya, get ye fixed right up."

"Thanks, Mr…?" Thomas said.

"Thistledown." The man ambled off his porch and stuck out his hand. "But ye can call me Ol' Jack." He smiled as he shook each of their hands warmly.

"I'm Thomas, and this is Lydia. We got turned around coming down from the mountain."

"Aye, if ye was on Ol' Mary's Peak and found yer way here, ye ain't turned around, ye practically somersaulted!" Jack laughed, which tapered into a coughing fit.

"You okay, there, Jack?" Thomas asked, patting the man's back.

"Yeh, Ol' Doc says I should lay off'n these." He held up his pipe. "But my pappy smoked 'til he was nearly two hundred and eleven years old."

Thomas glanced at Lydia, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

"Now, let's get you down to the Whispering Inn, Missy. We'll get that foot looked at and ye'll be right as rain."

The old man, Jack, offered his hand as Thomas took Lydia's arm, and they hop-shambled down the road.

As Thomas helped his wife, he noticed that as the lights flickered on around them, they all appeared to be oil-burning lamps, nothing electrical at all. "Do you all use electricity at all?" Thomas asked.

Jack nodded. "Oh, my yes. Got me a 'lectric refrigerator, keeps me beer cold, and got one of them computers also, though I ain't got much use for it none. We just like to keep things simple here, as ye can see. And we don't get many travelers, truth be told."

"Don't think I even saw this on the map of the area," Thomas remarked. "It shows all forest on Google Earth too."

"Aye, yuh," Jack said but apparently nothing more about it.

They got to the Inn, and they both helped Lydia up the stairs. "I feel so helpless," she said.

"Oh, ye ain't helpless, Missy. If I don't miss my guess, and I nary do these days, ye got a bit of the shine on ye, I would say."

"The shine?"

"Aye, there's spirits among us, and sprites, and wee folk." He gave a small tip of his hat. "Don't'cha know."

Thomas opened the front door. He was about to thank Jack, but as he turned around, Jack was nowhere to be seen, just a bit of curling pipe smoke left floating on the breeze.

"Where'd he go?" Thomas asked.

Confused, Lydia turned. "He was right here!"

"Who was right here?" a large, heavy-set woman asked.

"Mr. Thistledown," Lydia replied. "He helped me get here!"

"Oh, I'm sure that old spook is around here somewhere," the woman said with a chuckle. "Here, let me help. You've injured your foot?"

Lydia nodded. "We were on a hike up Mary's Peak, and my foot started hurting terribly. I can't put any weight on it."

"Let's get you inside by the fire," the woman said. "I'm Marjory, Marjory Thomas. I own this Inn."

"Thomas and Lydia Thompson," Thomas said, thanking the innkeeper for her kindness. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Don't mention it!" Marjory said. "We don't get many visitors, especially young ones like yourselves."

They helped Lydia to a chair by the fire, where Marjory handed her a quilt.

"Oh, thank you!" Lydia exclaimed. "I was freezing!"

"Don't mention it!" Marjory repeated. "We'll get something warm in your stomach, and I'll give Doc Baker a call. He'll be right up to fix you up and get you back on your feet."

"Much appreciated," Thomas said as he took a seat beside Lydia.

A few customers were scattered at tables around the area, and Thomas noticed a reception desk in one corner. The interior seemed far more spacious than the exterior had suggested.

"I would kill for a cup of coffee," Lydia murmured.

"I'll find us some," Thomas reassured her as he stood. "And Thomas, could you see if they have a room available? I'm not up for the hike back to the car."

"Will do, babe," he responded, kissing her forehead and giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Thomas approached the reception desk where a young man was polishing an antique bell. The clerk was tall and lanky, with sparse facial hair. "Welcome to The Whispering Inn," he greeted. "I'm David Addington. How may I assist you?"

Thomas cleared his throat. "Could we get a room for the night?"

"Of course! Would you prefer the ground floor or upstairs? A room with a view or without? Smoking or non-smoking?" the clerk inquired.

"Ground floor, with a view, non-smoking, please."

"Perfect," David said, jotting something down in a large register before retrieving a key. "No computer for check-ins?"

"We prefer simplicity here," David replied, handing him the key. "Room eleven, just around the corner, offers a splendid view of Sælic Bay."

Thomas paused at the mention of the word. "Sælic? What does that mean?"

"Sælic," the clerk pronounced with an 'ah' sound and a 'ch' at the end, "in our local dialect, refers to 'willow,' but it actually means 'blessed' or 'fortunate.'"

Thomas nodded, musing quietly about Lydia's translations earlier.

"I beg your pardon?" David looked puzzled.

"Nothing," Thomas dismissed. "Room eleven, right?"

"That's right, Mr. Thompson." The clerk handed over the key along with two fluffy towels. "Do you have any luggage? The bellboy can bring it to your room."

"Just our backpacks," Thomas said, gesturing towards their table. "I'll take them up."

"Anything else to ensure a perfect stay?" David asked.

"How did you know my last name?" Thomas inquired with a frown. "I didn't give it to you."

David's smile was knowing. "Marjory mentioned to assign you to room eleven, the best in the inn."

"And she told you our names?"

The clerk winked. "Just our little secret."

"Of course," Thomas said, accepting the towels and pocketing the key.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Thompson," David called after him.

"Thanks," Thomas replied, walking back to Lydia with a slight shiver.

As he returned, a curious thought struck him: David Addington's canines had seemed unusually long.

Just like a vampire.