Eleanor’s Journal

Spooky ghosts, evil witches, black cats—I love them all! Halloween is my favorite celebration and writing muse. I want to share a few Halloween stories with you and hope you enjoy the Witching Hour Collection.

Happy Halloween!

Eleanor’s Journal

D. A. Ratliff

Eleanor Longwood had always been a strange child. From the moment she entered kindergarten, her teachers had whispered about her. She was brilliant, wise not only in knowledge but in manner, well beyond her years. During recess, she would sit quietly reading a book. Usually, a book more advanced than her peers would be reading. She never appeared aware that no one interacted with her, nor did she seem to care.

She lived in the old Algonquin Manor House with her parents and a younger sibling. Mind you, her parents were a tad eccentric but quiet, studious, and attentive to school functions. Once, during a Parent-Teacher “meet and greet” at the beginning of her fourth year, I found myself at the dessert table with her mother, Agatha Longwood. I attempted to make small talk centered around an exquisite necklace she wore—similar to one my grandmother left me that I always wore. I assumed the stones were opals like mine, but she offered the slightest of smiles and said the stones were moonstones and hers, like mine, was a family heirloom. Surprised, I stammered that they seemed to glow from within. She offered another sly smile and replied, “Because they do, Ms. Spencer.”

Agatha had glided away from me, and I didn’t speak to her again until Eleanor entered my sixth-grade English class. She, her husband Gerald, Eleanor, and her younger brother Ambrose toured my classroom one evening before school started. The funny thing is I remember being aware of the family’s presence yet could not remember my interaction with them.

I loved teaching English, both grammar and composition and was enjoying this school year’s group of children. They were bright, enthusiastic, and challenging. At times, it felt like I was teaching middle-school students since kids at that age loved to task their teachers.

We had finished the unit on expository writing, and today, October 17, I introduced the unit on descriptive writing. In addition to descriptive writing and character development assignments, I assigned a daily writing exercise—to keep a daily journal. My students raised their hands and asked how descriptive I wanted them to be.

Eric laughed as he raised his hand. “Ms. Spencer, you want me to describe how bad my mom’s cooking is? I won’t get into trouble?”

“Be as descriptive as you choose, and I promise we won’t tell your mother.”

I was surprised when Eleanor’s hand went up. She always answered when called on but rarely offered any comment. “Eleanor, your question.”

“Ms. Spencer, I was wondering if you wish us to be truthful about our lives outside school.”

A little chill flew down my spine. “I want you to treat this exercise as a means for learning to write descriptively, and that’s often easier when you are experiencing the visuals and the sensations of the events as they occur. That said, I do not expect or want you to write anything personal or embarrassing about your family.”

Another little chill passed down my back as Eleanor gave me the same sly smile as her mother once had. I tamped back a sense of unease and continued.

“I would like you to write each day’s entry on the assignment file in Classroom and then submit the doc to me on Fridays. Please write down your activities each day and be descriptive. Don’t write, ‘I had dinner.’ Please describe what you had and how it looked and tasted. This assignment will also help you develop the habit of writing daily. Now, let’s open the textbook to the first exercise on character descriptions.”

~~~

After school on Friday, I went home, fed Clyde, my orange tabby cat, and settled on the couch to read the journals of my two sixth-grade classes. I had three hours until my mom said she would call, which gave me enough time to read the students’ journals for the last four days. I hesitated, my fingers resting on the mouse. Did I click on my classes in order or start with Eleanor’s entry? I was itching to read what Eleanor had written but forced myself to stay organized and read the classes in order.

My first class had done well, and I was pleased, but when I clicked on the assignment folder for Eleanor’s class, I decided to read the other students before I went to her file. I was unsure what I anticipated, but I held my breath as I finally clicked on hers.

October 17

As the instructions require, let me tell you about my family and where we live. My PaPa, Gerald, is an artist who paints portraits and other subjects and is also the Gatekeeper. My MaMa, Agatha, teaches the arts at a private school in our hometown of Crystal Hollow. My ten-year-old brother Ambrose does have his usefulness, but mostly, he’s annoying. We also have a pet, a cat named Giles, who is my best friend.

We moved to Algonquin House when I was four and Ambrose two. The Gatekeeper before my father retired to tend to his pumpkin patch. Being the Gatekeeper is an enormous responsibility for PaPa, and we must act accordingly.

I love it here. The manor house is enormous, and Ambrose and I have spent many hours playing hide and seek in the wings. I especially love the winding staircases and stained-glass windows. I would make up stories about our ancestors, immortalized on the windows, who lived in this house so long ago when our kind walked freely among the outlanders.

On this first day of my journal, my routine was as always. I came home from school, changed into jeans and a sweater, and retreated to my favorite spot in the large tower to do my homework. Giles went with me and quizzed me on my history chapter, as I have a test tomorrow.

I am excited. I will attend the Joining Celebration held during the Halloween Ball in two weeks. At dinner, my mother served my favorite, lasagna. She embraced Italian cooking, and I loved the gooey cheese and spicy sauce. She told us we were traveling to Crystal Hollow tomorrow after school. Aunt Esme wants to do the final fitting of our dresses and Ambrose’s cloak for the celebration. The Joining is a special day for me as I will join my mother’s coven, a huge honor for someone so young.

PaPa and Ambrose threw a football in the front yard while MaMa worked on a sculpture, and I read. Bedtime at nine-thirty came too soon, but Giles and I talked in the dark until I finally fell asleep.

I trembled as I clicked on day two of Eleanor’s journal. I had never known the child to lie, but what I was reading was worrying. I read on.

October 18

Ambrose and I rushed down the long driveway from the bus stop to the house. Although we had many visitors, we hadn’t visited Crystal Hollow in several months. MaMa insisted we do homework first, so we got that out of the way as quickly as possible and waited with Giles on the back steps for our parents so we could go.

Finally, we passed through the iron gate at the edge of the grounds onto the path through the woods. Outlanders wandering the woods would only see a thick forest as a spell concealed the path. As the glow from the portal appeared, my heart began to race. Giles jumped into my arms so that I could carry him through. The glow soon enveloped us, and a sentry stepped out of the light. He greeted us and motioned for us to enter. Ambrose let out a yell as he jumped into the portal. Giles loudly meowed as I stepped through, loving the warmth that caressed my body, and within seconds, we were in Crystal Hollow.

Choruses of hellos greeted us as we walked down Main Street. My father was well known, and many members of the Coven or Pumpkinists stopped him along the way. Yet all did not seem jovial, as some people appeared agitated. Near my aunt’s house, PaPa left us for a meeting at the Council Lodge while we continued to my aunt’s.

I loved Aunt Esme’s house. It was four stories with rickety walls and crooked towers, surrounded by sunflowers, apple trees, and a pumpkin patch in the backyard. And as soon as the door opened, the smell of pumpkin bread and hot apple cider wafted into my nose and warmed me more.

The fittings went well. Ambrose looks so grown up in his cloak. MaMa will wear a traditional green velvet dress adorned with glittering jewels. I will wear the burgundy color of novice Coven members.

My father joined us, as did Aunt Esme’s husband Simon and Nikan, a Pumpkinist council member. Over dinner, a discussion about the fate of Crystal Hollow became heated, and MaMa sent us from the room. Ambrose and I had heard the rumors about the rift between Coven members but didn’t realize it had gotten so intense.

Shortly afterward, we hurried home, MaMa insisting we go straight to bed.

A chill swept through me, and I pulled the afghan across me as I pondered what I had just read. Eleanor must be playing a joke on me, but it was so unlike her. She was studious and reserved, always polite. This was so out of character, but I read on.

October 19

Ambrose and I got off the bus and slowly walked home. We sensed great tension in the house as we left for school. Giles met us halfway, warning us that visitors had been coming and going all day, and PaPa had scheduled a meeting after dinner.

When we got home, MaMa met us, sending us upstairs to the sitting room to do our homework. She brought dinner, and the door closed behind her with instructions not to leave the room until bedtime.

We ate the hearty homemade soup and pumpkin bread, but neither Ambrose nor I enjoyed it. Not even the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies eased the pall we felt lingering over the house.

Giles realized MaMa didn’t order him to stay in the room, so he snuck out as only cats could and left to see what he could overhear. We watched TV until Giles returned with unsettling news.

A faction in Crystal Hollow wanted to reveal our existence to the Outland, where witches and wizards were unwelcome. Others feared the dangers of the past when we did walk together. The Pumpkinists were doubly frightened because they were different and feared being outcasts. Giles said that my father was a leader of the group who wanted to move into the Outlanders’ world and that he was in danger.

MaMa came to us at about ten and ushered us off to bed. Sleep did not come easy.

I scrolled down to the next entry.

October 20

Neither Ambrose nor I slept well. He came into my room around three a.m. quite frightened. We talked until we both fell asleep. On the way to school, we decided to behave as if nothing was wrong, but we left Giles to spy on what happened during the day.

When we returned home, MaMa greeted us and sent us again to the upstairs sitting room, where we would have dinner. MaMa ordered Giles not to leave this time, and he obeyed her. We went to bed, listening to the arguing from downstairs.

Eleanor’s words stunned me. I was either dealing with a child with a fantastic imagination or a delusional child who needed help. I couldn’t comprehend that her words might be true. I sat staring out my patio door, my mind reeling. Only the call from my mother brought me back to the present. I shook off my thoughts and turned my attention to the call.

~~~

I spent a restless night, waking up intermittently between dreams of pumpkin-headed people and witches circling me. As the morning wore on, I became increasingly worried about Eleanor and Ambrose and curious about the portal. By midday, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I got in my car and drove to Algonquin House.

I parked outside the gate and pressed the buzzer on the call box—no answer. Now what? I debated on going home but decided against it. Feeling foolish, I decided to try the gate. I grabbed my phone and keys and locked the car.

The ornate, wrought-iron gate, as was the stone wall, was at least ten feet tall. Timidly, I wrapped my fingers around the cold handle and tugged, then jumped back. The gate swung open with ease. I blew out a deep breath and entered.

The cobblestone driveway was long and lined with stately trees. It was cool and dark under the canopy of thick limbs, and fallen orange and yellow leaves crunched beneath my feet. I wrapped my sweater tighter around me to ward off the chill.

As I approached the manor house, its enormous size shocked me. There were three stories with three towers, one quite large with a turret, more a castle than a house. I climbed the long expanse of steps, admiring the well-tended gardens. Brass doorknockers on ornately carved wooden doors gleamed in welcome. I rapped the knocker several times, but no one answered.

What next? I knew what was next—find the path to Crystal Hollow.

I hurried down the steps and followed a narrow brick path around the house. The backyard was enormous and inconsistent with what I had read in Eleanor’s journal. My idea of witches did not include a patio, swing set, and swimming pool. At the rear of the yard was a gate identical to the front entrance—time to find the path.

The rear gate opened with a slight tug, and a thick, dark forest lay before me. I couldn’t see the path, but I pushed on. It had to be here. I walked about twenty feet past the tree line when I noticed a parting in the trees. I headed toward the open space, and as I passed through the opening, a path began widening as I walked.

I can’t explain the sensations that flooded me. I was anxious but compelled to continue as if my will was no longer mine to control. The dark horizon began to glow, and the trees seemed to move farther apart as I walked on. As the pale glow became a deeper, brighter orange, I felt something warm against my chest. I looked down, and the opaque white stone of my necklace was glowing. My heart thumped in my chest. What was happening to me?

The portal filled my vision—its surface swirling in shades of orange. I reached out to touch it when two men burst through.

“Who are you?” One man glowered at me.

“I’m Nora Spencer. I’m Eleanor Longwood’s teacher. Who are you?”

“We are the Sentries of the Gate. You will come with us.”

Each man took me by the arm, and we stepped through the portal. The warmth Eleanor described flowed around me like a cocoon. Then abruptly, we stood on a street resembling a children’s book illustration. Quaint red brick buildings with colorful trim sat along the tree-lined avenue, where stalls selling vegetables and flowers sat on the street corners. People wearing clothing reminiscent of the early 1900s stopped as we passed, no doubt curious about me.

We came to a store with “Apothecary” on the sign above the door. A man exited, and I uttered a startled oh, taken back by the shape of the man’s head, which was round with lobes like a pumpkin. His skin was pale with a slight orange tint. This man was a Pumpkinist, as Eleanor mentioned in her journal. His yellow eyes widened at my reaction, but he bowed his head, smiled, and continued on his way.

We entered the tallest building on the block—with portraits of humans and Pumpkinists covering the lobby walls. The sentries ushered me up a flight of stairs into a large chamber. A wall of windows framed seven people sitting behind a bench on a raised dais. In the center was a raven-haired woman. She waved her fingers—her black lacquered nails glinted in the sunlight. “Bring her forward.”

The sentries took me to a platform in front of the bench. Indignant, I spoke. “I need to know who you are and what this place is.”

The raven-haired woman left the bench and approached me. “I think the better question is, who are you?” Her eyes fell on the necklace I wore. “Where did you get this?”

“Please tell me who you are.”

Anger flared in her emerald eyes. “I asked you where you got this necklace.”

“I inherited it from my great-great-grandmother.”

“Her name?”

I hesitated. “Her name was Nora Crane.”

A gasp erupted from those in the chamber. “Your name?”

“Nora Crane Spencer.”

“How did you find us?”

“I just… stumbled onto the portal.”

Anger flared again in her eyes. “No one stumbles onto the portal.” She whirled toward a sentry. “Find me the Gatekeeper. I know he is here.”

I stood silent and shaking for ten minutes before Gerald Longwood arrived. As he stood by me, his eyes widened when he recognized me. He addressed the woman. “High Priestess Rowena, why have you brought me here?”

“Why is she here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do not lie to me. Do you know whose great-great-granddaughter she is?

Gerald glanced at me. “I don’t.”

Rowena descended from the bench again and stood before us. “She is the descendent of Nora Crane.”

He swallowed. “We suspected she might be of our blood, but we had no idea.”

“No idea? Yet you are lobbying for us to reveal ourselves to the Outlanders, and you do not know?”

“She’s my daughter’s teacher. My wife sensed her power when she saw the necklace.”

“Her ancestor tried this many years ago, openly practicing witchcraft, good witchcraft, I might add, and it nearly got her burned at the stake. You head the effort to do the same and led her to us. I should have you punished for sedition.”

My body trembled so intensely I feared I couldn’t speak, but I had to tell her. “He has said nothing to me. I read about this place and became curious, so I looked for it.”

“Read about it?” Rowena’s voice rose. “Where?”

I intended to lie about Eleanor’s journal to protect her, but a voice interrupted me.

“I told her.”

Eleanor stood in the aisle. “Ms. Spencer gave us the assignment to write about our home life. I had overheard my father talk about revealing ourselves to the Outlanders months ago. I decided to tell her and see her reaction to tell my father.”

Rowena turned toward me. “This is why you came, based on what this child told you?”

“Yes. I was concerned that she was safe as her journal entries were so unusual. I didn’t expect to come here.”

“You should know something. The magic to locate our realm must be strong, and you possess that magic. Now that you are aware of us, what are your thoughts about our becoming known to your kind?”

“I’m overwhelmed. Fear of the unknown is powerful and clouds judgment, but given time and handled well, I believe they would welcome you.”

Gerald reached for Eleanor’s hand. “Priestess, I came to Crystal Hollow to deliver a petition. We have collected more than the required signatures to activate an inquiry into contact with the Outlanders. Those who visit the other realm love the people but recognize that it will be difficult. All we are asking is a chance.”

Rowena nodded. “We will take up your petition, Gatekeeper. You may leave and take this Outlander with you.”

I went with them to Aunt Esme’s home, where we shared a meal, and I met Nikan, a Pumpkinist council member. After dinner, he approached me. “I’m certain you would like to know how we came to be.”

“I am curious.”

“Many eons ago, a dark-arts witch decided to conjure an army of pumpkin people. She cast a spell on several humans and pumpkins to create one creature. It worked too well, and the Pumpkinists came into being. The only problem is the spell she cast was a permanent one, and while we managed to undo part of the spell, it left us with a pumpkin-shaped head, pale orange skin, and yellow eyes. Do you feel your fellow Outlanders will accept us?”

“I’m not going to lie to you. It will take time.”

He smiled. “Then we’ll take the time.”

Gerald approached us. “Time to take you home. We hope you’ll help us in our quest to join your world. I promise we have eradicated the dark witches, and it’s time to move forward.”

“I want to learn more about my relative. I’ll be happy to do what I can.”

I left with an invitation to attend the Halloween Ball.

~~~

The house felt eerily silent as I closed the door behind me. I had left that morning not knowing what I would find at Eleanor’s and returned home stunned by what I had learned. The knowledge that a world of witches, wizards, and Pumpkinists existed and I was now involved in helping them join my world was overwhelming.

I needed coffee and headed to the kitchen. Clyde wandered in and jumped on the counter as I scooped coffee into the filter. I scratched his head. “Clyde, you will not believe my day.”

The next moment stunned me more than the entire day had. Clyde answered me.

“I could tell you were upset when you left. Tell me about it.”

I stumbled backward. “What—what…? You talk?”

“I could always talk, but you could not understand me. That appears to have changed. Tell me why.”

With my coffee cup in hand, I curled up on the couch, Clyde beside me, and told him about my adventure. An adventure that was only beginning.