The Witching Hour

Chapter One

Witching hour is my favorite time of the night to go to the graveyard. Everybody's at home either sleep or too afraid to come outside. But for me it's the perfect time to talk to spirits, and how do I do that you may wonder? I'm a WICTH! Well at least half a witch anyway. This allows me to talk to spirits. Before witching hour begins spirits can't leave the graveyard. So they pretty much don't come out. But when they do they wander around the graveyard sometimes confused, looking for help, or just someone to talk to like a friend. I'm a friend to all spirits. Well except for this one called Frank, he's kind of a dick. So excluding him everybody else is basically my friend. My mom always told me the spirits were my calling. I thought she only said that because she did not want me to practice magic. But I guess you can say the old bat was right.

I go to the edge of the graveyard under the white oak tree, our usual meeting spot. The ground is still damp from the rain earlier in the day. The air is nice and cool, the night sky is clear. I take my red fluffy blanket out my old hammy down from the thrift backpack and lay it down right in front of the tree. I sit pretzel style waiting for all the spirits to come flying in. I wonder what's been going on, what problems they are having, and what people they have been stalking. But no one shows up.

I get up and pack my blanket back in my bag. I run over to the nearest headstone which belongs to Pete. He was one of the first spirits I spoke to after we moved here over a year ago. "Petey, hey Petey!", I say. No answer. I begin to feel uneasy. Where could they be? They know our usual meeting spot and time. And not a single soul is here. Have I lost my ability to talk to spirits? Because that's about the only cool thing I got going for me.

Briskly I walk to the hill overlooking the graveyard. I reach it I begin to walk up. When I get to the top I will be able to see the whole graveyard. I rush to get to the top. As soon as I get there I trip over my own two feet and begin to roll down the hill. Quickly as I can I tuck myself into a ball and go with the flow. The hill is bumpy, damp and lined with what I really hope are just twigs. I seem to hit every bump and just about every twig on the way down.

When I get to the bottom someone's dirty Nikes are by my face. What's another person doing here? Nobody ever comes here at this time of night besides me. Maybe it's a killer, should I play dead?

"Hey, you okay?", the person to which the shoes belong ask. 

I get up to gather myself and find dark brown eyes staring at me. I take three steps back because they are too close for comfort I can smell their smoky cologne. I give myself a once over just to make sure everything is okay. Nothing hurts but I am covered in mud and I feel absolutely gross.

"I'm cool. Not like this is the first time this has happened to me." When my eyes adjust to the darkness again I can see that the eyes belong to a puzzled looking dude, with messy brown hair on top of his head and the prettiest brown skin I've ever seen.

"So what are you doing at the graveyard at this time of night?", he asks me. I give him my best mind your own business look turning up my nose and rolling my eyes. He looks at me stone faced.

"I could ask you the same thing", I answer in response. He looks at me as though his plan has been defeated. Stone face dropped. I pick up my dirty backpack and swing it over my right shoulder.

"You have a really good point....", he says while leaning in a bit seeming as though he is waiting for me to tell him my name. But I wasn't born yesterday.

"You first.", I say to him twisting my face up. 

He gives a little huff becoming a bit annoyed with me.

"Malcom"

"Braelynn"

His face mimics mine. "That's something different", he states.