The Witches (Book #1)

𝔖𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 ℌ𝔢𝔯𝔢

"What the hell?" I say to the empty bedroom.

Okay, that's it. Either someone's messing with me or there's something wrong with this armoire. I press the old latch a couple of times, and it squeaks. I lift what remains of the folded clothes in the upper part of the armoire and place them on the floor next to the pile. In the center of the back panel is a delicately carved Siberian Chrysanthemums, matching the rest of the furniture in my bedroom. I check all the edges of the wood and hinges, so see if anything is faulty.

At as last resort, I knock on the wood itself—the doors, the sides, and the back panel. Wait, this part sounds different. I tap near the flower. Denfitely hollow. I pull my head out of the armoire and give it a push to move it from the wall. It doesn't budge. The thing weighs like five hundred pounds.

I return tp the flower and grab the edges of it. There's a small noise, and one of the petals appears to have tilted. Did it just move or did I imagined that? I brace the flower with the tips of my fingers and pull. It pops off easily and lands in my palm.

I reach my hand into the hole where the flower was, and the edge of something silky brushes my fingertips. I lean forward and manage to pinch it. Carefully, I pull out a bundle of old letters tied with blue ribbon. They're yellowed with age and have a musty perfume smell. I now couldn't care less about my clothes being all over the floor.

I sit at my vanity and untie the bow that holds them to ether. Gently, I open the flap of the first envelope and unfold the thick stationery inside. The writing is small and so elaborated detailed, it's difficult to make out.

Old love letters. How romantic. I bet they belonged to the girl in the portrait by the piano. Was this her room? And for some reason, I have a strong feeling it was. She loved Siberian Chrysanthemums. That's why they're all over this furniture.

The lights go off, and I jump. You have got to be kidding me! Not now! I put the delicate letters down and feel around for the flashlight on my nightstand. My hands shake.

"Yoomi!" I yell as I run through the dark hallway, but no one responds. When I get to the top of the stairs, lights glow in the foyer. "Yoomi!"

"What?" Her voice comes faintly from down the hallway. 

I run all the way to the kitchen, knowing that's where I'll find her. She always makes loose-leaf tea at night. I push the sliding door at the end of the hallway. She's next to the stove, lighting a flame beneath an antique kettle.

"My lights went out again," I say.

"The repairman fixed the lights."

After the weird things that have already happened to me today, I'm definitely not excited about my room being dark. "Well, they're out in my room."

She puts her empty mug down with a clang on the marble countertop and walks out the back door to the patio. I follow, and hold the flashlight as she opens the breaker box filled with switches.

"You're right; one of them is off." She flips it back into position. "Let's go take a look." She enters the house, moving quickly.

I don't want her to see those letters. "It's fine." I keep pace with her. "I'll let you know if they're back on."

"I'll look myself. If there's still a problem. I'll call that idiot and make him come back. I have interest in spending another evening bumping into my own furniture because I can see ten feet in front of my face."

There is no arguing with her, especially when she's feeling snippy. We walk toward my room. Did I close my door? I don't remember doing that. The back of my neck tingles. I grab the handle before Yoomi does, hoping I can hide those letters. "The light's on," I say quickly.

"You're acting like nervous wreck. Are you okay?" She eyes me and pushes my door open. 

I immediately look at my vanity, but the letter are gone. Gone! What the . . . ? I walk to it and pull the chair out to see if they fell.

"This room's a disaster." Yoomi wrinkles her nose. "Suzy, are you sure everything's okay?"

My heart sinks. I can't understand where they could have gone. "Yes. And I didn't do this."

"The lights?"

"This!" I point at the clothes. "It was like this when I got here. And now something's disappeared, and I think someone's messing with me."

"Are you trying to tell me you think someone was in this house? All the door were locked."

"Something is missing from my room, and this is the second time my clothes are all over the floor." I'm having trouble keeping my cool.

"Slow down. What's missing?"

"Just something."

Her eyes land on the hole in the back of my armoire. "If you're not going to tell me, then how can I help?"

"Fine. Letters. I found them in the back of my armoire."

"So you're telling me that someone threw your clothes on the floor. You somehow found letters in your armoire. And then the lights went out an they disappeared?"

"And the rocking chair in the burgundy room was rocking by itself."

She frowns. "Are you sleeping well? You know I was kidding when I said the ghost didn't like you, right?"

"I don't think it was a ghost. I think it was a person."

Her kettle starts whistling. "I need to get that. Then we can talk more about this."

"No." I close the door behind her as she leaves.

This is only going to start the therapy conversation again. I'm not crazy. And my sleep has nothing to do with this. I'm being deliberately toyed with. Would those witch lunatics from my school go so far as to mess with my house? Yes, I think they would. Maybe even Sehun's in on it. I bet they're all having a good laugh over this.

My phone  buzzes on my nightstand. It's a text.

Sehun: Find anything?

For some reason this makes my blood boil. He's playing me for sure.

Me: A liar.

Sehun: ???

I throw my phone on my bed and grab my metal flashlight—a light source or a potential weapon. I resist stamping down the staircase only because I have no desire for Yoomi to know where I am.

I go into the piano room and stand in front of Bona's painting, examining every detail. She's calm, with her dark brown hair and happy eyes. Behind her, everything is heavily shadowed. But I'm pretty sure she's standing next to the fireplace in the library, right in front of the hidden door.

"Somehow I've stepped into your would of secrets," I say to her painting.

I look for a painters signature, but there's none. Carefully, I shine my flashlight behind the portrait. Bingo—there's an index card taped to the back, with something in my halmeoni's cursive. Thank you, Dalmi. It reads Nam Bona~ 1691.

The year before the Witch Trials? I look at her lace and silk hanbok again. This seems way too fancy for Industrial Korea. I've seen drawings of people from that time in my history textbook and they wore super plain clothes and headwear. Black and earth tones, not these cheery blues and whites. From what I read, children didn't play or have toys because those things were considered frivolous and sinful. There's no way she could have walked around in this thing in seventeenth-century Manyeo. Something is off here.

Behind me, a crystal glass falls to the floor.