A Perfectly Ordinary Place

Title: A Perfectly Ordinary Place
Series: Wic’s Tricks
Genre: PG 13, Humor
Disclaimer: I don’t have to disclaim it- I own it!
Summary: Introducing Wic. Poor Parochial Meg had stretched her provincial beliefs enough to ask for Wic’s help. Could she stretch them far enough to understand Wic’s answer?

A Perfectly Ordinary Place.

Wic tapped Faust’s kickstand into the gravel driveway and let him rest as she turned toward the Millers’ door. As if grumbling in protest, its shifting weight caused bits of gravel to crack against each other until the motorcycle finally came to rest. Smiling as she reached back, Wic slipped her fingers into one of the saddle-bags to pull out three worn velvet cases and set them on the seat before reaching lower across the engine to the custom-made holster that held her six-and-a-half-foot-long walking staff. Gathering it and the velvet cases in one hand, with the other she patted the engine and held herself steady as she slipped one leg over and off of the motorcycle.

After several careful steps, aided by the staff, Wick spoke to it over her shoulder, “This shouldn’t take very long.” More gravel crunched, but Faust remained in one of his better moods and stayed upright.

Turning her attention back to the Millers’ hous as she walked, Wic tried to reach out to it and get a feel for the house and its history. To all appearances, it seemed perfectly normal… even mundane. For some reason, though, Wic’s college roommate, Meg had called that reason asking if Wic could figure out why the house simply wouldn’t sell.

For Meg, a professional realtor, that was a very unusual act—particularly, when one considered how uncomfortable she was with Wic’s other activities. But, with the Millers in Chicago, waiting for this house to sell before they could settle into a neighborhood closer to Mrs. Miller’s new job, Wic could understand the pressure Meg was under. Wic also suspected Meg was worried that her employers would think twice about keeping an agent who could not find buyers for a house that passed all inspections, was located in a decent neighborhood near a good school, and was under-priced for a quick sale.

Wic gave the house another once over, but noted nothing superficially disturbing. In fact, it seemed to be in relatively good condition, clean, and well-kept. The paint was fairly new. The lawn was neatly mowed. All the windows were clean and had their screen’s in place. Even the gravel drive neatly maintained its boundaries without a trace of weeds. It wasn’t the outside that turned customers away.

Reaching into the coffee-brown velvet case, Wick loosened the ties until the case opened wide enough for her to pull out a charm necklace and slipped the necklace over her head as she stepped forward. ‘It never hurts to be safe, ’ she thought and pulled out a hand-made crystal charm bracelet to match. With shield and armor in place, she finally moved to open the door.

To Wic’s great surprise, the doorknob was warm to the touch and turned smoothly without a hint of resistance. ‘That’s certainly odd.’ Pushing her staff against the bottom edge of the door, she held it ready against any surprise. But the only surprise to present itself was the house’s welcoming interior. Warm and bright with sunlight, even though it was well into mid-winter and Meg had commented that the electricity was only turned on in anticipation of an open house. Drawing her inward, the house’s warmth and ambience almost seemed too friendly… too inviting. ‘Things are never really as they seem are they?’ Wick shook her head as she walked into the living room. ‘Well, I’m prepared if they not.’ she thought and stopped to glance around. There had to be some reason that buyers had repeatedly backed out.

Spreading her palms wide, she again reached out for the house’s energies and tried to feel its history. In little glimmers, it finally came to her. But, hardly as she had expected: instead of the chilling breezes or painful creeks and groans that characterized some unfriendly homes, Wick felt sighs float past and heard echoes of children’s laughter. ‘Curious-er and curious-er. Still that could be a trick as well. Some sites were quite crafty and lulled purchasers into buying the home before the real antics started. But that didn’t seem to fit Meg’s information either.

According to Meg, the house had a fairly mundane history. No violence. A few deaths, but all had been of natural and predictable causes-late in the owner’s life. To all reports, all of the known owners had been normal, respected, and well-liked by the neighborhood. No loners, recluses, or strange quiet types. Still, it was always possible that something went unreported… and ‘normal’ people could still have a lot of secrets tucked away in an old closet… recently out of the closet – Wic knew that personally. Despite the house’s appearance and history, it seemed if she wanted to get the truth, she had to get down to business.

Taking out a miniature copy of the house plan that Meg had provided, Wic glanced over it again then walked to the far corner of the living room. As close as she could tell, without a formal survey, this was the exact center of the house. Looking about, she could hardly believe how perfect it was for what she intended to do, There was sufficient space. No inconvenient furniture crowded her, And, the view out the windows was almost meditative. She had first thought to suggest that Meg have the house feng shui’d, but seeing how well related it was to it’s center, Wic now doubted that such a remedy was needed.

‘Let’s not get off track now. Turning—with her staff drawing an invisible circle on the floor—first to the north, then south, east, and west, Wic whispered old comforting phrases to herself and to the house, building into a chant as she centered her mind. ‘Here’s where its true colors will start to show’. Closing the circle, she steadied herself with the staff, reached into the ember-red velvet case for a handful of salt and into the ebony-black case for herbs, and sprinkled them within the circle. As her chanting slowed, Wic slowly paused in meditation and opened herself to the house. Talk to Me!

Immediately and joyfully, the house responded. Or, rather, the house and the land it sat on immediately responded with a surge of memories from decades and even centuries before the house was built. Many, many families had lived their… and their memories had ingrained themselves into the property, giving it a nature of its own.

A barrage of memories spun her around in her sheer intention to catch every memory as it passed. There were memories of laughing native children running; teens flirting; couples walking hand in hand; families constructing tents, teepees, shanties; elders on their death beds comforted by friends and family or sometimes the house alone as they left their lives contently—Memories that felt warm, familiar, and comfortable as they washed over her. But, none gave Wic a clue to the house’s current emptiness.

Then like a grinning child with a handful of contraband candy behind its back, the house burst with its confession. The house began to whisper its little secrets: the tricks it pulled on Meg. Wic ‘saw’ Meg’s customers passing one by one through the house, felt their aura’s- often course and irritating like gusts of wind in a sand storm, heard them fuss rudely and sometimes cruelly at their children before turning superficial smiles to Meg – and understood, with some humor, the house’s response. Behind Meg’s back, whenever possible, the house would seem to slump, get chilly, and appear lackluster. When Meg left a husband to speak with his wife, the house let septic fumes sweep through the room. When Meg was with the husband, the taps wouldn’t run for the wife no matter how she tried. Every little trick it could think of, the house tried and didn’t seem to feel even the slightest bit of embarrassment about it. It was willing to wait until the right customer came along… even if Meg wasn’t.

Rolling out of her trance, in laughter, Wic wondered how she was going to explain the turn of events to Meg. Poor, parochial Meg had somehow managed to stretch her provincial beliefs just far enough to contact a pagan spiritualist for advice on a possibly haunted house; but could she stretch them enough to accept that the house simply didn’t like her taste in customers?