Part 5 (Jixanny Prompt Five: Transportation)
David stepped closer to the two figures, his scholarly curiosity temporarily overriding his shock. He adjusted his glasses, peering at the way the light seemed to bend around the two boys. "Fascinating," he murmured, his voice regaining that measured, academic cadence. "I can see them quite clearly, yet the atmospheric temperature hasn't dropped. I don’t believe they’re ghosts in the traditional sense.”
“Well, they wouldn’t be ghosts, right?” Trixie asked, tilting her head to one side and crossing her arms. “I mean, they aren’t real people. Well, they are real, because actors portrayed them, but they’re fictional characters... right?” She paused, a look of genuine concern crossing her face. “Oh, no. They aren’t dead, are they? Can someone check on the life status for Keanu?”
“While we appreciate the, uh, bodaciousness of this fine establishment,” Bill said, offering another uncertain smile while casting a doubtful look at Mart’s work table, “we really have to get back to our report.”
“Dude,” Ted murmured, spinning in a slow circle and squinting at a shelf of various crystals and rocks. “Where’s the phone booth? And So-crates? And Billy the Kid? I think we lost them in the transition, Bill.”
“Right, dude. That is a bit of a major problem.” Bill looked over at Mart with an earnest expression. “My friend and I have unfortunately misplaced our most outstanding mode of transportation. If we don’t get home to San Dimas soon, we’ll fail our history report, and Ted will be sent off to a most non-triumphant military school in Alaska.”
“Bogus,” Dan said with sincere sympathy. He’d seen the movie enough times on rainy afternoons at the Wheeler estate to feel the weight of their situation.
“Totally,” Ted agreed, his head bobbing up and down in a hard nod.
Mart drew in a deep breath, his mind racing through the logic of what he’d just done. “Yeah. So… thing is… I think my spell caught a localized temporal loop from the —whoa!” He jumped back as the air in the center of the room began to ripple like heat rising in a desert.
A neon glow surrounded Bill and Ted, intensifying into a brilliant, electric blue.
“Dude!” Bill’s voice took on a strange, metallic echo. “Ted? You’re looking a little... transparent.”
“Bill! You’re disappearing, too! Rufus didn’t warn us about this part of the journey!” Ted reached out to grab his friend’s arm, but his hand passed through Bill’s sleeve in a spray of digital-looking sparks.
Bill’s eyes rounded as he looked at Trixie, Dan, and Mart. “Dudes. And Babe. This may be it for us! So, uh... be excellent to each other!”
“Party on, dudes,” Dan said in return.
The air shimmered and then with a low thump, they were gone. The heavy scent of ozone lingered for a second before the smell of lavender and old parchment returned. Trixie stood frozen, staring at the empty patch of concrete where two of cinema's most famous slackers had just been standing. “Mart,” she said, her voice still registering her disbelief. “You just did something really hinky to the whole space-time continuum - for a cameo. We are definitely going to need a bigger Book of Shadows.”
Mart slumped against a crate of spell-candles, his face pale. “I think I’m going to go ahead and get rid of that DVD now.”
David leaned down, picking up a black guitar pick that had been left behind on the floor. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “The mathematics of this shouldn't even exist.”
________________________________________
(Jixanny Prompt Six: The “Dirty Dozen” – a derby hat, an old barn, windmill cookies, a hospital, a circus or bazaar, jams & jellies, flowers, a flashlight, an expensive painting, hot chocolate, a navy blue suit, a bet or wager)
March 26
“Okay,” Trixie said, stepping back out of Wimpy’s Diner and nodding her thanks to the older gentleman who held the door for her, noting his immaculate navy suit and black felt derby hat with a grin. “Good morning, Harrison. You’re looking especially sharp today.”
The Lynch family butler returned her smile and touched two fingers to his hat’s curved brim. “Thank you, Trixie,” he said cheerfully. “I do my best to maintain a certain sartorial standard.”
“Enjoy your breakfast,” she said as he stepped inside the diner. She turned to Dan and held out one of the to-go cups she carried. “Coffee for you. Hot chocolate for me. Mart? You sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m good,” he replied distractedly. Across the street, a line of parked cars had become an impromptu playground for six brightly clad spirits. They were a riot of clashing colors, polka-dotted ruffs, oversized shoes, and painted faces. Dashing about with exaggerated comic gestures, they piled into a dark gray Camry. A second later, they tumbled out the other side, head over heels, before scurrying toward a nearby Kia to repeat the trick.
“Well, the circus has officially come to town,” Dan said after taking a small, cautious sip of his coffee, guessing correctly that it was hot enough to burn his tongue. He watched as a clown with a neon-orange wig popped out of the car’s closed trunk. “I thought everyone in the In-Between was supposed to be in hiding. These guys didn't get the memo about the big guy with the pumpkin?”
Mart nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe we should just ask them why they aren’t?”
Trixie shook her head after a moment. “No, let’s leave them to their fun. I still think our best bet now is to hunt down Vernon and see if he knows anything more.”
A rhythmic, thunderous drumming caught their attention. It wasn't the sound of a car engine. It was the heavy, iron-shod strike of hooves on pavement. From the shadows of the old oak trees further down the street near town hall, the Headless Horseman and his black stallion erupted into the light, galloping toward them. The clowns noticed. Their synchronized play stopped instantly and without a word, all six spirits flickered and vanished, leaving the street unnervingly empty.
The Horseman didn't slow down until he was directly in front of them. He hauled back on the charcoal-gray reins, forcing the massive stallion to rear. In one fluid, terrifying motion, he hurled his jack o’ lantern with a violent, practiced aim directly at Trixie.
She didn't even have time to scream. The pumpkin, a sphere of roaring orange fire, tore through the air and passed straight through her chest. There was no impact, but Trixie’s world turned into a white-hot blur. She let out a strangled gasp, her knees buckling as she clutched her sternum. With a sharp pull of the reins, the Horseman wheeled his stallion around and galloped away, his tattered cloak snapping behind him.
“Trixie!” Dan cried in alarm and fear, lunging forward to catch her as she took a staggering step.
“I—I’m okay,” she wheezed, her voice sounding thin and ragged. “It just... it burned. I feel like I just breathed in a bonfire.” She inhaled heavily, trying to pull in a lungful of air that didn't feel like liquid flame.
“Look out!” Mart suddenly shouted. He wasn't looking at Trixie. He was looking behind her.
Where the flaming pumpkin should have struck the ground and rolled away, a different kind of reality had taken hold. It hadn't touched the sidewalk and was nowhere to be seen, but now a large wooden planter box was ablaze.
“Fire!” Mart yelled. The dry soil and early spring pansies in the planter were almost entirely engulfed in flames.
“Get help!” Dan barked at him, pulling Trixie away from the spreading heat.
Mart spun around, his eyes darting toward diner. “I need water! Or a rug! Anything!” He bolted toward the door but was almost knocked off his feet as Harrison pushed his way out, a heavy, red fire extinguisher in his hands.
The fire was out within moments. A small crowd of men milled about, curious and baffled, each offering theories for the blaze.
“Must have been a cigarette butt,” one man muttered, giving Dan a dark, accusatory look.
“Probably a hot reflection off the windows,” another added. “The sun hits it just right and boom… magnifying glass effect.”
Trixie almost wanted to laugh. She wondered what they would all say if she told them the Headless Freaking Horseman had just ridden by and inadvertently torched the planter in what seemed to be a direct, if not quite successful, attempt to take her out.
“Maybe we should take you to the hospital,” Dan said in concern, studying her intently.
“No.” She shook her head and took another deep breath. “No hospital. I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”
“Why don’t we get you something to eat,” Mart suggested. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a second breakfast. Even if it’s just some toast and jelly.”
Trixie cast her brother a narrow-eyed look. “Fine. But there better not be any Hobbit jokes at my expense.” She glanced pensively down the street. Everything seemed deceptively quiet. “Where do you think he went?”
“Back to the barn?” Dan guessed. “Which would probably not be a great thing,” he added with a wince, “since we now know he’s capable of starting an actual fire. That old building is just waiting for a single spark to send it up in flames.”
________________________________________
“Well, hello, Beatrix, dear. Martin. Daniel.”
“Aunt Alicia!” Trixie exclaimed in surprise, stopping on the sidewalk next to Dan's parked van. “We didn’t know you were in town.”
Alicia Belden’s smile was brief. “Yes, well, it wasn’t my original plan for the morning.” She placed a hand on the arm of the silver-haired man at her side. “Samuel, darling, why don’t you go ahead? I’d like a quick word with my niece. I’ll catch up with you shortly.” She let out a soft sigh as the older gentlemen turned and entered Hanson’s Antiques.
“New man?” Trixie asked, grinning.
“Oh, this one really is just a friend,” Alicia told her. “And a bit of a tiresome one at the moment. He’s gotten himself into some silly wager with an old colleague of his, back from his hedge fund manager days. They’re both trying to amass the largest collection of fine art on the Eastern Seaboard. He’s been told Arthur Hanson somehow got his hands on a Winslow Homer, if you can imagine that. I have my doubts, of course. Arthur simply did not inherit his mother’s eye for the genuine article, though he did rather unfortunately inherit her shop.” Alicia rooted around in her Gucci handbag and pulled out a lacquer cigarette case. “Now, Beatrix, dear. I can tell just by looking at you that something is amiss and I am assuming it has something to do with the disturbing lack of spirits about. It’s been very quiet at Briarcliff lately. Please tell me David’s mother hasn’t returned?”
“We haven’t heard a peep from her since, you know, that whole ‘I’ve come for the amulet!’ situation.” Trixie huffed out a breath. “And to be honest, I think I’d rather be dealing with her again than tangling with the Headless Freaking Horseman.”
Alicia stilled in the process of lighting her cigarette. She slowly lowered her hands and snapped her lighter shut. “I believe this conversation may be longer than I’d expected. What are your plans for tonight? Could the three of you drive out to see me? We can dine in the café. My treat.”
Trixie exchanged a glance with her brother, who nodded. “Is 6:30 a good time?” she asked.
“Yes. The early birds will have already eaten by then and we should have no trouble getting a table.” Alicia looked at Trixie closely. “Be careful, my dear.” Her eyes cut to Mart and Dan. “And that goes for you two, as well. I’ll see you this evening.”
As Alicia let herself into the antique store, Trixie fished her phone from her back pocket. “I’m texting the professor,” she said. “He should know what happened this morning. I’ll see if we can drop in on him on our way to Briarcliff.”
“Okay,” Mart agreed. “But don’t forget about Honey and Di. They still want to tell us what they found out about Lisa.”
“Right. So, find Vernon. Talk to Honey and Di. Drop in on Charlie. Have dinner with Aunt Alicia…. Am I forgetting anything?”
“Would this be the time to remind you that we promised Moms we’d stop by Mrs. V’s to pick up the windmill cookies she made for the women’s garden club meeting?”
“Sheesh. Maybe it’s a good thing the ghosts have pretty much all gone to ground,” Trixie muttered. “We really don’t have any time for them right now.”
“So… we’re just gonna ignore that poor guy over there trying to beat in the newspaper stand with a Mag light?” Dan asked.
“Hey,” Trixie replied evenly. “If he’s not asking for our help, he can have at. It’s not like he’s actually doing any damage and for all we know, this could be very therapeutic for him.”
________________________________________
(Jixanny Prompt Seven: Good, Bad, or No Luck)
The Lynch mansion was a stark contrast to the cozy, cluttered warmth of Crabapple Farm, but despite the formal, heavy furniture and museum quality artwork, there was a certain comfort to the large room that served as the gathering place for family and close friends. Di sat on the edge of a velvet armchair, her laptop balanced on her knees, while Honey sat cross-legged on the rug beside her. Trixie, Dan, and Mart were huddled on the oversized sofa and Trixie found herself fighting the urge to nod off. She let her brother explain their morning and was conscious of the wide-eyed looks her friends gave her while Mart described the moment she was hit with the flaming jack ‘o lantern, and the very real fire it caused.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Honey demanded worriedly after Dan mentioned Trixie’s refusal to visit the ER.
“I have definitely been better,” Trixie conceded. “But then in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve had a conversation with two gnarly dudes Mart impossibly conjured out of a movie, and I can now explain what it feels like to have a fiery ghost pumpkin pass through you. I think I need a bit more time to process.” She blinked and shook her head ruefully. “And, I’m about to ask if you guys learned anything about the dead valley girl I’ve befriended, so, to borrow from my eloquent boyfriend… Dude. Our lives are so weird!”
For a moment, no one said anything, but then Di put her hand to her mouth and it was evident she was holding back laughter.
“Go on,” Trixie said with a wave of her hand. “It’s all right.”
“Oh, T-Trix,” Di stuttered. “I know it’s not funny and I – I know you’ve been really having a time of it, but…”
“Eh. It is funny,” Trixie told her with a shrug. “Seriously. We’ve met Bill and Ted and the Headless Freaking Horseman this week. Those are not words I would have ever imagined putting together in a single sentence, you know? At this point? If an owl flew in your window and dropped a letter inviting me to a famous school for witchcraft and wizardry, I’d be all, ‘Oh. There you are. I was wondering when you were gonna show up.’ So go ahead and laugh it up and then you can tell us what you found out.”
Di exchanged a helpless look with Honey and soon both girls were shaking with laughter. Their amusement was infectious and Trixie, Dan, and Mart found themselves laughing along with them.
“Okay,” Di said several minutes later when she had calmed down enough to speak clearly, “so we’ve been digging through the Sleepyside Sun archives from 80's.” Her fingers flew across the keys of her laptop. She turned the screen around to show them a grainy, black-and-white photo of a girl with a massive hair-bow and a bright, hopeful smile. It was Lisa, looking vibrantly alive. “This headline says ‘Local Teen Missing After Pep Rally.’ But that’s the problem. As far as the living world is concerned, she just vanished into thin air.”
“No struggle? No witnesses?” Mart asked, leaning in to squint at the digital text.
“Nothing,” Honey said softly. “A lot of people at the time, including the police apparently, thought she’d just run away. There was a rumor she was unhappy at home or wanted to go to New York City to be a dancer. But her parents... they never bought it. There are dozens of follow-up letters from her father in the archives, pleading for the investigation to stay open.”
Di sighed, clicking through a few more tabs. “It’s a sad trail to follow. Her parents ended up moving away about a year after she disappeared. I guess the house just felt too empty. Her mother passed away in the mid-nineties, and her father died only a few years ago in Oregon. Lisa is effectively a cold case with no family left to push for answers.”
Trixie leaned back into the cushions, the phantom burn in her lungs giving a sharp burst of pain. She thought of Lisa in her neon yellow blouse and crazy hair bow, stuck in the In-Between for decades, not knowing how she’d ended up there. “It doesn't tell us much,” she mused, her voice low. “If she was murdered, like she thinks, the trail is thirty years cold. And Keith? He’s probably close to a membership in AARP by now.”
“It’s a mystery, Trix,” Honey said, her eyes searching her friend’s face. “And usually, you’d be halfway out the door to solve it.”
“I want to,” Trixie admitted, her gaze drifting to the dark window where the Hudson Valley mists were beginning to roll in. “But we have a more immediate problem. Until we deal with the Headless Freaking Horseman - until we figure out how to un-enchant that medal or send him back to wherever Mart’s spell dragged him from? We can't devote the time to Lisa's case it deserves.”
“I don’t think she expects us to be worrying about her right now,” Dan put in. “She knows what we’re up against.” He looked over at Di. “At least you found her and know what happened to her folks, though I don’t know if she’d actually want to know or not.”
Di sighed as she closed her laptop. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I mean, if I was her, would I want to know my parents died never learning what happened to me and maybe worry that they had started to think it was possible I’d just run away and never contacted them again?”
“How’d you track down her parents?” Trixie asked curiously.
“Oh, well, that was really just a bit of luck. Her mother’s first name was Zenobia. That made searching a whole lot easier than if she’d been a Mary or a Susan.”
Mart rubbed his hand over his face. “Right. So Lisa has to be temporarily relegated to the back burner. Meanwhile, we need to get moving if we’re going to see the professor before we meet up with Aunt Alicia.”
________________________________________
(Jixanny Prompt Eight: “Mystery-itis” or Another Made Up Word as a Pun)
The sky overhead had deepened into a vivid, heavy violet. Twilight made the shadows beneath the trees on either side of them as they drove along look far too solid. The van’s headlights cut through the gathering darkness as Dan navigated the winding, wooded road that ran roughly parallel to the Hudson River and eventually ended far upstate.
“I don’t like it,” Trixie said quietly. “Vernon doesn’t usually disappear completely like this. I’m worried.”
“Maybe he’s just in hiding,” Mart suggested from the back seat, trying to sound unconcerned, though he was tapping his fingers nervously against the leather binding of a research book. “We don’t have to assume anything bad actually happened to him.”
Dan slowed the van as they approached the wrought-iron fence that marked the beginning of Briarcliff, the exclusive retirement residence Alicia Belden called home. As they rounded a sharp bend where the old forest pressed close to the road, the headlights caught a figure in the gloom. He was leaning against a mossy stone column, one thumb hitched out with practiced nonchalance. He was dressed in bell-bottom jeans, a wide-collared polyester shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and platform shoes that added several inches to his height.
Dan tapped the brakes, the van rolling to a stop a few feet away. “Okay,” he said. “A vintage hitchhiker. Cool.”
Trixie rolled down the window and leaned slightly out. “Hey. You waiting for a bus? Because those stopped running about forty years ago on this route.”
The young man shrugged and walked toward them. “I don't care about the bus, man. I don't even care where you’re headed. North, south, over the state line, whatever. Just get me out of here. There’s something really heavy going down and I don’t want any part of it. I’m not into trouble. You dig?”
“I’m sorry, but we can't really take you far,” Trixie said, her voice softening with a mix of pity and exhaustion. “We’re actually planning to locate the trouble and do something about it.”
The man stared at her, his jaw dropping to reveal a gaudy gold tooth. “On purpose?” he said incredulously. “You guys are crazy.”
“It’s a family tradition,” Trixie explained. “What can you do? Between the missing dead mobster, the murdered girl, the flaming pumpkin, and a couple of inexplicable, time-traveling slackers, this whole week has been totally, specter-tacularly bad.”
Dan groaned then gave a low chuckle, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “Specter-tacularly? Really, Freckles?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because it’s an absolute linguistic atrocity,” Mart said with feeling.
The hitchhiker looked between them, shook his head, and began to fade into a soft mist. “Forget it. I’ll try my luck with the next car. Peace out, weirdos.”
Trixie rolled up the window. “Right. Well, that was easy enough. Our work here is done. Let’s go see Aunt Alicia and maybe she’s got some ideas that could help us.”
“Specter-tacularly,” Dan repeated with a shake of his head. “I love you, Freckles. You know that, right?”
“Love you, too. Weirdo.”
David stepped closer to the two figures, his scholarly curiosity temporarily overriding his shock. He adjusted his glasses, peering at the way the light seemed to bend around the two boys. "Fascinating," he murmured, his voice regaining that measured, academic cadence. "I can see them quite clearly, yet the atmospheric temperature hasn't dropped. I don’t believe they’re ghosts in the traditional sense.”
“Well, they wouldn’t be ghosts, right?” Trixie asked, tilting her head to one side and crossing her arms. “I mean, they aren’t real people. Well, they are real, because actors portrayed them, but they’re fictional characters... right?” She paused, a look of genuine concern crossing her face. “Oh, no. They aren’t dead, are they? Can someone check on the life status for Keanu?”
“While we appreciate the, uh, bodaciousness of this fine establishment,” Bill said, offering another uncertain smile while casting a doubtful look at Mart’s work table, “we really have to get back to our report.”
“Dude,” Ted murmured, spinning in a slow circle and squinting at a shelf of various crystals and rocks. “Where’s the phone booth? And So-crates? And Billy the Kid? I think we lost them in the transition, Bill.”
“Right, dude. That is a bit of a major problem.” Bill looked over at Mart with an earnest expression. “My friend and I have unfortunately misplaced our most outstanding mode of transportation. If we don’t get home to San Dimas soon, we’ll fail our history report, and Ted will be sent off to a most non-triumphant military school in Alaska.”
“Bogus,” Dan said with sincere sympathy. He’d seen the movie enough times on rainy afternoons at the Wheeler estate to feel the weight of their situation.
“Totally,” Ted agreed, his head bobbing up and down in a hard nod.
Mart drew in a deep breath, his mind racing through the logic of what he’d just done. “Yeah. So… thing is… I think my spell caught a localized temporal loop from the —whoa!” He jumped back as the air in the center of the room began to ripple like heat rising in a desert.
A neon glow surrounded Bill and Ted, intensifying into a brilliant, electric blue.
“Dude!” Bill’s voice took on a strange, metallic echo. “Ted? You’re looking a little... transparent.”
“Bill! You’re disappearing, too! Rufus didn’t warn us about this part of the journey!” Ted reached out to grab his friend’s arm, but his hand passed through Bill’s sleeve in a spray of digital-looking sparks.
Bill’s eyes rounded as he looked at Trixie, Dan, and Mart. “Dudes. And Babe. This may be it for us! So, uh... be excellent to each other!”
“Party on, dudes,” Dan said in return.
The air shimmered and then with a low thump, they were gone. The heavy scent of ozone lingered for a second before the smell of lavender and old parchment returned. Trixie stood frozen, staring at the empty patch of concrete where two of cinema's most famous slackers had just been standing. “Mart,” she said, her voice still registering her disbelief. “You just did something really hinky to the whole space-time continuum - for a cameo. We are definitely going to need a bigger Book of Shadows.”
Mart slumped against a crate of spell-candles, his face pale. “I think I’m going to go ahead and get rid of that DVD now.”
David leaned down, picking up a black guitar pick that had been left behind on the floor. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “The mathematics of this shouldn't even exist.”
________________________________________
(Jixanny Prompt Six: The “Dirty Dozen” – a derby hat, an old barn, windmill cookies, a hospital, a circus or bazaar, jams & jellies, flowers, a flashlight, an expensive painting, hot chocolate, a navy blue suit, a bet or wager)
March 26
“Okay,” Trixie said, stepping back out of Wimpy’s Diner and nodding her thanks to the older gentleman who held the door for her, noting his immaculate navy suit and black felt derby hat with a grin. “Good morning, Harrison. You’re looking especially sharp today.”
The Lynch family butler returned her smile and touched two fingers to his hat’s curved brim. “Thank you, Trixie,” he said cheerfully. “I do my best to maintain a certain sartorial standard.”
“Enjoy your breakfast,” she said as he stepped inside the diner. She turned to Dan and held out one of the to-go cups she carried. “Coffee for you. Hot chocolate for me. Mart? You sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’m good,” he replied distractedly. Across the street, a line of parked cars had become an impromptu playground for six brightly clad spirits. They were a riot of clashing colors, polka-dotted ruffs, oversized shoes, and painted faces. Dashing about with exaggerated comic gestures, they piled into a dark gray Camry. A second later, they tumbled out the other side, head over heels, before scurrying toward a nearby Kia to repeat the trick.
“Well, the circus has officially come to town,” Dan said after taking a small, cautious sip of his coffee, guessing correctly that it was hot enough to burn his tongue. He watched as a clown with a neon-orange wig popped out of the car’s closed trunk. “I thought everyone in the In-Between was supposed to be in hiding. These guys didn't get the memo about the big guy with the pumpkin?”
Mart nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe we should just ask them why they aren’t?”
Trixie shook her head after a moment. “No, let’s leave them to their fun. I still think our best bet now is to hunt down Vernon and see if he knows anything more.”
A rhythmic, thunderous drumming caught their attention. It wasn't the sound of a car engine. It was the heavy, iron-shod strike of hooves on pavement. From the shadows of the old oak trees further down the street near town hall, the Headless Horseman and his black stallion erupted into the light, galloping toward them. The clowns noticed. Their synchronized play stopped instantly and without a word, all six spirits flickered and vanished, leaving the street unnervingly empty.
The Horseman didn't slow down until he was directly in front of them. He hauled back on the charcoal-gray reins, forcing the massive stallion to rear. In one fluid, terrifying motion, he hurled his jack o’ lantern with a violent, practiced aim directly at Trixie.
She didn't even have time to scream. The pumpkin, a sphere of roaring orange fire, tore through the air and passed straight through her chest. There was no impact, but Trixie’s world turned into a white-hot blur. She let out a strangled gasp, her knees buckling as she clutched her sternum. With a sharp pull of the reins, the Horseman wheeled his stallion around and galloped away, his tattered cloak snapping behind him.
“Trixie!” Dan cried in alarm and fear, lunging forward to catch her as she took a staggering step.
“I—I’m okay,” she wheezed, her voice sounding thin and ragged. “It just... it burned. I feel like I just breathed in a bonfire.” She inhaled heavily, trying to pull in a lungful of air that didn't feel like liquid flame.
“Look out!” Mart suddenly shouted. He wasn't looking at Trixie. He was looking behind her.
Where the flaming pumpkin should have struck the ground and rolled away, a different kind of reality had taken hold. It hadn't touched the sidewalk and was nowhere to be seen, but now a large wooden planter box was ablaze.
“Fire!” Mart yelled. The dry soil and early spring pansies in the planter were almost entirely engulfed in flames.
“Get help!” Dan barked at him, pulling Trixie away from the spreading heat.
Mart spun around, his eyes darting toward diner. “I need water! Or a rug! Anything!” He bolted toward the door but was almost knocked off his feet as Harrison pushed his way out, a heavy, red fire extinguisher in his hands.
The fire was out within moments. A small crowd of men milled about, curious and baffled, each offering theories for the blaze.
“Must have been a cigarette butt,” one man muttered, giving Dan a dark, accusatory look.
“Probably a hot reflection off the windows,” another added. “The sun hits it just right and boom… magnifying glass effect.”
Trixie almost wanted to laugh. She wondered what they would all say if she told them the Headless Freaking Horseman had just ridden by and inadvertently torched the planter in what seemed to be a direct, if not quite successful, attempt to take her out.
“Maybe we should take you to the hospital,” Dan said in concern, studying her intently.
“No.” She shook her head and took another deep breath. “No hospital. I just need to sit down for a few minutes.”
“Why don’t we get you something to eat,” Mart suggested. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a second breakfast. Even if it’s just some toast and jelly.”
Trixie cast her brother a narrow-eyed look. “Fine. But there better not be any Hobbit jokes at my expense.” She glanced pensively down the street. Everything seemed deceptively quiet. “Where do you think he went?”
“Back to the barn?” Dan guessed. “Which would probably not be a great thing,” he added with a wince, “since we now know he’s capable of starting an actual fire. That old building is just waiting for a single spark to send it up in flames.”
________________________________________
“Well, hello, Beatrix, dear. Martin. Daniel.”
“Aunt Alicia!” Trixie exclaimed in surprise, stopping on the sidewalk next to Dan's parked van. “We didn’t know you were in town.”
Alicia Belden’s smile was brief. “Yes, well, it wasn’t my original plan for the morning.” She placed a hand on the arm of the silver-haired man at her side. “Samuel, darling, why don’t you go ahead? I’d like a quick word with my niece. I’ll catch up with you shortly.” She let out a soft sigh as the older gentlemen turned and entered Hanson’s Antiques.
“New man?” Trixie asked, grinning.
“Oh, this one really is just a friend,” Alicia told her. “And a bit of a tiresome one at the moment. He’s gotten himself into some silly wager with an old colleague of his, back from his hedge fund manager days. They’re both trying to amass the largest collection of fine art on the Eastern Seaboard. He’s been told Arthur Hanson somehow got his hands on a Winslow Homer, if you can imagine that. I have my doubts, of course. Arthur simply did not inherit his mother’s eye for the genuine article, though he did rather unfortunately inherit her shop.” Alicia rooted around in her Gucci handbag and pulled out a lacquer cigarette case. “Now, Beatrix, dear. I can tell just by looking at you that something is amiss and I am assuming it has something to do with the disturbing lack of spirits about. It’s been very quiet at Briarcliff lately. Please tell me David’s mother hasn’t returned?”
“We haven’t heard a peep from her since, you know, that whole ‘I’ve come for the amulet!’ situation.” Trixie huffed out a breath. “And to be honest, I think I’d rather be dealing with her again than tangling with the Headless Freaking Horseman.”
Alicia stilled in the process of lighting her cigarette. She slowly lowered her hands and snapped her lighter shut. “I believe this conversation may be longer than I’d expected. What are your plans for tonight? Could the three of you drive out to see me? We can dine in the café. My treat.”
Trixie exchanged a glance with her brother, who nodded. “Is 6:30 a good time?” she asked.
“Yes. The early birds will have already eaten by then and we should have no trouble getting a table.” Alicia looked at Trixie closely. “Be careful, my dear.” Her eyes cut to Mart and Dan. “And that goes for you two, as well. I’ll see you this evening.”
As Alicia let herself into the antique store, Trixie fished her phone from her back pocket. “I’m texting the professor,” she said. “He should know what happened this morning. I’ll see if we can drop in on him on our way to Briarcliff.”
“Okay,” Mart agreed. “But don’t forget about Honey and Di. They still want to tell us what they found out about Lisa.”
“Right. So, find Vernon. Talk to Honey and Di. Drop in on Charlie. Have dinner with Aunt Alicia…. Am I forgetting anything?”
“Would this be the time to remind you that we promised Moms we’d stop by Mrs. V’s to pick up the windmill cookies she made for the women’s garden club meeting?”
“Sheesh. Maybe it’s a good thing the ghosts have pretty much all gone to ground,” Trixie muttered. “We really don’t have any time for them right now.”
“So… we’re just gonna ignore that poor guy over there trying to beat in the newspaper stand with a Mag light?” Dan asked.
“Hey,” Trixie replied evenly. “If he’s not asking for our help, he can have at. It’s not like he’s actually doing any damage and for all we know, this could be very therapeutic for him.”
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(Jixanny Prompt Seven: Good, Bad, or No Luck)
The Lynch mansion was a stark contrast to the cozy, cluttered warmth of Crabapple Farm, but despite the formal, heavy furniture and museum quality artwork, there was a certain comfort to the large room that served as the gathering place for family and close friends. Di sat on the edge of a velvet armchair, her laptop balanced on her knees, while Honey sat cross-legged on the rug beside her. Trixie, Dan, and Mart were huddled on the oversized sofa and Trixie found herself fighting the urge to nod off. She let her brother explain their morning and was conscious of the wide-eyed looks her friends gave her while Mart described the moment she was hit with the flaming jack ‘o lantern, and the very real fire it caused.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Honey demanded worriedly after Dan mentioned Trixie’s refusal to visit the ER.
“I have definitely been better,” Trixie conceded. “But then in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve had a conversation with two gnarly dudes Mart impossibly conjured out of a movie, and I can now explain what it feels like to have a fiery ghost pumpkin pass through you. I think I need a bit more time to process.” She blinked and shook her head ruefully. “And, I’m about to ask if you guys learned anything about the dead valley girl I’ve befriended, so, to borrow from my eloquent boyfriend… Dude. Our lives are so weird!”
For a moment, no one said anything, but then Di put her hand to her mouth and it was evident she was holding back laughter.
“Go on,” Trixie said with a wave of her hand. “It’s all right.”
“Oh, T-Trix,” Di stuttered. “I know it’s not funny and I – I know you’ve been really having a time of it, but…”
“Eh. It is funny,” Trixie told her with a shrug. “Seriously. We’ve met Bill and Ted and the Headless Freaking Horseman this week. Those are not words I would have ever imagined putting together in a single sentence, you know? At this point? If an owl flew in your window and dropped a letter inviting me to a famous school for witchcraft and wizardry, I’d be all, ‘Oh. There you are. I was wondering when you were gonna show up.’ So go ahead and laugh it up and then you can tell us what you found out.”
Di exchanged a helpless look with Honey and soon both girls were shaking with laughter. Their amusement was infectious and Trixie, Dan, and Mart found themselves laughing along with them.
“Okay,” Di said several minutes later when she had calmed down enough to speak clearly, “so we’ve been digging through the Sleepyside Sun archives from 80's.” Her fingers flew across the keys of her laptop. She turned the screen around to show them a grainy, black-and-white photo of a girl with a massive hair-bow and a bright, hopeful smile. It was Lisa, looking vibrantly alive. “This headline says ‘Local Teen Missing After Pep Rally.’ But that’s the problem. As far as the living world is concerned, she just vanished into thin air.”
“No struggle? No witnesses?” Mart asked, leaning in to squint at the digital text.
“Nothing,” Honey said softly. “A lot of people at the time, including the police apparently, thought she’d just run away. There was a rumor she was unhappy at home or wanted to go to New York City to be a dancer. But her parents... they never bought it. There are dozens of follow-up letters from her father in the archives, pleading for the investigation to stay open.”
Di sighed, clicking through a few more tabs. “It’s a sad trail to follow. Her parents ended up moving away about a year after she disappeared. I guess the house just felt too empty. Her mother passed away in the mid-nineties, and her father died only a few years ago in Oregon. Lisa is effectively a cold case with no family left to push for answers.”
Trixie leaned back into the cushions, the phantom burn in her lungs giving a sharp burst of pain. She thought of Lisa in her neon yellow blouse and crazy hair bow, stuck in the In-Between for decades, not knowing how she’d ended up there. “It doesn't tell us much,” she mused, her voice low. “If she was murdered, like she thinks, the trail is thirty years cold. And Keith? He’s probably close to a membership in AARP by now.”
“It’s a mystery, Trix,” Honey said, her eyes searching her friend’s face. “And usually, you’d be halfway out the door to solve it.”
“I want to,” Trixie admitted, her gaze drifting to the dark window where the Hudson Valley mists were beginning to roll in. “But we have a more immediate problem. Until we deal with the Headless Freaking Horseman - until we figure out how to un-enchant that medal or send him back to wherever Mart’s spell dragged him from? We can't devote the time to Lisa's case it deserves.”
“I don’t think she expects us to be worrying about her right now,” Dan put in. “She knows what we’re up against.” He looked over at Di. “At least you found her and know what happened to her folks, though I don’t know if she’d actually want to know or not.”
Di sighed as she closed her laptop. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. I mean, if I was her, would I want to know my parents died never learning what happened to me and maybe worry that they had started to think it was possible I’d just run away and never contacted them again?”
“How’d you track down her parents?” Trixie asked curiously.
“Oh, well, that was really just a bit of luck. Her mother’s first name was Zenobia. That made searching a whole lot easier than if she’d been a Mary or a Susan.”
Mart rubbed his hand over his face. “Right. So Lisa has to be temporarily relegated to the back burner. Meanwhile, we need to get moving if we’re going to see the professor before we meet up with Aunt Alicia.”
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(Jixanny Prompt Eight: “Mystery-itis” or Another Made Up Word as a Pun)
The sky overhead had deepened into a vivid, heavy violet. Twilight made the shadows beneath the trees on either side of them as they drove along look far too solid. The van’s headlights cut through the gathering darkness as Dan navigated the winding, wooded road that ran roughly parallel to the Hudson River and eventually ended far upstate.
“I don’t like it,” Trixie said quietly. “Vernon doesn’t usually disappear completely like this. I’m worried.”
“Maybe he’s just in hiding,” Mart suggested from the back seat, trying to sound unconcerned, though he was tapping his fingers nervously against the leather binding of a research book. “We don’t have to assume anything bad actually happened to him.”
Dan slowed the van as they approached the wrought-iron fence that marked the beginning of Briarcliff, the exclusive retirement residence Alicia Belden called home. As they rounded a sharp bend where the old forest pressed close to the road, the headlights caught a figure in the gloom. He was leaning against a mossy stone column, one thumb hitched out with practiced nonchalance. He was dressed in bell-bottom jeans, a wide-collared polyester shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and platform shoes that added several inches to his height.
Dan tapped the brakes, the van rolling to a stop a few feet away. “Okay,” he said. “A vintage hitchhiker. Cool.”
Trixie rolled down the window and leaned slightly out. “Hey. You waiting for a bus? Because those stopped running about forty years ago on this route.”
The young man shrugged and walked toward them. “I don't care about the bus, man. I don't even care where you’re headed. North, south, over the state line, whatever. Just get me out of here. There’s something really heavy going down and I don’t want any part of it. I’m not into trouble. You dig?”
“I’m sorry, but we can't really take you far,” Trixie said, her voice softening with a mix of pity and exhaustion. “We’re actually planning to locate the trouble and do something about it.”
The man stared at her, his jaw dropping to reveal a gaudy gold tooth. “On purpose?” he said incredulously. “You guys are crazy.”
“It’s a family tradition,” Trixie explained. “What can you do? Between the missing dead mobster, the murdered girl, the flaming pumpkin, and a couple of inexplicable, time-traveling slackers, this whole week has been totally, specter-tacularly bad.”
Dan groaned then gave a low chuckle, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “Specter-tacularly? Really, Freckles?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Because it’s an absolute linguistic atrocity,” Mart said with feeling.
The hitchhiker looked between them, shook his head, and began to fade into a soft mist. “Forget it. I’ll try my luck with the next car. Peace out, weirdos.”
Trixie rolled up the window. “Right. Well, that was easy enough. Our work here is done. Let’s go see Aunt Alicia and maybe she’s got some ideas that could help us.”
“Specter-tacularly,” Dan repeated with a shake of his head. “I love you, Freckles. You know that, right?”
“Love you, too. Weirdo.”
PART 6