Green Vallis, Wisconsin

“They’re a cult.”

The distorted words hung in the musty air like sagging cobwebs, but Charlotte Carver heard them as clearly as she felt the damp air on her skin. They sounded like they came from an old record player that had seen better days. And to make things even spookier, they were whispered in her voice.

Her memory had been shoddy as of late, to say the least, but she was sure that she would remember having a conversation about cults. She looked around and was able to discern from the stone foundation that she was in a basement. The dusky light seemed to drain color from her surroundings.

Charlotte felt the texture of a rope against her hand and glanced down. Her fingers were empty. She felt heavy, like her legs were made of lead. The notion that she wouldn’t be able to move very far if she tried haunted her, almost to paralysis.

“They’re going to sacrifice us,” her raspy voice continued against pops and scratches of the record. Water dripping into a puddle somewhere only added to the eerie ambiance. “We have to get out of here.”

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said. None of this made sense.

“We don’t know that.” Lydia Barratt was her best friend. She knew that voice better than her own, even as the recording warped it. No, it was Lydia MacGregor now.

“Lydia?” Charlotte called. “Are you there? What is this place? What are we hearing?”

“I heard them. When they brought me here, they told me my sacrifice would be appreciated. They’re sick.” Again, Charlotte knew her own voice, but had no memory of the conversation.

“Hello, anyone? What is this place?” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “What is happening?”

“Ya don’t need to be here,” a man responded, much calmer than her voice had been.

She recognized the Scottish accent of Niall MacGregor, her landlord, and the brother of Lydia’s new husband. His words were stronger, clearer than the recording. What was he doing here, in this basement from a black and white horror movie with her?

Niall made her nervous. Hell, he could make anyone nervous. He had a commanding presence that filled a room, even when he didn’t say a word.

Sometimes, when he looked at her, she felt as if she would be less exposed if she were standing naked in front of a hundred people. Not that Niall had ever seen her naked. That was just how confident his knowing gaze was.

Charlotte searched her surroundings, looking for him. The room was empty.

Light streaming through a small window revealed an old furnace and water heater in the corner. Next to it were some wooden stairs leading out of the basement. Charlotte tried to go toward them. “Lydia, are you down here? I see a way out.”

Suddenly, iron bars fell from the ceiling, blocking off the exit. Charlotte covered her ears as the clanging of metal on the stone floor rang around the small basement. The impact shook the ground and reverberated up through the floor and her legs, shaking every part of her. She looked up and down in a panic. The bars only fortified her fear that she was being held captive in the torture chamber of a house of horrors.

“This door does not exist within ya anymore,” Niall said. His green eyes appeared first out of the shadows, bright in color but lacking the teasing light common to the other men in his family. His brown hair fell to his chin, and she had the impression that it was more out of neglect than a style choice. His kilt looked well worn. For a man from a wealthy family, he seemed to go out of his way to look like he didn’t come from money. Still, on the surface, he was handsome, rugged, and moody. Whenever he came to Green Vallis, he drew attention like a movie star bad boy, riding into town on his motorcycle, returning from some mysterious adventure.

None of these things impressed Charlotte, for they were surface dressing. All the MacGregor men were handsome. If she was interested in a pretty face, there were several single ones to choose from—Euann and Rory were both sweet and amiable, dressed in designer clothing, and appeared to like having a good time. And they smiled at her. Niall never smiled.

Like now. He was definitely not smiling as he looked at her. “Ya do not want to go beyond this room.”

“But…” She pointed at the door, only to see it disappear. Water dripped again, a solitary ambiance that caused the dread inside of her to intensify.

“And ya do not need these bars, or these windows,” he said. “Ya do not need this night. Let it go, Charlotte.”

“Where’s Lydia?” She looked around. Panic filled her. None of this was as it should be. “I heard her. Where is she? I have to find her.”

Charlotte ran to the window and grabbed hold of the sill. Her fingers felt the strain as she pulled herself up before bracing her toes in the stone foundation to hold a precarious position. Outside, she saw Lydia’s lawn.

That’s weird.

Lydia owned an old Victorian house, and her basement looked nothing like the one Charlotte was currently inside.

A blue light flashed past where she looked and she gasped, almost slipping. She held on tighter. Lightning flashed across the landscape, blowing tree limbs over like toothpicks across the grass, as a windstorm raged.

“Ya cannot keep coming back here, Charlotte,” Niall said from behind her. “Leave it buried. Stop digging.”

A demonic creature’s face appeared in the window. Charlotte cried out as she lost her grip. She fell back, unable to look away. It was half man, half panther, and one hundred percent terrifying. His eyes glowed like embers and his sharp fangs glistened in the dark as, behind him, lightning struck closer than before. A clawed hand pressed to the glass, lighting it up with an ominous, foreboding glow.

“Let us out!” her recorded voice yelled, but no sound would come from her trembling lips.

“I told ya to stop looking.” Niall appeared before her, blocking the creature in the window. He reached out as if to touch her. “I would take it all back if I could. I would rewind time. I—”

Charlotte gasped and flung her arms as she came out of a deep sleep, trying to swat the invisible hand that pulled away from her cheek. It took a moment to realize she fought a dream that wasn’t there. The smell of a basement stayed with her as she turned on the mattress. Eventually, her breathing evened itself out.

Her empty bedroom held very little; one could say it had a minimalist’s touch—a lavender-scented candle left burning too long, a crumpled paperback discarded when she fell asleep, and a butcher knife on her nightstand. She vaguely remembered putting the knife there, but it wasn’t the first time her tired mind had felt the need to protect itself by rejecting reality.

The silence of downtown streets below resonated with a shiver that ran up her spine. For a moment, she second-guessed the glow of the streetlights that fell across her bed, imagining the shadow of a spidery creature. The hour was late and here she was again in the arms of insomnia. Sadly, she hadn’t slept a full night in a long time. In fear, she gazed wearily at the window as if expecting there to be something or someone outside the glass, standing two stories tall looking in on her, waiting for the right time to reach inside.

The whisper of the voice still lingered, but the images leading up to it faded before she could hold on to them. “I would take it all back if I could. I would rewind time.”

“Take it all back,” she whispered, unable to recall what the words might have referred to.

There are aches that cannot be described, pains that settle in the stomach and chest caused by nothing more than a faded memory. Charlotte knew there was something she should recall, like a scary movie she watched through her fingers as a child—but its plot she could no longer recall. She remembered the feeling though, the unfounded fear. It crept in every time she closed her eyes.

There was something she needed to remember.

Why couldn’t she remember?

Charlotte closed her eyes, trying to start at the beginning.

She recalled her childhood clearly. It had been no better or worse than most people’s. She remembered Buck Mitchell pinching her backside when they were eight because his older brother dared him to. She’d tied his pants to a flagpole and gave him a wedgie, trying to lift him off the ground in retaliation. Buck learned to respect women a little more after that.

Charlotte remembered when her best friend Lydia asked her to come to work for her in her home-based business, Love Potions, after Lydia’s grandmother had died. Annabelle Barratt raised Lydia after her parents died. She might not have been Charlotte’s grandmother, but she had been a great influence in her life. Gramma Annabelle had believed in the old magick, not silly magic tricks, but actual magick. She’d taught Lydia and Charlotte that there were things in the universe that could not be explained. She believed there were those who could harness a deep power and control the earth and sky.

Annabelle had sometimes gone off the deep end and had tried to teach them vampire lore, protection spells to ward off evil, and how to avoid stepping into fairy rings, as if those topics had a practical application in everyday life.

Annabelle might have been crazy in some regards, but she’d gotten one thing right. Ghosts were real. Charlotte had seen them, and could rationalize that people transferred their energy into the ether when they died. It also explained why so many people believed in haunting in the modern day. However, Charlotte did not believe in vampires and fairies. If creatures went around entrancing humans and drinking their blood, someone would have surely noticed.

Annabelle was a green witch, a naturalist, which was just another way of saying she was a hippie without the patchouli. She had taught them about herbs and natural remedies. Now Charlotte helped Lydia make teas, candles, lotions, and bath products. Hanging out with her friend all day for work, what could be better than that? It was a dream job.

All that she remembered. Those memories were clear.

Then the new, rich neighbors bought the house on the hill—an old mansion that no one in Green Vallis could afford to upkeep. Like everyone else, Charlotte had been charmed by the MacGregors with their Scottish accents, charismatic ways, and love of kilts…at first. Now she didn’t completely trust them. The feeling of dread she couldn’t shake, and her sensation of missing time, both came soon after their arrival. The family was swallowing her hometown whole, buying up property and weaving themselves into the fabric of the small town as if they had always been there.

A MacGregor had even purchased her apartment building. She balled her hand into a fist, thinking of Niall. Like his brothers and cousins—heck, even like the older MacGregor generation—he was more handsome than any man had a right to be, but he was also grumpy and arrogant, and…

Why couldn’t she remember? It was right there, on the tip of her lips.

Charlotte felt a tap on her leg and jerked up on the bed. A dark spot wet the knee of her pajama pants. She frowned, instantly looking at the ceiling. Water came through her light fixture and had been dripping on her while she slept. It soaked her leg and her bedspread. She rolled off the mattress with a grimace and glared upward. This apartment used to be her sanctuary. Now it seemed to be falling apart around her.

“Freaking MacGregors,” she grumbled.

Pushing the wet pajama pants down her legs, she kicked them aside and grabbed a pair of skinny jeans from the floor and pulled them on. She hopped and wiggled, tugging them up her hips so she could button them.

Charlotte frowned as the water continued to drip on her bed. It quickly became a steady stream. She grabbed the pajama pants and tried to soak up the mess.

Suddenly, a rush of soapy dishwater dumped down onto her. She gasped and scrambled off the bed. The brief waterfall slowed back to a trickle, but the damage had been done. Her mattress was ruined, the ceiling was bowed and cracked, and the light fixture was wet.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. It was difficult enough trying to sleep without the added bonus of disgusting ceiling water falling on her from the apartment above. All she wanted was to have a normal life back where her biggest concern was too many internet lotion orders.