The Overmorrow

Updated: Mar 21

My Gift For You!

The Overmorrow


Stasia Morineaux

As the upstairs hallway clock struck its third chime of the thirteenth hour, I let my eyelids creep open. I was lying in wait to catch someone…or something.

Time works differently inside my home, The Overmorrow. A lot of things work differently. Spirits are invited in and allowed to roam. Seances are a norm. Even the occasional daemon takes up temporary residence. Not like the kind from The Exorcist , but the kind that you never hear anything about; the helpful ones that work with the darker deities, with no particular penchant towards good or evil, but more or less hanging around to assist and help define a witch's character or personality. Oh yeah, by the way, we’re a house of Hexe—witches of the German variety—where grey magic prevails. More than five generations of Hexe have lived here, and currently that would include me, my mother, and my great-aunt. We don’t live by the Wiccan Rede: there is no rule of three for our kind.

The Overmorrow is a rambling beauty originally built around 1780 with a renovation in 1855 and rests at the end of a quiet street in a small yet bustling historic town. Behind the house’s wrought iron gated back yard, sparkling pool, and expansive garden complete with greenhouse, lies the Overmorrow Woods. They’re rumored in town to be extensively haunted. The rumors are absolutely correct.

Those woods are one of the outstanding reasons for the decline in business at our bed and breakfast. Did I mention The Overmorrow is a B&B? I think I left that out.

Anyway, business was down, way down. Dead tourists were found in our woods. It wasn’t just us, but of course we were catching the brunt of it. Only one had actually been found on our land, which was bad enough; all the others were on the state forest side. Investigations were being held, of course, and security was at a high, but tourism had fallen as a result.

The Overmorrow was never empty, partly due to its beauty and hospitality, the other being the buzz promising supernatural activity. We didn’t advertise it as such, but it wasn’t a hidden fact that we’re witches either, and well, people in town like to gossip. Why not take advantage of the hype?

There were two sources of illumination being lent to my room. One was a childhood night light still glowing softly from across the room near the door. The other was a fat full moon that sat high above the trees, shining brightly across my bed. I was bathing in full moon magic. There was a slight reddish tint to it that sent a shiver of concern through me, but all was quiet as I laid there waiting.

I peered around the room ready to confront whatever or whoever had been messing with my belongings.

First it had been my earrings. I’d removed them as I got ready for bed my first night back home from college. They were a gift from my parents on my sixteenth birthday, and I’d always been very careful to place them in the little porcelain dish on my dresser, never wanting to risk them going down a drain in the bathroom or getting lost in the shaggy pile of the area rug. The following morning when I reached into the dish to retrieve them my fingertips only found the smooth porcelain.

I’d spent a good deal of time, and tears, crawling around the bedroom floor feeling around in the carpet, reaching under furniture, and exploring the nooks and crannies along the floorboards, but they were nowhere to be found.

Until I went to brush my teeth and found them resting on the toilet tank.

The second morning home, the book I’d left resting on my nightstand was clear across the room on the dresser. And my phone, which had also been on the nightstand, was in the hallway. On the floor.

Third morning home, my favorite pair of boots had gone AWOL. I’d left them resting at the foot of my bed. I had yet to find them.

My summer plans had been to rise baker-early—that’s about 4 am for you not in the know—and prep the baked goods for the guests’ brekkie, and then to spend my afternoons dozing by the pool with a good book. Most of the time guests went out exploring the town during the day and returned after dinner at one of the local joints. No one wanted to stay away too long after the moon rose, all hoping to hear or see something spooky. It was generally why they chose to stay with us.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I mumbled. After long stretched out moments of listening to the room, neither sensing nor seeing even the slightest movement, I rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp. The warm glow washed softly over the room, revealing everything exactly as I’d left it two hours earlier.

“Of course.” I stretched and yawned, then ambled toward the door, stopping just long enough at my standing mirror—which was much larger than my five-foot six stature needed—and peered closely at my reflection. My grey eyes were looking a little bloodshot. At some point, this summer vacation would actually become a vacation, right? I smoothed my silvery mane into a ponytail. “Well, since I’m up, might as well hit up the kitchen for a midnight margarita.” Doing a little dance out the door, I called softly to the dark form lying near the top of the stairs. “Hey Aldo, wanna join me in the kitchen? I’ll get you a midnight munchie.” Aldo was my home guardian, he had the appearance of some sort of blend between a Mastiff, a timber wolf, and a Newfoundland. Of course, he was really none of those. He was an Egregore, a guardian brought to creation by my mother just a few months before I was born. His home-base had been right outside my door on the second-floor landing since, well, forever.

“Hey, you, what did you do today to get so tuckered out?” I whispered, drawing clo