The Aurora Witch - Chapter 3

Looking for honest/constructive feedback on this chapter for a middle grade fantasy book

Chapter 3: The Impossible Cottage

The Grantham children were beyond sullen during the long car ride to Maine. Over the weekend, they had presented every argument for why they should be allowed to stay home, but their father hadn't even given them the courtesy of a proper argument.

In the end, they conceded and chose to pack rather than risk forgetting something vital, like Oliver's entire collection of computer games...and the computer itself. When Millie scolded him, Oliver was quick to point out that she hadn't been much better, having packed a bag entirely of books for her summer reading. They both drew the line, however, when Henry tried to bring his entire collection of rocks and a garter snake he'd found.

Despite her indignation over being sent away, Millie couldn't help being curious about Whisper Hollow. She had read about the town on her father's computer and found it to be a strange, but fascinating place.

For example, the town hosted a "Word Play" Festival every year. At first, she thought this was referring to some kind of reading or writing festival. Instead, she found a tagline that was not quite what she'd expected: "The annual festival of puns, homophones, anagrams, alliterations, oxymorons and more!" This was followed by a second tag line in small bold lettering: "absolutely no haikus allowed".

This odd festival began to make more sense when she began reading the names of the town's shops. There was an old apothecary called "Thyme's Folly" and a secondhand bookstore called "Spine and Punishment". She could've spent hours just reading the names, imagining what kind of people owned them.

As they turned off the main road, Millie noticed that she wasn't the only one taking in their surroundings. Both her brothers had their faces pressed against the window, Henry looking eager and Oliver looking sulky.

They reached a fork in the road where an old wooden sign pointed in two opposite directions: one to "Whisper Hollow" and the other to "Juniper Estate". Below the sign for Juniper Estate read: Extremely Private Property: Enter at Your Own Risk.

The road became even more narrow and wild, flanked by gnarled oaks and tangles of ivy. Strange wooden signs popping up every few yards became more unusual the further they went:

"SPIRE Members NOT Welcome"

"Appointments Strongly Discouraged"

"Turn Back Unless You're Interesting"

"Trespassers Will Be Composted"

And then finally: "Go Away, Josephine".

As the trees thinned, the road turned onto a large clearing that opened into a sprawling estate where a shabby cottage stood shrouded in greenery. The car came to a halt in a flattened area of mossy flagstone. The children shared a collective look of apprehension, before climbing out of the vehicle.

It was a curious place made of stone and thick wooden beams wrapped in ivy. It was distinctly crooked, as though it had meant to be lopsided on purpose. A large brick chimney jutted out from the coppery clay tiles on the roof where wisteria vines draped over the eaves.

The front garden was a wild mess of flowers and shrubs and overgrown weeds. A mossy brick path wove in and out of the foliage, leading a narrow path towards the cottage.

"This is supposed to fit all three of us?" Oliver asked, his eyes fixed on the cottage.

Millie had to admit he had a point, as the cottage couldn't have more than one or two bedrooms.

"Maybe we'll all get to share a room," Henry said cheerfully, and both Millie and Oliver groaned.

"I'd rather sleep on the roof than share a room with you," Oliver muttered darkly.

"Oooh, I want to sleep on the roof!" Henry squealed, now running through the flowers and jumping over small, narrow stumps.

"No one is sleeping on the roof," came Albert's voice as he lifted bags out of the trunk and handed them to the children.

"Can I ring the bell?" Henry asked as he hopped from stone to stone. Then he cried out, "Ooooh, look at this!"

Millie and Oliver hurried down the path until they stopped in front of an ornately carved door where two gas lanterns sat on either side. Henry was pointing eagerly to one of the fixtures, where a velvety black bird sat perched on the finial.

"It's a crow!"

"That's not a crow, you idiot," Oliver grumbled, "it's a raven."

"Don't call him an idiot," Millie chided.

"It's not even real," Oliver said, rolling his eyes, "Look," he reached his hand towards it.

"Oliver, I wouldn't--" Albert began, but Oliver's hand was already in motion when the bird gave a loud.

KRAAAAK

They all jumped back.

The raven blinked once then let out another deep croak, flapping its wings before settling again.

Then the large wooden door swung open, and a beautiful young woman stepped into the doorway.

She was wearing a pair of green corduroy overalls and old leather boots. On her head was a large floppy hat covered in flowers, barely concealing the wild blond hair hanging over her shoulder.

Millie had never seen anyone wear dirt like it was an accessory before. Yet, the woman was shockingly beautiful. The soil smudged on her face only highlighted her sun-kissed skin and full rosy cheeks. Her bright-green eyes were unlike anything Millie had ever seen, like sparkling emeralds with flecks of gold.

"Interesting," the woman murmured.

"What's 'interesting'?" Oliver asked through narrowed eyes.

"You tell me," she said.

"That's what I asked you," he growled impatiently.

"Asked me what?"

"Hello, Edith," came their father's dry and unamused voice, cutting in before Oliver's frustration mounted to belligerence.

Millie had realized a few minutes into her aunt's exchange with Oliver that she was messing with him, but was too distracted to fully appreciate it. She was still trying to wrap her head around the impossibility that this woman was her Aunt Edith.

She had imagined her as an older woman with stringy dark hair and oversized glasses and a strong perfume smell. Someone who looked batty and odd, like a person you hoped didn't talk to you at the grocery store.

But this woman was beautiful and vibrant. She knew her father was only a few years older than her aunt, but this woman looked at least ten years younger, with not the slightest hint of a wrinkle on her smooth sun-kissed skin.

"Albert," greeted Aunt Edith. Her smile was subtle and playful, small dimples forming at the corner of her lips.

"You're Aunt Edith?" Oliver said in a tone of pure skepticism.

"I am Edith, the great and terrible," she said with a bow, and Millie saw Oliver's jaw tick in annoyance. She had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh, a fact that surprised her.

They stood in an awkward silence while Aunt Edith watched them with a casual expectancy. Finally, Henry broke the silence.

"Are you really crazy?"

"Henry, we don't ask people that," Millie hissed.

"Well, are you loony?" He restated, believing this to be much better.

Edith's eyebrows furrowed in an exaggerated thoughtful expression. After a moment, she gave a slight nod of her head, lowering herself so that she and Henry were eye to eye.

"I am absolutely loony," she said with a wink, and Henry giggled. Then she was upright and turning in a flurry of dust and foliage.

"Come along, then," she called from inside the house.

The Grantham children gave each other furtive glances as they peered into the entryway nervously, before stepping into the house.

The small foyer consisted of a weathered wood bench, a coat rack, and a large wooden staircase. Just off the entry was a spacious sitting room. Despite its size, the whole space felt surprisingly cozy, like the room itself was giving you a hug.

The walls were pasted with patterned wallpaper, and thick wooden beams stretched overhead across the ceiling. On the far side of the wall was an old brick fireplace flanked by large wooden bookshelves that looked as though they'd been carved from tree trunks. An old broomstick was propped against a shelf, and Millie could've sworn for a moment that she saw it twitch.

"Set your stuff there," Aunt Edith said, pointing to the end of the staircase.

With an unceremonious clunk, they dropped their bags. Then they watched in stunned silence as their bags began levitating. Eyes wide, they looked at each other, any words caught in their throats.

They turned to their father, who was standing just a few feet in front of them, where the hovering luggage was now floating up the staircase. Henry began to point frantically, catching his father's attention for a mere moment, where he glanced at the stairs and then turned back to Aunt Edith.

"The house looks, uh, nice," Albert began awkwardly, as though he was more nervous about making small talk than the luggage that had just drifted up the stairs.

"Wait until you see the kitchen," Aunt Edith began with a smile, gesturing for him to follow her down a narrow corridor past the sitting room.

But all three children stood rooted to the spot. Millie rubbed her eyes and blinked. She looked at her brothers, both standing with their mouths agape.

"This doesn't make any sense," Oliver murmured, studying the room with furrowed eyebrows. Then without any word, he darted back outside.

Millie bolted after him, watching as he stood in the front garden staring at the house as if it were some complex math equation.

"Oliver, what are you doing?" Millie cried out.

He tilted his head this way and that, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the house. Then without a word, he sprinted back inside.

"What are you doing?" she repeated as Oliver began staring at the ceiling from a crouched position.

"Look," he said, pointing to the fireplace. "You see that fireplace, right?"

"Yes," she answered warily.

"There's no chimney there," he said as he straightened, somewhat breathless, "Outside there's this great big chimney, but it's on the other side of the cottage."

Millie and Henry both squinted their eyes as they stared at the fireplace.

"And look," Oliver continued, pointing at the large circular window. "All of the windows outside are long and rectangular."

At this, Millies eyes widened.

How hadn't she noticed it before? The whole layout of the house was strange, not matching the exterior at all. As if they were sharing the same thought, Millie and Oliver both ran outside the house again.

"What's going on?" Henry cried out, stumbling after them.

She stood exactly where Oliver had and gave the exterior of the house a sweeping look. Sure enough, the chimney was on the wrong side and the windows were the wrong shape and in the wrong place.

"I see Dad in the kitchen," Oliver cried from the side of the house, "right where that living room is supposed to be."

"What?" Henry exclaimed, running towards Oliver.

"This isn't possible," Millie said, rubbing her eyes as though that might straighten out what she was seeing.

But when they ran back inside the house, it was still the same large sitting room, one that from the outside looked like it could take up the entire cottage.

"How is she doing it?" Oliver murmured, scratching his black hair.

"It must be some kind of illusion, maybe like a projector," Millie said.

Henry was now tugging on her shirt anxiously, but she barely noticed, too focused on the large circle window giving view to the garden.

"The broom," Henry whispered anxiously, catching both of their attention. Millie followed the line of his gaze and turned to see the old broomstick sweeping the floor around the fireplace.

Entirely by itself.

"What's going on?" said a voice they recognized as their father's.

Albert and Aunt Edith were walking back towards the sitting room. As the children turned, they saw their father wearing a bewildered expression, but Aunt Edith looked like she was holding back a laugh.

"The broomstick!" Henry squeaked.

Albert turned and looked right where the broomstick was sweeping the floor. The children watched him with bated breath, waiting for his eyes to widen at the shocking sight before them. But his expression was stoic, maybe even a little impatient.

"What about the broomstick, Henry?"

"It's moving!" Henry exclaimed, pointing feverishly at it.

Albert turned again, his eyes searching in concentration. Then he turned back towards his youngest son, looking completely nonplussed.

"It's not moving, son," he reassured, giving Henry a comforting pat on his sandy blond head. "It's just your imagination."

"No," Oliver stuttered, pointing more fervently in the same direction. "It really is moving. Don't you see it? I mean, look, it's right there."

Albert turned a third time then shook his head, a look of annoyance on his face.

"You really don't see it?" he asked, and Albert shook his head.

"Son, I don't know what sort of prank you're going at, but it needs to stop now," he said sternly.

Millie had to blink her eyes rapidly, but there it was, plain as day. The jagged wooden broomstick was piling a small mound of dust and dirt right before their very eyes, as though some invisible person were holding it.

"It's not a prank," Millie heard herself saying, "I can see it too."

Albert turned towards her with furrowed eyebrows, his expression at first stern, then softening. He sighed and scrubbed at his face.

"Look," he began in a placating tone, "I know you three aren't happy about this. And really I--"

"And the windows don't match," Oliver interrupted.

"Oliver," Albert hissed as his nostrils flared, "I don't have time for this."

"And our bags!" shouted Henry, who pointed to the stairs. "They flew!"

"It's true. I saw it too," Millie confirmed.

"And the chimney is on the wrong side," Oliver added, an almost accusatory tone to his voice, as though their father was simply in on the joke.

"And the house looks small, but when you're inside it's way bigger," Henry marveled in his usual animated way.

Albert pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling forcefully.

"You can see it for yourself from the outside. There are windows right where the fireplace should be," Millie added.

"Yes," Oliver cut in, "and when I looked through it, I didn't see this room, I saw--"

"Enough!"

The force of their father's anger and frustration seemed to reverberate along the walls. The house groaned in response, and Millie felt Henry cower behind her. Oliver's hands were balled into fists. A tense silence filled the room. Aunt Edith remained a quiet observer. But Millie had noticed that her amused expression had shifted into something more scrutinizing, her piercing emerald gaze fixed solely on Albert.

"I know you three don't like this," he began beseechingly, his voice strained in an unfamiliar rawness, "and I understand. But this work I'm doing, you don't understand how important this is. Not yet."

Millie felt tears forming in her eyes and she hated herself for it, but it was so rare for their father to show any kind of emotion. Now he looked older than ever, weathered and beaten.

"We'll miss you, Daddy," Henry whispered in a voice that threatened tears.

Albert sighed and crouched down, stretching out his arms towards his youngest son. Henry didn't waste a moment, lunging into his father's arms and squeezing his neck. Albert kissed the top of his sandy blond head, then stood.

Millie felt herself straighten, blinking any potential tears away. Albert turned to her and offered her a one-armed hug, which she returned.

"Take care of your brothers," he said softly, and Millie nodded.

He released her and stepped towards Oliver, who remained rigid, fists still clenched, and his eyes fixated on his feet. Albert seemed to understand that trying for a hug would be pointless, so instead he stretched out his hand for Oliver to shake.

Oliver didn't move. He didn't even lift his head.

"Ollie," he began, the softest Millie had heard his voice towards her brother in a long time. She saw Oliver's chin tremble for a flicker of a moment before a muscle tightened in his jaw. Then he looked up at Albert with an expression of pure defiance.

With a nod of understanding, Albert gave one last nod towards his sister before he left, closing the door behind him.