Howls and Hexes

Rayna I sat alone in my small, slightly dented Camry. The kind of car with history. Not the good kind, either—coffee spills in the cup holders, scratched door handles, the faint scent of lavender air freshener clinging to the fabric from my mother’s obsession with making everything smell “calm.” It was her car, but she didn’t need it anymore. She died last year. Losing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced and I’ve lived a life most people wouldn’t even consider living. Isolated. Quiet. Stifling. And yet, her death was also the most liberating thing that ever happened to me. I don’t say that with pride ,I’m not heartless ,but with painful honesty. I loved her. But I never really knew her. I only knew the version of her that kept me hidden from the world. Homeschooled from kindergarten to college. No real friends. No pets. No visitors. No field trips, no playdates. My entire life was contained in a two-bedroom apartment above a supermarket in a tourist town in Mexico. The kind of town where everything closed by 8 p.m. and strangers were more common than neighbours. When I was fifteen, I begged her to let me work. It turned into a fight. When I turned seventeen and said I wanted to go to college physically—not virtually—she nearly lost her mind. I remember her words: “Why would you want to leave a safe place to go running into the arms of the unknown?” Because I was suffocating. She didn’t help me financially when I applied for school. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. Her paycheck barely kept us afloat. But despite everything, she made sure we never starved. I never went without clothes, even if they were thrifted or hand-me-downs. Now, here I was—parked in front of a newly renovated historic house in a place called Silverden, Texas, clutching the keys to the next chapter of my life. The town wasn’t large, but it was warm, alive. Sunlight stretched across the gravel driveway, lighting up the forest-green shutters and inviting the front porch like something out of a Hallmark movie. It didn’t feel real. I stepped out of the car and stretched. The drive took me two days. I could’ve done it all in one push, but I wanted to take my time, to breathe, to be alone on my own terms for once. I looked at the house again. It had three stories, big bay windows, and charm. Lots of charm. My room was on the second floor—one of four in the house. Technically, I was only renting a single room, but the freedom it offered made it feel like a mansion. The property manager, Tabitha, was supposed to meet me here. I walked up the porch stairs,smooth, freshly painted—and knocked. A silver-haired woman opened the door, wearing a yellow sundress and a gentle smile. “Hi, I’m Rayna.” “Oh yes, of course! Come in, dear. I’m Tabitha, the property manager. Welcome to your new home.” I smiled softly and stepped inside. The scent of pine cleaner and something sweet,maybe cinnamon—filled the air. “This here is the sitting room,” she said, gesturing to the cozy space off the entrance. A plush grey couch, two wingback chairs, and a wooden coffee table sat neatly in the center of a floral rug. Sunlight spilled through gauzy curtains. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured, already feeling a little more at ease. She continued the tour. The kitchen was as lovely as the pictures—white cabinets, sleek stone countertops, a farmhouse sink, and a massive oak table positioned beside wide windows overlooking the backyard. “We’ve got a BBQ grill and a little fire pit out there,” she said. “Good for summer evenings.” The basement had been transformed into a rec room—with a dart board, pool table, a sectional, and a mounted flat-screen TV. I wasn’t sure I’d use any of it, but just knowing it was there made me feel oddly... included. Upstairs, she showed me to my room. “You’re in here,” she said, pushing the door open. It was bigger than I expected—soft brown walls, hardwood floors, and tall ceilings. I had brought minimal furniture, but the space felt like something I could grow into. For once in my life, I wasn’t living in someone else’s shadow. “You’ll share the bathroom with two other girls,” Tabitha explained. “One is moving out soon, the other will be arriving in a few days. There’s also a shared half-bath on the main floor and another in the basement.” I nodded. “Thank you.” She handed me the house key and patted my shoulder. “You’ve got my number. Call me if you need anything. I might swing by when the new girl moves in—but maybe not. It was nice to meet you, Rayna.” “You too.” When she left, the house felt... still. Not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar. I went back out to unload the car. A few suitcases, a box of books, my mother's old journals (which I still hadn’t read), and my most prized possessions—my plants. I’d packed them gently in crates, praying they survived the trip. Spider plants, succulents, herbs, and even a tiny fiddle-leaf fig. My quiet companions. An alert buzzed on my phone: the delivery truck with my bed frame and desk was 30 minutes out. That gave me just enough time to get settled. I looked around. The house was peaceful. Bright. Much nicer than I expected for the price. It was cheaper than living alone and despite my awkwardness, I was glad to be sharing space with other people. Even if I didn’t know them yet. When the movers came, they were quick. They assembled the bed frame, placed the mattress, and arranged the desk and chair. I offered them water and thanked them with a tired smile. Once they left, I looked around my room. It was starting to feel... like mine. I gave a second thought to checking my mother's journals though, I didn't know why she had journaled so much , The journals stared so much at me. Some were neat and new, others old and leather-bound. I hadn’t dared to read them. I didn’t want to. Not yet. The pain was still too fresh. And I had too many questions I wasn’t ready to answer, but I also was as curious as a cat so I reached for it. The moment my fingers touched the cover, a jolt of heat surged up my arm. Before I could pull away, the world tilted. A vision slammed into me. It wasn’t like a memory. It was otherworldly. I was somewhere dark — a cavern, maybe, or a massive underground chamber. Dozens of women stood in a wide circle, their hair blazing red like fire, chanting words I couldn’t understand. In the center of the circle were creatures looking like wolves. Or… werewolves. Strapped to wooden stakes, chained and writhing. Their howls were raw, full of agony and desperation. The women raised their hands, and red liquid seeped from the wolves’ veins into glowing goblets. It looked like they were doing rituals, but why ? I swallowed hard . Magic saturated the air — twisted, corrupted. One of the women raised her head and looked directly at me. Her eyes were black pits. “No!” I gasped, pulling my hand off the journal. The room snapped back into focus. My bedroom. My plants. The late afternoon sun leaking through the window. My hands trembled. My throat felt dry. “What the hell was that?” I whispered to myself. I stared at the journal like it might explode. It hadn’t been a memory. I’d never seen anything like that. It was more like a movie playing in my mind only… I could feel it. Smell it. Taste the blood in the air. I shoved the journal to the back of the desk and took a deep breath. Was it just stress? Grief? Or was I losing it? I forced myself to look away and focus on something normal — food. I was starving. My stomach rumbled. I didn’t have any groceries. I’d have to figure out how the kitchen system worked. Did we share spices? Did we each get a shelf? I wasn’t sure. I figured I’d ask one of the girls. I went upstairs and hesitated in front of the closed door. Deep breath. I knocked. A tall girl opened it. She was stunning—deep brown skin, almond eyes, and straight black hair that shimmered under the hallway light. She looked like someone with money, someone who had her life together. “Hi... I’m Rayna. I just moved in.” She looked me up and down and then nodded slightly. “I was wondering... how do we handle food stuff in the kitchen? Like—should I label things?” She smiled a little. “We’re not toddlers. But yeah, label your stuff if you want. I don’t cook much. Neither does Courtney. We mostly eat out or order in. I’d probably burn the house down if I tried to cook.” I chuckled, suddenly feeling less awkward. “Good to know. Thanks. And your name?” “Daisy,” she said. “Nice to meet you.” I stuck out my hand like a dork. She looked at it like I’d handed her a dead fish but shook it anyway. “See you around, Rayna.” I practically jogged down the stairs, cheeks burning. Back in my room, I ordered tacos from a place nearby that had stellar reviews. Homemade tortillas. Spicy sauces. The food arrived quickly. I sat at the big oak table and ate alone, savoring the flavors. Growing up, we never ate out. Everything was cooked at home. Cheap and basic. I’d forgotten what it was like to eat something someone else made. Halfway through my meal, the front door opened. A girl and a guy walked in. She had a golden buzzcut and a sharp jawline. Her eyes found mine instantly. “Who are you?” “Rayna. I just moved in today.” “I’m Courtney. This is Dickson, my boyfriend.” He grunted in acknowledgment. “We’re just grabbing my purse,” she added, brushing past me without another word. As they left, Courtney glanced back. “Nice meeting you.” “Yeah... you too.” Once the door shut behind them, I exhaled. Why did talking to people feel like a performance? I cleaned up my mess and retreated to my room. I was exhausted from the drive and the day in general. Still no bedding—just a mattress protector and some throw blankets. It would do for now. As I sat on the edge of my bed again, I glanced at the journals. Another wave of emotion hit me. And then a memory surfaced. It was two days before the accident. My mom and I had driven to get groceries—a rare thing we did together. She was quiet in the car. Too quiet. “Mom?” I asked. “Hm?” “You okay?” She smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just tired, Rayna” That night, she sat at her desk writing. I came out to get water, and she was startled when she heard me. “If anything ever happens to me,” she said suddenly, “Don’t go digging for answers. Some things are better left untouched.” I blinked. “Why would anything happen to you?” She didn’t answer. As we were driving back as we got close to a nearby post office, the crash happened . I remembered the sound of twisting metal, the blur of a red light, the way her head turned unnaturally in the seat beside me. But the strange part? There was no car that hit us. None. Our car had swerved and slammed into a streetlamp—seemingly on its own. I had only scratches. But her neck had snapped clean, like she’d been… cursed. I hadn’t let myself think too deeply about it. Until now. Until that vision. Until this house. And that journal. Something about all of this wasn’t normal. I curled up with one of the throws, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and a handful of thriving plants. Tomorrow, I'll find a plant nursery. I wanted to start rebuilding my little green world. Plants were the only thing I’d ever been allowed to fully love. The only things that didn’t judge or control me. Tomorrow would be the start of something new. Still, I couldn’t sleep. That vision kept playing in my mind — the hooded women in black robe and red hair , the blood, the creatures which looked like wolves , they looked so scared I told myself it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Just trauma. Stress. Grief hallucinations. I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to slow. In and out. Eventually, I slipped into a restless sleep. But somewhere, in the dark corners of my mind, a voice whispered: “This is only the beginning, Rayna.”