Enchanting Wilder
Copyright © 2016 Cassie Graham
All rights reserved.
This book is meant for personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Cassie Graham
Edited by
Golden Roots Consulting LLC
(goldenrootsconsulting.com)
Cover Design by Kandi Steiner
Cover Photo by Dollar Photo Club
Formatted by Elaine York/
Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting
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Dear beautiful readers,
In this book, you’ll find spells and incantations that are made up by me. Have some fun with the dictation and enjoy the book. Also, there’s a glossary at the end of the book in case you have any questions regarding the new terms.
Thank you so much for reading! Enjoy!
xo
-Cassie
For my strong and brave Grandpa Tom.
Thank you for teaching me how important it is to use my imagination.
This one is for you, you crazy old man.
“Magic isn’t spells and potions. It’s not incantations or chanting. It’s believing in something extraordinary, even if you can’t see it.” – Cassie Graham
It slinks with eerie precision across the wet grass in my direction. Thick and dense, the mist takes on a life of its own as it grows in size. Maybe if I sit here long enough the fog will reach out and engulf my body. I wonder if it’ll burn when it finally touches my skin. Or if perhaps it’ll suffocate me and take me somewhere else—an alternate realm. I marvel at the fact that the sticky air may work its way into my mouth and down my throat slowly take me as its prisoner. I revel in the possibilities of what may come.
I sigh.
Cold and firm, the stone against my back is uncomfortable. I don’t move or readjust my body, instead I simply lean my head against the headstone, the dew of the early morning sticking to my unruly, curly red hair. I don’t wipe it away. The droplets fall down my tendrils. It’s a little awkward sitting on lumpy grass with damp hair but at least I’m able to feel something other than exhaustion. Every so often my eyes drift back to the fog, but it never quite stretches to where I sit. It evades me, cautious and maddening. I rest my head back against the headstone again and let my lids fall closed.
Twirling the pen in my hand, I open my eyes and notice an older couple walking along the pathway just over the hill from my parents’ memorial. Their small footsteps don’t make much noise, but the shuffling of my notebook alerts them of my presence. They both look to me, their eyes curious. I imagine a twenty-something woman with wild, lioness red hair sitting in the grass would put most people on edge. But, here in Summerson, Massachusetts, the weird and strange are considered completely ordinary. In a place where the freaky is cool, a girl sitting in a cemetery all alone in the wee hours of the morning is yesterday’s news. Boring.
Huffing, I fight against the wind to hold the pages in my notebook down. Every morning since my parents’ death, I’ve come here to write. Most of the time, it’s nothing at all. Scribbles and words, things that make no sense, but I feel sane in the confines of my creativity. It doesn’t matter if I’m exhausted. Every morning, at six o’clock on the dot, my body wakes up whether I want it to or not and I make my way to the cemetery to find a tiny bit of sanity in my life of insane.
The suddenness of my parents’ passing took everyone in town by surprise, but more so for my sister Candy and I. It’s never easy to lose your parents, of course. I mean—no one really wants to say goodbye to family, but when it happens unexpectedly, it has a way of hitting you deep in your stomach. The realization they’re gone forever does something to your psyche. It settles in your mind, taunting you with the what-could-have-been’s and the I-wish-I-could-have-done-better’s. The battle raged inside me on a daily basis. It was an ongoing battle.
Our worlds were turned upside down. Everything we thought we knew about this life was thrown on its axis. Someone abruptly turned off the lights in our bright world and we’ve been walking around trying to find a lamp ever since.
So here I sit, emotionless and tired, lamely attempting to find answers in the words I write.
Being a pillar of the community will not only earn you a bench with your names on it when you die, but also disturbing, life-like statues. Insert body chills, here. Two perfectly depicted statuettes of my mother, Abigail, and father, Cole sit on the bench next to their gravestones. How, even in this abnormal town, is that okay? Who wants to sit down next to them and chat? “Hey Mom and Dad? How’s it going? I bet pretty chilly considering you’re made completely of steel and it’s supposed to be thirty-nine degrees today.” No. It’s creepy.
“McKenna.” Candy appears out of nowhere, snapping me from the thoughts of my lifeless parents. “I thought you weren’t going to come out here anymore.”
I set my pen down, not having written a word, and shield my eyes from the rising sun. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
Candy huffs and sits down cross-legged next to me, laying her head on my shoulder. “I know.”
Of course she knows.
Siblings in our family have a connection that binds us to one another. The Sephra Link. I feel her emotions and she can feel mine. It can be one of the biggest blessings considering the life we live, but sometimes it’s also be a burden. We’ve become more accustomed to turning it on and off lately, but there are days when I can’t decipher her emotions from my own. It also doesn’t help that the connection seems to be stronger now with our parents gone.
