Chapter Text
Drexford, Massachusetts. October 31.
Plush bats suspended in the front window, check. Jack-o'-lanterns lining the front walk, check. Broomstick propped next to the door, check. Halloween traditions are taken very seriously by the residents of Drexford—especially by its witches.
Dusk was falling. Soon the first trick-or-treaters would arrive at my cottage. I smoothed the folds in my gown. I hadn't needed to change into my witch outfit when I arrived home from the bookshop because I'd been wearing it all day.
Finn told me I looked more like a druid than a witch, but what does a vampire know? My moss-green gown was embossed with spider webs and herbs. The jagged edges of the skirt stopped short of my feet to reveal funky bootlets. I eyed the witch hat on the entry table and made a face. Surely just having it there was enough.
My gray tabby Edwina pawed at the brim. She loved to nap underneath it. Reason enough not to wear it. I lifted one edge and she darted inside. Soon only her face was visible. I could tell the kids she was my familiar.
The cottage smelled of cinnamon and allspice. My cookies were wrapped in cellophane and tied with raffia bows. Only one step remained. I stretched out my fingers, drawing in a little aether from the etheric plane, and then waved at the bats. Now their eyes were glowing amber orbs.
The doorbell startled me. The trick-or-treaters were early this year. I hurriedly picked up the basket of cookies and opened the door. The goofy faces of the jack-o'-lanterns smirked at me in the twilight, but where were the kids? As I scanned the shrubbery, listening for giggles, I heard a soft tap, tap at my feet. I looked down to see a wicker basket tucked next to my broomstick. Three large eggs were nestled on a cotton bandana. Cracks appeared on the shells as the taps grew more frantic.
I snatched up the basket and beat a hasty retreat, my heart thumping against my ribs.
I took the foundlings into my bedroom and slammed the door shut. The ostrich-sized eggs were pumpkin-colored with black spots, leading me to suspect a connection to All Hallows' Eve. I cringed at what might await me. No bird in Massachusetts has eggs that large.
I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, spread it over my new comforter, and then placed the basket on the towel. Bits of shell began to be ejected like projectiles. Edwina's plaintive meows to be let into the room would get her nowhere.
A dark slimy claw emerged from one shell. It stretched out as if reaching for me. More claws and long barbed tails quickly followed. I stared horrified at the dark mucous-covered creatures as they struggled to stand up. They looked a little like bats with short curved horns on top of their heads, large leathery wings, and spindly legs. Their large red eyes blinked at me like sleepy owls. As their indigo-black skin dried, it looked as sleek as a dolphin's.
I extended my hand, palm up, and the bravest of the trio clambered onto my arm, cocking its head as if to get a better look at me.
Fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, I pressed the speed dial for Finn.
"Hey, Tess. Whatever this is, can it wait?" he asked. "My band has a gig at the high school bash tonight."
I could hear voices in the background with demands for equipment. Finn owns the local guitar shop. He gives lessons on the side and plays in a band to help make ends meet. Only one other member is a vampire. Finn named the group Night Fangs, stepping right up to the line of the need to hide in plain sight. Witches, vampires, werewolves—we all live harmoniously with humans because they don't believe we exist.
"I'm in crisis mode!" The explorer jumped off my arm to rejoin its fellow fledglings. All three ungainly orphans were now gamboling on my bed as they exercised their wings. At any minute they could take flight. "Someone left me a basket of eggs, and they've hatched into what I don't know. They're already over a foot tall."
"Slow down. Are you talking about chicks?"
"I wish. More like magical gargoyles. Someone's practicing reckless magic."
He took an audible breath. Finn understood how dangerous this could be to all of us. Had similar baskets been left on other doorsteps? If a witch had gone rogue, none of us were safe.
"I'll come over as soon as I can, but it will probably be after midnight," he warned. "Will you be okay?"
"I think so. They don't seem threatening." If they started to attack me, I could suspend them in a mini-whirlwind. Not a pleasant experience, but they wouldn't be harmed.
"Hey, Finn, you coming?" someone yelled in the background.
"You need to go," I said. "I'll manage." The waifs appeared to have worn themselves out. They were now taking a nap, huddled together next to the basket. When their eyes were closed, their faces appeared blank and featureless. On the positive side, they were quiet. They would be, since I'd yet to find any sign of a mouth.
I rushed out of the room when the doorbell sounded. If this was a delivery of more eggs, I was sunk.
"Trick or treat!"
I smiled with relief at the fairy princess and her Spider-Man brother. Waving to the parents, on the street, I passed out cookies and pretended nothing was wrong. If I ignored the fledgling gargoyles, would they simply go away? They were magical creatures. Anything was possible.
Why had I been picked for the trick? The bandana in the basket was one we sold in the bookshop. It featured a Lord of the Rings design complete with Smaug the dragon. Was someone stalking me?
I was kept busy passing out cookies for the next half hour. At the first pause, I crept into the bedroom. The orphans were now perched on my dresser. Their likeness to gargoyles was even more striking. They'd grown in size and were now two feet tall with their tails dangling down the front of the dresser. Their eyes were closed. Perhaps they were nocturnal? I'd kept the overhead light on and that could have a calming effect.
What species were they? The etheric plane, the source of our magical abilities, is a sanctuary for creatures who usually don't appear on Earth. These foundlings were likely from that world.
In my neighborhood, the trick-or-treaters all tend to be young children. By nine o'clock, the street was quiet. I helped myself to a leftover cookie, plopped on the sectional, and turned on my laptop. Edwina promptly joined me, resting her chin helpfully on the keyboard. My best bet for help was Ghostnet. The dark network was set up by creatures at MIT in the '70s. Before then, we had limited resources. We mainly relied on lore passed down through families. But a few flagrant cases of rogue creatures revealed how vulnerable our community is to exposure.
In the 1960s, an alliance of witches, vampires, and werewolves as well as rarer creatures was formed in New England—a mutual assistance league. The movement quickly became global, and we now have members across the globe. A few years ago, a couple of werewolves at Cal Tech designed Casper, a social media app for us to connect.
Finn was a welcome sight at my door when he showed up shortly after midnight. The handsome vampire was wearing a black Night Fangs t-shirt and black jeans that looked molded onto him.
He peered eagerly into the cottage. "I don't see anything flying around." He stooped to pet Edwina who has a thing for any man in boots.
"That's because they're shut in my bedroom. The last time I checked, they were still asleep."
"Did Ghostnet help you identify them?"
"Alas, no. I couldn't find anything matching their description."
When I cracked open the door to my impromptu nursery, Edwina darted inside before I could stop her. She took one look at the waifs and flattened herself to the floor, her fur standing up in a sharp ridge along her back. Meanwhile, their eyes popped open wide. Their blank faces transformed into large gaping mouths with red wiggling tongues in the center. They let out a chorus of ear-piercing shrieks and I wanted to do the same.
Finn was stunned into speechlessness, as the foundlings launched themselves off the dresser and began circling the ceiling light. I scooped up Edwina and dashed outside the room, closing the door behind me. Evidently, as far as the orphans were concerned, cats were their worst nightmare.
Edwina promptly dove under the couch as soon as I released her. One problem solved. I wouldn't have to worry about her trying to make friends with the foundlings.
Finn slipped out of the bedroom door and joined me in the living room. "They resumed their perch on the dresser as soon as you left," he reported.
"Do you have any idea what they are?"
"The way they wrap their wings around their bodies reminds me of a fruit bat. Those spindly legs look almost human, and their faces ..." He slowly shook his head. "Before they opened their mouths, they reminded me of Lovecraft's description of nightgaunts."
"H.P. Lovecraft, the horror writer?"
"Yes. Have you read his works?"
"No, but a teenager was in the bookshop last weekend, asking for The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath. I chatted with him about it. He was particularly interested in the creatures Lovecraft described."
"Like nightgaunts?" Finn suggested, arching an eyebrow. "I read Lovecraft as a boy. In fact, one of the band members suggested we name ourselves the Nightgaunts. She read Lovecraft's description to us. As I recall, they have slick skin like whales, curved horns, bat wings, long barbed tails, and featureless faces. We could have nailed the look with black leather clothes although I wasn't keen on the tail bit ..." His words trailed off. "Was the kid in the bookshop a witch?"
"I don't know. It's an odd coincidence though. Many of us feel Lovecraft had psychic abilities, and the line between witch and psychic is murky. A Harvard historian is convinced that Lovecraft saw visions of magical creatures living in the etheric plane."
"Like your foundlings?" Finn looked at me with sympathy. "They need to be returned to their mama. Any ideas on how to accomplish it?"
"Our only lead is Logan—the boy I was telling you about."
"That could also explain why your house was selected," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps he's crushing on you."
"And he thought baby nightgaunts were a treat?" I snorted at the thought, but Finn could be onto something. Perhaps Logan didn't realize what they were. He could be lonely. He moved here last summer. Adjusting to a new school is often difficult. I'd helped him hunt for copies of fantasies from the past century. He'd once commented that dragons deserved much better fates. Did he have a soft spot for nightgaunts too?
I turned to Finn. "Since tomorrow's Saturday, he'll probably come to the bookshop. If he shows up, could I call you to come over?" Vampires have the ability to detect witches since they can smell the aether linking witches to the etheric plane.
"Sure. My sister helps out at the guitar shop on weekends. Will you be able to sleep tonight?"
"Currently, that's a low priority," I admitted.
"I could stay?" He grinned disarmingly. "You know I don't sleep much."
I gladly accepted his offer. Finn's presence made the uncertainty surrounding the baby nightgaunts seem much more manageable.
Were they hungry? What newborn wasn't? I'd read somewhere that emergency food for fledglings was cat kibble soaked in water. I prepared several bowls—dry kibble, kibble with water, and kibble with milk. I added a shallow dish of water and placed the tray of provisions on my bed.
Finn clicked through the selections on TV, finally settling on Ghostbusters. He claimed he only watched it for the music. I sat on the sectional next to him and researched Lovecraft. His biography was intriguing. His maternal grandfather, Whipple Phillips, had helped raise him. He educated young Lovecraft in the classics and also reportedly spun tales of weird creatures. Was Whipple a witch? Had he conjured up nightgaunts for the boy? The writer admitted having nightmares about them when he was young.
Whenever we checked on the youngsters, they were quiet, but they'd clearly investigated the bowls. Some of the kibble appeared to have been eaten.
Questions continued to spin in my mind but the bottle of Zinfandel Finn opened gradually slowed them down. Eventually, I must have drifted off to sleep. I awoke to the smell of coffee and him humming in the kitchen.
Over breakfast—toast for me, oranges for Finn, we plotted our next step. The bookshop was only a few blocks away. I could easily return for checkups on the foundlings. We photographed them but decided to hold off posting anything. If Logan had conjured them, he could get into a mess of trouble. Even more of a concern was what would happen to the babies. They were orphans from another world—not that different from E.T. Somehow we needed to send them home.
#
Tadmore Books, where I work, is the largest used and rare books seller on the Eastern Seaboard. The family-owned business opened its doors in the 1700s. The main location is in Boston, some fifty miles to the north. I like to think the Drexford branch is cozier and friendlier. We also handle online sales for the company.
Quincy Tadmore is the current owner. His father helped organize our league. Preference in hiring at the bookstore is given to creatures, with special arrangements made as needed. Nightgaunt tending had never come up, but I was sure Quincy would be sympathetic to my plight.
As expected, business was slow on the day after Halloween, giving me a chance to take down the decorations. I was so intent on rolling up spider webs, I almost didn't hear the jingle of the front door opening. I looked up to see Logan enter the bookshop. He was a junior in high school so I assumed he was roughly sixteen years old, but he was slight for his years. The hoodie and loose-fitting jeans he wore accentuated his youthful appearance.
He'd been a regular weekend visitor since the summer. Together we'd searched for obscure nineteenth-century fantasies. I refused to believe he had any malicious intention, but I didn't have any other lead.
I delayed approaching him, curious to see if he acted differently. After all, I only had the barest of circumstantial evidence to go on. But when I caught him flicking me a nervous glance, I felt on safer footing.
I set aside my tube of spider webs and went over to greet him. "Did you have a happy Halloween?"
"Yeah. I attended the high school party. The Night Fangs played. They were awesome!"
"A friend of mine plays lead guitar for the group—Finn Scranton. I'll pass on the compliment."
"He owns the guitar shop, right?"
I nodded. "He also gives lessons in guitar in case you're interested."
By his shining eyes, I could tell he was. If he was crushing on anyone, it was likely Finn. Would that help soften what was to come?
"How was your Halloween?" he asked, a look of merriment in his eyes. "Did anything unusual happen?"
"Now that you mention it, I found a basket of eggs at my doorstep. Do you know anything about them?"
He blushed. "I've enjoyed scrounging for fantasies with you so much, I wanted to add a little fantasy to the night." He didn't look worried. Did he honestly not know what the eggs were? I decided to play along.
"And you succeeded!" I gushed happily. "What can you tell me about the eggs?"
"They're ostrich eggs. I colored them myself," he added proudly.
"Are you sure they're ostrich eggs?"
He gave me a puzzled look. "Positive. I'd bought them at an art supply store. I thought you might think they were dragon eggs."
That explained the bandana he'd used in the basket. Should I be grateful they weren't baby Smaugs? "I didn't have time to," I told him. "They hatched within minutes of my finding them."
"They did?" He stared at me, horrified. "Into what?" he whispered, his face pale as a ghost.
"You and I need to talk. Let's use the reading room." It could be closed off for the privacy we'd require. "Finn would like to be present too."
#
"My great-grandmother had a diary of poems. They reminded me of Lovecraft," Logan said. "One of them was called 'Nightgaunt Invocation.'" He shrugged awkwardly, his face reddening. "For a moment, I pretended I was a wizard. I recited the poem, pretending I could magically transform the eggs. I didn't for a second believe I actually could."
"What was your great-grandmother's name?" I asked.
"Cordelia Phillips. She lived in Providence, Rhode Island. So did Lovecraft. I wondered if they knew each other."
"Do you know if she was a witch?" Finn asked.
"Witches aren't real," Logan protested.
"Yes, they are," I said. Finn had confirmed the boy's nature to me as soon as he arrived at the bookshop. "You don't need to pretend to be a wizard. You already are one."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Only a witch could have made the spell work," I pointed out.
"Are you a witch?" he asked. His eyes looked enormous in his thin face, reminding me of the waifs at home.
"Yes. As are several others in Drexford, including students in your class."
Logan turned to Finn. "Are you one too?"
"No, I'm a vampire. And we're not the only creatures in town. A few werewolf families also call Drexford home."
Logan swallowed audibly and turned to me. "Witches, vampires, werewolves—they're all real?"
"Yes, we are," I corrected gently. All in all, he was handling it well. Not easy for a teen to absorb that the world is much more complicated than he realized. We were taking a calculated risk by sharing so much. But Finn had argued over breakfast that Logan would be better off with a true picture than to find out in bits and pieces.
"We were unaware nightgaunts also existed," I added. "Based on your account, Cordelia was most likely one of the Phillips witches. Lovecraft's mother was a Phillips. You two could be distantly related."
"When my parents were killed in the car crash, I was lucky that my maternal grandparents took me in," Logan said. "My great-grandmother's diary is the only possession I have left of my father's family. This makes me feel closer to them."
"You're also part of our extended family now," I said. His high school had a club of creatures. He'd have plenty of friendly faces to help him adjust.
"Do my grandparents need to know?" Logan asked nervously.
"We advise you not to tell them," Finn said. "They likely wouldn't believe you and we'd be forced to deny any knowledge of it. That's the only way we can keep our members from being persecuted."
"That suits me," Logan said. "I gave them enough of a challenge when I came out as trans." He turned to me. "Can I see the nightgaunts?"
"Sure, and we hope you can send them back to their home."
#
Luckily, Logan had brought along the diary in his backpack. He'd intended to show it to me after telling me about the eggs. Studying Cordelia's diary would be all the thanks I needed for mentoring him. Logan and I had already connected through our love of books. We could build on that. Witches were usually taught by their relatives, but apparently Cordelia had never reached out to other witches. From what Logan told me, his mom was unaware of any witches in her family tree.
We rode in Finn's van to my cottage. Logan readily accepted being a witch, but hearing how different today's vampires are from their lurid portrayals was a shock. Modern vampires take meds to avoid drinking blood. Their diets are severely restricted. Feeding on humans or other creatures is a crime.
When we arrived, I asked Logan to show me the spell. Cordelia had undoubtedly used it to conjure nightgaunts. Had she summoned other creatures as well? She'd written a short poem after the invitation, calling it an undoing. In the original spell, Logan placed his fingers on the eggs as he recited the words. Now he'd need to keep his hands on three ungainly orphans.
When I opened the door to the bedroom, the youngsters were perched on the dresser. They eyed Logan curiously. Possibly they sensed a connection to him.
"They hatched from my eggs?" Logan whispered, awe-struck.
"Yep, welcome to the wacky world of creatures," Finn said cheerfully. We were both nervous that Logan might start to freak out over the revelations. Perhaps the full significance hadn't yet sunk in.
"Stand beside them," I suggested. "I'll take your photo."
Logan frowned. "I thought we were supposed to keep them a secret."
"Only from those outside our league," I explained. "Besides, if you showed anyone the photo, they'd undoubtedly believe you'd doctored it."
When he approached the nightgaunts, one of them—I like to think it was the same explorer who climbed on me—flew over to his shoulder. Its wings were impressively large. Logan had a blissful grin on his face. I guess I didn't need to worry that we'd traumatized him.
Soon all three nightgaunts were flying about the room. At this rate, we'd soon need a traffic controller. After a few minutes, Finn and I exchanged nods. We needed to speed them on their way before we grew more attached to them.
I held the book open for Logan as he scooped the trio into his arms.
When he recited the words, a translucent window into another world materialized on one wall. On the other side, was a nightgaunt about as tall as Finn. It was standing in a murky, wooded landscape. Although its mouth was open, we couldn't hear anything. Was it calling to its babies?
Logan opened his arms, and the youngsters made a beeline for the portal. The adult closed its mouth as the trio perched on its shoulders. Our last sight before the portal snapped shut was of them staring impassively at us. Their adventure was over, but Logan's was just starting.
* * * * *
Notes: Unintended Consequences was originally written for Wattpad's Halloween Vault 2022. I selected the following prompt:
"It's Halloween Eve when you hear someone knocking on your door. You think that it is a trick-or-treater, but when you open the door, you discover a basket of eggs hatching. What comes next is horrifying."
I became so fond of the characters, I decided to write a series about them. We next catch up with Tess and her friends a few weeks later as Thanksgiving approaches.
You'll find more about Ghostnet and the concept of cozy Cthulhu on the blog I share with Penna Nomen, Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation.