Short Story On Abellona

A new dawn arose over Mount Harrison a few hours later. And, with Abellona’s curse having been lifted from the village, a new sense of hope and well-being emerged along with it among the villagers. For many it was like awakening from a long slumber and knowing that you’ve had a nightmare about something, but not for the life of you remembering what it was. Later that morning we had buried Casper’s body in the backyard along with the remains of Midnight and Popsicle. I had said a little prayer for them even though I knew that they were never truly real. They were just vessels that Abellona had used to contain the souls of my grandmother and the other villagers. But still… something just felt wrong about leaving them there to decompose
In addition, I figured that after a little time had passed. I’ll go ahead and conjure Katelyn up from the other side so they can see her again. I’m a witch. I can do these things. After the funeral, Tucker and Owen returned home to Alabama, but I have a feeling that I’ll be seeing them up here again real soon. A week later I had returned to school, and it was like walking into a brand new atmosphere. Dirty looks were replaced by smiles and sneers exchanged with hellos. I had even gotten an invitation from Keri Mahan to sit with her and her friends in the lunchroom—which I accepted with a bit of caution. But after I had sat down with them, I quickly realized that none of them had seemed to remember the past all too well or how they’d treated me. They just accepted me as the new girl from Alabama, and that was fine by me. As far as things went with Katelyn, she was just another one of their many classmates who had tragically died too young, having drowned while swimming drunk one night in the Genesee
Later that afternoon when I’d gotten home from school and for the first time not having been accompanied by a clowder of strays. To my surprise, I had found that the pea-green Pontiac Safari whale, which normally would’ve been parked in the driveway was now replaced by a 1977 Pontiac Trans AM, black with gold trim and a screaming chicken on the hood. Holy shit! I thought as I stared at it in awe. It’s the Holy Grail, the Bandit’s Firebird. “So what do ya think?” my Step Daddy Cade asked as he stepped out from the house. “Ya like it?” Like it? I thought. “I fuckin’ love it,” I told him. “Good… because it’s yours,” he said, tossing me the keys. “You’ve earned it.” That evening I drove through Mount Harrison’s winding roads with the T-tops off even though it was Mid-October and I still only had a learners permit. As I accelerated my new car, I felt the wind whip through my hair as it assaulted my face making me feel as if I was flying on a broomstick, but I felt no discomfort. In fact, I never again felt uncomfortable in the village or on the mountain and in its forest. For I am Cera Singer—scratch that—for I am Cera Barrett and I am the witch of Mount