The House Across the Street by Edward Ahern

After Jennifer died, our daughter encouraged me to sell the house and move to a condo. I told her, in gentler words, to go to hell.

Our house had reverberated with twenty-five years of passions and resentments, schmaltzy family gatherings and almost pagan parties, routines without beginnings or endings that defined our lives together. I was staying.

I’d always been self-directed, prone to doing things solo, but I knew I needed company. Not another wife, one had been quite enough, and I was okay being ascetic. And not a boarder, some mangy, middle aged grump with rusted iron habits that would grate against my own. And not social clubs made up of pained smiles and unmentioned flatulence.

As I was casting about for connections, Arwen and Epona moved into the house across the street, toting their two five-year-old girls with them. The women were quick of mind and tongue and we got along immediately, trading acerb comments about our society and the pretenses of suburban living.

The two little girls were named Aradia and Fiamma, blonde and redheaded respectively. Their parents wanted them to begin home schooling shortly, and here I was, an early retired teacher.

“Ah,” I started awkwardly, “if you like I could begin to teach them. I have a Master’s in primary school education. I could also help with certification. I’ll be glad to show you transcripts and job reviews. You’d be helping me as well; it would be fun for me to continue teaching.”

Arwen and Epona exchanged cyphered looks, then, like boxers at speed bags, peppered me with left and right questions.

“Have you ever taught five-year-olds?”

“What tools or texts would you use?”

“How would you handle it if Fiamma wet herself?”

“Do you speak any other languages?”

“Would you ever introduce god into the teaching?”

That question gave me pause. I had no particular religious leanings, other than a vague ‘do good unto others’ bromide. I couldn’t guess what religious persuasion they might be, and just went with honesty.

“That’s something that’s probably better for you both to instill. I wouldn’t feel comfortable or qualified to discuss religious beliefs with Fiamma and Aradia. If that’s a disqualifier I’m sorry.”

The two women’s expressions reminded me of dogs deciding that the food in their bowls was tasty.

“We wouldn’t be able to pay all that much.” That from Epona the negotiator.

“And we would need a trial period to make sure we were aligned.” That from Arwen. the vigilant mother hen.

And so it began. The twins liked me and I could have smothered them in hugs. They were the grandchildren I wouldn’t otherwise have. The twins often arrived unannounced to explore my large, stuff stuffed house where we held our classes, and to illicitly snack on the ice cream and snacks I’d begun to stock. They were wickedly quick learners and I had to push a bit to get lessons organized.

Then minor disaster. Aradia tripped while being chased by Fiamma around my ground floor. Her left ankle swelled up, hopefully just sprained, but maybe broken. I picked up Aradia and held Fiamma’s hand into and out of my car-seatless car and into the emergency room. I’d called Arwen’s work number and left a message as soon as it happened, and eerily she was already at the ER when we came in. It was as if she’d known about it and been underway when I called.

“I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have let them run around. I don’t think it’s serious, but I wanted to be sure.”

Arwen, slender and short, waved a hand. “You did the right thing for the right reason and little girls should run around. I know it’s not serious, but we’ll go through the motions.”

It wasn’t, and I seemed to have passed a test. A couple weeks later, all four of them trooped in. The adults let the smalls roam while they sat across from me.

“Michael, we need to talk about your lessons.” That was Epona.

“They’re pretty basic. Is there something you don’t like about the content? Or my teaching?”

“Oh, no, they’re developing like fertilized weeds,” Arwen added, “but we need to talk about altering the content of the lessons.”

“How so? Kindergarten lessons are really pretty basic.”

“We’re dark Wiccans, and we want to begin to instill some of that world view into what you’re teaching.” Arwen took out a well-worn little book. “These are Wiccan nursery rhymes. We’d like you to begin reading them to our children.”

Epona, taller and more zaftig, chimed in. “And as they develop, we’ll provide additional materials. Don’t worry, reading, writing and arithmetic won’t be disturbed, just social kinds of stuff.”

I hesitated for a second, wondering if they wanted me to teach some version of revisionist history. “Ah, I wouldn’t want to change the outcome of World War II.”

“Oh, no; never,” was chorused. “But eventually there should be lessons about the real persecution of witches.”

I took the booklet, opened it at random and saw:

‘Sally saw things others didn’t
Past and future, happy and sad.
So many things to others hidden
A talent she was glad she had.’

“Okay, I guess, it’s no more peculiar than Mother Goose. But if I encounter something that seems incorrect, I’d like to bring it up with you.”

“Of course.”

I still had reservations and spent several evenings on line checking out Wiccan articles and sites. The White Wiccans had an almost bland “we can cure the earth and you” tone to them. The dark Wiccans seemed to be witches from fairy tales and often called themselves that. I began leavening in the provided yeast, feeling like the bumbling druid Getafix in the Asterix and Obelix graphic stories.

Fiamma and Aradia grew and blossomed for the next few years, a joy and a treat to be with. My dead wife had become a healed over ache, and I admitted to myself that I’d been adopted into a new family with a peculiar but increasingly tolerable supernatural slant on reality.

The two women traveled overnight to various unspecified meetings, and I began babysitting for the girls, staying in a guest bedroom in the front of Arwen and Epona’s house. Late one evening after the girls had been put to bed and the lights turned off, I was reading by a small night light when I heard a muscle car pull up in the front of the house.

Less than a minute later something smashed into the front door. I called 911, then despite my fear, picked up a fireplace poker and gingerly looked out the window in the door. No one was there.

When the police came a few minutes later they found a twenty-pound sledge hammer on the porch and a Dodge Charger parked out front. But nothing and no one else. Just a dent in the metal door. One of the cops talked with me.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Yea, just scared.”

“I think that’s Freddie’s car out front.”

“Freddie?”

“He’s a local smash and grab artist who supports his drug habit by break ins. He seems to have lost his tool and transportation. Funny he didn’t just drive off.”

I called Epona and Arwen, who seemed surprisingly unsurprised. “Don’t worry Michael, Freddie won’t be back, ever.”

It was only after we’d hung up that I realized I’d never told them Freddie’s name, but I guessed that the cops had already called them.

***

Shortly after the twins’ ninth birthday, all four showed up at my house. “Michael,” Epona began, “we want to bring in guest teachers.”

A dread surged through me. Were they weaning the twins off of me and onto another home schooler? “Ah, is there something not appropriate about their schooling?”

“No, not at all,” Arwen said. “Just that they need to be taught Wiccan magics that you’re not familiar with. But we want, no, insist, that you sit in on the lessons and learn them as well. That way, you’ll be able to refresh the girls as needed until they go away to boarding school.”

The dread returned. I’d always known that the twins would eventually move on, and that their absence would put a serious lurch in my life. “Of course, I’ll be glad to.”

The tutors were all women of advanced but indeterminate ages. Their lessons weren’t dark arts exactly, but seemed benignly indifferent to the fates of those who would be treated. There were potions and herbal preparations, the sacrificing of small animals, the casting of various spells. My desire to stay close to the girls and hopefully provide a counterbalance overcame my repugnance. And despite my distaste, I learned a great deal.

The tutors provided me with antique texts for future reference, and as we went along, I read and reread them all. Know the competition, I thought. Gradually, spreading like a foot fungus, I began to come around to a tolerance for their beliefs. It was much less harmful than being a butchering crusader or a witch torturing inquisitor.

Until we began casting spells. Things happened that shouldn’t be, I was asked to also cast spells, and to my great surprise results overwhelmed doubt. I was despite myself a practicing Wiccan.

All too soon, the girls reached high school age, and we had a little graduation party. Once the twins left to join friends, Arwen and Epona presented me with a finely engraved wand.  The women’s expressions were serious.

Epona began. “The wand is much more than a souvenir. We’ve instilled your characteristics into it, use it respectfully as you develop.”

Arwen took over. “Michael, we know their going away to school is bittersweet for you. You’ve grown to love our girls and they adore you. I’m afraid there’s worse news. Due to pressing circumstances, we’ll be moving away, and probably be out of touch. But we have a proposal for you.”

Thoughts roared between my ears. “Ah, leave? Proposal?”

“You don’t fully believe in us yet, but we’re optimistic you will. The wand will help. And after we leave, another two women with a child will be moving in. They’ll need a sympathetic druid to bring their daughter to fruition, and while you’ve been training our children, we’ve been training you. We’d like you to continue your teaching.”

“But as you say I’m not really a proficient magician.”

“Those who aren’t yet adept can still teach. And those spiritual itches you’ve been having will get scratched very soon. You’re more of a dark Wiccan than anything else already. Will you do this for us?”

“Can’t we ever see each other again?”

The women looked at each other and nodded. Epona smiled. “Why don’t you try looking for us in your dreams.”

My return smile didn’t include my eyes, which had moistened. “Thank you. I’m certainly not yet an adept wizard, but what you’ve already given me has been magical.”

Edward Ahern

Image by Parker_West from Pixabay – a wand of wood with a blue crystal end.