To read the previous editions of The Old House on Elm Street, our terrifyingly spooky Halloween tale of Isadora, a young girl whose curiosity won her a place in a haunted house from which no one has left alive….go here.

“What do you mean, only she can save us all?” Poe demanded, puffing out his chest.  “I thought Samora and I were doing a good job of helping.”

“But you can’t see,” Mrs. Watkins’ mummured, her eyes locked on Isadora’s grey ones.  “You don’t have her eyes.  Her magic eyes.”

Isadora stepped back.  Magic eyes? she wrote nervously, her enchanted pen tapping the air.

“I told you that you were meant to be here.”  Mrs. Watkins’ cackled, her head rolling in the crystal ball.  “You have the Seeing Eyes, child.  You can see things others can’t.  You can see through spells, through evil, through trickery.”  Her own grey eyes flickering, Mrs. Watkins beamed.  “With you on our side, we can defeat Raven for sure.”

Isadora shook her head, waving her arms.  Before she could scrawl a panicked message in the air, Mrs. Watkins interrupted, “Child, don’t be distressed.  You’ll be fine.  Now, we must hurry.  We only have about a half hour left before Raven returns.  That dratted six headed cat probably is yowling out the window right now.”

“We were under my cloak,” Poe boasted.  “He couldn’t have seen us.”

“See you, no.  Felt your presence, yes,” Mrs. Watkins’ reminded him.  “He’s not an evil six headed cat for nothing.  Now Poe, quit pouting and dump my head in that cauldron.”

His lip so far out Isadora feared he might trip over it, Poe did as she asked.

“Now, grab that hammer over there and shatter the container holding my body,” Mrs. Watkins commanded.

Wincing, Poe slammed the hammer into the glass case.  It evaporated into grey smoke, swirling across the floor.

“Stand back!” Mrs. Watkins cried.  “Stand back!”

“Come here, children!  Come here!” Samora shouted, pulling Isadora and Poe to her chest with her eight arms.  The cantankerous owl in the clock squawked and hid, disappearing into the the wooden case.  Turning her back, Samora shielded them as a brilliant light burst through the cracks in her arms.  The smell of sulfur filled the air, and a voice rang out that vibrated Isadora’s ribs.  It was too deep to be Mrs. Watkins, yet too high to be anything human.  It was a spirit, she thought, shivering against the spiders chest.  Her chin was jammed into Poes’ shoulder, his body pressed against hers.  The three of them huddled tighter together as the words pounded against their skulls:

“One and two,

Heads or tails,

Parts or whole,

It ends here.

Undo the curse,

break the spell,

two to one,

unleash the fresh winds of hell.

Heart and mind,

body and soul,

with one word,

all is whole.

What’s done is done,

The game is through.

Head and heart,

Toes and eyes,

Piece it together,

Back to size.

Heart and mind,

body and soul,

one more word,

and all is whole.”

A deafening roar filled the room, and hot steam blasted Samora’s back, burning the backs of Isadora’s legs and Poes’ shoulders.  The stench of sulfur grew unbearable.  Isadora breathed through the sleeve of her dress, burying her head in the spider’s chest.   Her eyes stung and her throat burned, her lungs aching for air.  Water streamed down Poes’ cheeks, his eyes red and lips pale.  He tried to breathe under his coat, the air rattling in his lungs.  Even Samora gasped for air, her eight arms quivering.

And then, it was over.  The light faded, the hot air cooled, the noise stopped as if a switch had been thrown. Samora stiffened, her arms tightening around the children.  The cantankerous owl poked his head out from behind the clock, hooting permission to come out.

“It’s all right,” Mrs. Watkins said behind them. “It’s all over now.”

Squeezing the children harder, Samora turned slightly, one of her dozen eyes peering over her shoulder.  Sighing, she threw her arms in the air and whooped, barreling towards Mrs. Watkins.  “Oh, it’s so good to have you back!”

Rubbing her eyes and gasping for air, Isadora rubbed her bruised ribs and turned.  Gasping, she poked Poe in the arm as he rubbed his eyes with his cloak.

“I swear, I’ll never be able to see properly again–What?  What are you smacking me for, you vile girl?” Poe snapped, scraping the cloak across his face.  Peering with his reddened eyes, he grinned.  “I never realized you were so short.”

Mrs. Watkins’, her jovial plump face now firmly attacked to her plump, short body in its colorful dress, beamed.  “This is so wonderful!” she cried, flopping her arms and kicking out her legs.  “I know it sounds silly, but I can’t wait to eat.  It’s the simple pleasures in life, you know.  A hamburger or some pie, chili, barbecue…”  Drool ran down her chin, and she lifted a hand to wipe away.  “Look!” she chortled.  “I can wipe my own drool.  I don’t have to wait for it to evaporate.”

Isadora crossed her arms and scowled.  “Well, that’s all very well and good but my voice…”  She paused, wrapping her hands around her throat.  “My voice!  It’s back!  You fixed it!”

“Unfortunately,” Poe muttered.  “Ow!” he cried, dodging Isadora as she swatted at him.  “Stop hitting me or I’ll take your voice away again!”

“I’ll scream so loud I’ll break your eardrums,” Isadora threatened.  She turned to Mrs. Watkins’.  “How did you fix it?  I thought you had to wait until you got your body back.”

“That was a restorative spell,” Mrs. Watkins’ replied.  “A very powerful one.  Anyone in this room who had something wrong with him would have been fixed.”

“Really?” Poe asked, his eyes glittering with interest.  Wrapping himself in his cloak, he disappeared for a moment and returned with a smile.  “I’m glad to see that’s fixed,” he chirped, flinging his cloak behind him.

“What’s fixed?” Isadora asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing!” Poe snapped.

“He had a tail,” Samora whispered conspiratorially into Isadora’s ear.  “One of the scullery maids accidently gave him one during a botched spell.”

“Samora!” Poe whined.  “You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

“Or tail?” Isadora suggested, giggling as Samora shook with laughter.

“Ha ha,” Poe sneered.  “And I don’t have a tail anymore, so there’s nothing to make fun of.”

“The tail end of the tale of the tail,” Isadora snickered, sending Samora into peals of unrestrained laughter.  The two held onto each other, laughing and wiping tears of mirth from their eyes as Poe crossed his arms.

“Fine,” he snarled, his face twisted into a grimace.  “I’ll sick the same batty maid on you.  Maybe she’ll give you a frogs’ feet or walrus’ tusks or…”

“A tail!” they cried, their giggles taking over them again.

Muttering to himself, Poe hid in his cloak as they continued to laugh.  Mrs. Watkins’, who had been bustling about filling a burlap bag with various tools and bottles and books, gave an exasperated sigh.  The cantankerous owl perched on the clock agreed.

“Now stop that,” she scolded them.  “We have to hurry.  Raven will be back any minute.”

“How astute of you,” a voice drawled.  Whirling around, Isadora sucked in her breath.  Raven stood in the doorway of the gazebo, carrying the six-headed cat in her arms.

Her eyes were blood red.  And they were focused on Isadora.

To be continued…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new recipe and Friday, a new Dallas Jean!  Then we’ve got a new Critter Confessions Saturday and the start of our 12 artists for Christmas!  Stay tuned!