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.

If you dare….

***And don’t forget!  There was a special edition of Old House on Elm Street Sunday for Halloween week, so visit the NeverEnding stories before you read this one!  Otherwise, you might get confused!

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With Samora’s help, Mrs. Watkins dumped bottle after bottle, jar after jar and powder after powder into her large black iron cauldron.   Soon, a bubbling green goo bubbled.

“Now, Poe, you and Isadora stand over there, in the corner with the owl on the clock,” Mrs. Watkins instructed, her cheeks glowing with excitement.  “If this goes wrong, you don’t want to get hurt.”

Grabbing Isadora’s arm, Poe pulled her in the corner.  She glared at him and jerked her arm out of his, crossing them over her waist.  He rolled his eyes.

Twirling around in her globe, Mrs. Watkins peered at the clock.  The cantankerous owl narrowed his large yellow eyes and pursed his beak.  “Hoot!” he called.  “Hoot!”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Mrs. Watkins replied absently.  Whirling back towards the cauldron, her eyes rose to meet Samora’s.  “It’s 10 now.  So we’ll need to set the potion for the two hour mark.”

“Got it,” Samora replied, one hand sprinkling a purple powder from a blue jar as two other hands stirred the boiling emerald stew with large wooden spoons.

“Ready?” Mrs. Watkins took a deep breath.

“Ready,” Samora replied, two of her arms pumping the air like a cheerleader.

Leaning over the pot, the two began to chant in a low voice:

“Midnight now,

Midnight later,

Time heals on,

but only sooner.

Turn the hands,

tell the moon.

For hours of two,

we will decide what to do.

Give time her veil,

hide it away,

For it is time for the others,

to come out and play.”

Suddenly, a great burst of purple steam popped from the cauldron, filling the air with a glittering smoke.  Coughing, Isadora squeezed her eyes shut until she could see in the hazy air.  To her side, the great grandfather clock began to dong.

“Hoot!” the owl shouted, flapping his wings.  “Hoot!  Hoot!  Hoot! Hoot!  Hoot!  Hoot!  Hoot!  Hoot! Hoot!  Hoot! Hoot!”

“What is he doing?” Poe muttered irritably, covering his ears.

“Don’t you get it?” Samora cried, her blacked face charred with green ashes.  “It’s midnight!  That means Raven is gone!  Come on!”  She grabbed each of their hands, dragging them across the room.  “We’ve got to find Mrs. Watkins’ body and get Isadora’s voice back!  We don’t have much time!”

Isadora turned, looking around for Mrs. Watkins.  The crystal ball floated above the green cauldron, bathed in a eerie light.  The woman’s eyes were glazed over with a white film, her head spinning around slowly inside the globe.

Her throat numb from inwardly screaming, Isadora tugged on Samora’s hand and pointed to Mrs. Watkins.

“Oh, she’s fine dear,” Samora reassured her, patting her hand with one of her several hands.  “She has to go in a trance to keep the magic up.  If she doesn’t concentrate, Raven will realize that it is a spell and come back early.”

Rushing through the old hall with the rusted knights, past the room dotted with eyes that blinked and ears that wiggled, Samora lead them to the cobweb covered room Isadora had first entered.  “Wren should help you,” she said, wringing several pairs of hands.  “I’ve got to keep baking and keep an eye on Mrs. Watkins and the guests down here.  Hurry!  Hurry!”  Her dozens of eyes wide, she shoved them through the iron door, slamming it behind them.

Blinking in the glowing candlelight of the great living room, Poe and Isadora stared at each other.  “I guess we should start in Raven’s room first, since we’ve searched the whole house before,” Poe said, pulling his cape closer around him.

Isadora nodded.  Side by side, they rushed up the winding wooden staircase, climbing stair after stair until they reached a long hallway.  The hallway was dark, a single stream of light gleaming from the door at the very end.

“Now, be careful of the six headed cat,” Poe whispered, his breath tickling Isadora’s ear.  She squirmed as her dark hair fluttered around her neck and pulled away, nodding.  Inching down the gloomy hallway, they both held their breath as they grew closer and closer to the door.

Stretched out in front of the thick iron door, a six headed cat lay snoring across the door frame.  One head purred, while another smacked in it’s sleep, as though it was snacking on the greatest tuna.  Drawing this cape around him, Poe yanked open the handle and shoved Isadora ahead.  As she stumbled over the sleeping cat’s form, he leaped over the cat and slammed the door behind him.  Isadora listened carefully at the door frame, then shrugged.

“The only time he sleeps is when she’s gone,” Poe explained.  “He’s a pretty heavy sleeper…but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

Isadora nodded, shivering.  Raven’s room was pitch black and icy cold.  Raising his fingers, Poe blew on them.  Each fingertip sprouted a tiny ball of fire, glowing like a candle.  He grinned at Isadora as she raised an eyebrow.

“One of the things Mrs. Watkins taught me.  That I actually got right,” he stammered, looking guiltily at Isadora’s silent throat.  Rolling her eyes, she gestured around the room.

“Right.”  Holding up his flickering palm, Poe swept his arm around so a soft yellow light filled the room.  In the glow, Isadora could make out a sparse bedroom:  An iron bed, thick trunk, and large cauldron sat in the room.

But what was strange were the walls.  Books were plastered to every wall, their backs glued so their pages and covers sagged forward.  Bright red notes were scribbled across most of the pages, with dark arrows pointing to a few things.  From the ceiling, dozens of bottles and vials dangled along with cages of snakes and rodents that hissed as the light drew across them.  Chains and devices that looked like torture devices lay across a small wooden table, and a single broom lay propped up in the corner.

Isadora sucked in her breath.  “What?” Poe croaked, his voice cracking with horror as he stared around them.

Isadora raised a trembling hand and pointed.   Poe whirled around, leaning closer to the corner she indicated.  He gasped, stepping back.

Trapped in a under a glass jar, like a specimen in science class, Mrs. Watkins’ headless body floated.  At a iron base of the glass container, a brass key hole gleamed up at them.

“We’ve got to find the key,” Poe whispered.  “Come on!”

Suddenly, a loud yowl sounded from outside the iron door.  Grabbing Isadora, Poe pulled her to his chest and wrapped the cloak around her, securing it with his fingers.

He had just blown out his fiery hand when the iron door slammed open.

Raven was standing in the door frame.  And she was staring straight at them.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new recipe that is yummy as can be, then Friday and new Dallas Jean and the Ladybug’s confession Saturday!  Stay tuned!