Poppy Lane

Spooky ghosts, evil witches, black cats—I love them all! Halloween is my favorite celebration and writing muse. I want to share a few Halloween stories with you and hope you enjoy the Witching Hour Collection.

Happy Halloween!

Poppy Lane

D. A. Ratliff

The letter, addressed to Number Five Poppy Lane, changed everything.

The early summer sun shone brightly on the ivy surrounding the mailbox. I could hear Miss McGillacutty walking down the lane toward the village. I hoped to grab my mail and miss her, but she spotted me.

“Eleanor Jones, good morning.” She stopped, stared at the ivy, and pointed her finger at me. “You need to prune that ivy back.”

“I will…” Before I could finish my answer, she continued.

“Terrible racket last night. Those awful owls in John Byrne’s barn hooting kept me awake all night. Off to see Dr. Heathcote, so can’t dilly dally, sorry.”

I wasn’t sorry at all. I had illustrations to finish for a botanical guide, and she could talk for hours. I opened the mailbox to find one letter. As my fingertips touched it, I gasped in surprise at the silky yet textured surface of the paper. I had never touched stationery with such a luxury feel to it.

The heavy square deep cream envelope's return address revealed the address as Willow Wind Hall. That was all, no postal code, town, or county, just the manor's name. I had never heard of Willow Wind, yet the name resonated like a forgotten memory. I hurried inside, poured a cup of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table to open the envelope.

I broke the heavy red wax seal with the initials WWH stamped into the wax and pulled out a single card of the same paper. The gold-bordered card was an invitation to tea dated one week away.

Ms. Eleanor Jones

Number Five Poppy Lane

Please accept this invitation to Afternoon Tea at Willow Wind Hall

Thursday, the First of July at Three in the Afternoon

No need to RSVP. We will know if you are coming.

I looked out the window into the back garden to see if owls were lurking outside, but I was twenty-seven, not eleven, so best not to fantasize. This was not an invitation to a new life in the world of magic, but it piqued my curiosity. However, I had no intention of attending "Afternoon Tea" based on an unexpected invitation. I tucked the note inside the envelope and placed it in a sideboard drawer.

But the invitation had other ideas.

I spent the day finishing the last two watercolors for the guide and left them to dry before sending them to the publisher. I returned to the kitchen at about six to fix dinner and found the invitation on the table. I had put it away, but there it was. My ginger cat, Matilda, lay beside it, her paw touching the envelope. Fuming, I put the envelope away again and went about my evening.

The following day, I awoke to find the envelope on the table. Someone’s idea of a prank, but who? I tossed the invitation into the trash, had breakfast, and walked into the garden. I wandered to the back gate to admire the poppies blooming along the stone wall.

“Lovely, aren’t they?”

I spun to see a beautiful woman with pale skin and ginger hair outside my gate. I took a short breath. “Yes, poppies are my favorite.”

“There is a reason you live on Poppy Lane. Poppies symbolize imagination, which infuses life with magic. Always remember that.”

I glanced at my garden of poppies only to find that the woman had vanished. A soft mew came from Matilda as she brushed against my leg. I wondered as I returned to the house if poppies were magical.

The invitation lay on the table.

An overwhelming desire to paint came over me, and I rushed into the studio and began painting poppies furiously until I ran out of canvas. I ordered more canvasses and spent a restless night sketching flowers I had never painted. When the sun rose, I waited by the door for the delivery.

When the doorbell rang, I jerked open the door to find an extremely tall man with bushy hair, and I gulped. It took me a second to realize it was Harold from the art store, not some large man about to tell me I was a witch or a wizard. I returned to painting. One day turned into the next—I didn’t eat or sleep. I painted.

The morning of the tea, I realized I had littered my cottage with paintings of poppies, lavender, mandrake, and yarrow. What was I doing? The tea, I had to go to the tea. I quickly showered to remove the paint and hurried to the car, not noticing Matilda jumping into the back seat.

I had no idea where Wind Willow Hall was, but I found my way by instinct. The ornate iron gate parted as I approached, and I followed the lushly landscaped drive to the stately manor house. My nerves were raw as I struck the brass knocker against the door. A raven-haired woman in an emerald robe wearing a black silk pointed hat on her head opened the door.

“Matilda, you’ve brought Eleanor to us.”

I whirled to find the beautiful ginger-haired woman behind me. Matilda? My cat? “Lady Ophelia, Eleanor is ready.”

“Come, my dear. Tea is about to begin. It is time for you to meet your coven and learn of your destiny as a witch.”