The Terror #wattys2017 #TNTHorrorContest

The Dark Garden

Jimmy got back home from the Diner that night with a troubled mind. " I'm getting to fucking old for this shit." he muttered to himself pushing Ol' Betty into the garage. He patted her on the seat and turned off the gas, "still the best girl I ever had" he told her as he switched off the overhead lamp by pulling the chain that had a little brass skull on the end, stepped out to the driveway and pulled down the door, latching his old Master lock he saved from his high school days and spun the dial.  

He pulled open the thick redwood door, hung his keys on wooden hand that Rose's cousin Davie carved for him some five years ago. He remembered old Davie every time he put his keys on that index finger, shrugged out of his jacket and dangled it from the hook next to Davie's hand and went into the kitchen. Pulling the handle on his old Kelvinator with the pinstriped door, turned on the light that shone on his dozen or so Corona's of which he pulled one out and popped the top on the old timey opener he had screwed to the post next to the fridge that said "Open Bottles Here" cast into it, that he found in the trunk of a 1955 Buick Special at P.D.Q. Auto salvage down the hill in Sun Valley.

Everything Jimmy kept had some significance to him, even the mundane items like an alarm clock or a toothbrush would have had some time spent on purchasing one that was unique.  Sometimes he would have things made for him like Davie's hand or his motorcycle jacket that was made by the saddlery in Tujunga by an eighty five-year-old man who had since passed away, he had been making saddles since the late 1800's. It mattered to him to be surrounded by those things he felt a connection too, that were in a way, part of his life and thus, part of him. 

He was grounded here, part of the dirt and history of this special place. These things were in large, part of the ingredients that gave him his gifts. Part Witchcraft, Wicca, Alchemy, and Shamanism and Voodoo, his learning of the traditions of magical knowledge came from a long history of practitioners on both his Mother's side and his Father's. Jimmy was thought of as special though, even by the standards of the circles, his family was part of. He had natural abilities before he had any training whatsoever, with his "knowing thing," as he called it as a boy.

With his natural tendencies, he found himself drawn to the occult and the writings of such masters as Allister Crowley and Eliphaz Levi. Then it became an obsession and he traveled the world in search of the secrets of lost civilizations such as the Maori of New Zealand, the Amazons of Africa and the funeral rights of the Egyptians to name but a few.  But out of the many years of study, rituals, spells, and sorcery, he wound up back in the homestead here in the The Big Tujunga Canyon. He found everything he needed here and took regular walkabouts after the sunset to find the magical ingredients he needed to concoct the magical solutions and natural herb medicines he used.

This stirring he was feeling because of this kid, Merrill, was troubling, to say the least. The last time he ran across a natural sympathetic with the kind of vision to see the dead was many moons ago and the adventure of helping him was going to pay off with him having this Sympathetic in his wizardly pocket. Oh yes, there were dangers involved with this one, so able and untrained in his abilities, but it must be done and Jimmy was the one to do it. Tonight was going to be a perfect night for a walkabout under this full moon. Oh yes, it was!

He gathered up his dark clothes and jacket, threw his saddle bag over his shoulder, a nice warm beany over his head and exited out the back door, set out to see what he could find in the dark garden of the Big Tujunga Canyon.