Page 16 of Coven of Corpses

“What the fuck?” Roman shouted.

“What’s that mean?” Brady stood, clutching the photo album tight with both hands.

“Hey now, all of you!” Alice said.

“I totally had nothing to do with any of this,” Grant said, tossing one of his braids over his shoulder.

“David Floyd,” their father said, pushing to his feet. “That was completely uncalled for.”

“Uh oh, Pops is using middle names, Daves,” Grant said with a smirk. “You’ve triggered ultimate Dad mode.”

The arguing continued, and Cody slouched in his chair. The new box he’d opened contained a batch of photo albums. He picked up the one on top and opened it. The photos on the page were black and white, overexposed due to the time of day, the camera, the processing of the time period, or their age. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t see any detail of people’s faces. He didn’t recognize anyone in the photos. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t recognized anyone in any of the photos except maybe for his grandmother as a child.

Was this what became of a long life? She’d been one hundred years old when she died. What were they supposed to do with all of these photos? And clothes? And furniture? None of them had homes big enough to accommodate any of this. Well, Roman did, but he sure as hell didn’t want to haul it out to Utah and find a place for it. Did it all just go into a dumpster or get handed off to Goodwill?

What about when he died? Given his recent track record, it might happen sooner rather than later. Would Dave and his parents have to figure out what to do with his belongings? Would Demmy be the one to go through his phone and decide what photos to keep and what to delete?

He replaced the photo album and shoved the box aside. Leaning in over a plastic bin, he removed the lid and discovered it contained a number of boxes of varying sizes. Boxes within boxes within bins. This was a nightmare.

A small wooden box caught his eye. It was the size of his palm and looked handmade, the sides engraved with flowering vines that twisted around the corners and up over the lid. It was beautiful, and holding it made Cody feel calm and grounded. Carefully lifting the lid, he looked inside and caught his breath.

A small piece of burlap had been wrapped around items, the corners gathered and tied with a long, thin piece of leather. It looked exactly like the hex bag Demmy had shown him that morning, and which Cody had been actively working on not thinking about.

What the hell did this mean? Where had his grandmother gotten this hex bag? And why? And along with that, who the hell had placed one outside his and Demmy’s bedroom window, and why?

He looked up, tuning back into the arguing that raged around him. Greg and Alice would have no idea what this was or where it came from. It was just a random box inside a random bin that they’d packed years ago when they’d been getting his grandmother’s house ready to sell. Dave was focused on needling Roman and defending himself from their mother’s corrections.

He wouldn’t find any answers here. He needed to talk with Demmy and, most likely, one of their circle of friends who knew all about creepy shit like this.

After replacing the lid on the hand-carved box, he pulled his phone from his pocket and stood up. He curled the fingers of one hand around the box and pretended to accept a call with the other as he walked outside. Talking to no one, he said, “Yeah? You can’t find anybody else? What about Jugs? I’m in the middle of some family stuff right now. All right, all right. I’ll be there when I can.”

Turning, he acted like he was ending a call. He slipped the box into the pocket of his jacket and held up the phone.

“Gotta go,” he said.

Greg was the only one who heard him, and turned. Alice was switching her attention between each of his brothers, pointing up into their faces and ripping them all new ones.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” His sad expression almost changed Cody’s mind. Almost.

“Yeah, that was work. Someone called off sick. Sorry.”

“Well, of course. I understand. You go on. We’ll keep working here. The donations truck will be here tomorrow afternoon to pick up whatever we can set aside.”

Cody looked past Greg, but Alice and his brothers were still entangled in their protests and defenses. He lifted his chin toward them. “Tell them I said goodbye when they come up for air?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll talk with you later, Dad.”

“Take care, son. See you tomorrow.”

“You’ll be able to get back to Amelia’s okay?”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us. Go on to work.”

“Yep. Okay.”

Cody turned away and walked along the row of storage units. A heavy layer of flat, gray clouds lay overhead like some kind of insulation. The air was heavy with moisture, packed with the scents of spring just around the corner: damp earth, molding leaves, and wet mulch. The roll up doors for all the units in this section had been painted a bright and cheerful blue. Was the bright color supposed to make people feel better about all the junk they had stacked behind the doors?