Free Confessions of a Teenage Psychic by Pamela Woods-Jackson

picking us up?”
    “It’s cold outside, hon, and my car won’t start— again. So dress warmly.”
    “I WAS warm!” How I wish I really was on that beach.
    There’s been a light frost on this mid-November Sunday morning, and being from south Texas, all I own is a denim jacket and a gray hooded sweatshirt, neither of which is going to keep me very warm. It never gets really cold in Houston, and I arrived in Indiana two months ago with plenty of spring- and summer-wear but nothing in the way of winter clothing. Mom has promised to take me to the consignment store and buy me a winter coat, and I figure I’ll need some gloves and a hat as well, but today I’ll have to make do with what I’ve got.
    The crisp autumn weather of October was a pleasure, but now serious winter is setting in and I’m just plain cold. Being rudely awakened on a Sunday morning hasn’t improved my mood either. I grudgingly get up and put on as many clothes as I can. Sybil picks us up and drives us the three blocks to the shop, car heater turned up full blast.
    Mom opens the door to Sybil and Starshine’s New Age Bookstore but keeps the Closed sign turned to the outside. She flips on the lights, rubs her hands together, and goes to check the thermostat. I wrap my arms tightly around myself and hop up and down, trying to stay warm until the heat kicks on.
    Sybil waltzes into the store wrapped in an oversized wool shawl, oblivious to the chill. She immediately heads to the back storeroom, calling out, “Anyone for espresso?”
    “Just hot tea for us, Sybil,” Mom answers. “Caryn, can you take an inventory of the books?” Mom hands me a clipboard with a printed list of all the books we sell. “Just write down next to each title how many copies we have of each, or make note if we’re sold out. Sybil and I will be in the storeroom counting boxes of candles.”
    “It’s still cold in here.”
    Mom ignores my whining as she heads to the back to join Sybil. I wonder how soon that tea will be ready so I can get warmed up.
    “Caryn, dear, I appreciate your help,” Sybil calls in a cheery voice, “and don’t forget— Christmas shopping is a huge source of revenue!”
    Don’t I know it. Mom has impressed upon me the fact that if the store doesn’t show a profit by the end of the first year, we’re closing up and moving back to Houston. Right now that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I shiver, exhale, and realize I can see my breath. Amazing! That never happens in Texas. Still, the heat hasn’t come up in the store yet, so I go over to have another look at the thermostat. It’s set at sixty-five, but for some reason the actual temperature is hovering around fifty.
    “Mom! You need to call the landlord. The heater isn’t working.” I fiddle with the On/Off switch. “And the lights are flickering too,” I call out, as I notice them dimming and brightening several times.
    “The heat works just fine,” a male voice says. My heart jumps into my throat and I flip around, thinking we have an intruder. My gaze darts all around the store looking for anyone, anything to explain what I thought I heard. I shiver again, realizing I’m alone.
    “And so do the lights,” the voice adds.
    A chill runs down my spine. I feel like I’ve stepped into the kind of horror movie where the stupid heroine just stands there pleading with the ax murderer not to hurt her instead of getting the heck out of there.
    “Who’s there?” I do a 360-degree turn and still see no one.
    I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Silence. I try the light switch again, but the lights just keep flickering and finally go off completely. I open my mouth to scream for my mother but, just like in all good horror flicks, no sound comes out. I’m frozen to the spot in fear.
    Just when I’m sure I’m going to be the lead story on the six o’clock news, I see Uncle Omar across the room, leaning on the bookshelves, his arms crossed in front of him.
    “Ohmigod, I’m