 There is a town just off a forgotten exit on a lost highway. It is a town entombed by sycamores and shadows, trapped between our realm and another in otherworldly hamlet misplaced on earth. It is a town that should be lost to legend and night terrors. Yet, unlike folk tales as tall as the sycamores that conceal it, the town of weirdling woods is real. In this ominous dimension, this playground for the wicked, life is a nesting doll layered in unrelenting mystery and macabre. Mythology is reality and reality is a fractured spectrum of madness. Come for a visit and stay for eternity. There are thousands of stories in the cursed town of weirdling woods. This is but one of them. Now join me as we take a walk through weirdling woods. Lineage Addy Harker didn't enjoy life. She definitely didn't enjoy her era. As another COVID variant rolled around and closed school, the 20-year-old Wisteria University senior gladly boarded the greyhound that would take her to weirdling woods for girl time with her mother and grandmother. It made no sense modern life. The old days didn't have COVID. They had great music and style and hope, but no COVID, her latest complaint among many. Thus, she despised her timeline even more lately. It was no accident she was a history major. Addy's distaste for the world was not, according to her psychiatrist, depression, rather a case of something called saudade. This was a condition of a constant state of longing, a feeling of mourning for a lost time or person, nostalgia from someone who never experienced the places or events in the first place. And Addy had it bad. Of course, like any modern girl, she fit in with the tan, the fit body, the rainbow hair. She wore the right clothes and spoke below her education in her generation's slang. She dated self-absorbed nightmares and blew kisses at social media. She drank whatever the influencers told her to at dive bars that were blogged about. She looked the part. But it was all phony to her, this world of play along. Here, on this rickety bus clad in loose sweatpants and a David Bowie thrift shop tee, hair pulled into a tiny pony while wearing comfortable shoes. This was who she really was. Her personality and mind were what she was. Her wanderlust for a different world was paramount. She knew her authenticity belonged in another time and she wanted to know to breathe another era when individuality was a currency. She didn't want to be an old soul, she wanted to be old. The twilight of her life fond memories of amazing moments in history, like her grandma Mavis, that crazy old eccentric. Addy loved that grandma Mavis came to such a spooky eccentric place like Weirling Woods one day and never left. Back in the late 60s, for whatever reason, the counterculture movement called Weirling Woods Home, an alternate height ashberry. Banished near the deviant sprawl below the Lake Britton Bridge, the area became known as The Fringe, where the freaks and artists and radicals danced to the soundtrack of change. Some of the era's most influential musicians and counterculture figures claimed their stake, eventually invading town before Mayor Prescott and Sheriff Nick Castle and their Goon Squad put a stop to it on the Council of the Elders. All elders accept the mysterious Reuben Marlar, the renegade who gifted the real estate of the fringe to the radicals in the first place, never revealing why. So much music was written and recorded in Weirling Woods as if souls were sold there in exchange for inspiration. Revolutionaries plotted. Actor Dennis Hopper roamed the city freely as if he wasn't Dennis Hopper. Until the day he died, the icon had weird dark roast coffee shipped to his Hollywood abode. Remnants at the time remained in Weirling, though it was saddening to see a building where Grace Slick once wrote poetry turned into a vape shop. Addy would have given anything to touch her toes on the grassy fringe back then. As it was, she only had her imagination and her grandmother's stories. Even being on the bus to Weirling Woods was an intentional throwback. No one wrote buses anymore. A voice in her head told her to. The same voice guided her all of her life, a secret kept by Addy. As far as her lust for days passed, if time travel were possible, she'd buy a one-way ticket, not even shooting a passing glance at the dust kicked up behind her. Halfway through the bumpy ride, after digesting her favorite podcast, which ironically was birthed from Weirling Woods, anxiety ravaged her body. It wasn't the family gathering or the impending day of destruction of her keto diet. Quite the contrary, she adored the Harker women. It was a true kinship. Addy's grandfather died before her birth and her own father passed when she was four. The environment of female empowerment turned Addy into the powerful force she was. Sometimes her independent spirit and alpha personality was a detractor. She was intimidating to most men as she was no damsel in distress. It was worth it, though, the trade. She was strong and bold and owed these attributes to the women of her family. No, her anxiety swelled from nowhere, like a sixth sense, until she leaned forward to kick off her uggs. As she slipped her bare feet out of the comfortable lining of the boots, she saw the peculiar-looking pale man rose ahead, turning backwards and staring daggers at her. Unblinking and unflinching even as he had been caught, the tall, unsettling man continued to sink his vacant, beady eyes into Addy's. The newest virus strain had come on strong, and Greyhound followed CDC rules stringently and required a face covering, so his rule-flonking added to his eerie presence. The maskless mouth breather was gangly, his hair awkwardly parted to the side, his buddy holly eyeglasses foggy and crooked. He wore a puke-green, short-sleeved polo, revealing a bizarre forearm tattoo of a colorful, swirled lollipop that matched Addy's hair color. The voice within spoke to Addy. Something was off with this germ-spewing COVID-ite. Beyond the lack of social graces, he was menacing and trying to intimidate for no known reason. He simply would not blink, but Addy wasn't intimidated. Sizing him up and taking inventory of her surroundings, her years of being a horror-hound mixed with her obsessive true crime knowledge served her well. She was already five moves ahead of the squirrely-looking creep. She allowed a hint of a smile to curl from the corner of her mouth in a show of bravado. Shoot your shot, she fearlessly mouthed, lowering her mask. Out of his line of vision, the tips of her fingers grazed the fixed-blade knife inside of her Louis Vuitton bag. Addy stood her ground until he finally caved and faced the front of the bus. That's what I thought, she whispered to herself, as her hand retreated from the Louis Vuitton bag. I may be paranoid and intense, but I'll never be a statistic. Still, for some reason, it felt like an unseen force changed the man's demeanor, not her fearlessness. Addy scooted towards the window, thankful COVID regulations gave her two seats, and stretched out, her feet dangling in the aisle. Sitting near the middle of the bus was a strategic plan against any threat, allowing her to be surrounded by people which meant not being a sitting duck while having access to two separate exits. Again, the true crime and horror rules were ingrained in her. Using luggage as a pillow, she popped in earbuds and watched the countryside roll by with one eye, as the other eye monitored the man with the lollipop tattoo. Lana Del Rey sang her cover of Season of the Witch from her phone. Addy thought, okay, so maybe some modern comforts are cool, like phones. Who could have imagined that once a landline would evolve into a lifeline? Still, the idea of constant connection felt invasive to her. Disappearing sometimes was nice. Shortly, the soothing tunes and sleeping pill whisked her away into a pleasant rest, and closer to the adventure that would shake the rest of her life. A greyhound bus entered the WP Bladdy tunnel in Weirdling Woods, and a greyhound bus exited this tunnel. The buses were not the same. Addy sneezed, prompting a slow awakening. Her body was still stuck on sleep when she pried her eyes open, uncertain of where she was. It was the same feeling she had waking up in a strange place after a night of college binge drinking. The source of the sneeze stemmed from some type of spice odor. The bus felt different, harder seats, ratchety. She fell asleep to Season of the Witch and woke up to it, this time distinct and tinny, moving through the air as if emanating from a drive-in movie speaker. It wasn't Lana Del Rey, this was the original 60s version. A large, glorious Afro towered from the seat where a lollipop tattoo was. No sign of him. Reaching for her security blanket, the iPhone was gone. A breeze tickled her now bare legs, fingers ran down the soles of her feet. Addy shot up. Sleepy and confused, the bus overwhelmed her. A pungent aroma of body odor, patchouli and that funny herb attacked her nostrils. The greyhound hosted an array of young people, a melting pot that emitted a welcoming and loving albeit perplexing spirit. Men with shaggy hair longer than the women clutched guitars and passed around chemicals and philosophies. Women danced in the aisle, a flood of sun dresses and flower crowns. Addy realized that she too was somehow now clad in a pink sundress. The corner of her eye revealed that her hair had reverted back to its natural hue. A foreign anklet scratched her skin. Outside of the window, she vaguely recognized a place that she sort of knew. Her eyes darted to her feet, where a glassy-eyed teenage girl held a transistor radio playing a song in one hand and Addy's foot in the other hand. Can I have that back when you're finished? A confused Addy asked the girl. The girl in bell bottoms and a wrap-around cloth that passed as a shirt giggled. They're so soft. You're new, aren't you? I can tell. The skin will toughen up after a few days in the fringe. Too bad you missed the summer. At least you're here for the going away party. Addy slid her feet back into her bubble. Look, chick, I'm fine with whatever you're into. You do you. It's just not my thing. You should ask before groping a stranger, she said, frantically searching for her things. The girl giggled again. The chemical's doing the talking. Soul surfer, no one is a stranger. I'm Moonbeam. I'm a Virgo. What's your vibe? Of course you're Moonbeam, Addy thought. Moonbeam, my vibe, is that I'm either Addy who's hallucinating or Addy who's dreaming, and I don't do drugs, so give me a sec to not lose my mind. Have you seen my Uggs, or my phone, or my Louis Vuitton? I didn't understand half of what you said, Addy Aquarius. How would you bring a telephone to the fringe, Moonbeam slurred? I want what you're on. Your groove is so fun. I love your dress. On Wednesdays we wear pink, Addy sarcastically replied. Mean girl's reference, no one would understand for 40 years. Moonbeam again giggled. That's so cool. You lost your Louis? I hope you find him. Moonbeam began shouting for anyone named Louis, trying to locate what she thought was Addy's lost boyfriend. Addy buried her head and thought about the pill she'd taken. That explained it. Accidental switch. Mistakes happen, yet she was fully cognizant, which scared her. Maybe she was just plum crazy, like she always thought, with the voice and all. But crazy people aren't aware that they're crazy. She read that online. She's also read that people shouldn't swim for 30 minutes after eating, and she'd once drunkenly inhaled a red velvet cake and swan-dived from the roof into her neighbor's pool, so she knew not to trust the internet. Whatever was happening was definitely happening and not shaping up to be boring, and the voice inside said to embrace this reality. Moonbeam, why isn't anyone wearing a mask? And where is mine? Moonbeam formed a pained expression that must have been a thought. We all wear masks every day, man. You're so deep, Addy. I dig that metaphor. Take off our masks and live, man. Addy just stared. Right. Anyway, do you have a pair of Nike's I can borrow? My feet are freezing. And why is everyone on this bus dressed up in Stevie Nick's cosplay? What are Nike's? Moonbeam quizzically asked. And who is Stevie Nick's? You speak strange, butterfly. Is he a dude you're going to see in the fringe? I'll find him. Stevie. I'm looking for a cat named Stevie. Moonbeam shouted to the passengers. What about Louis? She asked Addy. Are the three of you in an open relationship? Had his soul forward thinking, man. Wow. You gotta be kidding me. How short is this bus? Addy wondered. Yikes, lady. Will you stop yelling random weirdness to the world? I'm talking about Stevie Nick's. Stevie Nick's? The Mac? Rumors? Fun fact, her father was actually President of Greyhound, the bus you're in. I have no idea why I'm giving you trivia. That's the history buff in me, I guess. I'd ask if you'd know any trivia, but you seem like you'd fail a blood test. Never mind. Moonbeam pondered, ignoring Addy's editorial. I haven't heard any rumors. Except one. Did you know Timothy Leary is giving a talk later? Psychedelfia is going to be happening. We're in Philadelphia? Addy practically screamed in horror, wondering if she'd missed a transfer. Moonbeam mirrored the confusion, with pulling into the fringe. Why would we be in Philadelphia? She asked. Addy sighed and leaned back in her seat. Because you just said, never mind. Let's play the is Addy crazy game. I'm afraid to ask. What year is it, Moonbeam? Human or spiritual? I cannot even...that's why I was afraid to ask. Let's try this. What would a newspaper say? Addy asked. I don't read propaganda from the man, but it's 1967, babe. Summer love just ended, but the party never will. You really are loosey-goosey. It's groovy, though. I'm hip. I literally cannot remember one thing we've said. What's your name again? I'm Moonbeam. Yikes. And you're telling me, kid, just so I'm clear that it's 1967 and we're heading to the fringe? Wheeling Woods in 1967? This is the reality you're telling me? Moonbeam recoiled. Whoa, sister, don't bring that word up. Reality is personal, man. That's one thing we can agree on, thought Addy. She looked from the window and saw ancient cars and ancient people passing by. Flower children on the streets holding hands and openly sharing joints and each other as the moral majority looked on in disdain. The voice said nothing about retreating. That was blessing enough. If this insanity was even possibly real, it could not happen in a better place or era. Addy thought, if I'm going to go crazy, at least it will finally be in a place I was always crazy for. The confirmation of legitimacy happened the moment Addy's bare foot hit the coal pavement. It was a brisk day, but it mattered little to the festival of love that immediately enveloped her. The electricity was like stepping into Times Square after a lifetime of living on a small, armished farm. Addy's reflection in the bus window as it drove away still shocked her. A pink, peasant, renaissance dress wrapped around her body and it made no sense. Wavy, all-burned locks flowed to her shoulders, her natural hair part fastened by a lavender chrysanthemum flower. Wow, that's my real hair color, she thought. Welcome back, old friend. She looked for Moonbeam, but the kid vanished into a sea of other Moonbeams. Addy figured she'd check the phone booths later in case the kid got stuck in one. The voice told her to become one with the moment, so she walked. Her feet were too soft for the terrain, but every inch of the fringe was alive and stepping barefoot on a pebble mattered not. A radio or live music changed the song every few strides. A man strummed his guitar, singing, If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. A few steps away, a radio crooned from the tent. Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now. It was like she'd walked into a hippie movie montage. She took full advantage. Every corner of the fringe was brushed by Addy. Taking in the surreal situation was exhausting, but she wandered for hours on adrenaline, sharing a dance, a hug, even an out-of-character toke before ending up in the city. It was like jumping into one of the history books she studied so passionately. Addy stopped at a protest Grandma Mavis once told her about. Mayor Prescott had authorized his police force to rid weirdling woods of the hippie menace by any means necessary. People marched with their signs, referring to the corrupt official by his first name. Get rid of the Sid, the signs read, matching their chant. More wandering followed, hours of observing 1967, before accepting it was reality and finally taking a break. She settled on a curb outside of a bar called the Raspberry Unicorn, an iconic landmark. Rumor was that George Harrison discovered Krishna there. Addy remained curbside while Cream's sunshine of your love bellowed alongside a plume of sage from the window of an apartment above. Fire raged in her belly. Everything was as she'd imagined. The camaraderie, the openness, the communal vibe. She was validated in feeling she was misplaced in her era. Finally she knew she was home. Home. With a glimmer of hope she scanned the crowds, chasing a miracle hoping to catch a young Grandma Mavis. What an introduction that would be. Gazing into the endless sea of bodies, their beautiful, maskless faces beaming with joy, inhaling fresh, corona-free air. Addy did not see her grandmother, but rather felt an overwhelming sense of love. Black or white or purple, everyone was together, hugging and laughing, holding hands, kissing, existing. How would the time she'd come from digressed so far from this? Down the street to her left was a bonfire where women and men took turns burning bras and draft cards. Down the street to her right her jaw dropped as she saw Abby Hoffman and Jerry Rubin talking to a group of enthusiastic listeners. Obviously knowing her history, Addy knew that in a year the two would be a part of the infamous Chicago 7 trial. Should she warn them? No, no one would believe her existence on this plane. Also she intended to follow the rules from back to the future, as that was her only scientific reference to her current curious status as a time traveler. Instead she watched history unfold all around her. She swore she saw Joni Mitchell, who wouldn't be famous for another year passed by the sidewalk eating ice cream. It was all so surreal. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with fatigue, like a toddler at a birthday party, and she positioned herself in the fetal position right there on the sidewalk. It was out of character but the urge to rest was beyond control. No one looked at her with judging eyes, the voice told her it was okay and that was all she needed. Her eyes shut, her body grew still and she drifted away into dreamland. Your father kick you out too, huh? Startled from her slumber, Addy looked up. Inches away was a young woman with dark features and a slight oddness to her eyes. Addy couldn't decide whether the girl was pretty or homely, but her clothing confirmed that this existence in 1967 Weirdling Woods was not a dream. In 2022 Addy would have pushed the girl arms length away, but since somehow, some way it was 1967, she decided to overlook the intrusion of her space in the name of peace. Susan, you're new, aren't you? It's a scene, man. See that building over there? Susan pointed. That looks like two towers. That's where Janice Joplin crashes. It's her house when she's here. Isn't that just a freak out? Just around the corner of the Grateful Dead Victorian. Even record there. Hey, you want to go expand your mind? We're going to have a bee in. Dig? Addy thought, why do I always wake up to insanity? Still, the words resonated. Joplin? The dead? Only in Weirdling Woods, she mused. Now, I'm groovy. Susan, was it? Just going to chill for a bit and take in the view. Thanks, though. I won't say no if you want to leave a joint behind. Addy replied, trying to look cool, even though that really wasn't her thing. She'd probably toss it if offered. Susan bristled. Come on, you gotta be hungry. I'm not. I had carbs yesterday. That should cover me for a week. I'm talking about your soul, man. Your soul needs nourishment. Susan said, grabbing Addy by the wrist and attempting to pull her up. You gotta meet Chuck. You got here just in time for the revolution. He's seen as dying. We're setting up back in Cali, spreading our vision. Come on, just meet Charlie. He's a prophet. This girl was a little too much. Too in her face. Too soon, like a person with an agenda. Or a predator. In 2022, she might have sold car warranties. The voice said something that made Addy shudder. Then came the proverbial click. As a history junkie and rabid true crime fan, Addy Harker recognized the woman, rose to her feet, and violently shook Susan's grip off of her. Still, she followed the strange girl, like a body moving of its own volition she just had to know, had to see. It couldn't possibly be, could it? Her jumbled mind was a floating kaleidoscope of images and dates. The voice told her to walk away immediately, but she simply couldn't. Jefferson Airplane made an album there, Susan said, pointing towards a house near the Bramford Apartments as the two turned the corner onto Stoker Street, where children and animals played in the road without care. Wait till you hear Charlie, though. He is a true musical genius. God sent him. Addy kept quiet, her anxiety growing with each step. Baby, not God so much, you vile scab on humanity, she thought to herself. What if it turns out to be true? My assumption. What then? What do I do? Do you kill baby Hitler if given the chance? Who would ever imagine one of those online what ifs might come to fruition? Her eyes confirmed her fear as she neared the VW minibus where a short bearded man of no stature sat on the roof cross-legged, poorly strumming an acoustic guitar. His dead creepy eyes leaned in as Addy and Susan approached. He stopped playing and hopped from the bus, even smaller now, and walked towards the two girls, guitar in hand. The voice screamed for Addy to flee. Say to me, glides, look here, mama. Now is this witchy young darling you brought old Charlie? Addy felt rage. Then something happened beyond her control. A type of involuntary conjuring occurred. Her body split like string cheese. She then stood apart from herself as if a twin had spawned. It had two Addies existed. The most unfiltered version of herself suddenly stood on its own. The real Addy watched, but no one watched her. She was invisible. All eyes were glued to the Addy that suddenly emerged as a superhuman war machine. No fanfare or forethought occurred in this moment, not for the Addy who had materialized. On instinct, presented with an opportunity, generations had fantasized about this Addy violently pushed Susan to the ground and rushed at Charlie, shifting all of her body weight from her back foot like the real Addy learned in her Kray Maga class and introduced the bridge of Charlie's nose to the business end of her fist. The satisfying crack and ensuing sprinkler of blood happened in slow motion, causing the pacifist crowd to gasp. Charlie crumbled to the pavement like the paper tiger he was. Addy's doppelganger sneered, hey, no name, looks like I've come to do the devil's work. No one came to his aid, not this peacenick crowd. She prepared to pounce like a lioness when someone pulled on her ankle. The real Addy looked on like a ghost, confusion and excitement draining her. I got something for you, too. You bat, the cloned Addy screamed as Susan Atkins, but so intense was the rage that she couldn't finish the slur. She picked up Charlie's guitar, pulling an airborne like those strength test hammer games at the carnival and crashed the instrument on Susan's head. It was an instant and obliterating knockout. An image came to the real Addy of the two horrific nights in 1969, LA. The cloned Addy saw it, too. More punishment was needed. For good measure, the warrior Addy took a step back and punted the girl in the side of her head. Looks like you'll need a new nickname, Sexy Sadie. You disgraced a woman. She turned back to Charlie, who was now on his knees, wearing a bloody crimson mask. Charlie smiled, his white teeth juxtaposed against his bloody visage. Real Addy watched her phantom twin, as if suddenly directing the scene. In seconds, she went from disbelief to almost a puppeteer. She was ready for prison, both versions. She was ready to end Charles Manson, to end this insignificant lap dog of Satan before his cult could be created over the next two years. A jagged piece of the guitar neck was lifted and zeroed in on the still laughing man's neck. By the way, you hack. News flashed from the future. The Beatles and the Beach Boys think your music is trash. The real Addy thought those words and the imposter Addy said them. Suddenly, a hand grabbed the arms of the twin Addy from behind and a man tossed her over his broad shoulders, pulling her away from a now booing crowd of peaceful souls who had no idea what heroic act they were witnessing. Stop. It's Manson. They're going to kill people. You don't understand. She shouted, trying to wiggle free while Manson's Acolytes tended to him. Let me go. He's a monster. You don't understand. As the cries flowed unanswered, both Addy's centered into one. Finally, the real Addy was back, whisked away for the sins of another version. She said nothing to the stranger carrying her. Addy saw a waning sun as night began to settle in Weirling Woods. Mired in shock, she watched the sky as she was transported. Glimpses of the gargoyles from Marlar Manor became visible and she knew she'd be carried through the woods, back to the fringe. Time of the season by the zombies played in the distance. This whole era was a music festival, it seemed. Eventually, she was dropped into a group of people and after an hour of regaining her senses, the unexplainable continued. Where are we going? You do realize I'm not wearing shoes, right? Would you hike with no shoes? Addy was climbing a steep slope of nearby Shirley Jackson Park, following the two people who saved her from manslaughter after the fever dream with Manson and Adkins. She had been talked down eventually by her new handlers and by dinner, she was calm. Had it really happened? Still, every millisecond she questioned herself, wanting to turn and run back into the night, back to the city limits of a Weirling Woods, she barely recognized, back to that Napoleon-complexed monster and his cowardly followers. Her jaw tightened in anger. Injustice was unacceptable and if what she witnessed actually happened, a few bumps and bruises and a mild concussion for the future killers were not an even barter for the atrocities to come. Her new friends tried to convince her that it was a bad trip and she had hallucinated the murderer and the drug-free Addy pretended to agree. It was impossible to explain anyway. Manson was probably long gone, like her longing for a bygone era, she was chasing ghosts. The voice told her to accompany the people who pulled her from chaos and as she did, they thrusted her into a majestic Weirling Woods night. The big guy, a linebacker of a man, was Harris Baldwin, a writer for The Movement, a newspaper devoted to the Civil Rights Movement. The woman, sternly British, simply went by Gemma and she worked for, now, the national organization for women. She was the quieter of the two, all business. Had he got the feeling Gemma didn't like her, evident by the minimal words spoken. It was odd, Gemma appeared to watch over Addy like a bodyguard, as if directed by a higher power. All 120 pounds of her, the equivalent of Harris's left arm, yet she seemed so distant as if hiding something. Harris pulled Addy over the final hump and onto the flat grass which overlooked the city and bridge while still nestled in the woods. Go see Mama Jojo tomorrow night. She's at an overnight ritual. She'll probably sleep most of the afternoon tomorrow, he ordered, pointing towards a gathering of people at a campsite, all dancing and singing folk songs, a mushroom cloud of happy smoke collected above. Be more polite, Harris, you're so bossy. You know I can take you, so don't talk back. Addy smiled at the mass of humanity as the three walked, elbowing him in the ribs. She was able to get a chuckle out of the giant man and true gentle soul. Gemma simply grunted and carried forward. Who's Mama Jo anyway, and you guys aren't staying? We have a lot of work to do in the streets. Mama's a community leader. You don't know her? Strange. She asked for you specifically. Anyway, she's cool. Good vibes. She's only like 27, but everyone calls her Mama because she's like maternal, I guess. The whole neighborhood is her family. She's really pretty too, so put in a word for me, okay girl? Addy wondered how this woman knew of her, but at this point didn't care. She was going where the voice took her on this craziest of crazy days. Oh, she's pretty. That's why you're doing our favor in babysitting me. Tell you what, Muscles, if you can get Gemma to do a cartwheel, she whispered to Harris regarding the serious young Brit, outside Mama Jo, I saw you shirtless and that you might be mistaken for an adonis at the beach. The two laughed and continued on into the night, and you will be a spreader of the truth, little bunny. Gemma heard the exchange. Gemma did not laugh. The enchanted night was a gathering where strangers became connected souls. The raging fire danced alongside the harmonious music in people. Addy mostly watched something about what she had or hadn't experienced in town, the whole out-of-body affair depleted her. Still, even without the mind-changing enhancements enjoyed by her cohorts, her mind traveled to new dimensions. Poets brought her to tears. Communal love spread like the sensation of a first kiss. The marvel that was weirdling woods in the late 60s was captured in one magical evening. The wonderment only ended when someone put her to bed at sunrise. A few hours later, Addy shared breakfast with her new tribe. Before the partying would begin again, clarity reigned. A day was still to be had. Addy strolled through the woods, ears open and mouth shut, absorbing numerous political speeches. She was instructed not to go to the unsettled, the ominous patch of forestry beyond the sycamores, so rather than risk any accidents, she tended to the animals in the commune, taking to an Oreo-colored lab named Karma. She joined in helping with chores and was treated not as a stranger, but a sister. Addy chose to be a bit naughty as time crawled. As a prank with a long burn, funny only to herself, she portrayed herself as a psychic and predicted the moon landing, Watergate, the impending horrors of disco music, and almost pressily dying on a toilet. She could imagine blowing the people's minds when these things eventually happened, doubtful they had remembered given their state. After dinner, a sun-kissed little flower child came for her. It was time to meet Mama Jojo. Welcome, dear, Mama Jojo said, as Addy entered the teepee. Addy said hello and took a seat on a beanbag chair, noticing an unfamiliarity to Mama Jojo's face, a stunning woman with an aura of confidence. She looked like a mythical goddess, clad in a flowering, sorry-styled dress and an assortment of rings and necklaces and energy crystals. Strawberry red hair brushed against her shoulders, long individual braids meticulously placed. So you're the girl that's been wandered around the fringe by herself, Mama Jojo said with a smile, stirring a pot and ladling liquid into a handmade clay cup. She handed it to Addy. It's my own earth tee. It will cleanse your system. Thanks, Addy replied, skeptically eyeing the brew. Mama Jojo noticed this and gently took the cup, sipping it and returning the tea to Addy. I'm not spanking anything, dear. Usually, people are suspicious if I serve them anything not laced. How ironic. So what brings you to the fringe? Addy laughed. One would think a DeLorean. I'm beginning to think magic or delusion. Do you believe in magic, Addy? I believe what my eyes tell me, I guess. Mama Jojo sat next to Addy like an old friend, eager to listen. A sloppily-bearded man in a bandana popped his head into the teepee, asking if anyone wanted to drop. Seeing that he was interrupting something, he retreated as fast as he entered. Sorry about that, dear. This is kind of a last hurrah. We held a mock funeral for the summer of love last month. Too many people came and never left, and we couldn't support them all. Now the scene is sadly all about drugs. People are sleeping on the streets, like you. The whole thing, it's time to spread out and continue the message across the country. I take it back. Instead of a funeral, this is a celebration. Tomorrow, my little family will be moving all over. We really did achieve something last summer. I'm thinking about staying, though. Bun in the oven. Just found out. Addy said, you're pregnant? That's wonderful news. I'm so excited for you. Here I am, blabbering on, and you've been sitting on that news. Congratulations, you're going to be an actual Mama Jojo. Mama Jojo smiled. Yes, it's exciting and expected. Let's just say I willed it. But I think I like this crazy place, Weirdling Woods. Something calls me here. Have you ever had that feeling like a calling? I swear, I envisioned this view, this exact view when I was a toddler. I'd never heard of Weirdling Woods. Maybe I'm just imagining that. Anyway, hopefully once the damage is done and folks leave, the town will retrieve its identity. Yes, I recall that it took some time for the fringe to recover, Addy said. How do you know that, sweetheart? Can you see the future? I heard you were a psychic of some sort. If I told you, well, it would be pointless. I'm not sure I believe it. Mama Jojo studied Addy for a few moments and placed a warm hand on her shoulder, smiling. Addy wasn't keen to allow a stranger to touch her, but the sensation of love and acceptance was overwhelming. Let's take a walk, Addy. Here are some moccasins you can borrow. Grab your tea. I want you to see something. Mama Jojo and Addy huddled under a hand-woven blanket in a quiet spot in the park. The magnificence of the ocean and the humming city below, the Lake Britton Bridge framing everything amplified the majesty of it all. Addy couldn't understand why this woman made her feel so comfortable. They shared stories and a case of the ha-has before lying on their backs and gazing at the night stars. Addy was compelled to reveal everything to Mama Jojo, the apparent time warp, her longing for a life like this, and of course her bizarre encounter with Manson and the hideous future that would come from her inability to stop the monster. Everything from the absurd circumstances of the day to minor issues such as her inability to date due to the inherent male flaw of intimidation of powerful women flowed from Addy's mouth. It was a wonderful, unburdening, and ever-sweet release, and Mama Jojo with soft eyes and compassion simply played with Addy's hair, not balking at her incredulous tails, rather nodding with understanding and empathy. Once finished, Addy exhaled with relief and continued to stare at God's light shown in the sky, immersed in joy and accepted as Mama Jo twirled her hair. You're as strong as I knew you would be. I knew it was time. I knew you were the one. I've always known. Addy shifted and faced Mama Jojo. What do you mean I'm the one? Do you believe me about everything? It's not a matter of belief. I know. I know, Addy. I know about Manson, and I know what's going to happen, and I know what you wish you could have done. But there are clues, rules I don't like. Rules I, too, have wanted to break for the betterment of humanity. But we can't change the past. Mama Jojo calmly explained, while slipping a braided blue and white-stringed bracelet on Addy's wrist, we aren't allowed to rewrite history. That's the cruelty of our blessing. You couldn't have changed his future because, really, you'd be changing the past. I'm quite impressed with the display of power you showed, though. I'm just thankful Harris was there to harness it. Otherwise, people might have suspected. I don't know how weirdling is in your era, but the citizens of the woods are hunting those that are… different. I know you're confused, honey. Everyone is after their first spell. We'll get there. Now, I say we can't alter major events, but we do have some leeway to skew things. There are some things we can do to change bits of the future. It's a fine line. It's a matter of the strength we can collectively harness as a coven. Mama Jojo leaned towards a confused Addy, her enchanting face looking down on her. I'm so overjoyed, sweetheart. I always knew. I always knew you were the one. You possess so much strength. Welcome home, baby. Coven? Addy hadn't heard that word since watching the craft last Halloween. Addy attempted to stand, but Mama Jojo shushed her and gently placed her on her back once more. Just let the tea do its work, baby. Soon you'll be where you always were meant to be. You were the chosen one. Just relax, Addy. Addy attempted to speak, trapped in a limbo state between fear and love. No words came from her mouth, only her mind. Coven? What's happening? Her body went into a limp but relaxing state of immobility. The voice told her to welcome it. As her eyes began to flutter, the last images Addy saw this night were of Mama Jo hovering above her, slowly hypnotizing her with her fingers, smiling with a beaming glow, like a guardian angel. Addy woke up in her mother's lap in the only old house remaining in the subdivision, much to the developer's dismay. H.H. Holmes had tried to foist their cookie-cutter neighborhoods onto weirdling woods, but the suburbia developer couldn't seek its teeth into Grandma Mavis. Wondering if it was all an illusion, but knowing it was not, she took a few moments to readjust to the modern era she loathed. Hesley B. Girl, her mother smiled, leaning forward to kiss her daughter on the forehead. Hey to you, Rebecca! Addy yawned. Her mother hated not being called Mom, and Addy pounced on their little joke any chance she got. Rebecca responded by pulling the pillow from beneath Addy's head and playfully hitting her with it. Kick-dressed, Grandma Mavis wants pictures. You know the drill. She made a special tofu thing for you. Pretend you like it even if you don't. Addy groaned, agreeing. Rebecca then made a snarky inside joke of her own, before narrowly slipping out of the door, dodging a thrown pillow. Addy hated the joke, but Mom was a comedian. Standing up and stretching, Addy wondered how she even made it to the house in Weirdling Woods, or better yet, the year 2022. Then she noticed the blue and white bracelet on her wrist and smiled. I don't know what any of it meant, she thought. I'm sure the voice will figure it out. Addy was overwhelmingly calm and centered. She took a shower, humming a Janus Joplin tune. 137 notifications were waiting for Addy on her phone. She ignored them all and went directly to Google, curiosity getting the best of her. She found that history could not in fact be changed entirely as she typed Manson into the search engine and pressed Enter. Sadly, no mention of any great beatdown during the autumn of 1967. As she studied the Wiki entries, she stumbled across a few clues that gave her some satisfaction amongst the sadness that happened in 1969. Touching a photo of Charlie's mugshot photo and expanding the image with her thumb and index finger, he looked slightly off. His nose looked crooked, flatter, as if some young woman had smashed him open once upon a time. She smiled at this and clicked on Susan Atkin's entry. The evil woman's mugshot photo revealed a missing tooth and a rash of scars on the left side of her face. Not a single mention of the nickname Sexy Sadie existed on the web. Bits of the future had been changed by bits of guitar wood that splintered Atkin's face. Addy glanced at the damaged skin on her palms and knuckles and grinned. Searching for clothes, Addy snooped around her grandmother's bedroom. Photos of old weirdling woods were littered about, dated newspapers and such, degrees, magazines, a collection of art. On the wall was a framed official looking certificate for Mavis Josephine Hale from the Weirdling Woods Civic Association. It was an award that read Outstanding Contribution to Society 1992, and it was signed by Congressman Harris Baldwin. Harris, Addy began to well up overjoyed that her giant new friend from 50-plus years prior had gone on to live such a beautiful life. Rummaging through knickknacks, Addy caught a glimpse of her bag of Skiddle's hair in an antique mirror and frowned. She would be natural moving forward, she decided. In Grandma Mavis' closet was an array of gorgeous old sundresses from yesteryear, or in Addy's case, yesterday. She tried a few on before falling in love with a canary daisy print, twirling in circles in front of the mirror, a familiar voice startled her. You look stunning, sweetheart. Grandma, Addy said as she stopped spinning. I'm sorry, I'll put it back. Like hell you will, Mavis said, sitting on the bed. You were meant for that dress. Come give an old lady a hug. Addy ran and jumped on the bed like a giddy child, hugging the old lady and laying her head on her lap, something she had done since she was a child. That voice, though, eerily similar to the one that guided her through life. It was odd to only now notice. How was your trip, dear? Mavis asked Addy, making circles over hair with her fingers. Addy sighed. I literally couldn't explain if I tried. Addy focused on her grandmother. She never truly appreciated how cool she really was. She wasn't like other grandmothers. She still wore her hair long, the silver streaks braided to perfection, her clothing bohemian and free spirited. She was a powerful matriarch who instilled that same power onto her daughter Rebecca and then onto her granddaughter Addy. Mavis laughed. I'm glad you got here in one piece, she said, averting her eyes to the blue and white bracelet on Addy's wrist before quickly turning away. Addy noticed. Are you going to get off your butt and help us cook? I made some tofu thing that I swear is grown legs. Addy feigned groan as her grandmother gently rose. As Mavis reached for the door handle, she paused for a moment, as if to say something. The pause seemed to linger and caused Addy to pause as well. Grandma Mavis attempted to continue walking, but she was stopped at her tracks. She turned to face her granddaughter, something cosmic shifted between them. She and Addy achieved understanding simultaneously. The voice spoke to Addy one last time and finally Addy knew it wasn't conscience, it was telepathy. The voice that guided her all of her life belonged to Mama Jojo and it was the voice of her grandmother. Addy smiled. Thanks for yesterday, Mama Jojo. Whatever that was, thank you for the experience. It was all she could think to say. Mavis smiled in relief. I knew that you would know, at least deep down. I was correct, you have so much power already. I can't believe I had girl talk with my grandmother in the 60s who was pregnant with my mom at the time, so I'm past the point of doubt forever. Addy replied with a grin, so we really can't change the past, can we? No dear, if we could, do you think I would have let certain elections happen? Or that Nickelback band? Addy laughed. Well, I know this would be a much longer conversation at some point, but besides hiding out in other times, what else could we do? Mavis sat down again. Well, it's complicated. The three of us, your mother included, need to have a long chat, but to answer your question, in some cases we can alter the future slightly, as you know, but we mostly use our powers for good. That's why I never bought Apple stock. That's what our mission in this particular coven has always been. It goes all the way back to the old days in England. Not all sects are good. There's a rogue coven that lives out in the unsettled. That's what we use our power for, not good. But we'll get to blood feuds in time. For now, let's eat. Addy understood and nodded. Do we need to get a black cat named Salem? Addy interjected for levity. Actually, let me rephrase that. Can we get a black cat named Salem? Mavis placed left Addy. Girl, the way you shoot your mouth off, you must eat bullets for breakfast. As I was saying, and especially now with the strength you'll bring, we can alter the future as long as it serves the greater good. But one step at a time, I'll teach you everything, baby steps. Addy grew serious. Mama Joe, she wondered aloud, have you altered the future before? Mavis hesitated. Yes. Addy shoved her playfully. And it wasn't a one word answer kind of question. Can you give me a scenario at least? Mavis, Mama Jojo, seemed to debate something in her head. My dear Addy, have you ever heard of the lollipop man? He was a transient to become a serial killer. Killed 37 girls, all in your age range, actually. Used piano wire like warm bodies, if you get what I mean. Got his start in 2022, left behind a huge rainbow lollipop. Like your hair color, a calling card, I guess. Sort of a terrible gimmick, if you ask me. Addy thought about it. Grandma, I suppose I can't sound like a lunatic anymore, based on the past few days. I know every serial killer on record, it's a talent. Never heard of that dude. With such a loser name, I definitely remember him. Why? Mavis waited until Addy got the connection. Shut up! It's true love. You've never heard of him, because he was eradicated before he could devolve into his evil destiny, who he sure pissed off the dark one with that little blindside attack. Chills shot through Addy's body, so it was him. Yes, Mavis interrupted. He was on your bus. You picked up on it right away. I knew you would. You've always had the gift. You always, well, mostly listen to the voice. And he's the unfortunate victim of a stumble down three levels of spiral stairs. I know you could have handled him, but that wasn't a chance I was willing to take. That took a lot of mental energy, keeping a grown human tumbling down circular curved stairs. Our collective concentration was warped afterwards, but it was fulfilling. We live in the gray, dear. Don't mess with the necromancer. That's sage advice for the world, sweet granddaughter of mine. The angels won't have us, and the demons don't want us. We exist somewhere between vengeance and holiness. To do good, sometimes we have to get our hands dirty, Addy. I think I know the answer. I saw how you handled Manson, but I'm required to ask, are you okay with that? Addy just stared with her jaw skimming the wooden floor. Then she composed herself. There were many eras to visit, and in this great big world of rapists, murderers, and other evils, there were many faces to kick, even if only for her own satisfaction. She could feel destiny coursing through revanes, a surge of ambition and energy. She knew who she was, what she was, and soon a select few bad guys would as well. Yet her hands dirty. That was the only way to play in the mud. I think I might be okay with that, grandma. Well-behaved women rarely make history, right? Addy's eyes sharpened. Well, what comes next? How do I become an official coven member? Mavis stood up again and pulled Addy up with her. What happens next is you, me and your grandmother, are going to drink too much wine, dance, and put on elastic sweats, because we're going to eat more food than a lady should look at. We'll talk about coming to the edge of the circle tomorrow. I'll talk to your mother and the other ladies later. You've already met your great Aunt Gemma from Menfield over in England, but tonight we dance and we celebrate, weirdly woods-style. In the kitchen, Mavis placed an album on an old RCA record player. As the smell of pumpkin spice and merlot commingled in the air, the first few rifts from painted black by the Rolling Stones began to play, sending the three into a dance in the kitchen, three generations of witches, strong, proud, and unified as the universe had intended. Under a magnet on the refrigerator was a piece of paper containing Addy's favorite historical quote, light a candle instead of cursing the darkness. Eleanor Roosevelt. In the unsettled, a coven of banshees shrieked and stirred, ready for the war to come now that the chosen child on the other side had fulfilled the prophecy. In hell, the demons placed their bets. This was just one of numerous stories to be released in the Weirdling Woods universe, written by John Allen. More stories will of course be featured here in the Weird Darkness podcast in the weeks and months to come. You can also find all of the stories in the Weirdling Woods book, in paperback, hardback, and ebook versions. In the pages, you'll also find a bonus story at the end which will not be used in the podcast, along with a fun list of Easter eggs to look out for within the stories. You can contact me, Darren Marlar, other John Allen, or learn more about this series at WeirdlingWoods.com. All stories in the Weirdling Woods series are written by John Allen, theme music written and recorded by Nicholas Gasparini, also known as Horror Composer Me You on YouTube. If you like this series, please share it with others and leave a rating and review of the series in the podcast app you listen from. Doing so helps Weirdling Woods get noticed. Weirdling Woods is a registered trademark, copyright Weird Darkness. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for walking with me through Weirdling Woods.