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the Scotch. She drowned in a pool of guilt and shame long before she ended her life in the cottage lake. You know that lake’s haunted, and now you know who was calling you when you tried to do yourself in all those years ago.”
    Gretchel was barely listening. She was busy dreading the evening ahead.
    “How much do you know about our ancestors, child?” Miss Poni asked.
    Gretchel snapped back to the present. “Just bits and pieces, Grand Mama. I know that the cottage has been in our family for a long time, and that you were born and raised there. I know it was built for your mama, Miss Mary Catherine Miller. I know a neighbor willed Snyder Farms to you. Of course, I've heard plenty of stories about the ghosts in the Wicked Garden, and you know I've seen them.” And don’t you dare bring up the ones I put there Grand Mama , Gretchel thought.
    “You don't know a goddamn thing about those ghosts," Miss Poni rasped, a sneer contorting her face. Gretchel was used to her grandmother’s cantankerousness, but this took her aback.
    “I would welcome the chance to be educated, Grand Mama,” Gretchel replied with all the poise she could muster. “But you don’t know what I know. You have no idea.”
    The ancient woman wasn’t fazed by her granddaughter’s sass, only surprised; she just shook her head. “Yes, well, it would be good to get the truth out. There are stories we need to tell. Yours is one of them, Baby Girl. It’s time. I can feel the north wind blowing changes our way.”
    It’ll be a cold day in hell before I tell my story , Gretchel thought. And then she thought about Holly’s vision. She knew she should hear what Miss Poni had to say before it was too late, but she wasn’t ready to think about life without her Grand Mama. She pushed the thought of the woman’s passing to the back of her mind.
    “I think it’s time for your stories on TV, isn’t it?”
    “Gretchel, I want you to do something for me.”
    “What do you need, Grand Mama. Do you want another blanket?”
    “No, no, no. I want you to go down to the cottage after your mama gets back and fetch me the painting of the poppies. I need something pretty to look at.”
    Gretchel couldn’t stop the tears from reaching her eyes. “Can Mama do that for you? I’m kind of on a tight schedule.”
    “In a rush to get back to your prison cell, are you now? Does the warden know you’ve come to fraternize with the Witches of Snyder Farms? Should I expect torches and pitchforks within the hour? Do I need to load the shotgun so I can take care of that abusive son of a bitch once and for all?”
    “Enough!” Gretchel yelled.
    Miss Poni eyed the girl with interest. She hadn’t fought back in many years. The old woman noticed what was missing from her granddaughter’s neck, and nodded to herself. “I’d really like to see that painting, Baby Girl. I need to see it. Something’s stirring in this cold winter wind, and I want those pretty poppies to keep the shadows at bay.”
    “Okay. I’ll get you the painting. Just please watch your stories, Grand Mama,” Gretchel replied. She walked into the kitchen, and burst into tears.
     
    ∞
     
    “Can you come back for dinner tonight—bring the kids, maybe? I know it’s your anniversary, but it’s not as though you care,” her mother asked as she put groceries away.
    Gretchel let the jab roll. “We’re going out with the Browns.” Gretchel felt her mother’s loneliness in the pit of her stomach. “Mama, why don’t you have Thomas over for dinner? I haven’t heard you talk about him for a while now.”
    “I’m just fine with the way things are. Now you run along, and make sure you tell Troy how much I despise him.”
    “I can’t leave just yet. Grand Mama wants me to run down to the cottage to get the poppy painting.”
    Ella stopped unpacking her bags, and turned to her daughter. She began to cry. “The poppies. She’s going to leave us soon,” she muttered. “I can get the painting,