Grounded, p.1
Grounded, page 1
Grounded
A Paranormal Penny Cozy, Volume 1
Sarah Hualde
Published by Indie Christian Writers, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
GROUNDED
First edition. October 26, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Sarah Hualde.
ISBN: 978-1732506275
Written by Sarah Hualde.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
The Extra Extra Ordinary Podcast
Further Reading: Frosted
Also By Sarah Hualde
About the Author
To Han Solo:
Because I love him and he knows.
1
“I’M LOSING MY MIND!” I screamed into my pillow.
Why in the world was I about to talk on the phone to my stalker? I cringed against the question. Stalker was too strong a label to stick on T.C. He was sort of sweet. So was his friend, Scrubb.
Maybe calling him an extremely interested, awkwardly attentive acquaintance would be better. I don’t know.
Still, why was I seconds away from engaging him in conversation?
I had no idea. Maybe because he was willing to pay me? And I really needed the money.
Sure, or I’d gone completely nuts. That was always a strong possibility.
It’s beyond creepy. Which is ironic, given my bizarre gifting. Normally I’d be the one considered creepy. (More on that later.)
It truly did take one to know one. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to me. And me to him. We were both citizens on the fringe of normalcy. Perhaps it was our collective oddness that had me dialing his number.
Nah. It was definitely the money. My old van needed some love. Love in the form of a massive tune up and new tires. That’s why I risked it all and called T.C.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself. Too bad, I’m not very convincing.
As the phone rang, I pulled Ace of Spades, my cat, to my side to comfort my pulsating nerves.
My tiny house, made from a converted VW Bus, usually made me feel safe and secluded. Instead, I felt naked and hunted.
It was all part of the price of speaking with T.C. Although, I underestimated the effect giving into him would have on me. I debated hanging up the phone, there and then. But T.C. had already paid me, well, and I had promised. I never broke a promise. Promises were all I had to hang on to.
“Penny, hello.” T.C.’s overeager greeting made my feet itch.
I wanted to run. But there was nowhere to go. I was already home. I pulled Spades closer. The cat allowed me to squish him with only a meager hiss of disdain.
“Hello,” I squeaked. Regret and panic nibbled at my public persona.
“I’m so glad you’re willing to do this,” T.C. said.
His voice didn’t sound like it normally did when he was recording. On the Extra Extra Ordinary podcast, his excitable tenor smoothed out. It became velvety, authoritative, and self-assured.
Now, it reminded me of a Jr. High band nerd. The transition put me a bit more at ease. He wasn’t any more certain about me than I was of him. That leveled the field.
“I’m not really sure what it is we’re doing,” I said. Way to go, Captain Obvious, I thought.
I tended to stumble over the right thing to say. I strove to project confidence and establish respect. Instead, I blurted out the first thing that came to me and opened myself up for ridicule and manipulation.
What else was new?
“Not to worry,” T.C. said. “Scrubb is getting the recording equipment situated. It’ll be a few minutes before we start. None of this is live. We splice and edit it and stick in a sponsor or two, before it ever hits listener's ears.”
“Sponsors? Like commercials?” I was flabbergasted. People paid to have their businesses advertised on T.C.’s conspiracy theory network.
T.C. chuckled on the other end of the call. “Crazy, isn’t it? Yes, we currently have two sponsors. Both cater to our particular demographic.”
Weirdoes, I thought but didn’t say.
“Weirdoes,” T.C. said. A morsel of pride simmered in his words. “I believe that’s the common term for our followers.”
Spades meowed, loudly, and scratched at me. He caught the soft spot of my wrist with one of his tiny cat talons. “Stop it!” I shooed him away. So much for being the comforting companion. Spades was a cat, after all. Though mostly accommodating, sometimes my black cat friend had to remind me of his felineness.
“Sorry,” I said to T.C. “My cat needs to roam.” I shoved Spades out the passenger door of my van, AKA Godzilla, and rolled down the window.
Spades could shove his way in through the tightest of spaces. He’d be back after a long prowl. Hopefully, before T.C. and I ended our chat. I could only guess that I’d need a good cuddle by then. Anxiety bubbled in my stomach and surged up my spine to knot on my shoulder blades. It was all I could do to keep breathing.
“We’re nearly ready. How are you doing, Penny?” T.C. asked. He didn’t realize the crushing weight of paranoia this one exchange was pushing on me. Pleased with himself and a bit cocky, he chatted with the podcast producer in the background.
“Okay, Penny, let's get crackin’.” I heard T.C. clap on the other side of the call. The casual tone he’d answered with melted away. Deeper and deliberately professional T.C. began our call. “At any time you need a break, let me know. Scrubb and I will piece our call together to make it as flattering as possible.”
I cleared my throat. My mouth had suddenly become a desert. I chugged down a swallow of bottled water only to choke and cough through the phone.
Things were about to get real. And I despised reality.
“How long do we have you?” T.C. asked.
Thanks to my stunning past self, I’d scheduled the call around work. If I was on and off the call as quickly as T.C. had promised I would be able to squeeze in a good cry and a nap before my shift.
Wishful thinking.
“30 minutes to an hour,” I answered the mad man on the other line.
“Great. Great,” T.C. replied.
THE ENTIRE CALL LASTED over ninety minutes. Spades had returned and left again in that time. After circling restlessly around my ankles, he curled up on my driver seat as I curled into the fetal position and rocked.
It hadn’t been as bad as I’d dreaded. T.C. wanted to know the same things I’d always wanted to know.
Sadly, I couldn’t give him answers I didn’t have.
My so called abilities were far beyond my understanding or control. Simply put, I saw things. (Still do.) Twinklings. Nudges. Glimpses of what the future might be. They were never good. Life just didn’t work out that way. Not for me and not for most of the people I’d come in contact with.
These teeny peeks into what would be, never came without caveats. Usually doom followed on their heels. Doom and disaster. Of varying measure. After the mayhem, it was customary for me to either bear the brunt of the blame or run terrified into the night.
T.C. was the first person to notice my strangeness and still want to know more. Usually, even my best of friends charged off in the opposite direction. I didn’t blame them. Not really. If I could, I would run away from these foreshadowings too.
I couldn’t. I’d tried. They never left me alone for long.
In fact, I’d just escaped another encounter in a small town between Ashton and Lewiston called Pottersville. After witnessing two kidnappings, I was snagged myself.
Thankfully, the town radiated with maternal instinct. I was rescued and looked after by a group of homeschool moms. I’d be crazy to think their kindness would last another round of the bad luck that follows me like a personal plague.
I’d made a friend in Pottersville. A strange old man, who had been my boss while I was there. I’d check in with him once a month. Normally by phone or email. Never face to face. The farther I stayed away from Mr. Joe, the better things would be for him.
This brought me back to being curled up in my tiny house on wheels, cradling my knees. I rolled there a few moments longer, before dusting myself off, applying a smear of lip gloss and heading to work.
Even a girl in exile needs to eat. As I’d discovered through the years, small businesses in small towns didn’t often check references. There was usually some place that needed seasonal help, pronto. I was their gal.
The jobs were far from glamorous. They built up my experience, paid for my top ramen and cell phone, kept Godzilla fed, and my Post Office Box ready.
Rocky Grounds and Gifts was my newest place of employment. Mr. and Mrs. Rockland needed someone to roast, grind, and bag their seasonal coffee bean blends as they ran their shop.
Caffeine hung in the atmosphere. Just being near them and their quaint homey store made every skin cell in my body buzz.
Opening the front door to start my shift blasted
2
“THERE’S MY LUCKY PENNY,” Mr. Rockland hollered from the back. My stomach churned. I hated whenever anyone called me that.
If they only knew.
“Terry’s burnt the beans, again,” Mrs. Rockland whispered from behind the cash register.
Terry Rockland was not a pleasant person to encounter. Neither was his father. Not unless they needed something from you. Which, generally, they did.
From website maintenance to toilet bowl scrubbing, I was their go to girl. As long as I ignored their awkward stares and murmured jabs at my weight, the status quo was tolerable.
Mrs. Rockland was the glittering gem in the trio. Genuinely a sweet person, she made working at Rocky Grounds bearable. Unfortunately, her husband and her son constantly talked down to her and squelched her under their surveillance.
Mrs. Rockland locked the front door of the shop and flipped the Be Right Back sign over. “I don’t know if we can save them. We’ll have to start the order over.”
I strapped on a Rocky Grounds apron and shoved my hair into a net.
Terry, the bean burner, sulked on his usual perch. Seated on a bar stool at the edge of the kitchen’s countertop, he could delegate and observe without getting his hands dirty. More than once, I’d felt his stare linger from his high place. Creep-fest style.
I offered him what I hoped looked like a friendly smile that bubbled with boundaries. Judging by the Billy Idol sneer he returned, I’d failed. I stepped to Mrs. Rockland’s side. Maybe an extreme interest in my work would prove my intense disinterest in Terry.
Mr. Rockland, Ken if he was in a pleasant mood, stood festering beside the red coffee roaster. He stared into the drum as if staring into his own grave. I shuddered.
Grave was not the right word, or maybe it wasn’t his grave he was looking into. Perhaps he’d reached the end of his patience with Terry, and was about to carry out his ever dangling threat of exile.
I doubted it.
Mrs. Rockland, Janice as she wanted me to call her, rested a calm hand on Ken’s forearm. “Why don’t you boys scoot? Grab us something to eat. Penny and I will figure this out.”
Ken shook off his anger. Janice to the rescue. His face softened. “Sure,” he said.
“My purse is in my locker,” Janice added. “Help yourself to some cash. Don’t forget to pick up something for Penny, too.”
I was about to object. I really didn’t want to be obligated to anyone. Especially cranky Ken and his sulky son.
Janice winked at me, silencing my argument.
Ken obeyed. Faster than I’d ever seen him move, he grabbed Janice’s wallet and was out the door. Obviously, it was never his intention to help correct Terry’s mishap. He’d only been waiting for Janice to take over.
This was normal. Ken seemed to love basking in bank rolls and blaming others for the outgoing bills.
Work was better after Ken left the room. I wasn't complaining. After all, he took me in without so much as an application. He paid me, decently, under the table, and let me park Godzilla in their employee parking lot. Plus, I was only seasonal help. After the New Year, Rocky Grounds wouldn’t need me anymore and I’d move on.
It was a great deal for me. Moving on meant less people could be entangled in my mess. Six weeks of work, with no rent, could last me over a month. Maybe two, if I refrained from driving too much. I could keep Spades in kitty kibble and maintain my low key social status. Perfect.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” Janice questioned Terry.
“He’s a tyrant! That’s what happens. That’s what always happens.” Terry crossed his arms and scowled.
Janice’s shoulders tensed. “You know I don’t let him talk about you that way, please don’t talk about him that way.”
Terry glared at his mother. I shrunk back and scrubbed an already spotless counter.
“You didn’t see him,” Terry said.
Janice inspected the burnt beans which were supposed to be roasted to a smooth medium. “How full was this when you started it?” She scooped the cremated beans from the drum and into a sterile canister. Then she fluttered over to the computer that programmed the roast and inspected its graphs.
“I know what I’m doing,” Terry howled.
Sure he did, I thought. He knew just how to get out of the work.
Rocky Grounds had three huge custom orders to fill before the week’s end. It meant hard work for all of us. Beans, labels, packaging, shipping and more. Manning the Grounds’ storefront and brewing in the back would take everyone’s help.
Terry responded to the impending hustle by overstuffing the small red drum and ruining the stock. All it took was one ruined batch to slaughter profits, according to Ken.
Terry played his move well. Burning the first round meant Ken would send him away and leave the work to the rest of us.
Janice did just as Terry had hoped. He grinned and winked at me as he hugged his mom. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized. “I tried my best. I’m just not good enough for dad. Never have been.”
Janice patted his head and coddled him for a moment. Even if Terry was closer to thirty than thirteen, his mother allowed his tantrum and sent him to restock shelves. A job I had already completed the night before.
Terry almost skipped from the kitchen. He cranked the store stereo and stayed out of Janice’s eyeline.
“Will you shut the door?” Janice nodded toward the employee only entrance from the front to the back of Rocky Grounds. She didn’t want to see Terry goof around anymore than he wanted to be seen.
Janice rubbed her temples. Her dirty fingers left a sheen of coffee oil on her skin.
“Can you pull an all-nighter? With me?”
A smile cut through my resting beast face. “Of course,” I said. Anything to help Janice.
I received a grateful smile in return. “I’ll pay you a bit extra for your efforts,” Janice added.
Inside I squealed and clapped with excitement. After my stay with Rocky Grounds, I’d be able to score a new solar panel for Godzilla, as well as tires.
3
“YOU DO IT, THEN!”
The yelling from the front of the store overshadowed the slowly quieting rock music. Terry and Ken were not any more relaxed than when they’d parted ways.
The owner crashed through the employee door tossing curses back at his son. Ken had taken two hours to return with food and he was not happy to be back.
“That boy of yours is killing our business.” He tossed a bag of burritos on the kitchen island. It skidded across the stone coated counter, nearly knocking over my neatly stacked piles of labels.
Janice’s expression flickered between frustration and compassion. “Thanks, Hun,” she said, referring to the sack that was already soggy with grease. She dusted her hands on her apron and planted a soft peck on Ken’s cheek. “Burning a pound of beans isn’t going to close our doors.”
Ken’s cheeks puffed and reddened. “Keeping our doors closed will. The dolt didn’t open. He was playing on his cell, while customers waited outside.”
“Really?” Janice said. “I’ll go handle the customers.” She hastily untied her apron.
“Don’t bother. They took off when I unlocked the door and that obscene music flooded out.” Ken’s face glistened with sweat.
“I’ll go talk to him.” Janice placed a hand on the door but Ken halted her journey.
“He went home. Said he’d come back in the morning when we’ve calmed down,” Ken told her.
Of course. By then the work will be done, I thought as I continued cutting out labels. It was awkward being in the center of family fights.
“Who’s gonna run the front?”
Ken shrugged his response to his wife.
“I’ll go,” Janice said. She turned back to me and pointed to the largest drum roaster. “That dark roast should be done in a minute or so. Let it cool. I’ll get to it later.”
I nodded. “You got it. I’ll also finish the decaf orders. There are only three of them left.”
Janice checked her vintage wrist watch. I glanced at the wall clock. One more hour until closing. Then the bulk of the work would begin.
