Longevity- the Wardens of Time

by Caleb Smith

  The hop in his step was telling he was a boy on the hunt. He crept around the building’s perimeter looking everywhere – even in bushes and mulch beds for anything that glimmered. He knew the key, if it existed, would outshine anything else.

  With no luck, still, he circled the building once more, drawing some isolated stares from patrons and employees entering the library. He was feeling somewhat deflated, and his watch now read 8:50 a.m. His time was up; he needed to get to the Sherman ranch. He knew he could make it by nine with his new bike modifications

  After one pull, the engine fired. He adjusted his seat and worked up the throttle. It had taken him a day to get used to the modifications to his bike, but he now loved it and had become quite adept at maneuvering. He revved the motor one more time and took off, flying by pedestrians who most assuredly wished they could be as free as he.

  Noah rolled into the Sherman drive at precisely nine, but before getting started on his day’s work, he had come up with a plan. At three o’clock, he planned to set off in search of an antique collector who also happened to be a locksmith. Though Noah didn’t have ready access to a computer, he did have the yellow pages and a large paper map of his new home town. The address had already been embedded in his memory: 3723 Hawthorne Blvd.

  Chapter 26

  The day passed as slow as molasses running uphill on a cold day. Three o’clock couldn’t come quick enough. Time was eating at him minute by minute, and Noah was plagued by voices that made him feel heavy and anxious. He tried to shake them off, but they would crawl back. Unable to overcome their grip, he was slowly going mad and it permeated his actions. He wasn’t himself, and Wendy saw it clearly.

  “What’s wrong with you today?”

  “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she had meant.

  “You’re quiet and edgy. The only time you have said anything is when I have asked you something. You know your input is expected here; it is your job.”

  His work with Wendy mostly entailed researching, pricing, buying, selling, and trading car parts, while also helping out in the garage when needed. She had grown her little business tremendously in the few months since she had started it. She was busy enough to pay for Noah’s help fifteen hours a week. The rest of his pay came from helping in the shop. It was a great first job, primarily for a kid his age.

  He didn’t want to blow this gig, but the day had him pacing. To Noah, the hours spent here this day were hours wasted. His every thought produced the magical key he was chasing.

  “Well, don’t you have anything to say?” She blurted out. She, too, had become edgy. The energy saturated the air and infected them both.

  “I’m just not feeling well today.”

  “What? Are you sick?” Wendy asked.

  “I have a bad headache.”

  “Oh. Well, you never mentioned it.”

  The clock on the wall above the desktop seemed to stand still. He glanced at it once again before replying.

  “Would you mind if I headed out early? My head is pounding, and I just want to lie down.”

  She rolled her eyes before delivering an animated answer. “I guess. You’re not doing much good here anyway!” She scanned him over and dropped her eyebrows, studying him like a doctor in an exam room. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

  He answered simply. “I will.”

  “Well, all right. Feel better, then. I’ll let Pops know you’re not feeling well.”

  He thanked her, then walked steadily out of the house to his bike. The men were busy in the garage and didn’t notice his departure. He started his engine and jumped on his trusty horse, backpack strapped. He was headed for 3723 Hawthorne Blvd, and he had the route mentally mapped out in his mind. This was more than just a routine stop at a local antique store; this was his last chance to open the book that had become his obsession. He seemed to be under a spell.

  The streets became tunnels as everything blew by in melted colors. His thumb pushed on the throttle. His balance and cycle movement were flawless, and he felt ready for something with more power. A smile slowly crept across his face as he pulled in front of the old antique store. He hoped now that luck would be on his side.

  The storefront was an old Victorian home converted into a place of business. The front porch was grand and wrapped around the right side of the structure. The spindles were smooth and cylinder-like, covered in battleship gray along with the rest of the house, barring the navy-blue trim and doors. There were two large windows in the front, one on either side of the door. The fine, classic block lettering on the left window read: “The Estabrook House of Fine Antiques.” Lettering on the right window read: “Antique Keys & Locks.”

  The lettering painted in the windows brought him hope. He didn’t want to know how they were staying in business in this town, nor did he care as long as the place helped him. Dark clouds were blowing in; a thunder storm was imminent. He looked again, a small “open” sign hung in the large oak door window. The boy dismounted his bike and climbed the stairs, opening the heavy door to let himself in. A gust of wind blew the door shut behind him, making a loud noise.

  “Hello?” Noah shouted impatiently. He waited a few moments, looking around. The house had original hardwood floors that had been refurbished with a darkened glaze. It was complemented by oriental rugs and a crystal chandelier that hung above. Off to the left, he noticed a staircase. Finally, the boy heard footsteps coming toward him.

  “Hello; how can I help you?”

  A small, elderly woman appeared with a cane in her right hand, its rubber stopper muting the device’s tapping sound. She looked stern and wore a dress with a long overcoat. She was not what Noah was expecting to see.

  “Can I help you, young man?” She asked again.

  Trying to get comfortable, Noah took a moment to answer.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I was hoping you could make a key to fit a lock.”

  The woman nodded. “Do you have the lock?”

  “I sure do.” Noah smiled.

  “Well, bring it here.”

  “Yes, of course!” Noah reached into his knapsack and pulled out the book.

  “She quickly examined the item with wary eyes, snatching it from his hand and flipping it over to study from all angles. She finally raised her head and asked, “Where did you get this?”

  Noah was reluctant to answer: he didn’t like the unspoken accusation in her voice. “Ahh…I collect books and happened to stumble across it.” He was going to play it cool.

  “You stumbled across it?”

  “Yes, that’s right; I found it.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  Noah was becoming irritated, and this was not like him. “I found it at a library. Can you help me or not?”

  She cleared her throat and said, “Sometimes locks are not meant to be opened.”

  This was not the answer he had expected, and he wasn’t sure how to reply, initially. He then blurted out, “Well, I can give you fifty dollars if you can get me a key that will open it.”

  She eyed him keenly. “Why do you need to get into it?”

  “Because I have to.”

  “Hmm, I see. I’m not sure I can help you,” she held the book forward to hand it back.

  Noah was frustrated. “Wait! Your sign says you’re an antique locksmith, and this here appears to be an antique lock.”

  “No. The sign says, “Antique Keys & Locks.”

  “That’s the same thing!”

  “It might be, depending on the onlooker.”

  “Well, can you at least try to help me?”

  She sighed. “This book that you have found does not want to be opened. It’s locked for a reason, and you should just leave it at that!”

  Noah was even more intrigued. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

  She shook her head slowly. “The power of some books goes far beyond words; some books hold a certain force within their pages – a disruptive force. It is best to stay clear of this, but mo
re importantly, to keep the contents locked. I’m sorry; I can’t help you. You and that book should leave now. Please don’t come back.”

  The woman tossed the book back into his hands and lifted her cane, pushing him backward several feet.

  “Fine. I guess I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  He turned and walked out of the store deflated. Perhaps he could take the book to Wendy and together they could cut the lock. He positioned himself on the bike and then heard a whisper emanating from around the left side of the house. It sounded like a boy – a kid near his age, but maybe older. And then, along with voice, there appeared a physical body, a boy, a couple of inches taller than Noah, wearing a hooded sweatshirt. He, too, wore glasses.

  “Perhaps I can be of help,” the unknown boy spoke.

  Noah was startled by his appearance, and he stared before asking, “Come again?”

  “I overheard your conversation with my grandmother. I might be able to help, if you can pay.”

  It took a minute for Noah to register the youth’s proposal. “Yes, yes. I would like that. Thank you.”

  “Well, follow me around back, and keep your voice down.”

  Noah followed, doing as requested. The teen led him around the left side of the house to a cellar hatch leading to the basement.

  “Go ahead,” the boy said, holding the door open for Noah to enter the dark lair first. Noah stepped into the dimly-lit basement, gingerly. When his eyes adjusted to the darkened space, he noticed the machinery and tools forthwith.

  “I’m Brian,” the boy reached out for a handshake.

  “Hi Brian; I’m Noah. Nice to meet you.”

  Noah surveyed his surroundings intently, taking everything in. Some of the machinery looked to be well over a hundred years old. Some of it looked far more modern. It was a collage of old and new; he was, once again, fascinated.

  “Do you live here?” Noah asked

  “No, but I’m here a lot. I like it better here than at home, and I like working with antiques. Let’s see what you’ve got here.” The teen motioned to an open work bench space.

  Noah dug the book out of his bag and laid it down. Brian observed it carefully before picking it up, checking it out on all ends.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he gave a look of amazement. “I wonder why it’s locked? “And, it’s heavy.”

  “I don’t know, but do you think you can get it open?”

  “It definitely needs a skeleton key, but the lock’s opening predates anything I have ever seen. I can try.”

  Brian walked to the antique keys hanging on one of three peg boards, each holding different key types. The types he was studying seemed very old – keys you wouldn’t be able to find just anywhere. He pulled a key off the wall and walked back to the book, positioning it so that the pages were facing up, exposing the lock. He tried to work the key into the lock, but the key was too big. He then selected a smaller key and attempted to jam it into the opening, wiggling it back and forth. That didn’t work, either. Brian then removed that key, hung it back up on the peg board, and grabbed another.

  “This should fit,” he looked over at Noah, hopeful.

  Noah watched as he slid the new key into the lock and gently moved it back and forth, applying more pressure to his twisting turns. Brian then took the key out again and eyed its markings.

  “I think I’ll have to shave a bit off, but it’s not impossible.” He seemed confident.

  He placed the book on a mounted grinding stone, found his gloves, and went to work filing. It wasn’t long.

  “Here. Let’s try this.” He held the filed key up with wide eyes.

  A door then opened. Brian froze, hearing a foot fall on the staircase.

  “You’ve got to go, man. Right now – you and your book.” He picked the book up, key still protruding from the lock, and handed it to Noah.

  “Go! My Gram is coming, and she will freak if she sees what is going on. Go; go!” Brian grabbed Noah’s arm in a frantic rush, shoving him back toward the cellar door.

  Noah quickly slipped the key into his pocket and put the book inside his bag. Then, strapping it around his shoulders, he handed Brian a twenty-dollar bill.

  “I hope it all works out for you, man” Brian uttered, the upstairs voices now growing closer.

  “Thanks,” Noah responded and quickly shuffled up the stairs. He then ran for his bike, relieved that it was where he had left it. On cue, it started after two pulls on the crank. It was now beginning to rain, and a large black cloud hurling forks of lightning was upon him. High winds and pelting hail followed. Face flushed, Noah raced off, leaving bouncing pieces of ice in trail.

  The pellets of ice pinged off his back as Noah made his way home, and before long, he was inside his apartment, a few nuggets of hail finding a resting place on the front entry hall floor. Noah leaned the bike up against the wall, his pack still strapped to his back, cradling stray pieces of ice in its crevasses. He looked at his watch, and it read ten past four. He would have a little less than an hour before his mother returned from work.

  Noah flicked off the ice nuggets and went to his room, closing the door and securing his privacy with a wedged chair. He knew his mother wouldn’t approve, but he didn’t care, he didn’t know what was going to happen when he opened the book.

  He flung his backpack on the bed and slowly retrieved the treasure, pulling the book out and setting it on his lap, his heart thumping audibly. Then, reaching into his pocket, he grasped the key in his small, soft palm. With his opposite hand, he traced the outline of the lock with his fingers, praying for a match.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  Noah studied the key then, willing it to fit, and closed his eyes. Please let this work! He gently placed it in the lock and twisted right, and the releasing lock sounded like a giant volt latch. It clicked open with authority and echo. The book cover shook and convulsed, though it was still contained in the snug, metal framing. Noah slid the book free. There was no turning back now.

  Chapter 27

  Several miles away, the twins recoiled in horror from an awful stench. As soon as the scent lifted into the air, they had known. An olfactory desperation had escaped into the atmosphere and covered its bile over all of humanity.

  They stopped mid-step and locked eyes. The worst had come true; they had been unable to recover, in time, what they had been looking for. Spurred into action now, they sprang forth, running down a path they hoped would bring them to the source of horror.

  They ran through houses, buildings and cars – mastering all three-dimensional structures, while still invisible to the human eye. They could do anything on the physical plane, they were after all, “super men.

  A lightning speed stride brought them to the epicenter of this demonic saturation, the home of Noah Thomas. The twins looked at each other; they should have known better!

  They reached the side of the building from which Noah’s room could easily be seen, and the twins walked through the exterior wall, making themselves visible. Noah was knocked unconscious and appeared lying on the floor, wedged against debris and a corner wall space. The book was on the floor, alive and open, shaking wildly, while the magic of dark energies poured from its depths. There was a flow of freed evil creatures clawing out through the window and into the night air. Enoch scooped the book up and slammed it shut; great, heavy iron doors locking into place.

  Elijah was busy containing the damned and all the energies he could catch, holding them tightly until their essence spontaneously combusted into cosmic dust as the window shattered. The night wind howled angrily.

  With the wave of his hand, Elijah repaired the window to its normal state, and Enoch found the metal sleeve to lock this lost Akashic tablet, sliding both book and key into his deep pocket. Elijah then moved to Noah’s aid, ignoring the result of the mayhem that had occurred in this room. He cradled Noah’s head and lifted his torso. Noah awakened to the sight of the two pillars of heaven towering over him an
d shining light into his peepers. He was not as shocked as he should have been. He quickly remembered what he had done, and then Elijah set him on his feet to stand. He wished he was more surprised to see them, but he knew full well the reason for their visit.

  “Do you know what you have done, Noah?” Enoch gently asked.

  The weary boy hung his head and replied, “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry, I let my selfish desires get the best of me.”

  “Why did you not come to us with the book. You must have known it was something meant to be in our possession.”

  “My instinct was overruled by curiosity.”

  “You understand we now have a giant mess to clean up. There are dark creatures that have escaped the walls of security. They will negatively impact the people of this community, slowly turning it against itself. You do understand this?”

  “I do now.” Noah replied as if a cowering dog.

  “Stand up straight, boy. You may have done wrong, but you will have a chance to redeem yourself now that my brother and I will be keeping a closer eye on you,” Enoch scolded.

  “What is most important is that we are now in possession of the book. The bad news is we have to track and capture the monsters that poured out,” Elijah added.

  “Or, we could just crush them,” Enoch retorted in a hulk-like voice, clenching his fist.

  “Yes, we could do that, too, brother,” Elijah said, shooting his twin a concerned look.

  Most of Noah’s life had been spent trying to stay clear of trouble and not contributing to anything that would cause distress to others. So, arriving at his current situation brought him a great deal of stress. He felt duly chagrined.

  “I’m really sorry. You both have introduced me to so much, and now I am causing you nothing but grief.”

  “There is no time to be sorry,” Elijah said. “You must now take everything we have shown you and put it to use. There is still a lot of training you need, but this will be your greatest introduction.”