by Vered Ehsani
Before she disappeared, that is. I shut out that thought pretty quickly.
“Hmm,” she grunted. “I’m focusing on getting out of here.”
“Sounds like a piece of fruit. Peach, maybe?”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Way past. Good night.”
I flipped the back cover up and watched the pages slowly peel away and collapse on Juna’s page until only the cover remained upright in my hand. As I was about to let that flop down, a movement stopped me. Frowning, I lowered my head to peer closer, until my nose was literally in the book. What I saw made me jerk back my nose, my head and any other appendage near the book.
As the cover thudded back open, I could see very clearly the source of the movement: words were being written in dark red ink across the top of the last page. I could hear an invisible and very scratchy pen scraping into the page. Then it stopped.
“Ok,” I whispered. “That’s new.”
The weirdest history book in… well, history… had just gotten a little bit weirder. An invisible pen held by an invisible hand had just written me a very visible message. I tugged on a lock of hair, and that part of my brain I’d mentioned earlier (you know, the one with the bizarre and irrelevant sense of humour) wondered how long it would be before I had a bald patch from all the tugging. The rest of my brain suggested I actually read the message. So I did.
Stay out. Christmas is getting closer.
I stared down at the scrawled message, frowned and tugged on my hair as I reread the words. Christmas was half a year away, hardly very close. And how was Christmas connected to the veil? I assumed that’s what ‘Stay out’ referred to.
But it wasn’t just the strangeness of the words that disturbed my already disturbed thoughts. I could even deal with the way it had just appeared (yeah, right: maybe after a few years of therapy). There was something horrible and gross in the actual way it looked. It wasn’t like the writing on the other pages, which was in a small, neat, flowing black script. This was untidy, the dark red letters large and disjointed, like it had been written by someone in a hurry with a leaky pen. A few of the letters had thick streaks dribbling down the page. It looked like someone had flicked a bloody finger at the page. Or used their bloody finger to write the message. Yuck.
The words were also an echo of Bibi’s verbal message.
Oops. I bit my lip at that reminder. I had completely disregarded her warning. Was this her second attempt? Did she know I had gone through, despite promising her I wouldn’t? I stared at the message, willing it to make sense. It didn’t work. I rubbed at the ink and stared at the dark red stain on my finger in disgust, then hastily glanced up. A haze had settled down in front of me. It wasn’t the veil, exactly. I didn’t feel a pull that would invite me in, but I could see something happening.
It seemed like I was staring through a camera located on the floor, in a corner of a small office. A small man cowered in front of me, his back pressed up against a large wooden desk, his eyes squeezed shut. A desperate whimper escaped his quivering mouth. He looked the epitome of sheer terror. I can relate to that feeling, way too well.
Just as I began to wonder what was inspiring the fear and the whimpering, a pair of legs strolled into the room. Whomever it was squatted down, so that the body attached to those legs came into view and revealed an unfortunately way-too-familiar figure. I involuntarily jumped back with a shout of warning that might have been a thinly disguised scream. Every hair on my arms and neck shivered, stood up and stayed standing.
Even when I realized Kali, the master of shadows, couldn’t see or hear me, my heart still hammered at my throat and my fingers shook on the page, smearing more red ink onto my skin.
“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself. “They don’t know you’re here.” At least, I hoped not. I forced myself to watch. From the angle I was looking at the scene, I was close (too close) to Kali’s shoes and staring up at his chin and into his nose. It could’ve been funny, I guess, but I wasn’t in the mood to laugh. Neither was Kali. He was staring at the man slumped on the floor in front of him.
“I smell your lie,” he hissed in a soft and lethal voice. A thin finger tapped the side of his long, narrow nose before scratching over a high cheekbone. The smile that stretched across his pale, stony face didn’t touch his iceberg-blue eyes that glowed with a cold and determined glint.
“I swear I don’t know, Mr. Kali,” the man blubbered, his eyes bulging with fear and his lower lip drooping heavily, looking like he was trying not to cry. I’m pretty sure that if the man really knew what Kali was capable of, he’d be screaming.
“Now that is a pity, Mr. Woods,” Kali murmured, his eyes narrowing into slivers of hate. Shadows began to stretch around the room, drooling shards of darkness in their anticipation. Mr. Woods was oblivious to the darkness forming around him, but I could see it all too well. “And somewhat strange, considering your wife was…” He paused to emphasis the word. “Working in your office. You’re the land registrar, correct?”
I frowned. Since when was Kali interested in land?
Mr. Woods paled even further, until the tone of his skin almost matched his grey hair. “Sir, please,” he begged as he raised himself slightly onto his knees. “I don’t know all the maps my wife keeps…”
“You mean, what maps she kept,” Kali corrected him smoothly, his eyes scanning the small room, looking suddenly bored with the conversation. He stood up slowly and moved towards the table, tapping on it with his knuckles. “Come now, there’s only one I’m really interested in. It’s rather unique; I think you’d agree. You can keep the rest. Or have you already given it to your wife’s sister, Mr. Woods? Where’s Aruhi?”
What map? And who was Aruhi? What the heck was that monster up to?
“I don’t know about the maps,” Mr. Woods mumbled in a faint voice. “Truly. And I don’t know where Aruhi is. She… she left yesterday very suddenly.” Mr. Woods was now crying in desperation.
“Hmm, is that a fact?” Kali asked quietly without any interest and then grinned horribly. “I bet you’re cursing the day you met your wife’s relatives. Then again…” He paused as if considering the possibilities. “You must have known what you were getting yourself into, hmm?” He gazed around the small office. It was a tidy room, like the man who knelt on the floor. Everything was filed away neatly, except the tray on the desk. It was full of unsorted papers and unopened letters. Ignoring his victim, Kali glided around the desk and shuffled through the pile of correspondence and bills.
I watched him carefully, as if he might suddenly look up and see me spying. I tugged at my hair and chewed on my lower lip. After weeks of waiting for the book to wake up and let me in, why oh why did it have to open up to a man-eating flying reptile and then this? I mean, would it have been so terrible to take me to the theatre or the village of Boston after all the revolutionary fighting was long finished or something that didn’t make me run for my life or want to shriek in terror?
“There’s nothing there,” Mr. Woods blurted out weakly. “Just… just invoices and order forms and…” His voice trailed off as the tall man came back around the desk and faced him, slowly tapping the edge of an envelope against the open palm of one hand.
“Perhaps you didn’t get around to delivering this letter?” Kali asked in a low voice. Mr. Woods started to protest and then slumped over in defeat. “Of course not. Let’s see what you were going to deliver to our dear Aruhi, shall we?” He studied the envelope and then slowly, carefully ripped it open and removed the document. With a flourish, he snapped open a thick piece of parchment that reminded me of my book. It looked as old and as magical and, in the wrong hands, as dangerous.
Kali’s face glowed with triumph – never a good sign – and then carefully he slipped the page back into the envelope. “Thank you, Mr. Woods,” the man with the iceberg eyes stated almost politely as he waved the envelope about like he was casting a spell with it. “I am indebted.”
Then Kal
i glanced downwards and stared towards my corner of the room. There was no way he could really be seeing me, I told myself. I was invisible. I wasn’t even on his side of the veil. I was safely seated in my room, but that didn’t stop me squirming in my seat. I had the distinct feeling that Kali somehow felt my presence, even if he couldn’t see me. All I wanted to do was close the book and go to the bathroom where I might possibly throw up. But those cold eyes, those glowing slits of hate, mesmerized me.
“Oh yes, Mr. Woods,” Kali continued softly while staring vacantly towards me. “I am indebted to you. Finally, I can move. I assure you, it will be one Christmas we’ll never forget.”
What was with the Christmas theme? Kali didn’t exactly strike me as the holiday type. He was more into revolutions, wars and any other event that involved the worst of human nature and lots of pain, suffering and bloodbaths. Somehow Christmas trees and Santa Claus didn’t seem to match up with his personal list of favorite things.
“I’ve been waiting too long. But not much longer now.” He stroked the envelope like it was a present he couldn’t wait to open. He hissed softly, “On the twelfth stroke of midnight, the shadows will dance and time will bend to me.”
His handsome face shifted and twisted briefly into something hideous and inhuman with glowing pits for eyes and squirming shadows for a face. Then, mercifully, Kali looked away and the scene blacked out.
Chapter 5
That night, I dreamed again. It wasn’t Juna’s dream. Unfortunately, it was my dream this time, the one that starts in the clearing, you know the one: I’m searching for something in the middle of a forest in winter, snow falling in heavy gusts, a glowing key floating nearby (always out of reach, of course), the hunter approaching, his only wish to murder me. You can understand now why I prefer not to dream that particular dream. This time though, I managed to touch the key before the shadowy hunter stabbed me. At that moment, as the knife hit, the ground immediately dissolved and I fell through the tin roof of a small building and smacked the ground, almost landing on someone in the process.
The ‘someone’ woke up suddenly and gasped. Hey, I would too if someone appeared out of nowhere and almost fell on me while I was sleeping. Actually, I probably would’ve woken up screaming, but the girl didn’t seem to realize what had happened, just that she was now awake. It was dark, wherever we were, but from the little light that seeped in through cracks in the wall, I could see that the building was a rough shack, the walls made up of planks of wood.
“I wish I was dead,” the girl muttered to herself and then shook her head. “No. No, I don’t, not really, but this isn’t living.”
I always marvel when I meet someone else who also talks to herself and yes, I was relieved that she wasn’t going to kill herself. I was also confused. I’m used to that, being confused. But what was she talking about?
She pushed her torso up and leaned on one elbow, looking right through me, her face in shadows. I glanced around with her, dimly seeing the shadowy forms of other people. They all were sleeping on the hard, dirt floor, with barely enough room to roll over. There were two small windows with chicken mesh blocking the opening. Even without the mesh, there would’ve barely been enough space for an arm to reach outside. Very little air came in, and it was humid and warm. The smell of dank earth, unwashed clothes, sweating bodies and decaying plants filled the room. I wondered how I was able to feel and smell all this when I was obviously in my ghost mode, but then reminded myself that this was, as far as I knew, still a dream. Anything was possible.
“Noddy,” the girl whispered in heavily accented English to an older woman lying beside her. “Wake up. I have to tell you something.”
“Oh, Sunday, please let me sleep,” Noddy grumbled and shifted about so she lay on her back. “I’m tired.”
Sunday? What kind of a name was that, I wondered.
“The sun is soon to rise so you’ll have to get up anyways,” Sunday responded. Even as she said that, the darkness began to fade into predawn dimness. “I met the young lady who is staying in the master’s house. You know: the strange girl the villagers found in the forest.”
“Good for you.”
“She spoke to me,” Sunday continued softly. “She’s different from the others. She promised to help me escape.”
At that, Noddy twisted around and slapped a hand harshly over Sunday’s mouth. “Silence, you foolish girl,” the woman whispered fiercely. “If they hear you, you will be punished again. Was once not enough?”
Where the heck was I?
Sunday pushed Noddy’s hand away and shook her head, looking pretty defiant for someone who wanted to die or be free and possibly be punished for that. “I won’t stay here, Noddy. You were born here, so you may call this home. But it’s not mine.”
Noddy sighed deeply, as if they’d had this conversation a few too many times already. She responded in a weary voice, “You’re still young. You can adapt. If you try to escape again, you will get yourself killed or worse.”
“What can be worse than this?” Sunday exclaimed and then lowered her voice. “With her help, we can make it. I know we can. There is a road to freedom, to the North. Are you coming?”
Her face obscured by shadow, Noddy stared at her and then silently turned her back to the girl.
“Then I guess I’m on my own,” Sunday whispered, just as a door creaked open.
“Oh no,” I groaned. Standing in the doorway was Juna in her stuffy, chin-to-ankle dress. I tried to say something, to stop her from doing something that would definitely draw attention and get her into trouble. Before I could, I woke up, groaned, rolled over and fell back asleep, only to have the dream again.
I lost track of the number of times I dreamed of entering the clearing that was surrounded by fog and filled with gusts of snow. I think it was every hour. The levitating key was always just out of reach, and then there was the hunter. The shadowy form seemed to get bolder and stronger every time I dreamed.
Sometimes, I would get hold of the key and find myself trapped in the cramped, stinky shed, listening to Sunday mutter nightmares in her sleep, or I would see Juna open the door. Sometimes, the hunter got me first and I would wake up with the sensation of the dagger in my chest.
Finally, I woke up for good, the image of Juna standing in the doorway seared into my mind.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “What’s wrong with just staying out of trouble? No wonder she has a parole officer. Probably needs a whole fleet of them.”
Then again, I reminded myself, staying out of trouble wasn’t exactly in line with my new motto of jumping off the fence and getting involved.
Yeah, but this was different. She could get in really big trouble.
I rubbed my eyes and glanced towards the window. I could see a sharp glimmer of light sparkling around the edges of the curtain. It was time to get up, but I didn’t feel like it at all. Today, Shanti and I would attempt to tackle the attic. Wow, what a great way to start the holidays. I yawned and wondered if the hut and Juna helping Sunday had only been a dream. But it was pretty vivid. I could still smell the dankness of that hut.
Still, I hoped it was just a dream. I really hoped that Juna was laying low, not drawing attention to herself and waiting for her personal tornado to scoop her up and bring her home.
Yeah, not very likely.
I stared up at the ceiling, musing in order to delay the attic work. Was it too much to ask for the weird and wacky to come at me in small doses? I mean, did it have to be all or nothing? Meeting an escaped convict in the Jurassic period. Weird, red-ink message magically appearing, leading to a close (way too close) view of Kali doing his thing. Crazy dreams that aren’t even mine. And then my own nightmare. Well, at least the book was working.
I smiled and then stopped. Yeah, it was working and it was sending me to all sorts of crazy places. And all of those places involved Juna. What was with that? I gave up with the whole lazing in bed idea and got up. Boomer started barking next door, but apart
from that, the house was silent without my two younger sisters tearing around and making noise. I opened the curtain, went momentarily blind with the bright light slamming into my eyeballs, stumbled to my desk and flipped through the book.
Stay out. Christmas is getting closer.
I peered at the red-inked message. Who had written it? Why had it shown me Kali? I pulled back from the page. I didn’t want to risk touching the letters again. Not if it took me anywhere near Kali. I looked through the other pages, but all the pictures were closed: their paint looked old and faded. There was no going back right now. And I really wanted to go in. Not that I wanted to be looking up Kail’s nose again or watching him playing with his next victim. I just needed to see what trouble Juna was getting into and try to stop her. And I wanted to get back in and start searching for at least a few answers to my thousand and one questions.
Eccentric, unpredictable and irritating. No, I wasn’t referring to Juna (apart from the irritating). Fed up, I tossed the Book of History back onto my desk, slumped into my chair, rubbed my eyes wearily and wiped chin-length strands of black hair off my face. Oh, let me add “sticky hair” and “sweaty face,” because man, it may only be mid-morning, but it was already heating up. And heat and humidity does nothing to improve the mood of a disappointed teen boy. And on top of that, I hadn’t really slept the night before.
Yeah, I wasn’t feeling too enthusiastic about the morning. That’s when I remembered the date: 1860. Juna said she was stuck in 1860. I switched my computer on and ran a quick check on it.
“Typical,” I muttered as I finally found a description that made sense. “Right before the American Civil War.” Was that where Kali now was? Was the Christmas he was so looking forward to the Christmas of 1860, a few months before all hell broke loose, before the USA almost tore itself apart?
“Come on, brother,” Shanti ordered. She was standing in my doorway, looking extremely unimpressed. She tossed a plate on my desk; it held a peanut butter sandwich, my standard breakfast. “The attic isn’t getting any cooler and neither am I.”