Ancient Forces Collection

by Bill Myers

  But sometimes that faith . . . well, sometimes it allowed Scott to feel things. Deep things.

  Like now.

  As he and Darryl entered the hallway, Scott brushed against a large hoop decorated with what looked like eagle feathers. He ducked to the side only to run smack-dab into a set of wooden wind chimes. They clanked and clanged noisily. Lately, Scott hadn’t been the most graceful of persons. It probably had something to do with growing two inches in the last three months. He was still shorter than Becka — a fact she brought up to him on a regular basis — but he was gaining on her by the week.

  As they continued down the hall, Scott noticed a number of trinkets and lockets hanging on the wall. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but they looked strangely familiar.

  Then he noticed something else. Frowning, he glanced around. Was it his imagination, or was it getting colder? There were no windows, open or otherwise, anywhere close by.

  Something inside him began to whisper, “Stop. . . . Turn around. . . . Go back. . . .”

  But why? Nothing was wrong. It was just a hallway. Just a bookshop.

  “Here we go.” Darryl gave a loud sniff as he slowed in front of the last door. He smiled, pushed up his glasses, and knocked lightly.

  No answer.

  “Well, it doesn’t look like anybody’s home,” Scott said, his voice cracking in gratitude. “I guess we’d better — ”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Darryl said, reaching for the knob. “They always meet on Fridays.”

  Cautiously, he pushed the door open.

  It was pitch-black inside. Well, except for the dozen or so candles burning around a table. And the faces illuminated by the candles. Faces Scott had seen at school. They were all staring intently at something on the table. Scott squinted in the darkness, making out some kind of board game with a bunch of letters and symbols on it. Two of the kids had their hands on a little plastic pointer that was moving back and forth across the board.

  “What’s that?” Scott whispered.

  “What do you think it is?” Darryl whispered back. “It’s a Ouija board.”

  “A what?”

  “You use it to spell out words. You know, it tells you about the future and stuff.”

  Scott looked at him skeptically.

  “No kidding,” Darryl squeaked. Scott grimaced. Even when the guy whispered his voice sounded like a rusty hinge. Darryl continued, watching the others. “The pointer moves to those letters on the board, spelling out answers to anything you ask.”

  “No way,” Scott scorned. As far as he could tell, the pointer moved on the board because it was pushed by the two kids whose hands were on it: a big, meaty fellow in a tank top and a chubby girl dressed all in black. “Those two, they’re the ones moving it.”

  Darryl didn’t answer. He just sniffed and stepped into the room. Scott wasn’t crazy about following, but he walked in after him.

  And — just like that — the plastic pointer stopped. One minute the little pointer was scooting around the board, spelling out words. The next, it came to a complete stop.

  “Hey,” a pretty girl complained, pushing her long red hair back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” the meaty guy answered. He turned to his partner, the girl in black. “Are you stopping it?”

  “Not me,” she said. And then, slowly turning her head toward the door, she nailed Scott with an icy look. “It’s him.”

  Every eye in the room turned to Scott.

  He raised his hand. “Hi there,” he croaked, trying to smile.

  Nobody smiled back.

  “Ask it,” the redhead demanded. “Ask it if he’s the reason it’s not answering.”

  “Yeah,” the meaty guy agreed.

  The girl in black tilted back her head and closed her eyes. Her hair was short and jet black — an obvious dye job. “Please show us,” she said more dramatically than Scott thought necessary. “Show us the reason for your silence.”

  Everyone turned to the plastic pointer. Waiting. Watching.

  Nothing happened.

  Scott tried to swallow, but at the moment, there wasn’t much left in his mouth to swallow.

  Suddenly the pointer started moving. Faster than before. In fact, both the girl and the meaty guy looked down in surprise as it darted from letter to letter, barely pausing at one before shooting to the next. In a matter of seconds it had spelled out:

  D-E-A-T-H

  Then it stopped. Abruptly.

  Everyone waited in silence. Afraid to move. Afraid to break the spell.

  The girl in black cleared her throat and spoke again. But this time, a little less confidently. “What do you mean? What death?”

  There was no movement. No answer.

  Scott shifted slightly. He felt the chill again, but this time it was more real. It had substance. Suddenly he knew that there was something there, in the room . . . something cold and physical had actually brushed against him. He was sure of it.

  Again the girl spoke. “What death? Is someone going to die? Whose death?”

  No movement. More silence.

  And then, just when Scott was about to say something really clever to break the tension and show everyone how silly this was, the plastic pointer zipped across the board and shot off the table.

  “Look out!” Darryl cried.

  Scott jumped aside, and the pointer hit the floor, barely missing his feet. He threw a look at the girl in black, certain she had flung it across the table at him.

  But the expression on her face said she was just as surprised as him.

  Or was she?

  “You okay?” Julie Mitchell asked as she toweled off her thick blonde hair and approached Rebecca’s gym locker.

  “Sure.” Rebecca winced while pulling her jeans up over her skinned knees. “Nothing a brain transplant couldn’t fix.”

  It had been nearly an hour since her little crash-and-burn routine on the track. Of course, everyone had gathered around her, making a big deal of the whole thing, and, of course, she wanted to melt into the track and disappear. But that was an hour ago. Yesterday’s news. Now most of the girls had hit the showers and were heading home.

  But not Julie. It was like she purposely hung back. Becka glanced at her curiously. There was something friendly about Julie, something caring. Becka had liked her immediately . . . even though Julie was one of the best-looking kids in school.

  “The team really needs you,” Julie offered.

  “As what? Their mascot?”

  Julie grinned. She tossed her hair back and reached over to slip on a top-of-the-line, money’s-no-object, designer T-shirt. “Seriously,” she said, “I’m the only long-distance runner we’ve got. Royal High has three killers that bumped me out of State last year. But if you work and learn to concentrate, the two of us might give them a run for their money. You’ve got the endurance. And I’ve never seen anyone with such a great end sprint.”

  “Or such klutziness.”

  Julie shrugged. “You’ve got a point there,” she teased.

  Becka felt herself smiling back.

  “Anybody can learn form and style,” Julie continued. “That’s what coaches are for. And if you add that to your sprint, we just might be able to knock Royal out of State.” She rummaged in her gym basket, then bit her lip and frowned. “Shoot . . . don’t tell me I’ve lost it.”

  Becka rubbed a towel through her hair, then sighed. Her hair was mousy brown and would dry three times faster than Julie’s. The reason was simple: Becka’s hair was three times thinner. Yes sir, just another one of life’s little jokes with Becka as the punch line.

  Julie’s search through her basket grew more urgent.

  “What are you looking for?” Becka asked.

  “My pouch . . .” There was definite concern in her voice as she continued pawing through her clothes.

  “Pouch?”

  “My good luck charm.”

  Becka wasn’t sure what Julie meant, but she gave a quick scan
along the bench.

  “I just hope nobody stole it,” Julie said.

  Becka spotted something under the bench. It was partially covered by towels. She reached for it and picked up a small leather bag with rocks or sand or something inside. A leather string was attached at the top so it could be worn as a necklace.

  “Is this it?” Becka asked.

  Julie relaxed. “Yeah. Great.” She took it and slipped it around her neck.

  Becka watched, fighting back a wave of uneasiness. She tried to sound casual as she asked, “So, what’s in it?”

  “I don’t know.” Julie shrugged. “Some turquoise, some powders, herbs — that sort of stuff. The Ascension Lady puts them together for us — you know, for good luck.”

  “ ‘Ascension Lady’?” Becka asked.

  “Yeah,” Julie fingered the little pouch. “’Course I don’t believe in any of that stuff. But with the district preliminaries coming up, it doesn’t hurt to play the odds, right?”

  Becka’s mind raced. She wanted to ask lots more about the pouch and this Ascension Lady, but Julie didn’t give her the chance.

  “Listen, we’ll see you Monday,” she said grabbing her backpack. “And don’t be bummed, you did fine. Besides,” she threw a mischievous grin over her shoulder, “we can always use a good mascot.”

  Becka forced a smile.

  “See ya.” Julie disappeared around the row of lockers and pushed open the big double doors. They slammed shut behind her with a loud click, boooom.

  Becka didn’t move. She sat, all alone . . . just her and the dripping showers.

  Her smile had already faded. Not because of the pain in her knees or even because of the memories of her fall.

  It was because of the pouch. She’d seen pouches like that before. In South America. But they weren’t worn by pretty, rich, athletic teenagers who wanted to go to State track championships.

  They were worn by witch doctors who worshiped demons.

  About the Publisher

  Founded in 1931, Grand Rapids, Michigan-based Zondervan, a division of HarperCollinsPublishers, is the leading international Christian communications company, producing best-selling Bibles, books, new media products, a growing line of gift products and award-winning children’s products. The world’s largest Bible publisher, Zondervan (www.zondervan.com) holds exclusive publishing rights to the New International Version of the Bible and has distributed more than 150 million copies worldwide. It is also one of the top Christian publishers in the world, selling its award-winning books through Christian retailers, general market bookstores, mass merchandisers, specialty retailers, and the Internet. Zondervan has received a total of 68 Gold Medallion awards for its books, more than any other publisher.

  Share Your Thoughts

  With the Author: Your comments will be forwarded to

  the author when you send them to zauthor@zondervan.com.

  With Zondervan: Submit your review of this book

  by writing to zreview@zondervan.com.

  Free Online Resources at

  www.zondervan.com/hello

  Zondervan AuthorTracker: Be notified whenever your favorite authors publish new books, go on tour, or post an update about what’s happening in their lives.

  Daily Bible Verses and Devotions: Enrich your life with daily Bible verses or devotions that help you start every morning focused on God.

  Free Email Publications: Sign up for newsletters on fiction, Christian living, church ministry, parenting, and more.

  Zondervan Bible Search: Find and compare Bible passages in a variety of translations at www.zondervanbiblesearch.com.

  Other Benefits: Register yourself to receive online benefits like coupons and special offers, or to participate in research.