The Temple

by Heather Marie Adkins

  She laughed, deepening the creases at the corners of her eyes. “We may be a small town, but we aren’t so far behind the times that we don’t have computers! All of our newspapers are viewable through our computer database.” Getting to her feet, she picked up a key ring from the desk and came out from behind the counter. “Come with me, I’ll show you how to use it. From what part of the States do you hail?”

  We made small talk as she led me to a small, square room off the back of the building, empty but for four computers on separate desks facing the various corners of the room. She tapped a command onto the waiting screen, and a search engine pulled up. “It’s really quite easy. Type any key words in this box. If you know the dates you’re looking for, you can search in this box.” She used one long finger, tipped with a surprisingly bright red nail, to point out the other options on the page, before leaving me to muddle through.

  Settling myself into the cushioned chair, I rolled closer to the computer and sank into what was a much too comfortable position. The exhaustion hit me. I wished for a cup of coffee, and waited ten seconds to see if it would miraculously appear, then typed in Wild Hunt under “Key Words.” I hadn’t mastered conjuring objects out of thin air, unfortunately.

  “Gad,” I murmured as it returned five hundred hits in just the past year. Sighing, I clicked on the most recent and began reading.

  It took a while, because many of the hits ended up being just passing mentions of Wild Hunt lore and the names of victims. I came up with the first seven victims of the year near an hour later, and had them printed out on the gigantic robot in the center of the room.

  I spread the seven sheets across the desk before me, scanning them for any glaring pieces of information. The same writer had penned all seven, Hilda Manning. I highlighted her name with the intention of locating her and grilling her for all she had to offer.

  There were no common denominators in the deceased persons. Various ages between ten and fifty-six, both sexes, no specific body types, all different hair, eye, and skin colors. The one thing they all had in common was a complete lack of marks or visible trauma to the body.

  Every death was attributed to the Wild Hunt, with no reference to whether an autopsy had been performed, citing the deaths to be supposed heart failure.

  I browsed back a couple years, writing down statistics as I took notice of them. A semi-pattern emerged. One death a month, at least, in Quicksilver alone, and John Mahoney, a Sergeant with the Quicksilver Police department was quoted as saying, “It’s almost as if the leader must take one per month, the same way a bill must be paid each month.”

  I rolled my eyes. This is the police?

  There was one informational article on the Wild Hunt, likening it to a game. One big bad leader who lives for the thrill of the chase. A young girl swore she heard someone outside calling her brother’s name the night he died, but it had been brushed off by law enforcement because she’d been six years old and asleep. The more time goes by, the less children are respected in this world. It’s disheartening innocent and honest creatures are written off while lying, cheating politicians have more clout than anyone.

  I printed a couple more pieces of interest, and glanced at my watch while they were sliding from the machine. It was almost noon. Enough time to pick up something to eat on the way home and get some sleep.

  Tucking my papers under an arm, I thanked Emily on my way out. She gave me a little wave and invited me to come again, the fluorescent lights glinting off her cat eye glasses.

  The deli next door was kicking with lunchtime business. I ordered a tuna melt and grabbed a bag of chips to go with it, paying with the sterling pound money I still couldn’t get used to seeing. There’s just something about crisp, green American dollars that money resembling Monopoly dollars can’t touch.

  I also tried not to be exasperated with myself for being so damn predictable in the culinary department.

  On the way to my car with bag in hand, I was lost in thoughts of the Hunt, when I ran smack in to someone on the sidewalk. My bag hit the ground, luckily keeping together at the seams, and I stumbled backwards a couple steps, regaining my balance. Even knowing I hadn’t been paying much attention, I looked up, rearing for a bite. Reigning temper is not my forte.

  She was a little thing, five foot nothing, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. She started gathering papers from the ground with a sheepish look on her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice stronger than she looked. Her shiny hazel eyes flicked up to mine and back down to her papers. I dropped to my knees to help her.

  “It’s okay, I wasn’t watching what I was doing either,” I told her, pressing a handful of papers in her arms. I swiped my bag as we stood, and she smiled shyly at me.

  “Well, have a good day!” She swept away, her long, gauzy dress swirling around her feet. I had a smile on my face when I dropped into the driver’s seat. She was one of those people, with their happy-go-lucky attitudes that could brighten a day.

  I ate my tuna melt standing over the kitchen sink and breaking off pieces for Addie. It was hard to deny her pretty face, especially when she was trying so hard to pretend she wasn’t begging. It was a little before one when I fell into bed and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  *********

  The phone startled me, its ring shrill in the silence of my apartment. Addie hissed beside me on my pillow then flopped back on her side to resume snoring. I reached for the phone on the nightstand, knocking off lotion, a book, and an empty glass. ”Yeah?”

  ”Sorry, sis, did I wake you?”

  ”Hey, Mace,” I grunted, pushing to my elbows. I wiped at my eyes, groaning at the crust that had gathered in the corners. “What’s going on?”

  “I needed to talk to you about Mom.” Her voice was worried. I glanced over at the clock, bright red numbers screaming seven o’clock, and buried my face back in my pillow with an encouraging grunt. “She ate a bowl of ice cream for lunch.”

  I burst out laughing. “Mace, it’s just ice cream. She’s probably menstrual.”

  “Vale, you know Theresa, you know she’s a health nut. Something is wrong!”

  “You’re seeing problems where there are none, babe. I bet it was soy milk ice cream with no calories. Chill out.” I cleared the sleep from my throat, and pictured a glass coming out of the cabinet, filling with water at the kitchen sink, and floating gently up over the balcony. I rose to my elbows and grabbed it out of the air, taking a long chug. “Tell me about this girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. Yet.” I could see her blushing. “I met her at work. She started a couple weeks ago as a Tarot reader in one of our rented rooms. She’s beautiful.”

  Macy worked the register at the only occult store in Frog Lick. “Well, I hope everything goes how you want it. I want to get back to sleep for a bit longer, k?”

  We said our goodbyes and I nestled down in the blankets, Addie purring at my side.

  *********

  I woke to darkness and cat fur weighing heavily on my head. Addie purred lovingly in my ear, her claws kneading my scalp in ecstasy. Mumbling incoherent curses at her, I pushed myself up on my elbows, cackling evilly as she slid from me with an angry growl.

  The sun was gone outside, but it was only twenty minutes before my alarm was set to go off at nine. I slid to a sitting position, gathering my comforter up around my shoulders while I waited for something resembling life to return to my body.

  I padded downstairs rubbing sleep from my eyes with Addie on my heels. The little red light was blinking on my answering machine. The phone must have died after I talked to my sister. I hit the play button and started pulling out things to make coffee.

  “Vale, it’s Mom. You got some mail here, I just wanted to double check your address before I posted it.”

  “Yeah, right, you just wanted a reason to call,” I muttered, leaning over my four-cup coffee maker and inhaling the heady aroma of caffeine.

  “Hello, my dear, it’s Edward. I wa
s calling to see how your first night passed. Give me a ring.”

  The first sip is always painful yet orgasmic, as it burns my tongue and brings my body to attention. I dumped a cup of kitty crunchies into Addie’s bowl and received her patented Look of Death. “You had wet stuff this morning,” I complained at her, which earned me a plaintive yowl and claws in my arm. If she weren’t the cutest little ball of fluff, I might one day launch her through a window.

  My thoughts were on the Wild Hunt theory as I shampooed my hair. I wasn’t buying a supernatural explanation for something that was surely not. I made a mental note to call and set up an appointment with the Detective in charge of the case.

  Ashamed, I chose my outfit with care, knowing in a few short hours I’d be seeing Brett again. Black bootleg jeans that looked great on my butt and a maroon fitted tee, topped off with a knee length button-up sweater and high heeled ankle boots. Items that passed for “nice” in my sadly non-girly wardrobe.

  With about fifteen minutes to spare, I sat down on the edge of my bed and hit the remote, my TV blasting to life. I scanned through a few channels, finding nothing but bad British comedy and cooking shows. I missed the clockwork comfort of the ten o’clock news, especially knowing a girl had died and nobody was making a fuss.

  Addie followed me to the door, her puffy tail swishing in exasperation. Her big yellow eyes accused me of neglect. “I’ll be back before the sun comes up,” I told her, bending down to pet her. She turned on her heel, giving me a picturesque view of her behind and no doubt as to how she felt about me leaving.

  *********

  I was right on time to the Temple. Jordan met me at the door with a sneer, passing the key ring to me. “I see you survived your first night,” he said in his hoity-toity voice. “What with your ignorance of our nightly terrors, I imagined you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

  “Imagined or hoped?” I retorted, brushing past him into the cool air of the great room. Maybe a little too hard, I thought evilly, watching him rub his shoulder gingerly after I hit him. There is much to be said for super strength.

  “The torches have been acting up again. Don’t bother lighting them, they’ll just go out.” Stepping out the door, he held out his hand, palm up, and cleared his throat. “It’s already ten o'clock. Next time, consider coming in a few minutes early.”

  Dropping my keys into his hand, I smiled sweetly. “The shift starts at ten. Eat shit and die.” I slammed the door and pulled the locks, snickering to myself, already planning ways to annoy him in the future. One of my biggest pet peeves has always been chauvinistic men. It runs in my family.

  The Temple seemed darker than usual, the only lights being the three spotlighted goddesses. I clicked across the floor in my high heels and stopped at Cerridwen, staring up into her knowing eyes. “Goddess. Good to see you.” I nodded at her, and was startled when it looked like she winked back. Looking around, I found one lone torch flickering as the culprit.

  “If that one is still lit, what the hell is he talking about?” Using the long handled grill lighter, I lit a couple of the back wall torches, making a stop in the corner to light another stick of jasmine incense. The fire light brought about another dimension to the Temple, making it feel more sacred and homier.

  I checked my email in the computer room, watching a couple funny videos Macy sent via YouTube. They were the very popular roommates playing tricks on one another type things. Good for a laugh. At ten ’til twelve, I hit the cameras and made my way to the outer door to check the locks and close the tower. I noticed that three of the five torches I’d lit were extinguished and pushing thin wisps of smoke through the air, despite that there was no noticeable breeze inside.

  I posted up on Cerridwen as I’d done the night before, tucking my legs beneath me and wrapping my sweater around closer to my body. As the wind picked up and howled outside, it grew colder around me, and I noticed with confusion that I could see my breath in the air. I help up a hand, blowing on it, and shivered.

  It must have dropped several degrees in a matter of minutes, and I had a sneaky suspicion I knew what was happening. Bracing myself for the shock that would come, no matter how prepared I was, I waited.

  She formed from the shadows, mist pulling together into a semi-transparent form. It wasn’t my first ghost, I’d seen too many in my lifetime to find it in anyway strange that an almost two thousand year old temple had spirits. It wasn’t two years ago I’d run into an old lady haunting Wal-Mart.

  Her hair reached her hips in amber colored waves, a fringe of bangs framing a sweet, heart shaped face with big blue eyes and a bow shaped mouth. She’d died in a holey pair of light washed jeans and a long sleeved shirt the color of her eyes, one crescent of flat tummy peeking beneath. When I smiled at her, she stared back in confusion.

  “You can see me?” Her voice came across strong, causing her legs to waver out of existence for a split second. It takes a lot of energy to pull a spirit together, or so I’ve been told. They put too much effort into exerting some part of their “body” and it causes discrepancies in others.

  “I’m Vale. I can see you.”

  When she ventured forward after a moment, I could almost see her legs move, but she floated well above the floor.

  We stared silently for a minute, her eyes studying my face. “You must be new. Why can you see me and the others can not?”

  Her voice had a vaguely Northern European accent. I wanted to know who she was, but I figured the nice thing to do would be answer her questions first, lest she disappear. “Yeah, I’m new. I started yesterday.” I paused, listening to a mournful howl from the outside. It had to be really loud for me to hear it so easily through the thick, stone walls of the temple. As it faded, I went on, “I can see you because it’s kind of my thing.”

  “Oh, it is one of your powers! I worked here once.” She lowered into a sitting position beside me, the bottom half of her body vanishing from sight. “I could lift ten times my body weight and run a mile in ten seconds. What else can you do, besides see dead people? You feel special, like you have a purpose here.”

  I put her age around my own, with an unusual childlike enthusiasm. I wondered what the hell she meant by saying I was special. “Quite a few things actually. I’m sort of an all-purpose gal. What’s your name?”

  “Anya.”

  “When did you die?” Confusion passed across her face, and she wavered unsteadily. “Focus on me,” I told her, catching her eye and willing her to hold her form.

  “I do not know. It was 1999, I remember.”

  “Ten years ago,” I told her thoughtfully. “What happened?”

  She shrugged, her hair waving around as if it were corporeal. “I do not know. When I try to remember, it is too fuzzy. I was here, in the Temple, when it happened. I know that is truth.”

  Interesting. I opened my mouth to question her further, but she began to fade. “Come back as soon as you can,” I told her quickly, and she nodded somberly at me before disappearing. Slowly, the atmosphere around me went back to normal and the goose bumps faded.

  The whole encounter lasted all of ten minutes, but it managed to get my mind off the strange sounds of the night. I climbed down from Cerridwen’s feet and decided to find my way around the temple.

  Four heavy wooden doors were spaced evenly apart on the back wall, behind the statues. The first one I came to was unlocked and was the size of a large walk in closet, full of racks of different colored hooded robes. It smelled like Eucalyptus, and I vaguely recalled Theresa telling me it worked like an all-natural moth ball. I fingered a bright orange robe, and it felt like silk on my skin. Probably ritualistic wear of some kind. One wall was lined with metal shelves holding various sizes of simple brown sandals, flat soled and strapped Grecian style.

  The next room held shelf upon shelf of candles, incense, matches, cauldrons, censers, ritual knives, etc. etc. etc. I thought I was back home in Frog Lick standing in my parents’ magick working room. A single bare bulb with a pul
l chain jutted out from the wall at head height, giving the room a murky, underwater look. I backed out and killed the light, closing the door behind me.

  The third door was locked, and it took me five keys before I found the right one to fit the mechanism. The room was wide and shallow, lit by the same kind of torches lining the walls of the temple. I stepped in, letting the door shut behind me, and all residual sounds from the outside disappeared. Four spotlights lit four stones, two on each side of the room. The wall sliding down either way before me was painted with a mural; various scenes of nature and the cosmos. I laid my hand to the paint and opened my mind, letting the images flow into my hand like water in a pipe. The mural was only about twenty years old and had been painted by a few of the temple employees. A simple circle of shiny copper was inlaid in the middle of the floor—a ritual working room.

  Upon closer inspection, the stones were actually pieces of what appeared to be an original goddess statue. I pressed a palm to one and found it was so old I couldn’t pinpoint a date. It was well worn, gray stone with no discernible facial features, clothing, or distinguishing marks. I was intrigued, and made a mental note to ask someone about it.

  The fourth door was locked and not a single one of the keys on my ring fit it. It was the red door, the one Jordan had said was off-limits.

  The bathroom was beside the office on the West wall of the temple. It was a lavish affair complete with a shower and Jacuzzi tub. The floors were cream marble, the porcelain peach colored, and it was warm like the office. I found a separate thermostat for the room on the wall next to the door.

  Pausing at the jasmine altar outside the bath, I lit a new stick and wafted it, smiling as the smell hit my senses. Before I went in the office, I laid a hand on a big block of stone in the wall, getting that same sense of agelessness I got from the goddess statue. Moving my hand up a couple inches, I slid over the rough wood of a beam. Forty years old. Probably renovated at the same time as the Connemara columns. Edward had mentioned something about the structure being compromised. My intuition buzzed and I filed it away for my next trip to the library.