Sylvie

by Stacy Galloway

  She threw herself into his arms again, “Oh thank you kind sir, yes, I live just down the road, and I would be honored for you to walk me home,” she hooked her arm through his and started leading him towards the river.

  He stumbled a bit during the walk and they made small talk. He pulled out his pocket watch and showed it off as his most treasured item. Sylvie pretended to be impressed. She confided to him how alone she was and she sure appreciated his company. She made sure to rub against him and by the time they reached the bridge, it was apparent that he thought he could spend the night with her.

  “My house is just over that bridge,” Sylvie pointed, “and I want to thank you for saving me from walking alone,” she batted her eyes at him, “I have a surprise for you, but I’m shy and I don’t want you to look,” she rubbed her hand up and down his arm and leaned into him.

  “I’ll close my eyes!” he exclaimed giddily and clapped his hand over his eyes.

  “No, I’ve got a better idea,” said Sylvie, picking up the handkerchief.

  The man peered blearily at the handkerchief and looked at Sylvie.

  Sylvie took off her cloak. She reached her hand up to her high collared blouse and coyly undid the top three buttons.

  “It’s a surprise, and I want to give you a special thank you, but I can’t do it while you watch,” she said looking down and undoing another button.

  She looked up at him and batted her eyes.

  His eyes widened. He looked down at her unbuttoned blouse. He smiled.

  “Blindfold away!” He said joyously.

  “You’ll need to sit down,” she said. And he sat.

  Sylvie tied the blindfold around his eyes. She grabbed his hand, pressed it on her breast. She reached with her other hand and grabbed the axe.

  She let go of his hand and said, “Just a few more seconds!” She walked around behind him, turned the axe on its flat side and hit him on the head. The blow knocked him out cold.

  She straightened out his left arm, turned the axe to its blade side and with a vicious blow, cut off his hand at the wrist.

  He bolted upright from the pain. He grabbed his arm and screamed. The handkerchief skewed over one eye while he looked frantically at his bleeding arm. He panicked and tried to stand up, lost his footing and fell down, he scrabbled towards the river, screaming and cursing. Sylvie followed behind. He got to the river, turned, saw Sylvie and reached out to her for help. She raised the axe and swung it down. With a satisfying crunch, it buried in his skull. Sylvie bent down to watch his eyes. Pain turned to shock and glazed in death.

  Sylvie yanked the axe out and dragged his body to the middle of the bridge. She tied one end of the rope around his waist and bound a small boulder tight against his body. With a mighty shove they both went over the edge, splashing and sinking into the dark river. She put on her cloak, picked up her axe and his hand and walked towards the shack.

  The knotted clump of trees came into view, and before Sylvie could call out, the door opened with a loud KABOOM. Sylvie marched up the steps and walked through the black doorway.

  The room was ablaze with light. Candles burned and sputtered on every surface. Two mining lanterns hung on either side of the Rumilure Mine doorway. Even this extra light did not penetrate the thick blackness in the mine. The shack was quiet except for the sputtering and spitting of the burning candles.

  A cauldron bubbled, spewing red smoke and the smell of rotting flesh. A large moldy book sat on the rickety table next to a wooden box. A red light flickered on top of the box. Sylvie looked closer. It was an elaborate ruby red ring, set in a scrollwork of gold. Sylvie picked it up and slid it on her finger. The ring fit perfectly. She admired how the ruby gleamed and seemed to burn rather than reflect the light.

  She expected Zozo to leap out at her, but there was no sign of him or of the hag. Sylvie set the axe and the bloody hand on the table next to the book. She walked over to the cauldron and looked in at the thick bubbling rotten yellow liquid. The stench was too strong to stand there for long, so she made her way to the black Rumilure Mine door. She grabbed one of the lanterns and thrust it into the darkness. Like being thrust in mud, the lantern and part of her arm disappeared into the cold blackness. A split second later, she felt the stinging of a thousand hornets over and over on her buried arm. She yanked her arm out, sure that it was covered in welts. The lantern was dead. She inspected her stinging arm, but saw no sign of injury. Furious, she threw the lantern at the wall. It shattered sending glass and metal fragments in all directions. She rubbed her arm and looked at the table.

  The hand was lying in a small pool of blood which had oozed underneath the wooden box. The moldy book pulsed with a life of its own. She sat down and pulled the book towards her.

  Its soft cover was slug-like and slimy. Pulling it was like pulling a worm out of mud. It stretched, popped, and oozed back into its original shape. Sylvie watched it settle and pulse. Finally, she grabbed the cover. It gave in to her hand like the skin of a rotten corpse. She thought her hand might break through and be plunged into something akin to rotting flesh, but the book cover held. She opened it, revealing a murky page of elaborate diagrams. Next to the diagrams were triangles filled with words. Sylvie tried to read the words but they were made up of W’s, M’s, V’s, and S’s. There were no other letters. It appeared to be some sort of code. She scrutinized it looking for a pattern.

  “That is the key to a treasure!” screeched a voice behind her.

  Sylvie jumped and turned. The hag was inches from her face. The hag pointed her bony finger at the page, “This is the key!” She exclaimed. She moved her hand and tapped the wooden box. “That is a treasure!” She said, tapping it again. She rubbed her hands together, “It is-

  Wandered in the Night

  “Sylvie how are you feeling?”

  Bridgette jerked- startled away from the hag and Sylvie. She looked up at Nettie’s concerned face. She’d been so absorbed in Sylvie’s story that she hadn’t even heard Nettie come in. The room had darkened. Two candles flickered on the mantle and another flickered on the little table next to her. Sitting next to the candle was a glass of something yellow, Bridgette suspected it was lemonade.

  She looked back up at Nettie’s kind face, “I feel-.”

  And a coughing fit erupted from deep in her lungs. She doubled over gasping for breath, she sucked for more air, and another coughing fit violently shook her body. It triggered her gag reflex and she grasped her loose nightgown and covered her mouth. Another violent rack of coughing exploded out of her along with a thick mucus. Finally, the cough subsided a bit and she was able to breathe again. She pulled away her nightgown to see it covered in a dark green goo and blood.

  “Oh, dear,” said Nettie sadly, “Here let me help you to your room to change.”

  She gently wrapped her arms around Bridgette and helped her stand up. Nettie guided her to Sylvie’s bedroom and closed the door. She quickly lit a few candles, opened up the wardrobe and plucked another nightgown from its hanger.

  “Here, dear,” she said setting the nightgown on the bed, “do you need help changing?”

  Bridgette shook her head.

  “Then I’ll give you a few minutes and bring you some dinner,” Nettie said. She walked out the door and closed it gently behind her.

  Bridgette looked down at the bloody nightgown. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she sat on the bed. In the faint candlelight she could see Sylvie’s reflection in the mirror. Dark, tousled hair surrounded a pale face. From this distance the light gray eyes were white. Bridgette shuddered at the image and looked away. Underneath the mirror, the gaudy jewelry twinkled and flashed in the candlelight. Sylvie’s portraits stared mockingly. The dark room felt bloated, suffocating, and unwelcome. There was no way Bridgette would be able to sleep there tonight- or ever again. She was already in a nightmare. She didn’t need to create any more by sleeping in its room. She carefully stood up and changed out of the bloody nightgown.

  She
opened the door. Nettie was walking towards her holding a tray filled with food.

  “Nettie, I don’t want to be a bother, but…” Bridgette trailed off, unsure of how to word her request.

  “What is it dear?” Said Nettie concerned.

  “I can’t…. I want to…” a cough interrupted Bridgette. She gestured towards Molly’s room and the coughing died down.

  “Oh, my dear, you would like to stay in Molly’s room?” Nettie paused thinking and then her face brightened, “I think that’s a fine idea. Let’s get you settled in there.”

  Nettie turned and bustled down the hallway.

  Within minutes, Nettie had moved rocking chairs, small tables, and candles into Molly’s room. Next, she tucked Bridgette into the bed, set a lit candle on the nearby table, followed by both the red journal and the brown journal. Last, she set a dinner tray on Bridgette’s lap.

  “There now,” said Nettie, pleased with her work, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  Bridgette shook her head slowly no. She had a lump in her throat. She looked up at Nettie and said, “Nettie, I can’t thank you enough, you’re much too kind.”

  Nettie’s eyes filled with tears, she smiled and said gently, “I wish I could do more. I vowed my sister I would help her dear son Richard before she passed. He was a fine young man, and then when he married you, dear, I…” She paused, “Well, I didn’t think you needed or wanted my help. But that’s all in the past now. And now that Richard,” She choked up, “and Molly are… gone, I want to do what I can to help,” she trailed off into a whisper, “I feel like I could have done more while they were here,” she finished, tears running down her cheeks.

  Bridgette’s eyes filled with tears as she watched Nettie’s anguish, “Nettie, there’s nothing anyone could have done,” There was no doubt that Sylvie hated Nettie and would have refused all offers to help. Her tears flowed freely now, “You’re an angel. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  Nettie dabbed her face with her apron, “Oh look at me, crying and keeping you from your dinner. Eat now, dear, and take some more medicine. We want you to get better,” Nettie turned to the door, paused, looked back, smiled and said, “Thank you.” She left the room still dabbing at her eyes.

  Bridgette looked down at her dinner. The steaming bowl of soup smelled delicious. Next to it was a large sandwich and a glass of lemonade. Bridgette dipped her spoon into the soup and took a bite. It was the chicken stew Nettie had been promising and it was wonderful. The warm soup was comforting and Bridgette ate most of it. She took a few sips of the lemonade. The now familiar medicine bottle was standing there next to a fresh spoon. Bridgette uncorked it, poured some onto the spoon and swallowed it.

  Bridgette placed the tray on the table and picked up both books. She smiled and flipped through Molly’s happy pictures. There weren’t many, maybe ten or so. Bridgette stopped at what seemed to be the last picture in the book. It was a pure black scribble that started at the top of the page and slashed its way to the bottom. ‘Mommy’ was written underneath. That poor, poor little girl. Bridgette shuddered with sadness and gently closed Molly’s book. She set Molly’s book on the table and glared at the repulsive red journal. She promised herself that no matter what, once she found an answer and the way home she would never, ever have to open the awful thing again. Grudgingly, she opened it and started reading

  Looking for a Key

  “That is the key to a treasure!” screeched a voice behind her.

  Sylvie jumped and turned. The hag was inches from her face. The hag pointed her bony finger at the page, “This is the key!” She exclaimed. She moved her hand and tapped the wooden box. “That is a treasure!” She said, tapping it again. She rubbed her hands together, “It is the secret of…” She leaned to Sylvie and whispered reverently, “Locum Tenens.”

  Sylvie waited. During her last visit, the knowledge of the hand of glory came to her naturally. She waited expecting the same for Locum Tenens. The knowledge was there, bubbling just below the surface. It writhed in her mind and just when she thought she could pluck it out, it escaped and dived beneath the dark surface.

  Sylvie stood and grabbed the old hag. The ruby ring glittered, flashing red streaks around the room. Sylvie pulled the hag towards her.

  “Tell me,” she hissed, “Tell me about Locum Tenens you old bitch!” and she shoved the hag into the chair.

  Zozo’s roar filled the room and Sylvie was knocked flat on the floor. She felt Zozo’s claws kneading her back, his fetid breath on her neck. His immense weight pinned her down and she couldn’t move.

  “If you’re going to eat her then get it over with,” said the hag, “I’ve got things to do after I pick up her bones.”

  Sylvie heard a shuffling sound. She felt the points of Zozo’s teeth on both sides of her neck. She wiggled and suddenly the weight was gone. She jumped up, looking for Zozo and expected him to attack her again. He was nowhere to be found. She looked at the black mine shaft, but didn’t see his crimson eyes glowing in there.

  The hag calmly stirred the bubbling brew in the cauldron. She shuffled to the table and sat down. “Sit,” she ordered. Sylvie sat.

  The hag tapped the moldy soft book, “this is the book of ‘All’,” she said, “It can only be read by the light of a hand of glory.”

  She grabbed the severed hand and flipped it palm side up. She picked up a burning candle, tipped it and poured the wax into the palm. Then, she stuck the bottom of the candle into the palm making it a macabre candle holder.

  “Pick it up,” she said pointing to the hand, “and look at the book.”

  Sylvie picked up the hand and held it over the book. The V’s, M’s, W’s, and S’s dissolved and formed words. She could make out words like ‘dirt’ and ‘moon’. She looked up at the hag who nodded.

  “It reveals the secrets, it is the All. The book of All has existed for thousands of years. It lies hidden, deep in the bowels of the earth. It is indestructible, it disappears for centuries, and appears wherever it wants to.”

  “And it unlocks treasures like this,” she pointed to the wooden box and whispered, “Locum Tenens, a spell for immortality.”

  The hag stood, took the hand of glory from Sylvie, and held it above the book of All, “Move it in a triangle,” she said, and began moving the hand of glory in a triangular motion above the book.

  She held her other hand out, and said, “Locum Tenens.”

  The book bulged, a quivering page rose up, and landed with a loud, heavy, wet, flap sound. The next page did the same thing and so did the next and the next. Flap, flap, flap. And then the pages stopped. The hag looked down at the book and Sylvie leaned in to see. ‘Locum Tenens’ was written at the top.

  The hag handed Sylvie the hand, and picked up the wooden box.

  “That,” she said pointing to the page in the book of All, “will tell us how to open this,” she said wiggling the box.

  “A spell for immortality is locked in a wooden box?” Sylvie looked warily at the box.

  The hag laughed and set the box on the table, “This is not a box. It is a book. Once opened it reveals the secret of Locum Tenens.”

  Sylvie peered closely at the book. ‘Locum Tenens, ye to he and he to ye’ was burned into the cover. The sides were smooth with no indication of pages.

  The hag looked at the book of All. She muttered a few words to herself, nodded and picked up the hand of glory.

  She held it up above the book of Locum Tenens. With her other hand, she traced a triangle and a circle in the air.

  She held out both arms and chanted words. Ancient words full of sharp sounds and uneven rhythm. Words that shouldn’t exist, yet did. As she finished the arcane chant, the room grew still, heavy and cold. Waiting.

  The hag dropped her arms and stared at the book.

  Slowly, she raised the hand of glory and said, “Locum Tenens reveal.”

  The top snapped open.

  Sylvie and the hag stared at the now open Locum Tenens
book. It revealed a wooden page with a single word burned into it. The word was ‘Number’.

  The hag scurried over to the mantle, grabbed a knife, and hurried back to the table. ‘Martin Johnson’ was engraved on the blade.

  The hag carved ‘100’ underneath the word ‘number’.

  She stepped back.

  The wooden page rose in the air and snapped down on the first one.

  Sylvie and the hag leaned in. A list of words was burned into the wood. ‘Black obsidian, six candles, hand of glory, a perpetual eye to see all’

  The hag looked at Sylvie, “And that is how it begins. Collect those items and Locum Tenens will reveal the next step.”

  “And live forever?” asked Sylvie.

  “No, human bodies die. All living things must die. Locum Tenens moves your essence, your awareness, your spiritual body, into another body and another time.”

  Sylvie was silent. The possibilities were endless.

  She looked at the hag, “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I need your help.”

  Sylvie looked around the shack. The candles flickered. The cauldron bubbled and spewed its rotten odor. The mine shaft was quiet.

  “You must teach me everything you know.”

  “I will,” replied the hag.

  But Sylvie knew she was lying. It didn’t matter because Sylvie was lying too.

  “Keep the ring, but you cannot sell it,” said the hag waving towards Sylvie’s hand, “it belongs to the mine and it will return there.”

  The hag pointed to the mine, “There is more where that came from, and you will gain another piece every time you come.”

  The hag walked towards Sylvie and held out her hand, “is it a deal?”

  Sylvie shook the hag’s hand, “it’s a deal.” And this time they were both telling the truth.

  It Gets Worse

  Bridgette gasped and Nettie looked up from her knitting, “Is everything all right, dear?”