Tom said, “Is there a third book?”
Kevin nodded, flipped the box over and pointed to the words ‘Locum Tenens’.
“You think the third book is in that box?”
Kevin shook his head no. His eyes danced with excitement and he said reverently, “This is the third book.”
“What?” said Tom looking suspiciously at the box, “Here let me see.”
Kevin reluctantly handed it over to Tom.
Tom looked carefully at the words burned into the lid. He peered at the smooth sides. There were no marks and no signs of pages. He flipped the box around. He held it to his ear and shook it, but it didn’t make any noise. He set it on the table and rapped it with his knuckles. The noise was dull and heavy. It sounded solid.
Kevin said, “Throughout the ages there have been many mystical books and scrolls created. Some contained magic formulae. Some contained dark, arcane secrets. All have been fought over. Many thousands have died trying to obtain them. Over the years, the books have been collected and contained. Primarily to keep their mystical secrets out of the wrong hands. Their hidden knowledge contains great power. Legends persist that these powerful books are scattered throughout our world.”
“That, my friend” Said Kevin pointing to Locum Tenens, “Is one of those books.”
Tom stared at the book.
“It takes magic to even open this book. There are mysterious books that exist only to unlock books such as these,” Kevin explained, “And once opened, they’re personalized. They adapt to you so to speak. That is IF you are worthy of performing the hex or spell or whatever you are trying to do. So, even if someone does get it open, the book may be blank and they won’t be able to do anything at all.”
Tom looked skeptical.
“So, you’re telling me that this is a magic book? Even though it doesn’t look like a book?”
Kevin nodded.
“Is this is the book that did the spell to my wife?”
Kevin shook his head, “No, not the book. Sylvie did the spell to your wife. But apparently the book thought she was worthy enough to perform the spell.”
It was Tom’s turn to shake his head, “Worthy enough…” He muttered.
He looked at Kevin, “How do you know all this?”
Kevin raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you study this stuff.”
Kevin nodded and explained, “It’s fascinating. The legends associated with Locum Tenens are phenomenal. Do you know that some say Rasputin actually had this book? He was a legendary mystic. And Marie Laveau, the great voodoo queen was said to have used it as she grew close to death. Legends say that you gain power every time you complete Locum Tenens. So the more you mess with it, the more powerful you become.”
“Powerful as in magic powers?” Asked Tom flipping the book around.
“More like knowledge. Like knowing where the other books are hidden. Or knowing how to find hidden magical places. It’s like levels in a game. You need one level to go onto the next. If you’re on the sixth level you can do more than someone on the first level.”
“Except it’s real life and people get killed along the way.”
Kevin nodded, “Yeah, that’s about right.”
Kevin held his hands out and Tom handed him the book. Kevin flipped it over and pointed to ‘Mutatis Mutandis’.
“This is incredible. If you open the book from the Locum Tenens side you travel to the future. But if you open it from the Mutatis Mutandis side you travel to the past. It’s an amazing book. Once it’s opened its pages are like thin pieces of wood. Each page describes an ingredient or step to the spell. Somehow the book knows once you’ve successfully completed a step. It then turns to the next page and reveals the next step. Truly amazing. I wish I knew the chant to open it.”
Tom asked, “So, Locum Tenens to go forward and Mutatis Mutandis to go backwards. I’m going to go back and get Bridgette, what do I do?”
Kevin shrugged, “Like I said, there are other books to tell us how to open it. Supposedly, they are hidden all over the world.”
“Where?”
Kevin shook his head, “Look, I wish I knew.”
He looked at the book of Locum Tenens, “How did Bridgette get this?”
Tom said, “Her note didn’t say, but she did say Sylvie would want it.”
Kevin looked at the book, “I imagine she would.” He wrinkled his brow in thought.
Tom grew impatient, “So, how do we open this book?”
Kevin shrugged, “We could search the internet.”
It sounded absurd. But why not give it a try? Technology versus ancient thousand year old magic. Tom strongly suspected technology would lose, but maybe it could yield some answers before its final death rattle. Tom smiled at the melodramatic thought.
Kevin left the room to get his laptop.
Tom studied the Locum Tenens book. He waved his hands over it and said, “Abracadabra.”
Nothing happened.
“Open sesame!” He said.
The book was silent.
“Hocus pocus,” He intoned.
Nothing.
He wiggled his fingers over the book, “Alla peanut butter sandwiches.”
“Alakazam!” Said Kevin as he set down the laptop.
Tom settled back as Kevin typed ‘locum tenens’ and pushed enter.
Despite the power of the mighty web search, Tom and Kevin found little more than what they already knew. And if there was a way to open the book, no one had put the answer on the Internet.
There were websites of naysayers who insisted the book was an urban legend. They said it was created out of someone’s imagination like the fictional Necronomicon.
Kevin tapped the book gleefully, “Well, they’re wrong. It’s right here.”
“Now what?” He asked Kevin.
Kevin typed ‘Kranburg’ and said, “I’m going to look into local history and see if anything pops up. We also need to learn everything we can about Sylvie Sterling.”
Tom flipped through the brown journal. Bridgette’s face loomed in his mind. He hoped one of the books had the answer. “I’ll read the journals.”
Kevin looked at him, pushed his glasses, and nodded.
“We’ll compare notes and see what we come up with.” Said Kevin as he hit enter.
Tom took another swig of whiskey and opened the brown journal.
Dearest Tom,
If you’re reading this then I trust you are somewhere safe. If you haven’t read my letter then GET OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW! The woman who’s there is not me. SHE WILL KILL YOU! LEAVE NOW! SHE HAS KILLED BEFORE AND SHE WILL KILL AGAIN! LEAVE!
Ok, so now I’ll assume you are out of the house and safe. I do not want to talk about Sylvie. Read the red journal. You’ll learn more about her than you ever wanted to know.
I’m lying in bed as I write this and I wish more than anything that you were here lying next to me. Remember our pillow talk? How we talk about our day while we’re in bed? That’s what I want right now. I want to hear your voice as you tell me about your day. I want to hear that you’re safe and sound. I want to hear that you promise to keep yourself safe. Will you do that for me, Tom? Promise you’ll stay safe?
Well, I imagine it’s time for me to tell you about my day. But let’s back up a minute and I’ll tell you about my day starting on June 19th.
My migraine was horrible and I thought I was getting the flu. You were so sweet and understanding. You kissed my forehead and told me to get better. The last thing you said to me was, “I love you Bridgey” and you know that always makes me smile. I said “I love you too” but I don’t know if you heard me or not. I hope you did.
Tom thought back to the morning. He remembered hearing Bridgette mumble ‘I love you too’, as he walked out to the yard. He wished now that he would have turned and swept her in his arms.
So, when I woke up from my nap I was 100 years in the past. At first, I didn’t know what was happening. I thought I was having a dre
am. Nettie and Floyd Hartman, they’re the neighbors- you know, where Ellen and Earl live, well Nettie and Floyd came over worried. They called me Sylvie.
Then I realized something was terribly wrong. And it got worse when I saw myself in a mirror. Oh my goodness, Tom, if you haven’t seen a picture of Sylvie then you don’t want to. She’s pretty. She’s beautiful in fact. But in a demonic dangerous beautiful way. If that makes sense. Her eyes are so light they look white. Remember how we talked about that? How in some black and white pictures some people have eyes so light they look white? Well, Sylvie’s are like that in real life.
Tom, I got scared. I didn’t know what to do, but there was this red book that I had pulled out of the fireplace. And there was this partially eaten apple on the floor. I read the last page of the book and it said something about ‘eating the apple and leaving this useless ill body behind’. I decided to try it myself. I mean if it worked for Sylvie then why not for me?
I bit the apple, Tom, and it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted. Remember when we tried that fish at that street party in Chicago? And we thought it was broiled but it was raw and gushy and fishy tasting? Well, the apple was like that but ten times worse and it had this horrible rotting smell too.
But something happened. The floor opened up and I was in darkness then I was in light and I saw you, tom! I thought it worked. I thought I was at home. I tried to talk to you to hug you and to tell you I love you but something went wrong. I was yanked back into the dark and ended up back in this disgusting body.
Nettie is an angel, Tom. She’s the only reason I haven’t gone crazy. I think I would have ended up in an insane asylum, for real, if it wasn’t for her.
I’m sick, but don’t worry, I only tell you that because it’s hard to keep my train of thought.
Clarence Tilley came and gave me the angel. It was our angel, Tom! That’s when I got the idea to put the books in the box and bury them under the angel. I’d hope you find them.
But I made a mistake. The angel is in the yard, but the box isn’t buried under it. Tomorrow, when I feel better, I’ll bury the box in the yard.
Doc Hawkes gave me medicine and you know what? It’s in one of those bottles that Kevin showed us. They really are medicine bottles.
Molly’s room is pretty. I’m getting tired, so
I crawled into the cellar and dug up the Locum Tenens. Something was there.
The portrait was scary so I laid it down
Beth doesn’t like me but she thinks I’m Sylvie so that’s ok
Maybe we should get a dog. Ole Duke is
Tom, things are blurry. I’m so tired. Please don’t worry.
I love you, Tom
Bridgette
Halfway through the entry Bridgette’s writing started to get larger. Some words trailed off into squiggles. Tom’s tears blurred the last lines. He wiped his eyes and re-read it. She was apparently very ill, and according to the news article, she’d died three days after Sylvie’s switch. Tom’s anger surged. If there was any way, any way at all, he would find it. He would find a way to rescue Bridgette. He looked at his watch. It was still June 19th, and this had to be the longest day in history.
Longing to hold her again, he pulled the letter out of his pocket. He re-read it before setting it carefully in the front of the brown journal. Kevin glanced at him, pushed his glasses up, looked back at the laptop and started typing. Tom set the brown journal on the table and picked up the red one.
Sylvie Sterling
Her Joyful Life
Written By: Sylvie, the Most Beautiful Woman in the World
Tom rolled his eyes as he read Sylvie’s proclamation. She crowned herself the most beautiful woman in the world. Too bad she didn’t take a vote. She would have lost by a landslide. He took a deep breath and started to read.
Sometime during the afternoon, Kevin had gone to the kitchen and brought back some cold pizza setting it on the coffee table. Tom had slowly chewed his way through two pieces while he read Sylvie’s depraved journal. He turned to the last page.
‘And so, now, I will end this writing. I will burn this book and eat the apple. I will succeed. I deserve to succeed. I will leave this disease ridden, useless, ill body behind for another to fill. The time is done. The flames are high. Goodbye sweet story you have given me great satisfaction. How I long to bring you with me for my viewing pleasure, but alas we must separate. I deserve to live. I deserve to live forever. Locum Tenens.’
He snapped the journal closed and tossed it on the table. Disgust rendered him nearly speechless.
“She’s a goddam demon,” Tom said, “She’s a demon and she’s in my wife’s body. How do we fight something like that?”
“We don’t need to fight her-.”
“Then what?!” Tom interrupted, “Huh? What? Do you understand what she is?”
He jumped up and grabbed the red journal.
“She KILLS people. For fun! She killed her family for chrissake! For no reason! And then she does some locum tenens hocus pocus bullshit and forces my wife into a dying body BECAUSE SHE CAN! And now my wife’s dead and this thing is parading around like everything’s hunky dory!”
Tom threw the journal on the table.
“Well, it’s not hunky dory! She can think she got away with it, but I’ll stop her. On Bridgette’s life I swear I will stop her. I’ll catch her and force her to reverse this shit. If she won’t then I’ll kill her.”
Kevin stood up, “Now, Tom, let’s-.”
Tom interrupted. His voice was quiet and intense, “No, no ‘Tom let’s’ anything. She killed Bridgette. Do you understand that? My wife is DEAD. This evil thing killed her. It will either reverse the spell or it will die. I’ll make sure of that.”
Silence settled in the darkening room. Tom’s heart hammered. Every passing second was a second lost with Bridgette.
Kevin cleared his throat, “Then let’s make a plan.”
Relieved, Tom nodded.
“I found some things.” Said Kevin looking at his notebook.
Tom stared at him and waited.
“The more we know the better prepared we’ll be. Know thy enemies…” said Kevin with a slight smile.
“You oughta read the journal,” Tom said.
“Yeah, I’ll get to that, but for now I found some things out about our happy little town. Well, not the town so much as the area. You’ve heard of the lost Rumilure Mine?”
Tom nodded, “I just now read-.”
“And the Rumilures themselves? Or the black eyed people as we like to say around here?”
Tom replied, “Yeah, when we first moved here, we had that BBQ, remember? And Earl talked about the legends. He said people think they’ll see the black eyed people if they walk around alone at night. He also said the Indian’s believed that there was a vast network of underground tunnels and caves where these mysterious black eyed people live. He said when he was little he thought they could get into basements and cellars, too. Scared Bridgette. She’s into ghost stories and stuff but those really spooked her. Earl felt really bad and apologized.”
Kevin nodded in agreement, “Local legends say that after the Rumilure Mine blew up there were no signs of it. It was like it was never there at all. But it’s supposedly filled with treasure, and the Rumilures live there. And it’s also supposedly still around if you know where to look for it.
“The Shawnee’s said the land was alive on top but dead and evil underneath. Basically, they meant that as long as you farmed or something you would be ok, but if you dug a tunnel…. Well, they tried to warn the white man about that, but we were apparently too busy chasing them west to heed their warnings.”
Kevin peered at the laptop screen.
Tom said, “And this is important because…?”
Kevin blinked, “Oh, it’s important because of this bit of Kranburg history I found. It talks about the Rumilure mine disaster and then it goes on.”
He read the words on the screen, “As it so happens
the approximate spot of the mine was three miles south of the great Kellingham farm. Oscar Kellingham, like the old prospector, had seen the great promise of the rolling rich farmland. But, instead of mining, Oscar was pure farmer. Starting with a few meager acres, Oscar’s abundant crops provided more than enough for him to buy and expand his farm in all directions. Soon, he owned hundreds of acres. Labor was provided by his own family and by tenant sharecroppers. Each sharecropper owned a house and farmed twenty acres. After harvest, the crops and profits were divided between the sharecropper and the Kellinghams. This suited everybody. Oscar Kellingham’s fortune grew along with his farm. Oscar set aside some land to build a small church and a trading post for the rapidly growing population living and working on his farm. It wasn’t long before the trading post expanded to become a general store. When the railroad was built across the southern section of Oscar’s farm he didn’t object. He moved the General Store and church, built a railroad station and struck a deal for the train to make it a weekly stop. No longer would they need to travel to Carbondale to sell his crops, now he could ship them right from his back door, so to speak.
The Kellingham farm became a popular stop for the train and the stage coach as well as wagons passing through. The General Store was large and generously supplied. A few of the farmer’s wives brought fresh homemade box lunches and sold them to road weary travelers. Soon, a boardinghouse was built next to the railroad station. A bar had sprung up sometime along the way. Before long, the southern tip of Kellingham’s farm resembled a small town. Oscar Kellingham originally called this section of his farm Kraiburg, after his family home in Kraiburg, Germany, but somewhere along the line, whether it be a typo or word-of-mouth misunderstanding, Kraiburg became Kranburg, and by the time it was officially a real Illinois town, folks had been calling the little stop on Kellingham farm Kranburg for as long as they could remember. The addition of a post office was the icing on the cake and officially, Kranburg, Illinois was born.”
Tom listened. He tilted his head as Kevin finished.
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