Prophesy: The Immortal Witch (21)

Part 20 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-20

 

An effusive afternoon sun splashed across library walls like fluorescent paint, diurnal descent into evening marked by an orange hue. Professor Potter clip-clopped up stone steps, hurrying for no reason other than her mind was racing and so her body responded in simpatico.

Today’s lectures had been well received or at least that how it had seemed. Reflection and self-appraisal were burned into her psyche, criticism only ever a heartbeat away. There had been questions from students about the discovery at Brean Fort. In particular, young Jodie McMillan on the back row had a bad habit of distraction with random questions and a penchant for muddled thinking.

Otherwise, it was only the occasional query from anyone else as opposed to anything more significant. Few from the younger generation watched the news on television preferring to follow channels on YouTube and social media in general.

The desk on the first floor she usually used was free which always gave Nadeem a lift. There were plenty of people in tonight; a mix of under-graduates working on individual research, small groups catching up for a chat and the general public taking advantage of the extensive reference catalogue available.

Slipping quietly into a wooden-armed chair, the professor slapped her tote bag in the middle of the table before rooting through its contents. Just for a few seconds, to an onlooker from behind it would have appeared a manic sight with papers spilling out to the side along with pens, make-up, a laptop, charger and a couple of textbooks. Like a feral dog frantically burrowing to find a stashed bone.

Finally organising herself, she settled ready for another evening of analysing ancient screed. Accompanying the source material was Charles Guignebert’s The Jewish World in the Time of Jesus. It had been read a while ago but it seemed apt to revisit the text given current projects.

A circular analogue wall-clock in the distance indicated the time as 5.15pm. The sanitised smell of polished floors pervaded, bleach and detergent the smoking guns of early morning cleaning. A persistent low-level hum was ongoing in defiance of the quiet please subliminal messaging of librarians. 

All was as it should be.

Until it wasn’t.

Looking up from a sepia-coloured page, Nadeem noticed the lights flickering. Not again, she lamented. Her pulse quickened.

Just for a moment she rationalised: It was a faulty bulb, that’s all. Lightening couldn’t strike twice or could it?

Everything went dark.

Nadeem peered through the gloom, creeping shadows creating oblique uncertainty. An intermittent strobing was causing the outlines of figures to come and go, moving in and out of focus. There was a distinct chill in the air, the temperature dropping dramatically. She could see her icy breath billowing out in a stream.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the leathery cover of the grimoire. The tome had been safely stored in the rare book room - climate control, minimal lighting et al. It seemed to be calling to her, wordless in its esoteric demands.

There was the sensation of something hovering, something nearby. Something skittering like a moth in an eardrum. 

With apprehension, she turned to look over her shoulder. Through the half-light, staring directing at her was a skeletal visage. It was menacingly leaning over her, leering with a rictus grin. Nadeem flinched and jumped backwards. The eyes were soulless, impenetrable bottomless pools. Clumps of decaying flesh clung to the orbital bone structure, the creature (if that’s what it was) in a state of decomposition.   

Involuntarily, her mouth opened, a scream forming.

Before she could let rip, the lights came on. The unnatural interloper was no longer there.

Nadeem blinked, staring at now vacant space. Had she imagined it?

For a few moments she sat stock-still.

Processing.

Slowly, she twisted back to a natural position, her breathing shallow and rapid.

In the corner of her right eye….another shape.

Focusing, she subconsciously recoiled at the sight of someone now sitting on the other side of the desk.

There, opposite, sat a beautiful woman wearing a black satin dress. She had the bluest eyes and high cheek bones that belonged on a model. An enigmatic, Mona Lisa smile was etched on her features.

“What? Who….who are you?” Nadeem’s customary civility had been replaced by a shaky loss of composure. Internally, she berated herself for being rude.

No reply.

“Well….can I help you? Am I sitting at your desk or something?”

No reply.

The constant unblinking glare of the woman was beguiling as much as her reluctance to speak was intimidating.

That weird smile.

Nadeem felt uncomfortable, wriggling in her chair. The atmosphere felt strange, a latent foreboding seeping into her soul. It was as though she had been expecting this encounter.

About to utter a further question, she stopped dead in her tracks. Was that a micro-twitch on the stranger’s face? To the left of her mouth. It was barely perceptible and yet there it was. As though there was a thin veneer covering up something else. Something hidden. A tear in the fabric of reality. For the briefest of moments an image flashed like one of those banned subliminal adverts. Another face, older. Much older.

Maybe she had watched too many sci-fi movies.

“We aren’t going to get very far if you don’t say something.” A mild irritation layered the statement.

Nadeem’s eyes were drawn to the woman’s hands which were held out in front and resting on the table. They were interlaced, hiding, holding something.

Slender fingers peeled away from each other. She was clutching a straw doll. It had a rudimentary bonnet and apron, its arms outstretched. Clearly it was an effigy of a woman.

Nadeem’s gaze panned upwards. The tiniest of tics, this time on the other side of her mouth. Shifting sands and an infinitesimally fleeting glimpse of someone else hiding under this exterior.

The woman’s hands were exquisite, her skin almost flawless.

And yet…

Holding eye contact the entire time, the seemingly mute visitor nonchalantly raised a flat palm over the doll.

Nadeem couldn’t quite believe what happened next.

Grey smoke started puffing out from underneath the hovering appendage, engulfing the doll below in cloud.

What the hell was going on?

She was familiar with the ritualistic meaning and use of straw dolls – mainly casting curses and cleansing evil spirits. Used in Pagan and Japanese culture to name but two. Thoughts crashed like waves on a faraway beach trying to work out what was happening.

With a sudden realisation that she was the subject of the crude symbolism unfolding in front of her, Nadeem’s head went foggy. A state of confusion was descending rapidly, everything going hazy. A cotton-wool brain taking over.

Through the gathering haze, she could still make out the woman smiling incessantly.

Now she could sense someone inside her skull, reading her thoughts. An image appeared of the book of spells in its glass cabinet safely stored away from the world. It was there, right there. She could see it clearly even through a custom-made acid-free clamshell box that was housing the volume. Her mind was roaming, taking a tour of the room, picturing every nook and cranny. There were security cameras situated in the top corners of the walls.

Incorporeal, she floated through the access door, the only way in or out. An electronic lock requiring a pass card flashed with an intermittent red light indicating it was active. Her card was in her bag attached to house keys. She tried not to think about that and give the game away. She failed. Whatever was going on was too hard to resist.

Her last thought was of running far away with the pass so that it could not be taken from her. She blacked out.

It was hard to say how long she was unconscious but a gentle shaking roused her. A concerned expression staring back, looming like a hallucinogenic moon in a drug-laden aftermath. A voice was calling, asking if she was okay. Groaning, Nadeem realised she was flat out, sprawled across the desk, arms flailing to the left and right. Like the straw doll. Her head was banging.

Applying great effort, she gingerly righted herself. Her bottom half remained unmoved, planted in the chair, top half splayed in a prone position and previously face down.

The weird woman had vanished. Instead, a young girl with short dark hair and of oriental origin was fussing whilst looking confused. Perhaps she thought Nadeem was drunk.

“There was a woman here…did you see..?” The sentenced went unfinished as she massaged a pounding cranium.

Nadeem instinctively knew the grimoire had gone. She just didn’t know who the thief was or why they wanted the arcane volume. There were so many strange people about. This felt different. This felt like something else was coming. That something else spelled danger for Billy and Danielle.

 

Image free to use @WikiCommons