by Dan Poblocki
Bring … it … back …
Cassidy exhaled, feeling her shoulders relax slightly now that the beast had disappeared. Glancing at the floor, she saw a vague impression of a title staring up at her. Archaeology and Folklore of the Twentieth Century.
As she bent to pick it up, she saw a pair of feet slide into the shadow at her left. She grabbed the book and stood, easing away from whoever was still in the aisle with her. At this point, Cassidy didn’t care how foolish she looked dashing out into the main room like a girl gone mad. But when she recognized the person who had knocked the book to the floor, she stopped and stared in awe.
Ursula was only there for a moment longer, dressed in her colorless jogging suit like the one she’d worn in Cassidy’s dream. A kind and sad smile decorated her face, before she disappeared into the reaches of the dim corridor.
Cassidy found her way back to the corner where the group had agreed to meet. From the looks on Ping’s and Joey’s faces, she hadn’t been the only one who had been visited by the beast. A pile of books lay on the table between them.
When Hal arrived moments later, Cassidy told them all what she’d seen and heard. Ping and Joey shared their own stories, which were almost exactly the same as Cassidy’s. The flickering lights. The humming. The black, snaky worm-thing. The whispering voice.
Hal listened in awe. While looking for the books on his short list, he hadn’t experienced anything of the sort. He wondered aloud if it was because he’d returned the mannequin that morning.
“It’s the thing from the vortex,” said Joey. “The beast found us. It’s gonna send the dead to get us.”
“It said ‘Bring it back,’ ” Cassidy mentioned. “But what? We didn’t take anything from the house.”
“Maybe it’s not talking about an object,” said Ping. “Maybe it’s talking about us.”
“Us?” said Cassidy. “What do you mean, us?”
“We went into the house. We spent some time standing at the vortex. In the vortex. Maybe what Joey said before is right — this creature thinks it owns us now. We’re the it that it’s talking about.”
Cassidy shivered. “What if the creature comes back? What if it tries to take us?”
“If we’re not safe now,” said Hal, “we’re never going to be safe.”
“But you’re safe, Hal. Aren’t you?” Joey asked. “You didn’t see what we saw.”
“I don’t feel safe.”
“I’m not sure it was even here in the first place,” said Ping. “The other night, it sent a vision to Hal. Today, we all shared a vision too, like a daydream. I think it’s only reaching out. Searching for us.”
“And if you don’t return to the house,” said Hal, “it will find a way to bring you back there. Trust me. I’ve seen what it can do.”
“Ursula was trapped in that house,” said Cassidy. “If we go back, we might be trapped too.”
“With a bunch of zombies, apparently,” said Joey.
“Are we willing to risk that?” Hal asked. “Being trapped in order to save our friends? Our families?” The group was quiet for a moment, considering Hal’s question. “I mean, Ursula wasn’t really a hoarder at all, was she? She gave up everything that mattered, everything she cared about, even her reputation, her dignity, to protect people.”
Cassidy thought of Mr. Faros and the lesson about Theseus and the Minotaur. Theseus had chosen to enter the Cretan labyrinth in order to stop King Minos from sacrificing any more young people to the monster. Was Ursula — an eccentric and frail old woman — like Theseus? A true hero? If so, was it possible for Cassidy to be the same?
She understood that they had two options: fight or flight. Both seemed equally as dangerous. Fight and they may succumb to the monster. Flee and the monster would continue to pursue them. But if they stood their ground, at least they had a chance of winning, however small. “I’m willing to risk that,” Cassidy said, surprising herself. Her friends heard her, and after a moment, each of them nodded tentatively.
“We should all stay together from now on,” Ping suggested, pulling out a chair and finally sitting down. “I think the … beast was able to get into our heads because we went off by ourselves. Maybe it can only reach out to us when we’re alone.”
“Fine,” said Cassidy, also sitting down. “Then let’s do what we came here to do.” She grabbed the book that had minutes earlier caused her so much trouble and opened to the table of contents. “Together.”
EVERY LITTLE NOISE THAT echoed through the great space caused everyone at the small table to jump. Now and again, they interrupted their research by reading aloud bits of information that they’d discovered.
One article that Joey found discussed the history of ley lines in England and made a comparison to some long forgotten roads in Vermont.
Cassidy discovered some information about vortexes out in the Southwest, how these particular spots supposedly had healing properties, physical and mental, and that people made pilgrimages to visit these locations.
“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to visit our special little spot here in New Jersey,” said Joey. “Not for healing anyway.”
Hal read to them from a book about folklore, about how immigrants to North America had brought with them stories of gods and goddesses from the old countries. The author of the book surmised that when some of these old stories had been lost over generations, new gods had sprung up to take their place. “I guess it makes sense,” he said, looking up from the passage. “If we’re dealing with some sort of entity that exists on this continent, like a new god … or a new devil … it would be one that reveres owning things. A new religion: selfishness.”
“New god. Old devil,” said Joey. “I just want it to leave us alone. Hasn’t anyone found something that can help us?”
Ping gave a small wave. “I think I might have something here.” She scanned the open book in front of her, swiftly moving her index finger along the page. “I was just looking at a chapter about other dimensions. Wormholes. Portals. Vortexes. It says that ancient cultures knew of special spots, convergences it says here, and they often marked them with stone. As a sacred act. All over the world, people have built pyramids, circles of rocks, henges.”
“So all we need to do is build a pyramid?” Joey asked, his eyebrow raised.
“No,” said Ping, flustered. She frowned at the page, as if her answer were written in the space between the words. “It wasn’t about what the people built there. What helped them was the idea of protecting themselves from big bad things. Things beyond their comprehension. This book says that some people believed that it wasn’t the huge efforts of the civilization that did the trick — you know, the pyramids, the circles — but the smaller attempts of the local people, like old rituals and prayers, that acted as a seal of protection against evil.”
“A seal of protection?” Cassidy asked. “That sounds like our answer!”
“I don’t know what that means,” said Joey. “What kind of small attempt can we make? I don’t know any old prayers.”
Ping flipped through the next several pages. Her eyes grew wide. “Wow. I think I might have found an answer.” She glanced up from the book. “There’s a supposedly true account here of a place in England, a village called Gingerwich that sat on top of one of the ancient ley lines. Listen to this.”
And Ping told them a story.
In a grassy field located several hundred kilometers north of Stonehenge’s Salisbury Plain, just outside the village of Gingerwich, a druidic stone circle stands: a site that archeologists claim dates back even further than the most famous of British henges by at least a century.
The Gingerwich circle is wider in diameter than Stonehenge by about twelve meters. However, its design is simpler. Originally made of thirteen bluestone monoliths, each weighing at least a ton and standing two to three meters tall, the pieces were arranged in a circular formation with none of the embellishments of its southern neighbor’s inner rings and horseshoe formations.
> In the mid-twentieth century, after the discovery of cremated human remains, archeologists theorized that the circle had been created as a burial site and that, several millennia earlier, it had been considered a holy place. Unfortunately, the people who lived in the area in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries were unaware of these burials.
The village of Gingerwich, its houses and barns built originally from locally forested wood, had existed for centuries near the monoliths; however, as the population began to grow, one of its more inventive citizens decided that the village’s older structures may benefit from reinforcement — the closest resource being the abundant bluestone monoliths in the nearby fields.
Local masons broke pieces from the stones, and in at least three cases, destroyed the monoliths almost entirely to their bases. Using these pieces, they added decorations to their homes. They also constructed new houses and barns.
Some of the population warned that using the ancient stones in this manner would be a grave mistake. And soon, tales sprang up of a curse upon the structures built from the circle’s broken stones.
There is evidence that the families who lived in the stone houses of Gingerwich befell early deaths from farming accidents and sickness. There are tales of failed crops, livestock deaths, stillbirths, even murder. Even more frightening tales exist: Rumors spread that dark figures roamed the village at night, sometimes entering houses to watch people asleep in their beds. Those who’d seen the creatures claimed that they walked upright like humans, but their bodies were goatlike and skeletal, with wide, twisted antlers rising from their skulls.
The structures that had been built using the stones were eventually abandoned, but the troubles did not end there. Bad luck continued to befall the people of Gingerwich. The more superstitious folk claimed that demons now haunted the area, taking revenge upon the descendants of folk who had disrespected the stone circle.
Legend tells that near the turn of the twentieth century a group of citizens banded together, determined to stop the curse that had wreaked havoc upon their ancestors. They believed that simply dismantling the abandoned houses would have no effect on the curse or the demons; the damage to the monoliths, after all, could not be repaired. Instead, it was decided that they would need to look into their pre-Christian history for something to appease these pre-Christian spirits.
Collecting the few precious metals they owned, the people melted down their fortunes and forged a piece of jewelry. Its design was based upon the ancient pagan symbol for protection: a simple pentacle, the five points of which touched upon an unbroken circle. It was as close a reparation for the ruined circle at the town’s edge as they could imagine.
Believing that the offering would stop the demons’ wrath, the group entered one of the stone houses, searching the basement for what they believed was the heart of the house. In the darkness underground, they discovered an entry to a system of caves. Armed with torches, they made their way deep inside the twisting caverns, journeying until they could go no farther. It was there that they left their offering.
After the group returned to the surface, life soon returned to normalcy. It was determined that the pentacle had ended the curse.
The village of Gingerwich still stands today. The stone houses, however, have finally been disassembled, their pieces scattered across the nearby countryside, lost to the vagaries of nature and time and whatever gods or demons still hold sway over them.
“THAT IS REALLY FREAKY,” said Joey.
“No freakier than what we’re dealing with right here in Whitechapel,” said Hal.
“What if we make an offering like the people of Gingerwich did?” asked Cassidy.
“Yeah, like a present,” said Ping. “Our little beastie seems to crave presents, right? We just need to find him the right one.”
“A KEEP OUT sign?” Joey said.
“Well, no. Not quite. It has to have meaning.”
Cassidy lit up. “Today we found stars carved into Ursula’s floor. The people in Gingerwich offered up a pentacle. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? Would it make sense for us to do the same thing?”
“I think you’re right,” said Ping. “Something with a star symbol on it. Something old. An artifact. A pendant. A drawing. A sculpture.”
“And then?” said Joey. “We bring our star back to the house and leave it there? Like how Hal left his mannequin in the foyer?”
Ping grimaced, then shuddered. “That’s not how they did it in Gingerwich.”
“What are you suggesting?” said Hal.
“Even if we find what we’re looking for, bringing the present into the house isn’t going to be enough. But there’s a crevice in the wall of Ursula’s cellar. Strange how such a huge crack would appear in a recent concrete foundation, right? If our own experience sort of mirrors what happened in Gingerwich, the crack in the wall might lead to a tunnel or cavern. If so, I’ll bet that’s where our demon is hiding.
Cassidy nodded. “We’ll bring him his gift — the seal of protection — and give it to him ourselves.”
“That’s crazy,” said Joey. Everyone at the table stared at him. “We already know what’s down in that basement. The dead crawled out of that crevice you’re talking about. If we go in there, we might never make it back out.”
“So we do nothing?” Cassidy asked. “Scary things are coming for us. Joey, we can’t just go hide in your bedroom closet. Either we do this … or we die.”
Joey shoved his pinky finger into his mouth and chewed at it. After a few seconds, Cassidy’s words seemed to sink in, and he spit out a mangled piece of his fingernail onto the floor. Everyone else groaned. “So we need a star. An artifact.” He glanced at Ping. “Where do we start?”
“We are on a college campus. There’s got to be some sort of special collection in one of these big buildings. Anthropology? Archaeology? I’m sure there are rooms filled with stuff we could use.”
Hal sniffed. “And you think it’s going to be any easier getting into those places than it was getting into the library? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never participated in a heist before.”
“But there’s another place nearby that might also have what we need,” said Cassidy. She picked up her bag from the floor and laid it on the table. From inside one of its smaller, hidden compartments she pulled out a pink crystal elephant, the one she’d named Triumphant.
Outside, the afternoon sun glared down. They had to hurry. If the dead were scary in full sunlight, Cassidy didn’t wish to imagine their faces after nightfall.
As the group crossed the quad, Ping told them her new plan. She’d head into the building where her mother’s office was. The security guards knew her there, so they wouldn’t question her when she went through. If her mother was still at her meeting, it was possible that her pocketbook was inside her office. Ping would borrow the car keys.
“Hopefully we can make it to Junkland and back before she even realizes we’re gone.”
“This feels wrong,” said Hal, as they stopped in front of the building. “Like stealing.”
“We don’t have a choice,” said Ping. “She’s not going to drive us there. Especially not if we tell her the reason we need to go. We can’t walk. What if we run into our friends on the road? What other options do we have?”
Though it wasn’t ideal, they all agreed that Ping’s plan would be the quickest and easiest way.
A few minutes later, they found themselves running toward the parking lot, the keys jangling from Ping’s clutched fist. At the minivan, she tossed them to Hal, who suddenly looked frightened. He shook his head and whispered to himself, something that sounded like, “You can do this.” Cassidy thought to herself that before the day was over, she would be telling herself the same thing. Hal unlocked the van, and they all climbed in.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT THE STORE, Cassidy was surprised to see that the sign over the front door read GRACELAND REFURBISHMENTS. She’d forgotten its actual name was not Junkland.
Behind the counter near the entrance, the two teenagers that had been there the other day dabbed at their foreheads with crumpled pieces of paper towel. The girl wore a ratty red T-shirt with a faded logo and a long, wrinkled skirt that looked like it had been made out of an Indian tapestry. Her hair was thick and red, divided into two messy braids that hung to her shoulders. Around her neck were dozens of thin chains and cords, beads and baubles. The boy beside her looked like he could be her brother; his own red hair was shoved up underneath a soggy-looking baseball cap. They waved hello apologetically. The air-conditioning was busted.
“Does anyone have any money?” Joey asked as the group moved down one aisle.
Hal pulled out a small wad of cash from his pocket. “Not much.”
“We’ll just have to be thrifty,” said Ping, chipper as always.
Cassidy wondered how she managed to keep it up. “Can we stay together this time?” she asked. “I really don’t want that thing to sneak up on me again.” As if any of them did.
They wandered the store, fanning themselves uselessly against the stifling heat. Though she was starting to feel dizzy, Cassidy glanced at the bottom of every glass case and the top of every high shelf. Joey picked up a roll of stickers, star-shaped and glittery. “Does this count?” he asked, with a look that said he already knew the answer.
“Cassidy could put them in her notebook,” said Hal with a smile. “But I doubt those are going to help us save the world.”
Cassidy felt her face burn. “How’d you know about my …” she started to ask before remembering that she’d showed it to them back at Hal’s house that morning. “Oh, right.”
They continued their search as Ping asked, “What’s with your notebook anyway? You said you collect information about bad things? Why?”
Cassidy felt her throat constrict. Darkness came at her from the corners of her vision. She clenched her fists and forced the anxiety away. Looking into Ping’s eyes, she explained. “It’s … for security,” she said. The others stopped to listen. “A few years ago … something really scary happened to me.” Pictures of that night flashed through her head. She slipped her bag off her shoulder, removed the notebook, then hugged it to her chest.
