by Amy Cross
“But if -”
“I can fudge it until the end of the month,” she adds. “If you really know for sure that you can pay then, I can carry out the operation tomorrow and then I'll find a way to keep Myrtle here for a couple more weeks. Don't ask how, but I'll manage. At the end of the month, though, Mr. Setchell will run a thorough evaluation of everything that's happened. If Myrtle's bill hasn't been paid by then...”
“It will have been, I swear,” I tell her, before looking down at my cat. “I'll have the money, I promise.”
***
As soon as I open the front door, I can tell that something's wrong. The TV's running, but Mum's not in her usual chair, and a moment later I hear the sound of someone muttering and moving things around in one of the other rooms.
In my room.
“What the...”
I hurry past the chair and head to the hallway, and then I stop at my door and see that Mum's on her hands and knees in front of my desk, going through my folders.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
“What do you think I'm doing?” she snaps breathlessly. “Maybe if you paid your way in this house, I wouldn't have to resort to this. Why did you change where you keep your money, Mia? I need seventy for the electricity meter.”
“I gave you money last week!” I say firmly, struggling to keep from telling her to get out of my room. I know she wants an argument, and I really don't want to indulge her. “That was on top of what I give you for my room. That was supposed to be for the bills!”
“Yeah, well, the bills were bigger this month.”
“The power bills,” I reply, “or the price of your cigarettes and booze?”
Nuts. She'll have a field day now. I shouldn't have said that.
“So now I shouldn't have any way to relax and blow off steam?” she asks, still on her knees as she turns to me. “You get to go off having fun, and I'm stuck here in this house and you want me to just drink water? Is that how you think my life should be? Now tell me where you keep your money. This is my house and I won't have any secrets between us!”
“The money's for -”
“Where's that stinking cat, anyway? Did you finally get her put down?”
“I've been at work all night,” I tell her, “and I took Myrtle to the vet this morning so she can have her operation, and I have work tonight so I really just need to get some sleep right now.”
“I need seventy pounds, Mia. It's really not that much when you consider just how much freeloading you do here.”
“I work!” I snap. “What do you do all day?”
“You're lucky,” she says with a heavy, labored sigh, “you don't have my ankles. There's no need to rub it in, though. You could at least try to be nice. There's no...”
Her voice trails off, and she stares at me for a moment before tilting her head slightly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she replies, “it's just... for a moment, you looked...”
Again, her voice fades to nothing.
Realizing that I'm only going to say something that I regret, I turn and hurry through to the kitchen, while ignoring Mum's increasingly plaintive cries. I reach the counter and stop, trying to pull myself together, and then I think of poor Myrtle in the vet's office. I just hope she knows that I'm doing everything I can for her, and that I love her, and that at the end of all this she's going to be just fine. I'll get the money, I know I will. I just can't afford to fall asleep again while I'm working.
I take another deep breath.
Mum's still calling out about the money, and I know she won't stop until I give her what she wants. I run a few quick mental calculations, and I realize that I can spare seventy pounds and still manage to cover Myrtle's bill. Of course, I'll be basically existing on water and dry bread for the rest of the month, but maybe that's a price worth paying if I'm able to get Mum off my back. I'll give her this money, and then that's it until after Myrtle's operation. And this time, I won't let myself get talked into paying a penny more for Mum's bad habits.
I turn to go back through to my room, but at the last moment I feel a flicker of pain in my right index finger. Looking down, I see that there's still a dark mark around the tip, and if anything the little black threads seem to have spread a little further down toward the knuckle. A moment later I feel another faint flicker of pain. I need to get this looked at soon, if it doesn't go away, but that can wait until after I've made sure Myrtle's okay.
“Fine, Mum,” I call out, as I head back to the hallway, “I'll give you some money. But it's the last I can afford until next month!”
Eleven
Thunder rumbles high above, and I can hear rain crashing against distant windows as I sit at the desk and stare down at the blank page before me. Somehow, tonight's bad weather feels strangely appropriate, since this is finally the night when everything comes together.
I've been working for two weeks non-stop, barely even finding time to get home and sleep. I've managed to drop in and check on Myrtle a few times, and she seems to be recovering really well from her operation. Now I'm on the cusp of finishing my work here on the book, and tonight I'll copy the final page. I've been desperately looking forward to this moment, although I have to admit that in some ways I think I'm going to miss this creepy old job. Still, at least I'll have done what I set out to do. With the money I get tonight, including my bonus for completing the whole thing, I'll be able to go and pay Myrtle's bill.
Thunder rumbles again, this time accompanied by a sudden, loud crack of lightning that sounds so very close to the house.
“Here we go again,” I whisper, as I feel a strange tightening sense of anticipation in my chest. “One more time.”
I've already memorized the first few words, and as I take the pen and begin to write I feel a new sense of purpose. Mr. Shawyer seemed anxious this evening before he left. I hadn't mentioned that I'd be finishing the work tonight, but I find it difficult to believe that he's not aware. He's a strange guy, and he always seems very highly-strung and neurotic. I still don't know exactly what he plans to do with the copied book once I'm done, but the whole thing seems very important to him and I guess he'll be happy. Maybe he'll even fill me in a little as to what this whole thing is about.
***
“Mericum alene. Mericum toti.”
I stare at those final four words, going over them again and again in my mind, barely able to believe that I've reached this point. After a few minutes, however, I realize that I've done everything I had to do, which can only mean one thing.
I'm done.
I set the pen down and lean back in the chair. There's more thunder rumbling in the distance, but the house itself is completely silent as I sit and stare at the complete final page. After all these weeks, I think maybe I began to think that I'd never get to the end, but I'm done. I reach out and move the page over, adding it to the pile, and then I sit back again and feel a rush of relief filling my chest.
I'm done!
“I'm done,” I whisper out loud, before checking my watch and seeing that it's only a little after midnight. “I'm even done early.”
I sit still for a moment, before realizing that maybe I should get up and find something else to do. I head over to the book and look down at the page, and then I carefully open the cabinet and use the gloves to close the book one final time. I feel a strange sense of solemnity, as if somehow deep down I understand that what I've completed here has been important. I have so many questions about the book and about what its strange pages mean, and for a moment I simply stare at the cover and allow myself a faint smile.
For the next few minutes, I tidy up, and then I take some scraps of paper and carry them down to the basement. Sure enough, the fire is burning bright, and I feel a blast of heat as I carefully open the metal door. Peering inside, I see roaring flames, and I have to admit that I don't quite understand why this rundown old building needs such a powerful fire at its base. Then again, I guess that's none of my bu
siness, so I toss the pieces of paper inside and watch as they burn, and then I swing the metal door shut again.
At that moment, a loud bumping sound rings out from somewhere high above.
I look up, toward the low wooden ceiling, but now the only sound I hear is the roar of the furnace. That bump, though, sounded like someone falling, or maybe just something heavy being dropped. I listen for a moment longer, before slowly getting to my feet and heading back toward the stairs. As I make my way up, I can't help but listen out for any more unusual sounds, and by the time I get to the hallway I'm starting to feel pretty stupid. This house is old and creaky, and it's got a raging furnace in its basement, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that there are a few strange noises every so often.
Thunder rumbles above as I check my watch.
Great.
I've got a while to go yet.
I have to stick around for the rest of the night, and I'm not entirely sure what to do. I guess I could do some light cleaning, or just explore the place, but as I start heading up toward the landing I can't help but think that the next six hours are going to feel pretty slow and boring. I'm stuck here with nothing to do except twiddle my thumbs, so – as I head toward the room where I did all the writing – I figure that I might as well at least take a look around.
And then, suddenly, I stop in the doorway as soon as I see the woman at the desk.
I blink, but she's still there.
There's a woman standing at the desk, with her back to me. She's leaning over slightly, and after a moment I realize that she seems to be examining the pages that I finished tonight.
I open my mouth to call out, to ask who she is, but somehow the words catch in my throat. Mr. Shawyer and Salvatore are the only people I've met so far in the house, and no-one mentioned that there might be a third person. Still, there's no denying that this woman is here, and sure enough a moment later I hear the rustling of paper as she turns to the next page.
“Um... Hi,” I say finally, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is pounding. “Uh... Can I help you?”
I wait, but she doesn't respond.
“My name's Mia,” I continue. “I work here. I mean, I was hired to copy that book. Are you... Do you know Mr. Shawyer?”
As soon as I ask that question, I realize how dumb it sounds. It's not like she's some random woman who happened to wander in here. Of course she knows Mr. Shawyer.
“I didn't know anyone else was around,” I say, stepping up behind her. “I'm sorry, I hope I wasn't noisy, I didn't mean to disturb you or...”
My voice trails off, and I feel like I'm running out of things to say. Why didn't Mr. Shawyer tell me that I'd have company tonight? This whole thing is starting to feel pretty freaky.
“Do you work with him?” I ask finally. “With Mr. Shawyer, I mean. I hope you're happy with the job that I did. I'm certain that I copied the book perfectly. As you can see, I'm finished with it now so...”
Again, I'm not quite sure how to continue. She must be able to hear me, but she's still shown no sign that she knows I'm here. Then again, I guess it's possible that she's deaf, and I don't want to startle her. I hesitate, before stepping even closer and reaching out to touch her shoulder from behind, although as I do so I can't help but notice that the air suddenly feels shockingly cold.
“Hey,” I continue, as my voice trembles slightly and I finally touch her shoulder, “I'm just -”
Suddenly she half-turns, and I see one side of a pale, dark-eyed face snarling straight at me. I freeze – for what feels like an eternity, even if it's probably just a fraction of a second – and then I pull back.
“No worries,” I stammer, horrified as she fully turns to me and bares two rows of rotten teeth, “I'm sorry if I interrupted you. I'll wait downstairs.”
She stares at me for a moment, before snarling and stepping toward me.
“Got to go!” I gasp. “I'm not -”
Before I can finish, I'm grabbed from behind and pulled out of the room. As the door swings shut, I turn to see a breathless and shocked Salvatore staring at me.
“What did you do?” he yells.
“I didn't do -”
“What rule did you break?” he shouts, grabbing my arms and shoving me against the wall. He seems totally desperate. “How did she get out?”
“I don't know what you're talking about!” I stammer. “Who -”
Suddenly I spot something moving nearby, and I turn to see that the door is starting to creak open. To my horror, I see the dead-faced woman staring out at me once again. I open my mouth to scream, but Salvatore grabs my arm and pulls me toward the top of the stairs, and then he forces me to run down to the hallway.
“I knew you'd done something!” he shouts. “I could see it in your eyes, almost as soon as you started! He told you the rules! Why didn't you listen?”
“Who is that woman?” I ask as I get to the bottom of the stairs. Turning, I see that she's slowly making her way along the landing, as if she's coming after us. “Where did she come from?”
“It's her,” he says, turning to watch as she starts making her way down the stairs. “I've seen pictures of her before. It's Eleanor Fabricci.”
“Eleanor Fabricci?” For a moment, I try to remember what Mr. Shawyer told me about the origin of the book. “But I thought she was alive, like, over a hundred years ago?”
“Let me guess,” he replies, “you missed a line out of your work.”
“No!”
“Or you made a mistake.”
“Never!”
“Or you didn't properly dispose of a ruined page.”
“Of -”
Stopping suddenly, I think back to the page that I tossed into a bin when I was leaving the house.
“So?” I stammer. “That doesn't mean anything. Anyway, it was weeks ago!” As those words leave my lips, I realize that the air is once again turning icy all around us, and I watch as the woman passes the halfway point of the stairs. “What does she want?”
“Run!” Salvatore yells.
I turn and race toward the front door, where I immediately start trying to open all the locks.
“Not that way!” he hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me away. “Are you insane? You've already made one huge mistake. I'm not going to let you make another by unsealing the house at night.”
“But -”
“Into the basement! Now!”
He half pulls, half drags me over to the door under the stairs, which he then pulls open just as the dead woman starts making her way across the hallway.
“Get in!” he yells, shoving me into the darkness and then following.
He pulls the door shut, plunging us into darkness, and then he strikes a match and a candle flickers to life. He raises the handle up to guide our way.
“Down there!” he says firmly. “Hurry!”
“There's nothing in the basement!” I point out, trying not to panic and telling myself that this has to be some kind of joke. “We'll be trapped!”
“You should have thought of that sooner!” he says firmly, as he locks the door and then sends me stumbling toward the top of the rickety wooden staircase. “I swear to you, you're going to do what I tell you to do, or I might just leave you at Eleanor Fabricci's mercy!”
“I don't understand,” I tell him as I hurry down into the basement. “None of this makes any sense!”
“Eleanor Fabricci was a troubled woman,” he explains as he follows. “When she inherited the book, she dedicated her life to deciphering its pages. By the time she realized that she was making a mistake, it was too late. She knew she couldn't fight the evil and madness that was now in her mind, but she had one last idea. She trapped herself inside the book, and she extended the lines to the edges of each page so that they'd function as a kind of enchanted barrier.”
“A what?”
“Didn't you ever try turning the damn thing on its side?” he asks. “The lines of the book are like bars on a cage, Mia. When Eleanor Fabricci
killed herself, she managed to trap her evil side inside the book.”
Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I look over for a moment at the roaring furnace, which is casting a flickering orange glow across the entire basement. I turn back to Salvatore, but – at that moment – I hear a thudding sound, and I turn to see that somebody is trying to open the door at the top of the stairs. It's as if that dead woman is trying to come down here after us.
“The ink would never last forever,” Salvatore explains as he hurries to a set of shelves at the far end of the room and starts searching among the pots and jars. “That's why she left instructions for the entire book to be painstakingly copied. She knew that the evil contained in the book would disrupt the process, so she insisted that it had to be done constantly, and that it must all be the work of a single individual. She knew that so long as all the rules were followed, the bars would hold and her evil spirit would never be able to escape.”
“Evil spirit?” I stammer. “What are you talking about?”
“I knew you'd screw it up,” he says. “I just had a hunch about you, from the moment I first saw you. I tried to persuade Mr. Shawyer, but he wouldn't listen to me. He told me you'd be fine!” He turns and glares at me. “Now look what you've done. Thanks to you, Eleanor Fabricci – or at least, the dark side of Eleanor Fabricci – is loose again. And before you ask, I don't have a clue what she's planning to do. All I know is that Eleanor herself insisted that she should never, ever be allowed to escape.”
The door shudders again, and when I look up the stairs I swear I can see the entire door starting to come a little loose in its frame.
“We don't have long,” Salvatore explains, as he resumes his search. “Fortunately, I anticipated that someday someone would screw up. I had time to plan. I told Mr. Shawyer that we should get more help, but he didn't listen to me about that, either. He kept saying that we couldn't let anyone know, that he was entrusted with this task by previous generations of his family. But I knew we needed a back-up plan, so I created this!”
