B007Q4JDEM EBOK

by K. A. Poe

  “I don't have much to tell you right now,” he said in a strange voice, “that will have to wait until the right time.”

  “Midnight, right?” I laughed, but I wasn't amused.

  “Perhaps,” he lifted his head to look at me, “I'm not sure what I can tell you, to be honest. It isn't entirely for me to decide.”

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  “It will be easier to explain come midnight,” he assured me, but I was doubtful.

  “Do you not own a TV?” I asked, growing bored.

  “No. I have no use for one.”

  “What?” I laughed. “Everyone watches TV, or at least movies!”

  “Do they?” he asked thoughtfully as he rested his head once more.

  I sat and watched him lying there perfectly still, as time slowly crept by. I was tired – no, exhausted – and longed to return to that familiar place I reluctantly left this morning. This day had twisted in such a way that I never could have imagined. Mom was gone; I still couldn't grasp that fact. I had a house in my name. Jason wanted to throw a party, and I made the wretched mistake of agreeing! Then, I meet this bizarre, yet fascinating boy...and ended up here. How did things turn out this way? I should have woken up in the morning, found mom at her usual spot at the table, left for school, had an ordinary day, gone home, watched TV and gone to bed.

  “So,” I said, interrupting the silence, “seeing as you don't spend your free time watching TV like a normal person, what do you do?”

  “I do plenty of things. A lot of my time is spent reading, hiking, listening to music, pondering our existence...”

  “You do have a pretty big collection of books I see,” I commented, eying the shelves of books. “What are your favorites?”

  I could see a faint smile spread across his lips as he contemplated my question. “Hmm...I suppose that might include some of Charles Dickens' literature, as well as Poe's masterpieces. The Picture of Dorian Gray and I must admit I have a soft spot for Romeo and Juliet.”

  Without scarce realization, I felt myself smile. He shared interest in some of my favorite reads, but that shouldn't surprise me – considering he appeared to have tastes beyond his years, shown not only in his book collection but his choice of clothing as well. “Those are some of my favorites, too,” I replied, “Are you in the drama club at school?”

  He glanced toward me and arched a brow, “While I enjoy the occasional play, I cannot picture myself upon a stage. Why do you ask?”

  “You dress a lot differently than most kids our age.”

  “Our age,” he mused, laughing to himself at some unspoken joke, “I suppose I just have finer taste in clothing than the typical teenager.”

  “What about music? Do you play the piano?” I felt somewhat stupid asking, considering he did possess the very instrument.

  “Occasionally, although I dare say I am not nearly as exquisite a pianist as you are.”

  My cheeks reddened, “I'm not that good, really.”

  “I disagree. You have exceptional talent, Alexis,” he smiled again, “you should put that to use, perhaps make a future out of it.”

  “Me? On stage?” I laughed at the thought. “There is no way I could get on stage in front of a crowd and play. I barely have the nerve to play at school in front of the music teacher. I just can't see myself doing that.” I frowned.

  “You never know, someday that might change.”

  “I wish I could look at it like that as easily as you can,” I sighed. “Do you mind if I check out your book collection?”

  “Be my guest.”

  I watched him closely as I rose from my seat. I walked across the plush rug and over to the bookshelf. To my relief, I found The Raven amongst the wide variety, but that didn’t surprise me at all. I plopped myself down in the armchair, switched on the light and began to read. Before I knew it, I unintentionally dozed off.

  5. MIDNIGHT

  “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” [- Edgar Allan Poe]

  “Nevermore,” I heard a silky voice whisper into my ear. A wisp of cool breath tickled against my neck and I jumped. My eyes burned from exhaustion, and my heart was thumping hard in my chest.

  “It wasn't all a dream, then,” I said, somewhat disappointed but at the same time a little relieved.

  Salem simply smiled at me, “It's midnight.”

  “It is?” I looked at my watch to be sure. “It is! I must have dozed off while reading...what happens now?”

  “Your mother didn't just leave on a whim,” he said grimly, and quite suddenly.

  I stared at him groggily. “You know my mom?”

  “I met her once before,” he said, “You might say I am familiar with her boyfriend. She left this letter with me, to give to you on your birthday.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “She told me where you would be, just read the letter.”

  I tore the letter open, my heart racing once more. How much agony was I going to have to endure before this was all over? I read down the letter, slowly taking in each word -

  'Alexis, September 9th, 2012

  Happy birthday, sweetie. I know the circumstances are a little different than you might have anticipated, but trust me – things are only going to get better. Paul was the one that insisted I leave – perhaps not quite in this manner, but nevertheless you shouldn’t put the blame entirely on me. You can beat him up for that when you see him again.

  I left a present for you with Salem, whom I hope has been kind enough to explain the situation with you more than this letter can. While having a house of your own with no expenses might seem like the perfect eighteenth birthday present, that was more of a gift to me than it was to you. I hope you like it and can find some use for it.

  Visit Paul as soon as you can. You will understand even more clearly when you do.

  Love always,

  Mom'

  Before I could ask, Salem passed me a present. This led me to believe he had read the letter, but I ignored that thought. I ripped the bright pink wrapping paper away, revealing a simple cardboard box. It wasn't taped, but the flaps had been folded so it wouldn't open. I popped up the flaps to reveal a black, leather bound book. When I opened it, the pages were blank. I looked at Salem, as if he might have an answer for me.

  “What is it?” he leaned over to have a peek.

  “Is this some sort of diary?” I laughed. Mom should have known by now that I had no interest in a diary. I had never written in one before, why would I start now?

  “I suppose it must be,” he looked a little shocked, as if he was expecting something entirely different. “Whatever it is, your mom wanted you to have it and that's all that is important,” he smiled.

  “Please tell me this isn't what I waited four hours for.”

  “It isn't,” he glanced away from me, his eyes turned toward the vast window behind the sectional. “Now that you are eighteen, your mother thinks you can handle the truth,” he sighed heavily. “I don't know why I was the one left with this task.”

  “The truth about what?” I demanded.

  “Your heritage, your real family,” he glanced up at me, “I know this is all very sudden, and it is going to be confusing and hurtful, but I need you to listen. Janet isn't your real mother, Alexis. Nor is Desmond your father.”

  I nearly laughed, but stopped myself when I noticed how serious Salem was. “Of course they are my parents! I have been with them all my life!”

  He smiled warmly and took my hand, leading me to the sofa. I sat down hesitantly beside him. “Paul is your real father.”

  “As in my Uncle Paul?” I shook my head and laughed. “That's not possible. Is this some sort of birthday prank?”

  “Think about it, Alexis.”

  And I did. I thought hard, picturing Des
mond and Janet in my mind. I looked nothing at all like them. My father was dark-skinned, lanky and there was no resemblance between him and me. My mother and I may have shared the same dark brunette hair and light complexion, but everything else about us was different. My head was spinning, this was too much.

  “Relax,” Salem whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It is going to take some adjusting to, but in time it will all make sense. I promise.”

  “Why has Paul been keeping this from me?” I wanted to cry, to scream, to escape. This was all too much in one day.

  “He had to wait. It wasn't safe until now,” Salem's blue eyes were serious again. “Have you ever read about the Salem Witch Trials?”

  Why was he suddenly changing the subject? I nodded slowly, recalling reading about it in middle school.

  “Remember how I told you my name was a bit contradictory?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I remembered it more than I wanted to admit.

  “My mother was an ancestor to Alice Young,” he spoke quietly, “she was the first witch to be executed during the Trials. Do you understand how this is contradictory?”

  “Yes...” I muttered. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “The world isn't as simple as it might seem, Alexis,” he stared out the window behind us. The water rippled elegantly, the bright moonlight reflected upon the lake's surface. “Coincidences simply aren't coincidental.”

  The cake. The cake wasn't coincidental? On came the spinning again. “What are you trying to tell me, Salem?” I gasped, trying to breathe.

  “Calm down,” he whispered, “the witches in Massachusetts were real witches.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a witch?”

  “Warlock would be the correct term,” he replied with mild humor, “but, no. I'm not a warlock - at least, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly?” I eyed him suspiciously.

  “I have some...special abilities. But I am definitely not a warlock.”

  “I think you have a bad case of sleep deprivation or something, Salem. This is insane.

  He smirked. “I don't sleep. It isn't necessary for me.”

  “What?” I laughed, knowing I must still be asleep and suffering from bizarre dreams brought on from the stress of yesterday’s events.

  “I'll explain that another time.”

  “I should go home...” I blurted out suddenly. “This is all wrong. This is all crazy…you're crazy!”

  The last words clearly stung. “I am not crazy. Neither are you. And you are in no condition to be driving right now. You can stay here.”

  “Here?!” I shouted, bewildered. “Would you stay in some stranger’s house after they told you your parents weren't who you thought they were for the past eighteen years, and then told you they had special 'abilities'?!”

  Salem frowned and his eyes reflected the sadness. “Honestly, I probably wouldn't – if I didn't know all of this was true.”

  “What are these special ‘abilities’ you claim to have? And how do you do them?” My mind was racing with questions, worries. Was this really happening?

  “That cake,” He smiled sheepishly, “I can make things materialize like that.”

  “What? How?”

  “It's a long story, Alexis,” He leaned back on the couch. “You probably couldn't handle it all right now. I'll tell you more tomorrow.”

  “I can handle it,” I insisted, although I knew that was a lie. In fact, I was almost certain I was somewhere beside the highway, unconscious in my flipped over vehicle and my mind was wandering as I slowly slipped away, because this was not possible. Wake up, Alexis, wake up!, I thought to myself as my mind raced almost as quickly as my heart.

  “I won't tell you any more until you have rested,” he said firmly, “would you be more comfortable sleeping on the sofa or in the guest room?”

  “I'd rather sleep outside in my car,” I said sharply.

  “I could arrange for that to happen, but really, I think it'd be wiser to stay indoors.”

  “Fine. I'll sleep here,” I didn't object to him helping me stretch out across the sofa, nor did I notice him leave the room to fetch a blanket and pillow. I had to admit that this was comfortable, warm and much better than struggling to sleep in the Alero.

  “Goodnight, Alexis,” Salem whispered as my eyes fell shut. Sleep overcame me quickly as I silently hoped I would wake up in my familiar bed to find this had all truly been a dream.

  6. PAUL

  There was that familiar tugging again. My dreams were full of wonder, a strange boy named Salem, mom abandoning me...this time I was more eager to wake up. I was startled when I found myself on a white sofa identical to the one in my dream – or what I had hoped was a dream. I screamed, pulled myself away from the comfortable sectional couch and ran toward the tall white doors.

  As the doors slammed shut behind me, I fell to my knees on the alabaster stairs. My Alero was gone. I fought the urge to scream again, and felt a sudden whip of cold air from behind me.

  “Good morning,” the silky, sweet voice of the boy from my dream filled my ears.

  I rose from the ground and thrust myself at him, my palm prepared to smack him across the cheek, but he was too quick. He gripped my wrist tightly and pulled my arm downward. “There's no need for that,” his voice was tense. “Your car isn't gone. It is in the garage.”

  My eyes fell upon the garage to the left of the house and I sighed with relief. He released my hand. “While we're out here, why don't we drive over to Paul's business? There are many things he needs to explain to you, and the sooner you know, the sooner you will understand everything,” he suggested, his voice more calm and gentle now.

  “I don't want to go there,” I replied stubbornly. If all of this was true, I didn't think I was ready to face reality. Paul couldn't be my father.

  “You need to eventually, you know,” Salem said calmly, “and somewhere, deep down, you want to.”

  “What use would it be? It won't change anything.”

  “It will change a lot of things, actually,” he stated. “You'll feel better if you go.”

  “I doubt it.”

  The garage door opened, revealing my silver car. Salem gripped my hand gently and tugged me over to the vehicle, then dangled the keys before me. I sighed, taking the keys and climbing into the car. It appeared I had little choice, he was persistent. I sat behind the steering wheel, pondering whether I could pull out of the garage and go home before he made it into the passenger seat. I put the key in the ignition and started the car, about to put it in reverse when I heard the passenger side door slam.

  “You're too slow,” he smirked.

  “Maybe you're too fast,” I said glumly.

  After enduring the long winding trip away from Salem's house, we had driven across town and pulled up to Paul's Auto shop. I glanced over at Salem, who had an apprehensive look on his face.

  “What's the matter with you?” I asked.

  His expression changed immediately, “Nothing. Go on ahead, I will wait out here.”

  “I'm perfectly fine with you coming along,” Part of me sincerely wished he would join me; I didn't want to face Paul alone.

  “No,” he looked at me sternly, “it would be best if I was not present.”

  “I don't see why Paul wouldn't want you coming inside if you’re somehow a part of this big mess.”

  “I'm staying out here, and that's final,” he replied, looking away from me.

  “Fine!” I said bitterly, slamming the door behind me as I left the boy in the car. His eyes were watchful as I entered through the glass door. The smell of oil was overwhelming to the point that I had to cover my nose to avoid gagging.

  Paul wasn't anywhere to be seen at first, but I could distinctly hear his voice paired with someone else's. He must have been with a customer. I noticed a small surveillance camera perched high up on the ceiling and I felt like it was following my every step. It had b
een years since I came here, and everything looked exactly the same.

  The building was fairly small, but big enough to fit a back room full of various-sized car, bicycle and motorcycle tires. There were at least seven aisles of vehicle-related objects that I simply had no idea what were. For me, this was probably the most boring store in existence. I decided to browse the store while I waited, quietly stepping down each short aisle. As I went down the third aisle of the store, I found a row of things I recognized and understood: air fresheners. I picked up a rose-shaped one and sniffed it, displeased by the fact that I could barely smell the scent through the plastic sleeve.

  “Can I help you?” a woman's voice asked. I jumped and looked in her direction.

  She was about a foot shorter than me – which was unfortunate for her, because I was barely over five feet myself – and a little chunky around the midsection. Her face was round and full, and atop her head was a spiked mess of pink hair. She wore a loose, sleeveless black top that revealed her arms, both of which were covered in vibrant, colorful tattoos. She had to be at least twenty-five or so.

  “I-I'm looking for Paul,” I stuttered.

  “He's with someone at the moment, is there anything I can help you with?” Her voice was high-pitched and light, bizarre coming from someone of her appearance.

  “No. I'm sort of...family,” I wanted to say I was his niece, but that wasn't the correct answer anymore.

  “Oh!” she grinned and held her hand out, “I'm Kate.”

  “I'm Alexis,” I muttered, wishing I could retreat back to my car and avoid all of this. “Do you know how long until he’s done?”

  “No idea, but knowing him it could be a while,” she laughed, “he gets easily caught up in his work.”

  “What do you do here?” I asked, trying to pass the time.

  “I work behind the counter,” she replied, pointing to the checkout counter at the front of the store. “I've been here for almost four years now, and don't tell Paul, but I still know very little about the junk people bring in here.”