Fear Not the Dark

by Susan Murray

  It was a scholarly yet comfortable room, and it reminded Marley of her missing Uncle. She glanced down at Galea, wondering what her unexpected guest thought of the house.

  Galea smiled up at her and Marley felt that odd pang again. The child had a strangely vulnerable appeal. The little girl was still shivering a little and she’d been somehow trusting enough to accompany Marley into the unknown of Uncle Max’s house. Where could her parents be?

  “Let’s have a cup of cocoa, shall we?” Marley suggested.

  Galea nodded.

  “The kitchen is back this way.” Marley led the way down a hallway which ran between the dining room and library, Galea following.

  The inside of the house smelled a bit musty. Although Uncle Max had spent a lot of time working at the bookstore a couple of blocks away, he’d always preferred living on his houseboat during the warmer summer and autumn months.

  He’d said that living on the water gave him a better perspective on life. As a result, the house in Uptown lacked any kind of true lived-in feel, despite the efforts of Uncle Max’s occasional housekeeper, Becky, who cleaned and kept the place stocked with food for Max’s visits.

  CHAPTER 8

  October 30th – 12:00 a.m.

  Marley poked about in the refrigerator, locating sufficient ingredients for a couple of toasted fully-loaded cheese sandwiches. Bread, cheese, tomatoes and lettuce, Becky really had thought of everything, bless her heart. Marley offered up a round of silent thanks.

  While she made them each a couple of sandwiches Marley kept up a running patter of conversation aimed at finding out more about the little girl sitting across from her at the kitchen table.

  “You must be in, what, fourth grade this year? Fifth grade?” Marley slid a sandwich onto Galea’s plate. “So where do you go to school?”

  “My father’s servants tutor me at home.” Galea took a bite of toasted cheese, her golden eyes rounding with pleasure. “Thank you. This is very good.” She smiled, showing small white teeth.

  “Home-schooled huh?” Marley took a bite of her own sandwich and a sip of milk. “Are your parents from Minneapolis?”

  Galea shot her a laughing glance, quickly concealed under thick, dark lashes. “My parents are from another place,” she replied cagily, using a napkin to pat her small hands clean of buttery toast crumbs.

  “Do you know where your parents are?” Marley asked, gently but persistently.

  Galea gave her a thoughtful look. “Yes.”

  “Don’t you think we should call them and let them know you’re safe here?”

  Galea shook her head vehemently around a huge bite of sandwich. “They do not want me to be here,” she told Marley, finally. “They do not like me to go off by myself.”

  “Most parents wouldn’t.” Marley agreed. “Maybe we should just call them anyway and let them know you’re all right.”

  Galea shook her head and lowered her eyes stubbornly to the plate without answering. Marley was wise enough to drop the subject, realizing that if she pushed too hard the child might just decide to run away again.

  Given the cold of the night and possibility of harm to a lone child on the streets, this wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interests. Besides, after Marley dropped Galea off at the Kid Factory in the morning, Alison would easily be able to find the little girl’s parents.

  Although Galea was built like a ballerina, she ate like a linebacker and managed to polish off a pile of chips, a pickle, two sandwiches and a glass of milk. When she finally stopped eating and gazed about her with a satisfied and slightly sleepy expression, Marley loaded their dishes into the washer and took her small guest upstairs.

  “Wait.” Galea stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gazing apprehensively at the front door. “Is it locked?” she asked Marley. “Maybe we should check it to be sure.” Marley was startled right out of her post cheese sandwich lull by the little girl’s security conscious mindset. Why would Galea even suggest such a thing? What or who was the little girl running away from?

  “I’m pretty sure it’s already locked.” Marley replied, trying not to let her concern for Galea show. Crossing the foyer, she gave the front door handle an experimental twist to demonstrate that it was so. “I always lock the doors out of habit.” Uptown was a fairly peaceable place but a person never knew.

  Despite Marley’s assurances, Galea insisted on personally checking to see that the back door was locked as well before she would consent to get ready for sleep. The child offered no explanation for this odd behavior and Marley asked for none. Who knew what sort of trauma the little girl had experienced?

  Galea didn’t seem terribly fearful, but then again how many normal children went around the house locking doors and checking for burglars at bedtime. Children usually preferred taking bubble baths and reading stories, didn’t they? Once upstairs Marley and Galea made the rounds of the second floor together, checking and locking every single window without discussing why. The little girl seemed to relax a bit more once this had been done.

  Fortunately Becky had left everything ready for company in the second floor guest bedroom. Two small wooden chairs stood against the wall flanking a small single bed under a red and white checkered chenille bedspread. Matching red and white curtains hung at the windows and several cheery photographs of forest scenery and baby deer hung framed on the walls. Marley showed Galea around the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

  “I think you’ll find everything you need in here.” Marley tested the faucets at the sink to make sure the hot water heater in the basement was still functioning. It was. Leaving the bathroom, she checked the linen closet next to the bathroom to see whether Becky had kept a supply of clean towels and wash cloths on hand. She had.

  Behind her in the bathroom, the water was being turned on, then off. Then on, then off again. On. Then off. Marley chose a set of blue towels with a bright yellow sunflower pattern and returned to find her guest playing with the hot and cold water faucets.

  Turning them on, then off. Obviously delighted. Mile-wide grin on her little face.

  “Here.” Marley had rummaged around in the guest room closet and found an old purple velour sweat shirt with matching pants she’d loved back in seventh grade. “You can wear these to sleep in if you want to.”

  “Thank you.” Galea stroked the soft material with genuine appreciation. Marley tucked her in for the night without a lullaby, since she didn’t want to scare the poor thing off her sleep. Hopefully the child would have a good rest and things would seem less frightening to her in the morning.

  After settling Galea in for the night, Marley fiddled around and about the house generally making sure that all was secure, double-checking the windows and doors. There was no tangible reason for her feeling of unease aside from Galea’s concern earlier. The night was still and quiet except for an October wind that rustled around the house, slyly rattling at windowpanes. Things were maybe a little atmospheric, but nothing scary.

  Still, something about Galea’s anxiety had rubbed off onto Marley herself, and even though it was late she had a nervous energy going on so she decided to open Uncle Max’s mail. Retrieving the mail pile from a coffee table in the dining room where she’d tossed it earlier that morning, Marley made her way upstairs to the attic.

  The summer she’d worked for Uncle Max, Marley had converted the space to her sleeping quarters. She liked spreading her futon out directly under the skylight at night and watching the constellations swing by overhead. It had been over a year since she’d slept in the attic but everything was still there, exactly the way she’d left it.

  Bookshelves stacked with toys and paperbacks, an old rocking horse that had been too small for Marley to use back when Max had pu
rchased it at an estate sale. An electric train set that traveled from chimney to chimney all the way around. A cedar closet filled with paint-stained work clothes, a couple of wicker armchairs grouped around a glass-topped wicker coffee table and a big brown Navy trunk leftover from her Uncle’s service days. Home sweet home.

  Marley spread the contents of Uncle Max’s postbox out on her futon.

  Since his passing, Uncle Max had received invoices, adverts, a letter, a picture postcard from Mexico of a man in a sombrero riding a mule inscribed with the words “Hi Max! We’re having a great time, see you soon. Love and Xx, Zoey”, a manila envelope with a calendar from the Save The Trees people and a book-sized package wrapped in battered brown paper.

  There was no return address on the package and it was largely covered in foreign postmarks, some dating back five weeks. Its colorful journey seemed to have originated in Syria. From there it had gone to Acapulco after which it had traveled to San Diego, finally arriving at the downtown Minneapolis mail station five days ago. The package had a blurred and weary look, as though relieved to have finally reached its destination.

  Marley snipped the wrapping paper open. An old leather book was inside, its cover engraved with a design of an Ouroborus containing an infinity sign within, a snake eating its tail encircling a figure eight. Marley flipped the book open gently and stretched out the thick, old pages. It was quite unlike anything she’d seen before and it smelled faintly of flowers.

  Like a Mayan codex, the book was one long, accordion-folded piece of what looked like vellum. The two covers simply attached at either end of the length of folded manuscript they protected. Most strange of all was the fact that the entire manuscript was blank. Even though someone had gone to all the trouble of making the book, there was no writing of any kind contained within. Not a single word.

  Marley felt a slight lump in the folded pages and fanned through until she found a blackened metal disc a little bigger than a quarter that had been wedged midway through the book. The disc seemed to have been used as a crude bookmark, which made no sense given that all of the pages were blank.

  Removing the metal disk curiously, Marley flipped it over and hefted it in her hand. The thing was about the size and weight of a laundry token and was tarnished so darkly she couldn’t make out the design that had been etched onto its surface.

  Aside from its generally decrepit state the disk seemed completely unremarkable. Maybe it was some sort of really old money, or some kind of seal for signing pages in hot wax. Marley rubbed the disc a few times more to polish away some of its grubby tarnish but soon gave up, dropped it absently into her bathrobe pocket and flipped one more time through the blank pages of the book.

  Strange that such a thing had been sent to her Uncle Max. Marley knew that in the weeks before his death he had been working on research into Syrian artifacts but what could the blank book possibly mean? Even given Uncle Max’s interest in rare books why would anyone have bothered to send him something that couldn’t be read? Losing interest, Marley re-wrapped the book in its original brown paper shell and left it atop her Uncle’s old Navy trunk which served as her dresser up in the attic.

  Then she turned off the lights and curled up sideways on the futon. It had been a long day, and quite an eventful one at that. Plus she had a busy schedule in the morning. For once Marley fell asleep without even noticing the stars through the skylight overhead.

  CHAPTER 9

  October 30th – 3:00 a.m.

  Flying like a bird soaring high above miles and miles of golden desert, dust devils in the distance stir the drifting dunes a white temple gleams in the moonlight. Before the gates to the temple a golden harp. A melody floats sweet on the night air.

  The gates open.

  Pale hint of green blushes the earth, tendrils of grass spring forth lushly trees fully fruited an oasis of fountains sparkling waters gurgling chuckling marble ponds and channels running. Music drifting on the wind sun-dappled flagstone streets and white stone houses people talking and laughing, market noisy with life.

  Colorful encampment of tents tapestries rolls of cloth stacks of rugs. Dried figs apricots, fresh pears and dates. Huge clay urns full of milk and honey chilling in the shade. Camels, donkeys and chickens in cages and the scent of cinnamon on the air, smoke and incense wafting from a nearby braiser.

  Then suddenly Marley was back in Uncle Max’s attic where she abruptly awoke from her dream, at first not quite sure where she was but then remembering.

  Uncle Max’s house. Galea. And the late-night cheese sandwich which no doubt went a long way toward explaining the startling clarity of her weird dream. All was well, Marley reassured herself, sinking back into the pillows again.

  But no. Was she still dreaming? Marley could hear voices speaking downstairs ever so faintly. Feeling a sudden jolt of concern for Galea, Marley hopped up off the futon and tucked her feet into her bunny slippers parked on the floor nearby.

  There were no telephones that she knew of on any of the upper floors and her cell phone was charging on the kitchen counter downstairs. Marley flew down the stairs, listening to the somewhat heated conversation taking place on the first floor. One of the voices was definitely Galea’s. The other voice was that of an adult male.

  “. . .forbidden! You have been very disobedient!” The man’s voice was saying, as Marley came around the corner of the landing.

  Galea’s voice answering fiercely, passionately. “But he will come here, I have seen it. I can help!”

  The man’s voice again, somewhat warmer. “We must go home, child. We cannot interfere and we shouldn’t be here at all. The pattern will reassert itself.”

  Marley chose this moment to join the tense tableaux, coming into view as she skidded down the remaining stairs. In the foyer near the front door, Galea stood facing a man wearing a very fierce expression.

  The intruder had brown skin and thick, wavy black hair. He was several inches taller than Marley and his eyes were the same golden shade and clarity of Galea’s. The resemblance between the two of them was striking. They wore twin looks of stubborn determination, but even considering Galea’s lack of stature she was defiant, holding her own against the man’s furious glare.

  Despite the tension in the room Marley couldn’t help noticing that the intruder’s outfit was definitely more than a few standard deviations from the norm. In fact he looked downright bizarre. He was wearing long curly-toed slipper shoes and baggy black (were they even trousers? Maybe some kind of divided skirt?) pants, a red embroidered vest over a long white tunic and multiple collars and bracelets of heavy gold around his neck and muscular arms. He clearly belonged in a circus.

  “Galea are you all right?” Marley turned away from the intruder and looked searchingly at the little girl. “Do you know this man? Did you let him in the house?” She kept her voice even, trying not to escalate the situation.

  Galea gave the fellow a long, considering stare. Eventually shrugged her shoulders to one or all three of Marley’s questions. For someone who’d insisted on checking all the locks earlier Galea was surprisingly calm about the intruder’s presence. What was going on?

  Marley squinted from one to the other of them, noticing the obvious family resemblance. “Are you sure you don’t know him?”

  Another shrug, and Galea wouldn’t meet Marley’s gaze.

  The man’s eyes narrowed and he gave the little girl a long, hard look. “You are a very bad child.” he told her grimly then turned to Marley, his scowl fading quickly. Marley watched as his eyes moved slowly from her untidily pony-tailed hair to the tatty kimono-style bathrobe and bunny slippers. His lips twitched as he eyed her feet.

  Marley drew herself up and did her best to project the kind of authority that her slippers couldn�
��t undermine. “Why are you here? Are you a friend of my Uncle Max Sherman?” A shake of the head no. “Then who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Finally a reluctant response, “I am Lugal Zage Si, Priest King and Ruler of Uruk. Please call me ZAH geh.” He delivered these words with an entirely straight face and a formal bow in her direction.

  “Of course you are.” Marley replied. “Galea, why don’t you come over here.” She reached out for the girl. Giving the man an unreadable sideways look, Galea did as Marley instructed.

  The self-proclaimed Priest King went on earnestly, “You are in great danger. The evil one will come here to take the Eye.” Marley refused to show alarm even though the man was plainly experiencing some sort of psychotic break. Perhaps this was why Galea had run away.

  “Right.” Marley chose her words carefully. “Thank you. I really do appreciate your concern. But it’s late and if you could just come back in the morning we’ll discuss it then. So for now,” waving at Galea to stay back, Marley crossed the foyer, opened the front door and held it open, hoping he’d take the hint. “Could you go, please?”

  “You want me to leave?” He seemed surprised.

  “Yes. Please.” Marley stood firm. “We can sort everything out in the morning. Come by around eight tomorrow morning.” That should give her plenty of time to call the cops.

  The fellow frowned past Marley at Galea. What if he decided not to go? He was a tall man, and under his outlandish garments he looked more than strong enough to enforce his own will. He could easily stop Marley from reaching her phone in the kitchen. With a chill of fear Marley realized she had no actual plan if the intruder simply decided to stay.