Chapter Four
The Sun: Be playful, embrace your inner child.
Dorothy burst awake. She looked around her room but of course, there was nothing to see in the darkness. She squinted at her cell phone. It was 3:33. Her heart beat quickly.
Why am I awake?
She gazed around the room again, trying to peer between the shadows that danced from the shutters and curtains that blocked the streetlights. She pushed her hair from her face.
There was tapping coming from the living room. It was a steady knocking.
Is that the door? Who would be there? Natasha?
Her mind raced with a million scenarios. Maybe it was Natasha. Maybe she was hurt and needed some help. There was always something weird going on with her. Dorothy fought the urge to call out. She opened her nightstand drawer and lifted up her small Book of Shadows that lay on top of a little wooden box. She put it on top of the nightstand. Then she put the box carefully on her lap and opened it.
The interior of the cedar box was lined with red velvet, stains from crushed salt giving it a mosaic pattern. Dorothy took a moment to inhale deeply of the smells of the wood, reminding her of different times. She stroked the velvet in the lid of the box as she looked at the item carefully tied in placed below. It was fixed to a special black velvet pad. It glimmered. Silver and shiny, Dorothy only used it on the most special occasions, and she had recently signed up for the love spell of the month.
She ran her finger along the long, cold steel of the athame. She stroked the gilded handle that was embedded with emeralds and rubies. She loosened the fastenings that clipped it to the pad and lifted it with two fingers, one on the handle, the other on the tip. The moonlight caught the gemstones, colorful shards of light, twinkling like little stars in her strange little universe.
With it in her hand, Dorothy slid off the bed carefully, trying not to make any noise. The floors creaked. The shadows danced wildly on the walls. She wanted to turn on the light so badly that her stomach ached. However, it was better that it was pitch black.
The tapping had stopped but now there was talking coming from the living room. Or perhaps it was coming from the front parlor where she read her crystal balls for her clients.
Dorothy paused, her fingers dancing in her hand, circling the cold silver. She closed her eyes trying to see with her mind.
Who is there?
The mutterings began again. Was it one person prattling on or was it two people flipping back and forth?
Who are you talking to?
She couldn’t see anything; the imagery was blocked. She trembled. She searched in her mind, combing through the thick air between her and the living room, crawling through space but she was blocked by blackness every inch, every angle. She trembled more; her feet stopped at the threshold of her bedroom, reluctant to move forward.
A wave of cold swept along her arms, swishing past her and then, was gone. She rubbed her arm with one hand, touching the raised goosebumps, still searching through the air and between the slips of vibrations for who was there and now, who had just rushed past her.
She bit her lip and opened her eyes. The slats of the blinds had flicked open and beams of brilliant moonlight poured into the room. Her eyes burned, adjusting to the sudden brightness. She still clutched the athame, the palm of her hand growing warm. She looked at it, the dazzle in the sharp light of the moon creating shimmers of reflections dancing along the room. Dorothy turned to look out the window through the slats of the blinds to see if there was anything to give her a clue about who was in her living room. What she could see of the outside world was unremarkable. Mostly just her own eyes reflecting back at her in the glass. Beyond that, her lawn before dawn. No doubt there would be deer nibbling the hedges and birds stirring in the trees. But the glare of the glass prevented her from seeing any of it. She turned away from the window.
Tap tap tap
Tap tap tap
Tap tap tap
The noise came from the living room. Perhaps the parlor. Perhaps the kitchen. Maybe even the bathroom.
Dorothy stepped towards the threshold that lay between the safety of her bedroom and the hallway. She paused. The steady tapping was disturbingly loud in the night. It was a click. A slight vibration through the floor and the walls. Her cottage was very small, a passing car often gave the illusion of an earthquake.
A knocking. A tapping. Perhaps someone building a bookcase... why would someone be building anything at three in the morning? This was no hammer, no tap dance, no Morse code that she could figure out.
Morse code...
Maybe it only seems loud because I don’t know what it is.
Dorothy took another step. She swore her legs would give out, they were trembling with her nerves, but she kept going as she carefully placed one foot after the other, praying that the floorboards wouldn’t groan. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the athame.
What would I do with this anyway?
She touched one of the gemstones on the handle and it gently vibrated.
She crept further. The voice or voices were back.
Be quiet, don’t disturb me.
Her breath hitched. She shut her eyes again, hoping to catch a glimpse in the space between the space.
Do what is it you think you’re going to do.
She opened her eyes wide and looked toward the narrow hallway that led to the living room, at the shadows flittering along the wall, their spindly limbs bobbing as if in mock glee at her mounting fear. Her fingers were sweaty on the athame and she rolled it from palm to tip.
Think I’m going to find out what the hell is going on in my living room.
She got up and let the voices keep chattering with each other. She had to get a grip and do something.
She closed her eyes again and let her mind go blank. She let the darkness unfold behind her eyelids. She let her fingers go as loose as they could despite her fear and despite the grip on the athame. She envisioned her stomach unclenching, just for a moment, so she could absorb vibrations from the universe, feel the vibrations from the living room blowing towards her and into her.
What is going on?
In a moment and then another moment, her stomach niggled as if something was burning away inside of her. She opened her eyes quickly and stared out towards the living room. The tapping was louder and more insistent.
I don’t want to go out there.
Yes, you must.
I don’t have to do anything that I don’t want to do.
Don’t be a coward, Dorothy. Don’t run away again.
I’m not running away if I’m in my own home.
The voices blurred into tapping sounds that turned to rapid staccato as if a thousand hail pellets rained down on a tin roof just beyond the hallway. From the living room.
Dorothy held her shaking hand to her mouth, trying not to scream. With the athame by her side, hidden in the folds of her nightgown, she walked slowly down the hallway towards the living room. The hail stopped. The slow persistent tapping returned.
The living room was dark and appeared to be growing darker while the tapping grew louder and louder still.
Tap tap tap
Dorothy stood in the darkness, trying to see if there was anything to see it all. Eyes shut, eyes open; there was nothing. Nothing to see in any corner, nothing to see on the wall, on the floor, as the room was blacker than it had ever been. The room was so black that it was as if it had been coated in black latex. She couldn’t see out the windows because of the blackness and the curtains. Normally she would see the cracks of a moonlit night through the slats of the windows meeting the curtain. Even in her bedroom where she had blinds and curtains, some of the moonlight seeped through the slats. In the living room, there were no leaking beams of moonlight.
Dorothy slid her hand along the hallway wall. She was shaking so badly she thought she was going to freak out. Her stomach rolled and rumbled with different sensations, as if strands of spaghetti made from vibration
s instead of wheat were tumbling around her guts.
I can do this
The tapping hammered away. Her hand ached from gripping the knife too tightly.
Her fingers found the light switch and flipped it on. The living room was normally illuminated from a small globe-shaped light fixture on the ceiling over the sofa. She rarely used it as it wasn’t very bright. She tended to use lamps in the living room, and she didn’t have them hooked up to the main switch.
The room was still swathed in blackness despite the illumination. The globe light jutting from the ceiling glowed weakly as if it were a balloon sitting on top of a bigger balloon. A little soapy bubble sitting on top of a big black balloon. A big black balloon that consumed the entire room. The sides were smooth as plastic and shiny black as a ball of obsidian.
The tapping was coming from inside of the Black Mass.
“What do you want?” Dorothy asked. Her fingers clutched the athame in her nightgown.
The tapping continued frantically, loud and impatient.
“Slow down,” she commanded. “If you’re talking in code you’re going way too fast for me.”
The tapping slowed slightly.
“That’s better. At least, it’s a little bit better,” Dorothy said. “Didn’t I hear actual voices in here not five minutes ago?”
The tapping was slower, softer. The urgency was lifting which made hearing or sensing it less painful. As the tapping continued, Dorothy detected a rhythm to it.
A different rhythm. Something beyond frantic tapping.
The taps became more musical as if they were the rhythm section to a song.
Boy, I wish Natasha was here. She knows all about music.
But Natasha wasn’t there.
“Slow down,” Dorothy said. “Can’t you slow down even more? It’s still confusing.”
The tapping slowed a little more. She detected a waltz quality to the beat but she still was unable to figure out what it was that she was supposed to be hearing or understanding.
Her stomach was knotted into a rock by this point. She put her hand to it rubbing it, trying to loosen the sensation of a ball of worms coiled up inside.
Why do you always think the worst? It’s not a ball of worms. It’s a ball of understanding. It’s a thread of music living inside, trying to bring you the messages. Listen.
Dorothy took a deep breath and imagined the ball spinning, loosening inside of her stomach. The tapping grew loud again. She started swaying to the waltz-type tempo and the ball that rolled in her stomach began to flow out.
As the beautiful colored thread left her navel, it floated towards the Black Mass like a space worm in orbit or a sea snake in the ocean. And as the exotic colors flowed from her body, music played. Beautiful music that encompassed the tapping and she melted into it until there was a symphony of information flooding her ears through to her mind.
I can see it. I can see the beauty of it all.
She held up her hands as the ribbons continued to painlessly flow from her stomach like a magic trick. The athame gleamed against the darkness of the Black Mass.
But what am I supposed to be seeing? What’s the message?
The music continued to play. The tapping was joined by humming, a flute, a guitar, softly strumming, a violin harmonically ringing. Dorothy swayed in time as the ribbons left her and took new form in the Black Mass. The ribbons threaded through each other to create a man who stood perhaps six feet tall, perhaps shorter, certainly not taller. Dorothy wasn’t sure. Dorothy’s body was warm, the longer the ribbons danced, the more she sank into the vibrations. The pulse was both soothing and arousing.
The man shimmered as the ribbons fluttered; one minute he was a human figure form. In the next, ribbons were weaving and winding in the air as if they were dancing with each other, parting and returning, coming back together to form a face. A giant handsome male clean-shaven face. The expression was neutral, broad forehead, bright inquisitive eyes, mouth closed with perfect lips. The face pulsed with the song, then collapsed into a spiral of ribbons only to reform yet again.
The music was so loud Dorothy wondered if anyone could hear it outside of her house or if it was just for her. She asked the darkness again.
“What am I supposed to be learning? What is the message?”
The man unravelled for the last time, the ribbons fluttered away into themselves folding and unfolding until they were part of the Black Mass. The tapping began again as the ribbons were gone, fully absorbed. Then, the Black Mass rose from the room, rolling like a pregnant cloud then melting into the walls. It spread along like a puddle then branched into smaller streams and finally broke apart into shadow people dancing along the walls. They ran towards the ceiling light and piled into it.
Dorothy stared until the Black Mass was gone. The tapping and music were gone as well.
The dull yellow globe light continued to shine as if nothing had happened at all.
* * *
“Well, now...” Dorothy said as she loosened her grip on the athame. She walked over to the spot where the man had been formed from the ribbons that had emerged from her navel. She stood tall with her feet together, pointing forward, and closed her eyes, holding her palms up to the ceiling, the athame gleaming flat in one hand, wondering if she would be able to receive the final part of whatever message it was she had just received.
“I don’t understand. Please, spirit, help me understand the message that was brought to me here tonight.”
She waited. There was silence.
“Is this a man I’m supposed to love and be happy with?”
She paused, listening for a tap or song or any other response. There was nothing.
“Or is this someone I’m to be fearful of, someone who might be bad for me that I may not recognize at first?”
There was no answer from the darkness or from the light. Dorothy walked out of the living room, which had returned to normal, and headed towards her parlor. She turned on the hallway light.
The front parlor was where she saw her clients and kept most of her favorite crystal balls. There were shelves along the walls with various sizes of crystal balls. Over in one corner, a huge crystal ball sat on top of the wings of a brass gargoyle. Heavy velvet curtains framed it, giving it a theatrical edge. The crystal itself was covered with a cloth.
Dorothy sat at a small round table that had a crystal ball the size of a human head sitting on a simple gold stand on top of it. She lifted the soft, black velvet cover from the ball and put it on a side table. There were five gold candles surrounding the ball and she lit them one by one. Once the candles were lit, she stood and went out to turn off the hallway light. She looked over at the living room. There was no tapping. No ribbons. No Black Mass.
Returning to the table, she gazed into the ball intently, trying to remember the music that had overwhelmed her and threaded through her body. With the music of her own making, Dorothy stared into the crystal ball, blurring her eyes to see, opening her nose to smell and opening her mouth to taste the musical notes. They were really slick and wouldn’t come again. The ball was clear, very clear in the way that crystals balls can be as clear as peering through a window. The ball reflected back the five gold candles multiple times, elongated flames filling the crystal. Dorothy turned her attention from the ball to the flickering flames of the candles. She took in the image of five candles flickering, tiny black plumes of smoke rising from the flames. The plumes joined into one above the crystal ball.
Dorothy focused on just one flame. She stared at the candle in front of her and slowly paired that image with the reflection in the ball. The flame quickened and slowed, the orange center glowing with a strand of blue reaching up and out as if trying to push through the orange. That was the flame’s flicker in the crystal ball, but it wasn’t the murky face of the colorful man who was in her living room. The flame in the ball flickered and shifted, another shape taking hold.
It was the face of a woman.
What?
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Years ago, a crystal ball reader had warned her to not get excited about images that she spotted in the ball. She had to be patient and sit back, blurring her eyes. If she leaned forward quickly and abruptly, she would disturb the image, whether it was her own trance or whether it was something in the crystal detecting her motion. Whatever it might be, she had done it too many times before a crucial moment and during crucial questions often about herself, of course. This time she had to be certain that she would not disturb the image.
She sat comfortably still, breathing softly so as not to disturb the candle flame. She gazed into the center of the ball. The single candle flame was growing larger and the flame within grew with it.
Do I recognize this face?
She searched her mind trying to remember how the features were familiar. Was it the eyes? Large, dark, deep empty holes... As the face grew larger, puffing up within its glass world like a balloon, the nose, long and slender, a mole to the left, a freckle to the right. And lips. Large, red, moist lips turned up in a cruel grimace. Dorothy knew she had seen that face before but where?
Who is this if not one of my witch sisters sending me a message?
It was someone else, some... thing else. It grew larger, filling up the ball, the image blurring as it expanded even more and then, was gone. The remaining color was so blue that it even fell through and around the crystal ball in a vibrant, shimmering river. Other images twinkled from inside the ball. There were flames from the candles on the outside and orange colors that resided within the blue. They flickered and melted together creating new spindly dancing creatures, the shadows of her own self. From within the crystal, the sky reflected back at her and then, so did other faces. There were other faces morphing in and out of the shadows that weren’t her own, that weren’t reflections of the flames, faces which were seemingly disconnected from the new giant that grew larger with every breath that she took.
As the giant loomed larger in the ball, the other images withered then faded away. The giant continued to grow until it too was gone, leaving behind the bright blue sky that poured out of the crystal.
Taurus: A Hearse of a Different Color Page 4
