| |
I have been able to read minds since I was a kid. It sounded like a neat trick, but often, it had been a curse. I could only take so many unsolicited thoughts before they began to overwhelm me.
Most days anyway.
That morning, with Clara's haunting vision and Lolo's cryptic warning still lingering in my mind, I headed straight for the local history section of the library. If there was something about to befall Crestwood, I was sure the answers lay somewhere in the annals of its past.
Why did I believe this? Because I heard the thoughts of others. People I didn’t know, and some I did, sensed evil approaching. Or at the very least, bad things. So strange that I hadn’t picked up this underlying tension before. Why was I perceiving it now?
Rows of aging books and newspapers on microfilm awaited me. The musty smell of old paper filled the air, and I started with the town's early records. I was particularly interested in anything that might reference the presence of those with supernatural abilities, or the significance of that bizarrely shaped tree that Dr. Emily had seen.
She hadn’t told us about her vision, but I’d seen it. I’d read her mind, and sadly, too easily. She had a gift too, but the good doctor didn’t want to admit it to us. I got the feeling she didn’t even fully understand it. Not really. Not like I did, or the rest of the group.
But Alex. I couldn’t read his mind at all.
He was strong and that wasn’t a good thing. It couldn’t be. Only a certain strain of the criminal element had a steel trap mind. And boy howdy, did he have his shields up, to coin one of my favorite phrases.
Hours passed as I pored over countless articles and records.
The old wooden chair creaked beneath me, and the flickering light above me made the text difficult to read at times. When did that go out? Regardless, I was undeterred, and I was darn sure onto something.
I found an interesting note in our town’s history. One I’d heard of before but forgotten. I think like most people, I thought Jezreel Banks was merely a legend.
I found mention of Jezreel Banks and the elemental Wormwood in an old town chronicle, dating back to the 18th century. It was a handwritten copy of an earlier account.
The story painted Jezreel as a divisive figure—a man both feared and respected. I found myself engrossed in stories of mysterious fires, ghostly apparitions, and peculiar occurrences tied to Jezreel’s presence.
I made a note of this connection, and then, out of sheer curiosity, I decided to look into the Banks family tree. As I delved into the family records, I began to realize that the Banks lineage was riddled with curious events and strange happenings.
Taking a moment to stretch my aching back, I wandered over to the old newspapers section. The microfilm machine hummed softly as I began scanning through editions from decades ago. My fingers expertly twisted the dials, scanning past headlines and photos. And then something caught my eye.
There was an old photograph from the early 1900s of a group standing by that oddly shaped tree – the very same tree Dr. Emily had seen.
Oh my God! That’s also the same tree Clara had described from her vision!
Among the gathered group was a woman, her features strikingly familiar. My breath caught in my throat as realization dawned. That was Clara. Or at least, someone who looked uncannily like her.
Holy heck!
Next to the photo was an article detailing a gathering of the town's special residents – those with gifts. The article was vague, almost as if the writer was afraid to say too much, but it mentioned a prophecy, a coming event that would challenge the gifted ones.
Fascinated, I printed a copy of the photograph and the article. The weight of the discovery settled in my gut. There was more to the group’s collective vision than mere imagination.
And this picture was a piece of a puzzle that connected the past, the present, and potentially, the future.
I had to share this with the group. Whatever was coming, we needed to face it together.
Dr. Emily Thompson didn’t understand why she’d brought us together, but I was beginning to see the bigger picture. Of course, nobody would believe me. Not yet. I still had evidence to gather, and I had to bide my time, as long as possible. The next meeting would be an interesting one.
Wait a minute. How can I wait? I was a researcher. I could easily find Clara’s address. But would she welcome a visit from me?
No. I better start with Dr. Emily. She’d at least give me the professional courtesy of listening. Yeah, that’s what I’d do.
I glanced up at my Timex. Ten minutes and I’d be out of here. I wondered how long she’d be in her office. I glanced at my watch again. I began tidying up my mess. By the time I got done, it would be time to go. I’d hot foot it across town and present her with my findings.
As the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, I decided my next stop would be Dr. Emily's office. Perhaps she could shed some light on the connection between Clara's vision and the old photograph. But when I arrived, the receptionist informed me she had already left for the day.
The weight of the day’s findings was taking its toll, and I decided to head home. After stopping for a hot dog at Vincent’s Hot Dog cart. Today I splurged and bought two. I’d skipped lunch today because I’d been too busy to break for lunch. My research project had sucked me in. Completely.
Upon returning home, I placed the printouts on my living room coffee table. Feeling a little drained, I decided to take a short break, hoping to clear my mind before delving deeper into the mysteries of Crestwood.
However, as I was pouring myself a glass of soda, I felt an uncanny sensation — the same feeling I get when someone is thinking intensely about me. Brushing it off, I headed back to the living room. I plunked the glass down next to my wrapped hot dogs, but what I saw left me stunned.
The printout of the old photograph was slowly changing.
What the heck?
The woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Clara was fading, her image becoming more and more translucent. Panic settled in as I reached out to touch the photograph, half-expecting my fingers to pass through it as if it was some sort of apparition.
I removed my glasses, cleaned them and returned them, but it wasn’t any better.
Distracted by the bizarre occurrence, I barely noticed the sound at first — a soft, insistent tapping. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from my front door. Hesitantly, I approached and opened it, only to find no one there.
But there, on my doorstep, lay a small iron emblem, intricately designed and bearing a chilling familiarity. It was identical to the symbols I'd come across in my research related to Jezreel Banks. I’d seen it scribbled in a folder, in a few locations. I had no idea what this was, but it wasn’t familiar. Not a witchy pentacle, more like a strangely bent tree.
Oh crap! I get it....
A gust of wind blew, carrying with it whispers.
Hear me. Wake me...
“No!” I shouted into the darkness as I slammed the door shut quickly, my heart racing like a frightened rabbit’s.
I was no longer merely a spectator looking into the past. I was now a part of this unfolding mystery, and there was no turning back.
This thing that plagued Clara’s vision and Dr. Emily’s dreams knew me.
I wanted to barf.
The night had settled, and with it, a profound silence enveloped my home. What about the emblem? Was I going to just leave it there? Uh yeah. Hopefully when I stepped out of this house in the morning it would be gone.
But the emblem and the ever-fading photograph hinted at secrets yet to be unveiled.
Secrets I no longer wanted to uncover...
