Caleb's Vision [https://i.imgur.com/JjsHQzr.png]
Morning light filtered into the kitchen where Caleb stood enraptured by “A History of Hexes,” oblivious to the burning eggs on the stove. The old tome lay open before him, its worn pages releasing a musty aroma into the quiet kitchen. The odor of burning eggs competed with the mustiness wafting up from the fragile pages.
Though the unpleasant smell invaded his senses, Caleb found himself too enthralled analyzing the faded scrawl detailing an ancient witch’s curse to care, pushing aside the concern to focus on just one more paragraph. With distracted motions, he swirled the cooking spoon about the pan. These descriptions of the curse a vengeful witch placed on a village were way more fascinating that watching eggs cook.
“Ingenious! She used pickled chicken feet and dried elderberries for the tonic. No wonder it worked.”
He scratched his chin, automatically thinking about where he could look in his massive collection to learn more. Books occupied every available surface, transforming the Victorian mansion into a labyrinthine library. From Latin philosophies to Japanese poetry, the volumes transported him across history and cultures.
Bored, he picked up the book again. The soft rustle of pages joined the sizzle of the pan. Except now he wasn’t reading. A woman was running before him, swinging a scythe at some unseen enemy.
Startled by the sudden vision, Caleb yelped and dropped the book. His heart thumped in his chest, something inside burning hot. It was irrational, but he wanted to know this woman, talk to her, touch her hand, kiss her…
He rubbed his chest. “That’s why I get for trying to be a witch for all those years. I’m going insane. Completely bonkers.”
Hoping for a reprieve, he picked up the book and leaned on the counter to finish the chapter.
Except the words didn’t seem to register. Instead, he was thinking about the woman. She seemed important, someone to trust. But that was crazy. Trust took time to form. It didn’t sprout into life after fleeting visions.
“WTF?” Emma’s voice broke his focus.
The sharp exclamation broke his focus and startled him. Yet again, the book landed on the floor.
“Ladybug!” he exclaimed, using his nickname for his niece and intern, Emma.
“Uncle, always with your books during cooking! One day you’ll burn the house down.”
He waved a dripping spatula at her. “Naw.”
“And all your precious books will be ash.”
Caleb startled and gasped. The idea of all his books being gone and destroyed sent shivers of fear skating down his back.
“Well, at least I finished the chapter,” he said, scraping the scorched remains onto his plate.
Emma eyed the food dubiously.
He held the pan out. “Eggs?”
“I’m allergic.”
“Since when?”
“When they became more rubber than fluff.”
He laughed, stuffing a bite into his mouth. The flavor was far from good, but a hardy dump of salt would improve it. Did the mystery scythe wielding woman like eggs? Gah! No, he wouldn’t allow himself such thoughts.
Did she like eggs? Come on!
Emma got herself a glass of apple juice and settled down with her own book. A peaceful quiet surrounded them, interrupted only by the occasional rustling of pages or the sound of cutlery.
Now and then, the refrigerator’s hum would elicit a raspy breath from the aging machine. He needed to replace that ancient behemoth; it likely dated back to the Nixon administration, or perhaps Queen Victoria’s reign, considering he was in England.
“What’s happening today?” Emma asked, yet again startling him.
“We’re cleaning out the basement. The university has approved my new project, and my work desk is in the basement.”
“That’s wonderful! What’s this book going to be?”
Caleb beamed. “The Arcane Nexus: Unraveling the Mysteries of Occult Sciences. It delves into arcane enigmas, examining the complex web of mysticism and ancient knowledge…”
“The title would’ve been enough.”
He laughed. “You asked.”
She shot back with a smirk. “Not for an entire lecture.”
“Did you replace the cans when you came in?”
Emma sighed. “I did, as always. Useless as they are.”
“Those cans aren’t mere decorations. They’re engraved with protective spells.”
“You’ve forgotten last year’s break-in? Those so-called spells don’t work. Sometimes, Uncle, you can be a bit…unconventional.”
“When you’ve seen what I have, caution becomes instinctual.”
Emma placed her book aside, her expression a combination of fondness and mild exasperation. Most everyone looked at him like that. He was used to it. “You’re so strange, even without the occult obsession.”
“What are you talking about? I’m totally normal…in some crowds. You just have to look sort of hard.”
She nudged him. “Maybe, but I’m way more normal than you are.”
“What is normal? I’m uncertain if one can define that. Because normal for us here differs from normal in other places. For example, you’d be married at 17 in Niger.”
“Regardless of time or place, Uncle, you’d stand out.”
“But isn’t that the charm? Conformity is mundane. There’s joy in being…unique. The world is full of ordinary.”
“Sounds like you’re justifying how weird you are.” Emma eyed him. “Enough delay. Let’s get started. The drama club is meeting later.”
“Ahh, right, you’re doing Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“Yep, I’m responsible for the costumes and set design, should be fun.”
“Don’t confuse it with Midsommar.”
Emma glared at him before gathering a few cleaning supplies and started toward the basement. Rays of light pierced the dim hall, casting a golden glow on the floating dust particles that swirled in the air. What color was her hair? In the vision, it looked dark. Did the sun make it look like polished obsidian?
Grumbling, he ran his fingers through his mid-length hair. What was wrong with him today? His head was not where it should be. Daydreaming about her hair. Gag!
He collided with the basement door, heat climbing across his cheeks as he muttered an excuse. Fumbling with the doorknob, he finally got the damn thing open. The air that met them carried the scents of aged leather, moisture, and the distinct smell of antiquity.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Emma flicked on the light, unveiling the stairs that wound down into the core of the home.
With each step, the chill intensified as they descended into the basement’s embrace, the world above receding. This was his favorite room in the house for that simple reason. It was almost like being transported to another realm.
The wooden stairs groaned under his feet, echoing his journey into the deep. A breeze danced across his skin as the darkness swallowed the light, leaving only an ember to push back the watching shadows.
“I can never remember where that damn switch is,” Emma muttered as she groped around in the dark.
With a faint click, the gentle illumination emerged, though the gloom resisted, hiding in crevices. Caleb inhaled the enchanting aroma of herbs and ancient pages. Without magic, this refuge of stone floors, age-old books, and mysterious mixtures was the closest to a witch’s den he could craft.
With a flash, the raven-haired woman appeared, only to vanish in a blink.
Caleb exhaled, his breath stirring motes of dust as he gazed around his well-organized sanctuary of magic and must. His fingers trailed along leather tomes so ancient their pages released the incense-like scent of faded ink. Crystals of varying hues and magical alignments glimmered from an oak shelf. Past the celestial globe, he eyed his most recent acquisition—a gaping skull said to whisper secrets if offered blood.
Not that he ever would. That was begging for trouble.
The following hours passed in a flurry of motion. They grappled with damaged furniture, organized vials, and reordered shelves. Perhaps the time was going so quickly because he kept imagining her. How powerful her shoulders looked as they moved. The pale fingers gripping the scythe’s shaft.
Emma presented him with a peculiar vial, her expression twisted in disgust. “What is this?”
He hoped she missed the slight jump her sudden voice caused. “Pickled frog eyes,” Caleb answered, knowing full well that was both an unusual answer and specimen. It took time to pickle frog parts correctly.
“Why would someone want that?”
He laughed. “For visions, predictions, even romantic spells. So the person you desire can see the real you.”
She looked skeptical. “You believe in all this?”
Caleb paused, collecting his thoughts. “It’s not about the literal belief in frog’s eyes or specific concoctions. It’s about embracing the mysteries and wonders of the world, the magic that’s interwoven into our everyday lives.”
“Barf too cheesy, even for a fairy tale.”
“Some might say things like soul mates or love are something out of a fairy tale. But that happens all the time. I’m convinced that love is its own ancient magic. Something created before humanity even walked on the Earth.”
“You’re such a romantic. You should go out and find yourself a soul mate. I’d love to have an aunt. Keep your eyes open for a dark-haired enchantress. I bet a mysterious, raven-haired woman would make your head spin!”
He choked and cleared his throat. “Every enigma that defies explanation serves as a testament to how much remains undiscovered. Magic might be present in lovers’ first kiss, in the silence of an empty mall, or even in phenomena that science hasn’t deciphered.”
“That sounds like a stupid motivational quote.”
“Did you know that the exact function of the appendix still baffles medical professionals? There’s a mystery for you.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Yep, and that’s just one example. Magic could lurk anywhere, in overlooked or avoided corners. The allure of magic lies in its unpredictability. We cannot predict where power might manifest. It all depends on perspective.”
She smiled, a hint of wonder in her eyes. “I like that idea. Discovering magic. There’s a certain charm in envisioning a hidden layer of reality, waiting to be revealed. That’s probably why Harry Potter did so good.”
“Magic isn’t just about grand spells and elixirs. It’s about recognizing the wonder in the mundane. Historical records show that witches often sought to solve ordinary problems for their rituals.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded. “Yes. They didn’t cast spells to topple mountains or alter celestial bodies. Instead, they focused on healing, protection, fertility, and prosperity. These every day concerns might hold their own inherent magic. Perhaps that’s why ancient witches dedicated their energies to them.”
She leaned closer, her interest evident. “Didn’t you live with a witch for a while?”
“Right after university, I lived with her for a decade. So, yes, I’ve met a few. And they’re as diverse as any group. Some can be harsh, while others are as gentle as a breeze.”
Emma moved to another section of the shelf, her actions more purposeful. “I wish I could meet a witch. Sure would be better than some over hyped YouTuber.”
She turned back to finish dusting the old Shelf. He took care not to break the jar, which held a two-headed snake. Carefully, he slid it aside to access the thick layer of grime behind.
With the bookshelf complete, Emma stepped back and tossed her rag away. “Finally.”
“Excellent. Let’s address the pentacle.”
Emma sighed. “Is it necessary? It doesn’t fit the decor.”
“It’s not about looks, it’s for safeguarding and grounding. The pentacle represents being prepared.”
“To call forth demons?”
“Not on purpose. But it’s wise to be ready.”
She rolled her eyes again as she scratched at the faded pentacle on the stone ground. Careful not to splash her, he dumped some dish soap on the old paint.
“Regrettably, this is an unpaid internship…”
Before she could complete the thought, a loud crash interrupted her. Metal clashed with metal, scraping and irritating. A gust of wind scraped against the windows, causing the panes to shake.
Caleb’s gaze snapped up. The hairs on his neck prickled as a familiar power thrummed through the house. The cans rattled violently before stillness returned like the suspended breath before lightning split the sky.
In the charged void, a voice echoed through the basement, crisp and undeniable. “Do you intend to leave me waiting?”
Caleb grinned, springing up the stairs, books lining the corridor hindered his hurried steps. The floorboards creaked as he darted to the foyer, nearly colliding with the front door before throwing it open. His smile broadened seeing the woman on the doorstep.
“By the cauldron’s brew, our reunion is long overdue,” she remarked.
“Everlong,” Caleb exclaimed, embracing her. “Your presence is a delightful surprise. It feels like forever.”
Everlong showed her age in the deep wrinkles across her face, but her eyes still brimmed with energy. Silver hair flowed down around her, adorned with beads and feathers. She wore flowing and vibrant fabrics, patched together but still complementary.
She stepped back, her hands on Caleb’s shoulders, examining him. “You’ve matured, young scholar. Yet, that familiar spark remains in your eyes. Your protective spells almost ensnared me. Thankfully, you were skilled enough to mention friends.”
“And you, Everlong, remain as enigmatic and captivating as ever.”
Emma peeked around the corner. “Uncle, who is she?”
Caleb, with his arm around Everlong, responded, “First, my hearth will warm you, my pantry will nourish you, my bed will provide you rest,” Caleb offered his hand to Everlong.
“Thank you, dear.” Everlong placed her hand on his.
“We’ll make introductions in the kitchen,” Caleb said.
Emma nodded and proceeded down the narrow corridor, with Everlong trailing behind. By the time he reached the kitchen, Emma was preparing drinks. He cleared a chair for their guest.
Everlong settled at the table, observing her surroundings. “This place is a step up from your previous home.”
Caleb laughed. “Indeed. But back then, I’d just left you, and a new American in England. That house was an utter disaster.”
“Thankfully, the roof charm held,” Everlong remarked, tasting the juice Emma served. “Thank you, dear.”
Caleb smiled at Emma before gesturing to their guest. “Emma, meet Everlong Winter, a witch from northern Canada.”
Everlong extended a hand adorned with faded tattoos. After a moment, Emma accepted.
“It’s an honor to meet you,” Emma said.
“It’s wonderful to meet my former apprentice’s kin,” Everlong said, her voice reminiscent of rustling leaves. “Let me read you.”
Emma hesitantly placed her hands in Everlong’s weathered grasp.
After a pause, Everlong began, “You and Caleb share traits—your thirst for knowledge is unmistakable.” She traced Emma’s palm. “Success marks your path, especially in economics.”
“Economics?” Emma’s voice held a blend of astonishment and interest.
Emma’s face brightened. But as she moved to withdraw, Everlong held firm, her tone ominous. “Heed my warning—refrain from driving at night. Your vision may betray you.”
Emma paled. “Are you serious?”
Everlong’s grasp relaxed. “You can circumvent challenges. Think about self-driving vehicles; they could be your solution. Just be vigilant.”
Caleb, sensing the atmosphere’s intensity, finished his drink. “From Canada’s vastness to the town of Exeter—it’s quite the journey, Everlong. What brings you here?”
Everlong held her glass, the cold moisture imprinting on her fingers. Their eyes met, and another vision over took him. Exactly like the others, it was of the young woman, swinging a scythe.
Except now he could feel just the faintest flair of heat deep inside his chest. It was unnerving, especially considering Everlong Winter was the witch who revealed that he contained no spark of magic. Those words ended his quest and set him on an alternative path.
Everlong’s gaze became distant. “Powerful energies from the beginning of existence have turned towards you. Dark forces gather, their sights set on you. But guardian spirits will emerge to shield you from harm.”
Emma gasped, and he could feel her gaze on him. Caleb shivered, her prophecy igniting his curiosity. The part of him that hated mysteries wanted to unravel each word. He thought about his visions. The woman and the magnetic pull she seemed to have over him.
Emma leaned forward, her eyes wide with both curiosity and apprehension. “What’s coming? Please say it’s a new girlfriend. I’ve tried to get Uncle Caleb back into the dating scene, but he’s resisted. Charlotte really messed things up.”
Caleb glared at her, but Emma only shrugged.
A fleeting look of concern aged Everlong momentarily. But she regained her composure. “My visions are clouded, veiled by dense fog. Yet, amidst the obscurity, I discern an evil entity—a group with nefarious goals, their core radiating malevolence.”
The air in the room went still, the ambient sounds fading into oblivion. Everlong grabbed his hand. “Your fate stands at a juncture. Entities from history’s depths—Past, Present, and Future—will vie for you. However, a guardian spirit will emerge, acting as a shield against the looming threat, ensuring your safety.”
This was too much, the visions, Everlong’s warning, the conflicting feelings crashing about.
Somehow, he got the sense that his peaceful suburban normal life was coming to an abrupt end.
Caleb's Basement [https://i.imgur.com/Bo2FJeE.png]