Chapter 2: Book Club
3:00 am, at night, in the morning, when the moon was high and every sane person was asleep, was definitely not the normal time for a book club.
But that’s what made it all the more enchanting to me.
I can’t say I made a habit of sneaking out, especially not this late, but there I was, slipping out the front door. The quiet of the night was only broken by the rustling of trees as wind passed by. It was FREEZING, and I dug my hands deeper into my pockets while walking down the street. Unlike during the day, no cars ever drove by and no people walked past me, I was alone in the silence and darkness.
When I eventually reached the book store, the dim light behind the windows seemed almost like a raging fire as I rushed inside. There I found Mrs. Crenshaw, sitting in her usual spot behind the desk, donning a long black robe.
“Good evening, Rebecca.” She greeted, a wide smile spreading across her face. “You’re just on time.”
“Hello.”
She took my coat, and escorted me to a door in the back, where I finally asked the question I should have hours ago.
“So why hold book club so late at night anyway?”
“Oh, you know. It sets the mood.”
I nodded, as if that were a satisfying explanation. I guess when you’re old enough you can make your own schedule. She opened the door for me, and I stepped into a large, dimly lit space I never had the chance to see before. A long table like you’d see in meeting room stretched out in the middle, with robed and hooded figures sitting around all sides of it, each holding a single candle to drive off the darkness. I heard a click behind me, and turned to see Mrs. Crenshaw locking the door as she put her own hood up.
“Oh, uh… was there a dress code I missed?” I laughed nervously, hoping there would be something to reassure me.
“Not at all” replied one man at the far end of the table. “Our Lord isn’t one to bear such judgements.”
Somehow, on the list of things I expected to encounter tonight a creepy cult didn’t number among them.
I looked at Mrs. Crenshaw and said, “You know, it’s a bit late after all, maybe I should just go home.”
It didn’t work. She laughed, and the other cultists laughed as they stood up and circled around me. I panicked and looked for a way out, dashing for an opening in the crowd only for a hand to reach out and grab me. Another followed and then another, until I was completely restrained and being dragged across the room. I kicked and squealed trying everything I could to escape, but to no avail. I was brought before a large pillar, with a red circle drawn around its base and metal cuffs hanging from it. My arms were chained and the group stepped back, whispering among themselves for a moment. Eventually, one voice rang out.
“Brothers and sisters! We gather here tonight for the most sacred of moments, to send a new offering to our great Lord! Speak with me now as we conduct the ritual!”
And with that, the congregation began to chant in unison.
“God of Sorrow, we beseech thee…”
CRACK
I screamed out as something sharp slashed across my back.
“Watch our holy rite…”
CRACK
My voice choked as another scream was forced out of me, tears running down my cheeks.
“For we are your faithful!”
CRACK
I felt bile rise, and a rancid green tide spewed onto the floor below me.
“Sovereign of Pain, we beseech thee…”
CRACK
My jaw locked and I bit down, feeling the squelch of a caustic chunk between my teeth.
“Look upon our offering…”
CRACK
A tooth shattered, but it hardly mattered compared to the fire on my back.
“For she is pure of heart!”
CRACK
A metallic taste mingled with the acid in my mouth.
“Lord of Despair, we beseech thee…”
CRACK
I writhed with the last of my energy, trying desperately to break free.
“Gaze upon her suffering…”
CRACK
“For we bring you a maiden.”
I lost consciousness.
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Absolute darkness surrounded me. I tried to wave a hand, but I couldn’t feel my arm. I tried to turn around, but I couldn’t feel my body. I tried to look down, but I couldn’t feel my head. I was not there, but there I was. The only thing I could feel was the mysterious sense of something watching.
I waited in the nothingness, terror gripping me as I counted the seconds.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight…
But it never stirred. I was left in endless silence; unable to even call for help, yet I could still tell I was not alone. I continued to count, numbering each minute.
Nineteen fifty-seven. Nineteen fifty-eight. Nineteen fifty-nine. Nineteen sixty. Twenty one. Twenty two. Twenty… zero-three. Twenty zero-four…
I gave up at forty-eight two. Was this all that awaited me? Counting until end of eternity? For what purpose? Was I being held prisoner, or had my body simply died and left me in limbo? I did not know and could not know. All I could do was wait…
And wait…
And wait…
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Finally, something changed. In the corner of my static vision, towards the bottom left, a striking white orb emerged from the darkness as though parting black curtains. A small eye looked up at me. There was something about it that seemed… wrong. Another opened, this time directly to right. I realized what was off; they had no irises, only vast pupils that seemed to devour all light. A third opened, again in the bottom left, and then another above it. The next was in the bottom right, with a vertical pupil resembling that of a snake, and a goat’s eye appeared in the top left. Three more human eyes looked down on me from the top right, and countless others began to spring open after.
Soon my vision was filled with eyes of various shapes and sizes, with only a circular space the width of my head, positioned directly in front of me, remaining empty. The eyes began to shift, sliding and spinning past each other as part of a singular chaotic movement, observing me from every angle yet never touching the vacant spot. I felt sick, but had no stomach to empty. Slowly, they settled into place, and I heard a voice.
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Acceptable.
I wanted to shout and ask what it was, why it held me captive, but I had no mouth to speak with.
Address me, mortal, and I shall hear you.
The issue, however, was that I couldn’t. The only thing I could do was to think; so with no other plan, I directed my thoughts toward the entity.
“What are you?”
Lo and behold, it responded.
I am Shiquoth. Lord of Despair, Sovereign of Pain, God of Sorrow. You will worship and serve me.
That was not a reassuring answer. I wanted to cry, but had no eyes to weep from.
“Why me? I’m just a normal girl. What did I do to deserve this?”
You are flesh. You deserve nothing. I deem you fit to serve, and so it shall be.
So spoke the Lord of Despair. I was certainly feeling it.
“But what if I don’t want to? Can’t I refuse?”
To answer my question, electricity coursed through my non-existent body, boiling and bursting all it made contact with. I tried to scream, but had no lungs to empty.
As the lightning subsided, I collected myself and prepared to answer. It seemed there was only one answer I was allowed to make. I felt revulsion at the thought. I did not want to serve this sadistic being for the rest of my life, yet it left me with no choice.
“Alright, I’ll do it.”
Then swear fealty to me, Lord Shiquoth. I will be your god, and you my maiden.
I hesitated, but only for a moment more. “…I swear to do what you say, Lord Shiquoth, and act as you direct.”
Good.
Suddenly, I felt something foreign slip between the lacerations on my back, with stabbing hot flashes flaring up as my heart began to race. My lungs gasped for air and I wrapped my arms around my stomach, vomiting blood into the void. My legs crumpling beneath me, and my eyes began to burn, so I opened them.
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I found myself lying in the center of an unfamiliar room, cold stones pressing against my face. Glass jars filled with countless white balls littered various shelves along the walls. The only other furniture was the bare wooden table to my left, opposite a rusted metal door.
I tried to push myself up, but felt jagged skin digging into my fresh wounds. I yelped and dropped myself, content to leave my arm at my side and wait. Not long after though, someone entered the room.
Rather than one of the cultists, or some other monstrosity, it was girl. She probably wasn’t much older than me, but she carried herself with an elegance I could never match. She wore simple black leather shoes and matching socks that were dotted with white polka dots. They ended just above her knee, meeting the white frilled hem of her otherwise simple, pitch-black sleeveless dress. She wore long gloves the color of tar, and an ebony cape flowed from her shoulders to her legs with ivory flowers dotting its back. Finally, her dark hair braided into an updo.
She stared at my back with eyes the color of night, and I could see pity in them.
“So that’s how it looks.” She murmured.
“Hello” I croaked, as she walked across the room and placed a bag on the table. Opening it, she pulled out a jar of something green and stepped over to my side. I craned my neck to get a better look. She opened the jar and dipped her fingers into the viscous substance.
“This is a poultice” She explained. “It will help, but if you want any real results you’ll have to pray.”
I didn’t understand. “What’s praying supposed to do?”
She looked deep into my eyes before speaking. “You’re a magical girl now… congratulations. If there’s something you need, then pray to your god… our god.”
Suddenly, everything clicked, like the last piece of a puzzle just fell into place. So I was a magical girl. I used to think I’d be happy about that, if it somehow ever happened; becoming a celebrity, using my powers to save people, all of it fantastical and exciting. But instead, it just felt empty.
“I’m going to start.”
I snapped out of my thoughts as my back began to sting, liquid seeping into every crevice of my open cuts. I grit my teeth every time her cold fingers pressed into the skin and tissue, a hiss of air seeping out from my lips. After minutes of agony, it was finally done and the sticky concoction had been thoroughly slathered everywhere it could hurt. The jar’s lid popped closed behind me, and she placed it on the table. Next, she pulled a roll of white cloth out of the bag, and kneeled back down beside me.
The bandages were tight around my abdomen as she wrapped them, and my back felt violently painful every time I was moved, but maybe things were a little better than before. If nothing else, it at least felt like I was being healed.
“So,” she asked, “What time do you need to be home?”
“…5:00.”
“Then we should have an hour. Pray. I’ll collect you when it’s time to go.”
With nothing more to say, she promptly turned towards the door and started to leave.
“Wait” I called out, still unable to move. “What’s your name?”
“…Nightingale.”
“Like the bird?”
“Yeah… like the bird.”
And without looking back, she left.
Since I was left alone again, unable to escape, I listened to her advice and prayed to Lord Shiquoth, asking the Sovereign of Pain to ease my own.
It didn’t work.
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An hour later, Nightingale was carrying me out of the store and down a dimly lit street. After everything else, I didn’t mind the cold wind so much. She slowly plodded along, every step making me wince as my wounds rubbed together. Tears rolled down my face and soaked her dress, but Nightingale didn’t comment. Eventually, we reached my house and I was let down on the darkened street.
“Bye.” I mumbled, wiping a sleeve over my eyes.
“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow” she said. “There’s a lot more you need to know. And prepare for. But for now, you need sleep. Get as much as you can.”
And with that, she dashed off into the night, the black of her clothes quickly blending with the shadows as she faded away, leaving me standing alone in the cold darkness. I made my way to the front door, quietly slipped in, and snuck back up to my room.
I changed as carefully as I could, trying not to agitate the gashes, and looked at my mangled, blood soaked shirt. It would have to be thrown out. For now I folded it into a ball and hid it in the back of the closet.
Before I lied down, however, there was one thing in the back of my mind that I wanted to check. I crept over to my encyclopedia pile, and delicately sat down next to it. I removed a large volume from the center, making sure the rest of the books didn’t topple, and read the title: “Birds of the World.” I never thought this was how Mom’s gift would come in handy.
I flipped through until I found the page labeled “Common Nightingale.”
5.9 - 6.5 inches, native to Europe, often sings at night…
It was brown.