"Everything changed so quickly. I could have lived in ignorant bliss. Then, I opened that damned book."
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"I hear you're not taking your medicine again," I say with a smirk as I paint Granny's nails jet black. Of course black wasn't my first choice, but she requested it. She said she wanted to feel tough, and hopes it will spook the nurses. If I'm honest, I think I paint my nails black for the same reason. Nothing beats a little rebellion to start the day. So, we take turns applying war paint.
She scoffs. "Is this Autumn, or her mother?"
I look up at her, my face painted with surprise and offense. She smiles back at me. Her ornery smile reminds me of dad.
"No," she continues, struggling to hold back a cough. "These people are trying to kill me."
I can't help but giggle a little. "No they're not Granny."
"This old place gives me the creeps," she retorts.
"Well, I'll gladly trade places with you. You live in a mansion. Have you even seen the library?" I really would too, Dr. Ward's home is beautiful.
His estate resides on the edge of town, overlooking Greenfield. Trees line the path leading up to the home, creating a tunnel of vibrant colors in the fall. The exterior feels like something out of a story book, featuring a faded red brick façade, punctuated by white ornate trim around the windows. A small tower with a conical roof stands at the corner, inside it shelves if books spiral to the top.
Light pours in from every window, reflecting against the wood panel flooring. Every room is tall and ornate. Dr. Ward lives alone, and has no use for the abundance of rooms, so he uses it to host a nursing home. Of course I'm always excited to visit Granny, but I never leave this place without visiting Dr. Ward's library.
"How's school?" She asks after a pause, attempting to change the subject. "You're not getting bullied again, are you? Your Granny isn't afraid to knock out a few kids."
"No," I smile. "That stuff doesn't bother me."
"Then what's wrong dear?" She places her hand over mine. "You didn't honestly think that silly tie around your neck would hide those bruises, did you?"
My heart stops beating for a moment. I feel the color drain from my face. I never thought to come up with a lie, and even if I did Granny will see right through it.
"I got into a fight." Not entirely a lie.
"Did you start it?"
"No." I look down at her nails, the last one's a bit off, but they don't look bad.
"And now your mind is spinning with dark thoughts." I look up at her. "Your father used to get that face when he'd come home from work. He'd come home with bruises sometimes too, but his mind... he'd get lost in his own world sometimes."
I've avoided thinking about the Davidson house, or the mysterious comment, or the girl in the woods, or the cannibal. I was just beginning to find some hint of normalcy in my life, and now everything feels upside down.
"Whatever thoughts are plaguing your mind," Granny presses her warm fingers against my cheek. "You shouldn't endure them alone."
"Autumn?" A deep voice booms from the doorway behind me. "I thought I heard your voice." Dr. Ward smiles with a clipboard in his hand.
His wide shoulders fill the doorway. Unlike the nurses, who wear colorful scrubs, he wears a black sweater that stretches over his muscles. His gray hair and bright smile contrasts his imposing figure.
"Are you reminding your Granny to take her medicine?" He asks.
"You can't make me do anything, you life sucking vampire." She growls.
I click my tongue at her. "Yes, Dr. Ward. She's going to take her medicine from now on." I give Granny a scolding glare.
"Well, when you're ready, I have a gift for you in the library." He walks away and I can't hide the excitement that warms my skin.
"Go on dear," Granny smiles at me. "I'll hold off those nurses on my own."
I shake my head at her and kiss her cheek. "Love you, Granny."
"I love you too, Spooks."
image [https://i.imgur.com/hf7N1Kt.png]
The smell of old paper, leather, and binding glue graces my senses. I close my eyes and let the smell flood my mind. With a deep sigh, nothing outside this house exists, not the dead, nor Thicket Grove, nor anyone in Greenfield. For a small moment, this library is my entire world.
An ornate wooden staircase spirals up the center, landing on narrow walkways that stretch around the room. Three floors of book shelves stack high over my head. Rays of sunlight spill in through the small circular windows, dancing across the colorful spines.
Stolen story; please report.
"You beat me here." Dr. Ward says from behind me.
"I hope I'm not intruding," I reply with a smile. "I could live in this room."
"You're never intruding, Autumn." he steps past me.
A nook is cut out of the opposing side of the tower with two leather chairs, a desk, and a tall wooden cabinet. He walks to the desk and places his hand on what looks like a large book wrapped in cloth. "Here. I found something I think you'll enjoy."
I step up to the desk. He carefully unravels the old cloth, and delicately places the book on top of it. I lean in to examine its artistry. The cover is made of aged leather, the spine bulges out with raised bands, and the uneven pages create a rough edge. Bestiarium Monstrorum is pressed in gold across the cover.
"An old bestiary," I say. My chest is warm with excitement.
"That's right," he says, carefully opening the cover. "And it would seem it has been in my family for generations." He runs his finger over the list of signatures until it stops on Sir Arthur Ward. He slowly flips through the delicate pages. Each page is filled with old artwork of creatures, rich with color. "I know you have a particular interest in historical lore and creatures."
I can't even find words to reply. I'm too focused on the drawings on every page, trying to identify them. Banshee, Dybbuk, Gjenganger, Hellhound… creatures not just from one section of the world, but across many cultures and countries. My attention snaps as he closes the book.
"I take it you like it," he says.
"Wait, are you giving this to me?" Dr. Ward has gifted me a few books in the past, especially after my father died, but nothing like this.
"Well, sort of." He rubs the back of his head, scratching at his gray hairs. "You're welcome to take it home," My cheeks flood with heat. "But," he interjects. "Please be careful with it. I do want it back once you're finished with it."
"Thank you, Dr. Ward," I say.
"You know, you can call me Percy. I've known you since you were ten."
"Nah," I smirk. "Dr. Ward is a way cooler name."
He wraps it up in cloth and hands it to me.
"Report back to me with your findings," he says as he adjusts his glasses. "And don't run with it. It's very delicate."
I've never rushed home faster in my life.
image [https://i.imgur.com/I2B1P9a.png]
I shove everything aside on my desk to make room for my new book. I pull my lamp close and examine the details in unbridled wonder. It's incredibly old. The leather is unraveling around the corners. The stitching is loose, and the book shifts and groans as I open it. The pages feel like they will crack if I'm anything but incredibly gentle with them.
I tour through the book, searching for any clues of its origin. It's written in a mix of Latin and English, with some handwritten notes on many pages. The notes seem to have been added much later, translating the text. There's a stamp pressed into the final page of the book. An M and C are linked together with a skull in the center. An ornate border surrounds the letters, with the text Mortis Custodes.
Suddenly, the lights in my room flicker and a cold shiver crawls down my spine.
"Ooh," Maggie's voice whispers through the air. "What's that?"
"It's an old bestiary," I say without bothering to look up. "I think it might be from the medieval era."
"Where'd you find it?" Maggie asks, floating closer. Her form disappears in the lamp light.
"Dr. Ward gave it to me."
"It feels gross." Maggie says with disgust.
"Gross?" I look at her with confusion.
"Yeah. It has a gross feel to it. I can't really place it. Like you pulled it from a garbage dump."
"Well," I try to think of a reason why she could feel that way. "I mean it is old."
"I bet it's cuz you got it from the nursing home. Lots of stinky old people." She floats around the room, seemingly bored.
I lean in to sniff it. It just smells like old leather and paper.
"Hey, are there a lot of spirits at the nursing home?" She asks. "That place must be super haunted, right?"
My eyes dart around as I think. "No, actually. They must be passing peacefully."
"That makes sense. By the time they die they must be ready to get out of here. Peace out Earth!" She darts around the room, sending some of the papers flying.
I continue through the book, admiring the artwork. Each creature gets a simple description in beautiful calligraphy, some instructions for disposing of them, and pages of colorful artwork.
Old monsters, cryptids, and lore have always brought me a certain amount of wonder. The first book of lore I ever read was from my dad, Anatomy of the Boogeyman. It still sits on my nightstand.
Something about fantasy and imaginary monsters helps me escape the real monsters I see every day. Dragons, witches, and zombies are way more frightening than ghosts. If I can laugh at them, then the dead spirits aren't so bad.
Banshee. Found in Ireland and amongst the Northmen.
The artwork depicts a crying woman, with long flowing hair, washing blood-stained armor. Near her are skeletons dressed like old warriors. I read the notes below to translate the old writing.
To rid such a creature, one must undertake one of these sacred tasks:
i. Pierce a nail, red with fire, through the crown of the apparition and cast it into a holy well.
ii. Hold a feast to honor the departed spirit, with their Earthly trappings consigned to flame. Then entreat the wailing spirit to join the pyre.
iii. Summon a reaper to dispatch with haste.
"Weird," I mutter.
"What?" Maggie asks. "It's a weird book. You need to be specific." Maggie pretends to rest her arms on the desk, floating beside it.
"A lot of these creatures mention the same solution to defeat them." I flip through the pages to find another creature.
Myling. Found in Suecia.
A ghoulish child with blue skin and a deformed face floats near screaming children in the illustrations below.
To rid such a creature, one must undertake one of these sacred tasks:
i. Bestow upon the child a name, with a whispered benediction from the mother or next of kin.
ii. Summon a reaper to dispatch with haste.
I turn from creature to creature. Nearly all of them end with the same solution: Summon a reaper. I flip through the pages. Surely, this book contains a reaper if it mentions it so often.
Then, I find it. A thin blue ribbon marks the spot. I hadn't even thought to look at the ribbon before. Reaper is written across the top in decorative text with a unique blue ink.
Guardians of the veil, charged to safeguard the living and the dead. Their presence an omen of death, for the dead are always near.
There are pages and pages of illustrations of these reapers, each from a different culture. The appearance varies slightly in each piece, featuring a bony figure robed in black, a warrior dressed in old armor, or a shadowy man on horseback. Nearly every version of the reaper wields a weapon.
At first glance, the weapon looks like a scythe, much like the lore I'd expect from the grim reaper. However, upon closer inspection of the first piece, it isn't a scythe at all. The first illustration features a cloaked figure wielding a sword, only it's glowing. The artist mimicked this glow by painting an arc of light at the tip of the sword. Every artist afterward does the same, until the sword becomes a scythe.
However, one thing unifies all of them. One detail is the same across every illustration, and every culture. The eyes. Their eyes are all black, shrouded in darkness. The first illustration shows a man with black eyes, and black veins branch across his cheek bones.