"...take the amulet...."

Arvill could just make out the edge of the forest through the window. Night had descended many hours ago, and darkness shrouded everything.

"...come...come...tome...."

It was her grandmother's voice. Arvill glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see her grandmother standing behind her, beaming a maternal smile.She had caught herself doing this many times before, but her grandmother was never there.

Arvill turned back around and scowled.

You're a silly, stupid girl,she thought. Your grandma is dead. Dead and buried in that awful tomb.

The day she had found out her grandmother passed, her mother had come into her room with a solemn look on her face, and delivered the dark news. The diagnosis was "old age".

"Her time had come," her mother had said.

Tears spilled from Arvill's eyes.Her mother reached out a hand to comfort her, but Arvill turned away and wrapped herself in a cocoon of bed sheets. She cried and cried and cried until her tears ran dry, and then she cried some more.

"...but I'm back now..." her grandmother's voice said, snapping Arvill back to the present."...back to be with my granddaughter...."

Was it her grandmother talking to her, though? There were stories of evil wraiths that could trick people into doing their bid—

A shrill scream filled Arvill's head, blocking out any other thought. She gasped and pressed her hands to her ears to stop the sound, but it was futile.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"she sobbed. "Please stop. Don't be upset. Please."

The screaming abated, and Arvill dropped her hands, breathing heavily. Sweat broke out on her temple and ran down her face.

"...I am your grandma...I love you...I will always love you...."

"I'm sorry, Grandma," Arvill said.

"...say it..."

Arvill bit her lip, trapping any sound inside.

"...SAY IT...."

Arvill forced the words out in a strangled voice:

"I love you, too."

"...good girl...I won't leave you again...now get it...get the amulet...."

Her grandmother didn't have to explain further; she could only be talking about one amulet.

"No, please, Granny. I don't want to—"

The scream pierced her mind again, and Arvill fell to her knees, clutching her head.

"Okay! Okay, I'll get it!"

Arvill gasped; She had shouted those last words. Had her parents heard her? She remained quiet,listening for any movement in the house, but nothing stirred.

Arvill pushed herself to her feet, knees shaking, and made her way through the house.

"...good girl... our little secret...our little secret...."

She reached the doorway to the back garden and opened it. A cold breeze blew in, making her skin tingle. Was she really going to do this? She had buried the amulet for a good reason.

"...make Grandma happy...make Grandma proud.... don't upset Grandma again...."

Arvill braced herself and stepped out into the chill night. The grass was wet against her bare feet,and she made to turn back to the house to get her shoes.

"...that can wait...so close...so close..."

Her grandmother was right; Wet feet were not the end of the world. Arvill shut the door carefully and started walking to the bottom of the garden. Even in the darkness, she would be able to locate the amulet; it pulsed in the ground, like a buried heart, drawing her towards it.

A strange man had given her the charm. Her grandmother made her meet with him out in the middle oft he woods one night. He looked like a beggar, with his shabby clothes and long, unwashed hair. And when he smiled, exposing his pointy teeth— Arvill forced the image of the man away. She never wanted to see that smile again.

"...friend... he is a friend...."

Anytime Arvill touched the amulet, her mind would grow fuzzy, and she would feel like she was floating, no longer part of this world. It was like when she was younger, and she and her friends had played that game where they would spin in circles and then race across the yard, trying to see who could reach the other side first. And once when she touched it,another voice had filled her mind, a raspy growl that spoke in a strange language and made her knees buckle. Arvill had prised her fingers off the charm and flung it across the room to make the voice disappear.

Her grandmother hadn't been happy.

"...bold girl...touch the amulet again...be with me...be with us...."

"No! Leave me alone!"

Arvill wrapped the amulet in one of her old skirts and rushed outside to bury it in the back garden.That had only infuriated her grandmother more.

"...bold girl...bad girl...bad girl...beat you...get the spoon...leave a mark for life...."

Arvill had lain on her bed for hours with a pillow pressed firmly against her ears to block her grandmother's reprimands.

And now, here she was, standing above the place where she had buried the charm all those weeks ago.The pulsing felt stronger; a mini earthquake centralised in their back garden. How had her parents not noticed yet and come to investigate?

"...they are not as good as you....they are not chosen..."

A yawn bubbled up from inside Arvill. She tried to stifle it, but it overcame her. It was very late, and she was tired, oh so tired; She hadn't had a good sleep fora long time now. Most nights, when she closed her eyes to go to bed,she would be plagued by the same dreams over and over again. She would dream of a cave with a chair made from stone — no, not a chair, a throne.It had a long back and armrests, fit for royalty to sit. The room was always empty, though, and Arvill never got to see what king or queen the throne belonged to.

She would dream of an old woman with a wide-brimmed hat and a satchel of herbs by her side. Arvill's mind would fill with a burning, red hatred when she saw this woman,but it wasn't her own resentment; it was her grandmother's. Why did she hate this woman so much? Whenever Arvill looked upon that woman,she felt drawn to the old woman's gentle, caring face.

"...witch...witch...witch...,"her grandmother would chant in her head.

The worst dreams were the ones of the golem. It was a huge thing made from stone, larger than a house,larger than ten houses stacked on top of each other. It walked across hills and mountains, uprooting trees and demolishing buildings with its vast bulk, oblivious to the destruction it wreaked. Anytime Arvill had these dreams, she would toss and turn for hours in her bed, only managing to get a few hours of sleep in the end.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"...you can sleep when your job is done...you can sleep when Grandma is happy..."

Arvill smiled; Sleep would be nice.

"...sleep like the dead...."

Arvill bent to the ground and dug her hands into the wet earth, still loose from when she had buried the amulet.

They hadn't buried her grandmother, as was the tradition. No, before her death, she had requested a special funeral: to be laid to rest in the Crypt of Ghyllor. The crypt had been abandoned for years and was filled with the decaying remains of many people long dead.

"...we're all waiting for you...we can throw a party when you show up...there will be dancing...and singing..."

Arvill shivered at that image of long-dead corpses dancing around in the dark depths of the crypt.

It was an old fashioned funeral,and the local Sage had not been happy with arranging it.

"We should return her to the Mother Protector's earth as is right," the Sage had said.

"...no respect for the older traditions...," her grandmother whispered.

"No respect for the older traditions," Arvill repeated. She stopped digging. Why had she said that? She preferred traditional burials; when someone died in Berensford, they were buried in the soil, and a tree was planted on their grave so that the person's remains could be used to fuel newgrow—

"...shh...burial is for the non-believers...."

Arvill nodded her head.

"Yes, non-believers. I'm not a non-believer."

What had she been thinking? Being laid to rest in the Crypt was a much better option. Maybe even when Arvill died, she could be laid right beside her grandmother.

"...yes...good girl...be with me forever...."

The thumping from the amulet grew stronger the deeper she dug.

"...dig it up...time...is running out...get the stone...."

Arvill's fingers brushed against soft fabric, and she pulled back her hand. Did she really want to touch the amulet again and feel her senses dull and hear that sinister voic—

"...don't you want to see your grandma again...."

Arvill paused and then nodded.She did. She really did.

She removed the remaining earth and pulled out the bundled skirt. The amulet's pulsing had lessened now as if it were a lost, wailing child newly reunited with its mother.

Arvill unwrapped the dirty skirt to reveal the piece of jewellery inside: A violet stone set into a silver, metal frame attached to a gleaming chain. Pinpricks of light dotted the violet like stars in the night sky and the longer Arvill looked at it, the more colours she saw; reds and pinks and blues and greens.

"...put it on...."

Arvill's hand moved to obey, but she resisted, struggling against her own limb.

"...don't you want to see your grandma again... don't you want to be together again...."

"Yes. I do. I miss you," Arvill said, her voice choked with emotion.

"...put the amulet on...."

The memory of the terrifying voice filled Arvill's mind again.

"...no." She forced her hands to wrap the amulet in the skirt again and stuffed the bundle into her pocket.

"...BOLD GIRL...."

Arvill braced herself for the piercing scream, but none came.

"...you have the amulet...I am not angry...now come...be together..."

Arvill looked at the edge of the forest beside her.

"...come...come..."

Was this the right thing to do?

"...yes..."

Arvill pushed the bundled skirt further into her pocket and walked towards the forest.

***

Arvill stumbled through the forest undergrowth, slipping many times on loose earth. Trees loomed large above her, blocking out the night sky. Smaller trees closer to the ground scratched at her with their spindly branches, like skeletons reaching out with their bony hands to grab her. Their fingers tore holes in her clothes, and several managed to draw blood.

"Ow!" She exclaimed when she stepped on a pointed branch. Arvill reached down and examined the sole of her foot with her hands, but it was covered in mud so it was hard to tell if there was any blood.

"...do not worry, child...it will all be over soon...not too far to go now..."

She carefully applied pressure to the hurt foot. A spike of pain lanced through her leg, and she sucked in her breath. She tried again, applying a bit more force. Her foot hurt, but she would be able to walk, so she moved on.

She clambered up to the top of a low hill and took in her surroundings. Every direction looked the same—tree after tree after tree.

"...follow...follow..."

Arvill stumbled on through the dark forest, clutching her body against the cold night. She broke through the treeline, and a great, stone building rose before her;the Crypt of Ghyllor. The place where her grandmother had been laid to rest.

The funeral itself had been a depressing affair. Neighbours that she had never met before, or had met once and couldn't recall their names, had lined up in a queue to offer their condolences and shake her hand. It was an odd feeling to shake hands with people much older than her. It was like being an adult, and she hadn't enjoyed it at all.

"...come...granddaughter...be with me...."

The voice was stronger than ever,and Arvill started around the building, climbing over roots and rocks infected with moss. She moved faster now, almost running, her sore foot forgotten. She tripped and stumbled many times but forced herself back to her feet and pushed on.

"...good girl...."

Arvill came to a stop, huffing for breath; she had come to a large opening in the stone wall, the entrance to the crypt.

They had brought her grandmother through this door on a wooden bier, down into the gullet of the building. She had been wrapped in a ceremonial robe of many different colours. Everyone said how peaceful she looked, but Arvill couldn't bear looking at her lifeless face; there was something artificial about it as if her grandmother had been replaced with a clay replica.

"...come in...join me...."

Arvill walked closer to the entrance, and a wall of blackness confronted her. Anything could be hiding in that darkness, just waiting to drag her into the stony depths.

"...come...I will keep you safe...."

Arvill took a hesitant step inside, and the darkness engulfed her. She reached out towards the wall to guide herself and continued edging forward. Her foot struck something on the ground, and it rattled away with a hollow noise. The image of a skull rolling along the floor came to her mind and she tensed.

I can't do this, she thought.

"...go on...so close...so near... we'll be reunited soon...just a little further...."

Arvill took a step without meaning to. And then another.

"...come to me...."

Arvill raced through the dark hallways without a care for what was in front of her. There was the sound of crunching under her feet and of smashing ceramic as she knocked over funereal urns, but on she ran, heedless to it all. She was so close now, and nothing would get in her way.

Alcoves were cut into the walls where bodies had been laid to rest, but it was too dark to make out details. Still, Arvill forced herself not to look in case the indistinct mounds of shadows resolved themselves into the rotting corpses that they were.

"Quick, girl, quick, so close, so close."

Arvill had never heard her grandmother's voice this strong before. Tears welled at the back of her eyes.

"Grandma...," she whispered, emotion choking her voice.

Her grandmother's voice came faster and faster in an excited rush, but she spoke so quickly that it all jumbled together into meaningless noise. Her voice rose in volume until it filled Arvill's entire mind, but then in an instant,disappeared. Arvill came to a stop. She stood in a dark hallway,identical to the many others that she had run through.

I must be at the right place.

She reached out and felt along the wall until she found the carved letters that marked the grave's owner. She read the letters with her fingertips but could only make out one part of the name: Lorron.

No, not Lorron. I'm looking for Eshera.

She felt further along the wall,deciphering other names: Kingsley, Stolenzberg, Adalan.

No, no, no, I'm looking for Eshera. Eshera, Eshera. Where was Eshera?

Arvill stopped. Who was Eshera?Her grandmother's name was Brooke. Brooke Morrey. Her great-uncle had carved the letters himself with a hammer and chisel when the Sage refused to step inside the crypt. He had stayed a considerable distance away, shouting about how it was an "eldritch mark on the land" and must be "purged from the town". Arvill asked her mother what he had meant by that, but her mother had hushed her.

"The Mother Protector has no power here," the Sage had announced more than once.

Arvill moved towards the opposite walls, hands outstretched. After some moments of searching, her fingers found another name: "Brooke Moorey"

Her breath caught— She had found it, her grandmother's resting place. Arvill pressed her hand against the letters inscribed into the stone. Beside the name rose amass of shadows. Arvill reached out a hand towards the shadows and touched cloth— her grandmother's burial robe.

"I'm here," Arvill said.

The amulet in her pocket's started vibrating, and heat emanated from it. The heat grew and grew,and an image of her skirt bursting into flames flashed in Arvill's mind. She ripped the bundle from her pocket, and as she did so, the dirty skirt unraveled, exposing the amulet. It shone with intense violet light as it fell to the ground. Arvill backed against the wall, shielding her eyes from the glare.

Footsteps came towards her.

Arvill turned to look in the direction of the sound, but the amulet's light still blinded her. Something was in front of her—a figure.

"We are finally together,granddaughter."

It was her grandmother's voice,but this time, it wasn't coming from inside her head!

The figure laughed—a woman's laugh.

"I'm glad you came, granddaughter," the woman said, and her voice sounded deeper and twisted, like a mocking imitation of her grandmother.

A cold hand gripped Arvill by the throat and pushed her against the hard, stone wall. Arvill opened her mouth to scream but only managed to make a croaking noise. She struggled against the grip, but a chill started spreading through out her body, sapping her limbs of their strength. The cold reached her head, and her vision began to fade to black. The tomb around her disappeared, and she was falling, falling down into a deep, dark abyss. She tried to scream again, but nothing came out of her mouth.

"You are mine now," the woman said in a voice that sounded nothing like her grandmother's.