The Skullcap Chronicles

Chapter Eight

 Hot steam filled the bathroom, awakening my senses. I towel-dried my hair and dressed quickly in white flannel and blue jeans, pulling on a brown shrug. I headed downstairs, seeing Wilson- Cain's ghost-cat- sitting in the kitchen with his tail twitching. As I started coffee, the bobcat wound around my legs, slowly floating higher as he did until he was eye-level and I was forced to pet him.

 Once my coffee was ready, I made my way downstairs to the basement. It was only seven, and I had to light several candles to accommodate for the lack of sunlight through the dust-encrusted basement window. I looked over the shelves; most were old historical books, biographies, and such, but finally one shelf- just a single shelf- heeded something beneficial. I withdrew a book from the shelf, which was full of necromancy, paranormal, and all that voodoo-hoodoo jazz. The book I pulled out had red binding with neat, crisp black letters engraved on the front:

Mr. Maryarti and the House of Grim

 Something about the title, the look of the book, intrigued me; I found myself sitting and reading. It began with a short introduction from a "close friend" of Maryarti named Gideon Perideau, who introduced Maryarti as a necrologist. The book itself documented a month of life in a house rumored to hold  the malevolent spirit of a "grim reaper" themed serial killer who had lived there before, and then been hung after confessing to his crimes. The book briefed his history, and by the end of it, Maryarti's writing cut off mid-sentence. In the back, a note from Perideau explained that his Maryarti's family had desired discretion to the dark studies of their deceased family member, but that Maryarti's own will had expressed having his findings published. The cause of death of Maryarti remained unknown.

 I grabbed the next book, this one about the darker side of mythology- it was said to have tails about Egyptian underworld lore, Aztec sacrifice, the origin of the black cat myths, and more. As I read, Wilson appeared, circling my feet and napping on various surfaces of the room. I went upstairs periodically to refill coffee. The morning brightened outside, but I still had to keep several candles lit in order to see in the dusty basement. I finished the mythology book and moved on to a black-bound book, which turned out to be nothing more than some mid-twentieth-century Wiccan's Book of Shadows, containing information on herbs, blessings, and deities. After that, I grabbed a book with a violet spine and dark blue cover. Carvings of letters in a language I didn't know- it seemed to be some form of Arabic, but it was too angular- formed three short lines in the center of the front cover. I reached to touch them, but some intuition warned Don't.

 Opening the book, I began skimming through the pages. They were all written in the same language and accompanied by black ink sketches, and, following my intuition, I avoided touching the letters. A little past midway through, I saw  something unexpected: a sketch of a skullcap mushroom. My head tilted to the side and I felt my eyes narrow. I looked next to the skullcap- the letters seemed to form a soft hiss in my head:

 When she comes, give the devil his due; some sympathy for that beast, for his time is through.

 Beneath, a sigil of some sort was traced in red over a black ink image of the devil stabbing himself with his own horns. Beside the ghastly image, more of the words formed that soft hiss, which I was nearly accrediting to imagination, but I wasn't that creative.

 An' she comes without being stopped, his experiments shall be done. The Lady will find this, the lady will know; Lady, thou shalt not fear; thou shalt not doubt. Thine own eyes can crumble buildings.

 That was the end of the page. I flipped it, and suddenly all of the pages crumbled to dust, forming a fine powder on the inside of the book. I blinked and pushed it away, and then raced upstairs to mine and Kai's room. She was in the middle of putting on her shirt as I opened the door.