The Talking Skull

I recognised Mr Sullivan's silhouette, as he ventured along the narrow path that crossed the steep cliff to reach my solitary residence. I stopped my activity of pulling out bad weeds from the garden and I shook off the dirt from my robe as much as I could with my hands. I walked towards my unexpected guest to greet him and help him dismount from his horse.

'Dear Mr Sullivan' I said, after we shook hands, 'what a pleasant surprise to have you here. I beg you to forgive me for welcoming you in this state, but your visit comes rather unforeseen' I concluded pointing at my dusty tunic.

'Do not mention it, my dear Brother Matthew' replied he, 'for it is always great joy for me to come visit this peaceful corner of the coast and exchange a chat with a wise friend'.

Me and the librarian sat on one of the stone benches that stood at the corners of the garden, facing the placid sea that was lazily sending its waves to wash the sharp rocks many meters below us.

'So' I started after a few moments of silence, 'is this view the only reason for your visit, or is there something troubling you?'.

He took off his hat and dried the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

'A foreigner arrived to Hamilville this morning' he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.

'Well, this is not unusual, is it?' I enquired, 'a lot of travellers frequently pass through the town on their way to the Capital'.

'Indeed, they do' he nodded, 'but this one is different. Hamilville was her destination, not a stop-over. Apparently, she's doing some sort of research...'

'I still don't see the reason of your worries' I replied. I noticed that he was spinning his hat between his fingers, and his left foot was insistently tapping the ground.

'I'm not sure' he sighed in the end, moving his glance to follow the flight of a lonely seagull, 'maybe I'm just worrying for nothing, but something feels eerie about that woman'.

Almost as if it wanted to underline my friend's words, a cold gust of wind suddenly blew, raising small clouds of dust and bringing up the smell of the sea aster.

'She came to the library this morning' he continued, wrapping himself tighter in his jacket, 'right after booking herself a room at the Golden Goose Inn. First, she seemed to be interested in the newspaper archives. She spent almost one hour scrolling through the old copies of the Hamilville Gazette, I'm talking about some three decades old numbers, taking notes on a small notebook. After that she started looking around the shelves as if she was looking for something specific, but when I approached her to offer my help, she demanded in a not very polite way to be left alone'.

Mr Sullivan took a pause. He scratched his chin and shook his head. The soft early-spring wind was bringing some grey clouds in our direction, staining the clear sky with their smoky hindrance. Similarly, I could sense that a shadow of sincere concern was twisting the usually peaceful gaze of my friend.

'At one point' he reprised, 'I had to attend other customers and therefore I lost sight of her, but I kept feeling uneasy. I know I might sound silly, but something in her demeanour had strung me in the wrong way'.

'When I finished with the other people, I saw her sitting at one of the desks, reading through a small book and still making annotations on her notepad. Everything seemed absolutely normal, but I could not shake off that ominous feeling that was crawling under my skin. I patiently waited for her to leave, which happened only two hours later, and went to check the volume she was studying, which luckily she had carelessly left on the bench'.