The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

Beyond the Veil of Reality

Marshall's eyes fluttered open, his head pounding as she struggled to remember where he was. The dim glow of neon lights outside his shop window provided the only light in the small, cluttered space. As his memory returned, so did the searing pain in his side. The hit-and-run accident had left him shaken, and the bruises on his ribs were a constant reminder of how fragile life was.

As a fortune teller, Marshall had grown accustomed to the invisible realm, the threads connecting people and events across time. He sensed the universe's vibrations, tuning in to the frequency that guided his hand as he shuffled cards and interpreted omens. But this - this pain and this fear - was different. This was tangible, visceral.

Marshall gingerly pushed himself up from the divan, wincing as his side protested the movement. His dreams had been...unsettling, their twisted bodies writhing like living shadows. They lurked just beyond the edge of perception, watching him, waiting for him. And in the dreams, the fabric between worlds seemed to thin, as if they were straining to break through into his reality.

Shivering despite the summer heat, Marshall made his way to the small bathroom in the back of the shop. The mirror above the sink reflected a face he barely recognised – pale, haunted, and scared. He scrubbed the sweat from his forehead, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through his side. Catching his breath, he opened the cabinet and rummaged through it, searching for a bottle of painkillers.

As he downed two pills with a swig of water, his eyes wandered to the tarot cards on the counter. The images of their faces seemed to mock him, the Fool's carefree smile twisted into a macabre grin, and the Eight of Swords' bound figure seemed to writhe in anguish. Marshall's hand hovered over the deck, hesitating. He needed answers, but the cards were his connection to the mysteries of the universe – and the very source of his terror.

With a deep breath, he shuffled the cards, laying out a simple three-card spread. The Past, the Present, and the Future. The cards revealed themselves: the Chariot, upside-down; the Hermit; and the Tower. Marshall's heart sank. Change, introspection and chaos. This was no gentle guidance; this was a warning.

Over the next few days, Marshall's dreams grew more vivid and intense. The creatures, twisted and impossible, crowded the edge of his perception. He sensed they were growing stronger, straining against the boundaries between worlds. His waking hours were filled with the hum of anxiety, his every moment on edge, waiting for something to snap.

One evening, as the sun set over the city, Marshall decided to seek help. He gathered a small bag of essentials – candles, incense, and a few key crystals – and set out for the city's oldest metaphysical shop. The sign above the door read "Moonwhisper's Arcana," and the scent of sandalwood and myrrh wafted into the evening air.

Inside, the shop was a haven of calm. Shelves upon shelves of dusty tomes, crystals, and taxidermized creatures seemed to absorb the chaos of the world outside. Behind the counter, an elderly woman with wispy silver hair and eyes that saw right through the veil of reality looked. Up from the book she was reading.

"Welcome, child," Moonwhisper said, her voice low and soothing. "I've been expecting you. Your presence has been...rippling...in the currents of the unknown."

Marshall hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But Moonwhisper's knowing gaze put her at ease, and she recounted his dreams, the creatures, and the growing sense of unease.

Moonwhisper listened attentively, nodding and muttering to himself as he delved into the dusty recesses of his shelves, producing an ancient tome bound in black leather. "This is the Scriptum Invictus," she said, the words dripping with reverence. "A text from a realm parallel to our own, detailing the struggles of those who walked the thin line between worlds."

As Marshall delved into the pages, the words seemed to shift and writhe on the page, like living serpents. The secrets revealed within were ancient and terrible – of rituals and gatekeepers, of keys and symbols that unlocked doors between realities.

"This is what's happening," Marshall said, the revelation dawning on him. "The creatures in my dreams, they're from this other realm, trying to break through. And I... I'm the key."

Moonwhisper nodded gravely. "Your connection to the unknown has become a doorway. They'll stop at nothing to claim this world as their own."

In the face of such knowledge, Marshall felt small and powerless. But he also knew he couldn't back down. With a newfound determination, he left Moonwhisper's shop, armed with the knowledge and the will to defend her world against the unseen horrors that lurked beyond the veil.

The night air was heavy with anticipation as Marshall returned to his shop, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Though his heart pounded in his chest, and the shadows seemed to writhe like living things, he knew he had to stand firm.

For Marshall had discovered that, in a world where the boundaries were thinning, the greatest horror wasn't the monsters from beyond – but the realization that he might be the very thing that could let them in.