Into the Aether_Part One

Into the Aether_Part One by T.C. Pearce



Prologue


Cybil stood at the doorway to the abandoned house. She stared inside, unable to discern any of the contents. Squinting, she peered into the abyss and slowly, forms started to take shape. The foyer of the house had wooden floors that were splintered and broken in places, and well-worn in others. A round table sat in the middle of the room, and atop it sat a thick layer of dust. Toward the rear of the room, a weathered set of stairs ran past a blacked-out window and up to the second floor.

Cybil looked behind her and out at a brilliant red sky. Red sky in the morning... she thought, looking back into the darkened foyer. A compulsion to step inside tugged at her. She moved one foot forward, crossing the threshold of the front entrance, and was completely enveloped by the darkness.

C'mon deary, nobody here but the things that go bump in the night. Cybil's mind flew through childhood memories—hiding under the covers in her room, afraid of the dark and of the ghost stories her father told when they were camping.

She shuddered slightly. Oh, get a hold of yourself. You're a grown woman. Clenching her fists, she took a second step into the inky blackness. The smell of mold and dust filled her nostrils. Her eyes continued to adapt to the darkness and darted about the room. She made another slow, deliberate step, her breath quickening. Calm down, Cybil. There is nothing in here that's going to get you. Her heart hammered, echoing in her ears.

Toward her left, in her periphery, was a very old mirror. There were hairline cracks running up and down it, and parts of it flaked away, offering her a reflection that was murky at best. Her eyes shifted from her own face to another reflection behind her. She turned quickly, gasping, to find two figures sitting at the table. They sat unmoving, both staring at a chessboard before them. The man closest to her (if he was, in fact, a man) was composed entirely of what Cybil perceived to be shifting white beads of light. His entire body was in a state of flux. She stared, uncomprehending, then examined his companion: a void in the shape of a man. The nightmarish blackness that comprised his body was completely impenetrable. In fact, it seemed to be absorbing all the light in the room. Both figures sat in the exact same position, their right elbows leaning on the table in front of them and their heads resting on their hands. Clutching her chest, Cybil took a small step toward them, her gaze now fixed on the chessboard. The nightmarish man had all of his black pieces, while the shifting-light man only had one of his white ones.

A cracking sound came from behind her and she turned to look back upon her own reflection. The image grew even murkier and then fluid-like. She walked up to it, and her image contorted and disappeared, revealing another woman. This new woman was younger, with dark chestnut hair that hung messily along her rounded face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and long black channels of mascara ran down her cheeks. What could be troubling her?

The young woman cast her eyes downward, then slowly raised a hand, which was holding a small serrated kitchen knife. Oh God, no... Fresh tears now streamed down the woman’s face as she placed the knife against her wrist. Her hand visibly shook and she removed the blade, leaving a red indentation on her delicate skin.

“Go down the road, not across it,” the young woman said in a cracked voice. She brought up the knife again. No! Cybil thought, trying to speak, but finding the words caught in her throat. The young woman took several deep breaths and with a determined look, she pressed the knife against her skin.

“NO!” Cybil screamed, and the woman looked up, surprise and recognition filling her face.

The woman mouthed the words How did you..., and then the mirror exploded in a cloud of dust and glass. Instinctively, Cybil raised her arms to her face and looked away, taking several steps backward. The shattering sound echoed throughout the room for an unnaturally long time before she heard muffled cries of pain. Cybil felt her heart gripped by a cold hand and slowly, she turned around, her hands still covering her face.

Reluctantly, she parted her fingers enough to see a person suspended upside down from the ceiling. He was completely bound with ropes and chains, his body swaying violently as he tried to break free. The bound man continued to make muffled sounds when the nightmarish, dark man appeared behind him. He produced a long silver staff that he swung around the neck of the bound man, choking him. A sickening sound came from the bound man as he struggled with greater ferocity. Two red eyes now stared at Cybil from the nightmarish figure.

“Stop it!” she yelled at the thing. He grinned at her. “Stop it!” she yelled again. The sickening smile grew wider; the bound man continued fighting.

“Shh,” whispered a voice. Cybil looked up to see an old woman sitting on top of the stairs, a large leather book open in her lap.

“Help him!” she called to the old woman. The woman’s eyes did not leave Cybil’s.

“Who?” replied the old woman.

“Him!” she yelled back, pointing at the bound man. Cybil looked back at the horrible scene to find the men were gone. In their place was a small dark box.

Cybil stared down at it. At first, she thought it was a jewelry box by its shape, but she had never seen one quite like it before. She walked over and bent down, lightly running her fingers along its cold exterior, and felt compelled to pick it up. It was deceivingly heavy. As Cybil stood, grasping the thing in both hands, the light from the doorway fell upon it, giving the box an odd purple sheen.

She believed it was very old, although its appearance gave no indication of its age. Cybil gazed fixedly at the box’s fine, intricate patterns of lines that wove back and forth, intersecting each other, creating a complex maze of designs.