The Light

“Madam Tempest’s Tellers Tavern,” read the large golden letters on a burgundy wooden sign that flapped hysterically in the wind. The metal gates towered over them as they stood at the entrance to the abandoned building; they hung wide open. Bates held Cassandra’s hand in a tight grip, his knuckles turning ghost white. Cassandra had always wanted to go to a fortune teller, Bates knew this, the delight on her face was almost too hard to ignore. Her grip loosened from his hand as she swivelled in front of him and battered her long pony eyelashes, her lips pouted in their usual cupids bow and her little button nose scrunched up at the end. He couldn’t resist. Cassandra had been the most beautiful girl Bate’s had ever laid eyes on, her mouse brown hair curled in little locks that barely reached below her jaw, her freckles ran marathons around her entire face and big, round glasses with two ocean pools gazed up at him. He couldn’t resist.

One step in. They entered the immense black gates. Two steps in. They watched as they passed under the quivering sign. Three steps in. The wind howled. Four, five, six, seven. Their consecutive steps became automated and rapid, as if the wind was drawing them in, the 100 yards between the gate and building had become mere paces until they looked behind and the gate was just a dot on the horizon. The sun set behind the gate and darkness engulfed them in one bite. The gale picked up speed, rushing to get the job over and done with; the air was crisp cold against Bate’s bare arms, his veins seemed to turn ice blue as her glared back into the obscurity.

“We better go in before we catch our death,” Cassandra whispered in his ear, but Bate’s wasn’t so sure it would be the wind would be setting the trap tonight. His fists hadn’t even moved away from his first knock before a haggard old woman swung the door open, the smell of essence and something else escaped from inside. She had a turban of the same burgundy as the sign, wrapped around her long black hair that knotted at least three times on the way down to the tatty ends; she wore a long red wine dress with gold embellishments around the seems and some granny slippers to top the outfit off. Bate’s had to hold in a scoff as he caught a glimpse of the cloak that hung behind her, she was really trying to sell the fortune teller nonsense he thought. She wore large black sunglasses that covered half of her face. Why would she need sunglasses when the sun was too scare to shine here? As she turned around and beckoned them in he thought her saw an egg in the back of her hair, it would explain the bird’s nest of dreads that trailed behind her.

The house was dark, as expected, and there was only one piece furniture in the entire room. A tiny three legged table perched in the middle of the room, looking as though it might break under the weight of a shot glass, which Bates would have killed for right about now. Shooing them towards the table, who Bates could only presume was Madam Tempest, tried to get them to hurry along as if the spirits had another slot booked. Sitting by the table now, Bates looked into Cassandra’s eyes, little pools gazed back at him with excitement rippling through them. A little smile crept across his face to reassure her he wasn’t scared. Or was it to reassure himself?

The woman closed her eyes and began to murmur an incantation in a raspy voice as if she had swallowed too much of the fake smoke that seemed to linger around the corners of the room.

Call upon the one, let her know they’re here

Call upon her now, we have a volunteer

Although the days have turned into months and years, the time is close and very near

Summon the spirit from the other realm and beckon the great puppeteer

In quick succession, the lyrics sped up and became blurred until a small light appeared at the centre of the table. Looking at the light he saw a little boy, scrawny and broken, his father had died from drugs, his mother had died from suicide and his only friend was his shadow. The light became brighter as he saw this boy grow up, go to the gym, get ripped until it mended the seams. Even brighter still, he was the pools staring back at him. Cassandra. The day they had met in the park as he sat by the tree where his mum had moved on, she was so kind, she was so pretty, she was so innocent. He couldn’t have told her.

Bates looked away from the light. It was too much, he found it harder and harder to turn away as if the light was drawing him in. In his grip, he still clutched Cassandra’s hand, but she no longer clutched it back. He looked over his shoulder to see her mindlessly staring into the light, transfixed on what she could see in its glow.

Casandra was unaware of the shouting that was going on beside her, as Bates tried to bring her back. She was looking at the day she had first met Bates, when he had told her how his mum had been murdered by the tree and how she had tried to comfort him. He was so trusting. Until the light began to dim.

Bates looked over at the light. It was going out. Maybe it was almost over.

Cassandra saw the memory reverse as the scene grew darker, a little boy with him mother stepped onto centre stage, with a rope, skipping? She thought.

Bates saw Cassandra edging ever closer to the centre of the table, her face was trying to peer closer into the dimming light. He tried to pull her back.

Cassandra saw the boy turn and count to 100. Hide and seek? The mum didn’t turn and run. She tied a knot in the rope and by the time the boy turned around his mother was unconscious, hanging from the branches. Dead.

Bates looked again at the light. It was almost out completely. Cassandra would soon not be distracted by the silly games this old hag was playing.

Cassandra watched as the little boy cried and called for help until the she realised it was Bates. He hadn’t trusted her. He had lied to her. She had confided secrets with him of her suicidal thoughts, yet he had kept this from her. She was angry. No. She was mad. Hilariously mad.

The light went out.

“Cassandra are you ok?” Bates, shook her shoulders, “Cassandra can you hear me?”

He turned to look over at the old woman, but she had vanished along with the light. Cassandra turned to look at him, nothing gazed back at him. Sockets. The pools had that had flooded her eyes had drained out and black holes faced him. She stood up and walked towards the door, opened it and beckoned him outside. Too lost for words, Bates did what she wanted and as soon as he did she closed the door and the house and gates, and Cassandra disappeared.

5 years later.

Bates stood at the entrance to the abandoned house he had spent so many years hunting down, however many years it takes for his beard to grow many times over. He placed his hand on the door, not taking it away and surely enough the door began to open. That old woman had a lot to pay for. No one had believed him when he said that Cassandra was kidnapped by an old lady in the woods, but he would save her and finally get the life he so desperately wanted with her.

The door flung open. The same red wine dress, the same granny slippers, the same gold embellishments but not the same face. Cassandra.

It all made sense. The old woman was never Madam Tempest, she was just a puppet. Madam Tempest was the evil spirit that glowed in the darkness of someone’s aching soul, she was the spirit that made them give up hope, she was the spirit that beckoned people towards the light.

Madam Tempest was the devil who had taken Cassandra.

Cassandra wore the black sunglasses, which Bates knew covered the sockets he had seen so many years ago. She turned around and beckoned him in towards a little table in the middle of a large room. He entered. The door swung closed and pitch black engulfed him. He saw nothing but heard a little mumble from afar and the light flickered again.