Tea Time

A shrill whistle came from the kitchen; the kettle was ready. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Nancy. She looked at Tim, eyes filled with concern, but her face full of understanding.

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Tim. 

“Okay,” Nancy said, “I’ll be right here. She took Tim’s hand in her own and let out a resolved sigh as she settled into her chair. 

The two were seated at a round table, situated in the living room of a run-down apartment. The front door was to Tim’s back, and across the table from him was an entryway that led to a tiny kitchen. They could both hear the old lady rummaging around, gathering teacups, saucers, ingredients—anything that they would need for the ritual. 

Draped across the table was a magnificent tablecloth depicting the stars of the universe in a rather stylistic manner. It was more than tiny white dots on a blue-black background; the stars themselves seemed filled with life. Some were lemon-yellow, others pink or green or blue, and all shone with luminous brilliance. The void of space in which they sat was depicted not with emptiness but with an explosion of color, containing hues of the most intense violets and blues, and mixed deliberately with the deepest of blacks. The tablecloth seemed so real that Tim reached down to touch it and ensure it was just cloth. As his hands made contact, he felt a strange sensation throughout his body, a gentle tug in his stomach. The gentle tug grew gradually into a forceful pull, dragging at his arms, his shoulders, his guts. Tim was drawn into the tablecloth, seduced by its beauty, and now captured by its ferocity. Frantically he fought against it—yanking and kicking and screaming, trying desperately to escape, to let go of the cloth. Nothing he did made any difference; the tablecloth kept pulling him in, transporting him into the depths of space.

“What are you doing, boy?” A voice like creaking doors in a dark house cut through the room, snapping Tim out of his illusion. He looked down at his hands. White knuckles sat atop curled fingers, clutching at the fabric as if it were a disappearing lifeline in the hands of a man lost at sea. Tim relaxed his grip, letting the tablecloth fall back into place, and looked over at Nancy. She was staring at him with a puzzled look on her face. She took him by the hand once more. The voice had come from the old lady who now made her way across the room to the table. 

“Hmm…yes, that’s better now. Best not to touch things. Here you are,” she said as she placed her tea set on the table. 

The old lady’s voice was anything but comforting. It was raspy and mysterious and ancient as the wind, plucking at a particular string in Tim’s heart that filled him with terror. It was the type of voice that made you think of long nails scraping across a chalkboard or of a knife being slowly honed next to your ear while you sleep. Everything about the voice screamed Get Out! but Tim needed to go through with this. He had to know the truth. 

On the table now sat a well-worn silver teapot, embellished with all manner of fantastical and horrifying beasts, creatures rendered so realistically that Tim expected one to jump out and attack him. Next to it was a porcelain teacup in a saucer and a bowl full of what appeared to be black tea leaves mixed with various herbs. A small, black, ceramic carafe containing milk was there as well. 

“Are you ready?” the old lady asked, looking down at Tim. She held the tea kettle in her hand, filled with almost-boiling water. Tim looked over at Nancy, more for comfort than for strength. She gave him a reassuring nod.

“Yes,” said Tim, “I am ready.”

“Good. I’ll instruct you, and you’ll do exactly as I say, when I say. You will only move when I tell you to, and you will only speak when I tell you to. No questions, no hesitation. Understood?” The old lady stared through Tim, eyes like fire in the night.

“Yes, understood,” Tim said. 

“Okay. Let’s begin,” she said. “Take the tea leaves and place them in the pot. With your fingers, now, quickly!” Tim did as she commanded, taking care not to spill the leaves onto the table. 

“Now, the special ingredient that is required,” she said. “Add it to the pot.”

Tim reached into his jacket and pulled out a ziplock bag. Opening the top of the bag, he removed three golden hairs, about eight inches in length. After placing them in the pot, he put the plastic bag back in his pocket.

“Give me your right hand.”

Tim extended his arm towards the old lady, and she placed the tea kettle filled with water in his hand.

“Now your left.”

Tim did as she said, offering up his left hand as well. Suddenly, with the speed of a tiger pouncing in a forest, she snatched his hand and sliced open his palm with a knife. Then, without letting go, she forced his hand over the teapot and squeezed, causing the blood to run into the pot, mixing with the tea and the hair.

“Now pour the water. Quickly!” 

Tim poured the water into the teapot, wincing from the pain he felt in his left hand. 

“Well done, boy,” the old lady said. “Now, as the tea brews, silence.” She handed him a strip of white cloth. 

Tim took it, wrapping it around his hand to help stop the bleeding. He glanced over at Nancy. Her eyes were wide with fright, but to his surprise, she uttered not a sound. After a moment of Tim struggling to tie the cloth, Nancy intervened and finished the job. Then, they sat, waiting in silence.

Saccharine scents came flowing forth from the pot, permeating the room as the tea settled into its brew. The smell of orange, wild and sweet, first dominated the senses, followed promptly by the cutting freshness of mint. It was brought together with the earthiness of black tea, mingling with baser notes of something…different. Tim had never before laid nose to this smell. It was dark and thick, almost wrong, and yet somehow powerfully addictive. His body was repulsed by it while at the same time enamored with it. He couldn’t get enough of the smell. The overall effect of the aroma was quite intoxicating—enchanting, even. 

Tim sat there, letting his mind drift away on the tides of the fragrance. Down through summer-warm valleys he went, sweeping through groves of orange and lemon. Up crisp mountainsides, skirting the icy tops of frozen lakes, and down again through dense forests frozen in time. He was bore through mire and marsh and moor, dragged deep into swamps and deeper still into sulfurous springs. Thrust into the mouth of a musty cave and plunged into the cracks of the earth. Deeper he went, ever deeper, away from light and away from life. Tim realized, too late, what was happening. He wanted to fight the current, but he currently could not find the will. He resigned himself to be trapped here, forever exploring this darkness—

“Not yet, boy!” 

The old lady swatted Tim on the head, bringing him back to the table. 

“It’s not yet time. Now sit still and don’t go running off again.” She walked back to her chair and sat down. 

Tim looked over to Nancy, who was clearly confused. She saw his hands trembling, the fear in his eyes.

“What happened?” Nancy said.

“Hush now, child,” said the old lady, “the boy is fine. Silence.” Nancy sat back without a word, but Tim could see that she was worried.

After a few more minutes had passed, the old lady gestured for Tim to pour the tea into the cup, which he did promptly.

“Now the milk, just a dash,” said the old lady. 

Again Tim did as she commanded, not wanting to ruin everything. Something strange was happening here, and he hoped that his guide could do as she claimed. As soon as Tim finished adding the milk, the old lady snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the milk and the tea began to swirl together in the cup, creating a beautiful pattern. It reminded Tim of the pictures he had seen of spiral galaxies, far off in the universe, and he thought that it matched well with the design of the tablecloth. The milk and tea spun in circles, moving slowly at first, but gradually gaining speed. Faster and faster around it went, until it moved so quickly Tim was afraid it would all spill out of the cup. He wanted to say something, but he knew better. The old lady was implicit in her instructions to not speak or even move without her say so. Tim stared at the tea, which seemed now to create a tiny vortex, funneling down to the bottom of the cup. That tiny vortex grew into a decently sized whirlpool, which grew again into a large and violent maelstrom. The tea was drawing him in, pulling at something deep in his chest. Looking into the heart of the vortex, Tim saw a dash of movement, as of some creature darting through the night. Fear flooded his mind, but he found himself moving closer and closer, hypnotized, mesmerized—utterly spellbound—by the galactic swirl. 

“Take the cup and drink.” 

The old lady’s voice shattered the hold that the tea had on Tim. He looked into the cup. There was no more maelstrom, no more spiral—only tea, milky and still. Tim looked at Nancy one last time and found a nervous smile on her face. She was deathly afraid but brave. She was here, for him. That was all he needed. Tim grabbed the cup and drank.

Tim’s eyes burst open, lungs bellowing for much-needed breath. He was lying on his back, though he couldn’t say why. The last thing Tim remembered was drinking tea in the living room of a run-down apartment. Warily, he stood up and took stock of his surroundings. 

The world in which Tim now found himself was a tenebrous shadow-realm. Darkness surrounded him. Outlines of the landscape were barely perceptible. At least, Tim assumed it was the landscape. The only discernible difference between shapes was the various shades of black that comprised them. It was hard to tell, but it seemed as if everything were in motion, gently swaying to and fro, trickling up and down and sideways. Tim observed his hands. They were clear as day, as if his body had its own source of internal illumination. He looked next at his feet, which were also distinctly visible. The ground beneath them felt solid and still but appeared to undulate mildly, a river of murky lava flowing through the darkness. Tim turned to see what lie behind him and almost jumped out of his skin. Standing there, perhaps ten feet away, was a woman.

The woman was pale and translucent, more grey than white, a wisp of light in the darkness. She was visible but not luminous like Tim. Her features, however, were unmistakable. Warm and soft and safe—Tim had found who he was looking for.

“Mom?” Tim said as he took a step forward. The woman did not move. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Tim,” she said. “They are coming. You must leave immediately.” There was no smile on her face, only concern. 

“But Mom, I came here to talk to you. I wasn’t even sure it would work. I…after so long, I thought you had to be dead, but I just didn’t know. I needed answers; I needed to find out what happened. To you and Dad both. I was so alone, Mom, alone and afraid. I didn’t want to think for a second that you abandoned me, but I needed to be sure. Not knowing was unbearable. If it wasn’t for Nancy, I’m not sure I would have made it.” 

Tim sunk his head, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. 

“I’m torn, Mom. I’m happy to have found you, to be able to speak to you again. To know you didn’t leave me. But a part of me hoped you were still alive, still out there in the world waiting for me to find you. What happened? No one ever found out. There were no clues, no evidence, nothing. You and Dad left for your trip and just disappeared.”

“There’s no time Tim, they are almost here. You must go, right now! You shouldn’t be here!” 

Just then, Tim noticed movement behind his mother. An inky, black figure was making its way towards the pair. No, not one figure, but many individuals. Hordes of them. As they rushed closer, Tim could make out details. A myriad of legs, spindly and savage, protruded from Stygian bodies, propelling innumerable creatures across the murky void like hellish spiders chasing down their prey. Fear gripped Tim by the heart, squeezing tightly, causing his throat to swell and close.

“Oh, my child, your Dad and I loved you so very much. We left the dig site late one night and were murdered on our way back to the hotel. That is all I know. Now go!”

The shadow demons were close upon them now. An acrid, rotten smell filled the air. Tim could almost feel the pressure of their bodies pressing in on him, a ravenous wave of despair and destruction reaching its crest before crashing down and drowning him in a sea of darkness. 

“I don’t know how to leave!” Tim shouted. 

“Just remember where you are!” his mother responded. 

The infernal creatures were within twenty yards at this point. Where I am? Tim thought. I’m right here. Oh! In an instant, Tim understood. He closed his eyes and pictured Nancy. He pictured her next to him, sitting at that galactic table, the same table where he still sat, across from the old lady with the ancient voice and the magical tea. There was the silver teapot, covered in otherworldly beasts. Next to it, a half-empty teacup and a black carafe mostly full of milk. Tim envisioned these things, brought them to the forefront of his mind—brought them to life. He remembered. His body was there, not here. He wasn’t sure where here was, but he was certain that nothing corporeal was allowed in this realm.

 Tim felt a gust of wind press him from behind. He opened his eyes and turned to see. A vortex had opened up in mid-air, swirling around much as the tea had done only moments ago. It was a portal to take him back home, back to his plane of existence. Tim looked back at his mom. She had stepped closer—was right behind him—and grabbed him by the shoulder. A dark, spindly leg lifted above her head, poised to strike.

“I love you so much, Tim, and so does your father, but you must GO!” 

And with that, just as the deathly leg sliced through her form, she shoved Tim into the vortex.

Tim lurched forward, hands and head slamming against the table. He bounced off and fell to the ground, gasping and wheezing and choking, finally vomiting on the floor. Out came inky and viscid slime, oozing from his mouth and nose. Next came coal-black vapor, purging itself from the deepest, darkest parts of his lungs and heart and soul. Tim rolled to his back and found Nancy looming over him, her face riddled with terror and concern. 

“Tim! Are you okay?” she asked, clearly disturbed by whatever had happened since he left. 

Tim tried to sit up but found himself to be suddenly very weak and nauseous. He laid back down. 

“I’m okay, Nance, I’m okay. I promise.” Nancy took him by the hand and squeezed as if she would never again let it go.

“I was so worried. When you first…left…you started seizing. Then suddenly, you stopped moving altogether and weren’t even breathing! I thought you were done for. We sat here and waited and waited, and I wanted to call an ambulance, but she wouldn’t let me. She said either you’d make it back on your own or not at all, and there was nothing anyone here could do to change it!” 

Nancy gave a stern look towards the table. Tim followed her gaze to the old lady, still sitting in her chair.

“Welcome back, boy,” the old lady said. “Was your trip worth it?”

Nancy’s head snapped back to Tim, eyes wide with curiosity.

“It worked, Nance, it worked! My mom was there. She and Dad didn’t abandon me; I knew they never would! She said they were murdered on the way home from their dig site, and that’s all she remembers.” 

“Oh, Tim!” Nancy hugged him hard, then pulled away. “I’m so happy for you! Well, not happy; sad, you know…because your parents are dead…but we kinda figured, so I’m happy you got…Oh, you know what I mean!” She hugged Tim once more, gripping him so hard she forced out a cough. 

Tim, feeling better now, finally sat up. He looked at the old lady.

“There were creatures,” he said.

The old lady stared at him blankly. “Yes, and?”

“And you didn’t tell me about them.”

“You didn’t ask.” 

Tim scowled at her response, then softened. “Well, anyway, thank you,” he said as he got up from the floor.

“Don’t forget what you owe me, boy.” Tim and Nancy both shuddered at the thought.

“I won’t. Come on, Nance, let’s go.” He grabbed Nancy’s hand and pulled her towards the door. 

“Where to?” she said as Tim opened the door. 

“Only one place to go—to find out who murdered my parents!”

And with that, they walked away, followed by an ancient cackle that echoed in their ears.