Medusa's Lost Readers of Tomorrow

The Big Top Bookstore was going out of business. The owner Cronin Riggleworth was selling the place after his grandfather opened the store in the previous century. He had returned from the war in Europe in 1919. His grandfather’s love of books was displayed throughout the store. There were some big promotions that had taken place in his store during that time, but when Cronin left for the evening, he would not be returning in the morning to open as he had for the last thirty years of his life. It was hard to compete with the electronic products. Nobody was interested anymore in having a personal library in their homes.

“Cronin.” Sheriff Mackey was holding a crime mystery novel. “I want to get this.”

“Are you sure you don’t wish to come back next week for the Big Top book sale?” He punched in the amount on his cash register, “That’ll be two dollars and ten cents.”

“Got it.” He put down two dollar bills and a dime. “I may not have the time. This is a book by my favorite author.”

“If you tell me whacha want and I’ll put it aside for you.” Cronin suggested. He and Sheriff Mackey had been friends since elementary school. Cronin did not like his nickname, Book Boy, but Sheriff Mackey had used it since as long as he could remember, “After today, you can’t call me Book Boy anymore.”

“I will.” He pointed his new book at Cronin as he left the store, “Good day, Book Boy.”

Cronin rolled his eyes as the ancient door slammed shut. Once again he was all alone in the main room with boxes that were filling with books as the shelves emptied. Some of the high school kids will be by tomorrow to pack the U-Haul. By the end of the day, Big Top Bookstore after a hundred years in business would be empty. Some big city developer was coming later in the week to begin renovations. He had a staff of financial experts who would help paying customers with investments to help build their nest egg.

Standing in the middle of the main room with his hands akimbo, Cronin felt he was surrounded by the ghosts residing at the Big Top. Quite often, the ghosts inhabited the numerous framed black and white photographs that lined the panel walls. Reaching up, Cronin removed one of the photographs that showed his grandfather Andrew Riggleworth standing near the river with his best friend Cole Anderson. Both were grinning as they held the trout they had caught that afternoon. These days would be lost to memory. Both men had passed away years ago, leaving behind what Cronin referred to as second-hand memories.

Grandpa had taken Cronin fishing, but just as he was learning finer points of fly fishing, his grandpa passed away leaving the lessons unlearned. A few months later Cole followed after a brief illness.

Cronin glanced around for a final inspection before he would lock up and head home. He grabbed his coat and briefcase as he was getting ready to leave. Unexpectedly the door opened and an elderly lady walked in with a befuddled expression on her face. She stood for a moment to try to get her thoughts together, “Are you Mr. Rigglesworth?”

“I am by default.” He chuckled. She looked at him with a blank expression on her face, “We are closing after over a hundred years in business. Sorry if you missed it.”

“I heard about your store from this ad in the newspaper.” She put the ad on the counter. "My mother used to belong to a reading group. They held their meetings in the basement.”

“What was the name of the group?” He asked, because he had never known any reading groups that met in the building’s cellar. He had heard of poker games that continued on until the early hours of the following morning with plenty of alcohol to grease the wheels of competition.

“Medusa’s Lost Reading Group.” She tilted her head.

“Not ringing any bells.” He shook his head.

“My mother came to these meetings over fifty years ago. Before I was born.” She blushed a bit.

“Before my time as well.” He shrugged. “I took over when my father retired in 1992. He never mentioned anything about a reading group to me.”

“Strange.” She put her hand to her chin. “I know a lot of friends of my mother who were regulars at the meeting

“I hate to break it to you, but there won’t be meetings here anymore.” He shook his head, “After tonight.”

“She told me all about this reading group,” She said as if someone else inside her was speaking, “My name is Nellie Brezinski.”

“It’s good to meet you.” He shook her hand, “I wish you had come sooner. I might have got some more information on your group. But now most of my old files are in the shredding bin by now.”

“She told me they had seances where they could talk to the dead.” She explained. Upon hearing this, Cronin stopped what he was doing and stared at Nellie Brenzinski while she continued to stare at him in a very unsettling way.

“My father never mentioned anything about a reading group.” Cronin shook his head. “His main interest was in a deck of fifty-two cards. He was not much of a reader if I’m going to be totally honest. And I never heard of the Medusa readers.”

“Lost Reading Group.” She corrected him.

“Why were they lost?” Cronin raised an eyebrow.

“It was enlightening. People who came needed assurances,” She shrugged, “My mother told me that people who came were lost. They were searching for a moral compass to guide them.”

“What happened to the churches spread across the valley?” He asked.

“They had lost faith in what they had been told was the truth.” She said in a soft voice that was still filled with innocence and naivety.

“So what did they find?” Cronin shrugged.

“The truth they had sought.” She forced a smile before turning away, “They would address those spirits who visited the seance.”

“I don’t wish to quarrel with you, but you are speaking of things I’ve never heard of. Both my father and grandfather never once mentioned this to me.”

“But Mr. Rigglesworth, I can assure these meetings took place.” She did not blink. “My mother spoke of a door in the basement.”

“I had that boarded up when an employee broke his leg on the rickety old steps.” Cronin explained, but the woman shook her head. “I was not aware that the door had any significance.”

“We must open the portal.” She insisted.

“I can’t let you do that. Those stairs are unsafe.” He shook his head.

“May I have a look?”

“I’d rather not-”

“But the portal is the key.” She tucked her lip under her teeth.

“What is this portal you keep talking about?” He asked, crossing his arms over his barrel chest.

“It’s an opening to the Land of Tomorrow.” She looked at him as if he was a bit slow on the uptake.

“The land of Tomorrow?” He repeated as a question.

“Yes Mr. Rigglesworth. Mother told me when you were in the room, you could see the future.” She dabbed her nose with her handkerchief.

“This sounds rather occultist.” He tilted his head.

“She did tell me of some magic involved.” She smiled at him.

“This is all sounding kinda hard to believe.” Cronin said it as if he was anxious for Nellie to exit the store. “Nellie, this is my store and my business hours are over. I need you to move on.”

“You don’t understand.” She stomped her foot on the bare wooden floor. “We need to open the portal. There are spirits who need to be released from their bondage.”

“Bondage?” Cronin shook his head.

“Tonight Zolliar will be the master of ceremonies.” A slight hint of a smile crosses her face.

“This is the last night of the Big Top Book Store. This place will go gently into that good night. Now if you do the kindness of departing the premises, I can go home to my wife and family.” Cronin indicates where he wants Nellie to go as he points to the door.

“But the master is supposed to come calling.” Nellie appears horror-stricken.

“If he calls, it will be somewhere else.” He says in a firm voice, “I am sorry I cannot accommodate Zolliar.”

He opens the door and ushers Mrs. Brenzinski out of the store. Once she is gone, Cronin plans to be on his way home. He picks up his things once again. He remembers his dad told him about how people used to attend seances, but most of the mediums were charlatans of dishonest and fraudulent intents.

Those carnies used to pitch tents at the town limits and have these hocus-pocus shows full of gimmicks and sleight of hand.” Andrew told his young son as they sat around the dinner table. His mother called it hogwash and she would not stay and listen to his stories, but Cronin was at the age of inquiry and he believed every word his father told him.

“Did you ever go?” Cronin asked eagerly.

“Yes, just to poke fun at these shenanigans.” He laughed, “But then an evangelist would bring his holy tent and pitch it in the same place they put up the other tent. I was about your age then. Me and my buddies had a good time running them folks out on the rail.”

The memory echoed in his head. The knock at the door was no memory. When Cronin opens the door, a man dressed in a bow tie and tails walks in and leans on the counter.

“Who are you?” Cronin does not believe he owes this customer any courtesies.

“Master Zolliar.” He sniffed. His face is angular, and his eyes seem to melt in their sockets. His van Dyke beard was neatly trimmed, but there is something about his appearance that makes Cronin uneasy.

“What do you want?” Cronin studies the well-dressed stranger.

“Well, I was going to hold a seance here like I’ve done on many occasions.” He holds out his hand. There is a flash of light in the dimly lit room, and in his open palm appears a business card. He hands it to Cronin.

“What’s this?”

“My card.” He nodded.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Cronin asks.

“Whatever you wish to do.” The stranger smiles, “But this is the night of enlightenment.”

“When was the last time you were at the Big Top Book Store?” Cronin rested his head on his fists.

“It has been a while.” He walked down one of the aisles, but there were only a few books left on the shelves. “Such a pity you had to sell this store.”

“I just got old and Estelle and I didn’t have any children to take over Big Top.” Cronin explained to his guest. “It was just easier to sell the place. We were going to live on the river.

“It’s a shame.” His expression clearly expressed his sympathy, but even with his puppy-dog sad eyes, Cronin wished he would likewise depart.

“I hate to be a wet blanket, but it’s time you need to go home.” Cronin pointed to the door.

“The lost reading group will be here momentarily.”

“No, those days are over.” He said with a hard expression.

“Are they? These spirits will not rest until they have found everlasting peace.” He held out his hands, “For one hundred years, we have met here at the Medusa’s Lost Reading Group of Tomorrow. We become enlightened by a vision of tomorrow. Medusa was one of the gorgon sisters who could turn a human into stone if the person viewed her demon face. I find it thrilling.”

“Listen, I have never heard of this reading group until tonight.” Cronin squinted.

“We can bring something you didn’t even know you needed.” He turns and faces Cronin. “Here they are.”

Zolliar waved his hand. There were seven people sitting around the table that Cronin was going to take to the dump. Cronin did a double take when he saw the people sitting at the table with tarot cards on the table in front of them.

“These people are part of the Lost Reading group.” Zolliar nodded. “They are looking at tomorrow. Do you want to have a peek?”

Cronin stood over the card players and watched them.

“I feel a presence.” One of the gentlemen turned to his lady companion.

“This place is filled with poltergeists.” She smiled.

“You may find the spirit of a long lost relationship.” An older man added as he flipped through his tarot cards. “It’s so exciting,”

It was at this point that Cronin realized he was the ghost, the spirit of the Big Top Bookstore. Zolliar sat at the table with the rest of the people at the table, but not one of them had noticed Cronin standing there. He was invisible to all of them.

“When tomorrow comes, maybe we will all be rich.” Zolliar laughed over the lively conversation about what visions people were having after drinking from the punchbowl.

The room began to spin and Cronin felt as if was going to pass out. Voices filled his head as he pressed his hands over his lobes.

“We kept the book under the counter.” It was his father’s voice, “It was the black binder on Medusa’s Lost Reading Group of Tomorrow.”

“You knew?” Cronin’s voice seemed to echo from the rafters.

“Yes, I did.” He laughed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done about it?” Andrew sighed, “It was the reading group that paid the bills. Without the reading group, we would’ve closed Big Top years ago. Each of those suckers sitting at the table paid over five hundred dollars for a seance with Zolliar.”

“Who is this guy?”

“I don’ know. He just showed up one day to my dad.” Andrew shook his head, “He showed him how to view tomorrow and dad was hooked. We were short on most of our payments, but once he started the reading group, we began raking it in.”

“But Zolliar is a fake.”

“So what? All I know is we became a much-needed commodity. Everybody wants to know what comes next. Sometimes it doesn’t come.” He shrugged, “All I know every night we had that reading group, we filled the chairs and our bank account. I should have shown you, but you were just like your mother. She didn’t like all that hocus-pocus stuff either. ”

“It’s nothing but a lie when it all comes down to it.”

“A lie? If you tell it to enough people they begin to believe it. They want to fall for the lie, because the lie is a heck of a lot better than reality. We start off telling children mythology about some guy in a red suit who jumps down your chimney. From the moment we open our eyes to this world, we are primed and ready to accept magic and the lies that go with it.” His voice began to fade.

“Dad, come back. Don’t leave me.” Cronin closes his eyes as the wind whirls around him.

When he opens his eyes, he is all alone in the dark room.

He begins to stack furniture against one of the walls. He heaves the books on the shelves into the middle of the growing pile next to the wall. There on the counter is the black binder of the Medusa Lost Reading Group of Tomorrow. He throws the binder hard into the mountain of kindling. The binder burst open on impact sending a snowstorm of pages.

He removes some box matches from a drawer at the counter. Striking one of the matches. Its flame is the only light in the darkened room. He drops the lit match on some of the paper. The ravenous flames explode into an emerging inferno. He only spends a few moments watching the flames grow to the ceiling.

He walks out the door. From the parking lot, he can see the flames reach like arms towards the dark night sky. He hears sirens wail from the fire station down the road. No matter how fast they arrive, they will not be able to save the Big Top Bookstore. The roof collapses in a shower of sparks.

“Are you alright?” The engine driver asks as the first pumper truck arrives.

“I’m fine.” Cronin affirms.

“Is there anyone else inside?” The engine driver exits the truck to help his crew attach the hoses.

“I was all alone when I heard something and then I smelled smoke.” Cronin explained.

“I’m glad you made it out safely.” He nodded as they began to put some water on the raging flames.

Cronin got into his SUV and finally drove home. He told his wife about the fire. After dinner, he went out to the porch and heard the fire crews put the fire out, but the building would be a total loss.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening to you Zolliar.” Cronin smiled.

“I will be back.” His sinister smile flashed like a neon sign.

“I know.” Cronin nodded.

“People want to believe in supernatural things. They want to believe in me.”

“I have nothing against that, but I have no intention to be a part of that.” Cronin chuckled.

“I can respect that.” His laugh went deep.

“I’m glad.” Cronin nodded.

“Are you alright?” His wife opened the door.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you talking with someone.”

“It was just a few old ghosts. That’s all.” He walked inside with her.