The Book of Un-Reality lay on the floor as if it had been knocked off and abandoned. Thrumps gazed around, he was in desperate need of a coffee but the coaster, usually brimming over with expectancy had been flipped upside-down and failed to make even the slightest twitch when righted.
All the magic had gone.
Things had been okay when he’d retired for the night. It had been a good session. People had been given that longed for chance for a closing conversation with those they had lost, to share lasting goodbyes or to make amends. To ease their conscience, put wrongs right or to get the answers they sort. All had been happy, contented and at peace by the time the doors had locked themselves.
The only mystery had been the photo that remained.
The one that was there for him.
The lady depicted was so elegant, so perfect as if sculptured from an entirely different universe. Wearing a long flowing dress made of the finest silk which fluttered in an unseen breeze she stood in a glade of flowers Thrumps could almost smell. She had smiled and whispered to him.
“Keep me safe my friend.”
Her voice had seemed far away.
“Why? Thrumps had asked. “Who are you?”
“I am your future.” She’d said blowing him a kiss before she became still again.
The Book of Un-Reality had then jumped unexpectedly on the table as Thrumps had carefully slotted the photo into the mount that was waiting for it. He’d still been none the wiser as to what had actually occurred, but he knew when the time was right, all would be revealed.
The photo was still there, still slightly crooked in the frame just where he had left it, but now the once vibrant image was tainted in sepia and tatty around the edges. As he removed it motes of dust scurried around him, caught in the shaft of sunlight from the crack in the curtains, looked for all the world like tiny pixies. Thrumps was mesmerised, they seemed real to him. Each with a personality of its own. Some danced to unheard music, while others formed together in lines, circles, and spirals before parting to do the same again with others close by. The more he watched the more details emerged.
Some were clad in the greens of the forest, others in the hues of the sky and while most shimmered translucently like the waters of the world, there were a few that hung about in the background, clinging to the darkness. They were the ones he feared but had no idea why. If they came anywhere near, he found himself unconsciously recoiling, desperate for them not to make contact.
The bright day cascaded around him as he threw back the thick velvet curtains banishing all shadows but did nothing to lighten the mood of the seemingly abandoned room.
Picking up the Book of Un-Reality Thrumps sat down at his ornate desk. He wiped away the dust and carefully put it in front of him, placing the photo on top he stared into her face. Nothing happened, she simply stared back at him, her expression as forlorn as his.
“What happened?” He asked, not in his wildest dreams expecting a rely.
“The Bubak got you.”
He looked around but there was no one there.
“The who?” He asked.
“The scary scarecrow, the one we were always warned about. He got you.”
“Show yourself.” Thrumps demanded.
“I’m afraid.”
“Of me?”
“No of what has happened.”
“What has happened?”
“He came in the night, black cats screaming as they hauled his cart through the blackness, turning everything dark.”
“Please show yourself,” Thrumps said more gently.
The rainbow motes banded together into a corkscrew, and eventually the coil lowered to reveal a little girl. She was dressed in some form of national costume but Thrumps didn’t know which one. The fine pleats of her dress were tight at the waist and with the gathered lace collar it reminded him of the renaissance era of the Middle Ages.
“I am the child of death.” She said, scuffing her bare feet to make patterns in the dust on the floor.
“Whose death?” Thrumps asked.
She shrugged.
“Mine?”
“Your death?” He asked.
She nodded. “All who behave badly must die.” She looked up pulling her living cloak around her shoulders, her coal black eyes piercing through him.
He recognised her immediately.
“But you didn’t die,” he said snatching for the photo and holding it towards her. She scrutinised it and smiled.
“I am your future,” she said blowing him a kiss. “And you are mine.”
As she clapped her hands all the fire motes massed around her fingertips taking a shape all their own.
It was a bird.
“Out of the ashes, out of the ashes.” It squawked.
The phoenix rose and descended with such speed towards the desk that Thrumps scarcely had time to dodge out of the way before the flames took hold.
The last thing he heard as he was overcome by the smoke was sweet laughter from the child.