Mario Muscar

The Conjure Box, A Book Noir (excerpt)

by R. Jeffrey Sears

 

 

Ever have one of those double-take moments?

 

A time that-that-that-that you see some form, a figure, a creature – whatever – out of the corner of your eye?  You have to stop and collect, ‘cause you’re not sure what it was.  You’re tired, so it could have been anything, anyone, a trick of the eye.  In that after-moment, you consider it further.  You realize how unkempt it is.  How ruffled.  Disorderly. 

 

I just had one of those double-take moments.  The scariest thing is that the creature was me.

 

Hi.  Wait – I don’t like “Hi.”  Uh, howdy.  No, not howdy…  Crap now it’s too late for a greeting.  Listen: I’m gonna tell you about me.  You don’t know much about me, except that I’m obviously somewhat narcissistic.  And my grammar is less than perfect.

 

Now that I think about it, you don’t even know my name.  For now, just call me Dex.  The more we get to know each other, the more I’ll reveal.  Right now I plan on sitting here for the few precious moments before work, eating my breakfast.  It was a long night.  A looooong night.  (The extra ‘o’s confirm how long it really was.)

 

I guess you’re not gonna leave me be, huh.  Okay then.  Some more exposition…

 

Not many know, but in this world, anything can happen.  Well, almost.  Things that I want to happen rarely do.  See, I told you my grammar was poor; I just finished a sentence with a preposition.

 

I live in two worlds.  Well really it’s one world, both just happen to converge conveniently.  And inconveniently at times.

 

You see, there’s the world of the living, and here things are normal.  Science works predictably.  Laws of Physics never fail: the law of gravity, the law of conservation of energy, and most importantly, Murphy’s Law.

 

Then we have the other world.  A world of the dead?  Maybe so, maybe not.  Somethings reside there. Some, are souls waiting for… whatever.  Why? No one knows.  I’m still not sure how it works yet. Some pass on to whatever. But this is not their story. At least I hope not. It’s pretty rude to hijack someone else’s story, so to you passer-oners: leave this one alone.

 

One more thing: the dead usually don’t interact with the living, and the other way around.  I say usually because there are times that… well – there are times.  But none of that right now.

 

I have an apartment.  It’s not a very good one, but since this isn’t a perfect world, my apartment fits.  I’m in apartment 4E on the fourth floor of 45th Street.  Order from chaos.  It suits my life: disorderly and surrounded by weirdos. 

 

I don’t know everyone in the building, but I’ll tell you some of what I do know. Some I see daily, some come and go so much I can’t keep it straight.  Not that I try too hard.

 

The apartment across from mine, 4D, has this smell.  One similar to cold metal, hard to describe, and hard to place.  The building is made from old wood, so the smell has no reason to exist.  In a way, it makes sense – it’s as out of place as the rest of the building’s occupants.  4D is  unoccupied.  By the living. The landlady cannot seem to get anyone to move in for more than a week.  I happen to know why.  There’s a presence…

 

The guy above me won’t leave.  For anything.  Not much to tell there, except I don’t know how he survives.

 

In 4C there’s a guy.  Maybe he’s crazy.  Who knows, maybe I’m crazy and he’s sane.  Either way, he’s a good sort.  His name is Eddie.  Ed is short and has that typical nerd-esque quality about him.  Horn-rim glasses, slight build, bad facial hair, weird expressions, all that.  Ed claims that sandwiches give him powers.  I might just believe him.

 

Ed – If I tell you something, would you think I’m crazy?

Me – That depends.  I’ve seen some crazy stuff.

Ed – Sandwiches give me powers.

Me – What kinds of powers?

Ed – Depends on the sandwich.

Me – The ingredients?

Ed – Yeah.

Me – Hmm.  So if you eat the stuff separately…?

Ed – Nothing. 

Me – Hmm.

Ed – Wait. You took that all pretty well.

Me – Usually do.

Ed – So, what kind of crazy stuff have you seen?

Me – Well, there’s a spirit pretending to dry hump you as we speak.

 

Ed was floored.  Spirits are doing that to me all the time.  The ones who realize I am aware of them, at any rate.  My private joke.

 

Also there is Zelda.  Where her apartment is, I don’t know.  It’s not like I’m a stalker.  I don’t roam much around here.  Like a hooker getting down to brass tacks, in and out is all I do here. 

 

Note to self: making a hooker comparison doesn’t make me seem like a non-stalker.

 

Oh well.

 

Zelda’s like the eye of a storm.  All this mania, this chaos zooms around her, but she moves unaffected.  More-so, she seems to glide.  Usually we have a moment in the lobby, if you can call it that.  The lobby, not the moment.  We make eye contact, maybe a nod or so, and continue doing whatever we were doing. 

 

Imagine a woman with mahogany hair under one of those large brimmed sun-hats and a flowing dress of the richest yellow.  She seems to suck up the color of the world at her presence.  All the craziness about, turns to gray-scale.  

 

When we lock eyes, it’s an eternity.  Time slows.  She’s got these deep hazel eyes, tons of freckles, and a wonderful smile.  She’s beautiful.  And she’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.

 

Oh, and I don’t know that her name is Zelda.  I made that up.

 

What else…

 

Weird things happen all the time. 

 

As far as the spirit world, what I have figured out so far, is that I can see them, and they can see me.  Some don’t pay attention to me or the rest of the living, just like the other way around.  I can communicate with some, and they reciprocate.  And I can affect some aspects of their world.  It seems that willpower has something to do with the quality of interaction.

 

I’ve been testing things as much as possible.  It’s hard to find a willing spirit.  For one, they seem to experience time differently.  For another, they generally don’t care about the living much.

 

I’ve never met anyone else, living, who can do what I can.  No medium I ever encounter has proved legit.  In every other way, nature has a balance, so there must be others like me.  But I guess there are no clubs or anything like that.  And if there were, I don’t think it would be for me.  They’d probably be crazy.

 

Come to think of it, maybe I’m crazy.  So I wouldn’t want to join any club that would have me as a member.  He he.  By the way, Groucho still hangs around.  The thing I mentioned about clubs, he said about “the other side,” whatever it may be when spirits pass on.

 

That’s about it as far as the apartment building and the tenants and my worlds.  My work is something else entirely.  And I needed to get going now. 

 

I shoved my dishes in the sink, grabbed my jacket, and zoomed out the door.  I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to run into anyone on the way out, due to last night’s events.  The word “events” doesn’t quite demonstrate the gravity of what happened, but it’s all I have right now for description.  Maybe I would see someone, maybe not.  I figured fate would decide for me.

           

Okay, so about last night: I had another moment with Zelda.  I came into the lobby, and there she was.  As usual, I paused by the door while we shared smiles.

 

She kept on moving through the lobby, towards the stairs.  That’s when I noticed she had dropped something.  I had to get her attention.

 

“Zelda,” I said, as she rounded the corner.  “Zelda!”  Of course, I then realized saying ‘Zelda’ like that was fruitless.  Her name couldn’t be Zelda, that’s just what I called her.  Perhaps I should have said ‘Hey you,’ or ‘Lady in yellow,’ or ‘Yo bitch,’ or whatever. 

 

Okay, not ‘Yo bitch.’  That might have gotten her attention though.

 

She was gone.  It seems like time moves different around her.  Things slow down, but for some reason she remains unaffected.  Who knows why?  Maybe I could still catch her.

 

I quickly grabbed the thing she dropped.  It was a small box on a neck chain.  The box was made of something that resembled tarnished copper.  Lacework and intricate designs graced the top rim of the box.  The chain was dainty and old.  So old it must have snapped.

 

If I was to catch her, I’d have to hurry.  I jogged to the stairs, the only place she could have gone.  “Up or down,” I said.  Then I heard a click one flight above.  Must be a door.  Up.

 

Bolting up one flight I came to the door and went on through.  Nobody around.  “This hallway is long as crap,” I commented aloud.  Apparently I liked to talk to myself.  If you’re gonna act crazy, might as well excel at it.   “Impossibly long.” 

 

The floor was carpeted in burgundy, dark and old.  The walls, like mine were muddy cream.  Shadows were abound from the wall sconces and their dim light.

 

Five feet from me was a set of opposing doors.

 

I tapped the first door on the left.  Nothing. 

 

Turning around, I tapped the second.  A strange crunching sound permeated from the doorway.

 

“Go away!” came the harsh grumble.  Who’s to argue with that?  It sounded ancient and angry.  Not my woman.  Not Zelda.

 

There were no more doors. 

 

On my floor, there are four apartments.  Yes, I know I said I live in 4E, so there should be five.  4B does not exist.  Didn’t I say things here are weird?  That’s why I don’t roam around.

 

Up ahead the hallway turned left, where the back staircase should be.  Instead of stairs, the hallway continued further.  It looked progressively older as it stretched out.  Zelda surely went this way. So I carried onward. 

 

I wondered how long this passageway could be.  It defied the concepts of physics that should have been in control of this building.  It pervaded space that it has no right to occupy.  Right now I should be in the café beside my apartment building.  I haven’t seen the blueprints or anything, but still.

 

The ambiance of this corridor gave me the impression that I should not have come further than 2A and B.  I am not easily spooked, but the feeling was pressing on me, triggering inner panic.  Almost as if something was forcing my reaction.

 

Halting my stride, I sat on this rickety chair for a moment.  Just trying to calm down.  I caught myself staring into the wood grain on a door.

 

“That’s weird,” I said aloud to nobody.  “I swear there was only wall as far as I can see…  Must be a janitor’s closet or something.”  The pattern in the grain swooped and bled and sent my mind into nothingness.  Until the door looked back at me. 

 

I froze. 

 

The feeling that something was coming for me grew and grew in a crescendo of intensity.  Nothing good could come of this.  When my inner alarm sounded at maximum peak, I lurched back towards the way I came, causing the chair to fall over.  I broke my catatonia and the chair simultaneously.

 

Getting up, I glanced back at the door to see if danger lurked.  Whatever it was had disappeared.  I don’t think the door had sentience or anything.  It wasn’t your typical soul that had looked back at me, I would have known.  This was different.  Different I am accustomed to, but this was a bad different.