VIOLA POV
Upon leaving the community center, I proceeded to go home and pack my things. With a small duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I boarded the bus headed east from Toronto.
As I settled into my seat, I turned my phone on silent and plugged in my headphones. I queued up my favorite playlist and the familiar melodies helped calm my racing thoughts as the city faded away outside the window.
The five-hour journey stretched on, the landscape shifting from urban sprawl to rolling countryside. Alternating between staring out the window, lost in thought, and drifting in and out of restless sleep was how I spent my time.
Startled from a dreamless slumber, I felt a bony hand gripping my shoulder. My eyes fluttered open to meet the concerned gaze of an elderly woman, her face etched with wrinkles.
"Sweetie, we’ve reached Phantombrook, and the bus driver is taking a coffee break."
As I blinked, I was disoriented and it took a moment for the unfamiliar name to register. Outside the grimy bus window, a sunset painted the sky in a riot of colors. Streaks of fiery orange and deep crimson bled into pools of lavender and indigo.
An old-looking diner stood sentinel against this canvas. Its weather-beaten sign clung to life above the entrance and the fading sunlight glinted off its chrome trim.Next door, a timeworn gas station hunched beneath the vivid sky.
“Thanks,” I said to the older lady as she moved down the aisle along with a few other riders exiting the bus. Upon standing, pins and needles shoot through my legs and feet. I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and shuffled off the bus.
The cool evening air hit me like a slap, chasing away the last dregs of sleep. I stumbled towards the flickering neon sign of the nearest motel, the world swimming before my bleary eyes.
While I checked in, the clerk inside barely acknowledged me, not looking up from his phone. He slid a key across the counter.
"Thanks," I muttered, turning to leave.
I trudged down the dimly lit hallway and in my room, I dropped my bag, and collapsed onto the mattress, shoes and all, feeling it sag beneath me.
Now, turning the ringer back on, I noticed many missed calls and text messages from Jamal. As I scrolled through the messages, he asked why I hadn’t been answering my phone or even buzzing him up to my apartment.
Which was odd, because it was a quarter to six, and usually I didn''t see him or hear from him until much later.
Jamal seemed eager to make amends for not inviting me to the gala - his uncle''s decision based on my supposed inability to make good first impressions. But I wondered, could anything make up for Jamal allowing George to disregard me? To act like I wasn’t dating his nephew for over a year.
My finger hovered over Jamal''s name in the call log. I chewed my lower lip, deliberating. The urge to hear his voice warred with my simmering frustration.
Sighing, I tossed the phone onto the bed and ran a hand through my tangled curls.
What was the point? There was nothing left to say - on his end or mine. This had been our pattern from the beginning, an endless cycle of disappointment and things weren''t getting any better. And maybe it was time I stopped expecting them to.
Damn it. With a sigh, I closed the call log and didn’t bother checking the voicemail. I could bet money that he was complaining about the same thing in both text messages and voicemail.
Stretching, I shook off sleep, then stood and strode out of the motel.
Outside, the darkness had deepened since my arrival, and I glanced around, taking in my surroundings. In the distance, I spotted what looked like a downtown area and headed that way, I pulled out my phone to search the library on Google Maps.
As I walked, goosebumps prickled my arms under my sweater. The crisp October air carried the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke, with a faint hint of maple syrup drifting from a nearby shop. The streets were eerily quiet, a stark contrast to Toronto''s constant bustle.
Only a few people shuffled along the sidewalk, their breath visible in small puffs before them. Halloween decorations loomed in storefront windows—grinning jack-o''-lanterns and skeletal figures casting long shadows in the dim streetlight.
Most shops were already closed for the night, their darkened interiors adding to the town''s ghostly atmosphere.
Hugging myself tighter, I passed a bar with its neon sign buzzing quietly. A few mom-and-pop restaurants still served dinner and the aroma of fried food and the soft clink of cutlery drifted out, a reminder of normalcy on this quiet night.
As I continued walking, my phone struggled to hold a signal. Google Maps jumped erratically, the blue dot of my location skittering across the screen like a trapped insect.
"Come on," I muttered, tapping the screen in frustration. The device gave one last defiant flicker before the signal died completely.
"Perfect," I hissed through clenched teeth. "Just perfect." Not only was I in a strange town, but now technology was failing me too.
Phantom-fucking-brook indeed.
Just before the signal had cut out, the map had directed me down a street. As I neared the intersection, I peered in both directions, my eyes straining in the dim light. Rows of apartment buildings and houses lined the sidewalk.
"It shouldn''t be far," I whispered to myself, the sound of my own voice oddly comforting in the silence. I ventured left, each step echoing softly on the pavement.
The quiet streets of Phantombrook seemed to watch me with unseen eyes. My gaze darted from building to building, searching desperately for any sign of the library. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I couldn''t shake the feeling that I was being observed, assessed. By what or whom, I couldn''t say, but the weight of unseen gazes pressed down on me from all sides.
A few strangers passed me on the sidewalk, focused on their destination and as I moved past the apartment buildings, the small town landscape gave way to a more natural forest setting. The right side of the intersection had been dotted with houses, but my chosen path led me into increasing isolation.
The street lamps ended abruptly, but starlight kept me from plunging into total darkness. The night sky was a canvas of shimmering stars, more numerous and brilliant than I''d ever seen in Toronto. The Milky Way stretched across the heavens like a river of light.
The lively sounds of nature surrounded me. Crickets chirped in the underbrush, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted ominously.
My heart raced as I peered into the darkness ahead, knowing this was where the GPS had directed me before it failed. A straight walk down and there should be a library. However, even as I wandered, my footsteps crunching softly on scattered fallen leaves, I felt as though maybe I''d taken a wrong turn.
Every shadow and sound of creatures scurrying in the forest had me jumping out of my own skin. Glancing behind me at the lamp posts in the distance, I wondered if maybe I''d read the GPS wrong. The library couldn''t possibly be out here, could it?
A soft wind whispered past me, carrying with it something more than just the rustle of leaves. I caught fragmented words of Latin, at the edge of my mind, tantalizing and just out of reach. I couldn''t understand what they were saying, but their urgency was unmistakable.
I fumbled for my phone and switched on the flashlight feature. The beam cut through the darkness, casting long shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the growing unease in my gut. Despite every instinct screaming at me to turn back, I focused on the path ahead and kept walking.
The whispers hadn''t grown louder, but they were persistent, like a fly annoyingly buzzing near my ear. A soft symphony of unintelligible words seemed to both guide me forward and warn me away. Something inexplicable tugged at my very core, an invisible thread pulling me towards the unknown.
I was committed now. Whatever secrets this library held, whatever connection it had to my vision and the chained man, I was determined to uncover them.
After all, wasn''t this the very reason I''d booked a random ticket, to a town in the middle of nowhere?
This pull, these whispers, the library from my vision – it all had to mean something.
When I turned the corner, my breath caught in my throat. There it was – Phantombrook library, its gothic midspires reaching high, mirroring the forest trees in height. My vision nor the online images hadn''t done it justice.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A midsized cathedral appeared before me, its timeworn sandstone exterior etched with intricate Gothic designs and soaring buttresses. Moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting soft, shifting hues across the ground. My gaze settled on the closed wooden doors, and the faint murmur of voices seemed to call me inside.
"This place is real," my quiet words slipped past my lips.
As I took in the sight, the sidewalk led straight up to the library. I approached the structure, noticing the statues flanking the path. My breath caught as I realized they weren''t just decorative - each statue depicted a different person, man or woman, all bearing the Saldana surname inscribed at their bases.
I stilled near one of the statues, and ran my fingers over one inscription. Dried vines crawled up the weathered stone figures, their leaves withering in the autumn chill.
These statues... they seemed to watch me with unseeing eyes, sentinels guarding secrets I was only beginning to uncover.
The repetition of the Saldana name nagged at me, a puzzle piece that didn''t quite fit. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, and forced myself to continue up the stairs.
When I reached the massive doors, my breath caught in my throat. There, above the massive door carved into the ancient wood, was the symbol from my vision: a narrow triangle pointed downward with a y-shaped portion cut out of the center.
Seeing it in person sent a jolt through me, as if I''d grabbed a live wire. The air around me seemed to crackle with invisible energy, raising the fine hairs on my arms but I continued forward and pushed open the heavy doors.
Inside the interior was just as I had seen in my vision, yet somehow even more awe-inspiring in person. Right in the front was a foyer and a desk. There was a clerk sitting behind a computer, and she greeted me with a pleasant smile as I passed and wandered into the open space.
Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched out before me. Scattered seating areas punctuated the open space, with tables and inviting visitors to lose themselves in the world of books.
The library was exactly as I''d seen in my vision, with columns rising from the floor at regular intervals, their intricate carvings disappearing into the shadows above. I craned my neck to look at the high ceiling, marveling at the faded paintings that adorned it.
Over time, they had clearly added hanging chandeliers to illuminate the space.
Amidst this otherworldly atmosphere, life went on as normal. Other visitors walked around the bookshelves, seeking books with focused expressions. Some sat at scattered tables, heads bent over reading, deeply engrossed in their studies. The soft rustle of turning pages and occasional whispers created a soothing backdrop.
Curiosity propelled me through the space. I moved slowly, studying the books on the shelves, my fingers trailing lightly over their spines. I paused at each section, reading the signs that informed visitors what they would find within each set of bookshelves. The familiar organization of a library – fiction, non-fiction, reference sections – seemed almost absurdly mundane in this cathedral-like setting.
My vision flickered through my mind, vivid yet distant, like a half-remembered dream. They teased me, fragments of what I had seen before coming here. I was still in shock that my vision had led me to this place, that it was real and not just some fevered dream.
If this place was real, then the man I had seen chained, naked and arms stretched out had to be real too. But even if that was real, why was I seeing this place? What was so special about me?
My magik wasn’t strong, and I was a nobody. No parents, no family.
From the corner of my eye, picture frames along the walls called to me and I detoured from my path to take a closer look. Tall, masterful pieces, and I examined the old paintings. They looked like they belonged in a museum. The dates inscribed on the bottom were from the 1500s. My fingers hovered near the ornate frames, not daring to touch but drawn to their ancient beauty.
As I stood there, lost in thought, a voice startled me back to the present.
"Are you finding everything okay?"
I turned to see a man standing nearby, his expression friendly but curious. He looked like he was in his thirties, and he wore a vest and khaki pants.
Without hesitation, I asked, "How do you access the basement?" I knew I was here for a reason. My vision had clearly shown me a basement and even further below.
The man''s eyebrows rose slightly at my direct question. "Is there anything in particular you’re seeking? Historical records, or antique books?"
When I didn''t answer right away, my confused expression must have been evident. He continued, "We keep certain files in the basement because it''s cooler down there. Some files and sensitive documents need to be preserved in specific conditions."
His explanation made sense, but it didn''t quell the urgency I felt. There was something down there, past the basement and even further beneath this structure. Maybe he didn’t even know but how could I explain that to this librarian without sounding completely insane?
"Can I have access? Are there stairs?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
He shook his head, his expression growing more guarded. "Only a select few are allowed in the basement. If you tell me what you are seeking, I will retrieve it and bring it up here for you."
"No, nevermind—" I hesitated, then shook my head. "It''s nothing."
The guy turned to leave, but then he stilled, his gaze sharpening as he looked at me. "You''re new to town."
It wasn''t a question, but I nodded anyway. "Just got off the bus, a half hour ago."
His statement struck me as odd at first, but then I remembered - this was a small town. Here, everyone probably knew everyone else, unlike in the city where you could be neighbors with someone for years and never exchange more than a nod.
His eyebrows rose, a mix of surprise and something else – curiosity? suspicion? – crossing his face. "And you came all the way here, just to come to this library?"
Wasn’t this just a library? Why the caution?
I knew there was more to this place, because of my visions. But him… did he know more than what he was leading on, or was I looking too much into this?
Nevertheless, the directness of his question caught me off guard. I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. “I love historical places,” Reaching for my phone, I unlocked it and pulled up my gallery. I showed him my images. “Many people don’t realize just how much history has taken place over the years here in Ontario.”
What I said wasn''t a lie. I did enjoy visiting destinations rich with history within my own country. I often dragged Emery with me on such trips. Though she fussed and was often bored, I appreciated her company. The memory of my friend brought a pang of guilt for not telling her the whole truth about this trip.
She would have been thrilled to know that maybe, just maybe my powers were kicking in but I''m twenty one years old and if it hadn’t happened yet, it wasn’t going to happen at all. Ateast not in the way, most witches experience a burst of power at the young age of six and most thirteen.
The librarian opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could speak, we were interrupted by another patron asking for assistance.
"Excuse me, could you help me find something?" The voice came from behind him.
The librarian glanced over his shoulder, then back to me as he answered the other guy. "Of course," he called back and turned and walked towards the person who had asked for help.
I watched him go, my heart racing and despite the reprieve, I was no closer to accessing the basement or unraveling the mystery that had brought me here.
Continuing my exploration of the library, I was trying to find the stairs or figure out a way, a plan to get into the basement. It could be at the front, but I didn’t recall seeing an elevator or stairs near the foyer.
The faintest of whispers beckoned me, and fragments of my vision flashed through my mind as I ventured further into the library. In that dreamlike state, I had zoomed through walls and floors, plunging deeper and deeper. I remembered passing a basement, then layers of earth, until—
I stopped abruptly. I was in the far back of the library, tucked away around a corner but I was alone.
Before me hung a massive painting, dwarfing all others I''d encountered. My eyes widened as I took in the image: a woman in full Tudor regalia - a ruby gown with a square neckline, ornate sleeves, and a jeweled headdress atop her kinky curls and cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. Her eyes, though frozen in paint, seemed to pierce right through me.
The painting was striking, not just for its size, but for how it challenged what we were taught about history. Here was a woman, her brown skin rendered in rich sepia tones.
"What the hell?" I muttered, leaning in closer. The 1500s were always depicted vastly differently, yet here was undeniable proof to the contrary. And it wasn''t just this painting - I suddenly recalled the statues outside, also featuring Black individuals in renaissance attire.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Who was this woman and her family? Fraden Saldana was a black man as well, but we are in modern times.
I felt like I''d stumbled onto something big - a secret history erased from the books but preserved here in paint and stone. The question was, why?
As I stared at the painting, an inexplicable pull tugged at me, different from the whispered words I could barely make out. This sensation was frustratingly familiar, like a word on the tip of my tongue or a melody just out of reach. I knew there was something there, lurking in the farthest recesses of my mind, but it danced away every time I tried to grasp it.
Frowning, I tore my gaze from the woman''s piercing eyes and scanned the space around me. My heart sank. There were no stairs anywhere near me. No doors. No elevator. Nothing.
"This can''t be right," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My vision had shown me a way down, past the basement deeper into the library''s secrets. But standing here now, I saw nothing but bare walls and polished floors.
Even if I did find the basement, how would I find a way to go deeper? Just because there was more beyond the basement doesn''t mean there’s an entrance. This library was hundreds of years old, and if what I saw in my vision was true then they must have built this library on top of whatever structure was previously here. Whether they knew it or not.
Damn it. I shouldn’t have even come.
What I was doing was absolutely insane.
Stepping even closer to the massive picture frame, a slight, cool breeze caressed my skin—so faint I almost thought I''d imagined it. But no, it was there, whispering secrets from beyond the frame.
Something clicked in my mind, and suddenly, a woman''s voice crackled over the sound system, making me jump. "The library will be closing in ten minutes. Please bring any items you wish to check out to the front desk.”
My heart raced. Ten minutes. That was all the time I had left and I glanced around frantically, knowing I had to act fast.
Peeking behind the massive frame, the cool air was stronger. Knowing what I had to do, I moved the frame aside. It was a struggle; the painting was heavier than I''d anticipated.
I heard voices in the distance—probably other library patrons heading for the exit—but I couldn''t stop now. With one final pull, the frame swung away from the wall, revealing a narrow staircase plunging into darkness. No light. Just black and stagnant air rose from the depths. The scent of old stone and forgotten secrets filled my lungs.
I stood there, frozen for a moment and stared into the darkness. But now that I''d found it, I hesitated. What would I find down there? And more importantly, was I ready to face it?
Taking a deep breath, I glanced over my shoulder. This might be my only chance.
Heart pounding, I stepped onto the stairs and pulled the picture frame back into place, feeling the soft click as it sealed shut behind me. The sounds of the library faded, replaced by the hollow echo of my own breathing in the darkness.
With a final glance upward at the sliver of light seeping through the gap between the wall and the picture frame, I steeled myself and began my descent into the unknown depths below.