Wings of Sorrow (A horror fantasy novel) (2 page)

Scarlet Thomas picked up the dusty tome and turned it over in her hands. The title read:
The Prophecies of Noy.
She said, “You really do sell some strange junk in here, Mr Chester.”

The owner of the Little Treasures Emporium, Mr Miles Chester, gave her a dry chortle, which was the closest he ever got to mirth. “I run a trinket shop,” he said, “not a newsagent—the more peculiar the junk, the better. Please be careful with that book, Scarlet. It was written before your great great grandparents were born.”

Scarlet placed the book down carefully. “Then I’m pretty sure it’s out of date.”

Mr Chester picked it up from where she’d placed it on the table and ran a hand over the cover affectionately. “The older something is, the more you should respect it. Many of the prophecies in this book are still yet to happen, so it is very much
not
out of date.”

“Prophecies? You mean, like, fortune telling and stuff? Like that Nastradittus guy?”

Behind his thick spectacles that sat on his long, pointed nose, Chester rolled his eyes and looked like a miserable, old grump. “
Nostradamus
—and yes, this book is very similar to that man’s work, except that these prophecies were foretold by a 16th Century Florentine monk named Vincent Noy. His predictions have been almost unfailingly correct.”

Scarlet scoffed. “I don’t believe in that stuff. Nobody can predict the future. Most people can’t even guess what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he placed the book down on the counter, “but this item is priceless all the same, and it is for my personal collection, so I’d like you to place it inside one of the book bags, please.”

“Sure thing, Mr Chester,” she said. The bags were on the shop floor, so she left the back office area and went out to where her gangly coworker, Indy, was standing around aimlessly and chewing his nails.

Indy was a year older than her—had already left school—but maturity-wise he was still twelve. He worked at Little Treasures full time, while she only worked a couple evenings a week (a little longer, now that school was out for the summer). He was an odd looking kid, with skin too dark to be white, but neither was he black. His black hair ran straight and long, while his nose was wide and round, like a clown’s honker. None of his features seemed to match up, but he still managed to be quite handsome, all things considered. His personality, however, was a mixture of juvenile and childish, with a hearty dose of immature. He even had an awful tattoo of a red and white umbrella on the back of his hand from some videogame about zombies. She gave him less than a year before he regretted having it done.

“Hey, Scar. You gunna take the till so I can go drain my Singapore noodle?” He did a little dance on the spot and clutched himself.

“I’ll come cover you in a minute, Indy,” she said. “Mr Chester wants me to do a job for him first. Can I grab one of the book bags, please?”

Indy grabbed one from the pile beneath the till counter and held it out to her. “Don’t be long, or I’ll pee down my leg. You’ll have to mop it up.”

“You can mop up your own pee, Indy. I’ll be five minutes.”

She returned to the back area and saw that Mr Chester was now sitting in his office with a steaming mug of tea in his hand. The man would be unrecognisable without spectacles on his face and a warm brew between his fingers. He was as stuffy as a blocked nose, but Scarlet’s boss was always polite and never gave her a job she didn’t like—he cleaned the toilet himself and never let anyone touch the sink. Indy said he had OCD, and could only relax about things being clean if he had washed them himself. Suited her just fine.

The book of prophecies was still on the desk, so she flicked the plastic bag open in her hands and went to retrieve it. When she thought about people believing in such silly things, she couldn’t help but chuckle.
Prophecy
. It was like star signs—so vague they were always right.
Today you will be met with challenges. Give life your all, and you shall succeed.
Scarlet rolled her eyes.
There was a sucker born every minute.

She opened up the book’s cover and leafed towards the back. The pages were stiff and yellow, many contained images nestled amongst the text. Curiosity had made her open it, but she found herself pausing to examine a faded pencil-sketching of two tall oblongs with what looked like flames at their bases. Near the top of the two oblongs was a pair of grey sparrows. Immediately, her mind went to 9/11. It was an event that had always haunted her—it was the day she had been born. Having a birthday on such a tragic day meant that there were never any parties or celebrations for her. Nobody wanted to have fun on September 11th. Her father had tried in the early days, but as a single parent, planning birthday parties was always secondary to trying to get his head around menstruation and training bras. They had spent the majority of their relationship being awkward around each other. By being both mother and father, he had lost out on being a dad.

A sick feeling struck Scarlet suddenly. She almost keeled over and puked right where she was standing, but managed to take a few deep breaths and send the nausea packing before it got to her. Something about the old drawing had made her feel unusual. The words surrounding it were not in English, so she had no idea what the drawing was actually supposed to be, but she couldn’t dispel the image in her mind of that fateful day. Those planes floating in the air… Those buildings falling down like kid’s building blocks…

Scarlet couldn’t look at the picture anymore. She flipped ahead another couple pages until she found a different illustration. This one was even stranger than the last. What the previous drawing had lacked in details, this one made up for, in abundance. The illustration was of a young girl, and even in black and white, her hair shimmered, and her freckles leapt off the page. At the bottom of the sketch was a crudely inked carpet of stars that made it look like the girl was standing on a cloud of magic. It reminded Scarlet of her own reflection, and she almost, for a moment, imagined she was looking at a picture of herself. She shook the silly thought away before it had time to take root.

“I thought I told you to wrap that book up? I don’t want it to get dusty.”

Scarlet flinched, closed the book with a slam, and turned to face her boss. “Sorry, Mr Chester, I was curious. Where did you get it from?”

“A collector. It’s worth a pretty penny, so please get it covered and placed on my private shelf.”

“Right away.” She slipped the book inside the plastic bag and pulled the zip-lock closed. Then she crossed the room and slid it onto the shelf beside an old copy of the Koran Mr Chester had purchased last week from the town’s mosque. Mr Chester was mad about old books, but she saw nothing but dust and hard to read words. Better to collect something useful, she thought, like records. At least you could play those—if you had a record player.

Mr Chester had returned to his office now, but he seemed to be keeping an eye on her. She’d only been working at the shop for a few months, but she enjoyed it and felt like she was doing a good job. Her dad wanted her busy during the evenings and holidays, and a job was what he had decided would be the right distraction. Life experience, he had informed her, would do her a lot of good. She didn’t have any friends after having moved to the town of Redlake just six months ago, so she had to admit that it was nice having something to do when she wasn’t at school. Also, the money was pretty great. It might be minimum wage, but it was the first money that had ever been entirely hers. Soon as she was seventeen, she was going to splash it all on driving lessons. Long as Mr Chester didn’t fire her first, of course—he was still eyeballing her from the office.

What did I do? I thought he liked me? Now he’s looking at me like I spanked his dog.

Mr Chester had been a substitute History teacher at Scarlet’s new school. One day, while he had been covering for Mrs Flowers, he’d spoken about a new shop in town he would soon be opening. Having been looking for a part-time job at that exact moment, Scarlet had begged for a position—and got one! She’d only been able to do so many hours at first, but now that school was broken up, she could work longer. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on all that money.

“Hey, yo, Scar! I need to go real bad!”

Scarlet saw Indy sticking his head through the door and grimaced. “
Yow
, Indy, I forgot, sorry. Go, go!”

Indy raced off towards the toilet like a cartoon mouse—
areeba areeba, andale andale—
while
Scarlet went and manned the shop floor, content that she wasn’t going to need to get a mop to clean up any of Indy’s pee.

***

Scarlet didn’t greet a single customer for the remainder of the day, and by the time she’d pulled on her favourite peach cardigan and was ready to go home, she wondered how Mr Chester managed to keep Little Treasures afloat. She had experienced that most days were slow, but it never seemed to faze her boss. In fact, Mr Chester seemed to fret very little over actual sales. If people came and bought, great. If not, then it never seemed to be a big deal. How on earth did he make enough money to keep on adding to his ‘personal collection’?

“Thank you for today,” Mr Chester told her as he wiped at the already-clean desk with a cloth. “Mind yourself on your way home now, won’t you?”

Scarlet frowned. “Redlake isn’t exactly known for its mean streets.”

“All towns have their dangers, Scarlet, no matter how big or small. You should always be careful.”

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” Indy muttered from the back of the room. He had put on his luminous green baseball cap and looked ridiculous.

Mr Chester folded his arms and scowled. “What have I told you about quoting
Game of Thrones
, Indy?”

Indy shrugged. “Don’t do it?”

“That is correct.”

Scarlet kept a slight grin on her face. “I’ll keep an eye out for muggers, Mr Chester, I promise.”

“I’ll walk you home,” said Indy with a wink. “I’ve been meaning to check out your bedroom anyway.”

“Mr Chester, I wish to report sexual harassment in the workplace.”

He sighed. “Must I have you castrated, Indy?”

“No sir. That would be unfair to all the ladies who want a piece of my Valerian Longsword.”

“That’s it! Go! Get out! Please leave.” Mr Chester waved his arm dismissively, but his usually stern face had softened to an almost-smile. “I will see you both tomorrow, okay? Enjoy your evenings.”

Indy winked at Scarlet again. “Oh, we will.”

Scarlet punched him on the arm. “I’ll be walking
myself
home, thank you.”

Mr Chester locked the door behind them and disappeared back inside. He lived alone in the flat above the shop, so in a way he never left work. Scarlet thought it must be depressing, but at least the commute was short.

Indy headed up the high street to go and get himself a chicken kebab with hot sauce. Scarlet headed the other way, down Unicorn Hill—which was the road that led to the lake. If it had been winter, she probably would have caught the bus, but the summer nights were so pleasant that it was hard to resist a picturesque stroll before reaching home and watching
Eastenders
. She and her dad had moved from Moseley in Birmingham, where very little was green and natural, so she was enjoying the change. Perhaps the novelty of living in a rural hamlet would eventually wear off, but right now, it was one of the few things that made her feel fortunate. She had no mother, no friends, no hobbies, but at least she didn’t live in a concrete jungle anymore.

Her dad had moved them from the city when he’d lost his job as an advertiser when a Qatari company purchased the firm he worked for. Relocation had become necessary when he took a job as a marketing consultant for a shipping firm with rural headquarters, so Redlake became their new home. The problem was that her dad was so eager to impress his new employers that he barely spent any time at home anymore. Losing his job had shaken him, but even before that he’d been a workaholic. Long ago she had decided that it was because he didn’t know how to be a parent. When her mother had still been around, Scarlet’s dad had been home for dinner every night, and would always read to her before bed, but once it became just the two of them, he had seemed to close up emotionally. She couldn’t remember the last time they had laughed together. Even when he was home, she felt lonely.

The lake was just up ahead, so she exited Unicorn Hill and took the pedestrian path that hugged the water’s edge. The sun was hot, even at six o’ clock, but the newly-arrived evening had imbued that heat with a pleasant mildness. Even the usual muddy stench was missing tonight.

When she made it beside the lake, it seemed to be humming with life. Clouds of insects hovered above its surface while ducks, geese, and swans shaded themselves amongst the gently swaying reeds.

Scarlet thumbed at her phone and put in the attached earphones. Her favourite music began to play immediately—like she had opened a door on an orchestra—and she hummed along happily as Katy Perry did her thing. Time seemed to pass so much more enjoyably with a soundtrack.

You could get almost anywhere in town from the path she was on, for the lake sat directly in the centre of town. The wide north end played host to an ancient monastery with a museum, while the southern tip contained a visitor’s centre and yacht club. In between was nothing but leafy paths, woods, and water. A wooden shack sat about halfway around, with pictures of ice cream on its side, but she had never seen it open. A shame, because a chilled ‘99 would be the one thing to make this evening walk a flawless pleasure.