The door opened to the basement apartment, swallowing the last light of the afternoon sun into its dark maw. The landlord, skin speckled with age spots and a tuft of unkempt gray hair sitting atop his head, shuffled into the dark, fumbling around for the light switch. Susan followed, smelling the musty air filled with the history of the previous occupant. With a click, the world was bathed in a yellow glow, boxes—bulging with belongings—filled the room. Faded green tile ran wall to wall and thick layer of dust settled on the table, chair, and rusty bed frame that furnished the apartment. There were no windows, no view of the small country town outside. With one glance, Susan could take in the whole of the apartment. It will do, she thought.
“It ain’t much to look at, but utilities are covered in the rent,” said the landlord. “I can send for my son-in-law to move the boxes out tomorrow. Would’ve had it cleaned up sooner, but it’s been awhile since we had any interest in the place.” He let his last words trail as he fought back a memory.
“It’s perfect,” replied Susan. “I plan to stay the night.”
The landlord raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, its a bit dusty. Perhaps come by tomorrow after we’ve tidied up.”
“No, I insist.”
The landlord chewed on his lower lip as he mulled over Susan’s request. She had a peculiar look about her, full of inquisitive energy, not like the rest of the townsfolk. Different wasn’t good in the small town of Rockport, but he hadn’t had a tenant since the incident and was eager to make rent.
“If you want, but I won’t be upstairs this evening. Heading over to eat dinner with my daughter and seeing my grandkids.” He found a pen and a pad of paper and scribbled the number down. “If you need anything, call this number.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” smiled Susan as she stuffed the paper into the leather satchel she carried.
The man eyed the apartment, then gave a concerned nod at Susan and left. Susan watched as he shuffled up the steps into the evening, closing the door as the old man disappeared from view.
The apartment was deafeningly quiet. Susan gently ran her fingers across the furniture and boxes, feeling the energy, like static in the air before a storm, against her skin. She rearranged the room, clearing away the floor. Producing a chalk from her bag, she drew a circle around her and inscribed words from a language long dead and forgotten along the border. She knelt in the center, sitting like a samurai, and closed her eyes. Stealing her breathing, she thought about the apartment, inviting in the echoes of time that hid in the shadows.
It didn’t take long; the apartment was desperate to tell it’s story. The air cooled and goosebumps ran across her arms. She opened her eyes to a world cast in blue, a memory of the past. Her breath cooled in the air like a wispy fog on a winter’s morning, and sounds of muffled conversations called out to her. She focused her senses, tuning into the memory.
In front of her stood her mentor, James Conroy, Master in the First Degree of the Watchers of Time. An ancient order of bloodlines, sworn to maintain balance between the worlds of light and shadow. He paced around the apartment reading from a leather-bound journal. There was a look of concerned in his eyes. The sound of footsteps from outside drew his attention. Susan stopped the memory. She closed her eyes and let her mind roll across time, reading it like bumps of braille across a page, moving further back. She opened again to the azure world, her mentor argued with a man, his form distorted by shadows that clung to his features. She listened.
“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” argued James.
“Watchers are all the same. The Order’s patience has led to a gateway opening in the town.”
“You cannot fight the dark ones with their own power. It’s lunacy! Blasphemy of the highest regard. If you don’t stop, Simon, I’ll be forced to report you.”
Simon smiled. “Then report me James. What will the council think when they find out that one of your own students fell from grace?”
Susan gasped as she learned the truth, feeling her mentor’s pain. One of their own had turned against them. With solemn duty, she closed her eyes and moved forward in time, opening her eyes to the last frame of the first memory.
James looked up from his journal. The door burst open with an unnatural force. Simon entered, his features distorted by the dark energy that emanated from his body. He lunged at James, smashing him against the wall. He gripped his former master by the throat and lifted him into the air. James gasped for breath, his hands grasping the forearms that held him at bay.
“You are weak. The power of the shadow flows through me.”
A sickening crack sounded and James’ body went limp, his eyes staring in Susan’s direction. Simon threw the man to the floor and produced a knife. Shadows, taking on grotesque forms of predatory creatures, collected around him, like wolves waiting to feast on a fresh kill. A voice whispered a chilling chant. Susan watched as the man, called Simon, consumed by the darkness, drove the knife into her mentor’s chest. She quickly closed her eyes, breaking from the memory, the sounds of bones being split apart still rang in her ears.
Susan blinked. The blue world was gone, replaced by the quiet apartment. The air was warm again and a feeling of urgency came over her. She scrambled to her feet and began unpacking the boxes. After some time, she found the her mentor’s journal, tucked away under maps of the area. She flipped through the pages, stained from the horror that spilled out in the apartment. Written among the pages were family names of the townspeople, each name with a note beside it. Several were circled. She laid the journal on the table and pinned the map of the town on the wall, studying it, determined to finish her Master’s mission.
