“There’s something wrong with you,” I told it.
Closing my eyes, I rubbed my temples, trying to massage away the throbbing there. The idea of the situation being ridiculous had passed. As much as I wanted to brush it away, something wasn’t right. My mind whirled as I tried to grasp at an explanation, but I couldn’t find anything solid and logical to hold on to.
My stomach would have to wait. I put the milk in the fridge, more exhausted—mentally and physically—than I was before. The bed upstairs was calling my name, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath my blanket. I was three steps away before I was fighting with myself over the key. Reasoning tried to persuade me that it would be safe down in the kitchen, but I still couldn’t make myself leave the kitchen without it.
I was able to forget the ancient relic in my hand for a few moments when I opened my bedroom door. It was always a welcome sight after a big trip, but this time, a soft wave of relief washed over me.
I rarely did anything in my room except sleep, so the space was mostly taken up by a large four poster bed. The paisley-patterned duvet in gray and cream had been a gift to myself after a dig in Italy one summer.
I placed the key on the top of a dresser, which just so happened to be as far from my bed as possible, and shucked off my clothes. Digging through the drawers, I found a pair of pajama pants and a soft tee.
A sigh that felt as if it were drawn from the soles of my feet drifted past my lips as I shimmied farther under the blankets. My head sank into my pillow, and I cast a final glance at the key. A good night’s sleep. That’s all I needed.
When I woke, a cold sweat had my shirt clinging to my skin. The pale yellow sliver of light slicing through the crack in the curtains and slanting across the covers told me it was early morning.
I groaned, stretching my arms and arching my back. I was exhausted. Both the heaviness of my eyelids and snippets of consciousness through the night told me my rest had been fitful, though I couldn’t exactly recall why.
I wiggled out of my covers and grabbed the key before making my way downstairs. The floor was cold on my bare feet as I walked into the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets, I discovered a box of cereal. I gave it a shake before pulling a bowl down and pouring myself a hefty portion. Leaning against the counter, I shoveled spoonfuls of the slightly stale cereal into my mouth as the coffee pot gurgled behind me.
Barking dogs. I recalled that from last night. My neighbor’s dogs had been having fits at all hours. Usually the pair of goldendoodles were mild-mannered, but for some reason, they had been hollering relentlessly. Perhaps that’s why I hadn’t slept well. After an additional half bowl of cereal, I tossed the dish into the sink and headed upstairs to change.
I wasn’t usually a stickler for routine, but my morning run was always a must. It got the mental juices flowing and made me feel more prepared for the day.
The key that I hadn’t been able to leave behind bounced against my chest as I jogged through the park bordering my property. I pulled in a deep breath, enjoying the slight chill that filled my lungs. It was a beautiful day, the sun brightening the fall leaves in a myriad of oranges, yellows, and reds. I tried to focus on this as I ran, on the gorgeous trees, the sunlight, and the crisp air of my favorite season.
It was no use. I couldn’t run from the strange sensation chasing after me. It was as if someone was watching me, and no matter how many times I glanced over my shoulder to assure myself that wasn’t the case, I couldn’t shake the feeling of pursuit.
As I rounded a turn that would lead me back toward my house, leaves rustled behind me. My feet faltered as I turned, half-jogging backward and gaze scanning over every leaf and twig.
Nothing there now , but there was no mistaking there had been .
Pivoting back, I picked up the pace. Home was only a couple of minutes away. I was nearing the end of those two minutes when sirens pierced the air. They grew louder as I ran. I broke from the edge of the wooded park and stumbled to a stop. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and I realized there was a mingling of screams amid the wailing of the emergency vehicles flashing into my view.
My neighbors were in the street, stumbling onto the pavement with blood staining their hands and running down their faces. Smoke billowed upward in the distance, drifting across the blue sky and blocking out the sun. I caught the scent of charred wood and what I horribly thought was the sulfurous odor of burnt hair.
Heart pumping a rapid beat, I tried to make sense of the chaos. Where had all of the people come from? There were more than just my neighbors screaming and crying in the street and the yards. What had happened?
I forgot about the feeling of pursuit as I ran farther toward the confusion and yells. The earth shook again beneath my feet, but somehow, I remained steady.
My neighbor’s house was on fire. Broken bricks and splintered wood scattered across the manicured lawn. More buildings in the distance were being devoured by flames. The entire scene before me was nothing but blood, smoke, and screams.
I had to do something. There had to be some way I could help.
I reached a middle-aged man, his arm wrapped around the arm of his wife who was stumbling and dazed. He turned an accusing glare toward me, his face a mask of blood. “You did this.”
My lips, as if on their own accord, tipped upward in a smile.
I wanted to shake my head, but I couldn’t. I just stood there, smiling, a sense of satisfaction drowning out denial.
The key hanging on my chest pulsed, the weight of the chain almost pulling me deeper into the havoc. The horror that had first taken over me was nearly gone now, and why should I feel horror, anyway?
My gaze ran across the people, smiling at their fear and wailing. Why would I need more than this?
“Why are you doing this?” My neighbor stood behind me, arms crossed, hugging her shaking frame. “You killed them. Why would you kill them?”
Clenched tight in my hand was my knife, the blade red with blood. I lifted my stare to the yard behind her, a pair of small bodies lying on the grass.
The pleasure of the death and destruction fell away as I squeezed my eyes shut. I pulled in deep breaths from my nostrils, fighting against the urge to overtake everyone and everything.
This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t real.
A cool breeze brushed against my cheek. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Morning sunlight flooded my vision, swept across the grass, and warmed the crown of my head. It was quiet, save for the slight rustle of the leaves overhead. There was no smoke, no red and blue lights flashing, and no one screaming. My fingers were curled in a loose fist, as if the handle of my knife still filled my hand. Clenching the key around my neck, I hurried home.
I dashed up to my study, pulled the necklace off, and tossed it to the table. I paced, shaking my head in an attempt to dispel the vision. I rolled my shoulders to try to push away the clinging weight that had settled onto me the moment I had first left for home with the relic as I braced my hands on the desk and studied the key.
Knowledge had always been something that drove me. If I found something that didn’t make sense, I worked and studied it until I found clarity.
The one exception sat on the worn surface of my massive desk.
I should want to study it, to find out why it was causing these visions, because what else could it be?
I also wanted to snatch it up and chuck it out the nearest window.