My fist slammed into the desk, and a sharp scream flew from my mouth. A tingling sensation prickled across my skin as something burst from my hand, a flash of light and energy scattering across the wooden surface. Papers whirled briefly before drifting to the floor, books fell, and pens rolled.
My attention was drawn to the ancient relic. An urge to take the key and go outside to bring to life the horrific scene already haunting my mind came over me. Power and destruction were calling my name. It would be easy with the key around my neck to bring the blood and screams to life.
I shoved away from the desk, heart pounding. I lifted my hand in front of my face and could still feel the prickling remnants of energy that had burst from me. Even the aftershocks of that energy felt good. So dangerously good. And I knew what I had to do to feel more of it.
I also knew I could never let that happen .
I had to get rid of it.
There was no longer any question in my mind. If I kept it, I would end up hurting people. I needed to get rid of it while there was still enough of me left to fight the urges. But what to do with it?
The image of a shovel, of freshly turned dirt, came to me. I could dig a deep hole and bury it where no one would ever find it.
I stared at the key. Taking it from that ancient, hidden place had been a mistake. I would return the relic to the earth, where it belonged.
But as I reached to grab it, to take it to do just that, the key sparked violently, searing my skin.
Chapter 6
The key did not want me to bury it.
The tang of dread lay thick on my tongue as that thought went through my mind over and over. I clutched my hand loosely against my chest, fingertips still burning. Eyes narrowing, I glared at the relic that had seared me. The fact that the key was fighting not to be buried only made me want to do so more.
There was no doubt in my mind that if I kept the key, the visions would continue. The worsening of each vision was proof of that. Surely, once I was rid of it, the visions would cease along with the unusual sensation inside of me. It was an intrusion, that tingling feeling of energy on the verge of bursting from me any second, and it was one I wanted gone.
I couldn’t logically explain what was happening to me, something that frustrated me greatly. All I knew was that if I put the relic back into the earth where it belonged, things would go back to normal.
I hoped.
I cast a glance out of the six-paned window on the far side of the room. The morning light filtering through the filmy white curtains was quickly warming from gray to a soft yellow. It was still early; if I hurried, I would be able to get the key in the ground without anyone noticing.
I crossed the room to peer out of the aged glass. My neighbors didn’t seem to be out and about yet. I drummed my fingers against the windowsill. I could wait until the cover of darkness, I supposed, but that posed a problem: spending more time with the key.
The haunted relic sitting on my desk looked innocent enough, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I would leave before I changed my mind. Or before the key changed it for me.
After a quick dash to my room to grab my favorite bag—a well-worn khaki messenger tote—I returned to the study. I carefully coiled the relic in the original wrappings before bundling it tightly. Then, for good measure, I grabbed Chaucer, my ever-trusty knife, to take with me as well.
I eased the back door shut behind me, finding the situation a little ridiculous as I walked softly to the small garden shed nestled beside the garage.
The contents inside the dark building were covered in dust, spiderwebs clinging onto every corner. I had tried my hand at gardening after the unexpected passing of my father to get my mind off of my grief. Unlike my mother, I didn’t have the knack for it. The glorious rose bushes at the front of the house were the only evidence of her I’d seen in my life. My father had taken care of those roses religiously. I was wise enough to hire someone to tend the landscaping for me. I was much better at pulling things out of the earth, than guiding them to flourish inside of it.
“Except for now,” I mumbled.
I rifled through an array of gardening tools on the cluttered table. Finally, I found a wooden-handled trowel. It would take longer to dig a decent-sized hole with it, but if someone caught me walking into the woods with a shovel, it would definitely appear suspicious .
I tried to wipe the dust from the trowel but only succeeded in smearing the grime around, so I gave up and stuck it inside my bag to join my knife and the key.
I made my way carefully around the back of the house on soft steps. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was being so sneaky—it wasn’t as if me going on a walk into the wooded park was anything unusual—but I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me hide the key. I had to protect it.
Wait . I stopped at the edge of the trail. Protect it ?
Where had that thought come from? I didn’t want to protect the relic. I wanted to be rid of it.
The new thought was well on its way to worming itself into my brain, though, and I found myself second-guessing. I couldn’t shake the growing feeling that what I was doing was wrong.
My cheeks puffed out in a big sigh as my head swiveled between my house and the wooded trail. Then, like white-hot lightning, the memories of the horrible visions flashed in my mind, burning away any hesitation.
No. I had to get rid of it.
Now.
The need trying to claw its way into me to keep the key only firmed my resolve. This relic had given me those visions, and it was clinging to me, whispering into my mind not to cast it away. I had to get rid of the visions...and that itching foreign energy shifting restlessly beneath my skin.
I hurried into the forested park. It wasn’t until I was under the rustling canopy that I recalled the fact that, not long before, I had been certain I was being followed down this very path. Unease squirmed in my stomach as that sensation returned.
I glanced over my shoulder but found no one. Scanning around me, I discovered no evidence of another person, either.
I flipped open my bag, letting the flap wedge between the bag and my hip so I could quickly grab my knife if I needed to. Just in case. Whether I would be able to actually use it against someone was another matter, especially after the visions showed me what the blade would look like glistening in blood.
With each step, my pulse quickened, hidden eyes on my heels. Once I was deep enough into the woods, I took a right and abandoned the trail. The park wasn’t massive—the other end of the trail came out at a town square with quaint shops—but it was large enough where I wouldn’t be seen if I was careful.
I picked my way around the trees and over fallen branches, still attempting to be stealthy, until I found a spot that satisfied me. The brush was denser there, mostly young trees and briars. It definitely was not a place where someone would take an idle stroll. Besides, even if they did, they wouldn’t just start digging. Hopefully.
I set my bag on the ground beside me as I got onto my knees. After another quick glance around to assure myself I was alone, I began pushing aside damp leaves and debris. I pulled out my knife, unsheathed it, and set it within reach. The trowel came next, and I got to work, thankful it was not yet far enough into fall for the ground to be stiff with cold.
One scoop after another, I dug, glancing around with every addition to the small pile of dirt. Would the unseen eyes that had been following me leave after I buried the key?