Page 11 of The Book of Unwritten Stories

She headed towards Charter Street to see if the nodding crow was there this morning. After the past twenty-four hours she wouldn’t be surprised to hear it talk. Her earbuds in, she listened to one of her favourite podcasts, Salem the Pod. Sarah and Jeffrey were tour guides in the city and talked a lot about the history surrounding not just the witch trials, but the maritime and other snippets in time. Her shoulders relaxed a little at their laughter and chatter, that was until she walked past the gloomy building of the Charter Street Cemetery Welcome Centre, otherwise known at the Samuel Pickman House.

A chill ran down her spine as she stared up at the diamond-leaded window on the first floor. Its faded red frame looked a little unloved. She saw movement in the window and felt her jaw drop; it was closed this early. She had been inside once to the tiny museum and gift shop, which had the creepiest wooden staircase that was out of bounds to anyone but employees. The Peabody Essex Museum owned the building, she knew that. She also knew that nobody lived there and wondered maybe if someone was in there cleaning up. About to turn away, she saw the same white figure staring at her out of another window. Morana lifted a hand and waved, then watched as the eyes on the face grew into two huge black holes before the figure vanished into thin air. It didn’t step to the side; there was no movement. One moment it was there, the next it wasn’t. Sufficiently creeped out, all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge, she turned away and hurried past the cemetery. With only a cursory glance up at the old oak tree, she saw the crow was watching her, and she slowed down to watch it back. She stood in between the Pickman House and the Grimshaw House and felt more scared than she’d ever been, especially after the nightmares last night.

‘Hey.’ She stared at the bird, daring it to fly away. It tilted its head to one side and ignored her. Shaking her head she turned away. She was as crazy if not crazier than the woman who brought the book to her yesterday.

‘Hey.’ The voice was raspy; she turned back to see if there was someone behind her. Morana was the only person around. Her gaze fell onto the bird that had finished preening itself and was watching her.

‘Did you talk?’

It didn’t answer her. It took off from the oak tree cawing loudly and flapping its wings as it soared high above her. She watched until it was a black speck in the sky. Her life was off the scale. Shaking her head, she hurried away, putting some distance between herself, the old burying ground and the two historic, most definitely haunted, houses that she had the misfortune to walk past.

The shop was closed, and she almost fell in through the door as she unlocked it, relieved to be somewhere that was and always had felt like a safe space for her. Opening her purse, she took out the necklace, and grabbing the key from behind the counter, she put it back into the cabinet, feeling a wave of relief wash over her when she locked it back inside.

Now all she had to do was put the book back in the shop, but when she opened her purse wide it wasn’t there. A deep-seated fear filled her veins so fast she could feel the pulse of the blood as her heart raced to pump it around her body. Where was that damn book? She had put it into her bag, she put that in first and then the necklace. Cold beads of perspiration were forming along her hairline, this wasn’t right, she couldn’t have lost it on the way here. She would have heard the thud as it hit the ground. Unless it fell onto the grass inside the outer fence of the cemetery and landed on the grass? But surely the necklace would have fallen out too.

Morana found it hard to swallow, her throat was so dry. How did it happen? Why had it happened? She had no choice but to go back and see if it was there, by some unknown miracle. How had the book fallen out of her purse, which at no point had tipped up enough to allow it to? She felt as if she was losing her grip on reality, losing her mind just like the woman who gave the book to her yesterday. Was this how it had made her act so weird? She needed to find the book, because how could she get rid of it if she didn’t know where it was? As she hurried along Front Street, crossing the intersection to get back to Charter Street, she wondered what she was going to do if the book wasn’t there: feel relieved or even worse than she did now?

TEN

Though Morana searched the entire route that she had walked on the way to Nocturne, the book was nowhere to be found. Stopping at the same place where she’d spoken to the crow, and leaning onto the metal fence, she’d peered along the grass around the graves. Morana continued back the way she’d walked, up Hawthorne Boulevard and onto Derby Street, her gaze directed to the ground, searching. She walked straight into Pennywise, the clown, one of the buskers, on his way up to Essex Street, ready for the crowds of Halloween visitors.

‘I’m so sorry, I lost something, and I didn’t see you.’

He smiled at her through a mouth full of pointed, bloodied teeth.

‘No problem, are you okay? Do you need a hand to look for it?’

Morana paused. ‘No, I’m good. Thanks for the offer though.’ She looked at him; he was terrifying yet kind.

‘I look that bad huh?’

She laughed. ‘Yeah, you do but the tourists are going to love it.’

‘I hope so, a guy’s got to eat. You sure you don’t want a hand? What is it you lost?’

‘A stupid book, it must have fallen out of my bag, although I’m so close to home I’m wondering if I even put it inside. I was a bit out of sorts this morning; I’m not having a good day.’

He reached out and patted her arm. ‘Sorry to hear that. It will get better, trust me.’

Giving her a little bow he walked away, and Morana smiled after him. Who knew Pennywise wasn’t all bad? She walked over the crossing and down Wharf Street and back to her apartment. She was here now. There was a little spark of hope inside of her that she had lost the book and someone had already picked it up, which technically made it their problem and not hers. That wouldn’t be so bad, except for when the crazy lady came to the shop for her money. Morana had a thousand dollars in her savings account for emergencies, and if she had to, she’d withdraw five hundred and pay her to leave her the fuck alone.

Scurrying into her apartment she opened the door not realising she was holding her breath. It was so dark inside. Full of shadows despite the blinds being open and the morning sun truly shining through them. She let out a small gasp, as there, sitting on her coffee table, was the damn book. Sitting proud as if it belonged there, as if it had every right to be there. Hot bile rose up Morana’s throat, and she rushed to the bathroom to throw up. She felt clammy and the room began to sway as the darkness took over, and she passed out, falling onto the cold, tiled floor, hitting her head on the sink on the way down.

* * *

Hammering on her door woke her up. Dazed, she lay shivering, disorientated and with a pounding inside of her skull that she didn’t think a full bottle of Advil would fix. Pulling herself to her feet, she had to hold the walls to keep herself steady as she opened the door a little. Her downstairs neighbour was glaring at her through the crack.

‘What’s going on up here?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What’s all the banging around, some of us need to sleep.’

Morana bit her tongue. ‘Sorry, Mrs Danby, I’ll keep the noise down.’

‘Good, because it’s been going on for over an hour. I tried to ignore it, you know, but it got too loud. My daughter is on the waiting list for an apartment here. It would be a shame if I had to report you again to the superintendent. One more strike and you’re out, Morana; in fact, I don’t know why I don’t do that anyway.’

Morana looked at her watch. She’d only been back here ten, fifteen minutes max.