Nigrum Libro

Sam’s buttocks clenched. He wasn’t sure what triggered this wretched spasming of his muscles. It normally occurred at moments of intense fear or anger. Nevertheless, as he desperately tried to break out of Fleuric’s half nelson chokehold it was a potent combination of both emotions.

Finally, Fleuric released him with a shove sending Sam sprawling to the floor. The assembly room erupted with laughter.

“You always pick on Sam.” sighed Lilith.

“And you only say that because you feel sorry for the little twerp. We know what he is!” snapped Fleuric, his eyes glowing maniacally with mischief.

“Come on I’ll help you.” Lilith starts to help Sam up to his feet.

“I’m fine.” Sam mumbled dusting his school uniform off, now considerably covered in dust.

Lilith helps him anyway, picking up Sam’s books and the pieces of paper littered on the floor.

“Is everything alright here!?”

The booming voice belonged to Mr. Bodack the head teacher and as he approached, the school bullies scattered. Mr. Bodack walked with the considered arrogance of a man who was having an affair but thought his wife was unaware. If you were perceptive enough you could still perceive the whiff of cheap female eau de toilette wafting from him.

“I said... is everything alright here?”

“Just a little bit of fun Mr. Bodack. Everything is hunky dory here isn’t it Sam?” Fleuric fixed his mischievous gaze on Sam. It was the way a rattle snake would look at an oblivious mouse.

“Is that true Sam?” asked Mr. Bodack.

“Y-Yes. Everything is fine” stammered Sam.

“Off to class now all of you!” rumbled Mr Bodack, his double chin wobbling in annoyance.

Sam hurried off, navigating through a crowded maze of corridors to find the chemistry class, his head still ringing from the near asphyxiation.

His mom kept telling him that eventually he would fit in with the kids at this new school and that it was normal for thirteen-year old boys to horseplay. However now, staring blankly and unseeingly at the whiteboard as Ms Prudence the petite chemistry teacher described the process of covalent bonding, a slow sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, threatening to overwhelm him.

Lately it seemed, the sense of foreboding had grown. Life had become a dizzying haze of removal trucks, long drives and new schools. Four moves in the past three years since his father had been killed in active military service.

The truth was that the constant chaos of moving towns seemed to have helped numb his mother’s grief. Certainly, it helped him keep his secret, the one that was eating him up inside.

***

The journey home was silent. Sam’s mom barely spoke. She appeared almost catatonic, her limbs autonomously operating the vehicle which now rapidly ferried them away from the snobbish rusticity of the school complex. The vehicle meandered through the narrow country lanes, cordoned by the great elms that with the approaching twilight appeared at times monstrous, stretching their wintery, bare branches like grotesque fingers towards them.

At thirteen, Sam knew almost enough. He was at that pivotal age when you know more about the world than you don’t. For instance, he knew that something had died in his mother that miserable night the ominous knock came. He remembered the grim, hardened faces of the men in naval uniform as they stood on the foyer hat in hand, and the anguish of his mother as they spoke to her in hushed tones. Afterwards, and even through the funeral Sam had witnessed his mother maintain the semblance of sanity, a dignified frailty, disguised for the sake of Sam and his five-year-old sister Rebecca, who didn’t understand why her dad wasn’t coming home. She was quietly asleep in the backseat.

He also knew about the sobbing late at night and the constant letters from the bank that his mother always tried to hide under the pile of old cosmopolitan magazines.

Consequently, they had moved out from the family home, endured two mouldy apartments before moving to Landover, a quiet town of about thirty thousand people, forty miles north from Boston where they had lived since he was a baby.

“I love you mom.” Sam whispered, stretching out to touch her arm.

His mom started in surprise. She had been deep in thought.

“I love you too sweetheart.” she answered turning to look at Sam, her thin chapped lips twisting into a wry smile. She was a beautiful woman who no longer cared about her looks. Her soft, sad, hazel eyes were misty, gone was the usual fire in them. Now, they were sullen and the bags around them the evidence of insomnia and constant crying.

A cascade of leaves had created a turmeric coloured palette, that carpeted the edges of the slippery, tarmacked roads, squelching as they drove east towards the Shuwsheen river and past the beatific drumlin formations that stretched across the south eastern parts of Landover.

When they arrived home Sam’s mom made a simple dinner, which Sam and his sister ate silently before bed.

That night Sam had the dream again. He’d had the same recurrent dream the past few weeks. It always started with the cave. Dark, damp, foreboding, almost claustrophobic. He could smell the earthy dampness now as he felt his way through the palpable darkness, occasionally tripping on an exposed tree root. Normally, this was all that happened in the dream. He would endure the stifling terror of stumbling blindly and unsuccessfully through the impenetrable cavernous labyrinth until he awoke in a cold sweat. But this time it was different.

As he groped around in the blackness, he found himself suddenly and violently lucid.

Immediately, Sam also became aware of a circular disc of moonlight in the distance revealing an exit from the cave. Hurriedly, he made his way through the jagged opening finding himself suddenly upon a stark, barren, rocky clearing. Barren, but for a solitary holly tree about forty feet away from were Sam stood. The moon cast a sinister silver net over its grotesque form. The tree was blackened and charred perhaps by lightening but still standing defiantly, silhouetted among the jagged rock formations.

Irresistibly, Sam was drawn to this strange tree and as he approached it, he noticed a thick silvery liquid oozing from the bark and dripping like lava down the trunk, coalescing into a translucent puddle at the root of the tree.

“Sam!”

The voice shook him to the core.

“Sam!”

The call was insistent and came from behind the tree. The familiarity of the voice made Sam’s knees start to buckle. A shadowy form emerged from the ether of darkness and the moonlight caught the figure of a tall, well built man. He was dressed in a dark well-tailored suit, beautiful shoes and cradled a small object under his left armpit.

“Sam!” The man called again.

“Dad?”

Sam was rooted to the spot in sheer terror as the figure approached within touching distance.

“It’s me Sam…It’s me.”

Now, Sam could see him in the moon light. It was his dad dressed like a banker. Which was impossible because Sam knew how much his dad abhorred both suits and bankers.

He offered Sam the object he now held in his hand. It was a small black leather-bound notebook about the size of a human palm. There was something inscribed on the front of the book which Sam could not quite make out.

“Take it Sam!” It was a crisp command. There was a sense of urgency in his dad’s voice.

This was all too much for Sam to handle. A cold shiver ran down his spine and he could feel the familiar clenching as his legs began to turn to jelly. He tried to open his mouth to speak but no words would come out.

“We haven’t got much time before they discover I have taken this.” Suddenly, the book was now in Sam’s hands and he could see boldly inscribed on it in gold letters the words NIGRUS LIBRO.

“Anything you write in this book which does not disrupt their laws will manifest.”

Now Sam found his voice “I-I don’t understand. Who are they and what is this place?” he stuttered.

A strange look of sadness came over the man’s face.

“The Masters.” He replied. “They are called The Masters.”

Sam examined the little notebook he now held. He felt the cool, luxurious smoothness of the leather as it caressed the palm of his hand.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“You all are!”

The phantom began to fade.

“Dad!” cried Sam.

“I’ve given you a key Sam, I don’t care what happens to me now.” The figure paused as if in deep thought.

“You can only use it three times, so choose wisely son.” His voice began to trail off.

“I love you all so very much”

“Dad don’t go!” Sam sobbed.

But the apparition had vanished, and Sam woke up in his bedroom still sobbing.

During breakfast Sam did not mention the strange dream to his mother. He didn’t want to upset her. She sat at the opposite end of the shabby chic breakfast table she had painted herself, filling out lottery tickets while drinking her coffee. Later that day, during recess while seating on his own in the school cafeteria, Sam made a startling discovery. He had reached into his bag for the rocket and walnut sandwich that his mom made him and there it was. A small black leather-bound notebook, no bigger than a human palm in his duffel bag.

It was impossible. A thousand thoughts ran through Sam’s mind at once. As he examined the item, he discovered to his utter horror that it was the same book he had received the night before in his dream. It had the same inscription in bold gold letters.

Finally, a quaint calmness came over Sam. The feeling spread from his feet upward and rapidly enveloped his whole body. He knew now exactly what he had to do.

Without another thought Sam pulled out a pen from his bag, opened the notebook and began to write. He wrote down two sentences numbering each. Then, after pausing for a moment he wrote down a third entry. A single word. COURAGE, in capital letters. He closed the book put it back in his bag and ate his lunch.

A week later Sam’s mom received miraculous news; she had won five hundred thousand dollars in the state lottery. She and little Rebecca- who was just mimicking mommy- leapt around the living room in joy like manatees. They performed cartwheels and screamed at the top of their lungs. Afterwards, she went off to talk on the phone, to share the news with her best friend Mary. Sam sat in the living room stunned.

His mother re-emerged an hour later still incredulous with joy. She had put his little sister to sleep upstairs.

“Rebecca has tired herself out with all this excitement. She went out like a light. My darling you don’t know how happy I am.”

“Sam smiled. He loved to see his mother happy, it was like oxygen to him. No more sinister bank letters. Again, he felt a sudden surge of calm, soothing energy ripple through his body.

“I was on the phone just now with Mary.” his mother continued, “She told me a boy from your class drowned today, swimming in the lake with his friends. Apparently, the news is all over town” Her pretty eyes suddenly turned solemn.

“Mom.” Began Sam.

“You didn’t even ask me which kid? His mom interrupted.

“Mom!” Sam continued calmly.

“What is it?” His mom looked concerned now.

“I’m gay” Sam said.

His mom stared at him for a moment, her gorgeous hazel eyes beginning to water. Then a knowing smile broke over her thin lips.

She went over to were Sam was seating by the television and put her arms around him. She kissed his forehead softly. They sobbed quietly together.