The Contract of Clauneck

Matilda Rosa’s great-aunt’s house had come with one strange stipulation.

“Every Thursday at 7pm, shove the little, black Moleskin journal underneath the hall closet door.”

Aunt Luz had always been a character. She had acquired a fortune through unknown means. Unknown means to Matilda anyway, the explanation at the reading of the will of the stocks and bonds had sailed over her head. All she knew was as her father’s only child she was Luz’s last descendent and the heir to her estate. It was a tidy sum of $20,000 and a home on the Pacific coast that overlooked Santa Cruz island.

She was familiar with the home as she had spent many summers there in her childhood. They had been summers of saltwater and long nights. This had come to an end at the age of fourteen, though she was unsure why. She had a feeling the scars of burst abscesses that hounded her from her early 20's had been the result of a long pursuit of those forgotten summer times. When she had retired from the chase five years ago she still couldn't recall Luz's face. The woman who had been in the casket had looked nothing like her.

Matilda was unsure what to do with the home. She did not currently reside in California, but her current job didn’t pay well enough to continue if she chose to job hunt in the local area, using Aunt Luz’s money as a small nest egg for a few months. It was a beautiful place with bay windows and a rambling rose garden. Matilda would not have minded moving in, but decided to leave the decision open until she had stayed for at least a few weeks.

A week after Luz’s funereal she spent her first night at the home. She remembered her peculiar instructions when she came across the little journal on the kitchen table, left out to remind her of her to perform the only duty her great aunt had asked of her. By coincidence she had moved in on a Thursday in March. She shrugged, and stooped to gently push the journal beneath the closet door and forgot about the strange ritual as the night was lost to Netflix and snoring on the couch. She only remembered when she stepped on the small book during her trudge to the bathroom in the morning as it had reappeared in the hallway outside the closet. In a stupor Matilda retrieved the journal and stared for a few moments at the still closed closet door.

With a shrug she opened the book without much thought, it was an almost instinctive action, conceived without foresight. Only a few lines were written on the first page.

“GME. 500 shares. United Canadian Petrol. 800 shares. Sell all GMC shares.”

Matilda blinked at what looked like handwritten words. There was no date. No signature. She flipped the journal to see if there was any other writing. It was blank. Matilda was not educated in finance, but she recognized stock market advice when she saw it. She shut the journal.

It must be an old entry. She rationalized. It had no date after all, it could have been written anytime. She placed the journal in a conspicuous place on the end table besides the sofa. For the rest of the week, it became a coaster for her wine. She remembered her duty however and placed the journal beneath the door again the next Thursday. It again reappeared in the hallway the next Friday morning.

This time she opened the closet door. It was still only a linen closet. Piles of towels and sheets stared back at her. She shut the door and picked the journal up again.

"Ignore me again and the deal is void."

Matilda felt her heart tremble. Memories surged as a flood in the hallway. Hundreds of candles. The summers of her youth. Hot, sticky air thick with the scent of incense. Great Aunt Luz laughing as she presented an Ouija board. Matilda grabbed at her hair, trying to anchor herself to reality.

Did I forget? What had she forgotten? All she remembered was the flickering images of a dream. She looked at the page again, but the words remained. An intelligent response to her actions. Below was more stocks and advice.

"GME. 500 shares. Sell 200 APL shares. Short sell AMC by 100 shares. "

She tried to slow her breathing. She recalled there was still an accountant that managed the estate finances. Still entranced she pulled out her phone and called the man. In a shaky voice she introduced herself and repeated the directions. He said “as you wish” and hung up. As if he was used to hearing terse advice from this client, and accepted it. Matilda sat down in a heap on the couch.

She absorbed her paroxysm and in a few hours she had once again pushed away the disquieting feeling that had so often accompanied Aunt Luz. The house felt more threatening now. Though it was a bright day each shadow became a terror and phantoms glued themselves to the corners of Matilda’s eyes.

She checked the closet a hundred times. It was always only full of towels and sheets. It never changed. No sounds came from it. The door never moved. It was nothing but an ordinary closet until 7pm on Thursdays.

Over the next week Matilda swallowed her dread by shifting through Luz’s belongings, looking for some clue about the closet and journal. She found nothing save for the Ouija board stashed carefully behind the bed. When she flipped it over, she saw it had a strange symbol drawn on it. It was a staff vivisecting a blob of what seemed like a combination of a human heart, brain and phallus. Where a teste was suggested there was an open eye.

She flipped through the journal again, but it was blank. Even this week’s financial advice was gone. It appeared to be nothing but an ordinary Moleskin journal. There was nothing else. There was no clue as to what the closet harbored.

Matilda’s mind was a swirl of questions. What would happen if she sold the house? If she didn’t inform the new owners of the Thursday ritual? What would happen if she did inform new owners? Escape was a comforting idea, unlike Luz apparently, Matilda was more than happy to return to a 9-5 job if it meant no witchcraft. What even was this thing that understood the stock market? How long had Luz been in contact with it? How had she come into contact with it? What was this outline of a memory of the board that Matilda had?

As these thoughts robbed Matilda of sleep, the realization she needed answers grew in her heart. When the weekly reckoning came she had her own words for the journal.

"What are you?"

The answer came the next morning.

"A friend. "

Matilda furrowed her brow in consternation, as if there was a stroke of smugness in the curl of the handwriting. She wondered if she didn’t have to wait a week to get a reply.

"Who are you?" She wrote beneath the reply.

She shoved it beneath the closet door. After she did however she heard a clamor down the hall. It was centered in Aunt Luz's former bedroom. It sounded as if something was scrabbling beneath her bed. Matilda picked up an errant umbrella from the stand by the door. She percolated to outside the door in a series of small, jumping steps, her footfall alight with terror. After three deep breaths she put her ear to the door. It was silent and still, with only song from indifferent birds outside filling the empty home. Matilda steeled herself and raised the umbrella as she opened the door.

There was only the Ouija board on the floor. The grotesque symbol on it’s back almost seemed to wink at her. Matilda kneeled and opened the board. Aware she had left it beneath the bed she looked for a planchet in some unwelcome echo of memory. She found a small stone beneath the bed and with a sigh placed it on “hello".

Her hand holding the stone was guided to the letter “C". Matilda found herself in resignation and didn’t even marvel at the aggressive movement in a game where movement was all supposed to be subconscious. The stone continued to finish the circuit with “L, A, U, N, E, C, K.”

“Clauneck?” Matilda wondered. The stone moved to “yes". Matilda licked her lips.

“Are you a demon?” The stone didn’t move. Matilda supposed that must mean it was the same answer as before.

“Why are you here?” She asked.

"C-A-L-L-E-D." The board informed her.

“By who?” Matilda supposed she already knew the answer. The stone moved again in an intricate arc.

“Y-O-U.”

“Me?!” Matilda stammered. “I didn’t ask-!”

“Y-O-U" the board spelled insistently. Matilda felt bile rising in her throat.

“No!” she cried out and slammed the board shut. The rock skittered from between the board halves and landed back beneath the bed.

Matilda put her forehead to the floor and gasped for air as the recollection of the past played over the present. Of this very room covered in candles and her blood splashed on the floor. She remembered Luz stroking her back to calm her as the floor opened up. Faces she had forgotten peered into her child-face and plummeted into her unremembered nightmares.

“No.” she whispered again and the tide rushed over her.

Thursday came as it always does. That night there would be no intermediary. Matilda stood nude before the door. She counted the seconds until the clock struck 7pm. Then she opened the door to heat and screams. There was no linen closet, no house, no earth nor sky above.

There was only Clauneck’s pedestal of judgement, and Matilda stepped forward.