HEIRLOOM

Chapter 12

"Listen carefully, folk," Frank instructs, his hoarse voice jolting me out of my daze. "Hall has unleashed an ancient, evil creature upon our world. Now it seeks to inhabit a soul by means of an object handled during a ritual. As I recollect, Hall employed a sickle for his dark magic. Anyone whose blood comes into contact with this accursed object will be haunted endlessly. You must follow my instructions to the letter, or else you'll be lost forever."

I listen intently to the old man's rasping voice, every word like a lifeline that I desperately cling to. His bluish lips part as he speaks, and a thick, acrid atmosphere of darkness begins to close around me. The gravity of the situation grips me with an unrelenting force, yet I steel myself for the task that lies ahead, determined to face whatever terrifying challenges await me.

"The ceremony must be performed at the precise location where the accursed object was discovered - inside the crypt, and at midnight sharp," Frank's grave voice intrudes upon the stillness of the church yard. "You must arrive there earlier to prepare everything beforehand. It is essential that the ritual be conducted with a black mirror. But, regrettably, we have no such mirror at our disposal. We'll have to improvise and replicate the priest's method by scraping off the coating from any mirror and painting it pitch black. However, it's imperative that you obtain a mirror with a silver frame. I don't know why that's significant, but the priest insisted on it. Once you have it, hang the mirror on the wall, making sure that a nail is in place beforehand. You don't want to overlook such details, do you? It's always a good idea to write everything down, just in case you forget a step."

"I assure you, Mr. Cooper, I have an excellent memory," I reply, my nerves betraying me with each passing moment. Nevertheless, I nod wordlessly, determined to fulfill my task with utmost precision and care.

"Very well then! I implore you to remember, my dear, that everything must be executed precisely as I instruct," Frank warns me once again, his voice heavy with implication.

"I understand," I nod in agreement, leaning in to hear him more clearly. "So, after hanging the mirror, what do I do?"

As Frank begins to detail the process with a sense of urgency, he suddenly interrupts himself. "Hold up, there's one crucial aspect I neglected to mention earlier! You'll require a container of water. Before venturing into the cemetery, at sunset, fetch a bucket of water from a nearby river or lake and bring it with you."

"Alright," I acknowledge, my mind working overtime to retain every single detail that is spoken. 

"Hang a mirror and place a tub of water directly beneath it. The sickle must be returned to its original location. Then, construct a circle comprised of thirteen black candles around the tub, bearing in mind the importance of the number thirteen." 

"Not twelve! Not fourteen! Thirteen!' Frank points out. " As you light the candles, recite the spell seven times over the water."

Abruptly, the old man springs from his seat and scurries inside his dwelling. His loyal shepherd dog, with a tail that's short and matted, trots up the porch, keeping pace with its owner, while emitting soft whimpers.

In mere moments, the old man dashes out, brandishing a piece of paper victoriously.

"Behold, your salvation!" he proclaims, offering the paper to me.

"I've been trying to recollect where I had stashed my note, fearing that I might not remember. Lucky for you, I have just retrieved the spell's words, from beneath my mattress."

Gently, I grasp a small, aged piece of paper, yellowed and torn into several pieces. The thinness of the paper is such that it appears as though it may crumble at any moment. With care, I unfold the delicate paper, revealing a barely discernible four-sentence inscription in the Latin language.