HEIRLOOM

Chapter 15

As the final crimson ember of dawn fades from the sky, the wind gusts transform into mournful howls, rustling the bushes that tightly enclose the road. Threatening, leaden clouds hang overhead, creating encroaching darkness and soon unleashing a thin chill drizzle that stings my face and dampens my spirits. By the time I reach the cemetery gates, the night has fully taken hold, cloaking the surroundings in its inky embrace.

After the gates softly creak open, I slowly navigate through the darkness towards the crypt. An unexpected gust of wind emanates from the forest, swirling around me before abruptly dying away, as if listening to the distant rumbling of thunder that grows continually louder, reverberating through the area.

A jagged bolt of lightning blazes directly overhead, accompanied by an earsplitting clap of thunder that jolts me to my core. The surroundings are illuminated in a fleeting burst before once again plunging into a lilac-gray motionless haze. As though it might be my last chance, I breathe in deeply, relishing the sweet aroma of damp soil and fragrant herbs that permeates the air just before the storm.

With care, I approach the entrance of the crypt. Pushing open the door with my shoulder, I cautiously step inside, being mindful not to spill the water that still remains in the tub. The crypt's interior is murky and I am encircled by a velvety darkness that inspires a primal sense of dread within me.

As the door softly clicks shut behind me, I fumble my way towards the stone table, desperate to place the tub upon it. 

Finally freed from carrying the tub, I rummage through my pockets for my phone. With shaking fingers, I hastily activate the flashlight, illuminating the interior of the crypt with a flickering beam of light that provides some measure of relief to my frantically pounding heart. I glance at the time - less than half an hour until midnight remains, and I know that I must prepare for the ceremony without delay.

With practiced movements, I lay out all the necessary items on the dusty floor of the crypt, taking care to arrange them just so. As the final component, I retrieve a nail from my satchel and hammer it deeply into the wall, ensuring it will withstand the weight soon to be hung upon it. Finally satisfied with my work, I delicately secure a mirror to the nail, checking and rechecking its stability.

With great care, I proceed to arrange thirteen black candles around the perimeter of the tub, lighting each one with trembling hands using a lighter. As the flickering flames begin to illuminate the crypt, ominous shadows emerge from the corners, twisting and contorting in a frenzied dance that plays out upon the walls and ceiling.

The gnarled branches of the ancient oak mercilessly thrash and pound against the thin walls of the crypt, their leaves rustling madly in the wind that continues to howl in grieving contrition, lending an atmosphere of mortal terror.

I place the sickle in the location where I have discovered it - namely, in the far corner of the crypt. Glancing at my watch, I can see that only five minutes remain until midnight, and I am eager to begin.

Following the old man's instructions, I retrieve a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of my jeans and begin to recite the spell written there in a language that is both incomprehensible and ancient. My voice falters as I struggle to articulate the words properly. They congeal in my mouth, clinging to my tongue like a viscous glue, making it nearly impossible to utter them aloud. It is as though there is an invisible barrier preventing me from speaking. Yet with gritted teeth and determined will, I press on, silently battling the unseen force that seeks to hinder my progress.

Forcing myself to finish the recitation, I quickly take stock of my surroundings with bated breath, then begin to read for a second time. But in that moment, I am startled by the sound of a slight rustling directly behind me, coupled with a frosty breath on the back of my neck.