Sunrise/Sunset

The Teller

I had heard tales of The Teller, but I had never met him. I was too afraid, for many of the stories told had bad endings.

But one dry Autumn night, I decided to pay him a visit. I went alone to the mysterious, crippling house. The sun was setting, causing an eerie hue to sweep across the dark yard. My skin crawled with fearful anticipation, as a gust of cool wind brushed past my legs.

As I approached the door, I remembered what I would have to do next. I knocked three times, and the door creaked open. I expected to see him standing there, but the hallway was empty. A shiver tickled my spine, dancing up my neck and down my arms. My hands began to shake.

I knew I had no choice but to walk forward down the long, dark hall, hoping it would lead me to him. I continued for what felt like eternity, each step bringing me closer. Even if it felt as if I wasn't moving at all.

At last my feet touched a door, and I again recalled the stories of The Teller. It was time for me to knock ten times. 

And after some time passed, each second doubling the agony in my chest as my heart threatened to leave me behind, the door burst open.

The room was warm and dimly lit, but after so long in complete darkness I felt my eyes straining in the light.

My gaze then fell onto him. The Teller.

There he was, his back facing me. I knew it was him from the sickening feeling he radiated. His heavy breathing and my pounding heart were the only sounds in my head, the only things assuring me this was real.

"Tell me your name."

His voice was scratchy and quiet, though I could hear every word he was saying. I was about to speak, until his hand rose up. I closed my mouth.

"Olivia Jane Morrison. Of County Hills, just down the street. Seventeen years old. Afraid of the dark, clowns, and most of all... I. 

"The Teller."

At that moment, he turned around. He lifted up his other hand, and I then realized that he was holding my hand in his. I jerked it away from his grip, truly afraid. He had just told me things no stranger could ever know. 

I had always doubted that part of the stories. But now I knew it was true.

It was all true.

"By touching your hand, I know..."

He was holding my hand again.

"You are most afraid right now. You seldom go into unknown places. For you are not the brave type. You are not the brave type. You are not the brave type. You are not brave."

"I can be!" I couldn't control myself. I had to stop him.

Silence.

"Then say it." he was still holding my hand.

My brain strained to remember the phrase.

"I am brave, and so I'll say. Tell me my future, Teller. Tell me my way."

I was confident that I had said it right: word for word.

It was quiet for a very long time. My mind was numb to any sound, even his heavy breathing. Even my beating heart. 

Until he spoke.

"Your future, dear darling, lies in my hands." He at last dropped my hand from his bony grip. It appeared as if he was now holding something in his own cupped hands.

Anxiety was racing through my blood and my mind. Each moment another wave of both fear and courage.

Would I get what I was wishing for? What nearly all people got? Or would this all be for nothing.

Then finally, he opened his hands.

At first I was confused.

There was nothing there.

Could this have been a mistake? Did I miss something? 

But then, for that split second I knew.

For even if this is what I had wanted, I had no time to change my mind. No time to tell him that what I had been willing to do anything for only minutes ago, was now my greatest fear.

Then everything went dark.