"So you're telling me that these notebooks are... everywhere?" May asked, a look of shock on her face.
"Yeah, they're all over the world. The chat room me and Casterpen met was one for people who knew about it, though very few actually encountered these notebooks," Samuel explained.
"So then do you know where they come from and how they're made?" She asked.
The phone call had never been made. May had showed him where the phone was, then ran upstairs to grab her cup of cider, which was cold by then. When she came back, she found him leafing through her notebook, which she had left on the table next to the phone. She had opened her mouth to say something when he told her that this was the reason he was going to meet Casterpen, and pulled a notebook out of an inside pocket in his jacket. After a bit of awkward silence, May offered him a drink. Now they sat in the small dining space in the kitchen, each with a mug of cider, the notebooks open in front of them.
"No one knows how they're made, or if it's really the notebooks. There's no science to back up any proof, and there's no rhyme or reason to it. A new spiral notebook is it's as capable of it as an old leather bound one," Samuel explained.
May bit her lip. She knew that too well. The section in the library dedicated to the notebooks wasn't exactly uniform.
"Well, sorry for calling you a creep. I can see why my dad would have wanted to reach out to others about this. Though he never told me about any of this. I found out that he had a lot of secrets," she explained.
"So you didn't know about the notebooks?"
"Oh, I knew about those. For as long as I can remember, or at least since I learned to read and write, I would watch him write in them, and he would let me write occasionally as well."
"Did he ever tell you what the name was that he gave them?" Samuel asked, causing her to shake her head. "Inspirabooks. That's what he called them. Notebooks that inspired you to write. Though others call them gateways, but I rather like his word for them."
"George had a way with naming things, that's for sure. Speaking of which, Casterpen? Flintbeard? How did you guys come up with those geeky names?"
"Casterpen always said that when he was writing with a pen in those books, it was like he was casting a spell. For me, well, I got the name my freshman year. I, um, I, uh, set my beard on fire. It was an accident! I was playing a tabletop role playing game, I was the dungeon master, and wanted to make the experience more real so set out candles and accidentally caught my beard on fire. So after that they called me Flintbeard. I didn't mind, I think it, uh, sounds kinda cool."
May snorted in laughter at his explanation. She covered her mouth with a hand to cover her smile. The look he gave of shame, and then a smile and shrug made him look childish. But a child with a full beard. Apparently it hadn't had any trouble growing back, but then she didn't know how long ago that had been. With the thick beard it was hard to tell how old he was.
"What?" Samuel asked, suspicious of her chuckle.
"It's just that, you're a geek."
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No! Not at all. I'm kind of a geek, too. Though I've never played a table top game. But I'm not about to tell you everything like that, I mean-"
Just then there was a huge thump on the ceiling above them. The sound made them both jump and look at the ceiling. Whatever hit had caused the small chandelier to start swinging slightly.
"What was that?" Samuel asked.
"I don't know," May admitted, slowly getting up from the table.
"This house isn't haunted, is it?"
"Not that I know of. At least, I've never seen or heard anything before."
"Uh, ok. Then what was that sound? An old house settling?" Samuel looked around. Despite obviously having been renovated and updated for safety and comfort reason, if not also for luxury, the place was obviously very old.
"Not something that loud. That came from the observatory," May said, heading for the door.
"This place had an observatory...? Wait! Don't leave me alone," Samuel cried, realizing she was going to check it out. He followed on her heels, more out of not wanting to be left alone, then curiosity of what the loud thump was.
Down a hall and up a spiral staircase to another hall lined with doors. Samuel kept looking around, the place was clean and well kept but still old fashioned with wooden chair rails, wallpaper, and even old paintings.
"Wow, this place in antique," Samuel whispered. "You sure there's no, um, ghosts?"
"I'm sure. Haven't seen any, and I grew up here," May said, intent on a door at the end. She grabbed the handle and immediately pulled away.
"What's wrong?" Samuel asked.
"The handle is freezing cold! Like ice!" May said, sticking her hand under her armpit to warm it up.
"Let me try," Samuel reached for it, barely touching it before pulling his hand back. "You're right. What, is the air for the room set to freezing?"
"You can't adjust the temp for one room at a time," May retorted. She darted through a nearby door, a bathroom, and came out with a towel. Using it, she opened the door. A blast of cold hair kept them in place as they took in the icy sight. Everything was covered in a layer of ice.
The room's outer wall and ceiling were glass that looked out and up. Several telescopes sat about, some on tripods, some sitting dismantled on tables. There was a giant fixture in the middle made of brass with different loops and circles. Made specifically for calculating positions of stars. The walls that weren't glass were covered in either bookshelves or charts of constellations. It would have been a dream room for a star gazer, but now it was freezing cold -literally.
May noted that she could see her breath as she stepped into the room, glad she wore her slippers. She looked around at what might have caused the ice and noticed an orb of glass broken in half on the ground. The cold seemed to pulsate from the orb.
"What the heck is that?" Samuel asked, having followed behind her. At first he had been entranced by the room itself, but now the orb also caught his eye.
"I... I don't know," May admitted, going to pick it up. But the closer she reached, the colder it got, and her fingers started going numb before she was even a foot away. So she back away, and turned toward the door.
"Watch out!" she cried. He had his back to the door, and there was a huge figure behind him, holding a baseball bat. The figure hit Samuel in the head, full swing. There was a loud crack and Samuel fell prone on the ground, blood starting to pour from his head quickly.
May saw a big, white, toothy grin on the figure, as it pulled the door shut.
May ran to the door, but the locking mechanism was already frozen shut and wouldn't budge. May began to shiver, only wearing a light hoodie over a tank top, and her sweatpants.
Quickly, she bent down to check Samuel, rolling him over. His glassy eyes stared up at her, no breath coming from him. May's breath seemed to billow in front of her from the cold, her hands feeling numb, shaking uncontrollably.
"Hey creep, wake up!" she screamed, shaking his shoulders to no avail. Were her fingertips turning blue? She had to get out of there! But Samuel. "No... he's gone."
May went to move, but suddenly found she was stuck. Her sweatpants had stuck to the ice when she knelt down, and the ice was creeping up her legs. She tried to pull away, but everything was so cold it was like she was burning, her energy leaving her as she sat there watching the ice crawl up her legs.
"What the heck?" May cried, watching Samuel's pen scribble over the notebook. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she clutched the fresh cup of hot apple cider so tightly she trembled. The warmth in her hands was the only thing that kept her from shivering, as if the cold were actually creeping up on her.
Samuel paused in his writing and set the pen down, glancing up at her. "Do you believe me now?" he asked.
"I believe you're a sick maniac. Why would you write something so horrible?" May asked, unconsciously leaning away from him. "This is nothing like what I write. I write pure fiction, something set in an entirely different world! And you're over here murdering yourself, and me along with you. With what? Some magical freezing orb?"
"Well, I don't exactly control what I write," Samuel retorted. "It just, um, kinda writes itself, um, through my hand. But only when I use this notebook."
"So what's this supposed to be?" May asked, and suddenly a loud thump sounded from above them, causing the ceiling fixture to start rocking slightly from the impact.
"The future maybe?" Samuel asked. "I mean, uh, that did happen in what I wrote." He pointed to the ceiling. But May just sighed and stood up.
"But this house doesn't have an observatory, or any kind of fancy star gazing room. And there's certainly no such thing as an orb that will start freezing a room," May explained, standing up.
"But what about the man who knocked me out and killed me? That's got to be something," Samuel probed, not moving from his spot and looking suspiciously over his shoulder.
"Grab a sword from the wall. They may be somewhat decorative, but with enough force even a blunt blade can do damage," May sighed. "Or better yet, don't. I don't know if I trust you not to use it on me." She didn't leave her mug behind though. The warm drink in her hands was a comfort still after reading the icy fate Samuel had penned for her.
May had not expected Samuel to actually take what she said seriously. So when he reached up and grabbed a decorative broadsword off a plaque in the hallway, she was more than surprised. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugged and held it protectively in front of him. Shaking her head at his ridiculousness, while also eyeing him suspiciously, she continued to the spiral stairs and up. At the landing she looked down the hallway to where the sound would have originated. The door at the end was slightly ajar.
She started towards it when this horrible sound started. It was a mix between a howl and a cry, piercing and alarming. Samuel automatically jumped back, tightening his sword in his grip and pointing it towards the door.
"Not again!" May cried, and ran forward towards the door. With her shoulder slamming against the door, she burst into the room. Samuel hesitantly followed, constantly checking behind him for any signs of movement.
"Felix, Sylvester, quit it!" May said, and the crying suddenly stopped. In the middle of the room were two cats, one larger than the other. The bigger one, a ginger tabby, was laying on top of the much smaller one, a black and white tuxedo cat. Sylvester, the smaller cat, was wiggling to try to free himself from Felix. For his effort, Felix started kicking his back feet and play biting at Sylvester, who started yowling. "I said quit!" May grabbed Felix by the scruff and pulled the fat cat away from the black and white one. Sylvester took the chance and darted from the room.
The room itself was a bedroom, a king size four-poster bed was against one wall, with a side table on each side. There was a door to a closet, a dresser, an empty vanity, and a small bookcase. In front of the book case, laying on the floor, was a bowling ball. May sighed, set her mug down, and picked up the bowling ball. She turned it around, using her sleeve to wipe away the scuffs, before setting it on a stand on the bookshelf.
"They must have knocked this off while rough-housing," May said, picking her mug of cider back up and taking a sip. She turned back to Samuel, who had dropped the sword tip towards the ground. He still kept checking behind him, but seemed to have relaxed a little bit.
"Why the bowling ball?" he asked, nodding towards it.
"It was his favorite, George I mean. He loved to go bowling, and that was his lucky ball," May explained. She did a quick look-over around the room to make sure nothing else was out of place. Satisfied, she shooed both Samuel and Felix from the room before leaving and closing the door behind her.
"Did you really think what you had written was the future? I mean, have you ever written something before and it come true?" May asked, a hint of skepticism in her voice. Samuel slowly nodded, but it was hesitant.
"Well, bits and pieces are true. A detail here, a phrase there, but never the whole thing. But I can never tell what will be real and what won't," Samuel admitted with a shrug. He followed May back downstairs. He put the sword back on its plaque as they passed it on their way to the kitchen. May sat down back in her chair, and placed her chin in her palm, laying her elbow on the table.
"So, is that all you write, or do you write anything in a fantasy world?" she asked, glancing at the laptop also sitting on the table. It had been a few minutes before the noise when it had first been turned on, and was still booting up. The dinosaur of a computer had to update as well, which didn't help its speed. As relatively high-tech as George had been with upgrading the house, and not having to worry about money, he never upgraded his computer.
"No, can't say I ever have. Most of what I write turns out grim and rather terrifying. So many of the drafts of stories I have would be either thriller, mystery, or full on horror," Samuel sat in his seat across from her. He idly flipped through the worn pages of the notebook he had been writing in. His bag was on the floor by his feet. He had set it down on the deck before knocking on the door, and left it behind for their excursion through the woods. But he had brought it inside, and when he spotted her notebook next to the phone, immediately brought it up. Though he noted that May had yet to fully admit that she was aware, or had used such a notebook, he had shown her his anyway. She wasn't freaking out, so he assumed she believed him. She was Casterpen's daughter after all.
"So in what you wrote, is the meaning behind Casterpen and Flintbeard still the same?" May asked, taking a sip from her mug. There had been a moment of silence since May didn't know how to respond to his horror story remark. All she got in answer to her question, though, was a nod. The silence grew again. They were both waiting for the computer to boot up to see if there was any evidence of what all Casterpen had been up to. Whether or not he had contacted anyone else, or typed anything out. May had never considered looking through his computer, but then, she had never considered prying into her old man's secrets before. She also wanted to look through it to prove or disprove Samuel's claims about her father. Why would he invite a stranger over and not tell her?
"So, uh, was the notebook by the phone the same as this one?" Samuel suddenly asked, and May looked up at him surprised. She glanced down the hall where she knew the phone was sitting on a small table, with a small blue spiral notebook next to it.
"No, not that one. It's just for taking messages and notes," May told him.
"Not that one?" Samuel raised a bushy eyebrow.
"Well, there is a whole library room upstairs with several shelves dedicated to notebooks. Half of them are already filled, the other half waiting to be. I've only filled one and a half notebooks myself. And I know they're different from the notebooks George has in his office, considering the library is usually kept under lock and key when not in use," May replied matter-of-factly, like Samuel should have known this already.
"Ex-cuse me for not knowing everything about Casterpen, er, I mean George. He was kind of.... secretive. Half the time I was sure he knew more than he let on," Samuel shrugged.
"The old man had a lot of secrets, it's true," May sighed, taking another sip of her cider. The mug was almost empty. She set it down and stared into the mug before continuing. "Even though I grew up here, when he died... I felt like he was a stranger. There were people at the funeral I knew nothing about. I felt like I had been around just so that he knew who all this stuff was going to. Sure, he taught me to read, and write, but it's strange... after he died, it was like my memories of him began to get fuzzy."
"Sometimes when loss happens, the shock can effect memories. It's natural, er, I think," Samuel said, trying to sound comforting, but his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat, coughing a little in the process.
"I guess so. But... ugh, why is this so complicated?" May said, running a hand through her hair. "Like, I was totally content with how things were. It was simple enough, to me anyway, and then you come along and I'm questioning everything. Like seriously."
"What, you never thought to question a magic notebook?" Samuel retorted, closing his notebook.
"I never considered them magic," she replied. "Just a fact. They were there, they were different to write in, they were special. But the same kind of special as having a close friend hug you instead of a stranger. It's not like I teleport into another world when I write, I just feel more comfortable and free to write in them. I always thought that because my old man simply said they were special, that's what made them special."
"Then how do you explain what I wrote, and then something similar happening?" Samuel sounded a bit annoyed.
"Coincidence. If there had been a lot more similarities I might have freaked out. But just a noise? That could be coincidence," May shrugged.
"Freakin' a-. Ugh! I've spent years thinking of nothing else but these stupid notebooks, and you want to just go and write it off and completely phycological? That is just not fair! I mean-"
"And you would explain it with magic? Or something supernatural?"
"Well, it is-"
"Yeah? And how did you come across your magical notebook? Gifted to you from the heavens? Saw it falling from the sky and picked it up off the ground? How?"
"I... I, uh, um... There was this antique shop, and, uh, the owner was really, um, eccentric. You know, lots of jewelry, scarf over her head, heavy eye makeup, and looked like she should own a crystal ball. Well, she, uh, said all her whares were special. So, uh... it made them more expensive. I found the notebooks, five of them, a magic number she said, all tied together with twine. They all matched like a set. They piqued my interest, me wanting to be an author and all, so I bought them. As soon as I started writing in them, I just knew. You know?"
May glanced down at the closed notebook in front of her. A hundred thoughts whirled through her head. She wanted to say that yes, it was just phycological. Convince him it was nothing, and have that magic feeling all to herself. She could say it so easily. But would it be so bad to share that feeling with someone else? He did seem like a nice guy, despite his apparent oddities. Though most of it had been reaction to her attitude.
Cold. He had called her cold.
And then had her freeze to death in a story.
May licked her lips, the irony not lost on her. She sighed heavily, and emptied her mug of cider.
"The lady said they were special, giving that phycological tick. You could have written it off as nonsense, but believed it, so bought a pack of moleskin notebooks for more than they were worth."
"Oh, they were definitely worth it. I have a full draft written, that I'm working to edit now, and soon I'll be sending it off to an editor. Everyone who has read it said that it is amazing work, and will definitely get published. Because of these notebooks, I might just earn money for writing," Samuel said, a wry smile on his bearded face. He was stroking that beard now. May stared at him for a moment, then down at the notebook.
"Okay, well, you've written creepy alternate futures. That doesn't quite match up with what I've written, though. I just write pure fantasy," May glanced at the computer to find it had finished booting up, though didn't see what she had expected. The wallpaper was the same, a picture of the house from the front. But the icons were different. May had remembered seeing it before, the screen covered in so many icons, you could count the empty spaces on one hand. It was busy and annoying.
Now there was only one icon right in the center. A text document.
It was titled "to May, when I'm dead".