Hauntings (9 page)

Chapter One

              Back in his office Oswald began selecting books to take home with him. At this point he is not certain he will ever return to this school. He is looking to escape from what has over the years become his prison. Some rare books contain a nugget, a kernel of wisdom, a flash of truth. Those are the books he is not willing to leave behind.

              An old tome bound in ancient leather came to mind. Written in druidic runes occasionally interspersed with more ancient glyphs of a language yet unknown to him. Oswald in that instant determined he would have that book no matter what. He left the stack he selected from his own books on his desk. Grabbed his old brown satchel and headed out of his office and down the hall, out of the building and across the campus, past the pigeon stained statue of Randolf Carter and up the walk to Orne Library.  Crossing the threshold Oswald was greeted by the librarian.

              “ Haven't seen you here in awhile professor.”

              “Too busy with classes, but now I may have a bit of free time for some research if all goes well.”

              “Will you be needing the key?” The key she referred to was the key to the private library where books too valuable, too ancient, and too dangerous to be allowed public viewing were kept.

              “No, not today.” When Oswald was given formal tenure by the board of regents he celebrated by making a copy of that very same key for himself, so he would have unrestricted, unrecorded access to the private library. Oswald had that key with him today. 

              The private library wasn't exactly hidden from the public, but it was placed such that it was unlikely to be discovered by the casual visitor or student. Oswald walked out of the librarian's sight before he backtracked to the westernmost corner of the library, where he found an unassuming green door that could very well be a door to the janitor's closet. He opened it and climbed down the steep  stairs to the bottom then followed a narrow corridor to find the locked door to the humidity and temperature controlled rooms of the private library. He fumbled for a moment to find the right key for this door. Finding it, he unlocked the door, opened it to a small gust of stale air as the air pressure equalized between the private library and the narrow corridor outside its domain.

              So many books, so many scrolls, so many tablets of clay lay before him, how could he choose just one or even just enough to fit in his satchel, but not so many that it would be obvious he was taking more out of the library than he brought in. No suspicious looking lumps or bulges for the librarian's eyes would be acceptable, not today.  Oswald walked past what may be the only surviving copy of the Necronomicon in the world, that was not where  his interests lay. If he was to take only one book that book would be the untitled druidic text that had so haunted his dreams.

              It had to be here. Oswald would not, could not admit that the book was only a figment of his imagination. It must be here. Shelf by shelf, room by room Oswald searched the private library until at last he found what he wanted . Laying flat on the shelf bound in distinctive tan leather that to the discerning eye could only be human skin. Oswald grabbed the book and quickly slid it into the deepest inner pocket of his canvas satchel. He retraced his steps out of the private library, locked the door behind him and carefully climbed the stairs back to top and paused. He placed his ear against the wood of the door. Listened carefully for any sound that would indicate someone was nearby, someone who would witness his coming out of this particular door. Nothing. He grabbed the door handle and softly pushed. He blinked back at the bright light coming from the general library and heaved a sigh of relief noting that no one was there to witness his theft.

              Oswald walked across the campus and down the street to his home. A Queen Ann styled home built late in the previous century, it was painted gray when he bought it, at the time he thought the color depressing and told himself he would have to have it painted someday, some cheerful color. He never got around to it, but one autumn day some years ago he felt uncharacteristically motived and ran down to the local hardware store and bought a gallon of bright red exterior paint. He painted the door red. He had hoped it would brighten things up a bit, but once it was done and he stepped to the curb to give it a look  from the street  he saw it looked more like a bloody gash in the face of his home than the cheerful nuance he had hoped for. With that realization his motivation for home improvement faded and never returned. The house is bigger than any single man would need, but at times Oswald liked to have his space and wouldn't consider selling it. Now though it was too close to the university and he was eager  to get away.

              Oswald climbed the stairs to the study next to his bedroom and carefully opened the satchel. Taking out his ill gotten treasure he gently placed it squarely centered on the blotter on top of his desk. The tome bound in human skin sat silently calling to him. He reached for it, then thinking better of it let his arm drop to his side. It was a few minutes before Oswald could bring himself to look away from the book let alone leave the room, but in his own time he freed himself from the book's spell and went downstairs to the kitchen to prepare his evening meal.

              By modern standards Oswald's kitchen was remarkably large. There was room enough for a work table to prepare the food, a large refrigerator, many cabinets for storage, a pantry, a chest freezer and a table and chairs, and room for more if the desire should strike his heart.

              He took a can of tuna from the cabinet, opened with the electric can opener, drained the oil into the sink and grabbed a fork from the drawer. He was in no mood to wait, and not one to favor high dining. He took a bite of the tuna chewed a moment then swallowed absently. Wondering what will come from the meeting tomorrow with the dean. He should prepare himself for the worst he supposed, but he longed to be free from the mundane responsibilities of a teacher. It was time to be free to do research into the arcane, the unknown. Free to discover the truth for himself and then to follow that truth where ever it led. He stuffed another mouthful of tuna into his mouth, then another. Soon the can was all but empty and Oswald caught himself scraping the sides of the can with his fork trying to get the last bits of the fish. The fishy taste and aroma bought something old, something ominous to the forefront of his thought for a brief instant then it was gone.

              “No matter,” he said aloud to himself. “Soon,” he said absently. Oswald tossed the empty can in the trash.  Feeling suddenly awash with fatigue, he walked to the living room and lay on the couch. Soon he was asleep, mouth open and snoring to wake the dead.

              Bells, clanging bells ringing louder and louder!

              “What the hell?”  Oswald opened his eyes to the murky dark . He fumbled for the telephone almost dropping it to the floor before he got it to his ear.

              “What is it?”

              “Oswald, it's me, Aleister Dyer.” Oswald thought, The dean must be up to something. He never is so informal as to call himself Aleister, at least not to Oswald.

              “What is it, Aleister?”  Calling the dean “Aleister” felt awkward and artificial. That just wasn't the working relationship they had developed over the years. Actually to be honest Oswald did his best to ignore the dean. Keeping his distance to keep his peace of mind. Out of sight out of mind was his motto.

              “Oswald, I was about to go to bed when an idea struck. An idea that might be of interest to you.”

              “Okay, what is your idea?”

              “I have a cabin out  in rural Illinois. Its really out in the sticks. The closest town is a little burg called Dixon. Nothing much there, but you can buy the necessities at the general store. I think its called Oliver's.”

              “Okay, Aleister what's that to me?”

              “ I was thinking, that instead of giving up on Leicester, I mean walking away from your career, all the years you've put in here, all the work you've done may be too drastic a step, one you might not be able to come back from.”

              “Who said I would want to come back?”

              “No one said that of course, but just stop and think for a minute. You need to get away. I can see that, I believe you, but what if after awhile say a few months you decide you miss the day to day interaction with your students. What if you begin to miss the intellectual stimulation only university life can give you. What then?” Oswald hadn't thought that far in the future, not seriously. He felt driven by an inner desperation to get away from his life here in Leicester, to get away from the day to day grind of the university, but what if after some time free from his obligations he felt a tinge of desire to come back. Oswald didn't reply. After a pause Aleister continued.

              “What if we arranged for you to take a leave of absence, a hiatus. Let's say you take the time you need, time to get away from Leicester and the university do some individual research if you want. If you feel up to it work on writing a book. Not that you have to. It's not a precondition. Your tenure will stay effective until you say otherwise.  If you want, you can use my cabin. I haven't used it in years so it may need some cleaning up. No there is no may about it. I'm sure it will need a thorough cleaning before you'll be comfortable, but it's yours for the taking if you want it, for as long as you want it.”

              Oswald was taken aback by the gesture. He had planned to resign in the morning, perhaps quit outright without notice. He hadn't expected such a generous offer.

              “How can I turn down such an offer? Thank you, Aleister.”

              “It's settled then. Stop by my office in the morning I'll have the key ready for you. Don't worry about you're classes. I'll find a substitute for you. If all else fails I'll mandate a grad student to pick up your classes.”

              “That's a relief,” Oswald lied. In truth, he hadn't spent a thought on his classes or his students since escaping from Tiffany in the corridor outside his classroom.

              “I'll leave the keys and anything else that comes to mind that you may find helpful together and give them to my secretary. You can pick it up at her desk if I'm not available.”

              “Will do. Thanks again, Aleister. I won't forget this.” Oswald wanted to get off the phone. The dean had made him a generous offer and proved to be a nicer man than Oswald had ever suspected, but still that didn't mean they were going to be best buds overnight. In fact Oswald felt even more awkward now that Aleister had proven so many of his previous assumptions about the dean wrong.

              “Don't mention it. Of course if you feel the need you can always dedicate your next book to me.”

              “I'll take that into consideration, but now If I'm going to take off to your cabin tomorrow I better get off the phone and start packing.” Oswald hung up the telephone not waiting for a reply, not wanting the conversation to go on any further than necessary.  He leaned forward and reached to turn on the lamp on the end table next to the couch. The lamp cast a warm glow over this corner of the room. Oswald looked to the clock on the mantle. Eleven forty-five. He had slept through the afternoon, evening and much of the night away. Emotional exhaustion had taken it's toll. But now that he was up, it was time to get moving. He climbed the stairs to he room dug in the back of his closet and found an old suitcase, not much more than an overnight bag really. Used only for those rare occasion where he would go on an over night trip to attend or give a seminar.

              “This won't do,” He said aloud throwing the black bag onto his bed. He decided he would have to get some cardboard boxes and do at least a little serious packing if he was going to take the dean up on his offer for any length of time. He opened the top drawer of his dresser and threw underwear and socks into the over night bag. He opened the next drawer and pulled out a pair of blue jeans. Jeans he bought years ago when he had thought he might try his hand at gardening. He thought he might still have a few bags of seeds laying around somewhere and wondered if seeds had expiration dates. Should he keep them another year or simply toss them out? He folded the jeans leg to leg then rolled them to fit in the bag. He dug a bit in the dresser and found a couple of polo shirts. Too sporty for daily wear at the university just right for a stay in a cabin in the deep dark woods. He chuckled at the thought. All Oswald knew of Illinois he learned from a brief layover at O'Hare Airport. He thought of that harrowing experience more as being processed through a machine than a stay in a state that would have “woods” of any kind. He did remember reading an article in the paper on how Chicago had broken it's previous record with a little over seven hundred murders so far that year. More murders in Chicago than soldiers  killed in Afghanistan in the same period. It makes a man proud. The Bears weren't winning, the Bulls weren't winning, the White Sox weren't winning, not to mention the Cubs multiplying losses, but by God they still were the murder capital of the world! Chicago may not be the woods, but it sure as hell is a jungle.

              He walked to the closet, opened the door and selected half a dozens shirts from their hangers and threw them on the bed next to the bag. With a little effort they too would fit in the bag. A question came to mind. Where the hell is Dixon, Illinois? Oswald left his bedroom and checked the bookcase in the hall. He was sure he had an atlas there or at least a road map. Nothing of use there. He decided he would pick one up in the morning. There will be time enough in the morning. It's not as if I have a schedule to adhere to any longer.  Oswald thought of emptying his medicine chest to be sure he would pack his razor, shaving cream, toothbrush, and so forth, but he then thought he will need all of that in the morning before he left. His mind ran to the refrigerator, should he throw out his food? He had no plans of coming back before it all rots. He could put it in the freezer keep it safe for when he returns, that is if he ever returns.