Porter's Bookstore - Final Chapter

Chapter 5 - Ashes to Ashes

Brandon went still as a statue, his eyes wide with fear. He swallowed and tried not to shake as Alan carefully shoved the end of his shelf between the two boards, pressing the edge of the book, pushing it back towards the middle of the shelves.

“There,” Alan whispered. “Let’s get it out of here, okay?”

The other two nodded and stood slowly, carefully, and began to walk the hallway to the incinerator. They were hit by the heat spilling from the open door of the huge metal furnace as they entered the room. The furnace’s body and piping writhed with blue-white arcs of static and twining snakes of light, the entire thing crackling and snapping at them.

“Okay,” Alan started. “Put your boards up across the incinerator’s opening, but don’t touch the furnace, and don’t let go until I can shove the book into the flames.” He looked at each of them in turn, they nodded. “I’m not sure if it will burn completely up if I can’t get it all the way into the flames. And I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything about it once it’s in there.” A large crackling arc jumped from one furnace pipe to another, emphasizing his point. “Don’t touch the furnace,” he said again quietly. “I’m not sure, but I think the book might be able to kill anything that touches the incinerator once it’s inside.”

“Yeah,” Brandon muttered and Angela nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They stepped up to the open door.  Heat flowed out from the furnace in hideous waves, the interior a flickering orange and white hole of fire. All around them the furnace snarled and snapped, the static charges reaching out and biting their arms, their faces. Against pure instinct to run, they held the boards up to the door, the book sandwiched between like the dark, horizontal pupil of some demonic eye.

Alan set the end of his board against the spine of the book and shoved with every once of strength he could muster. The furnace gave off an incredible flash of light, electric charges flew from every surface to every piece of metal in the room - buttons, belts, necklaces, doorknobs, hinges, screw and nail heads, everything. The fire within flared, the heat climbed to an intensity that could not be withstood and Brandon, Angela, and Alan threw up their hands, dropping the wooden shelves to the floor and falling backward away from the inferno. The air filled with the smell of burning paper, glue, and leather; and then by the smell of burnt flesh, hair, and bone.

~ ~ ~

Jessica took the martini off the beach-side bar and placed it on her tray. She carried it out to the patio and set it on the small round table next to one of the deck chairs.

“Here you go, Mr. Porter,” she said, her voice light and pleasant. “I think John has finally figured out how to make them the way you like.”

She glanced at the older man. He was sitting with his eyes closed, his head resting on the back of the deck chair, his mouth slightly open.

“Mr. Porter,” she said quietly, a soft smile on her lips. “Your table will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He didn’t respond. She watched his chest for a second, felt a little silly for doing so, but he wasn’t a young man anymore.

“Mr. Porter?” she called again and took a step toward him.

“Mr. Porter?” she called louder and placed her hand on his arm.

The arm beneath her fingers crumbled away, leaving a large divot of empty air where skin, muscle and bone should have been. Jessica screamed, stepped back and caught her foot on the chair leg, jostling it. Mr. Porter disintegrated into a pile of ash and dust on the chair’s cushion and the cement patio. An evening breeze swirled around the screaming waitress, picked up the remnants of the old man, and spread him out over the beach in front of the Island Paradise Hotel, dispersing the subtle scent of brunt paper, glue, and leather with the old man's ashes as it passed through.

~ Peace and finality

Porter's Bookstore - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Descent

 Brandon set his foot on the first iron step and flinched. A static charge raced across the twisting scrollwork under his shoe, but all he felt was a mild buzzing beneath his foot. He took another step, pulled gently, but firmly against Angela’s weight.

“I’m good,” he said by way of encouragement. “Come on. You can do it.”

He took another step and felt the boards shake as she followed him onto the stairs. He could hear the high-pitched whine of her voice as it hummed from between her lips.

“You’re fine. Take another step.” The shelves shifted and twisted slightly in his hands. “Angela…”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “but I can’t. There’s too much twist in the stairs. I can’t hold on to it like this.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw what she meant. He was three steps down, trying for the fourth, and she was on the top step trying hard not to lose her grip while avoiding the railing.

“Okay, okay. Just carefully walk your hands down the shelving, maybe six inches, and try from there.” She blinked and then started to inch her fingers forward, toward the book.

“OhgodOhgodOhgodOhgod,” she mumbled as she moved forward.

“Good,” he said when she took a step down and closer to him. “Let’s try again.”

“It’s in my face. I can’t see where I’m stepping,” she said.

“Try to put it more over your right shoulder, sort of over the railing.”

He felt her shift the boards and then started to lose his footing on the step. He tried to lean the other way, over compensated and his elbow touched the center support. White lightning flew up his arm to his shoulder and down to his hand.

“SHIT!” he snarled and recoiled.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” Angela cried out.

“It’s all right, just don’t let go.” He took a breath and blinked a few times. “Okay, the bad news is touching the metalrailing hurts like hell. The good news is you don’t get sucked into the book.” He peeked up at her. “You all right?”

“Yeah.”

Brandon started down the stairs again, tilting the shelves slightly to the right to help Angela maneuver behind him. There was a sharp snap and she cried out, “OW!”

“What happened?”

“I hit the railing.” There was a pinched quality to her voice, pain and fear combined. “I’d like to avoid doing that again,” she said softly.

“I know. Come on.”

They slowly made their way down the remaining stairs, turning counter-clockwise around the sizzling center support pole; each of them sucking in sharp breaths of air as the stairs reached out covertly and singed a knee, a hand, a shoulder. A minute later Brandon touched the wood floor at the base of the staircase. He walked forward, Alan stepping to the side of the shelves again, his board raised, watching. Brandon turned toward him.

“Where are the stairs to the basement?” he asked.

“In the back corner, next to the bathroom,”

“Please tell me they’re wooden and straight,” Angela said softly.

Alan nodded. “The incinerator isn’t far from them, either.”

“Where’s your manager?”

“He’s up front counting the till. The barista is probably doing the same at the coffee counter. When they’re done they’ll switch and count the other till to be sure there aren’t any mistakes. It’ll take about ten minutes before they switch. We can make it down there before that.”

“Okay, wait,” Brandon muttered, “I need to turn back around.” He set the boards on his head once more, pirouetting underneath as he repositioned his hands. He nodded at Angela as she lowered her end to a more reasonable height. “Let’s go.”

There was a loud crack behind her as the stairs threw out another arc of static. She saw the bright flash of it reflected in Brandon’s eyes and flinched.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just a little further.”

“I know,” she said through clenched teeth. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He nodded and started to walk backwards toward the unisex bathroom at the back of the store. She followed and grimaced, her steps uneven and clumsy.

“You okay?” Alan asked her.

She shook her head, but kept walking. “I think I twisted my ankle when I ran down the stairs for the water bottles. I didn’t really notice until now.”

“Do you want me to take the boards?”

“No. I’ll be fine, it just smarts, that’s all.”

Alan gave her an unconvinced look as she stepped gingerly on it again. “You’re sure.”

“Yes. Besides, I’d rather keep that damn thing where I have some control over it, no offense.”

“None taken.”

They walked in silence for several steps and then Alan shook his head. “Did you see the dust?” he asked softly.

“Inside the book?” she asked.

“Yeah. On the ground. What do you think…”

“People,” Brandon said quietly. Alan looked at him. “Maybe insects, maybe a mouse or two, but mostly people.”

“But how?”

“Whoever touched it before me must have knocked it out of the shelf. It was on the floor when I found it and I was going to put it back.” He looked at Angela. “I didn’t see anyone when I was pulled in. Just the pages, the words, and dust all over the ground.” She blinked a few times and swallowed. “It must have been a while before I touched it. Hours.”

“Christ,” Alan whispered. “How the hell did it ever get in here in the first place?”

“I don’t know, but we need to get it out,” Brandon replied, looking over his shoulder at the “Staff Only” sign on the door behind him. “Do you have a key to get us down there?”

Alan jammed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “Yeah, here.” He turned to the door and unlocked it, pushed it wide open and flipped on the light. “Be careful, the steps are a little steep.”

There was a menacing sizzle and snap along one wall. He looked back at the stairs and cringed as static leapt between the metal brackets holding the wood railing in place. “Don’t touch anything,” he muttered.

“Why?” Angela demanded. “I thought you said they were wooden!”

“The steps are and so is the banister. But the brackets that hold the banister to the wall are metal. And they’re throwing sparks.”

“Jesus! I can’t do this!” she wailed.

“Are there railings on both walls or just one?” Brandon asked.

“Just one.”

Brandon turned to Angela. “Okay, we can do this. We’ll just lean on the wall without the banister and stay as far away from the railing as we can. It’s what, twelve steps? We can do that. Come on.” He backed toward the basement door. “Alan, go down there and get the incinerator ready. Once we get to the bottom I want to throw this damn thing in and get the hell out of here.”

“Right. Be careful,” Alan said and disappeared down the steps. There was a loud snap followed by a curse.

“All right. All in one go,” Brandon said to Angela. “No stopping unless we absolutely have to. Remember, lean on the wall without the railing and go for it.”

Angela nodded. “Okay.”

They started down the stairs and pressed their shoulders into the blank wall. The way was steep and narrow and as Brandon reached the first bracket it flung out a spark and struck him in the thigh.

“Damn it!” he growled. Angela hesitated. “Don’t stop!” he shouted. “Just go! All the way down, go, go, go!” They stumbled and half fell down the remaining steps; both of them turned broadside to the wall to stay out of reach of the static.

Brandon came down hard on the basement floor, the last step taller than all the rest. He stumbled, lost his balance and fell backward, dragging Angela down the steps. She fell into the railing, right on top of a bracket, and screamed. The static charge flew up around her and sent her hair out in all directions, lit her face in an unearthly bright light. Brandon pulled the shelving with all his strength and she fell forward and to the right, still clinging to her end of the boards.

“Angela!” he yelled.

Alan came running from down the hall. “What happened?”

“We slid down the stairs…the electrical charges…I fell and dragged her into the railing,” Brandon stammered as he tried to kneel and still hold the shelving in place. Alan smacked the boards hard with his own, the vibration from the strike sending a different kind of electric jolt through everyone’s hands.

“Jesus! What the hell?!” Brandon shouted.

“The book!” Alan yelled back. “Look!”

“Oh God,” Angela managed to whisper as she also tried to kneel. “Brandon, don’t move. It’s almost to your fingers.”

 
~ Peace and vigilance