Calista, Laura Rahme [best ereader for comics txt] 📗

And then something strange happened. Maurice froze. His light had shone upon a plant.

A plant? Here?

Maurice inspected the tall green shoots hovering over pebbles. They waved, as though… He tried to reach the plant which bore an uncanny resemblance to algae. A hard surface obstructed his hand.

Maurice stood back. It was algae. It seemed to live behind some sort of window.

He ran his hand across, attempting to feel behind the glass. But the structure seemed to never end. The plant he had seen was enclosed behind a set of glass panels joined together by a wooden frame.

The entire structure stood three feet from the ground and its glass panels reached up to his chin. Maurice calculated that it was over eight feet across.  Inside this curious glass container, he could make out eerie rocky formations and thin plants immersed in a liquid. How much had Aaron spent on this odd piece of furniture? Whatever it was, it would have cost a hefty sum.

A sudden rattling noise resonated in the chamber.

Maurice whipped his head round. He blew out the candlestick and stared out, with only his small lamp still lit. The sound repeated itself.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

There it was again. It came from the back of the cellar.

Seizing the lamp he’d left on the stool earlier, he swept it to his right, searching.

The far wall was blackened by a large shape. Maurice gasped. There it was! A shadow moved behind the mound of boxes. Now it shifted across. The movement was swift and now the shadow had disappeared.

“Calista?” Her name had shot out of his lips. His entire being fought this idea, but he could no longer suppress what he felt.

“Calista, are you there?” he repeated. His own words made no sense to him, yet he wished for an answer.

And there was one. A violence shook the trunks. The boxes rattled with such force that two of them tumbled down with a crash. Maurice advanced, drawn to the noise despite his mounting dread. He wished to know. Was she there? Was she doing this?

The rummaging redoubled. Pieces of wood, and dust flew above the stacks.

The cellar went dark.

The light! The light in his hand had waned. Maurice worked frantically to revive it, but something hard hit him, and he flinched. He gripped his shoulder. Before he could make sense of it, another metallic object – this time a broken latch – was flung at him. He doubled over in pain, his hand clasped over his burning eye.

The light returned. Maurice looked up, stunned by what now flew in his direction. It was too late to dodge it. The small cage struck him so violently that he cried out.

“Why?” he yelled. “Why are you doing this?”

Maurice blinked. The blow to his temple had almost knocked him senseless. Blood trickled from a gash near his eye, blurring his vision. And yet, he could swear that something was there, right there, among the trunks.

He shone his light across the distant shape, his head throbbing. He gasped. A shrouded and crouched form sat among the trunk stacks. It seemed to observe him. Its slow movements were odd, otherworldly.

“Calista? Is that you?”

As though it understood his words, the draped figure rose tall, then taller still, its shroud lifting and billowing in the dark. Maurice stepped back. The fabric danced, uncanny, furious.

Maurice ran. Fear choked him as he made for the staircase. Daring a glimpse, he saw the ghostly shape rush from the trunks and towards the stairs. It came for him… He thought no more and raced up into the narrow corridor where the past clung to him. Therese’s voice rang in his ear, but still he ran, up the stairs, towards the ornate door, and out of the cellar. Was she close? Was she after him? He did not know. He dared not look. He slammed the door shut and locked it fast, horrified that he might have witnessed the rage of a Greek peasant girl risen from the dead.

No sooner returned to his bedroom, Maurice bolted the door. Tonight, he would rather feel closed in than meet with a remnant. He sought for his cigar case and lit up with trembling fingers, still eyeing the door. He was terrified Calista’s spirit might fly in.

There was no denying it any longer. She was real.

Chapter 9

Calista

Corfu, 1836

“WHEN Calista was born, her grandmother fell ill and died. That’s how her family suspected. Here, we have a belief. People can hurt you with only a look. We call this, kako mati. It is like they have placed a curse on you. With kako mati, anything can happen, usually something bad. You might fall ill or lose property, or even die. Here, we say that those with blue eyes can easily give you the evil eye. At first we did not believe Calista had anything to do with it but her older brother also fell ill and died when she was six months old. You see, Calista was born with blue eyes.”

Aaron could not believe the nonsense pouring out of the villager’s mouth but as always, and as he had done for months, he allowed Calista’s uncle to speak animatedly about his family. It was mid-afternoon and the two men were leading a donkey to the harbour where Calista and her father waited with the fishing boat. Aaron’s grasp of Greek was much improved now, and through conversation with villagers, he was astounded by these superstitious people.

“My brother tried everything,” explained Sakis. “He took her into town. He saw a priest about vaskania. The priest made a special prayer and he spat on her three times. It came to nothing. When Calista was ten, her best friend, another girl from the village, fell ill and died.”