Chapter 4 Spin The Wheel
SPIN THE WHEEL
RAE
Going back for the umbrella didn’t help much. As soon as I opened the colorful parasol, a gust of wind ripped it from my hand and hurled it across the waterlogged parking lot.
By the time I caught the bus and made it home, I resembled the girl from the Ring with hair plastered to my shoulders and face. Nothing a hot shower couldn’t fix.
After confirming the rain hadn’t soaked through the box and damaged the cake, I showered and wound my long hair into a messy bun. Then I changed into cozy black and white flannel pants and an oversized black T-shirt.
Once downstairs again, I sighed. I’d tracked rainwater across the hardwood floor between the coffee table in front of the gray sectional and the entertainment center by the stairwell.
Grabbing a mop, I started cleaning.
As I worked, my mind drifted back to the peculiar interaction with the woman at the bookstore.
A normal person would’ve left the store when the power returned to the mall—right after I entered. A sane person would’ve high-tailed it out of the store the moment the woman started talking about wheels of destiny and offering free books straight out of an occult horror movie.
Apparently, I was neither normal nor sane.
There was a strong case against my sanity growing by the day, especially after the strange sensations in the bookstore.
If only I could tell someone what I saw. But I wouldn’t make that mistake. Ever.
After tackling the floors, I started on the apple crisp I’d promised Mrs. Stevenson.
The scent of cinnamon and baked apples filled the air, making my mouth water when I pulled the crisp from the oven.
Once it cooled enough to carry, I rushed the crisp and cake to the Stevensons’, using their awning to shield me from the rain. They needed to be up early for their drive, so I couldn’t wait for a lull in the rain to deliver the goods.
I couldn’t recall the name of the town where the reunion was taking place, but I knew they’d be away for the entire weekend. Either way, I had no intention of being up at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow unless I had to work.
Once back home, I ordered a mushroom-and-pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, mixed a vodka cranberry, and collapsed onto the sofa. I tucked my feet beneath me and grabbed the remote, flipping through the streaming options on the flat screen.
My gaze slid to the bag sitting at the end of the sofa, stuffed with my new books.
“Soul’s greatest need, huh? I’ve got all I need, lady.”
When the pizza arrived, I made myself another drink and flopped onto the sofa, kicking back with a slice and turning on a random movie.
After the storm killed the power and reset the router for the third time, I gave up on the movie. The cranberry vodka buzz kept me from screaming in frustration, but not by much.
Tomorrow will be different. I hoped, but doubt lingered and left me uneasy.
After putting the leftovers in the refrigerator, I mixed one last drink, turned off all the downstairs lights except the stove light, and grabbed the bag of books before heading upstairs.
A small landing led into two bedrooms. The spare room held my bookshelves and exercise equipment alongside a bed and nightstand for guests—like Maya on movie night.
After putting away the paperbacks, I carried the strange leather book to my bedroom.
I kept my space neat, except for the overflowing hamper beside the black dresser holding my makeup, perfumes, jewelry, and a couple of candles.
I turned on the bedside lamp and set my drink on a folded paper towel before sliding beneath the soft sheets and comforter embellished with dark watercolor foliage. The soothing scent of fabric softener enveloped me as I leaned against the headboard.
I took a sip of my drink and sighed, tracing the design on the cover of the book with my fingers. A strange warmth bloomed where my necklace touched my skin beneath my shirt. “What’s so important about you?”
The room illuminated with a flash of lightning. Thunder chased the light as strong winds rattled the windows.
One more sip—a toast to end this strange and terrible day—before I opened the book.
The pages were an aged beige with uncut edges.
Either the book was older than dirt or the publishers went all out to create a custom edition.
The text wasn’t in English, and the imagery on the pages reminded me of the nightmares that had haunted me since childhood.
One full spread depicted dozens of creatures tearing apart a woman, her mouth frozen in a perpetual scream.
I shuddered as I drained the last of my drink and flipped the page. Symbols, gibberish, and more unreadable text sprawled across the paper, decorated with brown-gray blood splatters that looked unnervingly real. Someone put in a lot of effort to make the book creepy.
Reaching the middle of the book, I stopped on a page written in English.
When the soul is heavy with weariness and the heart shattered, one must take fate into their own hands. When a strong heart stands on the precipice of potential destruction, it must cast fear aside or wither and die. When everything seems hopeless and the mind is held prisoner, one must believe.
Your Nyrith shall see you at peace again.
Rereading the passage, I scrunched my face. Why did a book that seemed ancient have a random page in the middle written in modern English? Even bibles on bookshelves today used “thou, thy, and thine.” Weird.
I looked down at the last line. “What’s a Nyrith?”
Blowing out a breath that made my lips sputter like I’d blown a raspberry, I dragged my gaze down the page.
With fear discarded and path chosen…
I twisted my lips to the side, eyeing the empty Mason jar on the nightstand.
I had plenty of reasons to feel like my mind was a prisoner, and boy, did it make my soul weary. My heart wasn’t broken, but who knew what the future held?
I laughed. “It’s just a silly occult game.” The alcohol was messing with me. “Might as well have some fun today.” Nothing else had gone right.
Setting the book down, I gathered the list of items required for the game: candles, a precious trinket, and a knife. I assumed a box cutter would work. I wasn’t going back downstairs for a knife.
I sat on the floor beside the bed, lighting and arranging four candles in a semicircle around the book as instructed. Slipping off my necklace, I placed it over the triangle symbol on the page that matched the one on the cover.
Frowning at the box cutter, I reread the line directing me to add drops of my blood to the symbol beside my trinket.
I needed another drink. It wouldn’t hurt; they barely had any vodka. I loved the strong, tart taste of cranberries more than the alcohol.
Nicking the pad of my thumb, I squeezed my finger until a few droplets fell to the page. I sucked the remaining blood from my finger while I continued reading.
Speak the words to bind your soul and heart to fate.
With a sigh, I read the bottom of the page.
With the declaration below, the Nyrith comes.
A forlorn smile crossed my face. “This Nyrith better bring me a car.” I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it all and recited the final silly lines the book instructed.
“Nyrith, my heart yearns for you. Nyrith, my soul needs you.”
A deafening crack of thunder shattered the silence, and lightning flooded the room with brightness before everything went dark again, save for the candles in front of me.