Page 2 of The Book of Unwritten Stories

Peering through the window, she saw the crowds were building. Salem was in the full throes of October madness. Another hour and there would be a line outside the shop extending past the end of the block. Everybody loved Salem in October. The shops were buzzing and the crowds made it impossible to shop in peace, but it was fun, there was no doubt about it.

A sharp knock on the window made her start a little – that was rude even for the tourists, and they weren’t open for another fifteen minutes. There was a woman standing there, hands cupped across her eyes as she peered inside. She knocked again, more insistent this time, and Morana sighed but opened the door to her in case it was a delivery.

The woman was wild-eyed, and clutching a paper bag to her chest, she rushed inside.

‘Can I help you? We’re not open yet.’

‘I need to give you this.’

Morana looked at the paper bag she’d slammed onto the glass counter.

‘You do, what is it?’

The woman shrugged, her eyes darting around the shop as if to make sure there was nobody listening. ‘It’s a book.’

Morana wasn’t the most patient of people and she sighed a little louder than she meant to.

‘Why do you need to give it to me?’

‘Well, I want to sell it to you. I can’t afford to just give it away.’

‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to speak to Kim, the owner, she decides what to buy for the store. It’s out of my control.’

The woman’s red hair was scraped back into a tight bun. She was shaking her head so hard the bun was starting to wobble. ‘It has to be you.’

‘I don’t know you, why do you have to sell me a book?’

She shrugged. ‘Are you Morana?’

The woman’s wild look of desperation made her a little bit wary, and Morana wasn’t sure if she should say yes or deny it. Her own inquisitiveness won the battle.

Her voice hesitant, she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Then this book is yours. It told me so and your name is written on the inside cover. Morana Williams. You must take it; I don’t want it in my house another minute. It’s far too dangerous. I never knew stuff like this was for real. I thought it was all just a bunch of hocus pocus to draw the tourists in and make shops like this money, but since I found it…’ The woman’s voice trembled; her hands were shaking a little too.

Morana stared down at the brown paper bag, her interest piqued, her confusion apparent. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Trust me, neither do I, but some things are not meant to be dabbled with, and this is one of them. I have been fretting about what to do with it for days. I thought I could burn it, but I was too damn scared to even try. Then last night I had a dream that I had to return it to the rightful owner who happens to be you, and the god damn thing even showed me where to find you. I would appreciate a little contribution for my honesty in returning this to you.’

Morana was intrigued, as far as she knew she hadn’t lost a book with her name in it. She hadn’t written her name in a book since high school. ‘How much do you want for it?’

‘Five hundred dollars.’

Morana coughed. ‘I haven’t got five hundred dollars to my name.’

‘I think you’ll find you have, the book told me you did.’

‘And I think you need to leave,’ Morana replied. She didn’t know what dose of meds the lady was on but they clearly weren’t working. ‘I don’t know you and I haven’t lost a book with my name written inside of it that’s worth five hundred dollars. This is crazy, please leave and take the book with you.’ Morana was annoyed now; sometimes being alone wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

The woman tried to pick the book up off the counter and Morana saw a red pop of something zap her fingers through the brown paper bag. The woman screeched and let go of it. The faint smell of singed skin assaulted Morana’s nostrils, and she looked at the woman now blowing her fingertips that were burning brightly.

‘It’s yours whether you want to buy it or not. I can’t take it back now it’s found you. Inside it are unwritten stories and spells that I don’t understand, but you must if it belongs to you. I’ll come back for the money in seven days; you can leave the cash in an envelope behind the counter. I don’t need to see you again. I don’t want the book back so don’t try and get someone to force it on me. I just want the cash for the inconvenience that your god damn book has brought into my already difficult life.’

The woman turned and ran towards the door, leaving Morana staring after her, wondering what the hell had just happened. It wasn’t even eleven a.m.

TWO

Lucine English was laid to rest in the English family plot tucked away in a beautiful, peaceful corner of Harmony Grove Cemetery. The crisp, autumn air had a chill in it that the sun which kept breaking between the clouds could not warm. There was an ancient, huge beech tree overhanging Lucine’s grave next to which were vacant plots ready for Dora and her aunts, Lenny and Sephy English. It was important that they were all reunited in death.