The 16th Of September

• Lulu Oaten, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

Bethany shrieked as a great wind rushed through the apartment. Windows rattled. Ancient books were swept off shelves, dust sent dancing about the air. Letters and crumpled papers gathered in the centre of the room to form a swirling tornado.

All of her research and her artifacts, jumbled out of order and spun through the air by that blasted gust of wind. She placed the pitcher she had been studying down on her desk, purple liquid slopping over its sides. Annoyed, Bethany jumped from her chair and grabbed at the papers flying about as she stormed through the study, then the rest of the home, slamming windows shut.

By the time she returned to her study, the room was in complete disarray. What struck Bethany as odd, however, were not the objects silently floating in the centre of the room or the previously unlit candles now flickering with life. Instead, a small, mysterious parcel that had appeared on the desk caught her eye.

Heart thudding, Bethany hurried to the parcel and ripped it open.

Inside was a small golden sphere. The trinket shone in the candlelight, intricate patterns down its sides. If she recalled correctly, it matched the unidentified object in her history book on Salem. It most definitely spelt trouble.

But so did Bethany, so naturally she picked it up, the trinket warm in her hand. The warmth was comforting, for the fierce wind had made her cold. She held it close, letting the warmth intensify, penetrating her skin. The heat that began as pleasant became sinister, so hot it overpowered the woman so wholly that she did not remember who she was or what she was meant to be doing. Bethany could not let go of the sphere, despite her desperate sobbing and pleading. Hair liquified and ran down the woman’s warped face. Bethany’s mouth opened in a silent scream as skin dripped onto the carpet, and a horrible smell filled the room.

A series of similar events occurred that night, each within a 10-kilometre distance of one another. I could not tell you how, or particularly why, but the only visible connection between the six deaths was a small, golden object, and a passionate interest in things that should perhaps not be looked into too deeply.

If Bethany were alive to tell us about a certain Tuesday evening, she would describe a freak wind that was strong enough to lift objects off tables, and she would describe a bewitched golden object that caused her a great deal of pain. However, the 79 other residents of Sunny Apartments, upon interrogation, recalled the evening as ordinary. Not one resident noticed the shadow-like creatures that lingered in the hallways that night, or the strange aura surrounding the building the following morning. No one mentioned the odd, rotten smell that drifted through the air vents.

Because, the evening of Tuesday the 16th of September, was as plain and unremarkable as any other, of course.