The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp set upon the table. And silent, save for the quiet ticking of a clock. Behind him, a door was firmly closed, sealing away whatever light may have shone through. The window to his left offered no remedy as it was night; only stars illuminated the derelict street below.
The man's name was Thomas Redding. A university student studying in computer science, he held no beliefs in the supernatural, believing those who practiced such fantasies to be nothing short of con artists. Yet still he found himself in this strange place. The decision was not entirely his own; the dreams has kept him afraid of sleep, endlessly tormenting his thoughts, until he found himself forced to place faith in the unknown.
The woman before him, her name was simply known as Isabella. She appeared to be of the same age as him. It was only by the recommendation of his friend that he had decided to seek out this magician, in a place no map listed, otherwise he surely would not have come so far from home. Her smile was stern yet calming, enticing him to place his trust in her, for what other choice did he have?
The clock slowly ticked away as he took time to collect his thoughts, as if time itself held no worth here. Indeed, perhaps it did not, the concept seemed perpetual as he considered what could become of this liminal night. Nothing, surely? Of course, Isabella was nothing more than a child who had yet to escape her fantasies, correct? Thomas wondered, yet the unsteady feel of this place caused his doubt to waiver. And so the clock continued to echo through the dusky room...
"I see you here before me," calmly begun Isabella, "yet no words escape your lips. Have you no words to say? You do not believe the experiences yourself, perhaps? You would not be the first. Tonight, I trust you will find the truth."
Thomas looked up from the table. A pack of cards stood at the left of Isabella, one which he recognised as a set of tarot. Fortune telling cards. While he found their designs to often be fascinating, he did not believe in any abilities they were claimed to posess, and for a brief moment he hesitated. What was he thinking? This was ridiculous, he was placing his faith in nothing more than a pack of cards to ease his mind tonight.
"Strange dreams... I have strange dreams. Each night, they keep me awake, as I fear to experience the same event over again. A friend mentioned you to me. Said you may be able to help, it was her recommendation that led me here."
Isabella studied the man meticulously, and he felt as if she was predicting his every word. He felt uneasy but did not mention this. The same silence hung over the room as before, their exchanging of words only a brief respite to break the silence. Part of Thomas wished for her to once again break this uncomfortable atmosphere. Anything; there was not a single thing that could darken his thoughts any further.
Again, Isabella spoke, her voice as soft as before. "Dreams, you say? What kind of dream is recurring? It is not the first time I have heard of this, many have came to me with this problem. They often signal insight into one's own mind and what troubles them. Other times, they may offer a vision of the future."
"There is a staircase," replied Thomas, hesitantly, "and my father. He is walking ahead of me, ocassionally glancing behind, beckoning me to follow." He shuffled around uneasily. "The staircase is dark but there appears be a light up ahead. We keep trying to reach it. I will always wake up before the dream ends, however... none of this is what concerns me. My father died before I was born. I have not seen many photographs of him, so it is strange that such a dream would constantly repeat itself."
Isabella leaned forwards slightly, resting her head on her palms. "This kind of dream often symbolises change, entry into a path the dreamer may never have imagined. A light at the end of the staircase shows there is good fortune waiting in the near future. Your father, how much do you know of him, exactly? Was he a kind man? Mysterious, perhaps? It sounds as if he will be the means of such changing tides."
"Westley Redding. He was a businessman, travelling around the world, but I never knew much of his business. My mother has never spoken about it. She may not know herself, either, she always told me he was secretive man. Whether he was in America, Egypt... he always seemed to have some kind of business in Egypt. But very rarely was he at home. Only around the time I was born did he begin to work closer to home. On the night I was born, he was meeting some officials in London, unable to stay by my mother's side. But he promised he would come over as soon as possible."
Isabella listened, not daring to intervene. But Thomas noticed a look of recognition cross her face when his father's name was mentioned. Nonetheless, he continued with his story.
"This also happened to be the night he died. Shortly after his meeting was over, the doctors called to tell him his son was born, and he drove over to the hospital straight away... the car crashed. His body was unrecognisable, the car was wrecked beyond compare." Thomas began feel uncomfortable. "Please, I would not like to talk about this."
Isabella nodded calmy, then replied. "I am sorry for your loss. I apologise if my questions have been intrusive. But, and I promise this, I will help you understand everything that has happened. Here, tonight. Whether they reveal secrets of your father's death or otherwise, I assure you, the truth will be known."
After he regained his composure, he remembered how she had seem to react at his father's name. "Do you know my father? Whether you have met him before... I would not know. As I said, he had a tendency to keep secrets," asked Thomas.
Isabella thought for a while then, again, spoke. "The name sounds familiar. But I do not believe I have met him, no. I know so many names. Perhaps I had mistook him for someone else. Businessmen, they are not the kind of people who you would find in a place like this."
Outside the window, the sky darkened further. What time was it? The clock read 9:30. Silence filled the room again, their exchange of words nothing more than a respite as the bitter aura returned. It felt as if even the ticking of the clock had slowed down, like time itself stood still. The man yearned to break the silence once more. Despite the supposedly caring nature of his host, dread insisted that he should leave as soon as possible. And never, ever, should he look back.
So he urged to get this encounter over with. "You are a fortune teller, or so I'm told. Help me. If your craft is as true as you claim, you should be able to do that much. See into the future or whatever. I need to know why I am having these dreams. Who was my father, where does this staircase lead?" Thomas was growing impatient, if only slightly.
"It is not an exact science, unlike that which you may be used to," replied Isabella, "but it will offer some degree of insight. I am sure what you will learn will be of use. It won't reveal to you any certain events, only an outline; whether it is good, bad or neutral. What decisions you should make. All these kinds of things, this is my craft. Tarot."
She drew the box of cards to the center of the table. On the front was a complex illustration on a purple bacground. On the side of the box was the portrait of a man, holding a ceremonial dagger in one hand and a book in the other. Thomas could not even begin to comprehend what this illustration was made to represent. Nor the identity of the man, but he could guess he was an occultist of some sort, perhaps the inspiration behind this specific deck. But what difference was one pack of cards from another?
"This is said to be one of the most powerful decks available." Despite her often relaxed composure, Isabella could not hide the pride behind her smile. "It is very rare. Passed down from my mother. Created by Seth Ibrahim, a magician who I look up to greatly. If I'm being honest, despite the sheer impossibility of such an event, I've always wanted to meet one of his descendants. He had... powerful magic flowing through his bloodline. His descendants would surely carry his ability for the craft."
"I can understand your enthusiasm," remarked Thomas, "but I'm afraid I don't know who that man is. Can we cut to the chase? I wouldn't like to spend any time more than necessary. I'm sorry, but all I want is some insight into what's going on with these dreams."
"That's... understandable, I suppose." Isabella appeared disappointed as she lifted the deck from the table. "After all, I feel you do not hold much interest in this subject, most don't. Most are skeptical. I've seen it myself, I know these things are real... but I'll accept your request. This idle chatter gets us nowhere; if you want results, then I shall show you."
Isabella solemnly took the cards out and begun to shuffle the deck. Her composure had returned, yet at the same time, it only made Thomas feel more uncomfortable. Perhaps he'd rather her bubbly personality, full of useless information, than the stoic stranger he had first met.
"I'm sorry if I offended you," apologised Thomas, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. These dreams have made me act irrationally, I can't think straight recently. But that is why I need your help. I can't allow my fear to get to me any longer, I need someone to clear my mind."
Calmly, Isabella replied. "So I will help you. I believe you would desire an introduction on how these cards work, yes? Perhaps we should try a simple reading? If you are not knowledgeable, I suppose this would be best. So, then, shall we begin? No use in wasting any more time."
"Go ahead," said Thomas, after a brief moment of silence. "Let me see what you can do."
Isabella took the pile of cards from the deck and began to shuffle them. "Alright. We'll try a three-card spread, a way of looking into the past, present and future. The first card I draw will allow insight into your past. The second into your present, the third into the future. I will tell you the meaning of each card as they are drawn so you understand what they represent. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
The lamp offered comfort into the otherwise empty feel of the room. Isabella begun to draw the first card, a vision of the past. It was barely visible but, under the lamp, Thomas could make out some details. It appeared to show a man hanging upside down from a tree.
"This card is the Hanged Man," Isabella explained. "It represents letting go. Often in the form of selfless sacrifice. Giving up something of one's own for the sake of another, that is what the Hanged Man represents."
The card was placed to the right of Thomas, nearest to the lamp. Soon after, Isabella began to lift another card from the deck, placing it next to the previous card. This new card lay at the center of the table. Further away from the lamp than the first, this one was more difficult to make out, only the appearance of what appeared to a thunderbolt could be made out. A tall building appeared to loom in the center.
"The Tower. An interesting card, this one, a sign of sudden and immense change. What kind of change, I wonder? Nobody can tell. It is unexpected, something you could never imagine. As this card is of the present, this change is likely imminent, it may be revealed before the night is over."
This statement made Thomas feel uneasy. This place was already making him feel strange enough, the last thing he needed to know was that anything at all could happen the moment he stepped outside this room. If he even stepped outside this room. No, of course he'd leave this place, these cards were meaningless. Why did he suddenly find himself believing in such devices?
He pondered over the supposed meaning of her words as the third and final card was drawn. This time, to the right of him; a large white circle dominated the card. The side with this circle was facing him while two dogs stood at the top of the card. To say stood would not be entirely accurate, as the card appeared to be upside down. Unlike the previous two, these seemed to be facing Isabella instead of him, a change which only caused him further discomfort.
Isabella spoke.
"And, finally, the Moon. It appears to be inverted. Hmm... very interesting, indeed. Usually, this card would represent unknown, a lack of spirituality, among other things. But when reversed, the meaning is-"
Her sentence came to an abrupt end. A look of shock ran across her face and slowly settled in. A smile grew, but this smile felt forced, as if trying to hide some kind of dark secret. Yet at the same time, it was a childish kind of smile, one arriving at the instance of something long anticipated, opening their present at Christmas to find it was exactly what they had waited for. But it still carried the same aura of shock which Thomas did not want to see at a time like this. Not when he had already been warned of an imminent change greater than what he could bear.
Impatiently, he attempted to keep calm, but could not hold back the rising fear in his voice as he tried to reason with the girl in front of him.
"Isabella? Is something the matter? What does this card represent? Please, tell me. I need to know if this concerns me. Concerning... as a matter of fact, this is a little concerning. I need to know. This card, what does it represent, please tell me!"
Isabella did not speak. She seemed to have frozen, everything seemed to have frozen. Dread gripped Thomas as he looked back down at the cards before him. The Hanged Man, the Tower and the Moon. He steadily rose from his chair, then began to walk towards the door. He didn't want to waste any more time in this place. As of now, it was exactly the last place in the world he wished he could be.
"I don't have time for games, Isabella," he angrily muttered. He didn't care if she heard him. "Child's play, that's what this is. Fantasies. You're messing with me, trying to convince me you're anything but a con artist, which I really don't have the patience for. I was wrong to come here. I'll be taking me leave, and hope I never have to run into someone like you again, someone who would take the death of my father and-"
As he gripped the handle, ready to open the door and leave this place forever, everything changed. No sooner had he revoked his faith in these so-called games than had it flung back towards him, harder than he could ever imagine. He did not believe anything would be able to surprise him at all after the events which were about to unfold. In this moment, the handle's cold steel brushing against his flesh, he could feel Isabella staring straight at him. He did not turn to look, yet he could feel her gaze piercing like daggers. And, at last, she spoke, beginning a conversation he would never forget for as long as he may live.
"Your father's not dead, Thomas."
( this is so amazing aaaaaaaaaa