GOLDEN BOTTICELLI TAROT: 9 of Wands

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Shivers

“No!” Jason yelped when the chain of his bike broke as he turned the corner. First the snap and then the pedals limp under his feet. He teetered on the bike, braked, and hopped off before he hit the ground. 

Jason puffed his bangs out of his eyes. Of all places, here. He would have to walk his bike through this street instead of zipping down it like always. It wasn’t the street he dreaded, but one house; the house. 

Jason began his uncomfortable trek, the bike rattling beside him, and thought of the myriad of legends and stories he’d heard about the place. The sun set in the horizon and the last rays of orange and pink faded into a blue darkness. Wind high above blew the copious clouds into zip-like patterns, so that the sky looked marred by giant claws. A storm threatened.

The house was dark, like a cave, and as Jason approached it, his stomach tightened. He gulped. He couldn’t remember when someone had lived in the house. The weeds overgrown, the wind rustled through the tangled branches, the iron-barred windows dead and black. The gate, hanging on one solitary rusty hinge, creaked open and shut.

People spoke of murders long ago and strange happenings ever since. Jason had experienced nothing, but he’d never lingered long enough. The wind howled a ghostly moan through the door left open before time immemorial. The clang of the broken chain set his teeth on edge.

Another story spoke of strange creaks and noises and shadows appearing across the windows. Jason’s knuckles were white on the handlebars. He considered dropping his bike and running all the way home, but that meant returning for it, and the house was creepy any time of day. And Dad would ground him for life.

The scream, like a crying child, cut through the night and Jason stopped cold by the gate, heart booming in his ears, rooted to the spot.

“The baby,” Jason muttered, recalling the tale of the baby who’d died, yet still cried in the night. A cold, dense, electric wind blew around him, and Jason shivered under his thin jacket. He resumed his walk on wobbly legs at the quickest pace possible with the cumbersome, useless bike.

A movement out of the corner of his eye stopped his heart. His knees buckled, and he whimpered. Jason willed himself not to look, but the curious little sprite inside him turned his head to the house. Something flew by the soulless window and dashed across the yard. Soft treads sped towards him.

A dark figure appeared through the gate and crossed the glistening pavement. The streetlight flashed on its eyes as they fixed on Jason, the pointed ears illuminated by the lightning strike through the darkened sky. A crow cawed, and it scurried away.

“Stupid, stupid cat,” muttered Jason. Relief melted his tense muscles, his heart still in his mouth. Jason leaned the bike on his legs and slid his clammy hands up his jeans. The cat wailed again, baby-like, and Jason picked up the pace.

At the end of the street, he gazed at the dark, looming house. Thunder rumbled. The house still spooky as ever.

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