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By Frederick The storm raged out side. Wind shock the ancient building, and pulled at the trees trying vainly to coax them from their bed. The sky was lit on a regularly erratic basis, giving ample illumination to our grim task. Inside our sober little party was protected. At least that was the plan. Outside, the world protested our presence and our goal. Unfortunately for the outside, there was nothing that could sway us from our chosen course of action. It was set firmly in our minds. It was prophesied as well, the task would be done even if we were not the ones to do it. The room was filled with candles, though none were lit. The windows were all unshuttered, letting the light in from the lighting and full moon. The paintings that covered the walls came from all the world, with all times being represented. Artists from Leonardo da Vinci to Sesshu graced the walls. All were defaced, covered with the dark symbols required by the rite. From the ceiling dangled wires into the centre of a chalk figure, three solid circles, with the two smaller being partially inscribed and intersecting with the larger. Against the wall, ashamedly displaying the time, rested a grandmother clock. Bong! So it began. On my right, Walter started the chant. From him, in a counter clockwise direction, the rest joined in, in time with the hollow notes from the clock.
Ca-boom! The bolt of needed energy that struck the lightning rod atop the temple flowed through the wires into the chalk inscription. The flash of light blinded most of those that were gathered, but all held their position around the carefully drawn lines on the floor. The white chalk darkened and turned black before wholly burning and releasing its smoke. The candles burst into flame. As one, the seven members of our band cried out "He has come again!" The storm stopped. Outside, the rain ceased to fall and the wind allowed the trees their grip in the earth. All grew silent. As each of our eyes adapted to the dim light of the candles, we saw what our plans had brought forth. In the middle of the room sat a mouse. It looked at each of us in turn, then sat and groomed its whiskers. The silence was oppressive, dominating. Then a voice to my left tentatively asked, "is that all?" Slowly, I turned to face him. He gaped back at me with wide eyes once he saw the anger burning within, my fury fuelled by his ignorance. "Great things start with a mouse." |