Moon Pirate (Priscilla Clarke: Book 1) Read online

  “Well, I’m a bit tired,” Priscilla said, taking her empty plate over to the sink. “I think I’ll turn in early. I don’t want to be late for work again today.” She let out an exaggerated yawn. “Besides, I really should work on getting that scholarship.”

  “Really?” Robert asked. “It’s only four-thirty. Won’t you get a headache? You weren’t up until noon this morning.”

  “Work starts at eight tomorrow,” she said, although the truth was that Demetria hadn’t given her any insight whatsoever into what time she was supposed to show up for work. In fact, the woman hand’t even asked her to go again the next day, but she assumed that she had to. After all, the woman was a bit off-color; strange, even. Priscilla got the impression that Demetria Agnes Trent wasn’t the type of woman to be direct and up-front about absolutely anything that she said or did. Priscilla would just have to wait and see.

  She arrived at her room and quickly hurried over to the window to close the curtains. She faintly recalled how much she used to love looking out the window when she was a child. However, since the day Belinda had disappeared, she could not bear it. Quietly, she changed into a pair of board shorts and an oversized T-shirt, then climbed into bed.

  Within a few minutes, Priscilla Clarke could feel herself drifting off into a light slumber, and then a very deep one. At first, she slept peacefully.

  And then came the dream.

  Chapter Two: The Dream

  It was dark and all Priscilla could see was the deep blue-black sky lit with stars that resembled the end of fireflies. The perfectly spherical moon rested high in its midst, shining down on her from the night above. Its off-white color glistened like the hair of an angel from its high-up location, and the whole world was peaceful. The wind blew just right; perfectly; the air was cool but warm at the same time, and it caressed her skin ever so gently.

  She was standing on a smooth, silvery rock that was shaped like seraphim’s toe, only much larger. Surrounding her were eons and eons of perfectly formed grass. It was a shade of deep green likened to that of an exotic rainforest and it could have easily been heaven on earth. From afar, Priscilla could hear a soft, running stream, its water trickling along some rugged yet beautifully-crafted stones. She felt completely relaxed and safe. There was nothing she could have ever imagined that would have been better than that moment.

  Priscilla closed her berry-colored eyes, her deep black eyelashes twitching as slightly and flawlessly as was possible against her milky skin. She heard a sound. Footsteps in the infallible earth, coming closer and closer to where she then stood. They sounded harmless, yet she could sense the imminent danger erupting as each foreign digit pressed lightly against the chocolate-colored dirt; leaving tiny footprints in their wake.

  The tiny hairs on the back of Priscilla’s neck stood up on end; every single one of them. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her perfect arms, which were neither too slender nor fleshy; but, like the rest of her, just right. As her long fingers began to tremble furiously with fear of what may be to come, she heard a voice. It was the voice of a child. Her sister.

  Belinda was perfectly preserved from that day nearly ten full years earlier; the day that she had been taken from Priscilla and her family. She still had the same blue eyes, the same pale skin, the same small, rounded face and long black hair. She was an exact replica of Priscilla herself, save their decade-long difference in age.

  The little girl first pressed her tiny finger to her lips, then quietly summoned someone--or something--from behind the shadowy green bushes that lay beyond where the two sisters stood. Dozens of other small children emerged out from past them. One was a boy on older than five. Priscilla noticed that he was equally pale and had similar features to herself as well. So did all of the other children, who ranged from barely two years old to about ten or eleven.

  Within minutes, perhaps seconds, even, there were no less than two or three hundred of these flawless and eerie young people, all gathered in a familial circle around a patch of fine twigs that had previously been gathered into a large pile about the size of a large apartment building. Priscilla gasped, and she was at a complete loss for words. Finally, she was able to muster the strength and the confidence to say something.

  “Sister,” she said. “Belinda, is that you?” She could feel the color draining from her lips so that it matched the hue of her light face.

  “Yes, Priscilla,” she replied, turning away from the other children. “We have to stay quiet now,” she added, speaking in her lowest whisper.

  “Why do we have to stay quiet?” asked Priscilla.

  “If we’re too loud, then they will find out you’re here. They’ll know that I brought you. They’ll get you in trouble. And me, too.” She had also begun to look frightened.

  “Who? Belinda, what do you mean? Are you safe here? Why haven’t you come home?” The elder sister was extremely troubled at the situation.

  “You have to leave now,” she said. “Before they catch you.”

  Priscilla reached her arm far out to where her sister’s tiny hand was fixed at her side. She tried to grab her; to pick her up and take her home, but it was too late. Before their hands could touch, the dream was over.

  Priscilla Clarke awoke with a start. She was covered in sweat, and more still poured from every pore in her body. The bed-sheets were wrapped around her and hung half-way off of the bed, trailing onto the floor. Priscilla’s heart was thumping heavily inside her chest. She could somehow feel its thick muscle against the hardness of her ribcage, and the beating sounded from within her ears and made a noise which was deafening to her head.

  She got up out of the bed and slipped on her purple flip-flops, then walked carefully over to her dresser. She looked into the mirror and saw how droopy and tired her eyes were. Dark bags hung below them, sinking them in and causing her to look worn-out. She then glanced over at the digital alarm clock that rested on her bedside table. It was three forty-three in the morning.

  So much for getting a good night’s rest before work tomorrow, she though. Oh, wait, it’s already tomorrow. Tomorrow is today. Damn it!

  Priscilla, realizing that she was extremely thirsty, dragged her aching feet across the floor and into her kitchen, turning the light-switch on to put an end to its darkness. Her vision was a bit blurry and her eyes were woozier than they had been a couple of years earlier when she tried beer for the first time.

  Dizzy, she rested her shaking hand on the edge of the brown marble countertops, then pulled herself up as much as she could and reached for a plastic cup inside the kitchen cabinet. She clutched it firmly between her unsteady fingers and staggered over to the stainless steel sink. She let the tap water run into the bright pink cup, then turned off the faucet and lifted it to her dry, dehydrated lips, savoring each and every ample gulp than ran down her burning throat.

  Once her thirst was satisfied and she had enough water to replenish her body for the rest of the night, or, rather, morning, she stumbled over to the leather couch that resembled her hair in its color. Her hand, now much more steady, fumbled along its grooves until they found the hard plastic of the TV remote. She picked it up and pressed her index finger firmly against the power button until the huge black screen filled with the color picture of the night-time news.

  Priscilla leaned back into her favorite seat, trying to relax after the strange nightmare that she had. Just then, the pretty blonde news reporter came on with the latest breaking story.

  “Good morning, Boston,” she said. “However, it is not exactly a good morning for some of us. Linda and Walden Hertz, a couple from our town, woke up to find their four-year-old son, Tommy Hertz, missing from his bed.” The screen flashed a huge picture of the child, and Priscilla became aware almost immediately that it was the same boy that had been standing with her much younger-looking twin sister in the dream she just awoke from.

  The tremor in Priscilla’s limbs returned. She hoped that what she now saw on the news was only a second part
to her horrid nightmare. However, when she touched her hand to the coffee table and rubbed a thick, glass coaster repeatedly with it and she could feel every minute detail, she became aware once and for all that she was no longer dreaming. This was real.

  Afraid that her parents would wake up and find her stirring about in the middle of the night, prowling in the wee hours of the morning, she tried the best that she could to re-gather her sanity and return to her own bedroom. Once inside, she turned on--and left on--the light, then jumped into her bed. She pulled the mangled covers back around her perspiring body.

  Eventually, Priscilla must have fallen asleep, because, when she woke up for the second time, it was past seven-thirty in the morning. Realizing that she had planned on being at work for eight, she quickly grabbed a pair of shorts and a tank top, then, after weighing the options of being on time and sweaty or late and clean, rushed into the shower.

  Once inside, she could feel the water gushing out over her skin as she lathered it up with lavender-scented soap. She let it run long and hot over her body, rubbing coconut shampoo into the tangles of her hair, then pulling a brush through it before rinsing. After she finally felt squeaky-clean, she got out, drying herself with a pale peach-colored bath towel, then dressing as quickly as possible in her basic summer clothing.

  Priscilla hurried down the stairs once she was dressed. Her mother was already sitting down in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee with some toast and jelly. She grabbed an extra slice off of a plate in the center of the table, eating it practically whole along with a few gulps from a giant mug of iced cappuccino.

  “So,” Mrs. Clarke said. “You’re eating breakfast before you take off today. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?” she asked.

  “It’s more of a bad sign, Mom,” she replied, wiping her mouth off on a napkin and throwing it down onto the table.

  “It is?” she inquired. “Well, that’s just perfect,” she added.

  “Anyway, I’ve got to go,” Priscilla said to her mother, licking a smidgen of jelly from her right pinkie finger. “I’m already late for work. Bye.”

  She got into her car, and, as she drove along the road leading to where Hear the Word bookstore resided, she could not help but think that she was being a bad daughter. After all, she had been blowing her mother and father off whenever they showed nothing but pure and utter concern--love, even. And, it had all started when she first got the job working for Demetria. She had only been officially employed there for about a day, but her reclusiveness had begun before that. She’d seemed distant to her whole family ever since she filled out the application; ever since she’d finished high school and taken on a job instead of going off to college. Perhaps it had started when she failed to earn the grades to get a scholarship. But, in Priscilla’s own opinion, it had started ten years earlier--on the night that Belinda disappeared. She shuddered.

  Just then, Priscilla heard a loud screeching sound and felt her foot instinctively slam down on the brake peddles just in time for her to avoid hitting an old-fashioned blue Mustang from the 1960s head-on. She rushed out of the car as soon as she had it back under control. When she looked up from the pebbly street to the buildings that lay in front of her, Priscilla was amazed to realize that she had gotten all the way to the very front lot of Hear the Word. That sent a deep shiver through her spine, and it radiated all the way up to the dark hairs on her head, leaving them wrought with a strange, tingling sensation in the roots.

  A bit shaken, but mostly undaunted, Priscilla proceeded into the entrance room of the bookstore. Demetria was behind the front desk, leafing through the yellowed pages of a book with binding that closely resembled that of the very book she had been forbidden to touch--so closely, in fact, that she was sure it was the exact same volume.

  When Demetria noticed Priscilla staring at her from the front door, the old woman slammed the mysterious book shut, placing it somewhere under the desk and far out of sight. She looked up at her new employee with anger in her expression.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’m just here to do my job,” Priscilla replied, adding, “Whatever that might be.”

  “Pardon?” inquired Demetria, looking rather offended.

  “Nothing,” she answered, becoming increasingly anxious.

  “Good,” Demetria responded. “So, child,” she began. “How did you sleep last night?” she asked, cocking her head off to one side.

  “W-what are you talking about?” Priscilla asked her, astonished. She had put in her best efforts with make-up to cover the dark circles from her night of lost slumber.

  “Last night was a special night, now, wasn’t it?” she asked boldly, grinning a strange and eerie smile. Priscilla didn’t know what to say.

  “What’s the matter?” the woman added.

  That was the last thing that Priscilla remembered before it happened.

  Chapter Three: Blackout

  When Priscilla woke up after passing out, she was still at Hear the Word. What is Demetria hiding, she thought? Why didn’t she bring me to the hospital? She really wanted to know. However, the only thing that was now completely clear to Priscilla was that her new boss was hiding something. But, what could it be? She decided to step up and ask her.

  “How did you know about my dream?” she asked Demetria, raking her fingers through her deep black mane out of frustration and anxiety. “What other kinds of things are you hiding from me? How am I ever going to be able to trust you? To be quite honest, I’m kind of freaked out right now and you apparently know what’s going on but you won’t tell me.”

  “Child, child,” Demetria replied. “You are still not ready to learn the truth. I must train you first. On the exact day that marks a decade since Belinda’s disappearance; that is the day that you will finally be ready. Your official training will begin today, Priscilla.”

  “Really?” Priscilla asked, adding, “Because you said yesterday that we had ‘much work to do,’ yet you won’t even let me look at any of these books.” She tossed her arms up into the air. “Wouldn’t you think that was, well, I don’t know, a little--suspicious?”

  “There is no need to fear me, child,” she said. “Now, come. Come to the archives. I have something to show you.” Demetria began walking past the dizzying array of books, all the way to her secret chamber of knowledge.

  Priscilla followed her into the forbidden room, wondering what she was about to discover. She bit her fingernails nervously as she approached the door to Demetria’s archives, then finally found enough bravery to enter. The room looked the same as it had the day before; with its uncharacteristic orderliness that contrasted with the rest of the building. Priscilla guessed that whoever had organized the archives so carefully had not been the woman that stood before her now. She wondered how Demetria--and whoever else had ever worked here--had managed to run a bookstore that did not sell books. Had they sold some at one time, long ago? Perhaps a time when the knowledge contained in the books had not been so guarded a secret? How did they keep customers away? Did they die?

  As she walked along through the rows upon rows of dusty volumes, Priscilla traced her index finger over some of their spines, feeling a sense of the ages-old abandonment that these books must have faced while tucked away in that very room. Great, she thought. I’m going crazy now; thinking that books have feelings and--even worse--that I can sense them. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I should get out of here...her thoughts trailed off, lost in the infinite depths of her own mind forever, or, at least for now. Priscilla did not know at all what her future might hold; only that her life would soon be changed.

  She noticed that Demetria watched her as she touched each and every one of the books in passing, yet, the woman did not seem to care. Only the day before, her employer would hardly let her stand next to one of the books, and, now, it didn’t seem to matter that she was violating that demand. Considering that Priscilla had subtly admitted being a witness, if not an actual participant, in the
strange occurrence of the night before, perhaps Demetria had come to trust her assistant enough to know that she meant no harm. After all, had Priscilla not stayed at work even after passing out from fright at her boss’ comment?

  It was then that she realized something that she had not picked up on before. It had been a test. Asking her about the dream had been a test. A test to see if she was trustworthy; If she was--Priscilla could hardly admit it--special.

  “It is time, child,” she heard the woman say. “Time,” she began again, “For you to see the first clue as to why you are destined to be so much more than you currently are.” Demetria was standing next to a shelf located towards the back of the room. It was rather secluded; sitting by the wall on its own; without any adjacent collections.

  “I’ll be ready when you say I am.” Her throat tightened.

  “Good,” replied Demetria. “Exactly what I was hoping to hear,” she continued. “Now, let’s take the first step towards your mission.”

  “What mission?” Priscilla asked, feeling somewhat confused.

  “That,” she answered, “you will not become aware of just yet.” The woman pulled her long, gray hair back into a tight bun, tying it with a time-faded blue ribbon that matched her simple sundress, which trailed past her ankles, grazing the floor with every step that she took. Then, Demetria reached for a thin, unlabeled book with an outer sleeve made of coarse, yellowed paper. It looked as if it had been on this lonely shelf for not a day less than one hundred years. There I go again, Priscilla thought. Thinking that a book could be lonely. She opened the front cover, gently pushing away some cobwebs that tangled through tiny little holes in the material of the binding. A spider the color of Priscilla’s hair crawled away from the web that had, by now, reached the floor.

  Instinctively, Priscilla began to reach towards it with the tip of her shoe. Just before her foot slammed down to hit the spider, Demetria grabbed her by the leg, startling her. Priscilla was surprised at how strong Demetria was for an old woman. Then, she gently placed her leg down in another direction, away from the spider. A stern glare formed on the woman’s face. She looked at Priscilla. “Never, and I mean never even try to do something like that, ever again.”