Grimoire of Black Magic

Eva's mother told her to never ever open the tome of black magic in her room.

It was official.

The world sucked. People sucked. Everything sucked.

Eva plodded home--yes, walking on foot since her car broke down--contemplating how the gods had cursed her with such bad luck.

She had waltzed into work that morning promptly at 8:05 a.m. determined to enter as much data as she could into the company's proprietary system.

Five minutes later her boss, Alter Thurgood, a pudgy, balding man wearing an ill-fitting suit and button down shirt, appeared in the entrance of her cubicle. As was his habit, he removed his wire-rimmed spectacles and mopped perspiration from his face with a handkerchief. "Eva, my office. Now."

It was never good when Alter visited employees.

Especially when uttering the dreaded phrase still echoing in her ears.

It was bad--she knew it.

Her heart raced, hands trembling as she stood to go. On top of that, her knees began to knock both literally and figuratively which then threw her balance off. She tipped sideways, thankfully able to catch herself with a hand against the faded gray felt covering the cubicles five-foot-tall walls.

Alter cleared his throat. A disgusting, phlegmy sound that made her stomach lurch. "Any time today would be great."

He had zero patience or manners. She knew it. Everyone who worked here knew it. But the knowledge thus far had proved useless.

"My apologies, Mr. Thurgood," she murmured. "Lead the way."

The annoying swish of Alter's chubby thighs rubbing together in the ridiculous polyester trousers he wore provided a frantic cadence to their journey to the executive floor. Who wore polyester these days? she asked herself as they moved along at a near jog to the office across from the stainless steel bank of elevators.

Alter opened the door, held it open for her--an unusual act since he had poor manners to begin with--and followed her into the room. "Have a seat, Eva, we need to discuss your tardiness."

Her heart leapt like a startled colt before it began pounding frantically in her chest. She sank into the vinyl-covered chair ignoring its whine as air escaped the cushion beneath her derriere. On a good day she would be mortified at the flatulence-like quality of the sound.

"M-My tardiness?" she stammered. Blood drained from her hands, knuckles blanching white, as she clenched them together on her lap.

Alter peered at her over the top of those ridiculous glasses that made him look like a bloated owl minus the wisdom. "You were late yet again today. In fact," he continued after clearing his throat loudly, "you haven't been on time the entire month of October. Do you have any idea what today is?"

"Halloween. B-But I can explain, sir!" He would understand her exhaustion and lack of sleep if she told him about her mother.

The woman who raised her, taught her about the beauty of Halloween and pumpkins and fall and candy corn. The same woman who lay motionless in a hospital bed in the living room of their tiny house. The same mother she cared for from 6 pm each evening until 7:30 am the next day when the personal care aide arrived to take over.

Her mouth dried up like a desert, not a sign of saliva anywhere. It was so dry, in fact, that she couldn't moisten her lips which desperately needed the moisture. Why hadn't she brought a bottle of water or a cough drop? Rattled, she continued, "I'm...I've been getting very little sleep, you see. My mother is terminally ill. I care for her at night. With traffic and all, the lady who cares for her while I work is sometimes late. And I oversleep sometimes." The final words, her admission about oversleeping, came out in a squeak.

Alter grunted in the same manner as a piglet rooting at its mother's teat before he opened a file on his desk. He sorted through the papers inside for a moment before glaring at her.

"HR noted that you ran out of family leave six months ago before I came on as an executive." He pronounced his title slowly, ex-ec-you-tiv, with added emphasis on the final syllable. "There's nothing I can do about your plight. You have an hour to pack any personal items from your cube and vacate the premises. Your severance pay and wages for this pay period will be in your account by end of day."

This was it. Horror of horrors--her worst nightmare. She'd been fired! How would she be able to pay the utility bill this winter?

Eva returned to her cube on wobbly legs. She numbly packed the few personal items she had brought to work--a toothbrush and toothpaste, lip balm, and hand sanitizer--before turning to the cactus she had named Fred sitting in a terracotta pot on the book shelf. Fred was shriveled. Like a raisin. Sunken in from lack of water, Fred's usually healthy green now merged on a nauseating yellow-green.

Fred was dead.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Unwilling to tarry any longer lest her cubemates began to question her departure, she walked swiftly to the elevators. Once in the lobby, she gave security the plastic name badge identifying her as an employee of Acme Tech.

At least she had her mom. And the house belonged to them. it would give her time to find another job. The ongoing internal dialogue continued as she caught a city bus, rode it to the station a block from her home, exited with the energy of a slug, and trudged home.

Fall leaves swirled around her in miniature tornadoes of pumpkin, crimson, lemon, and rust as she walked. She admired Halloween decorations at each house she passed. The attempt to avoid the emotional pain of losing Fred and her job worked to a degree. At least she didn't cry.

Once home, she walked past the aide with a mumbled explanation about being sick. Somehow she had managed to ignore her mother's frail frame in the bed. The need to give her a kiss in greeting. To inquire about her day. She ignored the hiss of oxygen pumped through the nasal canula attached to her mother's wrinkled face. She ignored the heavy scent of antiseptic.

She ignored it all while moving toward her mother's bedroom on a quest to find the book. The one her mother warned her to never touch, open, or read.

The door creaked open. The space was quiet, filled with velvety darkness on its periphery broken only by the bedside lamp left on, just as her mother wanted. A delicately woven silver web decorated a tiny portion of the ceiling and wall in the golden pool of light cast on the ceiling. It fluttered as air moved through the stillness. An errant wave beckoning her to enter. And so she did.

Eva's eyes fell on the archaic item. It sat by the lamp, the black leather cover etched with the words Grimoire of Black Magic.

A shiver raced up her spine as she made her way inside the room. Her hand trembled faintly as she reached for the book, picked it up with reverence, a single finger tracing the words etched in the leather.

The same finger caressed the edges of the cover. Curiously. Lovingly. She had been fascinated by the book as a child, so much so that her mother had taken it from her with a firm "Tsk Tsk," and wagging finger then locked it away. This was the first time since that day that her eyes fell on its smooth cover.

Her mother had shared she dabbled in black magic on occasion, but refused to practice the dark arts after Eva's birth. Why? she wondered. Surely magic could solve most of the problems that had arisen today, dank and smelling of mold like things shut up in a basement without air.

The warning her mother gave echoed inside her mind.

Never. Open. The. Book.

But why couldn't she learn about magic? The car would be magically repaired. Acme and Alter Thurgood would see the error of their ways and hire her back...wouldn't they?

It couldn't hurt to just look inside, she reasoned.

Her fingers lifted the cover. Eva gasped at the beauty of old handwriting, beautiful cursive that spoke of hours spent with a quill and pot of ink.

The first page was unremarkable, so she moved on to page two. Blank, just like the first.

"How strange." She turned another page.

"How silly," she giggled. "Who leaves blank pages in a book? What a waste of ink and parchment." She turned the page, unsurprised to find it blank as well.

Eva sighed. There was nothing special here. But she continued out of curiosity and nothing more.

The fourth page was as unremarkable as its brethren.

"I should just look at the entire tome. No harm, no foul, right?"

The next page revealed an intricate drawing. A swirling mass of black and white, reminiscent of what she suspected the inside of a tornado would look like. It was as stunning as anything da Vinci created.

Dark. Entrancing. Beautiful even.

Something twinkled in its depths.

"Stars," Eva whispered. "How lovely."

She had to touch it. The work was so detailed it looked real.

Dark. Powerful. Twinkling.

Something called out to her as the same finger that had examined the cover and turned the pages moved closer.

And closer.

And closer still.

Until a zap of silver energy burst from its center, latched onto her finger, and pulled her into its depths.

Darkness enshrouded her as she fell.

Boneless. Weightless. Floating in cobalt ether laced with the scent of sulfur.

The only sound a powerful baritone that intoned: Welcome to the land of nothing.

Down she fell. Her eyes closed, exhaustion and defeat sucking her into its dark embrace.

Sleeping would be lovely. Who needed Alter or Acme?

Not her. Not her mother.

Fuzzy warmth teased her exhausted mind. A soft snore followed in its wake.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

A sharp rap on the door woke her.

Her eyes snapped open, lids blinking rapidly to chase away the dream. The book’s heavy weight in her lap startled her so thoroughly she leaped to her feet without thinking.

The book fell on the floor with a resounding thud.

“Eva, where are you?" her mother's voice called faintly from the living room. "Come sit with me, my lovely girl."

But it couldn't be, could it? Her mother was comatose, dying--at least, that's what the doctors told her.

Then the voice came again, louder, stronger, laced with love. "Eva. Come here now."

Confused by the dream of falling, she returned to the living room, her heart pounding at the thought of what she might see.

Her mother sat up in bed, blue eyes sparkling, a brilliant smile lifting the corners of her mouth. A rosy flush filled her cheeks that spoke of life and energy and something Eva couldn't understand.

"Come sit with me, darling," her mother commanded in the soft voice etched love and something Eva couldn't decipher.

"Yes, mother," she agreed, making her way to the bedside where the aide beamed at the unfolding tableau, her hands clasped together at her waist against the starched scrubs. A standard uniform, Eva had learned over the past few weeks--or had it been months?

Shockingly, Eva found she could barely reach the edge of the mattress. Her mother caught her hand, encouraging her to place a foot in the railing to assist in the upward journey. Just like the time she learned to climb the jungle gym at the park. When her legs were still short and stubby.

Wait...what? Eva glanced down, legs on autopilot as they traversed the frame.

Several realizations popped into being within the confines of her foggy brain.

Why were her legs shorter than they were this morning?

And where had those patent leather Mary Jane shoes come from, the ones with lacy white socks she hated to wear on rainy days.

Her eyes drifted higher to the bright yellow with white polka dot dress (her favorite from back in the day) with the multi-tiered skirt trimmed in lace.

Her favorite outfit from...first grade?

Why was her day going in reverse faster than the speed of light traveling through the stratosphere?

There was no time, for now, to decipher the riddles assaulting her.

"There, there, dear," her mother soothed. She stroked Eva's face, scooping a loose curl behind one ear before cupping her cheek. "I thought I heard a sound from my room. It wasn't just touching the book, was it? You opened it. Would you mind telling me what happened?"

Eva found her head bobbing emphatically in the same way the bobble head dog sitting on the dashboard of their car did on road trips. She would never lie to her mother. Ever. She loved and respected her more than anything. She was the best person in the world. Better than Alter Thurgood and Acme. Better than her absentee father who had deserted them shortly before Eva's birth.

"I fell down a deep, dark hole filled with stars and strange sounds. Then, I woke up. I dropped the book, Momma."

A warm, loving embrace enveloped her. Eva's eyes rounded, her mouth opening in a soundless O, the realization that she was somehow a child and her mother was awake, living, breathing, talking. Momma wasn't dying like the doctors said.

"You're not in trouble this time, dear Eva," Momma soothed. "In fact, I am so very glad that you opened the book."

"What happened?" Eva inquired, desperate to solve the riddle. "This morning the car broke down, I got fired, then I fell in the hole, and when I woke up you called my name."

Momma pulled her in for a gentle, soothing hug. "Sometimes life makes no sense, Eva."

Eva didn't understand and knew she would remain forever in the dark--clueless about the day she opened the forbidden book.


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9/30/25 Thank you to Damon Nomad for the thoughtful review which helped fuel an edit which I hope improves the story.