There Is An Occult Store Near The Seattle Underground Where You Must Never, Ever Go. And Here’s Why.
“I’m curious.”
“About what?”
“Why are fear and disbelieve the only two options when faced with the supernatural?”
Blackstone began to remove a pair of gloves that Tad hadn’t noticed he was wearing until now, revealing more rune tats on his hands and wrists. As Tad stood there, pondering the question, the strange man continued down the stairs into absolute darkness.
Tad hurried after him, attempting to keep the lantern’s light on Blackstone (for Tad’s benefit more than the man’s; he didn’t want to admit it but the idea of being down here alone with this tattooed creep was starting to make Tad uneasy.)
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Tad set the lantern down on a table, placing it beside a large crystal ball. Tad was always impressed with how the candle’s flame would cast through the orb and make the brick wall behind them look like it was burning; an effect that was convincing enough to startle his more timid clients.
Tad let the memory of those moments wash over him like a soothing shower, relieving the tension that had been building in him since he first started down the stairs. Tad was feeling better by the time he said, “This is where we hold the séances, every second Friday if you are interested.”
“The skull.”
Tad shrugged and started over to an old chest near the center of the cluttered room. He bent and slowly lifted the lid, revealing a wealth of carefully stacked human bones. “There you go. Skulls are $250.00, non-negotiable.”
Blackstone bent down and began to search through the chest. Carefully at first, stacking and restacking, then eventually tossing the skulls and miscellaneous bones noisily onto the floor.
“Hey man, take it easy. These things are hard to come by… You break it, you buy it.”
Blackstone shot him a look that suddenly chilled Tad’s boiling blood. The man’s once smug demeanor had turned to anger, bordering on panic. “Don’t toy with me, mate! Where’s the fucking Seidr Snare? I was told it would be here.”
The bowler hat slid off of him (though Tad hadn’t actually seen Blackstone reach a hand up to it), giving Tad an up-close view of a bald head almost completely covered in tattoos. The runes, organized into tight rows, filled the entire surface of his skull like some elven prop right out of Lord of the Rings. In the dancing light, the runes looked like they had been branded into his skin.
“It bears these markings,” Blackstone said, his accent all but gone now.
“Yeah, um… So, we’re about to close for real,” Tad said as he turned and started toward the stairs. There was a blur of motion behind him and Blackstone suddenly placed his bare hand over the glass top of the lantern. Tad swore he could hear the man’s flesh sizzle as the oxygen-deprived candle died. “What the hell?”
In a panic, Tad fished for the lighter in his pockets. He froze when he heard a guttural chanting, like some Tibetan monk chorus. Although he knew it had to be coming from the asshole standing next to him, it seemed to be coming from everywhere.