Darren stared beneath the suspended casket into the black hole, watching small bits of dark, wet earth crumble from the edge and slip into the void. A hollow numbness started in his head, enveloping him, squeezing out the reality of the folding chairs and freezing rain, and turning his dead brother, Ethan, into a complete stranger. The entire event might as well have been on television for all the connection Darren felt with what was taking place around him.

Crissy smiled. His six year-old sister’s almond eyes, a product of her Down’s syndrome, sparkled up at him, happy despite the rain that dripped from the rim of her black hat. It must be nice to be Crissy, blissfully unaware that their brother Ethan was lying in the casket. To her this was just another social gathering, a time when people came together and were nice to her. Life had to be easier when you didn’t totally grasp everything going on around you.

A cold blast of air shot down Darren’s shirt, bringing him back to his dreary surroundings. His tall frame shook involuntarily from the sudden chill. Before it completely passed, a blinding bolt of lightning flashed out of the dark sky, striking the ground behind the assembled mourners.

“Whoa!” Darren jumped up from his seat and stared where the lightning had hit, expecting to see the people in the back screaming, running for cover, while those closest to him jumped to their feet, terrified.

But nothing like that happened.

No one had moved. No loud crack of thunder shook the ground. In fact it was almost unnaturally quiet. Bishop Barlow droned on as if nothing had happened—except for a slight pause and a curious glance at Darren.

Matt and Amy Stevens, Darren’s parents, looked up at him, as if he had grown an extra hand from the center of his forehead. Darren sat back down, confused and a bit shaken.

What had just happened?

Crissy reached up, grabbing his hand and giving him a wry smile as if she understood.

There had been a bright flash of light. Even if it hadn’t been lightning, it had been impossible to miss. How could he have been the only one to have seen it? He looked back where the lightning had struck—or hadn’t struck. Nothing appeared amiss; there was no scorched earth; nothing was out of place; just people huddled together, shoulders hunched against the rain, straining to hear what was being said up front.

But something was different, or at least he was pretty sure it was. Those two strange men in the back–they hadn’t been there a moment ago. They weren’t part of the original group of mourners.

Under normal circumstances, two men in suits wouldn’t look out of place hanging out at a funeral. And they wouldn’t have even drawn Darren’s notice except for the weird way the sunlight played upon them, making them look a bit ghostly against the dark afternoon sky. But the closer he examined them, the more out of place they appeared.

Unlike everyone else who was hunched in a defensive posture to ward off the unexpected rain, these two stood erect, calmly surveying their surroundings, seemingly unbothered by the unpleasant weather. It seemed as if the rain was somehow missing them. It rained all around them, but didn’t hit them. Darren might be wrong, but it caused a small knot of fear to tighten in his stomach. For a moment, he thought he might be looking at ghosts—and, ghosts or not, he couldn’t take his eyes off them.

The taller of the two had elaborately styled blonde hair, flamboyantly swept to one side like the singer from his mom’s “Wham” CD. The man smiled like he wasn’t attending a sad event, but was here to greet a bunch of old friends. Completely opposite of the first man, the second was so obese he gave the impression of being nearly as wide as he was tall. He had a cruel face with a crooked mouth and a bald head with short tufts of hair above his ears. No rain dripped down the sides of his bulging cheeks or across the front of his glasses.

The utter strangeness of these two men freaked Darren out.

Finally looking away, Darren scanned the rest of the crowd. No one else seemed to notice this peculiarity about the men. No one else seemed to notice the men at all. He was suddenly reminded of the eerie stories his grandfather, Atavus, told him and Crissy: creepy stories of witches and warlocks and the freakish powers they had over nature and the world. This time the shiver that shook him came from inside.

Darren studied his little sister in her matching hat and jacket, shivering in the cool, wet air. The last time either of them had seen Ethan was right before he’d left for Perú. It was the middle of July when Ethan and his two closest friends, Jeff Tabor and Tabitha “Tabs” Winchester got on the airplane at Salt Lake International. The three of them were traveling with Utah State University’s Anthropology department for a five-week Ethnographic Field School in a small fishing village on the sea-coast called Huanchaco. A week before Ethan was supposed to return to the United States, Mom had received a phone call. It was from the University, a Mr. Jacobsen. It started off with, “There was an accident,” and ended with, “I’m so sorry.” It had taken a month to recover Ethan’s body and ship it back to the States.

Everyone rose for the conclusion of the service, the dedication of the gravesite. Following this, they would lower Ethan’s casket into the ground. Darren glanced back to catch a glimpse of the two ghostly dry men, but there was no sign of them. While everyone else’s heads were bowed in prayer, Darren searched across the rolling lawn that led to the curbside where strings of dark cars were parked. The men were nowhere. Maybe he’d imagined them—unless they really had been ghosts. It was a cemetery after all. He shook these thoughts away. The anxiety of Ethan’s death must have been messing with his head.

After the dedicatory prayer, those who braved the weather came by to express their final sympathies to the family. From somewhere, umbrellas shielded Darren and his family as they shook hands and listened to people share obscure memories of Ethan. They meant well, but Darren was ready for the day to be over. Crissy sat and grinned at each person who shook her hand. There was no impatience on her part, nor any sadness at the loss of her brother.

The casket had been lowered into place, and finally, the family was making its way down to the cars. Darren shivered again. Another blast of cold air slipped between his neck and collar. He was almost to the curb when the second flash of lightning struck near the burial site. He whipped around to see what it had hit. But there was no damage, no fire. Nor was there anyone else reacting to it.

Like the first flash, the same two men appeared to be where the lightning had hit. Darren watched as each drew a leg from around the staffs they had been carrying; apparently they had been straddling them moments before the sudden pulse of light. They drew the poles upright, looking like hikers as they approached the hole where Ethan’s casket lay. They peered down into the cavity of earth, intent on ensuring the casket was safely underground. A ray of sunshine hit them in the same curious way that made it difficult to see them, giving them a translucent quality.

Who the freak were these guys? How did they know Ethan?

Darren was about to ask his father, but his parents were ushered back toward the hearse before he got a chance. He and Crissy were hurried into a dark sedan and driven back to the church.

A luncheon had been prepared for after the service. Darren’s family, his parents and sister, along with aunts and uncles and grandparents from his mother’s side, were all in attendance, along with some close neighbors and friends. Several of Ethan’s basketball teammates had shown up from the university and expressed their condolences. Noticeably missing from the gathering, however, were Jeff and Tabs. They had been in Peru with Ethan and also perished in the cave-in that had taken Ethan.

The strange men from the graveside—thank heavens—did not put in an appearance.

At last, five o’clock arrived, and the awful day finally wound down, freeing Darren and his immediate family to go home.

Since Ethan’s death, Darren’s parents had transformed into strangers. They had stopped talking–-except for simple answers to questions. His parents had been the type people were drawn to. Making others feel comfortable and welcome came to them naturally. Darren’s father, Matt, who could always be found in the kitchen cooking or outside barbecuing while blasting music, retired alone to the family room to watch the news. His mother, Amy, a part-time nurse, who patiently listened to others’ complaints only to lift them with her naturally positive personality, went straight to their bedroom. Darren was sure she was going through the photo album again.

Crissy had wandered down the hall toward Atavus’s room. She and their grandfather got on extremely well. Just like Ethan had. Darren loved his ailing grandfather but didn’t share the same connection with him his brother and sister did.

Darren’s bedroom was upstairs, across the hall from Ethan’s. He didn’t fight the impulse but went straight into his brother’s room and sat down on the bed. Everything was exactly the same–as if his brother’s passing hadn’t connected emotionally with the objects in his room. They waited patiently in expectation of Ethan’s return, unaware they should somehow be different.

On the bedside table next to the clock radio was a photograph of Ethan rappelling off Corona Arch in Moab, Utah. Someone from the ground had taken the picture, capturing Ethan in a dare-devil position. He was suspended about forty feet beneath the giant red arch with a one hundred-foot drop beneath him. It was a spectacular shot.

But then, Ethan had been spectacular. He excelled at everything he did—basketball foremost—but he was also an excellent student and musician. Before graduating from Sky View High School, Ethan had taken a shop class and built his own headboard. He’d used a beautiful cherry wood, which he’d sanded and lacquered to a glossy finish. Considering his brother’s accomplishments, Darren couldn’t help but feel inadequate. There was nothing Ethan couldn’t do.

The headboard was five feet tall with three levels of shelves as well as an outlet and light sockets. The back was made up of reflective mirror squares, which were now full of Darren’s shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. He looked at himself and contemplated his too large nose. Thanks, Atavus, he thought. He needed a haircut; it kept falling in his eyes, forcing him to continually brush it out of the way. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world, but being tall helped. He had reached the same height as Ethan, six-foot two.

Continuing his perusal of the headboard, Darren gazed at the upper shelves with sliding glass doors, behind which sat most of Ethan’s trophies and awards. The majority of them were for basketball, but there was one for an art contest, and two for musical competitions. Ethan had played saxophone and guitar. As Darren considered these awards, a dour melancholy washed over him at the way they stood in proud defiance, like everything else in his room, declaring the achievements of a person whom they refused to recognize no longer existed.

He ran his hand along the side panel of the headboard, drawn to it because there was a small flaw there. Granted, he was being nit-picky; it was almost impossible to detect. He touched the corner where the joints met with the faintest indication of a raised line. Every other corner of this masterpiece was perfect, with the exception of this one edge. Not like Ethan to have missed it.

As he felt along the seam, Darren’s knuckle brushed against the upper part of the shelving, catching on a small notch that wasn’t visible at eye-level. He probed at the two hidden notches and depressed the first one. The side board that contained the flaw slid smoothly down into the panel beneath it, revealing a secret compartment.

At first, this revelation surprised Darren. A secret compartment, how cool was that? But then, it was just like Ethan to have included something like this. Curiously, Darren groped about inside the small opening and pulled out the objects his brother had hidden.

The first was a flat, round stone with a chain connected to it. Atavus had given it to Ethan at the beginning of summer. Darren couldn’t recall the strange name of the amulet, but it was supposed to do something mysterious. Though roughly the size and shape of a compass, it was heavy, made of what Darren assumed was a smooth, gray marble. There was no glass to cover the spindles; they simply sat exposed on the surface. And instead of having a single needle pointing north, this contraption had seven little arms of different lengths and colors pointing at weird symbols etched into the outer edge.

The little arms appeared to be made of sharp strips of metal that rotated around the center peg. The outer circumference of the object was a shiny black strip that looked and felt like glass. Whatever it was Atavus had given Ethan, it certainly was intriguing.

The other item was a sheaf of papers. They didn’t feel like normal paper. They were thicker and had the pliability of paper currency. Instead of being white like a page from a notebook, they were an oatmeal color. Each page was filled with Ethan’s handwriting. Darren read the first page:

June 15

Atavus insisted I use this parchment and keep a journal of my activities. It feels like thick paper to me, but I’m beginning to believe just about everything Atavus says these days. Including what he said about this paper being “charmed.” I guess we’ll find out.

Today was our first day out. Jeff, Tabs, and I spent the afternoon driving to the more remote areas of the valley. The Utor Uti didn’t react at all. I’m beginning to think Atavus was wrong in his suspicions. He received a letter from someone, he wouldn’t tell me who, that insists this is the right place to look; and he put a great deal of urgency into our finding it. Between his walker and his oxygen tank, he’s in no shape to go looking for it himself. And he seems to be getting worse all the time. As for this, “lapiseus calx,” which Atavus also refers to as a “slicer stone,” (something about “slicing” into other dimensions) it seems like it could be just about anywhere. The friend who needs the stone believes it could make all the difference in the great battle. Atavus is a bit mystical about what “all the difference” means, but he’s always mystical. (If dad knew what we were up to, he’d think I’d lost it—and probably disown me! He thinks his father’s gone round the bend.)

Tabs is supposed to guide us and give us insights. So far, she’s told us there could be as many as three of them and they would be found “where shadows walk and stones are dust.” So far this new sense of hers hasn’t told us where that is. So much for Atavus’s description of Tab’s ability: “She will shine a mysterious light on you and keep you on the right path, forewarning you of dangers.”

Which reminds me, Atavus still hasn’t told me how to destroy them. He said it would come to me when I needed to know. He only gives me bits and pieces. I’m trying to get what I can from that old scrapbook of his.

Well, g’nite.

I forgot to mention Rachel… new girl at school—met her after a game one night. She’s devastatingly cute and seems to like me. More later.

Darren set the papers aside. Atavus had really worked his magic on Ethan. It was unbelievable to think his older brother had been caught up in all this nonsense. Vain attempts to find imaginary objects? Incredible! And he got Jeff and Tabs to go along with him. How had Atavus done it? Certainly Ethan was too smart to fall for the old man’s fantasies. Wasn’t he? The thought of Ethan buying into his grandfather’s bedtime stories as if they were all real was more than Darren wanted to consider at the moment.

He scooped up the pages and the compass—obviously it was the Utor Uti mentioned in the journal—and headed across the hall to his own room. He wanted to read the rest of the journal pages later, but he didn’t want his parents finding them. It would further upset them to discover Ethan had gotten caught up in Atavus’s mumbo-jumbo world of make-believe. Darren lifted his mattress and placed the pages well underneath.

The Utor Uti was another matter. It was pretty cool, but still it was nothing more than a crazy object his grandfather had constructed in order to add credence to his world of witches and hobgoblins. Regardless of where Atavus had gotten the thing, Darren was returning it to him. He didn’t want a reminder that his older brother had fallen prey to delusions shortly before his death.

He had just started down the stairs when he heard the front door open. Curious, he ran the rest of the way down to see who Crissy had let in the house.

Bursting into the living room, the Utor Uti still in his hands, he saw the back of his little sister leading a tall stranger with long black hair down the hall to his grandfather’s room. The man wore a dark cloak and boots. Who had his little sister let in?

Darren hurried around the corner toward Atavus’s room, but Crissy was on her way back, alone.

“Who was that?” Darren asked.

“Grandpa’s friend.” Crissy smiled.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

Crissy's eyes grew wide. “He’s really tall. But he’s not scawy.” She shook her head.

Darren grunted and slid past her. He covered the hallway quietly and sidled up beside the open door to listen, catching the conversation the two men were having.

“I’m only saying your timing could be better,” Atavus was complaining. “We just had a funeral.”

“I know.” The stranger’s voice was low. “I watched from a distance. This illness kept you from being there?”

Darren didn’t hear a reply but could picture his grandfather nodding.

“A couple of our friends were there; kept to themselves.”

Atavus began coughing at this news. “Nothing happened?”

“No, they only seemed to be interested in seeing that the body got buried.”

“Where are they from?” Atavus wheezed. “I haven’t seen their kind for decades.”

“There’s a coven in the north. They supposedly unraveled a mystery about the Grimoire I mentioned to you in my last letter.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re really here, that old spell book. Everyone else has accepted it as a myth. Of course look who I’m talking to; you’ve been chasing it for almost a century.”

“Quiet old man!” the stranger growled. “Is your brain as addled as your lungs? There are many dangerous people seeking that book. The Grimoire has spells witches haven’t used in millennia. If they got their hands on it…” He let his comment trail off.

“I suppose this Northern Coven found the location of the Grimoire?” Darren could hear the sneer in his grandfather’s voice.

“There was a prophecy that no one could decipher, but lately I’ve been receiving word that its meaning has been made clear. I have no idea what they’re doing here in Cache Valley, but the fact that the boy was a Pessum Ire explains why they were lurking about at the burial. I wouldn’t be surprised if…” His comment died off, as if he’d thought better of what he was about to say.

“You wouldn’t be surprised if what?” Atavus pressed.

“If those warlocks knew about Ethan, they might be responsible for what happened to him.”

It was quiet in the room. Darren’s mind was spinning. Who was the stranger, and how was it he shared Atavus’s delusions? What was going on? Was the whole world tumbling down the rabbit hole?

“They would have had to follow him to South America,” Atavus replied quietly.

“Travel is not a problem for them.”

“No, but all this presupposes they knew he was a Pessum Ire, and if they did, they must know about me. Ethan never used the fire—that I’m aware of; there would be no reason to suspect him. Unless…”

“Who knows about you?” The stranger’s voice was sharp.

“No one. I’ve told stories to my grandchildren; that’s all. Of course Ethan knew for the better part of the last year that he was a Pessum Ire.”

“And the other boy? Darren? Has he shown any signs of being a Pessum Ire?”

“He’s a good kid, but a skeptic. He listens to my stories patiently, but he doesn’t believe a word of them.”

“Still, somehow those warlocks know about you. However, given your condition, they don’t seem to be very concerned about you.”

“No.” Atavus sighed. “I don’t pose much of threat to them these days. One good blast and I’d be dead.”

“Well, you’d take them all down with you.” Darren could hear the other man’s voice lighten up as he spoke these words, words that were designed to be comforting despite their ominous implications.

“I can’t stay much longer, Atavus. I need to know if Ethan found the Lapiseus Calx before he died.”

“No,” Atavus said, then broke off into some serious coughing. At length it came to an end. “I had him search, but even with the Utor Uti they uncovered nothing. I don’t know why you believe it’s here. Tell me more about your plans for the slicer stone.”

“No plans exactly. I came upon some old writings; they had nothing to do with my search for Moloch’s Grimoire. These few lines talked about non-witches entering the Appensus.”

“That’s the dimension you’re interested in?” Atavus gasped.

“Only as a precaution. I don’t really want to go there, but, if it gave us an advantage…”

“We don’t understand enough about that place to even know what’s possible there.”

“I’ll send you the translation. There was something in it that I think will make you understand why I believe it is still urgent we get the stone.

“Hmm.”

Darren heard the two clasp hands, or arms. Either way, it made him think of warriors bidding the other farewell before battle.

“Atavus, I’ll try to return before that powder completely finishes you off. And stop feeling guilty about what happened, Grandpa.”

“You haven’t called me that in a while.” Atavus tried to laugh but ended up coughing at the stranger’s use of the word.

“I’d stay, but I have a lead on a prophecy stone. It should shed light on another mystery.”

“The Pessum Ire Detective,” Atavus said, and both men chuckled.

“I’ll write you in the regular fashion soon with more explanations, and I will be back, Atavus.”

The room was quiet again. Darren wondered if it was because Atavus doubted the man would keep his promise. Then it occurred to him that the man would be stepping out of the room at any second, so he darted back down the hall toward the living room.

He plopped down on the couch next to Crissy. A mere moment later, the man strode from the hallway, looking like a dark knight without armor. His sharp jaw line was shadowed by a scruff of beard, giving him both a gallant and dangerous air. Despite his imposing presence and the somber colors of his wardrobe, he wouldn’t have appeared so mystical, but he also wore that strange cloak. Who wore cloaks? Darren didn’t see a sword, but it wouldn’t have been out of place.

Without pausing, he approached the two children and sized them up carefully. He had penetrating blue eyes that struck Darren, for they were both placid like still water and cold like frost.

“Take care of your grandfather,” the stranger growled directly to Darren. “And listen to him!” It wasn’t some idle statement, but a command. The stranger hesitated as if he were going to say more, but nodded to himself instead.

Turning his attention on Crissy, he bent over and examined her closely. He didn’t say anything, and she wasn’t frightened by his proximity or size. He stood up straight and shook his head. “Huh,” he mused. “Maybe, you never know.”

Without another word he left the house.

Darren glanced at Crissy who smiled back and said, “I like him.”

***

Back in his room that night, Darren tried to make sense of the odd things that had taken place. Strangers whom the rain didn’t soak, Ethan’s secret compartment in his headboard, Utor Uti’s and Lapiseus Calx, and tall dark, intimidating strangers. Then there was that place the slicer stone was supposed to open, what was it? Appensus And more talk about witches and warlocks. It was all nonsense and crazy-talk. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything.

And that was what he did.

Over the next eighteen months, his home life never again took on the upbeat rhythm it had before Ethan’s death. Both his parents lurked about like shadows. They took care of business. They took care of Crissy, Atavus, and Darren. But they were perfunctory about life, going through the motions with their souls as absent as Ethan’s.

Atavus’s condition worsened. He now slept a good deal of the time, and his skin grew tighter around his bones. Darren, however, grew closer to him; Atavus was the only one he could talk to. He was the only one interested in Darren’s ball games and girlfriend and the other events that took place in his life during the next year and half.

Darren was now a senior in high school and captain of the basketball team. Though he didn’t have the support he wanted from his parents, he still felt he was making progress in filling the immense shoes left behind by his brother.

The less he dwelled on the strange events on the day of Ethan’s funeral, the less he believed they’d ever happened. In the end, all he really remembered was that it was the day Ethan had been buried, changing Darren’s life forever.

But those events were just the beginning of the changes that would soon engulf Darren’s life.