Page 84 of An Invocation of Monsters

My breath caught in my throat as I turned a full rotation, taking in the entire room.

The door had been blocked by many cardboard boxes shoved up against it. I opened one, revealing stacks of old, moth-eaten clothes. At the top was a pair of bell-bottom jeans, embroidered with yellow and orange flowers.

The far wall was covered with a giant mandala tapestry, the bright colors faded to gray from the thick coating of dust. Several squashy couches lined the walls beneath it, and a coffee table sat in the middle of them.

There was a full spread of Tarot cards still laid out on the table, along with a mug that had the desiccated remains of coffee in it.

But the bones were the most disturbing part of it.

The fully-articulated cat skeleton had been given pride of place on the dresser next to a lamp with a shattered bulb, but other bones had been mounted on the walls.

I looked up at the skulls of deer, wildcats, bears, rams, and even what appeared to be a wolf. Other bones had been hung between them, creating a massive osseous latticework throughout the room.

If bones alone were the defining factor, then I’d definitely found the lair of the Hunter.

But this room seemed utterly untouched.

The thickly-carpeted dust was undisturbed except for my footprints. It smelled stale in here, air that no one had breathed in years.

I pulled a navy blue wall hanging depicting a smiling sun aside, revealing the door to Tasha’s bedroom. With some trepidation, I stepped inside, wrinkling my nose at the smell.

A deer skull with twisting antlers hung above the bed. She’d poked silk flowers through the eye sockets, mimicking the etching in the Deepwater book. Scarves hung from the ceiling above it, turning the entire bed into a strange sort of carnival.

The carpet underfoot was unpleasantly squishy as I moved closer, shining my light on the piled-up bedding.

The pillow had a head-shaped depression in it, the covers pushed back like she’d gotten out of bed that very morning, but all of it was covered with dust.

I frowned, aiming my flashlight at a dresser-top strewn with gypsy bangles and beaded necklaces. I picked up a ring, twisting it to see a large blue-flashing labradorite set in silver so tarnished it was black.

Something about this didn’t ring true.

It was like she had just gotten up and walked out. She’d slept in the bed. Pushed the covers back. Had a cup of coffee while doing a Tarot spread.

But she’d left it there half-drunk. She hadn’t made her bed. She hadn’t picked up the cards. The jewelry remained in place, while the clothes were haphazardly piled in boxes.

It was like she’d fully meant to come back, and just… hadn’t.

I put the ring back, and shined the light up at the dresser mirror. Pictures had been stuck in the mirror frame, and I pulled one down to blow the dust off.

My throat tightened as I looked at the familiar faces. Tasha and my mother, arms around each other, eyes thickly lined with kohl.

In the next one I pulled down, she was kissing my mother’s cheek and flashing a peace sign at the camera.

Just a couple of hippies clowning around. They had been best friends, and I had never heard this woman’s name from my mother’s mouth.

I felt a sudden, indefinable sadness for this woman. She had apparently vanished off the face of the earth, and her name wouldn’t even be remembered.

Her best friend hadn’t even bothered to try and keep her memory alive.

More than that, I was sure I was wrong. I’d jumped to conclusions that Tasha was the Hunter, hiding away in here.

But no one had set foot here in years.

These quarters were a graveyard of forgotten memories.

“So, where did you go?” I asked the dark-eyed woman in the picture.

Obviously, it didn’t answer. The feeling of disquiet remained.

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