Colygraphia - Jesse Wilson

Colygraphia by Jesse Wilson

Book excerpt

Chapter 1

Bruce stared at the screen. A white square with a blinking cursor in the corner. He had the title. Dark Sunset. He had his name. Bruce Redstone, not his real last name, but the few people who knew his work seemed to like the improvised version.

A few spaces under that, the number one, the first of many chapters to come.

The easy part was over. That blinking cursor waited for the words, but nothing came to his mind. Not for the past month. Well, he had plenty of ideas and words swimming around in his brain but none of them felt any good. He’d write something down and it felt as if the magic just disappeared. The words were dead on the page.

“Damn it,” he said, looking at the computer screen that felt like it was mocking him at this point. Two-twenty in the morning. Another night, another failure. Thunder started to rumble outside and he glanced out his window. It was dirty; he needed to clean it someday. A distant flash of blue light lit up the sky.

“At least cleaning the window is something I can do,” he said to himself. Writers, all the same, talked to themselves more than they’d ever admit. To combat this, he’d talk to his coffee mug instead. He hoped that was more reasonable. He shut the screen off. It was time to give up for the night, again. Hours had gone by and the only thing he could write were more dead words.

He didn’t feel good enough, the spark was gone. Writing used to be the easiest thing in the world until last month. Any idea, any genre, he’d give it a try. Now, the curse of writer’s block had given him a visit.

Bruce stood up too fast before pulling back in his chair and slammed his knee against the shelf. “Damn it.” He fell back into his chair, more worried about the desk than his leg; thankfully the desk seemed fine.

Max looked at him from the couch, an older Golden Retriever.

“Just me being stupid, go back to sleep,” Bruce said apologetically, and Max lowered his head with a small, almost annoyed whine. Bruce was getting too old to be this reckless. He’d be feeling this mistake for weeks, he just knew it.

Another flash of blue in the window. More thunder. He picked up his phone and checked the weather. Just a garden variety storm, nothing terrible or unusual in the summer. Being a writer, he was well aware of how lightning liked to come through the pipes sometimes when you were taking a shower, and lots of other weird facts.

Right now, he didn’t feel like he had much to live for. You were only as good as your last book and his last book was done. God, how long ago was it now? Six months? Longer?

Maybe it was his time, and a good zap might take him out. That would be just fine. No one would miss him for a few months, it would be as if he never existed. Just his books would float around out there in the void, only to be forgotten, too.

He shook the negative thoughts away from his mind and stood up again and finished the last of the cheap whiskey in the glass, set it down as the weak burn faded just as fast. He’d be using that again.

The soreness had faded enough and he made his way to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he didn’t look terrible for forty he supposed. Still had all his brown hair and teeth, but so tired. How long had it been since there was any sleep? Decent sleep? He wasn’t sure. He could only look at himself for so long before that was enough.

The nightly routine went the same as it always had. He was amused. It was in these parts where nasty critics would accuse of him of just telling and not showing all the details of someone taking a shower. To him, telling the reader everything was just the same as sticking a knife into their imagination and killing it. Or watching television, or a music video.

It only took a few minutes and he stepped out. The thunder was louder now and the rain was starting to hit the window. “Just in time,” he said again to his coffee mug in the other room. The coffee mug had yet to respond.

Bruce hated it when it was time to sleep. Sleeping felt like such a waste of time. He imagined all the things he could write if he never had to sleep or get tired, but he was only human. He shuffled towards the bed, turned the lights off. “Damn it,” he said, realizing his phone was still over on the desk three seconds after laying down.

He didn’t have anything to wake up for in the morning and Max was a natural alarm anyway. He pulled the covers over as a brighter flash lit the room up again. “Please don’t hail on my car, thanks” he said to no one—or maybe to God. He wasn’t sure at this point. It was the closest thing to a prayer he’d have tonight.

Then he closed his eyes and hoped for inspiration in a dream or a nightmare, whatever came first. The only way he could get to sleep these days was imagining he was stuck in his car during a snowstorm, trying to make a list of all the things he’d need to make it through the night. He was always out like a light halfway through making the list.

Chapter 2

The storm clouds approached the ritual site. There was a circle of four men in black robes standing around a strange symbol in a circle on the ground, carved with white chalk. There were three dead cats inside the circle.

“We’re ready,” one of the men announced, doing his best to hide how nervous he was.

“Confidence, Ray. This isn’t some do-it-yourself internet spell. It won’t work if you you’re not invested with all of your willpower. This will never work unless you man up. We waited months for this storm, so it has to be tonight,” Edward explained, opening the book as the thunder grew louder.

“First storm after the summer solstice,” Jack said. “I guess spells have to be exact.”

Edward looked at him. “Everyone always said my great grandmother was a witch. When she died, she left her book to me, her favorite grandkid.”

“I think you stole it,” Rich stated.

“Shut up. I wouldn’t steal it. She gave it to me. It was in the will,” he responded. Thunder, louder this time.

“Did we really have to kill the cats? I feel bad about that,” Ray said, unable to take his eyes off the things, the guilt getting to him.

“Hell yeah, we did. If this works, we are going to get everything we ever dreamed of,” Jack said confidently.

“The man is right. This is the spell, the only one that seems reasonable, the only one that doesn’t mention bloodthirsty demons or curses,” Edward said.

“Yeah. Are you sure this is a good idea? What if someone comes around and catches us?” Rich asked.

“Don’t worry about it. The only one who lives out here is Bruce and he rarely leaves the house, you know that. No one is going to catch us this late and I don’t want to wait a whole year to try again. Now, are you ready for this or not? Everyone has to be in it to win it, so you ready? It’s now or never. And I don’t know about you but I don’t want to kill any more cats,” Edward declared.

The other three looked at one another. The rain started to fall and there was another flash across the sky. “I will take your silence as a resounding yes,” Edward said, smiled as he turned to the right page. There were sticky notes on the page for the English translations, but he had practiced the words several times; they all had.

Edward lifted his right hand into the air and the others followed. “Remember, all together, concentrate and please don’t mess up any of the words. Ray?” Edward looked over.

The man shrugged. “I’ll do my best. I’ve been practicing, I promise.”