Short Story for Finishthestory contest

The Contest: https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-50

The Abysmal Biscuit

by @F3nix

The awareness of the box's contents dripped slowly in Joelle's mind, coagulating like a graceless Rorschach's blot. Bones. Tiny tapered bones, standing out against the mahogany bottom.

The unusual item jolted on the worn chair, reacting to the vibrations of the old diesel-powered train. The convoy, the last of his lineage, still fulfilled its duty along the Brașov-Sighișoara route allowing students to return to their homes every weekend. To the rhythm of joints and sleepers, the whiteness of the remains continued to dance tremulously before the eyes of the young woman as the frames of her glasses slipped slowly from her nose.

In a tinkling clink of bracelets, the student closed the lid of the box and moved away as far as possible from it, crushing herself against the seat's padding. The lazy air of the air conditioner stuck to the bottom of her dry throat an acrid plastic taste.

And then she saw him. The old passenger had returned and was staring at her through the windows that led from the corridor of the car to the cabin. She listened to her own scream erupting and fill the cramped cab.

"I didn't want to scare you, young lady."

"N-not scared. No worries, sir." Somehow, Joelle managed to gather the few polite words her manners demanded. She could not have said how long he had been watching and if he had seen where curiosity had taken her. The glasses, temples up in the air, laid on the seat beside her.

The old man was tall and lanky, his burnished skin resembled the ancient scales of a dragon. Dressed in work trousers and a raw cotton shirt, he gave the impression of being one of those peasants whose families had inhabited the Carpathians for centuries.

Joelle's gaze passed involuntarily from the man to the funeral urn disguised as a biscuit tin: the representation of a merry-go-round in a lacquered colored wood and graceful workmanship. The children were swirling with their bent busts, perhaps because of the speed of the carousel. Their mouths were wide open and their hands clung to the poles skewering the horses. With a lump in her throat, she remembered the fleeting memory of just a few hours before, when a train was huffing at the central station and a gentle old man asked her help because he couldn't open the cabin door. She felt like something ruined down from her lungs to her guts.

"I see that you like my craft." In the silence, she could detect the old man's fingers caressing the box inlays.

"It's adorable. A gift for a grandchild?" Joelle realized only now that the object was his only baggage. In the warm twilight, the colors of lacquered wood seemed even more lively. The conifers thickened on the sides of the train, sliding quickly to the edges of her field of vision.

"Oh. A gift, says the young lady. Like a toy, perhaps?" The old man's eyes were two black bottomless pits. His gaze had slowly become vitreous like that of a deep-water fish, yet at the same time penetrating.

"Yes, a toy. I like how you see it, miss." The passenger continued, his voice getting thinner.

Only then, Joelle realized where they were heading: the train had just passed the old mill and would soon pass through the tunnels beneath the mountain.

"You may have noticed how I depicted all these children. Observe, miss, between a horse and the other: they are not alone." By pronouncing the last vowel, which he abnormally prolonged, his voice tone had become a slow and drawling rattle.

It was still too early for the wagons' lights to turn on and the tunnels were preparing to swallow the convoy.
A sound of nails carving into the wood tore the thoughts of the young student.

The train rushed into the tunnel, the deafening echoes of its passage through the belly of the mountain reverberating and intensifying with every moment. Joelle scrunched down in her seat, eyes tightly closed, her hands bunched into fists pressed against her ears. The eerie box and the weird old man had raised fears in her young heart, that she had not known existed. The darkness of the tunnel interspersed with the brief unearthly glow of halogens was overwhelmingly psychedelic. She bit down on her lip in an unconscious effort to do something other than freeze in fear and the rising nervous tension. The cadence of the echoes changed a bit and then again; the tunnel was ending. She opened her eyes, only slits, to see if the old man and his biscuit box was still there.

The old man gave her sideways nod, like saying 'nothing to it' and nudged the box nearer. Joelle was now sitting straight her fears receding with the passing of the tunnel. "I am not touching the box."

"But Why? Dear."

" It is eerie."

The old man's face split into a feral grin, his blocky skewed yellow teeth made the smile a moldy rictus. "I knew it. You opened it! And what did you think is inside."

"Pieces of bone." A cold shiver took hold again as Joelle recounted the hideous memory.

"No! Yes!" He stood up and bowed. "Excuse me princess. I did not know... I saw only the Nimbus of Death. This is a normal interview." The old man was wringing his hands which he held at his chest, his head was bowed and his eyes gazed at her shoes.

Joelle grew scared; the only thoughts leaping to her mind was This man is mad. I have to get out of here. "OK. I need to use the bathroom." She started to get up but the old man knelt down right in front of the door. "You don't know." He whispered half to himself.

"Please let me go."

The old man shook his head as if to clear the fog in his mind. Still kneeling he said to her. "Child, please don't panic." He sat down crosslegged on his palms, placing the box on his seat. "See I can't move my hands easily. Please listen for a minute. Please."

Joelle slowly sat back down on the edge of the seat, feeling akward. Still tense but allowing the man to continue. "You are Megyer yes?"

"So my Nana keeps telling me." Joelle replied, her curiosity getting better of her nervousness.

"You know about the Great Hunt? All the good and noble families send their warriors to chase away or destroy the forces of darkness."

"Heard it many times."

"Well I am one of the heralds. And this" He pointed to the box. "is my tabour, the war drum which calls to the warriors. But all the children I have shown it to... never has anyone seen the bones. All they see is what the drum shows them- according to their worthiness. Sadly most of the time nowadays it shows only an empty box. And legends read that when a true royal will touch the drum. He.. or she will not be affected by its illusions."

"I don't understand." Joelle replied feeling nervous again.

"You are a Royal Huntswoman. The balance. The store of light... You are a soldier for all that is good and I and all faithful Megyer are yours to command. The downside is you will be in many fights, to solve the problems which no one in the Carpathians can do."

Joelle was pinching her arm. "OK wake up now. The station is near....OUCH. OK This is no dream.... Are you OK sir."

The old man sighed and got up, brushed his clothes and took his seat. The train entered another tunnel. Joelle heard the drum beats distinctly over the echoes of the speeding train. She realized she had heard them before many times but ignored them. Can this be true? The Hunt! Well it would be better than Algebra and Home Science. I need to call Nana immediately.

The train was slowing, Joelle realized she had slept, exactly when she did not know. The announcement blaring out of the speakers broke through her fog of sleep as she rubbed her eyes looking around at the empty seats. What a dream! She thought but then she saw the small golden drum hanging on a silver chain, dangling from her wrist.

PHOTO CREDIT: www.thingiverse.com/