Imagine waking up one day to find that you have predicted the future. Somehow, your subconsciousness foretold that you were going to ace you exams or get the job you really wanted, or on a darker note, that your grandfather is dead, or that your plane will crash.
Porter had a very peculiar dream the other night. He dreamt of a woman. She had a smooth, pale face, blue eyes, contoured with nothing but thin eyeliner, and red, puffy lips. Long dark locks covered the sides of her face, which was so close, that Porter could nearly feel her warm breath on his skin. Her eyes started fogging up. Her eyeliner spread around her eyes and took roots all the way from her cheekbones to her ears. When she opened her mouth to speak, something glinted — a single metal crown on her first molar. Yellow mist filled the room, forming an impenetrable circle around the two bodies. The woman spoke in two voices, one sounded as if it could belong to her former self, the other was much deeper, unnerving.
The sign of infinity shines above
Your world will change for good
Beware of the winter solstice
Stay aware of your conscience
I speak the truth and you shall see
Tomorrow destiny awaits thee
She awaits and bears thy gifts
The mist entered Porter’s lungs, suffocating him. The woman disappeared into the yellow fog and everything went black.
Porter woke up with his headphones wrapped around his throat. He broke free and leaned on his knees to catch his breath. He looked over at the clock on his night stand. He had woken up ten minutes before his alarm. He stood up and proceeded to get dressed, make coffee and walk to his job interview. In the elevator of the office building, he looked in the mirror to adjust his tie and hair and make sure he didn’t have food in his teeth. He had announced his arrival at the reception on the ground floor and was invited to go up to Mrs Destiny’s office.
Mrs Destiny was a woman in her 30ties, possibly closer to 40. Her hair was short and neat. She had little, but perfectly applied make up. She wore dark blue pants, a white collared shirt and a red jacket, with a beautiful silver broach, which matched her earrings. She greeted Porter politely, but professionally. Her appearance gave out confidence and trustworthiness. In short, she looked as if she came out of a stock photo.
By the end of the interview Destiny assured Porter that he was the perfect man for the job and said she would be in touch.
Back at home Porter sat quietly at his desk. His hands restlessly tapping on the wooden top. It hadn’t been the first time he’d dreamt of something out of the ordinary. Dreams are supposed to be odd and unrealistic. The prophesy, however, poked at his curiosity. He opened the cover of his laptop. His hands moved slowly to the keys of his computer and he typed “infinity” into the search engine. That, unfortunately, gave him no information and revealed only the infinity symbol in different formats and colours and trite tattoos. The next two words had a rather different impact. The winter solstice was… Porter’s heart dropped, his hands started shaking, he fell back on his chair and stared at the screen in awe. The winter solstice was on 22nd December — tomorrow. He stayed as he was for a few minutes, contemplating what to do next. Porter shook his head, fixed his chair and opened the map on his laptop. In his dream there was an address: “7052 Shady Cape”. He typed it in and the image immediately shifted and stopped at a location 40 minutes away.
The house on Shady Cape stood ominous behind a dead chestnut tree in the front yard. A two story building, three if you count the window to the attic. Covered with old wood, once painted, now covered with green peels and mould. Surrounded by a rusted fence, on the door of which you find written in porcelain — the house number. Walking up to the house you are greeted by the smell of rotting flesh, chemicals and perfume. Two steps separate you from the front porch. An old three legged wooden bench can be found on the left of what seems to be a very heavy carved door. Voodoo heads hang from the ceiling, their eyes and lips sewn together with a worn out wool thread. Their greyish messy hair and pale brown complexions were accentuated with black tattoos on their foreheads and necks.The door creaked open. Porter let out a faint “Hello”
He coughed the fear out of his voice and tried again:
“Is anyone there?”
He took a step forward and the room lit up to reveal a tight, multi-fabric, multi-coloured space. There was a desk on either side of Porter. Both of them, covered with glass containers — different shape, sizes and contents. The room was lit by what seemed to be hundreds of randomly-placed candles. The floor was layered with three rugs, all of them different fabrics, stamps and colours. Porter hasitated towards the far ends of the room, where a round table with two chairs hid behind a double curtain. As he did so he read some of the labels on the containers. They presumably contained “bat tail”, “pig skin”, “toenail” and other peculiar objects. He pulled back the curtain to reveal a crystal ball, sitting on a claw base, its fingers keeping it in place. In front of the ball there was a single tarot card. A man in a white robe and a long red vest. He had a white headband and was holding a white stick, sharpened at both end. And there was an infinity sign over his head. The name of the card: The magician.
“The card signifies new beginnings and great expectations. A powerful, positive omen in reading”
Porter had no idea why he knew all that, but as soon as he finished speaking, the crystal ball lit up to reveal an image: a man falling from a building, followed by the address “509 Arch Lane” and the time 00:01. Porter checked his watch and ran out the door.
Before the door of the house closed a shadowy figure appeared and spoke in two voices:
“A reversed magician indicates deceit, manipulation and using one’s skill and ability for negative ends. Trickery. Cunning. Untrustworthiness.”
Porter opened the door leading up to the rooftop. He looked around, searching for the man he was supposed to save. As he walked towards the edge to check if it was too late, Porter tripped on a cord.
Mrs Jones’ TV suddenly stopped and showed static. She tried to fix it by pushing different buttons on the remote.. Turning it off and on didn’t work either. She reached for the phone. A man flew past her window. She called the technician.
Porter hit the ground. He woke up with a start. He was breathing heavily. As he wiped the sweat off his forehead he turned to see what the time was. It was exactly 00:01. He looked back in front of him and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could swear that he saw a yellow mist going out from under the door.
First published Oct 16, 2016 on Medium and part of FictionHub publication.