Divination Hollow

The first thing to strike you is the quiet. The peace. Not the lack of sound, but the fullness of silence. You’re not even sure how you arrived here, but despite the darkness and lack of civilisation, you do not feel afraid. And ahead, with no other buildings in sight, not even a road leading to its door, is a house. A scattering of trees surround it. A wooden post emerges from the ground, words written on the signs, though the small numbers beside each make no sense.

Cardiff, Newark, Wellington, Boston, Sacramento, Pittsburgh, Fort Lauderdale. Among others.  

The numbers really don’t seem to correspond to the actual distances, but then again, you don’t really know where you are, do you? The house looks inviting, looks like the perfect place to stop for the night, especially as storm clouds are rolling in.

A shape slinks along the wall, the silhouette fluffy, though it limps. It leaps down, purring in the darkness, before coming towards you. Behind it, another shape emerges from the darkness. The cat – hairless? You could have sworn…but anyway – sits, watching you, and you notice it is missing a leg. The other shape comes closer; three heads, three sets of pointed ears, three open mouths, panting, smiling.

The heads bark, one after another, turn it turns, and walks up the path, cat following. You follow too, and hear a whoosh of wings. Expecting a bird, you glance at the bare branched trees, and see what looks to be a small, three-eyed dragon landing on a branch. But no, it can’t be, dragons don’t –

It spreads its wings and takes flight, swooping through the air as it heads to the house.

You close your eyes, intending on getting your bearings, and when you open them, you’re in the house itself, a woman with shadows wrapped around her standing before you. The dragon sits on her shoulder, and she cradles the dog, the cat purring as it slinks around her legs. “Hello, dear.” Her voice is soft, smooth with youth.

Something catches your eye and your gaze is drawn upwards, to the top of the wide staircase, and the landing. To the portraits, all with their eyes focused on you.

“What do you need?” the woman asks, and steps forward, and you notice the cat, three-legged, but this one has fur. This one? You’re not sure. It seems like the same one, but…

She takes your hand, and you look at her. She seems different, older than you first believed, crow’s feet starting to take hold, fingers rough but oddly comforting. Her smile kindly, motherly, welcoming. 

She tugs your hand and pulls you towards a door. “We have it all here. Come, come. I’m sure…oh, don’t mind them,” she says, as your gaze is drawn to a figure drifting across the landing, a book open in their hands. Their attention fixed on it. “That’s just the residents. They’re very helpful, but they won’t bother you unless you want them to.”

She walks you down the hall, shadows drenching her then lifting, and as you pass an open door, light shines on her. You didn’t notice the wrinkles before, the crook in her fingers, the hunch to her back. Another door is creaked open, and you peek in, drawn by the flickering screen-lights. Rows of chairs, and a small group gathered together, staring at a wall screen with a rainbow fixed above it.

“Now,” she says, and her voice is that of an old woman, but not fragile. “Are you here to give us something? Or look for something?” She pauses, turns around to face you, and her skin is smooth, her eyes bright, her posture straight. Her look…youthful.

Never for one moment would you doubt this woman could blow you to pieces, but you know there’s a line to be crossed before that happens. 

She pushes open a door, revealing a large library, books stacked to the high ceiling. “If you have one, leave it here.” She points to a table near the door, already stacked high. “Our residents are ever hungry, and they must be fed. Of course, if you’re looking for one, feel free to browse the shelves. Or perhaps you’d like to join the watch club, and see what they’re screening?” She tilts her head, watching you, and this time you see it, her skin, changing, the crow’s feet appearing. “How about, while you decide, we have some tea? And I can get to know you.” She turns, continues walking, you just behind, knowing she would be the first to offer a wet stranger her only jacket.

“Who are you?” you say. “What is this place?”

Footsteps run across the floor above, echoing in the space. She opens the door to the kitchen, the warmest place in the house, and ushers you in.

“Why, dear, my name is Broomhilda. And this is Divination Hollow.”

By Elle Turpitt

Twitter: @ElleTurpitt