The Hollow Keys

Lief glanced at the crinkled bit of paper in his hand and then back at the crumbling building before him. The monastery perched, like a bird of prey, waiting for a mouse to creep up. Its stone frame crouched just behind a dark pool and was cradled between the rock shelves of a mountain’s base. Fir trees penned the clearing in, with only the dirt trail he'd hiked in on leading out.

He crammed the directions into his jeans and strode forward, trying not to seem as hesitant as he felt. His entire writing group had told him he needed to come here to get through his block. Apparently, they had all visited at one time or another. He kicked his Converse through the fallen pine needles and wished he were as good as the rest of them.

It really sucks being the new guy.

He entered through the skeletal gaping arch of a mammoth doorframe. It felt a bit like being eaten alive, stepping through the jagged teeth of the ruins. A stale breeze stirred leaves in the shadowy corners and carried the faint smell of rotting meat. He noticed the setting sun through the window holes and wished he wasn’t such a complete moron.

No flashlight. Great. You’re a real genius, Lief. Really gonna show the Scribes how much you learned by flailing around in the dark?

He searched the room and found a stone staircase winding up into the ceiling. After a moment of hesitation, he ascended.

What the hell am I supposed to learn about writing horror from an old church? Sure, it’s unnerving. But that’s not going to help me get a story out. Maybe this is some kind of prank or hazing. They're probably all going to jump out and say boo at any moment.

He blinked in a sudden beam of pale light as he rounded the last bend. Lief’s head spun and he pressed his hand into the damp rock wall to steady himself. Seated on a low bench was a young woman dressed completely in white.

“Hello. I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

Her voice stung his flesh like a winter breeze. He couldn’t help but stare at her. Her head was turned to the side as she peeked up through heavy, white-blonde bangs. Her cream gown clung to a voluptuous frame.

“The scribes sent you. Your name is Lief,” she said, filling in the awkward space where his voice should have been. Lief’s mouth seemed filled with cotton and other parts of his body were also decidedly out of his control. He swallowed, and ran his fingers through his black curls.

“Yeah, I uh. I heard this place could help me improve my writing. Professor Lukus said something about finding my ‘key’,” he stammered.

She thinks you’re an idiot. Jesus! Couldn’t you do any better than that?

The girl grinned, however, revealing brilliantly white teeth. She lifted her gaze and the pull of it was magnetic. Behind wings of dark lashes shone eyes like black pools. The air left his lungs.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” she asked. His eyes hung on her soft, heavy lips.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said with a laugh like the tinkle of a wind chime. “Let me show you the muses.”

She rose and swept down the hall towards the source of the white light. Lief stumbled after her.

You’re my muse. How could anything else ever compare?

Lief entered the cavernous space where the girl had disappeared. Golden birdcages filled the room. They hung from the ceiling, sat on tables, and some were even stacked against the walls. Inside almost all of them was a beautiful bird. He saw bluebirds, sparrows, meadowlarks, finches, wrens, and woodpeckers. There were cardinals, jays, warblers, and swallows; birds of every color, size, and country. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever encountered.

“The muses,” the girl said, sweeping a white hand out before her. “Do you like them?”

“Yes, I-- they’re fantastic.” Lief wandered further into the room, between the cages. The birds were all completely silent. Not one of them peeped or sang. They looked at him with black, shining eyes, heads cocked and waiting.

“Pick one,” the girl said. She watched him through the many bars between them. She looked eager, almost predatory. It was as though Lief was just a bird she wanted to catch and cage.

I’d let you catch me. I’d fly into the cage myself.

He turned his eyes back to the birds.

I don’t know how the hell a bird is going to make me write darker stories, but I do want them. Why do I want them?

He’d never really noticed birds before, stupid as it seemed. They were part of the background. Noisy, smelly things that sometimes defecated on you if you sat under a tree. But these birds were like jewels. They were all so plump, bright and clean.

He stopped at a cage the size of his fist. Inside, a tiny, ruby-throated hummingbird fluttered madly. Its wings sent out whispers of air against his fingertips. It had to be this one. He peered into its tiny dark eyes. It seemed . . . afraid.

“What a lovely choice,” the girl whispered in his ear. He looked over, into eyes only a few inches from his own. His breath came out in shudders. She was like a bird herself, so soft and delicate. He licked his lips. If only he was brave enough to just lean in.

“Tell me, are you willing to do whatever I ask?”

“Yes.” He answered almost before she finished speaking. Her lips curved into a smile.

“Then you must rip off its wings and drive this needle through its heart.”

Leif blinked.

What? What did she say?

He grinned. It wasn’t really a funny joke, but whatever.

She was holding a golden needle the length of his forefinger. He took a step back and she raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were willing to do whatever it took. The Scribes told me you were ready for this.”

“Is this some kind of joke? I’m not going to pull the wings off a bird,” he spat. "That's wrong. It's evil!"

Her eyes narrowed and lit with anger. She was still beautiful, but suddenly he didn’t want to be so near. Lief stumbled back against some cages and hissed when a hawk nipped his finger and drew blood.

“Why do you think that every other member of the scribes has published a novel in the last year? Why do you think they’ve all been best sellers?” she demanded. “Don’t be a fool.”

“I’m not . . . going to kill . . . that bird,” Lief ground out. “You can forget about it.”

“Fine. You’re free to walk out, boy.”

Lief winced.

“Just know that you’ll never be great without this. You’ll never find the key without me. No one ever has.”

“Who are you?” he shouted. His voice rang through the room, strained and frightened. Sweat slicked the skin beneath his leather jacket.

“Look around, Leif. Do you see how many empty cages there are?” she asked. There were nine.

Nine cages for each of the other scribes. Lief swallowed.

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. I see it in you, Lief. I am never wrong.” Her voice was soothing now. “You can do this.”

His had moved towards the cage, even as his face was twisted in horror. He opened its door and caught the tiny creature in his fist, pinning its wings. It's manic heart beat against his fingers. The girl was grinning again, eyes hungry.

It’s just a bird. You run over them with your cars. Hunters go out and shoot them down. Hell, even wind turbines kill the little bastards. Just do it.

She leaned in, lips parted.

Do it.

He could smell rotting meat on her breath.

Do it!

The needle gleamed. He pinched a wing between his pointer and thumb and tore viciously. The bird was silent as its feathers ripped and hollow bones snapped. Lief did the second wing immediately and then paused in horror.

The creature looked like the fireflies his brother had de-winged on summer nights. It lay helpless and broken in his palm. Tears pricked his eyes and he grabbed for the needle, jerking back as it pricked him.

The girl was licking her lips. Grotesque. The sight of her sickened him. But he needed her. He needed this.

Fingers slick with blood, he plunged the needle deep into its plump chest. It fell still.

“Give it to me!” the girl demanded. He handed the body to her, reluctant even though he’d been the one to torture the creature.

I’m sorry.

The girl dug her fingers into the bird’ broken flesh and began to rip out the bones. Lief just watched, no longer surprised by her cruelty, and numb to the horror. Maybe that’s what it took to write truly dark stories. Maybe this was the key.

“Here you are,” she said. Leif shook himself and looked at her outstretched hand, now stained red. In it was a tiny key, made of the bird’s hollow bones, and strung together with tendons. She laid it on his hand and closed his fingers over it.

Lief fled` the room, unable to meet her eyes. Instead of leaving, however, he hid behind the wall and watched.

“What do you think, Brother John?” she asked a snowy owl to her left. “Will he send others back for more?” She cackled. The moonlight washed through the window and her façade fell away, revealing a rotting corpse beneath her dress. A skull snarled out of her peeling flesh and the birds around her turned into naked, howling men in chains.

Lief stumbled backward. All the men had partially shaved heads and wooden crosses tied around their necks. On the floor lay a body with no arms and a sword through his chest. His corpse was an empty husk.