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Hieroglyphics of ancient people fighting giant creatures with ancient weapons. Some creatures were wolf-like, some almost human, some; bovine. Arrows and circle swirled suns, pictures of giant fires and great darkness. These coated the walls in a burnt red that flaked like dried blood. There were no footprints left behind on the dirt floor, which, because of the rain had turned into a thick, clay sludge. No signs of the door being moved (it liked to leave a track behind it on the soft dirt when slid open.) No one could have been inside before, after, or during the rain. Every one knew you did not touch, smell, or do anything to something of Becky's unless given absolute permission. Since permission had not been granted to anyone, no one would have, could have, gotten inside.
So who drew it?
This question perplexed Becky for about three minutes. What was more interesting on that day was the Secret Spells book she had gotten in the mail. Attached to the front was a letter written in spooky gothic type welcoming her to the book club, she threw this aside and looked at the book's cover. The title was gold foil and stood up from the purple paper, reflecting back yellow shards of light. Secret Spells and Potions, it read and below this in smaller black type; For Practicing Warlocks & Witches.
Inside, the pages were thick white and smelled of ink and glue. The first page gave publishing and copyright information. On the second there was a sketch template of a small stone cottage set against black woods. One window was lit by gray light while all the rest remained black. And further inside the text it gave a table of contents specifying which page was Potions and which was Spells.
Becky spent the next two weeks playing in her fort. Inviting in her siblings to make potions and test them out on their skin. She'd cackle in that silly way little girls do when they're pretending to be evil. That book kept her busy while the world floated around and underneath her.
The pictures on the walls began to fade.
Most of the potions and spells were lame. All of the potions smelled like either a) gym socks or b) sweaty gym socks. And almost none of the spells ever worked. You were supposed to say all these rhymes, turn around five times and point your eyes and index finger at what ever it was you wanted to change. One was really great. It was a spell to stop some one from talking just by winking at them. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But soon Becky lost interest in the spell book. It ended up being left outside and rediscovered the next year molding and full of silver fish under a Russian olive tree.
*
"Well the fort was built and played in for about three weeks. Then it became just another part of the scenery, like a tree or a mountain. The fade happened so quickly it was almost audible. Like a loud "pop" or "smack." She smiled. "And it started to smell bad."
"Like sweaty gym socks?" I asked. I knew the answer after I asked it. No, it didn't smell like gym socks. It didn't smell the way your nose smells.