McCartney Times

Apartment 235 (Chapter 14)
written and performed by Martin Nethercutt

Prologue

When the pandemic grew, people had fled the cities. Stores and high-rises had been abandoned. Large cities had become ghost towns. The silence was eerie. No cars, no traffic, no radio, no television blaring from the now empty spaces.

The remaining survivors had fled into nature. Seeking the comfort of small groups strewn across the global landscape.

Those who were immune to the virus had formed the Disciples. They had left ‘yellow stickies’ to mark their path and to attract like-minded survivors.

Others had sided with the dark forces and had continued to fulfill the work of their alien masters. Two warring parties were left to decide the future of mankind.

With the arrival of The Watchers, the balance had tipped in their favor. 

It all seemed so surreal.

I awoke on the floor of my apartment. I had no idea how I got there, and if the vision that The Wanderer had showed me had been real or just a fever-pitched dream.

‘Was it all just a nightmare?’ I thought as I came to my feet.

‘Where are the others? How did we get separated?’ I thought hard.

I tried to remember how I got back to the city after the long trek through the forest, encountering The Complex meeting The Wanderer and watching the Construct.

Was that just a dream too? I couldn’t make sense of it.

I looked around my apartment when I heard a faint meow from a cat outside my door. I opened the door and looked at a cat glaring up at me. ‘A cat? How did a cat survive in this ruined world?’ As I bent down to try and pet it I heard a frail woman’s voice coming from down the hallway. ‘Socrates? Where are you boy? It’s time for foodies…’ an old lady appeared in the hallway. ‘How are you Mr. Cole?’ The scruffy old lady asked. ‘How did she know my name?’ I wondered. I looked at her closely.

She was about 90 years old with thinning white hair and a scarf around her neck.

‘You know, we’ve been neighbors now for quite a while and I apologize for not having introduced myself to you’ she continued. ‘My name is Esther, Esther Sullivan, nice to meet you!’ She stretched out her frail and brittle hand. I shook it.

‘How did you know my name?’ I asked.

‘Oh well, Mr Cole that was your first mistake. Never shake a hand of someone you don’t know. You see, only demons in the green light like to shake hands to take over your soul. Angels never do. They stand in front of you with their hands at their sides. They know we are full of ugly diseases and dark thoughts.’ She continued: ‘Come, follow me into my humble abode and I shall show you The Book Of Shadows’ she produced a smile. ‘You should read it, for your name is engraved in it. That’s how I know.’

The cat and I followed the old lady into her apartment.

I was amazed at what I saw. The walls were covered with ancient symbols and designs that were unfamiliar to me. In the middle of the room was an antique mahogany table with a large tome in the middle of it.

‘Sit please, Martin.’ Mrs. Sullivan pulled out her chair. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

I nodded never taking my eyes off the dark tome that lay before me.

The old lady disappeared into the back. I heard dishes clinking and a kettle boiling. ‘Don’t touch it yet, wait for me’ Mrs. Sullivan shouted from the kitchen.

Esther reappeared, two cups in hand, and sat down at the table. Her eyes pierced my gaze. After a moment she began laying her withered hands on the tome.

She began:

“This you must ken!

From one make ten,

And two let be,

Make even three,

Then rich you’ll be.

Skip o’er the four!

From five and six,

The Witch’s tricks,

Make seven and eight,

‘Tis finished straight;

And nine is one,

And ten is none,

That is the Witch’s one-time-one!”