Icon #43 Hamster

#43

Joey opened the huge, leather-bound book to the page he’d marked, and let the covers fall to the attic floor with a WHUMP! Dust rose in small clouds, and he nearly coughed, but he managed to control it. No one was downstairs, so the sound didn’t matter. He’d planned carefully.

Beside him on the floor was an old cigar box, a silver steak knife, a crystal cup, and a small brass incense burner he’d bought at a flea market with part of the twenty dollars his mom had given him for his birthday. He’d gotten a couple of funny looks, and a warning not to light matches in his room from his father, but no one really seemed to care why he’d bought the small brazier, or the Sandalwood incense cones. No one ever really questioned him at all.

He rose, and opened the small bag of salt he’d carried from below. He carefully poured it in a circle about himself. When the circle was complete he took the last of the salt – one pinch for each of the four corners – and whispered blessings to the archangels. He’d memorized this part of the ritual, because – thinking ahead – he knew he wasn’t going to be able to read the book and walk in a circle very well. He wished his mom could see, because she thought he never planned ahead.

He lit the incense cone and placed it beside the cigar box. He pulled the willow wand from his pocket – straightened it out – and set it beside the silver knife. He glanced at the book, and began. The words were strange, but he’d been practicing, and somehow, if he concentrated, the pronunciations and intonations came to him naturally. More like remembering than reading. He held the wand and traced patterns in the air. It was cool – traces of smoke, or light trailed after it and left images over the box. Symbols. They lingered like strobed fireworks, then dissipated to shadows.

Finally, when the words had been spoken, and the patterns were complete, he slowly lifted the lid of the box with the wand. He’d taken the book from his grandmother’s shelves without asking, but he knew she’d seen him – and she’d smiled. He hadn’t said a word to his mother, or his father – they thought his grandmother was crazy. They thought he was a strange little boy. They had no idea.

Inside the box, resting on a bed of tissue, a small furry body lay stiff and cold. Gordo – the hamster he’d had since he was five – the friend who’d left him alone – waited. He carefully lifted the tiny body from the box, held it in his hand…and breathed over it. He closed his eyes and mouthed the final words.

He felt a twitch in his hand, and he nearly panicked. He nearly dropped the object of his efforts and ran. Nearly. Another moment, and he felt the tail twitch. Whiskers tickled over his fingers. He opened his eyes.

Gordo stared up at him – and something had changed. He’d always felt a connection with his pet. He’d missed that bond – been adrift — until this moment. The two, hamster and boy, locked eyes and in that moment became as one.

“He is your familiar.”

The voice cut through the silence and his thoughts. Joey nearly backed over the circle, but caught his balance. He and Gordo turned as one to stare at his grandmother, who’d made her way to the top of the stairs. She grinned widely.

“Odd choice,” she said, ignoring his surprise. “I’d have gone with a cat, or even a rat, but we don’t really get to choose these things.”

“We?” Joey said. He was glad his voice didn’t break.

Gordo climbed slowly up his arm and ducked under his collar, right where he’d ridden through most of his life.

“Yes…we,” his grandmother said. “Now clean that up, and get my book back where it belongs.”

She turned and left the attic…Joey was left in the shadows, Sandalwood incense wafting about him, and his mind whirling. He knelt in the center of the circle and remembered to release the wards on the four corners of his circle, then to blow a single opening to the East. He carried the book and the box under his arm and headed down the stairs. It was going to be hell explaining to his parents where he got a new hamster…and why it’s eyes glowed.

He decided to blame it on his grandmother.

From below, he heard a sharp cackle of laughter.

Written by David Wilson - Visit Website
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