The Invitation
Blackwater Files | Case: 888 | Subject: Aeric Hearth | Page 1 of 5
Hello all! Apologies for the silence on my end. Life has been hectic and a break was in order. I fully plan to return to the Expedition Epsilon and Trapped Within Darkness. For now, my limited time allows me to enjoy experimenting with shorter stories that I can take my time with.
began a community focused project called The Blackwater Files. Since launching, many have partaken and written amazing stories. I’ve been planning to join in for a while now and finally had the time to put the first part of this five part story together! I hope you enjoy.Click here to check out all the other Blackwater stories! Big thanks to
for putting this entire thing together and inspiring everyone!
₥₳Ɽ₵Ⱨ 13₮Ⱨ, 2052
฿ØɄⱠĐɆⱤ, ₵ØⱠØⱤ₳ĐØ
“I feel an immense sadness emanating from your past.” Aeric Hearth stared at the card he had just placed on his ornate cherry wood table with intense focus. He encouraged the universe to show him what he needed to know.
Five of Cups; upright in its orientation. Such weight the beautiful card carried. A shapely, partially nude woman stood above 3 fallen chalices, grieving heavily for what she had lost, ignoring the two that still stood.
“Something you have been unable to stop grieving is keeping you from moving on and finding peace.” Aeric looked up at the dolorous couple, hoping they would finally make eye contact with him. “Fear and regret blinds you from anything good in your life.”
His last sentence willed the man to look up and meet his eyes. The flame from the candles on the table danced in his pupils. A boy entered Aeric’s mind, springing forth from the eyes of the man–the same eyes.
“Who’s the boy?”
Both the man and woman shot a glare of disbelief at Aeric. They looked at each other for a moment, stunned by the question. The woman’s gaze returned to Aeric, “How…how do you know about our son?”
“Him,” he pointed at the man, “They have the same eyes.”
“Is Robin here?!”
“No, Mrs. Wolffe, he’s not. I’m sorry.”
Her face, alight with hope, dove back into the clutches of despair and her eyes returned to the intricate Victorian rug on the floor. Mr. Wolffe looked at his wife and then at the card. His mouth opened a few times, his voice begging to break free of the emotional dam that held it back. After a few failed attempts, he looked up directly at Aeric.
“We…lost Robin…three years ago today.” He labored over each word, still in disbelief that they were spoken. A tear escaped the grieving father’s eye. Aeric’s focus moved to the droplet streaming down his weathered face. His mind’s eye expanded once again; this time it showed him a turbulent ocean.
“I can see and feel the waves of an ocean hammering against me. Was he taken by the water?”
Mr. Wolffe nodded his head. A gentle sob escaped his mouth prompting him to quickly cover his mouth with his hand. Aeric paid no mind, he encouraged his visitors to feel their emotions. After a moment, he collected himself and wiped the tears from his swollen eyes.
“He…he was playing in the shallow water…and then…he was just…gone.”
Aeric’s attention was drawn to the man’s eyes once again; they acted as mirrors reflecting the experience that he was reliving. He watched the memory from Mr. Wolffe’s perspective.
There was Robin, sporting goggles and a Super Squidly bathing suit, playing in the shallows. He was laughing and kicking the waves as they came in. Some of them knocked him down, but he couldn’t have been having more fun. Typical of a boy his age.
Something in the memory looked off. The waves looked peculiar, yet he could not pinpoint why. A spot of water only a few feet from Robin seemed calm in the thrashing suff; It extended out into the sea, appearing slightly darker than the rest of the water.
A riptide.
He broke his focus, Aeric didn’t need to see anymore to know what had happened. Riptides are extremely difficult for people to spot in the best of circumstances. Even when people are seen being pulled out into the ocean, it is usually too late for help. The fear that Robin must have experienced in his last moments was almost unbearable to think about. He felt the parent’s excruciating pain. Not only was their son gone, but they had no idea where he was.
“It is important that you both know it is not your fault for what happened,” Aeric began. “The ocean is chaos realized and one cannot predict how it may act. What I can tell you is that your son is resting, and he is at peace. If he wasn’t then he would most likely be here with me.”
They erupted in powerful sobbing that tore through the energy in the reading room like a hot knife through butter. He could feel their loss in his very soul; it tore at his heart as if he had lost his own child. As much as he loved helping people, Aeric had grown to hate this feeling. In an attempt to calm his own energy, he moved to draw a new card from the deck while Mr. and Mrs. Wolffe let the healing process begin.
Aeric’s hand moved over his tried and true oracle deck, emptying his mind so that he was ready to receive the next message. Upon his fingers touching the back of the card, he could tell something was different. The card was cold to the touch and slippery like it was wet. He looked at it closer, checking to see if tears or something had fallen on the card. It appeared totally normal–he knew that it was anything but. Aeric lifted the card off the deck and turned it towards himself.
Death.
A reaper sat beneath a moon that was adorned with the Eye of Providence. When Aeric’s gaze fell upon the all seeing eye, it held there, unable to break free. The eye stared back and the background of the reading room faded away.
Out of nowhere, Aeric felt an enormous body of water smash into him. It was so powerful that it lifted him up and out of his chair, throwing him across the room. Soaking wet, he smashed into a shelf that held occult trinkets he had been collecting. When his body came to a rest in the pile of debris, he looked up to see the card floating in the air right in front of his face–the eye staring directly at him.
Suddenly, the eye was overtaken by a brilliant light that began at its center and grew brighter as it moved away. Its radiance grew until even his peripheral vision was blocked. That is when the visions began.
A chaotic, messy home made of stone; paintings, canvases and art were strewn about.
A filthy, damp shack made of wood where 3 makeshift beds stuffed with hay, a lantern and a stuffed bear resided.
A dark, cramped dirt tunnel that led into the darkness; screams could be heard echoing around the chambers.
A nice, expensive boat drifting out at sea with giant storm clouds floating threateningly above in the sky.
A giant eye that never sleeps.
Reality snapped violently back into focus. Aeric gasped air into his lungs, as if the entire time he had been holding his breath. Mr. and Mrs. Wolffe stared back at him worryingly. Aeric was back in his chair, dry, still holding the card in his hand. He dropped it on the table and it fell face down. Sitting there for a moment, he pondered what in the world had just happened, breathing hard through his open mouth.
“Are you alright?” Mrs. Wolffe asked tenderly, reaching out for his hand.
Aeric looked behind him at the shelf he had been thrown into; it was still perfectly intact. He looked back at his two clients, “Me? Yeah, uh, no don’t worry about me. I’m alright.” His eyes darted to the card he had dropped on the table—he most certainly was not alright.
“What jus–”
“Mr. and Mrs. Wolffe, I must apologize but I need to take a rain check for your reading. Of course, tonight is entirely on me. I will contact you soon and let you know when I can finish your reading. I am truly, very sorry.”
“We understand,” Mr. Wolffe began. “Can you at least tell us what happened? Did it have to do with Robin?”
“That’s the problem—the vision wasn’t about either of you. It was about me.”
With that, they exchanged pleasantries and went on their way. Aeric paced around his reading room for a moment, before moving to turn off the lights and close down his shop. The lights inside went out following the snuffing of each candle, which allowed for the moonlight to shower the room in a kaleidoscope of colors from the stained glass skylight. Outside on the quiet streets, swinging on chains above his door, his purple and gold neon sign reading, “Sacred Hearth” flashed off.
Aeric parted the mystical tapestry-turned-curtain in the back of the reading room and walked into the hallway that led to his personal living space. At the end of the hallway he paused and looked around, already searching for any answers to the questions he had ricocheting around in his head.
All that was familiar to him was here, in his quaint domain. Yet, the visions themselves were familiar and he could not figure out why. He was not an artist, nor a sailor. Nothing came to his mind regarding a decaying shack or hellish tunnel either. What in the hell was that giant eye about? Confusing visions were his jam, but these left him disorientingly baffled.
Over the course of the night, and well into the morning, Aeric scoured the internet looking for anything that might help him. Nothing about any of the visions led him to even a single clue regarding what they meant. Frustrated, he let out a heavy sigh, stretched and glanced at the clock.
4:54 a.m.
Aeric yawned and muttered, “Guess I should call it a ni–”.
His email pinged him with a notification, immediately drawing his attention. He sighed, expecting it to be spam or another internet hussy trying to gouge him for money. Upon opening his inbox, he found neither to be true. The subject line read, “A Special Invitation” from someone named Robert Karasevdas. Opening the email shockingly revealed his first clue to the visions—The eye that never sleeps.
ᴀᴇʀɪᴄ,
ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʟʟ.
ᴍʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴅʀ. ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ᴊ. ᴋᴀʀᴀꜱᴇᴠᴅᴀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇɴᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ᴘʜᴀʀᴍᴀᴄᴇᴜᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ, ᴇʟʏꜱɪᴜᴍ. ɪ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɢɢᴇꜱᴛ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɪɴ ꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴇɴ.
ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ᴀꜱᴋɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ; ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴀʀʀᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ? ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀꜱᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ, ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍᴀʏ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ᴘʟᴀɢᴜᴇᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ɪᴛꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴ? ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ꜱʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪʟʟᴇɴɪᴀ? ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴏᴜʀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ?
ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴇʟʏꜱɪᴜᴍ, ᴡᴇ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏʟᴠᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟɪᴛʏ.
ɪᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ᴏꜰ ᴇxᴄᴇᴘᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴɪQᴜᴇ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴜꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴇʟʏꜱɪᴜᴍ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ɢᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ ɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅ. ᴀ ᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴇᴇʀ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀꜰꜰᴏʀᴅ ᴜꜱ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴛᴀɢᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴜꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ.
ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴠɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴠᴏʟᴜɴᴛᴇᴇʀ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴜʀ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴛʀɪᴀʟꜱ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴠᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ꜰᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴘᴀʏ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀɴᴛꜱ ($17,000), ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀꜱ ᴀɴ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ $33,000 ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏɴᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ᴏꜰ $50,000.
ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴇꜰꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ, ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ:
ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴍɪɴɪꜱᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴀᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇ-ᴏꜰ-ᴛʜᴇ-ᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴀᴄɪʟɪᴛʏ ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀꜱᴛᴇʀɴ ꜱᴇᴀʙᴏᴀʀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ 6 ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ. ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ᴏɴʟʏ ʀᴇQᴜɪʀᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴘɪʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏ “ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ”. ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ “ᴀꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ” ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴜʙᴄᴏɴꜱᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ, ᴡᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏɴɪᴛᴏʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪᴛᴀʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴇᴇᴍ ᴏꜰ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛꜱ. ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴠɪᴅᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʏ.
ᴀᴇʀɪᴄ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴇᴄɪꜱɪᴏɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴅɪꜱꜱᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ. ɪᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ ʜɪɴɢᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ, ʜᴏᴘᴇꜰᴜʟʟʏ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴀʟ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜰɪʀᴍɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴘʀᴏᴠɪᴅᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ.
ᴡᴀʀᴍ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅꜱ,
ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ᴊ. ᴋᴀʀᴀꜱᴇᴠᴅᴀꜱ
ʜᴇᴀᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴇʟʏꜱɪᴜᴍ ᴘʜᴀʀᴍᴀᴄᴇᴜᴛɪᴄᴀʟ
-ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴜꜱ, ᴡᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ
Next Part…
"A giant eye that never sleeps"? Like Sauron, Pinkerton or CBS?
Awesome, Jeff. I like fantasy/sci-fi meld. ❤️🔥