"What am I?" Duncan the piglet asked, "a puppy? Did you turn me into a puppy? Fix it, Mira. Now." He glared up at me.
"Um, you're a piglet," I informed him. "I can't just change you back, unfortunately. The spell wears off in 2–4 hours."
"A piglet? How did—you mean I am seriously a talking piglet right now?"
"If it's any consolation, you make an adorable talking piglet," I tried flattery. It got me nowhere.
The piglet was displeased. "I didn't do it on purpose," I protested.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I meant to knock you over with wind, but my chaos magic interfered, and now here we are," I looked around, hoping nobody would come around the corner and see me chatting with a tiny swine who answered back.
"I can't let anyone see me like this. We have to get out of here," great, he was going into full pig panic mode, fast.
"What do you want me to do? Hide you? I guess I don't have another class until this afternoon. Let's get out of here. Follow me. Or do you want me to carry you?" The piglet snorted.
"Carry me? I have four legs, you only have two. I can walk just fine." He trotted along beside me, like a good boy.
"Where are we going?" My small pink companion asked, as I peered around a hallway corner to make sure no one was around. I had a hiding spot in mind; we just had to make it down the hallway to the old library. No one ever went in there, at least not that I had seen. It would most likely be empty, and dark, with plenty of good hiding places.
"The old library. No one goes in there. It's the best option we have right now."
"Oh, hell no. How many memos can one person miss? That place is haunted. Like for real."
"So? Come on, DeWitt. Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts. That's so disappointing." I scoffed.
"I'm not scared," his voice told a different story. "It's just that one of my magical gifts is the ability to communicate with spirits. They will sense me and try to strike up a conversation."
Interesting. "In your present condition, you think ghosts are going to try and talk to you?" I giggled. I couldn't help myself.
"You'll see," he warned me, as we reached the door. It opened with a loud groan, as though it had been rudely awakened. I held it open and we quietly entered the haunted old library.
The first thing I noticed was how much colder it was; the temperature plummeted as soon as the door closed with a soft click. Dust floated through the air, dimming the sunlight that tried to filter through the grime caking the windows. Something clattered behind us, and I spun around so fast I nearly tripped over a chair.
"Is someone there?" I called out. Silence. I tried to dismiss it, but my heart started beating faster. "Okay, well, we mean no harm. Just need a place to chill for a bit." I noticed a couch near the window.
"Well, I'm going to go sit down. Join me if you want." I walked over and plopped down on the dirty couch that looked like it might have been green at one point.
The little piggy tried to hop up to sit next to me, but he couldn't do it. With a sigh, I picked him up and sat him on the couch. "Just keep your snout to yourself," I warned him.
"Don't flatter yourself," he retorted, flopping onto his side. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with Triple C, who turned me into a piglet. This is so fucked."
"I didn't plan on it, okay? I can't help it." I protested. "Like I didn't mean to turn Brandie into a cat."
"What?"
"Last Halloween, my best friend, she's human, wanted me to do a spell to put her in a cat costume for the party. I found the spell, practiced for hours. It worked fine on my sister." I sighed. "But when I did the spell for Brandie, she turned into a black cat. A black cat that could talk."
"I'm sensing a pattern here."
"Don't. It's random. Hence the name chaos magic." I rolled my eyes. He would think I went around doing this for fun. What a douche. "Anyway, we decided that I would dress as a witch and she would be my talking cat. We actually won the costume contest." I smiled at the memory. The prize was $200, not bad for a botched spell.
"Like you won the fireball match," the piglet said thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?" But before he could answer, something rustled against a stack of papers, and they scattered all over the floor. Then a bookshelf slid sideways, scraping against the tile floor.
"Fuck. Here we go," he said nervously, scooting closer, all but hiding behind me.
"Is it a spirit?" I asked him. "They can't hurt you."
"No, but this feels different," he whispered. "Threatening, somehow. I don't like this." His piglet body trembled.
"Don't be a pussy," I told him, but I spoke too soon.
The air grew heavy, pressing in on us. It wasn't just cold now; it felt wrong. The dust motes that had danced in the dim light now seemed to shimmer with an unsettling, dark gleam.
A low hum vibrated through the floorboards, a sound so deep it felt more like a sensation in my bones than something heard with my ears.
It pulsed, slowly at first, then quickened, like a frantic heartbeat.
"Do you hear that?" I whispered, my voice barely audible above the growing thrum.
Duncan, still pressed against my side, let out a tiny squeak. "It's… not a spirit. Not like the others." His skin, which had been a healthy pink, seemed to dull, taking on a gray pallor. "It's… hunger."
The hum intensified, and the shadows in the corners of the room deepened, twisting and stretching as if they were alive. They writhed, coiling around the forgotten bookshelves, reaching out like skeletal fingers. It wasn't just a lack of light; these shadows felt substantial, a living presence.
A book flew from a shelf, landing open at our feet with a sudden thud. The pages, yellowed with age, began to flutter wildly, as if an unseen wind was whipping through them. But there was no breeze, only the suffocating weight of the growing presence. The words on the open page shimmered, dissolving into an inky blackness that bled across the paper.
Duncan shivered violently. "It's… it's absorbing something. Feeding."
I stared at the spreading ink, a prickle of dread tracing a cold path down my spine. "What do you mean, feeding?"
Before he could answer, a single, deep laugh echoed through the library, not from any specific direction, but from everywhere at once. It was a sound that grated against the soul, devoid of humor, a sound of vast, malevolent amusement.
The hum reached a crescendo, and then, as quickly as it began, it ceased.
The shadows receded, pulling back into the corners, but they didn't feel empty anymore. They felt full. The open book lay still, its pages no longer fluttering.
"It's gone," Duncan breathed, his voice still shaky. "For now." He looked up at me, his tiny piglet eyes wide with a dawning comprehension. "Mira, it's not your chaos magic it's feeding on. It's… the doubt. The way you feel about it. Every time a spell goes wrong, every time you question yourself, it's like ringing a dinner bell." He glanced at the book, then back at me, his gaze unusually serious for a piglet. "There is something dark hiding in this library, and it's feeding on negative emotions. Not just yours. Everyone's. We need to tell someone about this, someone who can help."
Suddenly, the piglet was gone and Duncan appeared again, his usual cocky smirk replaced by a mixture of fear and something else. Concern, perhaps? Whatever it was, I knew I no longer had to worry about him plotting to destroy me. I couldn't enjoy a sense of relief, though, we had bigger concerns. Something much scarier than Duncan. What had we stumbled into?
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.