Büyü – Part III [Final Part]
Photo by Alessandro Benassi on Unsplash
“Hello, hello. My name Mustafa.” The bookstore owner pointed at himself. “Not Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, best leader of Türkiye. You know Atatürk?”
The owner was in his mid-fifties. His round glasses were
tinted and his Hawaiian shirt was something you’d expect to find in more
tourist-populated cities like Antalya or Bodrum.
Kerem cracked a bitter smile. “I’m sorry, uhm, can I ask a
question?”
“Tabii ki de! Ne istersen! Yes, anything you
like! You ask, come on!”
“As far as I’m aware, the natives of Turkey are not known
for their reading. But the bookstore’s open at night, nonetheless.”
“Türkiye,” he corrected me, leaning closer after making sure
we were the only ones present in the bookstore. “Bir sır verim mi delikanlı?”
‘Want me to give you a secret, young man?’.
Kerem frowned upon hearing this. What secret? Wasn’t this
just a bookstore operating at odd times?
As if the bookstore owner could read his mind, he retreated
with a fake smile and said he was just joking in Turkish. Apparently, even the
owner did not know why the bookstore had to be open at such a peculiar hour.
Mustafa was raised in Istanbul, Fatih, and had no real
connection to Konya, Karapınar. The only nephew of an elderly couple, he
inherited the bookstore along with the couple’s all assets and belongings – on
one condition.
Anatolia had a rich history of folklore and myths. The elderly
couple believed in ‘büyü’ or, in English terms, ‘magic’. While ‘büyü’ is
recognised in the Islamic religion, it is not permitted.
That, however, did not keep the locals from engaging in it.
Especially in these rural parts, where the majority were illiterate and
superstition ran deep. It wasn’t unheard of to seek a ‘büyücü’, that is, a
‘magician’, when in need of non-urgent help.
The elderly couple had become rich overnight. From what
Mustafa could gather, everything changed when they started opening the
bookstore at night.
He followed the couple’s will at first and opened only at
nighttime. When this became a tiring task and his wife complained about it, he
switched things up.
Only one day later, he was on the brink of bankruptcy.
But since he was getting older and had no children of his
own who could take over the business, he sought someone who could help him along.
That’s where Leyla comes into the picture.
A distant relative of Mustafa’s wife, Leyla uploaded an
announcement on social media about the cashier's job.
Someone unknown to both him and Leyla called two days later
and told her that he would hit her up in a week.
In a week …
In a week …?
The guys from the headquarters hadn’t phoned him at that
point, and Mia wasn’t supposed to be missing, either. What was this? Some kind
of messed-up joke?
Even as the bookstore owner left, he couldn’t wrap his head
around what was going on. First, it was the uncannily similar fake ID, then
this whole thing about the massacre, and now this?
Then a thought hit him.
Was Mia even missing?
He picked up the phone to call her when he realised that
this analogue phone only permitted calls from within the country.
Why hadn’t he thought about calling Mark before he departed?
Then again. Would he be able to? Those people put a tail on him.
He could neither return to his apartment nor bid farewell to his friends at the
headquarters.
Moreover, was this whole talk about aliens and whatnot just made
up?
No matter how hard he twisted and turned the matter in his
head, there was no answer – not a plausible one, that is.
The bells rang.
He looked in the direction of the front door made of glass.
Whoever had entered was no longer visible. The door closed.
It had only been some thirty minutes since Mustafa left. He
hadn’t expected to see a customer for at least an hour.
The entire street was drenched by the downpour, and no one
roamed around as far as his eye could see from where he stood behind the
counter.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
Twenty minutes passed by.
Kerem glanced at the ticking clock on the wall across him
and counted the seconds. Apart from the slow and deliberate footsteps
reverberating through the store, nothing else revealed the presence of the
customer.
Thinking they might need help, he trudged from bookshelf to
bookshelf, from aisle to aisle, in search of the customer whose footsteps kept getting
fainter with each passing second.
When he reached the last bookshelf, he became acutely aware
of one thing.
The footsteps never ceased or stopped.
It kept moving.
Everything plunged into darkness.
The lights switched off.
“Merhaba? Kimse var mı?”
No response. Maybe they couldn’t understand his heavily
accented Turkish. He tried again.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
Still no response.
This was getting ridiculous, he thought. After getting
accustomed to the darkness, he made his way back to the counter and fetched a
flashlight from the drawer.
Wheezing, he pointed to the flash of light wherever he
thought he saw some strange movements. Even so, he failed to catch a glimpse of
the person who kept on walking in this haunting rhythm that sent chills down
his spine.
He jolted and lost his footing. The flashlight slipped from
his grasp and rolled away.
Something emerged from the other side of the window beside
him and scared the living daylights out of him.
A pair of youngsters broke into a peal of laughter, pointing
at him and screaming their heads off. Relaxing his shoulders, he drew a deep
breath before stumbling back on his feet.
The bells rang again.
The footsteps disappeared.
The lights turned on.
No one was near the closing door.
But that wasn’t what made him back away and open his eyes
wide. ₺1,000, approximately $29 was rung up on the cash
register. How many books did that translate to? More than a handful, that was
certain.
As he was having these ruminations, his eyes drifted to the
security camera in the corner. Recalling that the owner provided him with a
notebook with important information, he rummaged through the drawers until he
found it.
“8921…”
He turned on the computer, tapping his feet repeatedly and
keeping his darting eyes on the front door. Come on! Open!
The monitor hummed back to life. Opening the computer was the
easier part, he noted, than finding the software programme for the security
cameras.
Although he wasted a few minutes trying to find it, he
eventually succeeded.
“Shit!”
There was no record, only live footage. What kind of
bullshit was this? Why in the world—the bells rang.
His eyes drifted from the monitor to the front door. There
was no one there. Thinking he must be mistaken, he went through all the footage
as thoroughly as possible.
Still, there was no sign of anyone here. Apart from the
footsteps, that is.
The lights flickered, turning on and off in a deadly trance,
and making a fool out of him.
Fumbling to fetch his phone and call the bookstore owner, he
lost his grip on it.
As soon as he crouched down, the lights went off again. This
time, however, something was a little different.
The footsteps were not becoming fainter.
Through the gap under the counter, he spotted a pair of red
high heels that drew closer.
He held his breath.
The figure came to a standstill in front of the counter. As
he stood there, too afraid to make a sound or confront whatever or whoever
waited for him, he heard something he could only describe as someone wrinkling
a piece of paper.
The strange figure headed for the front door. Only when the
bells rang and the door closed did he get back on his feet.
Once again, a large amount of Turkish lira was rung on the
cash register. But that was not the only strange thing. As he had guessed, a
piece of paper rolled or squeezed into a ball was on the counter, too.
“Kaç.”
Run…? Why? He took a gander at the clock on the wall only to
realise it hadn’t moved since an hour ago. Fearing the worst, he picked up his
belongings and headed for the exit.
Above him, the flickering lights kept switching on and off
faster and faster, almost in time with his racing heart.
When he reached the front door and grabbed the door handle, an
invisible force pushed him to the ground.
Crawling backwards, the silhouette of a creature on four
legs materialised from the thin air before him.
The lights went amok. The bookstore’s customers showed up on
the other side of the windows, screaming in unison with their shrill voices,
and placing their bloody hands all over the glass.
Among the sea of spirits, a familiar face arrested him. Mia…?
Her gaping mouth was hollow, her eyes devoid of a soul, and
her limbs convulsing with rigour mortis.
The creature from outer space grew taller and taller before
him until its head reached the ceiling and beyond.
When it lurched down to get him with unprecedented speed,
Kerem noticed another strange thing among the sea of dead souls.
Some were engulfed by flames, others disfigured so that
their limbs were all mixed up, and yet others had their stomachs slit open so
that their guts were out in the open, hanging loosely.
Through the blazing fire, a man who looked identical to his
deceased father showed up. He opened the door with his invisible hand scorched to
oblivion, liquified beyond rescue and soundlessly begged him to hurry.
When the thing reached out its meaty tongue towards him, he
rolled to the side and leapt forwards with all his might.
As soon as he snatched the door handle and stormed out, the
downpour stopped and the darkness of night faded away.
Before him was a busy street during broad daylight full of
people from all walks of life. Someone honked at him and cussed him off.
He stepped away from the fast-flowing lane and looked behind
him.
The mysterious bookstore faded into the background only to
be replaced by a haunting graveyard in the middle of the city.
“What the fuck…?”
“Hi! Kerem, isn’t it?”
Kerem followed the sound of the voice. It was her. Leyla. He
wanted to ask a lot of questions, but nothing escaped from his mouth. Not
because he lost his ability to speak or was out of words, but because the
person before him melted into liquid.
Somehow, he was the only one rooted to the spot and watching
the bizarre spectacle.
He must have looked quite out of it because two kids passing
by mimicked his frightened expression and made fun of him.
He collapsed.
His feet gave way under him.
As the locals surrounded him and asked if he was okay, his deceased
uncle reached out a hand with a reassuring smile.
When he returned home, none of his coworkers in the
headquarters knew what he was talking about. Those people he met, they didn’t
exist. At least, not in the sense either of them were familiar with.
Had he been subjected to some kind of black magic? What was it called, again?
Right.
Büyü.
The End.
Read part I HERE!
Read part II HERE!