Chapter 9: The Ritual of Severance

The Millbrook Public Library felt different at closing time. What had been a sanctuary of knowledge twelve hours earlier now felt like a fortress under siege, its tall windows reflecting the parking lot's sodium lights like watchful eyes. Eleanor waited for Liam by the staff entrance, a leather satchel clutched against her chest and an expression that mixed determination with barely controlled fear.

"You came back," she said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I hoped you would have enough sense to run." Eleanor unlocked the door and led him back through the darkened library, their footsteps echoing off the high ceilings. "Most people, when faced with the choice between confronting supernatural entities and fleeing to another state, choose geography."

But geography won't solve this. They've already proven they can follow me anywhere.

"You said there might be a way to stop them," Liam said. "To break the cycle permanently."

Eleanor's silence stretched long enough to make him nervous. They reached the archives room, where she'd laid out materials that looked like they belonged in a different century: leather-bound books with titles in languages he didn't recognize, bundles of dried herbs that filled the air with sharp, medicinal scents, and what appeared to be a collection of metal implements that gleamed dully in the fluorescent light.

"Before we discuss solutions," Eleanor said, setting the satchel on the table, "I need you to understand exactly what you'd be attempting. This isn't like the movies, Mr. Thorne. Occult rituals have consequences, and they don't always go as planned."

She opened one of the books—a tome bound in cracked black leather that seemed to absorb the room's light. The pages were thick parchment covered in handwritten text, diagrams that hurt to look at directly, and illustrations that seemed to move when viewed peripherally.

"This is Whitmore's personal grimoire," Eleanor said. "The source material that Eleonora Ashton used for her original ritual. I've spent decades studying it, trying to understand what went wrong and how it might be corrected."

How did a librarian get access to books like this?

"You're not just a local historian, are you?" Liam asked.

Eleanor's smile was grim. "My family has been the unofficial guardians of Whitmore's collection since his death. Someone needed to ensure that dangerous knowledge didn't fall into the wrong hands again. Unfortunately, a few items slipped through the cracks—including the books that ended up in that cabin."

She turned to a page covered in symbols that seemed to shift and writhe like living things. "The ritual Eleonora used was called the Speculum Exchange—a relatively simple spell designed to swap the practitioner's life force with their reflection. But she misunderstood a crucial element."

Everything has a price.

"The exchange requires equilibrium," Eleanor continued. "Equal sacrifice for equal gain. Eleonora thought she could trade her family's suffering for their reflections' happiness, but the mirror world isn't a place of healing—it's a liminal space, a prison between realities. When they crossed over, they became trapped."

Liam studied the diagrams, trying to make sense of the arcane geometry. "So they're stuck in the space between mirrors?"

"Exactly. And the only way for them to escape is to complete the original exchange—to send someone from our world to take their place while they inhabit that person's life."

Which is exactly what they want me to do.

"But there's another option," Eleanor said, turning to a different page. "A counter-ritual called the Severance of Souls. It's designed to break magical bindings and send trapped spirits to their proper rest."

The new page showed a diagram that was somehow even more unsettling than the last—circles within circles, connected by lines that formed patterns that seemed to describe impossible geometries. At the center was a drawing of a mirror, cracked down the middle, with figures on either side reaching toward each other across the broken glass.

"It has to be performed at the source of the original binding," Eleanor said. "In the cabin, using a fragment of the actual mirror that trapped them."

She reached into her satchel and withdrew something wrapped in black silk. When she unwrapped it, Liam saw a shard of silvered glass about the size of his palm, its edges sharp enough to draw blood just from looking at it.

"I recovered this from the cabin in 1974," Eleanor said. "Part of my family's responsibility was ensuring that artifacts like this didn't spread their influence. I've been keeping it contained for forty-nine years, waiting for someone desperate enough to attempt the Severance."

Or crazy enough.

"What makes you think it will work?" Liam asked.

"Because the Severance addresses the fundamental problem with Eleonora's original ritual. Instead of trying to swap lives, it breaks the connection entirely, sending the trapped souls to whatever comes after death while severing their ability to influence our world."

Eleanor's expression grew grave. "But it's extraordinarily dangerous. The ritual must be performed at midnight, when the barrier between worlds is thinnest. You'll need to return to the cabin, enter the bedroom where they're strongest, and complete the Severance while they're actively trying to stop you."

Of course it has to be at midnight. And of course it has to be in their stronghold.

"What exactly would I need to do?"

Eleanor pulled out a handwritten sheet covered in phonetic notations. "The incantation must be spoken in perfect Latin while you hold the mirror fragment. But here's the truly dangerous part—the ritual requires you to partially enter the mirror world yourself. You'll need to cross over just enough to make contact with the Ashtons, then return before the connection becomes permanent."

Liam stared at the mirror shard, its surface reflecting his face in fragmented pieces. "What happens if I can't get back out?"

"Then you become trapped like they are, and the problem multiplies instead of solving itself."

Three souls trapped instead of two. And the cycle continues.

"There's something else," Eleanor continued. "The Severance requires what the text calls 'willing sacrifice'—not your life, but something of equal value to what you're trying to save."

"Such as?"

"Your connection to the living world. Your memories, your identity, your ability to form human attachments. The ritual might free the Ashtons, but it could leave you fundamentally changed—still alive, but no longer fully human."

The weight of what she was describing settled over him like a shroud. Risk death, risk madness, risk losing everything that made him who he was, all for the chance to save two people who'd been dead for fifty years and wanted to steal his life.

But also the chance to save everyone else they might target. To end the cycle permanently.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked. "You could have just told me to run, let me become someone else's problem."

Eleanor was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing the edge of the grimoire's pages. "Because I've been carrying the guilt of their disappearance for forty-nine years. I was the one who helped Eleonora research folk healing methods. I was the one who didn't recognize the signs that she was moving beyond academic interest into actual practice."

She blames herself.

"And because," Eleanor continued, "every few years someone else stumbles into their trap. Usually they escape, but not always. I've documented at least seven disappearances that I believe are connected to the Ashtons. Seven people who were alone, desperate, vulnerable enough to accept their offer."

Seven people who didn't fight back.

"The ritual has to be performed tomorrow night?" Liam asked.

"Tonight," Eleanor corrected. "It's already past ten PM. You have less than two hours to reach the cabin and prepare."

The reality of the timeline hit him like a physical blow. In ninety minutes, he would either free the Ashtons from their fifty-year prison or join them in their gray limbo. There was no time for second thoughts, no opportunity to research alternatives.

This is it. Choose now or surrender to their slow recruitment.

Eleanor packed the mirror shard and ritual materials into the satchel, handling each item with the reverence of someone who understood its power. "The incantation is phonetically written out," she said. "Practice it on the drive up—the pronunciation has to be perfect. And remember, once you cross the threshold into the mirror world, you'll have only minutes before the connection becomes permanent."

She handed him the satchel, her fingers lingering on his for a moment. "Mr. Thorne—Liam—are you certain about this? Once you begin the ritual, there's no stopping it. No changing your mind if things go wrong."

Am I certain? About attempting an occult ritual I don't understand, in a haunted cabin, while supernatural entities try to drag me into their prison dimension?

"No," he said honestly. "But I'm certain about the alternative. If I don't try this, they'll keep hunting me until I give up. And then they'll move on to someone else."

Eleanor nodded slowly. "Then God help you. And God help us all if this doesn't work."

As Liam headed for the library's exit, the weight of the satchel in his hand felt like carrying concentrated purpose. For the first time in months, he had a goal that mattered more than his own survival, a reason to fight that transcended his personal failures.

The drive to Lake Serene would take an hour and fifteen minutes. Time enough to practice the Latin phrases, to prepare himself mentally for what was coming.

Time enough to accept that he might not survive the night, but that someone needed to try.

Behind him, Eleanor locked the library doors and whispered something that might have been a prayer. Ahead of him, the mountain road stretched into darkness, leading back to the cabin where it had all begun.

Where, in seventy-three minutes, it would either end forever or claim another victim.

The clock on his dashboard read 10:47 PM as he started the engine.

Time to find out which kind of man he really was.