sat there for a long minute, taking in the feel of the angled little thing against my flesh. It was cool to the touch, draining the warmth from my hand, and it sent thrills all through me.
I recovered myself and began searching for the other fallen pieces. Ten minutes and a torch-lit search later and I was sitting back at my desk viewing the delicate shapes. They were not like modern puzzle pieces, no repeating shapes here, these had been cut with an artisan's skill, sometimes gentle curves, sometimes tight corners and shapes that sent my imagination spinning in excitement. There may not have been any pattern discernible on the faded paint, but slipping these wonderful shapes together would more than satisfy.
With my heart fluttering in my chest and goosebumps on my arms, I began.
My obsession has always swept me up, but no puzzle had ever consumed me like this one. From that very first piece, it had my whole attention, my will and my need to place each shape precisely. My skin tingled with anticipation, the feeling growing sharper with each correct placement - I was high on it. And there was something else beyond excitement, something taboo. At first I put it down to Great Grandmama's protectiveness of her old puzzles, but as that feeling grew and the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up, I knew it wasn't that.
I was not alone.
When I realised something was forming in the room with me piece by grey piece, fear started low in my belly, but I would not, could not stop my task. The atmosphere growing around me was chill and heavy, but still I pressed on, spending long minutes sometimes on one piece, or laughing nervously to myself when one slipped into place with the first try. I lost myself completely to it.
I know now it was a kind of surrender— each piece taking a little bit of me with it to make the puzzle. The hours ticked by. I trembled, both with the cooling of my little flat and the presence presencehrough me.
SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR IWACA
30 | IWACA
ONE MORE PIECE