Haunted Secrets: Tales of Leo Moreland Vol. 5

The Stars in Their Courses

Kat Blake leaned back in her seat and gazed up at the simulated night sky. Orion was conspicuous overhead. The red cinder that was Betelgeuse contrasted with the colorless glow of the three stars in Orion’s belt. The famous nebula—called Orion’s sword by the ancients—was a faint smudge of mist. Kat’s gaze wandered over to Sirius. The soundtrack was explaining to the handful of listeners that Sirius was a rarity because it twinkled even when high in the sky. Such was the brightness of the Dog Star.

The narrator moved on to the Zodiac and the planets. “Planetes” to the Greeks, which means “the wanderers”. Kat had always loved the way simple words from olden times took on new weight as they evolved over the centuries. Mars appeared redder than Betelgeuse and even brighter. Then came Jupiter, the king of the gods, followed by far-distant Saturn. The commentary detailed the ways astronomers had amassed knowledge of the planets. Famous names rolled by—Galileo, Kepler, and Newton.

Once, Kat could have relaxed and enjoyed the planetarium show. She loved this place, loved the way she could immerse herself in the vastness of the universe yet still be sitting warm and indoors on a snowy day. From her first visit in high school, she’d wanted to work at Manchester Planetarium. And she’d landed her dream job. But now the wonders of the cosmos, and the steady march of scientific progress, brought her little solace. Because Kat, despite all her love of science, had doubts and suspicions. And, yes, fears. Fears that something wild was loose in this place. Something ancient, evil, and far from the rational, quantifiable world of astronomy.

“Our ancestors,” the recorded lecture went on, “believed that the movements of the heavens influenced events on earth. Astrology, while having no scientific basis, was a protoscience. The ancient Babylonians were obsessed with the stars and planets, and thanks to them, we divide the day into twenty-four hours and a circle into 360 degrees…”

The narrator’s voice was comforting and warm like a kindly uncle explaining things to a curious, well-behaved child. But the subject matter made Kat tense. She hoped she was wrong, despite everything that had happened. She wanted reason to prevail against ancient, instinctual dread. She watched as planetary conjunctions were explained, knowing that what came next was the eclipse. First, the image of the moon projected on the planetarium dome was obscured by the Earth’s shadow. Then, came a solar eclipse, with the moon passing in front of the sun.

Kat clutched the armrests of her chair, her nails digging into the time-worn foam padding. Would it happen again? She looked around as the projected sun emerged and filled the auditorium with golden light. Kat counted the audience. Twelve, apart from her. No, thirteen. Was somebody else standing at the back, near the exit? It was impossible to make out a face, but something about the figure’s stance was familiar. A kind of arrogant slouch…

Before Kat could be sure, darkness descended again. The soundtrack moved on to the aurora and its origin in the solar wind. Then, the sky glitched. The image of the Northern Lights flickered and vanished, replaced by a pattern of stars unfamiliar to Kat. The strange constellation lasted only a second before the aurora returned. But that was not the only unusual event. Something worse was to come.

“Oh, my God. What is that?”

The exclamation from a woman somewhere behind her came just before the odor hit. It was the same smell Kat had encountered every time the projector system glitched. The odor wafted through the auditorium, filling the air with the stench of rotten meat. Everyone made noises of disgust mingled with protests. Visitors were standing, and Kat heard one grumbling that they wanted their money back.

“You’d think they’d fix the drains,” said the woman who’d noticed the smell first.

If only it was that simple, Kat thought, getting up to follow.

Twenty minutes later, she was in the director’s office. Danny, Kate’s boss, was in despair, having just refunded a dozen entrance fees.

“I don’t get it!” He gestured at the door that led into the auditorium. “Everything’s been checked. The projector works fine, and there’s nothing wrong with the programming. There’s no break in the sewage line and no dead animals under the floorboards. This is costing us a fortune. Nobody will want to come here. They’ll close us down!”

Kat made some comforting noises, all the while wondering why a twenty-three-year-old woman had to console a thirty-eight-year-old man. She hoped she sounded positive, but she had also done some checking. She’d reached a conclusion she knew Danny would not like. That’s why she’d waited until he’d lost hope, when he might be willing to try anything as a last-ditch solution. She gave him her best smile and made her suggestion.

“Aw, come on!” Danny’s face grew a brighter shade of red. “That’s ludicrous! If word got out that we were messing with that kind of nonsense, it would just give the press another juicy tidbit to beat us with.”

Ignoring Danny’s mixed metaphor, she persisted. Slowly, over the next half hour, she wore him down.

“Okay, okay.” He slumped back in his chair. “Talk to the guy if you want, but it’s all off the record. And no way can we put any payments through the books. If anyone asks me, you just showed a friend around.”

***