Author’s Note: From a work in progress. The great investigator Mortimer Headlock and his companion Miss Grace Grace have found the Theatre of the Moon. Getting in, however, is not so simple.
The symbols on the great, ebony doors ghosted in and out of existence. In a continual swirling as of spectral leaves, the runic insignia sought to settle, but like all ghosts, never could. Grace watched as like milk spilt on a carried tray the lettering never solidified for more than a fraction of a second; no one would decipher them.
Headlock appeared to have taken a different approach. Instead of staring at the doors, he placed a finger to the fluid runes and allowed something other than his active senses to follow them. His index revealed by his removed glove rode the waves of whatever manipulated the door’s protection until when his fingertip turned blue, he removed it.
“Any idea?” Grace quizzed.
“None at all.”