tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88971170315810586902024-03-05T06:54:46.376-08:00The Cabinet of Curiositiesshort fictions for the young and mischievous Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-85538300169039829632013-05-29T07:37:00.000-07:002013-05-29T07:37:19.031-07:00Housekeeping in the CabinetHello, curious ones,<br />
<br />
As you may have noticed, today is Wednesday, and thus Cabinet Day. Rejoice! However, you may not have noticed our various announcements regarding our new and larger home. From this point on, our little curiosities will only be available at our new home: <a href="http://enterthecabinet.com/">EnterTheCabinet.com</a>. <br />
<br />
In a few days, this site will be set to automatically transport you to that one, quick as a blink. In the meantime, you might wish to change your subscriptions/follows so that you don't miss any of our dark and whimsical tales. Should you visit the new Cabinet now, in fact, you will find there a new story from Curator Bachmann waiting for you.<br />
<br />
Thank you,<br />
Your Curators<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-10079453405882971292013-05-24T00:00:00.000-07:002013-05-24T14:31:57.918-07:00A big announcement and a giveaway from your Curators! Dear curious and lovely readers,<br />
<br />
We, the Curators, thank you
for
exploring the Cabinet with us, reading about cake and tricks and not
worrying when the tables sprout legs and run away. The tour through our
collection of Curiosities is by no means over; in fact, it is just
beginning.<br />
<br />
We're delighted to announce that the objects you've found here will
soon be collected into a very different object--that is, a book--which
you'll be able to hold yourselves. An anthology of these short fictions
for the young and mischievous is coming from Greenwillow Books in Summer
2014. Between its covers you will not only find the stories that have
been, and will continue to be, placed here, but also brand new ones,
plus observations and all manner of wickedness from the four of us. <br />
<br />
Fret not, this ethereal Cabinet remains open for business, though we will soon be moving to a new and bigger home, with no
interruption to our regular weekly offerings. Indeed, we are more
determined than ever to bring you a wide variety of tales unearthed and
rooms thrust into the light of day.<br />
<br />
And if you'll permit us a personal note, we would also like to
profess our limitless gratitude to the honorary, silent Curators who
stand behind us, ghostly and determined. Our agents, Sara Megibow, David
Dunton, Diana Fox, and Brooks Sherman, and most particularly the
brilliant Virginia Duncan, our new collective editor, for wanting to
throw open the Cabinet doors even wider.<br />
<br />
We'll see you for the next story--truly, we will see you, the walls have eyes--and thank you, again, for your patronage.<br />
<br />
The Curators (Stefan Bachmann, Katherine Catmull, Claire Legrand, and Emma Trevayne)<br />
<br />
<b>To celebrate this fantabulous news, we are having a
giveaway--our first, but unlikely to be the last. Up for collection are
four pairs of books, one from each Curator</b>. <b>One book shall be
the Curator's own, the other...who may know? An old, spooky favorite? A
much-sought-after advance copy of something new? Only time will tell and
this is, after all, a place of mysteries. Enter via the Rafflecopter
link in the next seven days, and four winners will be chosen at random. (Giveaway is international, please enter from wherever you are!)</b><br />
<br />
<b> - comment on post for 2 entries (mandatory) </b><br />
<b>- follow @CabinetCurators on Twitter for 2 entries (optional) </b><br />
<b>- tweet about the giveaway for 2 entries (optional)
</b>
<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/10f65026/" id="rc-10f65026" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-21521491180102532852013-05-22T06:00:00.001-07:002013-05-22T06:58:40.000-07:00A Garden Full of Bad Things (by Claire Legrand)The dog lives in the backyard of a yellow house. Beside his yellow house is a gray house, and behind the gray house is a garden. The garden is overgrown, and sends the perfume of flowers all up and down the street, and sometimes also the smell of sweet rot. <br />
<br />
The dog is a little dog, white and twitchy, and he has been trained well. He sits on a stool in his backyard and watches the garden day and night. It isn’t his job. No one told him to do it, but he is a dog and has a sense of duty he can’t shake. <br />
<br />
His humans bring him inside on occasion, but the dog will sit at the door and whine and howl and scratch and destroy the carpets until they let him back outside. He feels so guilty about this that it has given him chronic indigestion, for his humans are perfectly good humans and don’t deserve such disloyalty. See? Even now, they demonstrate their kindness. They are bringing him a bowl of the special kibble, prescribed by the veterinarian. It is supposed to be good for dogs with stomach problems. They set the bowl down beside the dog’s stool. They pat him on the head.<br />
<br />
“I suppose he must really like it out here,” says one of the humans.<br />
<br />
“Maybe it reminds him of his wild ancestors,” suggests the other.<br />
<br />
Neither of them says what they’re thinking because they don’t want to hurt the dog’s feelings. What they are thinking is that ever since they moved into this house, the dog has been acting strangely. They wonder for a moment if the house is haunted, or if the soil is contaminated, or some other such thing that a dog might sense and a human cannot. Then they laugh to themselves and go back inside.<br />
<br />
The dog’s heart breaks. He wants to go inside with them and lay his head on their feet and sleep on the foot of their bed. But he is a dog, and he has a duty. The gray house’s garden is not right. The gray house’s garden is full of bad things. <br />
<br />
The gray house’s garden is full of flowers that whisper and growl and entice. They are angry flowers. They are greedy flowers. But most of all, they are hungry. It has been several days since their last meal, and the dog knows they will try again soon. As always, he will try and stop them. He never stops to think that he will fail, even though he always does. For he is a dog, and he is full of hope.<br />
<br />
So the dog settles on his stool and waits.<br />
<br />
The dog’s name is Rabbit.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Rabbit wakes up in the middle of the night because he hears footsteps on the sidewalk. The footsteps are quick and uneven, like the owner of the feet is in a hurry but also unwell.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOi0iBjzoZEgCmJ0Pa2wky-RqerVf5fN8bvya-zUuN0v9f6N_mF-gRTkebUOjrs_N1CqBzfykzXT8bVb7KdrftF7dr9fwhAOhILmF73Kv0jZ5ZVqXidUs5yPrksSvoRXcO1FDqUqCAn8/s1600/orchid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOi0iBjzoZEgCmJ0Pa2wky-RqerVf5fN8bvya-zUuN0v9f6N_mF-gRTkebUOjrs_N1CqBzfykzXT8bVb7KdrftF7dr9fwhAOhILmF73Kv0jZ5ZVqXidUs5yPrksSvoRXcO1FDqUqCAn8/s320/orchid.jpg" width="320" /></a>Rabbit knows that sound. He has heard it many times. He jumps off his stool and races toward the fence of his yard. There are many layers of sound in a dog’s world, and sometimes they can be hard to pick apart. For example, right now the dog is hearing the spider crawl through the grass and the owl waking up in the woods behind his house. He can hear his humans breathing as they sleep and he can hear a raincloud turning over in the sky.<br />
<br />
He can hear many things, but none of them are as loud as the sounds from the gray house’s garden. They are the sounds of immediate danger, so they are like thunder in Rabbit’s ears.<br />
<br />
They are the sounds of the garden waking up. They are the sounds of the flowers whispering to each other, and calling to the footsteps on the sidewalk.<br />
<br />
Rabbit slips under the fence, through a hole he dug long ago and has cleverly disguised with an empty flower pot. He sees the owner of the footsteps, and he whimpers. <br />
<br />
It is a child. It is a boy in his pajamas and slippers, and he smells like old baseball gloves and dirty socks, which is paradise to Rabbit’s nose. But Rabbit is not distracted. Rabbit is a very good dog.<br />
<br />
He rushes toward the boy, his nails clicking on the sidewalk. He puts himself directly in the boy’s path and barks.<br />
<br />
The boy skids to a halt. His eyes are wild and white. His smile is uneven and loopy. “What do you want?” he asks Rabbit. “You’re in my way.”<br />
<br />
Rabbit does everything he knows how to do. He runs back and forth between the boy and the gate that leads to the gray house’s garden. He growls at the gate. He runs at the boy growling, trying to push him away. <br />
<br />
The boy gets angry. “Go away,” he says, and he jumps over Rabbit, and Rabbit despairs. If only he weren’t such a <i>little </i>dog. If only he were a Rottweiler or a German Shepherd or even a Labrador. But he is only a tiny white mutt of a dog with big pointy ears that gave him his name.<br />
<br />
He chases after the boy. The boy’s hands are on the gate! Rabbit bites his pant leg and tugs, and tugs. The boy turns, growling, and his face has transformed. It is sick with the garden’s power. <br />
<br />
“I have to go to them!” says the boy, and he kicks Rabbit away, hard.<br />
<br />
Rabbit yelps. The wind is knocked out of him. He watches from the sidewalk as the boy opens the gate and slips inside. He hears the boy’s sigh of relief once his slippers hit the soft wet dirt. Rabbit knows the boy’s nose is not sensitive enough to detect the scent of bones that wafts up from the dirt when the boy steps on it. The boy’s ears are not sensitive enough to distinguish the squelch of dirt wet with water from the squelch of dirt wet with blood.<br />
<br />
Rabbit howls and howls, but the flowers only laugh at him. The daffodils bobbing in clumps on either side of the gate, the morning glories winding around the gate’s iron spikes—they are all laughing at him.<br />
<br />
<i>You’re too late</i>, they say. Their voices are ugly. Their petals form wicked mouths, and their tongues are dark. When they breathe, the air fills with the scents of hair and fingernails and screams. For to a dog, even a scream has a flavor. <i>You’re too late, Rabbit.</i><br />
<br />
Rabbit shakes. He hates it when they say that. For he is always too late, isn’t he? And too small, and not smart enough, apparently. It is enough to give a poor, simple mutt a vast inferiority complex. <br />
<br />
So he sits and watches as the vines wrap around the boy’s legs, and pull him down. He watches as the boy sighs and smiles and laughs, because this is just what he wanted. He wanted to come to the flowers. He heard the flowers calling him, and their voices were so beautiful. Rabbit hears the boy whispering it to himself: “So beautiful. So beautiful. Hello. Hello.” The boy is talking to the flowers as if they are old friends.<br />
<br />
Their leaves burrow into his skin, and still he smiles. Their bulbs bend over him like heads, and their black tongues unfurl, and still he laughs.<br />
<br />
It isn’t until the orchids latch onto his face, smothering him, that he begins to scream.<br />
<br />
Rabbit makes himself watch, though he does grant himself the small mercy of putting his paws over his ears.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
The next day, Rabbit doesn’t eat. He noses at his kibble and sits under his stool. He does not deserve to sit on his favorite stool today. He can smell the boy’s body as the flowers bleed it and chew it and pull it slowly into the ground. He can hear the flowers celebrating, hissing and laughing and complimenting each other.<br />
<br />
They are very loud this morning. Children are their favorite, after all.<i> Children</i>, Rabbit often hears them saying, <i>are the sweetest meat.</i><br />
<br />
Rabbit’s humans leave for work. Rabbit can no longer listen to the flowers gloat and belch and clean the blood from their petals. He is beside himself with shame. He wanders through his backyard, whimpering. The poor boy, he thinks. The poor boy with his baseball gloves and his smelly socks. What will his parents think?<br />
<br />
At the edge of the backyard is a fence, and beyond that fence is a field of tall grasses and some woods. Rabbit digs under the fence and comes out into the field on the other side and howls quietly to himself. He will continue to wander forever, he thinks. He will wander away until he finds somewhere he can actually be useful, or perhaps until he dies. Perhaps, he thinks forlornly, dying would be best. A dog who cannot help humans is no dog at all.<br />
<br />
But then he hears footsteps crashing through the grasses. The footsteps are coming from the direction of the woods. Rabbit thinks this is curious, for he has never heard anything in these woods except for foxes and birds and snails. <br />
<br />
Then he sees the girl. She is as young as the dead boy was. She is wearing a dress that is torn and dirty. She has a wild face and wild eyes, and her hair is full of mud and twigs. She does not move like a human. She moves like an animal, darting this way and that.<br />
<br />
She runs toward the gray house’s garden. She is confused. She does not know where she is going.<br />
<br />
Rabbit follows her, barking. He does not stop to think how strange this girl looks, or that he has decided to wander off and die. For he is a dog, and when it comes right down to it, he will forget his own problems and do the right thing. He runs and barks and thinks that he will bite the girl’s leg if he has to. A bite from a small dog named Rabbit will be better than getting eaten by flowers.<br />
<br />
But the girl stops. She stares at him. She kneels down in the dirt and begins to talk to him, but she does not talk like other humans do. She talks in growls and clicks like an animal, and Rabbit understands her perfectly. He sits back on his haunches and cannot help but wag his tail. This girl is a strange one. He likes this girl.<br />
<br />
“You’re saying,” says the girl, clicking and growling, her eyes wide, “that the flowers in that garden eat people?”<br />
<br />
“Yes,” says Rabbit, barking. It is a serious moment but he nevertheless has trouble stopping himself from licking her face. He has never talked with a human before, and it brings him a joy not unlike the joy that comes from getting his belly scratched. “Yes, that is what I’m saying. The flowers talk to people. They trick them inside, and then they eat them. They like children best of all.”<br />
<br />
“How do you know this?”<br />
<br />
“I hear them talking to each other.”<br />
<br />
“Ah.” The girl nods. “I didn’t know dogs could understand flowers. But it makes sense.”<br />
<br />
“Does it?”<br />
<br />
“Of course. Dogs hear and smell and understand things much better than humans do, don’t they?”<br />
<br />
“Much better indeed,” Rabbit says gravely.<br />
<br />
The girl looks at Rabbit, and then looks around, and then pulls a thorn from her skirt. “Where are we? Could you please tell me?”<br />
<br />
Rabbit does not understand. “What do you mean? This is the world. We are in it.”<br />
<br />
“But it’s our world, isn’t it? Not theirs?”<br />
<br />
“Who are you talking about?”<br />
<br />
“This is the world where the sky is blue and the stars come out at night and things are all facing right-side up?”<br />
<br />
Rabbit tilts his head. “Apparently the sky is blue. That’s what the humans say. And roses are red. They say that too.”<br />
<br />
“Yes.” The girl’s face is strange now. “Roses are always red.”<br />
<br />
Rabbit has been so distracted that he doesn’t notice it until now: “You smell funny. You smell not quite right.”<br />
<br />
“I’ve been . . . away,” the girl says. She looks at the ground. She smells afraid. “I have been far away, in a place where the sky is black and the stars are falling and everything is upside-down.”<br />
<br />
“Well, you are here now. My name is Rabbit.”<br />
<br />
“A dog named Rabbit.” The girl frowns. “What nonsense. My name is Alice.”<br />
<br />
When Alice says her name, Rabbit hears the flowers in the gray house’s garden stop gloating and boasting. He hears them turn their heads. He feels their silence and their fear.<br />
<br />
That, he thinks, is odd. The flowers have never been afraid before.<br />
<br />
“You should go home,” says Rabbit. He growls, because he thinks that will frighten her away. “It is not safe here. The garden, the flowers, they will hurt you. You are a child, and they will want to eat you. Go. Run away. Go now.”<br />
<br />
Alice looks at the garden through her muddy hair. She looks angry. “They like children best of all, do they?”<br />
<br />
Rabbit hears the flowers bending closer to listen. He hears them licking their lips. He hears the clack of their throats full of teeth. “Yes!” Rabbit is becoming afraid for Alice. He yaps and yips and runs around her feet in circles. “You must leave! Oh hurry, before it is too late!”<br />
<br />
“Rabbit.” Alice picks him up. He stares into her dirty face. “I swore I would never go there again, once I got out this time. I swore it. But I think that I must. Because I think I know of a way to destroy this garden, these flowers that eat children, and if I know of a way, I must do it even if it scares me, mustn’t I?”<br />
<br />
“What do you mean, go back there?” This time Rabbit does lick Alice’s face because that is the best way he knows to help a frightened human. “You mean to the upside-down world?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. If I go back there, and I return with a great weapon, a weapon that can destroy that garden and those flowers, will you help me do it?”<br />
<br />
Rabbit stops wagging his tail because he understands this to be a solemn moment. “I will.”<br />
<br />
“It will be frightening,” Alice whispers. She is not looking at him. She is looking away, back at the woods. Rabbit is not sure if she is talking about fighting the flowers, or returning to the upside-down world. And he is not sure if she is actually all that frightened. Her emotions are confusing.<br />
<br />
“All important things are frightening,” says Rabbit.<br />
<br />
Alice nods. “Yes. Yes, you are of course quite right. Will you come with me and wait outside while I’m inside?”<br />
<br />
That does not make sense to Rabbit, but he will of course follow her anywhere, this wild girl who talks like an animal, who smells like one and has been to an upside-down world. She seems more like a dog than a human, this Alice. Rabbit likes that. He trots beside her into the woods. They reach an ugly tree with a giant hole in its trunk. The air here smells strange, like Alice does. Rabbit puts his head on her bare feet and waits patiently while Alice cries beside the tree. She is scared, but she is also brave. It is a feeling Rabbit can understand. <br />
<br />
Alice dries her tears on her muddy skirt. “This is the last time I will ever go back, <i>ever</i>,” she says, but Rabbit knows it is a lie. He can hear it in her voice. He can feel it in her heartbeat. <br />
<br />
Alice climbs into the hole in the tree. She screams, and disappears. Rabbit sits in front of the tree, and whines, and waits.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
When Alice comes back, she is even dirtier than before. She smells like salt water and metal and old stone. There are feathers in her hair, and her skirt has a belt now, and in the belt is a knife.<br />
<br />
Rabbit jumps up and Alice holds him in her arms and shakes. She holds him too tightly, but Rabbit is happy to be useful again, and he is quiet until Alice stops shaking.<br />
<br />
“Well?” says Rabbit. “Do you have it? Do you have the way to destroy the garden?”<br />
<br />
“I have <i>a</i> way,” Alice says. Her voice is scratchy and tired and frightening. “It is probably not<i> the</i> way, and it might not be someone <i>else’s</i> way, but it is <i>my</i> way.”<br />
<br />
“I understand. <i>My</i> way was to try and scare off the humans before they got inside the garden. But I don’t think that was the <i>best</i> way. But it was the <i>Rabbit</i> way.”<br />
<br />
Alice looks at him with a funny expression on her face. “You are a strange dog.”<br />
<br />
“And you are a strange child, but I like you.”<br />
<br />
Alice smiles. It is the first time she has smiled in months, but not even Rabbit can know that.<br />
<br />
“What is the great weapon?” Rabbit asks.<br />
<br />
Alice sets him down and holds out her hand. In her hand is a seed. It is a large seed, and angry looking. It is black and red and spiky. It has left tiny bites on Alice’s palm.<br />
<br />
“In some places,” Alice whispers, “there are flowers that are even worse than child-eating flowers.”<br />
<br />
Rabbit whimpers. He senses that he is close to things that are too big and important for one small white dog to handle. “You mean, in the upside-down world?”<br />
<br />
Alice nods. “And this is a seed of one of them. And we are to plant it in that garden, and let it grow and destroy the others.”<br />
<br />
Rabbit is ecstatic. He jumps out of Alice’s arms and rolls around in the dirt. As usual, his joy is quick and gets the best of him. But then he thinks of something. “But if these flowers are even worse than child-eating flowers, and we plant this even worse flower, won’t the garden become even more dangerous?”<br />
<br />
Alice looks back at the tree. She is still a child, but she seems much older than she was when Rabbit first met her. “No,” she says. “It will not. It will be a beautiful, tame garden for as long as this world is a world, and everyone will come to admire it, but it will never hurt anyone. We made a deal.”<br />
<br />
Rabbit does not know who Alice is talking about. He does not want to know. He has no interest in this upside-down world that sounds so dangerous. He hopes there are no dogs there, but he somewhat vindictively hopes there are cats.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<br />
At the gate of the gray house’s garden, Rabbit is ready. He is growling to make himself feel fierce. Alice is beside him. They have a plan. Alice is beside him and her hand is on the gate’s latch, and in her other hand is the angry black-and-red seed.<br />
<br />
The flowers are watching them. Their petal faces are watching the gate. They are hissing and spitting. They are beckoning and laughing. <i>Alice. Alice. Alice and Rabbit. Try it. Just try it. We are not afraid of a girl and a Rabbit.</i><br />
<br />
But they are afraid. Rabbit can sense that. <br />
<br />
Alice looks down at him. “Are you ready?”<br />
<br />
Rabbit wags his tail, and Alice smiles but also looks sad.<br />
<br />
“You are a good dog,” she says, and Rabbit’s happiness overwhelms him. He almost turns over to show Alice his belly and request a nice scratch. But then Alice is opening the gate, and they are running.<br />
<br />
It is Alice’s job to plant the seed. It is Rabbit’s job to protect her while she plants it.<br />
<br />
He runs as fast as his tiny white legs can carry him. Lilies snap at him. Vines wrap themselves around his legs. Tiger lilies throw themselves at him, petals crashing into the ground. The petals smell like blood, and they attach to his coat like suckers. They hurt, but Rabbit does not stop. They do not stop him for long, these shrieking flowers that smell like dead children. He is a small dog, and he is too fast. Too fast for them to touch and too small for them to catch.<br />
<br />
Alice is digging. Petunias are swarming over her feet and up her legs, and their voices are small and high like children’s voices. <i>Such a sweet girl, Alice is</i>, they sing. Alice is crying, but she is brave. Alice slashes at vines with her knife. And Rabbit is tearing at the flowers with his teeth and his claws, ripping them to pieces. There is blood on his white coat, but he doesn’t mind. Helping is what a dog does best, and he is happy.<br />
<br />
“There!” Alice cries, and slams her fist onto the dirt. She has planted the seed. Her hands are covered in blood and mud and thorns. She finds Rabbit. He is choking in a bed of violets. They fill his mouth and his nose and his ears, and he is afraid, but then he sees Alice. She is crying and ripping the flowers from him, and then he is in her arms. She is saying, “Good dog, such a very, very good dog,” and Rabbit is wagging his tail even though he is hurting. Alice is running out of the garden, and he is in her arms.<br />
<br />
The flowers are screaming.<br />
<br />
Rabbit opens his eyes and sees it happening. The garden is thrashing and crashing. The garden is drowning under the weight of something new. <br />
<br />
They are roses.<br />
<br />
They are red roses, bushes of them, towers of them, and they do not speak but they do have teeth. They smother the other flowers so they cannot breathe. They rip the other flowers from the ground and tear their roots to shreds. Even though it is dark, and even though Rabbit sees the world in gray and only knows what color his humans say things are, he knows that these roses are red. They are redder than blood. They are dripping red.<br />
<br />
When it is finished, the roses poke their heads over the fence and whisper, <i>Alice, dearest girl, dearest Alice. We did what you said. Now you do what you said. Dearest darling Alice.</i><br />
<br />
“Alice.” Rabbit is whimpering. He wants to say thank you, but Alice is hugging him too tightly. She is setting him on the porch of his house. She is ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door. She is crying and plucking the thorns from Rabbit’s coat. He feels that she is afraid and sad, but also that she is happy.<br />
<br />
He hears his humans inside. They are waking, they are hurrying down the stairs. <br />
<br />
“Alice,” Rabbit tries to say again, “what did you say you would do? What deal did you make?” <br />
<br />
But then the door is opening and his humans are exclaiming things. They are afraid for him. Rabbit knows he will be all right, and he tries to tell them this by licking their hands. They are calling the veterinarian, and they are carrying him to the car. Rabbit feels their love so deeply that he almost doesn’t see her: <br />
<br />
Alice, climbing over the fence and running through the field toward the woods. He hears her crying and he hears her laughing. He feels it when she climbs inside the tree. He smells her fear when she screams, and he smells it when she jumps, and he understands now what Alice said she would do. He understands that this time, the jump is forever.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~*~</div>
Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-22799154271784799922013-05-15T08:03:00.001-07:002013-05-15T11:15:02.696-07:00The Iron Rose (by Katherine Catmull)<br />
This happened on an island kingdom, a long time ago, although not so long ago that everyone has forgotten. I have not forgotten.<br />
<br />
On this island stood a bright and flourishing city. Around the elegant palace flowed broad streets full of cheerful people buying and selling fish and shoes and toys and bread and other pleasant things. Near the western edge, the soil was rich, and farmers grew vegetables and herbs.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsf2P1pYjaOAw_qV8t71fYNaGDOskylvt8R6a8LykzNGm2oN7YTqIc8w2aLnlDaM09tJptGy4vcRu26qFC-yfW2NHVjUDrzOC-ykQhTViTKpKzsSr24FhD4e3vcW1U6I6cHMOnfg7NKhB/s1600/5385941022_9fa1f6b759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsf2P1pYjaOAw_qV8t71fYNaGDOskylvt8R6a8LykzNGm2oN7YTqIc8w2aLnlDaM09tJptGy4vcRu26qFC-yfW2NHVjUDrzOC-ykQhTViTKpKzsSr24FhD4e3vcW1U6I6cHMOnfg7NKhB/s320/5385941022_9fa1f6b759.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/theenmoy/5385941022/sizes/m/">Theen</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the center of the island was a forest, and in the center of the forest was an unusual flower. Some flowers grow in the deep woods, you know, no matter how little the sun. Deep purple violets, creamy foamflower—they can grow among shadows and dappling light.<br />
<br />
And deep in this wood, among the bleeding-heart and monkeyflower, among the baneberry and sweet-after-death, grew a flower that needed no sun at all: a flower made of iron.<br />
<br />
“Grew” isn’t quite the right word, of course. It had been planted there, long ago, an iron-gray rose in full blossom. Each of its hundred petals was carved in thin and curving metal, and its iron stem bent gracefully, and its thorns were sharp and precise as tiny daggers.<br />
<br />
In spring, when the real flowers were just budding, the Iron Rose stood among them, tall and complete. In summer, when the real flowers blossomed out full, the Iron Rose stood unchanged. In autumn, when the real flowers bent low, faces crumpling into death, the Iron Rose stood strong.<br />
<br />
And yet the Iron Rose had its own seasons. Spring rains brought the Season of Glistening Like Wet Black Ink Against the Last Snow; then came the Season of Rust, which flaked off in pretty patterns, and floated on the wind like pollen; and then the loveliest season, the Season of Jewels, when the ice made every leaf, petal and thorn into silver and diamond.<br />
<br />
And like a real flower, the Iron Rose had its own perfume, or sort of perfume: a warm, metallic scent, like the taste of blood in your mouth.<br />
<br />
One late summer day, a woman walked through the woods, swinging a stick in front of her to clear her path. She was a writer of stories, and writers like to walk. She wasn’t thinking about the flowers, and had murdered or maimed scores of them in her irritable passage.<br />
<br />
But then her stick clanged against something metallic and hard.<br />
<br />
That’s unexpected, deep in a forest. So the woman looked down, and saw it — the lron Rose, unchanging among the blooming and dying forest flowers. She knelt to look closer. The craftsmanship was flawless. The emperor would pay in splendid gold for this.<br />
<br />
Careful of the thorns, she tugged at the rose, and it came up as easily as a piece of grass. Holding it gingerly, arm outstretched, she walked home, daydreaming what the gold might buy her— a voyage to Alexandria? a new roof?—and marveling at its extraordinary, intricate craftsmanship. Why, it was almost as if it had been made by magic.<br />
<br />
In fact, the Iron Rose had been made by magic, the magic of a very great magician, and a very wicked one. He was so wicked that the emperor, who was a nice if unimaginative man, had many years before banished him from the island kingdom. <br />
<br />
But banishment is not always the best weapon against badness. You are no sooner told that you may not have a cookie than a cookie is all you can think of, and it becomes the most gorgeous and desirable thing there is. Where you might have had one cookie, you find yourself sneaking off with seven.<br />
<br />
Before he left the island, the wicked magician had made and planted the Iron Rose. It stood in the forest like a time bomb, slowly tick, tick, ticking off the years, until someone found it, as he knew they would, and took it to the emperor, as he knew they would, for he had made this flower the most gorgeous and desirable object ever seen on the island.<br />
<br />
It certainly looked gorgeous and desirable to the emperor, who paid the writer all the gold she had imagined and quite a bit more, in order to possess that Iron Rose.<br />
<br />
But I think the emperor must have had a cold that day, because he did not notice its faint perfume of blood.<br />
<br />
For a while, that was that. The emperor displayed the Iron Rose in a silver vase in his treasure room, and he visited it often—though less often as the weeks went by, as something about its sharp iron petals and even sharper thorns unnerved him.<br />
<br />
Then one day, a few months later, as a maid dusted the Iron Rose, a noise startled her. It was only one of the emperor’s cats, leaping off a suit of armor. Only a cat: but still the startled maid’s hand struck against an iron thorn, which pierced her finger—just as the magician had known would happen somehow, some way, to someone.<br />
<br />
“Ah!” cried the maid, because it hurt surprisingly much. She held up her finger, saw it welling with red.<br />
<br />
Three drops of blood fell onto the Iron Rose.<br />
<br />
The dark gray metal softened. Its color deepened, first to something like black, then to something like red. The chief housekeeper, who had come running at the maid’s cry, watched with her. Yes, no question: the iron was reddening before her eyes. Imagine a black-and-white photo turning into color.<br />
<br />
But that wasn’t all: the iron was softening, becoming more delicate, more vulnerable, more alive. It was no longer an Iron Rose, but a real flower, red and glorious, at the height of its beauty. It was a real rose now, in every way but one: it retained its faint, metallic, bloody perfume.<br />
<br />
Word made its way to the emperor, who soon stood before the flower with the maid and chief housekeeper and all his counsellors, marveling and exclaiming, and having the maid tell the story of how it had happened again and again.<br />
<br />
Then the emperor and his counselors and servants all went to bed<br />
<br />
The next morning, there were two roses.<br />
<br />
The morning maid called the chief housekeeper, who called the chief counselor, who called the chief gardener, but no one had an explanation. They decided not to mention it to the emperor.<br />
<br />
The next morning, four roses crowded the silver vase. The maid laughed out loud. This time they did tell the emperor, who wondered in astonishment whether someone was playing a practical joke. A watch was set up, which watched all night, and saw nothing.<br />
<br />
But the guards must have fallen asleep, though they swore they had not, for the next morning, there were eight roses. These new roses spilled on the table and floor. The emperor said sharply, “Take them outside.”<br />
<br />
You can perhaps guess what happened. The next morning, on the scrap of lawn where the eight roses had been tossed, were sixteen roses. The morning after that, there were 32.<br />
<br />
“Well, I like roses,” said the emperor, defiantly.<br />
<br />
The next morning, there were 64 roses.<br />
<br />
As a boy, the emperor had never paid close attention to his geometry lessons, but his chief counselor had. He understood that a daily doubling of the roses might have quite serious consequences. “We must destroy those roses,” he told the emperor.<br />
<br />
The emperor shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t like them anymore. Whatever you think.”<br />
<br />
The counselor ordered the chief gardener to poison the roses with the strongest weed killers he had.<br />
<br />
The next morning, there were 128 roses.<br />
<br />
The counselor ordered the gardener to dig a deep hole and bury the evil red flowers.<br />
<br />
The next morning, there were 256 roses.<br />
<br />
The counselor ordered the gardener to build a bonfire and burn the roses until nothing remained but ashes.<br />
<br />
The next morning, there were 512 roses. The scrap of lawn where they had been thrown was now ankle-deep in thorny, blood-red flowers.<br />
<br />
I will allow you to imagine for yourself how it went over the next two weeks. Despite all their efforts, the roses doubled and redoubled, like the fury of a banished magician. By the 25th day, over 167,000 roses filled the palace. The people of the island, who had at first been charmed by the sight of red roses spilling from the palace windows—it must be a sign of favor from the gods!—were less pleased to see roses scattered through the streets as well. Besides, they were growling slightly ill from that strange, sickening perfume.<br />
<br />
Three days later, over a million roses choked the city streets. People stayed in the their houses, because to wade outside was to have your legs torn open by thorns.<br />
<br />
The next day, roses carpeted the crops on the western side of the island, smothering them.<br />
<br />
The emperor now sat miserably in his palace’s highest tower, crowded among his counselors and servants. People began to panic, to discuss abandoning their island. But it was trading season, and the fish were running, and most of the ships were gone. The few small pleasure-crafts left on the island were now buried under tons of thorny flower.<br />
<br />
From the emperor’s high tower, with frantic semaphore, they tried to call back the last big ship to leave—a passenger ship on its way to Alexandria. No one on the ship noticed the tiny, distant flag—except one passenger, a writer of stories. But she could’t read semaphore, and turned back to her guidebook.<br />
<br />
It was lucky—by which I mean, our world was lucky—that the sea was there to stop the roses. They spilled out onto the beaches, and filled the shallows, and great rafts of them floated out hundreds of yards. But eventually the salt water poisoned and discouraged them enough that they stopped doubling, and began to die.<br />
<br />
Or perhaps the magician’s anger was finally sated.<br />
<br />
When the trading vessels and fishing boats returned, they found an island buried under a mound of dead and dying roses. The forests, grasses, and people underneath were crushed, and smothered, and dead.<br />
<br />
Bodies were discovered bound down by thorns, mouths stuffed with fat red blossoms.<br />
<br />
The boats left quickly, and no one visited the island again for many years. The kingdom was abandoned. Even today, it is rarely visited. When travelers do stop there, they find a ghost island, populated only by skeletons wrapped in thorns. The broad streets and narrow forest paths alike are piled with dry, dusty petals. And everywhere lingers a faint perfume of blood.<br />
<br />katherine catmullhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13060204901478490767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-30405341856023021712013-05-14T03:22:00.002-07:002013-05-14T03:22:40.039-07:00Poppy and the Poison Garden (by Emma Trevayne)<i>Mischievous readers! It took much longer to bring this object to you than this Curator had hoped. Oh, the tales I could tell of plagues and an hourglass through which sand fell three times faster than time as we usually know it. Yes, I could tell those tales, but they might be too frightening even to belong in this Cabinet. I hope you will be appeased by the following instead.</i><br />
<br />
<i>-- Curator Trevayne</i><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-44fd829b-a28c-1685-2269-fda0c03381d5" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Behind the gates at the end of the lane, the poison garden grew.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Even
if there hadn’t been a sign hung on the iron, the children would have
known exactly what was planted there, they would have known they were
forbidden to enter, this being the source of their parents’ most
frequent and hysterical warnings. “Don’t ever go in, are you listening?”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But there is a very particular kind of person who will take words such as these as a challenge, not a warning.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’re just scared,” Poppy’s brother teased.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">are,”
she retorted. The rest of the children laughed. It was easy to taunt
each other in this way, since, no matter how hard they’d tried, none of
them had managed to find out how to get in. The stone wall was twice as
high as a person, topped with spikes sharp as needles, and went on as
far as they could see. One long, lazy summer afternoon they had followed
it, looking for a crack or a hole or some place where the heavy rocks
had come loose. Many hours later, smeared with mud and scratched by
brambles, they had ended up where they began, back under the sign on the
gates, with its warning that the plants within could kill a full-grown
man.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I want to see,” said one of the other boys.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You want to see a man die?” Poppy asked, with far more curiosity than horror.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“‘Course not, but I want to see what could do it. The plants in </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">my </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">garden are boring. All basil and whatnot.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Everyone
else, maybe a half-dozen children in total, nodded in agreement. Poppy
took her little brother’s hand and began to march him back down the lane
to their house in time for dinner. Beside the front steps, bright red
poppies bloomed with the last flush of life, planted there by her mother
every year on Poppy’s birthday. They were pretty enough, but surely the
things growing in the poison garden were much more interesting.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Poppy was quite a fan of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">interesting.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Poppy, David, wash your hands, what have you been getting up to?” their mother asked. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“We were up at the garden,” said David, because younger brothers are very stupid and don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Their mother dropped a ladle. “You must never go in there!”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“We know,” said Poppy, rolling her eyes. “We couldn’t anyway, it’s all locked up. We were just outside.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Well,
all right,” said their mother, stirring a pot of soup. “But I wish
you’d find something else to do. There’s something not right about that
place.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Poppy
had heard all the stories. That men disappeared inside the gates, that
the only person with a key was an old woman nobody ever saw, that
strange footprints, neither human nor beast, were sometimes seen on the
dusty path. Those things couldn’t </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">all </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">be true, and anyway, it was just the kind of place about which such stories were told.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Frankly,
she had her doubts that it was dangerous at all. Interesting, yes, but
it wasn’t as if anyone was going in there and picking leaves to eat as
salad, and didn’t a person usually have to eat the wrong plants to get
sick? That sort of thing happened all the time in books, some princess
or other foolishly swallowing a cake or pudding someone had given her,
without thinking whether it was truly a gift.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Funny, it was always an old woman in those stories, too.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Outside
Poppy’s window, the moon was very full and bright. She blinked, still
sleepy, unsure what had awoken her. No voices drifted up from
downstairs, which meant it must be late enough that her parents had gone
to bed, but still too early for the birds to have begun twittering in
their trees.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The long path up to the garden glowed almost blue, moonlight against the gray dust of a summer without much rain. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And
someone was limping up toward the gates, doubled over so that she
looked most like a bundle of blankets propped up by a walking stick. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Poppy’s
bare feet made no sound on the floor as she crept out onto the landing
and down the stairs, pausing only for a moment to wonder whether she
should wake David, who would want to see.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But
he would make too much noise, and so she slipped through the front door
alone. She dared not call to the woman, which might wake up everyone on
the street. Stones cut at her toes and a chill wind bit through her
nightshirt, but Poppy didn’t stop. Squinting through the moonlight, she
could just see the old woman, almost at the gates.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">If
she locked them behind her, all Poppy was going to have to show for
sneaking from her bed in the middle of the night would be sore feet and a
cough from catching cold. Poppy hurried, cursing very quietly whenever
she stepped on something sharp.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The gates, when she got there, were open.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hello?” Poppy called, one hand on the iron. There was no reply. “Can I come in?”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A
warm breeze gusted from inside the garden, scented with something
sweetly gentle. Poppy stepped through the gates, into warmth better
suited to noon than midnight, lovely after the chilly walk. Neat paths
wove between flowerbeds, tall trees spread thick branches overhead.
Moss, soft and green, curled over rocks, laying a hush over everything.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hello?”
Poppy called, one more time, and even to her own ears her voice came
out as a whisper. There was no sign of the old woman, nor even of the
tapping of her cane over the paths, but it wasn’t completely silent.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Nearby,
something skittered, as did a shiver up Poppy’s back. “Some kind of
animal,” she told herself, venturing further into the garden. It was
light enough to read the little signs on wooden plaques in front of
every plant and so she did, tasting the words, too beautiful to be
bitter or poisonous. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Oleander. Narcissus. Hyacinth. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Why, her mother planted those last ones, they couldn’t be so very dangerous, no matter what else the sign said.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Foxglove,” she read at the next one, looking first at the plant, then the sign, and then...</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
bones in the flowerbed beside it, scraps of cloth still clinging to
shins and arms. One elbow bent, the hand clutching at where the heart
would once have been.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Poppy
stumbled back, her own heart racing as if she’d eaten the flowers
herself. The skull grinned at her and she ran, not paying attention to
the paths or direction until she had to stop, gasping for breath. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
gates were nowhere in sight. The garden walls were too far to make out.
And there, there were more bones, slumped against the trunk of a yew
tree. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Also known as the Graveyard Tree, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">read the sign beside a foot, bleached white by moonlight.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">She
wanted to scream, to yell, but no sound would come out and in any case,
she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She would just have to find her own
way back, out through the gates and down the path and into her own warm
bed, for she was suddenly very tired.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Every
step felt as if her aching feet were made of stones big as the ones
that made up the walls. On and on she went, until she suddenly stopped.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
air was sickly sweet. All around her, poppies bloomed red as blood.
Truly, she hadn’t meant to step on them, but the moment she did, the
soreness in her scraped and bruised feet seemed to disappear completely.
</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’re mine,” she said to the flowers, though it didn’t make any sense. “We have the same name.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The poppies danced in the warm breeze. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Poppy
knelt to touch the petals and look at their deep black hearts. Oh, they
were so soft against her fingers and her legs and her cheek as she lay
down among them, their perfume covering her like a blanket.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Blankets. A bundle of them stood on the path, right where Poppy had just been. </span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Goodnight,” said Poppy. The walking stick rapped twice on the ground and the bundle turned away.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And Poppy closed her eyes. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-38049271934520700492013-05-08T18:18:00.001-07:002013-05-13T05:59:59.248-07:00A Note From Your CuratorsDearest Curious Ones,<br />
<br />
We, your Curators, hope this note finds you well -- and hopefully not too confused about why we did not post a new story today. Rest assured, we have not been eaten alive by the brood of monsters kept at the bottom of the third floor closet, nor have we been transfixed by the whispering jewels in the kitchen cupboard. (And we would remind you, if you ever happen to visit our kitchen, do remember to plug your ears before opening the fifth cupboard on the right, and whatever you do, don't eat anything you might see lying out on the countertops, for we are surprisingly fastidious, and it probably got there on its own.)<br />
<br />
In fact, we are simply a bit delayed in returning home from an expedition celebrating the launch of Curator Trevayne's first book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Coda-Emma-Trevayne/dp/0762447281/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1368062643&sr=8-1&keywords=coda+emma+trevayne" target="_blank"><i>Coda</i></a>. Said expedition took us down rivers and into caves, across precariously constructed bridges and through vast cities where the primary form of communication is music (as you can imagine, Curator Trevayne felt right at home here). There we lingered, shooting off fireworks that would put Gandalf's to shame and trying on outrageously colored hair extensions while being fed cake by the natives.<br />
<br />
But then, dear Curators. Oh, <i>then</i> . . .<br />
<br />
What began as a celebration of Curator Trevayne's success became something much more dangerous, an expedition of the direst magnitude, in fact. After much peril and evading of booby traps that would put a certain hatted archaeology professor to shame, we returned home to the Cabinet -- safely, yes, just barely, but certainly not in time to prepare a story for you today.<br />
<br />
For now, we are content to dust ourselves off and recover by the hearth, our pockets full of relics we can't name for fear of activating them, and our minds bursting with darkly fantastical new stories. And we hope you'll join us soon for a new story -- a few days late but just as dark and delightful as you've come to expect.<br />
<br />
Until then, readers,<br />
<br />
The Curators<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~*~</div>
Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-67794591366042269072013-05-01T06:58:00.001-07:002013-05-01T06:58:15.100-07:00May Flowers . . . Don't Give Them To Your Mother, Child<br />
Hello, dear readers. I write this from my tower room, safely surrounded by shelves of crumbling books, drawers packed with carved wooden boxes holding a variety of interesting powders, and tables lined with jar upon jar of . . . well. Things.<br />
<br />
My tower room is a pleasant haven, where I tend to forget little details like the changing seasons. But earlier this morning, when I peered down through the small, dirty window, I saw, marring the pensive gray and white slush of winter, a few unpleasant dots of color.<br />
<br />
Flowers. Ah yes. It is May, and May means flowers: violets, pansies, and petunias, the colors of old bruises and spoiled butter, turning their little faces up to the beaming sun. I presume that soon some toddler will wander by, yank a few from the ground—oh, is that a silent scream, now, from the dumb little open-mouthed flower-faces?—and carry them off in a filthy fist. <i>Mommy! For you!</i><br />
<br />
If you loved your mommy, you icky child—and if you knew what I know about that wilting bouquet—flowers are the last thing you’d offer.<br />
<br />
I won’t mince words: I don’t like flowers. I don’t trust their pretty surfaces, their persuasive perfumes. When it comes to flowers, believe me: things can go dreadfully wrong.<br />
<br />
This month, the Cabinet Curators will share with you just a few of our many (oh yes: many) stories about the darker side of flowers. I hope you’ll take it to heart, and plow up your gardens, and salt the earth, and this year give your mother a handful of stones or thorny sticks for her birthday. Much safer than flowers, I assure you.<br />
katherine catmullhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13060204901478490767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-14409488712337042812013-04-24T07:04:00.000-07:002013-05-03T12:34:03.563-07:00Plum Boy and the Dead Man (By Stefan Bachmann)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.clipartpal.com/_thumbs/pd/holiday/halloween/scary_limb.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://www.clipartpal.com/_thumbs/pd/holiday/halloween/scary_limb.png" width="345" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">A black tree leans over the rocky road from
Harrypatch to Winthrop, a monstrous tree, thick and warped like a rotting blood
vessel. Its branches whirl into the sky, strands of ink in frozen water. The
countryside all about is bare, and the fields stretch for miles, and this tree is the
only one in sight, as if it has frightened all the other trees away. A length
of rope is knotted through its crown, back and forth and crisscrossing, and one
bit of the rope hangs down, and from it hangs a man</span><span lang="EN-US"><i>—</i>a thief, they say, and a
murderer</span><span lang="EN-US"><i>—</i>and now look! a little boy is coming up the road. He is rich as a
too-ripe plum, and round like one, too, and he has little toothpick legs and a
jaunty green cap.</span></span>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">He stalks along, the pompous goose, swinging
a half-sized walking stick made just for him. He does not see the dead man in
the tree. He walks, walks, staring at the darkening sky with large watery
eyes. He sees the tree. He wrinkles his nose and peers at it. He does not
understand what is hanging in it. He realizes it is not a branch or a
particularly large and hideous bird. And then, when he is directly below it, he sees that it is a man, and the
man is dead.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy startles. His knees knock together
and he clutches at his hat.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Slowly, very slowly, he begins to edge
around the ugly tree, pressing himself to the far side of the road, his eyes round
as saucers. And now he is past it and hurrying on.</span></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">And this is when the dead man calls out:</span></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“You,” he cries, very softly from his dead,
dry throat. “You? Come here a moment?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The boy lets out a shriek and breaks into a
proper run. But he is clumsy and he trips, and wriggling onto his back, he
stares at the tree and the hanged man in terror.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Don't run,” the dead man says, very gently. He is hanging with his back toward Plum Boy, but there is no one else in the fields and no one on the road, and Plum Boy is sure it is the dead man who had spoken.</span></span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Who are you?” Plum Boy squeaks. And then,
because he does not want to sound afraid, he says, “Why are you hanging in a
tree? You know, you might startle someone. Come down at once.” Because you see,
Plum Boy thinks the dead man is playing a game. And perhaps the dead man is. . .</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“I wish I could,” the dead man says, turning slowly on the end of his rope. “But I'm afraid I am quite put out.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy stands quickly and brushes the dust
from his velvet breeches. He eyes the corpse suspiciously. Live men should not
have such oddly turned necks, he thinks. Live men should not gave such badly
blackened feet.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“It is a magic trick,” says Plum Boy
stoutly, but his voice shakes. “Come- come <i>down!”</i> He stamps his foot.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The dead man has turned a full circle. He is facing Plum Boy now. His head is cricked over the noose, his eyes
empty. He is smiling, like a puppet on a string, because there is nothing else
he can do; he has no lips anymore.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Alas, I cannot,” the dead man says. He
sounds unbearably sad. “But come and sit down a while at the bottom of my
tree. . . Come and speak with me.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy gapes at him. The dead man <i>sounded</i>
kind, but there were maggots on his cheeks.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“No,” says Plum Boy. “You are a thief and a
murderer. I'll be on my way now.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Oh, don't! Don't leave! It is so
lonely here.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">It <i>is</i> lonely, Plum Boy sees. The fields are nothing but bare, wretched humps all the way to the horizon. Night is coming. Perhaps, Plum Boy thinks, if he makes the dead
man very desperate. . . Plum Boy stuffs his fingers in his pockets and
hunches his shoulders.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“No,” he says. “You are a recalcitrant criminal. If you were hanged you deserve to be lonely, that's my opinion.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The dead man continues to smile. His teeth are very white. In
life they must have never grown yellow with cane sugar and tobacco and ale like
those of Plum Boy's parents and indeed of Plum Boy himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He begins to turn away from Plum Boy again,
the rope doing another slow, creaking turn.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“You seem to think a very great deal of your
opinion,” the dead man says.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“And why shouldn't I? My father says
everyone ought to have opinions or they'll be wobbly as marrow pudding.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“But what if you're opinion is not true?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy thinks that a very odd idea.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The dead man ventures on. “And even if I <i>am</i>
nothing but a thief and a murderer, must you hate me? Must you be cruel?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Yes.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Why?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Because you are very wicked.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“And you are not? You are perfect?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Quite,” says Plum Boy. “And now I'm going.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy spins and begins to walk again, for
good this time. At least, he <i>pretends</i> as if it is for good, but he
simply wants the dead man to beg. It pleases Plum Boy when people are desperate
for him to speak with them, because they aren't very often. Plum Boy cannot
imagine why.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“No, please!” the dead man cries after him. “Just tell me a few little things. What is your name? What is happening in the
world these days? Is the tree still blooming in the square in Harrypatch? Tell
me anything, so that I can think on it while I hang here.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The dead man cannot move, but it is as if he is struggling to twist back
toward Plum Boy. He is like a very slow top, Plum Boy decides, a very dull,
broken top that has gotten stuck in a tree.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy sighs. He shakes his head slowly,
as if he is pondering some great sacrifice he must make. Then he returns to the
tree and pulls out a very large, very flowery handkerchief that been soaked in
lavender water and covers his entire face with it.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“All right,” he says. “I will be
charitable today. But I don't want to look at you, because you are far to ugly. I live
in Winthrope, in a big house that is nicer than all the other houses, and I
have a mother and father and four sisters and three brothers and we own the
bakery and the pie shop and the coffee house, too.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“How grand,” the dead man says. “And
what month is it? And what is the weather like? And what is your name? And what are in your pockets?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy realizes the dead man must be very nearly blind.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“It is April. Spring,” says Plum Boy. He begins digging in his pockets, almost eagerly. A jackknife comes out, a
bit of string and some sticky, nasty, yellow toffees. He lists them to the dead
man. “I have a wind-up horse, too,” says Plum Boy, “but I forgot to bring it.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">And then Plum Boy straightens suddenly. The
handkerchief slips from his face, but he does not catch it. “You asked me my name twice.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The dead man hangs from his rope, unmoving.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“I'm sick of your questions,” Plum Boy says. “Why did they hang you? What did you do?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Oh,” says the dead man, softly. “That is
a very long, sad story.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Well, you can leave out all the boring bits
and the sad bits and only tell me the horrible crimes.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“But those are the most important parts,” the
dead man says. “The boring bits and the sad bits. . .”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“I don't want to know them. Who died? Was it
very gruesome?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Yes,” the dead man says. “It was very
gruesome. Seven people from the farms, seven people on the forest floor, and
they had no eyes and no teeth, but I did not do it. I was an
herb-brewer then, and the potion-witcher, but the magistrate said I was the
murderer, and everyone was certain they agreed with him. They made their
opinions so quick, in an instant, and yet their opinions were strong as stone. And so
they hung me here. Who is the magistrate these days? Is it still the same one? Still
old Master Penniman? And, boy, what is your name?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy stares up at the tree. The sun is
going down. It is an odd picture, a round boy and an ugly tree and a
strange dead person, all stamped in black against the bloody red sun.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Who is the magistrate?” the dead man asks
again. His voice sounds precisely the same as it had the first time he had asked the question, kind and a tiny bit wheedling, as if he does not realize he is asking it again. As if he does not care. “Who is the magistrate?”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy peers up curiously. The
handkerchief is blowing away up the road. He does not notice.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“It<i> is</i> still Master Penniman,” Plum Boy says.
“And he's my father."</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">"And what is your name?"</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">"William Penniman, if you- if you really want to know.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“Ah.” The dead man stares down at Plum Boy, still grinning, and the red glint of the setting sun is in his cold, blank eyes. For
the first time Plum Boy notices that the dead man has iron at his wrists and at
his ankles and making an X across his ribs. He is <i>caged</i> in it. But it
cannot stop him anymore.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">“William Penniman,” the dead man whispers.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">There is an odd brush of wind that flies
around Plum Boy's ankles and pulls at his cap. And then Plum Boy feels very
strange, very light. . . and very unconscious.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">* * *</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Plum Boy's eyes are dim as old wicks. He
feels dull and heavy, like a sack in the rain. He is watching a little figure
walking away up the road, as if through haze. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">At first Plum Boy thinks he has been robbed. His
jacket! The fat little imbecile in the road is wearing my jacket and holding my
half-sized walking stick and my lovely green cap! </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">And then the figure turns to
face him. . .</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">With a slither of fear, Plum Boy realizes
that he is high up, staring down, and below him is his own smug face and watery blue eyes.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">He tries to shout, but all he can do is smile.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">The boy in the road smiles back. There is a
jackknife in his pocket, and he lifts it out and swings it between thumb and
forefinger, back and forth, back and forth.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Then, with a little laugh, the new Plum Boy
wheels and skips away down the road, and the night wind flies around the old
Plum Boy and his old, black tree, and turns him on the gibbet, and he must look to the North, though he
doesn't want to look that way. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US">He decides in an instant: he does not like the sight at all. </span></span></div>
</div>
Scathing Jellyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06220890396738929917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-67947456553552979262013-04-17T07:45:00.000-07:002013-04-17T07:45:43.242-07:00Generously Donated By... (by Emma Trevayne)<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdi_EepHEug1afnoYSePJcXWYhqDn6EPK-lmibK1nl5zd7YQdMpitxYexQ7y-6tJ0AtgHaVBDiyLoaSPc8wDmSvgmDMXKy9hA-B5nuFLwyCzsyRWgC7WaQY5NkajcEqZt1Kv0AeNx8qc/s1600/fossil-skeletons-evolution-of-whales-museum-of-natural-history.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdi_EepHEug1afnoYSePJcXWYhqDn6EPK-lmibK1nl5zd7YQdMpitxYexQ7y-6tJ0AtgHaVBDiyLoaSPc8wDmSvgmDMXKy9hA-B5nuFLwyCzsyRWgC7WaQY5NkajcEqZt1Kv0AeNx8qc/s320/fossil-skeletons-evolution-of-whales-museum-of-natural-history.png" /></a> <br />
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" id="internal-source-marker_0.7902458196132305" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It
is one seventeen in the afternoon, and you are bored. Who cares about
mummies and old statues and broken bowls someone found in the dirt,
anyway? Not even a whole bowl. Your feet drag, and once again Mrs.
Webster’s voice calls, “Keep up, everyone, remember to stay with your
buddy!”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Her voice echoes around the drafty museum, and Sabrina Linklater is most definitely </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">your
buddy. She smells like cotton candy and she doesn’t like you. You know
this because she’s told you every day since you were both five, so it’s
just your luck to be stuck with her now.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“We’re
going to see a very special exhibit,” says Mrs. Webster, which means
nothing; she’s said this about all of them, all day, and your feet hurt.
Nobody listened this morning when you insisted these shoes pinch your
toes, too busy trying to make you eat horrible slimy oatmeal and
remember your bag for the field trip.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This
room is dim, and cool, like the others have been. Spotlights bounce off
glass cases and the walls seem to swallow every noise, turning voices
down to whispers. A few other visitors are wandering around, stopping in
front of each piece before slipping through the swathes of shadow to
pop up at the next thing to see.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s
the statue that makes you pause. There’s nothing special about it, in
fact it is another boring thing, just a figure of a small man, cast in
white stone. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It looks exactly the same as it did in the last room. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And the room before that.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Which
is cheating, really, isn’t it. The museum should try to put different
things in all the exhibits, or there’s no point to traipsing through the
entire building, and maybe then your shoes wouldn’t squash your feet so
much. You’re certain you have a blister, just there, on the outside of
your left pinky toe.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But
you move toward the statue. The air in the room smells funny, like the
second before a lightning strike in the dead heat of summer. Slotted
neatly between two of the statue’s fingers is a small card:</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Puck, or Robin Goodfellow</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">England, c. 1805</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Mythical trickster and nature sprite</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Artist: Unknown</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Kindly donated by Mr. Alistair Harbuckle</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Boring.
You turn, and a tiny sound breaks the hush that smothers everything
else, including Sabrina Linklater’s whiny voice and Adam Beech’s
constant questions. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scrape.
Scrape. You’ve made that sound before, striking two rocks together to
start a fire—which, you can say with authority, absolutely never works. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scrape. Scrape.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scraaaaaape.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You
whirl back. The statue is perfectly still, and looks no different,
except it must be like that famous painting, because its eyes seem to
follow you, and the hairs prickle on the back of your neck.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“This way, kids,” says Mrs. Webster. You can barely hear her. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“That statue is weird,” you say when Sabrina reluctantly falls into step beside you.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’re an idiot,” she answers.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
next room is filled with bones and the ghosts of the dinosaurs who wore
them, grinning skulls with hollow eyes peering down from overhead. This
is more interesting than half an old dinner plate or an ancient chess
set, and you move up close to read the names on the little cards,
inspect the hinged, talon-pointed feet fixed to the stands.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scrape, scraaaape.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
statue is in the corner, stone-frozen and smiling, its finger crooked,
beckoning you, glowing white in the shadows. Nobody is watching. Your
buddy—ha, ha—is way over there, exclaiming over something that would
once have had huge, leathery wings. Mrs. Webster is leaning against a
pillar, her hair loose from its pins.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Closer, the outline of a door scratches itself onto the wall beside Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, mythical trickster. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And this is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">boring.
Your heart beats faster and you check again that no one is watching.
Just for a minute, that’s all, and then you’ll go back to looking at the
bones, but the statue chose </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">you, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">not stinking Sabrina or annoying Adam Beech, and this is very, very interesting.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“In
here?” you ask, and it doesn’t even feel silly to be speaking to a
piece of stone, however humanlike it suddenly seems to be.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scrape. Nod. Scrape.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You
push on the wall. It’s cool, but not cold, smooth, but not perfectly,
and it gives way without a creak, a doorway just large enough to slip
through. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Into
a forest. A square, room-shaped forest, but a forest. The sunlight from
the ceiling is warm on your face, the earth soft underfoot. It smells
like it just rained, fresh and clean. A fat bumblebee buzzes lazily in a
cluster of snowdrops, the air is tinged with green so rich and sweet
you can taste it. Birds twitter, something clawed scuttles away, unseen.
The nearest tree is thick, branches gnarled like an old man’s hands
grasping for the sky, and carved into its trunk are the words:</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Forest</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Elsewhere, c. The Year of the Mocking Mirrors</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Generously donated by Lord and Lady Hummingbird-Glass</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It
is real, the bark rough as bark should be, catching your fingertips
when you trace each one of the letters. Fallen twigs snap with each step
deeper into the trees. This is a different kind of quiet, here, a
silence that is such even though it sparkles with birdcalls and
rustling. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">At
the far side of the forest, between two trees growing right from the
walls, another door stands an inch ajar, enough to welcome. The one you
came in is too far behind to see, but one more room won’t hurt. This is a
clever trick of the museum’s, and maybe the next exhibit will give a
clue as to how it works.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This is what you tell yourself.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Mostly, this is decidedly </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">interesting.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The next room is empty. A dull, gray box, bare of the merest smudge or speck of dust. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You
begin to laugh. Laugh so hard your eyes water and your belly hurts and
you fall to your knees, holding your sides as if the air itself is
tickling you. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Help!” you gasp. “Stop!”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No
one comes. It’s up to you to crawl, cackling, to the next door, and the
instant you’re through the laughter stops, smothered by the weight of
thousands of eyes, watching, all turned to stare.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Paired up in jars, in rows and rows on shelves. Green and blue and brown, floating in water or something like it.</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Eyes</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Everywhere, c. The Beginning of Time – Who Knows?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Generously donated by: please see labels</span></div>
<br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scraaaape.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You jump.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Would
you care to make a donation?” the statue asks. He’s still holding the
sign with his name on it in one hand. In the other is an empty jar with
your name on it. And a spoon. “Yours are lovely.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You
mean, these are—?” and there is nowhere in the room that’s far enough
away from any of the staring eyes. That jar, right there…one is brown
and one is blue. Everything goes dark.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scrape, scrape. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You uncover your eyes. “Do I have to?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Oh, no. It’s not required. Please, enjoy your stay. There is always one who is bored.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The watch on your wrist has stopped. Perhaps it’s time to go back. You look up from the unmoving hands and the statue is gone. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So is the door from the laughing room.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A tingle crawls slowly down your spine. That thud is your heartbeat. Thud. Thud-thud. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Thudthudthud.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Inside
their jars, the eyes follow as you walk, then run the length of the
room. Through a room of music boxes, each playing a different tune.
Another full of spiders, all spindly feather-light legs that crawl over
you through the next four rooms, rooms you don’t see because you hate
spiders most of all. In the one after that, it’s snowing, the snow of a
hundred Christmases. And a room of ghosts, cold and dark, generously
donated by…everyone. The next room makes you scream as you tumble
inside.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">For it has no floor. It is only sky. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Generously donated by… </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">and
a gust of wind blows the rest of the cloud letters to nothing, tossing
you this way and that, soaring, flying, blowing you through a hole in
the blue to land on a hard, bruising floor.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This has become, perhaps, a little too interesting.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Hello?” you call. “I need to go! They’ll be missing me!”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No one answers.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Puck?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">There is no scrape of stone.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Only laughter. Distant laughter.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“This isn’t funny now! It’s all very interesting, but I need to get back!”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Laughter, laughter, laughter.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You
grit your teeth and look around this room. This room that might be the
strangest, most wonderful and terrible of all, for it is yours.
Everything as you left it this morning, in the shoes that pinch, belly
full of slimy oatmeal.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The sweater you hate is at the back of the closet. The secret thing you don’t tell anyone about is under the bed.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It can’t be.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Outside the window, the sky is pink and orange, the first stars glinting in a tinge of darkness at the edge of sunset.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It can’t have been that long. They’re all going to be so furious. Maybe they’ve even called the police, desperate to find you. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You
sit on your bed. Feel the lump in the mattress that’s exactly where it
always is. Read the plaque on the bedside table that is the only unusual
thing, and stop when you get to your parents’ names.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Not generously donated, no, no.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Is this all because I was bored?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scrape.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Mostly
it’s because I am,” says the statue. More scrapes. He snaps his
fingers, two doors appear. “One of these will lead you back out, one
will keep you here. If you go through either, you cannot return to this
particular room. Your only taste of home.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Flutter, flutter, your heart beats. “Is this a trick?”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Yes. No. Possibly.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And he disappears again.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
doors are identical, down to the knots in the wood, the polished brass
handles. No way to tell them apart, so which do you choose? How </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">can</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> you choose?</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">You close your eyes.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Reach.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Feel the round doorknob, chill against your hand, perfectly smooth. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The draft as you pull it open.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And you smell…cotton candy.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“There </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">you are,” says Sabrina Linklater. “You’re a terrible buddy. I don’t like you.”</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Mrs.
Webster is still leaning against the wall, her hair loose from its
pins. The rest of the class is clearly tired of the dinosaur bones. The
statue stands in the corner, and you wonder if maybe the donation from
Mr. Alistair Harbuckle wasn’t the biggest trick of all.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The watch on your wrist ticks away, working just fine.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It is one forty-three in the afternoon. And you are not bored.</span></div>
<br /> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-82575010343860767952013-04-10T07:17:00.001-07:002013-04-10T07:28:41.732-07:00Transcript: Information Provided by an 11-Year-Old Male, Two Weeks After the Incident (by Katherine Catmull)<br />
It’s my fault. It was because of me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Just tell me again what happened. We've been through it before, but let’s just start from the beginning.</i><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRN5Muhn2-6Me8qeGlV58Z5LmIErmnG2P7jYaql0_Ku5tISWRUBzT-AfrB3kNmVMV26eHFZBwPxFerQFoCeW-kd7-zxil3cS050AoVJKXw9F65ih_jV1nAbr6_2zVhwacdZ7VDW9gRKcy/s1600/4269129915_f62edcb526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGRN5Muhn2-6Me8qeGlV58Z5LmIErmnG2P7jYaql0_Ku5tISWRUBzT-AfrB3kNmVMV26eHFZBwPxFerQFoCeW-kd7-zxil3cS050AoVJKXw9F65ih_jV1nAbr6_2zVhwacdZ7VDW9gRKcy/s320/4269129915_f62edcb526.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/biggreymare/4269129915/">Photo credit.</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was just a game. Just war, we were playing war, in that field between the school and the woods. It’s so perfect for war, it has these high weeds to hide in, and mounds to climb, and big rocks like boulders you can lay behind.<br />
<br />
And right in the middle is this old, dead tree, this creepy tree with twisty dark dead arms going in all directions. You can climb it and see the whole field.<br />
<br />
<i>How did it all start?</i><br />
<br />
Allison wanted to play that day. She hadn’t wanted to play in a million years, but that day she said she was bored of what she was reading. I was so psyched. I hated her not playing. She’s one of those people that when she’s around, suddenly whatever stupid thing you were doing seems so cool and hilarious and great. I’ve known her since kindergarten, and she was always so cool like that.<br />
<br />
But now we’re 11, and, whatever. She doesn’t play with us so much any more. But this day she was bored of what she was reading, and she came out to play war with me and Tom, like we used to.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
It was one against all, no teams, and right away she grabbed the best spot, which is this mound by the dead tree. We didn’t even flip for it—she just ran over and called it, and when I said “<i>So</i> not fair,” she only laughed.<br />
<br />
So I was sort of mad about that. She didn’t play with us for six months, and then she grabs the best position, just like she always did, like she could just come back and do that. <i>And</i> she called being America in the war.<br />
<br />
<i>That made you angry. </i><br />
<br />
Well not like <i>angry</i>, but just kind of mad. Anyway, so I took the second best place, a higher mound, but not near the tree. And Tom took the edge of the woods—which is actually pretty good, except you have to keep running so far back and forth. Tom’s a good runner, though.<br />
<br />
<i>I still don’t understand how she</i>—<br />
<br />
It was me, I did it. I mean—but not on purpose that it would end so bad! I was only just playing a trick on her, because of being a little mad.<br />
<br />
The thing about that mound that makes it so perfect, besides being by the dead oak, is that there’s this hole in it, so you can crawl inside. Well, I guess you guys know that now.<br />
<br />
<i>Yes.</i><br />
<br />
We used to play that it was the opening of a cave, when were kids, even though really the hole doesn’t go back very far. Still, when you’re inside, no one can get at you. It’s the best spot for war.<br />
<br />
My trick was that I waited in the weeds on my stomach, until I saw her crawl into the hole. I know her, she always does that first, she loves it in there. Then I waved Tom over, and did that motion of “Be super quiet.”<br />
<br />
And then me and Tom moved this big rock in front of the opening, so that she couldn’t get out. We weren’t trying to hurt her, I swear we weren’t. We left a crack for air and everything. We just wanted to scare her—or I did. I wanted to get her back.<br />
<br />
Anyway. That rock was heavy, we had to lean on it and push with our legs. But the ground slants down toward the mound, so at the last second it just rolled into place perfectly, like it wanted to go there. Allison’s strong, but we knew there was no way she could roll it out herself, especially from on her stomach inside the cave.<br />
<br />
<i>How long did you leave her there?</i><br />
<br />
We were just going to leave her for a minute, I swear, just to scare her, just to get her back for taking the best place and calling being America and never wanting to play anymore. But she got so mad when she realized—she started yelling at us, using pretty bad words. So then we couldn’t let her out right away, or it would be like we gave in.<br />
<br />
It was kind of hot that day, so we just leaned against the rock and waited for a breeze, and waited for her to stop yelling.<br />
<br />
<i>And did she stop?</i><br />
<br />
She didn’t stop exactly. It was more like . . . the yelling changed. Because at first she was mad, but then she got suddenly so quiet, it was more like she was talking to herself. I thought it might be a trick she was playing back on us. I put my ear up to the crack to listen. And I could hear her voice, like <i>arguing</i>. I heard her say “Stop it, <i>don’t</i>,” a couple of times. I thought she was totally messing with us.<br />
<br />
But also, it was sort of working. I did start to feel really creeped out.<br />
<br />
And then all of a sudden she started screaming. And it didn’t sound like a trick kind of screaming, it sounded real.<br />
<br />
<i>Like something was hurting her? Was she in pain?</i><br />
<br />
I don’t know. Maybe. But more like she was really, really scared. She sounded so scared that it scared us. We started pushing at the boulder. But it was a lot harder now. It had rolled down so easy, but moving it up—and plus she was screaming these terrible screams, screaming for us to move the rock. And we were yelling “We’re are, we’re trying, we’re <i>trying</i>, just wait!”<br />
<br />
<i>What happened then?</i><br />
<br />
Then she stopped screaming. And it was so weirdly quiet, but me and Tom kept talking to her, saying “Almost, Ally, we almost got it,” like that. And finally we pushed the stupid boulder out of the way.<br />
<br />
And she wasn’t there.<br />
<br />
And there’s no way she could not be there. We’ve all been in that tiny cave a million times, since we were little. Back then we could at least fit two of us at a time, but we can’t even do that any more—the rock narrows down to nothing. I mean where could she go?<br />
<br />
But she was gone. Both of us stuck our heads in to be sure. And I said, “Do you think it’s like a trick? Is she tricking us?” But Tom didn’t answer. He looked like he was going to throw up. He said, “I’m gonna get someone,” and took off running. He’s fast.<br />
<br />
<i>Tom brought his parents to the location of the occurrence, correct? And they called us.</i><br />
<br />
Yeah, I guess. I don’t know.<br />
<br />
<i>Tom went to get adults. And what did you do?</i><br />
<br />
I went in. I know it sounds stupid. But I still thought she might be tricking us back.<br />
<br />
I went in, I crawled in on my stomach, and—and it was different. It was really different. Where the cave used to end, it didn’t end any more. It got taller and wider, instead of smaller and tighter. And it went down, and down and down.<br />
<br />
<i>This is the part that’s difficult for us to believe. Because we sent someone in—</i><br />
<br />
I know.<br />
<br />
<i>And the cave doesn’t go back more than a few feet. After that, it’s solid rock.</i><br />
<br />
OK. I know. That’s what it always was before. But I don’t know what else to say. That day, it kept going, and it went down. And I went down with it, to find Allison.<br />
<br />
The walls and ceiling and floor were all dirt. I could see that, because there was this cold pale light, like moonlight. Only there wasn’t any moon, because I was underground, so I don’t know where that light came from.<br />
<br />
And things were growing from the dirt of the walls and floor and ceiling. All around me, on all sides of me, were these little green stems, and they were sort of gently waving and twisting in the air, and reaching for me, like grabbing at my shirt and pants. It was disgusting. It was the most disgusting thing I ever felt. But I kept walking, and they ripped out of the walls and floors while I walked, but I kept walking down.<br />
<br />
And then the passage got wider, and taller. And—I don’t know why I looked up, I must have heard something? I don’t know. But for some reason I looked up, and I saw what I thought for a minute was a tree hanging down. I thought it was that old dead tree, but hanging upside down.<br />
<br />
Then I saw that it was roots. It was the roots of that dead oak, and I was underneath them now.<br />
And then—this is the bad part.<br />
<br />
<i>Okay. It’s okay.</i><br />
<br />
And then I saw something tangled up in the roots, that wasn’t roots at all. Up above me, pulled up tight against the earth, something was wrapped up in the viny roots like a moth in a spider’s web. And it was Allison. It was Allison, and she was—I know this sounds dumb, but it was like she was becoming part of the tree. Like the tree was <i>absorbing</i> her. These long snaky roots, all green and dark, wrapped around her, under her arms, around her neck, around her legs. Her mouth was open and—<br />
<br />
<i>You can stop if you like. Here’s a tissue.</i><br />
<br />
No, listen, please just listen. Her mouth was open. And this long, snaky root was growing <i>out of her mouth.</i><br />
<br />
<i>All right. Calm down. Just take a minute and calm down.</i><br />
<br />
That wasn’t the worst part, though! The worst part was that she didn’t look dead. She should have been dead, but she looked alive. Her eyes moved, I swear they did. The rest of her all wrapped and cocooned in those roots and vines, and her mouth—but her eyes moved, and they looked at me. And the look in her eye, the way her eyes were, I can’t sleep because my brain keeps thinking about it, and— <br />
<br />
<i>Your parents should have a doctor prescribe some medications for that.</i><br />
<br />
I can’t sleep because I ran. I didn’t stay and try to save her. I saw her eyes looking at me, and I got so scared, and I ran. I ran back up that long steep dirt passage, and the little green vines grabbed at me, and I just ran.<br />
<br />
I know I already told you guys all this. And I know you don’t believe me.<br />
<br />
<i>I wouldn’t say—</i><br />
<br />
Stop, wait, just stop. I came here because I have to tell you one other thing.<br />
<br />
My parents basically won’t let me out of the house since this happened. But last night really late, I sneaked out of the house. Or I guess it was early this morning. I just went out the window, I had to go back, I thought I might try . . . . Anyway. When I got to the field it was just being dawn, that gray light and all. But someone had filled up the cave entrance with cement.<br />
<br />
<i>We did that. It was a public safety issue. </i><br />
<br />
It’s horrible you did that. I wish you’d let me in one more time. I wish so hard that you would. But I guess you won't.<br />
<br />
<i>No. We won't.</i><br />
<br />
I freaked out when I saw that it was blocked. I just sat down hard against that horrible tree. And then I saw something.<br />
<br />
This is the thing, this is the main thing I wanted to say. That tree, that dead tree—it has little buds on it now. Every creepy twisty black finger of every creepy dead black branch, they all have these tiny curling greeny-gold leaves now.<br />
<br />
That tree was <i>dead</i>. That tree was dead for years, since I was in like first grade, it hasn’t had a single leaf.<br />
<br />
Now that tree is full of leaves, all those different colors of green. Now that tree is alive again. And I know it’s her. It’s Allison. That tree ate Allison, to make it alive again. Only she <i>isn’t dead.</i> She’s still alive down there, because her being alive is making the tree alive. And I think she’s going to stay alive, as long as the tree is alive. And you filled the hole up with cement, so she can’t ever get out, and we have to do something, we have to dig that tree up, or blow it up, or burn it down, we have to, if you don't do it I'll do it myself, we have to—<br />
<br />
<i>Calm down, son. Just calm—can I get some help here? Will someone call his parents again, please? Calm down, would you—Steve, turn that off.</i><br />
<br />
[Transcript ends]katherine catmullhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13060204901478490767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-8963356599179368762013-04-03T06:00:00.000-07:002013-04-03T06:00:05.553-07:00Quicksilver and the Stranger (by Claire Legrand)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsssKzw3nqLAEtlM3Z16C4VLrVD3-7U-i8W1MwVllXuOLw1YH6-IK7TXDVbAfH1N21j3sINnF8wDbCVAdMucLF4PB3VCDaB9-IiGtxkJ6cjAFf_0rh7Id8DSw5DyQBAqIYEbDemmE4Gc/s1600/quicksilver.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOsssKzw3nqLAEtlM3Z16C4VLrVD3-7U-i8W1MwVllXuOLw1YH6-IK7TXDVbAfH1N21j3sINnF8wDbCVAdMucLF4PB3VCDaB9-IiGtxkJ6cjAFf_0rh7Id8DSw5DyQBAqIYEbDemmE4Gc/s400/quicksilver.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Nobody in the town of
Willow-on-the-River knew Quicksilver’s real name, or where she came from, or
who her family was.</div>
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<br /></div>
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All they knew was that she was eleven
years old (she proclaimed this, loudly and often, after outfoxing someone who
should have known better), that she had an unbecoming piggish nose, and that
she had hair as gray as a crone’s. So she was known as Quicksilver, for her
hair, and for her cunning, for there had never been a girl with so slippery a
nature. Many called her Quix for short. They hissed it like snakes when she
managed to trick them, and laughed it wryly when she managed to trick others.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quicksilver.
Quixxx</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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They knew to keep especial watch on
sour apples and religious artifacts, for canny Quix had a weakness for the
former and a fascination with the latter. They knew she lived on the rooftops
when the weather was nice and in the ditches when it wasn’t, for then she could
cover herself with mud and sticks and pretend to be a poor hapless urchin, and
someone would take pity on her, and then before they knew it, she had picked
their pockets and slipped away, hooting. (You might think the Riverlings would
have learned, eventually, not to trust even the most pitiful-looking urchin,
but the Riverlings are kind folk, and Quicksilver was a master of disguise.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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They knew she was all alone in the
world, and that she was perfectly happy with that.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
But then came a particular autumn day,
when Quicksilver awoke to a shadow on her face and a whisper on the wind.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The shadow was far away—on the edge of
town, while Quicksilver was high in the church belfry, sleeping barefoot and
easy as a bird in a tree. But still she felt the shadow on her cheek like the
touch of winter, and shivered in her sleep.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The whisper on the wind, though, was
worse. It said her name, her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i>
name, the name that nobody but she herself knew.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anastazia</i>,
said the wind.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver awoke, and nearly tumbled onto
the roof.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anastazia</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and
searched the town below for the shadow she had felt. Or had it, and the voice,
been only a dream?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Ah, no, they had not. For there, at the
crooked bridge that marked the way into town, stood a hunched dark figure with
bright red hair, and though it was far away, Quicksilver knew it was staring
right at her.</div>
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<br /></div>
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*</div>
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<br /></div>
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Quicksilver watched this dark stranger
for a long time, as it hobbled into town and patted children on their heads and
gave them treats. She watched as the stranger bartered for a space in the town
marketplace and sat on a tall stool. And sat, and sat.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Riverlings began approaching the stranger,
slowly. Quicksilver squinted at them from her perch on the belfry but couldn’t
see anything worth seeing. She was too high up. She paced, tossing coins
between her hands. She wanted to go and see what this figure was all about.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
But she was afraid.</div>
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<br /></div>
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For ever since the stranger arrived, the
voice on the wind, saying her name, had continued:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anastazia.
Anastazia.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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No one but Quicksilver knew that was her
true name, and yet she felt, somehow, that this voice on the wind belonged to the
stranger down below, and that the stranger was here for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i>. She didn’t know what that meant, but it gave her a peculiar feeling in her stomach.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, she was too curious to resist.
She pounded her fist against the belfry’s stone, angry that this stranger had
already gotten the best of her, making her do something she would rather not
do. She clambered across the rooftops until she was right above the stranger,
in the shadow of a teetering chimney.</div>
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<br /></div>
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A small crowd had begun to gather around
the stranger, for the stranger was doing magic—street magic, of course, not
true magic. True magic, Quicksilver knew, as did everyone, had long ago bled
from the world. But this magic of card tricks and disappearing coins was useful
enough—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sleight of hand</i>, was the term.
Illusions, and misdirection. Quicksilver knew of such things, instinctively;
she used them everyday. They were as much a part of her as her blood and her
bones. But she had always wondered if she could do more than simple street
tricks, something grander. Perhaps she could learn it, from this magic-doing
stranger. Perhaps, perhaps . . . </div>
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<br /></div>
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With a great, clumsy crash, not-so-canny
Quix pitched off the roof and into the stranger’s lap. She had been leaning out
too far from her chimney, and lost her footing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The crowd roared with laughter. Never
had they seen their own surefooted Quix have such a fall! So too did the dark stranger
with the bright red hair—although the crowd’s laughter was loud, and the stranger’s
laughter was silent, and wormed its way into Quicksilver’s throat like a bad
smell. The stranger’s long bony fingers curled around Quicksilver’s dirty legs,
quivering.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Little girl,” said the stranger, “have
you hurt yourself?”</div>
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Quicksilver leapt out of the stranger’s
lap and dusted herself off. </div>
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<br /></div>
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“I never get hurt!” she said, and she
sounded ferocious and angry, but inside she was more afraid than ever. She
could not tell whether this stranger was man or woman. Its red hair was
unnaturally bright, a color not found in Willow-on-the-River; its face was so
old and lined that flaky white skin fell from the corners of its mouth and eyelids
as it spoke. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Fair enough.” The stranger shrugged and
went back to its business of pulling jackrabbits out of old shoes, and whistling
tunes that called birds to its arms like a scarecrow, covering the stranger
head to finger.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The marketplace of Riverlings applauded
and cheered, and tossed copper coins.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Jealous Quix paced and scowled and
muttered insulting things under her breath that made a young mother nearby
cover her children’s ears. But while Quicksilver muttered and scowled and
paced, she also watched. She watched the stranger’s fingers, so frail and yet
so sure, spinning tricks out of old cloths and rickety buckets and seemingly
ordinary well water. She watched those crumbling white hands pull fresh,
fully-grown flowers out of cracks in the marketplace cobblestones.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Once, the stranger snapped, and the
crowd gasped, for the movement had cut open the stranger’s right thumb in a tiny spray
of blood. A shower of sparks rained down from the chimney overhead, and
transformed in mid-air to cover everyone in white feathers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Quicksilver plucked a feather from her
shoulder and sniffed it. It smelled of burned things, and she was the only one to
notice that the stranger’s blood dried almost as quickly as it appeared, and
turned to ash that fell to the street.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The show lasted well into the night, and
when the last sleepy child had been herded to bed, Quicksilver was alone with
the stranger. For a long time, they stared at each other. The stranger fiddled
with a necklace it wore, a dirty, knobby thing that might have once been gold.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Then, the stranger said quietly, “I’m better
than you, little swindler. I am a magician. You are just a thief.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Was that a cracking, splintering smile
on the stranger’s puckered face? Was that a challenging gleam in the bleary,
watery old eyes?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Proud Quix thought so. Just a thief,
indeed. She put up her chin. “You are no magician. There is no magic left in
the world. You’re just playing tricks.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Ah, but perhaps,” said the stranger, “I
have not shown you all of my tricks, Anastazia.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Hearing her name—not on the wind, but in
a real, true voice—took Quicksilver’s breath away. She could not speak for a
long time. Then she said, “Teach me.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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The stranger coughed up crusty yellow bits that spotted its collar. “Teach you what?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Quicksilver frowned. She would have to
say it, then; the stranger would make her. “How to do . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">magic</i> . . . like you do.” Quicksilver
blushed, to say such a silly thing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The stranger was quiet for so long that
Quicksilver thought perhaps the old rotting lump of a thing had died.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then the stranger said, “I will do it,
if you will answer my greatest riddle. I will even,” the stranger said, leaning closer, “give
you three tries to do it. Three chances, one riddle, endless tricks.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Magic,” Quicksilver teased, proud of her own cleverness, “not tricks. Remember? You just said.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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The stranger seemed to smile. It looked
painful, but pleased. “As you say.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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They slapped hands in agreement, and Quicksilver
yawned. Even eleven-year-old master thieves are still eleven years old, and
grow tired after such a long day. And Quicksilver had much to think about.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well,” she said, tossing her coins
about impressively, “good night, then.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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The stranger grabbed her wrist, stopping
her. It hurt. The necklace swung heavily from the stranger’s neck. On that neck,
Quicksilver saw angry red marks where the necklace’s chain rested.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“But you must answer my riddle,” the
stranger rumbled, its throat full of sickness. “Tonight is your first try.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver stamped her foot. “But I’m
tired tonight! I will try tomorrow.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Tonight. I am impatient, and you should
have known better than to agree to a bargain without first setting your own
rules.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The stranger had a point, and sly Quix
had been the one outfoxed, for once. It was not a pleasant feeling.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Fine.” She hopped on a small fence
opposite the stranger and made an ugly face. “What is the riddle?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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The stranger spoke swiftly. “How do I
know your true name, Anastazia?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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That was it? That was the riddle? Part
of Quicksilver felt glad; that was not the mind-twisting riddle she had
expected.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But another part of Quicksilver shivered
and shook at the stranger’s voice, so hungry and old and dark. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
A possible answer came to her mind—too
easy an answer, but she was tired, and didn’t realize it. “You used your magic,”
she said, “to find it in my mind.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Bah!” The stranger spat, shoving
Quicksilver off her fence and to the ground. When the stranger moved, a stink
followed it, a stink of unwashed skin and creaking houses. “Magic, to do such
things? That was a stupid answer. You didn’t take any
time to think about it.” The stranger glared runny yellow eyes at Quicksilver,
rubbing its necklace with finger and thumb. “How disappointing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver leapt to her feet, gray hair
flying everywhere like a lion’s mane. If anyone else had insulted her like
that, she would have done something truly nasty to them—but the stranger was
truly nasty, so Quicksilver said, “Fine. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fine</i>.
I’ll try again tomorrow.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Two more chances,” the stranger growled
as Quicksilver scrambled up the roof and away. “Two more chances, stupid thief.
Tiny, stupid, precious thief.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver barely heard those last few
words, but she did hear them, and thought them odd, and sat awake for a long
time beside the cold, silent church bells, thinking.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The next day was cold and pale.
Quicksilver stole an old coat trimmed in fur from a traveler at the inn. She
wrapped herself in it and sat on the roof above the stranger, watching another
day of the stranger’s art—puppets moving on their lonesome, with no hands to
guide them, and snow falling on the stranger out of a sunny sky. She watched the
stranger pick pockets without ever moving from its stool, and saw a man so
bewitched he thought the stranger was a beautiful woman, and said so, and
planted a kiss on the stranger’s chalky white lips.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
That made the crowd of Riverlings roar
with laughter. They slapped knees and wiped away laughing tears, and led the
poor confused man to the tavern for supper.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver watched it all, focusing on
the stranger’s bright red head, listening to the croaking voice that was
neither man’s nor woman’s. She paid such close attention that her head hurt,
and her eyes watered, and her body ached with stiffness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Finally, Quicksilver jumped down, silent
as a cat, and hurried to the stranger’s side.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The stranger counted copper coins,
chuckling. They gleamed red in the light of the setting sun. The necklace the
stranger wore also gleamed, despite its coat of filth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Well?” said the stranger, without
looking up. “Do you have an answer for me, stupid thief?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Stupid thief. Ah, but the stranger had
said <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">precious thief</i> the night before,
and the words had stirred something lonely and forgotten in Quicksilver’s hard
little heart. At first she hadn’t realized what it was, and then, sometime
during the night, she had started to wonder, and this whole day she had
wondered, and now she knew. She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knew</i>.
It had to be the answer, this wondrous, terrible thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“I do,” she said, and she smiled, and it
was not the smile of outfoxing someone, but a real, honest smile. “You are one
of my parents, my mother or my father, and you’ve come to find me at last.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
After the first answer, the stranger had
been angry and disappointed. Now, the stranger seemed simply tired. Its
shoulders slumped with sadness. The necklace it wore seemed to drag the
stranger’s head close to the ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“No, child,” the stranger said at last,
and when it breathed, the sound was like dead leaves blowing through a storm.
“I am not either of your parents. Your parents left you at the doorstep of St.
Agatha’s, and never looked back.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver remembered that place, the
tiny convent with the dark roof and the darker rooms. She had run away from the
silent, stern Sisters as soon as she was strong enough, but one thing the
Sisters had taught her was the beauty of prayer and faith, and she had never
forgotten it. The statue of St. Agatha, which Quicksilver kept in her pocket,
was the only thing she had ever felt guilty about stealing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She held it now, her fist tight around
it in her coat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She would not cry in front of this
stranger, who looked so suddenly sad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“You ugly thing,” Quicksilver said. “You
ugly, horrible thing. You made me think you were . . . ”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The stranger blinked slowly at her. “Did
I?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Of course, the stranger had not made
lonely Quix think anything. She had done it for herself, letting herself hope, letting
herself wish for a family, for the first time in ages.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“One more chance,” the stranger said,
after a moment. “One more chance, and then either we are done, or we are just
beginning. So go. Sleep.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
To keep from crying, Quicksilver grabbed
a fistful of dirt and flung it at the stranger’s face, and then raced up the
rooftops, alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver did not sleep, though she
needed it, and it was a good thing, for her exhaustion allowed her to see
things more clearly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
All the next day, she paced on the roof,
and when the crowds came and went, and it was evening, and the stranger sat
alone on its stool, scratching its bright red head, Quicksilver climbed down and
stood tall, though she was more afraid than ever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
For she had found the answer to the stranger’s
riddle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The stranger raised tangled eyebrows.
“Well? This is your last chance, thiefling. What is your answer?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver remembered all the times she
had thought herself brave and clever before, and realized how silly that had
been. She breathed in and out. She stared at the stranger’s necklace, instead
of at the stranger’s eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“You are me,” she said. “That is how you
know my name.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Though Quicksilver had spoken softly,
the words seemed to ring in Willow-on-the-River’s tiny brown marketplace. She
held her breath. She counted the seconds, trying to be patient.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
At last, the stranger’s mouth grew into
a smile that stretched its skin tight like worn leather, across yellowed teeth
and black gums. Quicksilver looked for her own face in that folded-over skin
and couldn’t find it, and that was the scariest thing of all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Aye, child,” said the stranger, “it is
I. I am you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And as the stranger spoke, telling
Quicksilver stories that only Quicksilver could know—stories of St. Agatha’s,
of the other orphans poking fun at her head of thick gray hair, of her escape
and her traveling on the road afterward—crafty Quix felt a bit like she was
floating above her own body. She had thought it was the right answer, but
still, to hear this proof out loud was another thing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“But how?” she whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
At that, the stranger’s eyes turned
sharp and narrow, lit up in a new way. “You wanted me to show you my magic.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Yes. I did.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“And I said I would, if you answered my
greatest riddle.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quicksilver drew her stolen coat tighter
about her body. “We slapped hands on it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Aye. Then so be it done, at last.” The
stranger took a long, slow breath, and then, before Quicksilver knew what was
happening, the stranger was on her feet, pressing her necklace into
Quicksilver’s sweaty hands, breathing sour breath on Quicksilver’s wide-eyed
face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Then have it,” this strange, red-headed
Quicksilver said. She seemed sorry for something, but also joyous, and
determined. “Have it, and go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Go where?” Quicksilver started to say, but
the necklace was growing hot in her hands, so hot that it burned her. She tried
to drop it, but her hands would not move. The necklace was melting into
her skin; golden light swirled brightly around her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Through it, Quicksilver saw the stranger
melting away, sighing, her eyes closed. The stranger shed first her dark cloak,
then her bright red hair, and then her skin itself, like a tired bird shedding
old feathers. She was a shriveled husk of a thing. A skeleton. A mirage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The gold in Quicksilver’s eyes became
too thick to see anything else.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quick-tongued Quix thought, “Funny, for
a girl named Quicksilver to die in a sea of gold.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
But Quicksilver was not dead. Not that
night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Not<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
ever</i>, really.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
But she did not know that yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
When Quicksilver next opened her eyes,
she sensed without even looking around that she was no longer in Willow-on-the-River,
but somewhere entirely new.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She knew this because when she breathed,
she nearly choked on the air. It stung her lungs and burned her insides. It was
too thick, too full of energy, too <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">different</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She did not know, in that moment, that she
was breathing in air laced with magic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She did not realize that the land she
had found herself in was old, much older than the land of the kindly Riverfolk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She did not understand why the people
here sported hair in all manner of outlandish colors—blue as electric as storms,
and green as bright as springtime, and red. Red as bright as a stranger’s hair.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Red as was Quicksilver’s hair, now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She saw it in the reflection of a still
pond. Somehow, this was the most unsettling thing of all, that her hair had
lost its grey and was now this fiery red. For what is a person, without a name,
and what kind of name is Quicksilver, for a girl with red hair?</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Why has my hair changed color?” she
wondered. “And where has the necklace gone? That stranger’s necklace?” She
paused, afraid, looking around at this world glowing with so many colors that
her eyes hurt to look at it. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My </i>necklace.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She did not understand any of this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
But she would understand it soon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Soon, she would understand that she had
traveled to a time before her own, when magic still lived in the
world and the people prayed to different gods.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Soon, she would begin traveling, as she
had done before, and she would learn <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i>
magic, and the poor street tricks she had always performed to survive would
seem like dusty memories in the corners of her mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Soon, she would take up her true name
and become Anastazia once again, and everyone from the poorest thiefling to the
richest king would come to her, seeking the cleverness of her magic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And later, many lifetimes later, when
much of the world had changed and grown dimmer, and much of its magic bled away, she would stumble upon a dirty,
knobby necklace in the far north of the world. She would hold it and laugh, and
be glad, for this meant that her story was both almost over and close to beginning
again. Old Anastazia, cleverest witch, would put the necklace over her head,
and she would not take it off, not for many years, not even when it rubbed
sores on her chalky white skin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And she would keep an eye out, in those frail
days, for a small girl with limbs like a fox, nose like a pig, and hair grey as
a crone’s in winter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
For, like the necklace she wore,
Anastazia Quicksilver was a circle, and so was the world, and so was everything,
though few ever realized it. It was a grand game, the thorniest of
tricks, and no one played it better than she.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
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<![endif]-->Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-34697836321411094492013-04-01T07:38:00.001-07:002013-04-01T07:38:53.867-07:00April is the Month of Tricks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Welcome, curious souls, to a new month at the Cabinet.<br />
<br />
In January, if you'll recall, we shared with you a collection of not-so-sweet stories about cake. In February, love (in all its dark, oft-twisty forms) was our theme. And last month, the theme was luck -- bad luck, good luck; luck on the seas and in the circus, luck of a special little girl and luck found waiting in an attic.<br />
<br />
And what is the theme this month?<br />
<br />
Pull up a chair, brave hearts, and gather 'round -- but be mindful of where you sit, because this month, nothing may be what it seems. <b>For this month, you see, the theme is <i>tricks</i>. </b>Our stories, then, might be of something largely innocent -- childish pranks and harmless fun -- or something darker. Perhaps we shall tell stories of jokes gone wrong, of lies told and illusions spun, of riddles upon which rests the difference between life and death.<br />
<br />
We hope you enjoy these tales -- and that you come away wiser for having heard them (unlike, to be sure, many of the poor souls within the tales themselves).<br />
<br />
Be watchful. Trust no one (except for us, of course). Listen.<br />
<br />
For we have another month of stories to tell.<br />
<br />
The Curators<br />
<br />Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-53511778752061898152013-03-27T13:00:00.002-07:002013-04-13T04:52:30.609-07:00Johnny Knockers (by Stefan Bachmann)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<span lang="EN-US">The <i>Misselkree</i> was nineteen days at
sea when Johnny Knockers came aboard. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">The crew had just dragged up the little
black whale, had sliced it open head to fluke, and then there he was,
lying among the red, red ropes and glistening offal of the creature's belly.</span>
<br />
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">He was little more than bones. His skin had
been bleached white by the stomach liquids, and all his hair had fallen out. He
lay still as could be, staring up through the bloody cleft. Every few seconds
he breathed, a quick, shallow breath.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Hooks and paring blades clattered to the
deck. The whalers jerked back, growling into their beards, wiping the blood off
on their rough woolen sweaters.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“He's been swallowed,” one of them hissed.
“Swallowed alive, like in 'em old stories.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is he breathing? Oh, crikey, he's
breathing. . .”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">“Let's throw 'im back,” Eli, the cabin boy,
suggested, but they were a thousand leagues from the nearest lighthouse, a
hundred fathoms above the nearest ship. It would have been murder. Murder was
unlucky.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">So they kept him.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">He had forgotten how to walk, but they
lifted him from the whale's carcass and brought him below-deck. He was slippery
as a fish, all knobby, slimy elbows and legs.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">They propped him up by the iron cook-stove
and fed him broth with arsenic and whiskey. At first the broth dribbled down
his chin. Then he swallowed, and all the sailors that had gathered around him
let up a shout.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">They tried to teach him how to stand and how
to speak. They asked him tricky questions to see if he might be a whaler like them.
None of it worked.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well, we suppose we'll call you Johnny Knockers,” they said.
“Because those knees knocks like a drum.” And then they all laughed.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">That night, the clouds heaped against a
stiff wind. Below deck, an air of anticipation had settled below-deck. Was Johnny
Knockers a gift from the sea? Or a curse. . . They went to their bunks and left
him, slouched on a bucket next to the cold stove.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Whaling was good the next day. The water
chopped, deep and dark, and a fat whale was caught in the first hour of the
watch, which was a rare thing and a lucky one. The men rolled up their
chains and stowed the harpoons, and even the look-out was allowed to come in
and sit the rest of the day out of the wind. Everyone was given an extra beaker
of ale. Everyone except Eli. He was barely fourteen, and not a proper whaler,
and so he was given the job of feeding Johnny Knockers.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli went over to the stove, scowling. He sat
down on a bucket next to Johnny Knockers and began shoveling stew into the pale
man's mouth so hard that the spoon clanked against his teeth. Johnny Knockers
didn't protest, but he looked very sad. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">Eli stopped. He was such a
piteous looking thing, Johnny Knockers was, so bony and haunted-looking.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli spooned slower. “All right,” he said, “I
didn't mean it about throwing you back, yeh? We was afraid is all. You're a
right frightening chap to look at.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Johnny Knockers said nothing. But every time
he swallowed, his throat clicked like a bird's, like there was a marble in his
gullet.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli spooned the broth in silence. Then he said, “I
don't suppose you'd tell where you came from? Where your home's at? D'you even
remember?”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The whalers had tried to find out the first
day. They had searched his garment (a shred of bleached cloth, stiff with salt)
but all they had found was a long tooth on a leather cord, hanging around his
neck, and black scribbles on one arm in some foreign writing. “What language is
that?” they had asked, but he hadn't told them.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">And he did not tell Eli. He did not look up.
His pale blue eyes were fixed on the floor-planks, worn smooth and glimmering.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli listened to the whalers, merry in loud
in the next room.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“I'm from Suffolk,” Eli said. “Suffolk by
the Sea.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Spoon, swallow, spoon, swallow.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“Have you been there? Don't worry if you
haven't. It's a gloomy place. A nasty place, right up next to the water. Not as
bad as this, though.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli felt that Johnny Knockers agreed with
him.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">That night, a storm struck––a vicious,
screaming storm, all lightning and waves and a white wind that rushed in the
sails. A rope snapped. A barrel of whale blubber was lost, a part of a harpoon
station went into the sea. But the men were fresh off the victory of the
morning's catch, and so it was shrugged off as nothing.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli got the job of feeding Johnny Knockers
again the next day. He grumbled in front of the whalers, which confused the
cook, because that morning Eli had waited for everyone to leave and had begged
him for the job.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli took the bowl of stew from the brig and
sat down by Johnny Knockers.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Again he spooned for a while in silence.
Then he said stoutly, “I'm not always going to be a whaler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, not sure I like it much. Hauling all
day, cutting and slicing, and shoveling. It's right horrid.” Then, with a
furtive glance through into the dank brig, he said, “One day I want to be a
shoemaker.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Johnny Knockers said nothing, and Eli didn't
mind. “I'm going back to Suffolk when I'm older and have got enough money.
There's a girl there named Lizzie. I gave Liz a tin of taffy before I went,
three years ago, and she gave me a ribbon.” His fingers unlooped a slip of
cloth from one of his buttonholes. The weather had faded the blue to gray.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“What, d'you think o' that, Johnny Knockers? Sound
like a plan? Sound like a good thing?”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Eli would have gone on, but then feet
hammered the deck above. Shouts split the air. “Well, back to work,” he
said, and left the remainder of the stew next to Johnny Knockers' feet. Eli did
not see, but Johnny's eyes moved a bit as he turned to go, just a flick, and it
made a sound inside his skull like a fingernail snagging.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Whaling had never been better, but no one
spoke that night as they clambered into their bunks. Rations were going bad.
Only twenty-four days at sea, and already food was spoiling.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">That morning, a great big beast had been
spotted going north, and all the whalers wanted the <i>Misselkree</i> to press
on, despite there being nothing but rancid stew and tack to eat, and no fresh
anything. They were becoming grumbly and lead-footed. The cook had found spiny
crabs like spiders swarming the larder. But the whaling was so good, and so the
whalers were convinced they were still on a streak of luck.</span></div>
<br />
Still, they weren't sure of Johnny Knockers, and<span lang="EN-US"> since no one would go near the bony figure
by the stove, Eli had to feed him permanently. Which was all right with Eli.</span><br />
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">He liked talking he had noticed. He liked
telling someone things, whether he got any answer or not. In fact, it was
almost better not getting answers. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">And so Eli talked. Even after the cook
had gone to his hammock and the whalers were snoring in their bunks Eli
murmured to Johnny Knockers in the dark, told him of Lizzie and how she was
very poor and so was Eli, and how neither of them minded. He told of the house on
the heath that he wanted to buy in a year or ten. Just a short jaunt from the
town, Eli said, a short jaunt that a buggy and an old horse could manage
nicely. And no more of the sea. No more fear of drowning, black waters creeping
over pale faces, filling your nose, your lungs. You didn't drown on a dirt road.
You didn't drown in a buggy.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The crabs had begun snapping at the
men's toes as they slept. Barnacles were found on the inside of barrels, which
was unheard of. But whales continued to be bountiful. They came steadily, one a
day, at least, and they were becoming ever larger. Soon the <i>Misselkree</i>
would be too full. It was a large whaler, and they had room for many barrels of
blubber, but there was only so much space, only so many barrels.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“Perhaps it's him,” Crickets said one night
to the other whalers, as he scraped a strange green fungus of his tack. “Johnny
Knockers. Perhaps he's like a lure to them. To the whales.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">No one agreed at first, but slowly they came
to realize: Johnny Knockers was very good luck indeed and whatever was
happening around them had to be due to unfortunate weather and bad planning and a
no-good blarsted tack-and-flour merchant back in Liverpool. Because yes, indeed,
whaling had never been this good, whales never so foolish.<i> </i>And
Johnny Knockers was a lure.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">So they made him into one.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">At the crack of dawn they took him from his place by the stove and dragged him onto the deck. A coil of rope was brought.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“Stop!” Eli yelled, when he saw what they were doing, but
the whalers pushed him back. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">“Shut yer trap, boy. It's more blubber in
the barrel, for you too.”</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“I don't want any blubber, stop it!” he
screamed, but they only clouted him and shoved him away from Johnny Knockers. </span><span lang="EN-US">Then they tied Johnny to the mast,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>tight so that he wouldn't flop about.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">A whale came very soon. Its tale slid up out of the water. Then its
head dipped up, very close to the ship. Johnny Knockers saw it. His eyes took
on a sickly, desperate glaze. He began to strain, pushing against the ropes.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">“Stop!” Eli cried again, but no one
listened.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The whale approached. The pale man began to
make croaking sounds, louder and louder, and then the first harpoon struck the
whale in the water and the shriek that came from Johnny's throat was so ghastly
that the sailors very nearly lost their grip on the whale. The beast began to
struggle, suddenly, where before it had been calm. It thrashed and Johnny
Knockers's did, too, his voice screeching up and up. The harpoons rained over
the edge of the ship. For an instant the water was stained red.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">When the whale was at last dead and they
were scooping the pearly fat from under its ink-blue skin, Johnny Knockers
stopped screaming. He went limp again. They dragged him below-deck, and Eli sat
next to him, trying to feed him, because it was the only thing he knew to do,
but Johnny didn't eat. He sat staring out into nothing, and Eli felt sure his
eyes were full of hate.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The whalers went to their bunks, but not
Eli. He stayed with Johnny.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The hours crept past. Eli began to doze. And
then a hand crept forward and gripped Eli's arm. Johnny had not been in the
water for days, but somehow his skin was still wet, slippery, as if the water
were inside him, seeping out of his pores. The grip was so hard. Johnny's eyes
were wide.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">The cook woke at one point to empty the
chamber pot and saw them silhouetted by the stove, the boy and the bone-thin
Johnny Knockers. Later, when asked, he couldn't for the life of him remember
later if it had been Eli whispering. . . or Johnny Knockers.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">It was middle of the day, bright as a bell,
when Eli came up on deck and wrapped his arms in chains and plunged into the
sea. He sank like a stone before anyone could reach him, before anyone could
even shout.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The whalers held a burial-at-sea. Ashes to
ashes, brine to brine. The captain mumbled from the ship's damp and battered
Bible. They had to shorten it a bit because a humpback had been sighted, so
close by, floating calm as you like toward the <i>Misselkree</i>.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The hold was filled to bursting, barrel upon
barrel of blubber, but there was still one corner left. One last corner with
space for a few more barrels. The food was rotting, the men were sick, but it
would only take one more whale.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">They tied Johnny Knockers to the mast again,
to speed things up. One last whale and they would turn keel to the sun and
return home. Back to port, and ale-houses, and enough money to live at least
until Christmas for those who drank, fairly well until June for those who
didn't. The <i>Misselkree's </i>hold was very, very full indeed.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">That day, a tiny whale came. Johnny Knockers
did not thrash or scream this time. He looked at the whale, though. And just
before it came within range of the men's harpoons, it turned and folded back
into the ocean. The men cursed and shouted after it. They had been looking
forward to the journey back. They dragged Johnny Knockers below and threw him
to the floor.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">A whale came not too long afterward. They
killed it and filled their last barrels. They felt very pleased with
themselves, very pleased as they vomited over the side of the ship.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">That night, a whaler named Smithy died of
dysentery. Several others were too sick even to move. But they were headed home
now, headed to port and a year of comfort.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">“What an expedition,” said Crickets. “What a
lucky expedition.” And everyone agreed.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The whales came in the night. Thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen, surrounding the ship. The night was black, the air still and
cold, and the men barely stirred as the waves from the whale's fins began to
pummel the ship. It started gently, became stronger. Then the whales struck,
head-first on all sides of the ship, like hammers. Leaks sprang. A porthole
burst, splashing Crickets in the face.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">The men staggered from their bunks with weak shouts. They hobbled on deck in their nightclothes, lanterns swinging, tiny
fireflies in a great black ocean. The whales struck again, again. The hull
buckled. Men were thrown from their feet. And then the <i>Misselkree</i> split,
right down the middle, with a deafening <i>crack.</i> She sank quickly</span><span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US">––</span>ten seconds
and then she was gone––and all the little fireflies winked out.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">But just before the last of it slipped under
the waves, Johnny Knockers stepped off into the gurgling water. He did not
sink. He did not swim. A whale's head rose up, a black monolith, blacker than
the night. A deep, hollow sound echoed out of its belly. The whale opened its
mouth and Johnny Knockers flopped in, curling into the dark and the red like a
child into a womb.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="Standard" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Far away, a boy struggled up a rocky shore,
dragging himself over the stones. He was paler than he had been, just bones.
His hair was not as thick as a fortnight ago, and his eyes were somewhat
sunken. A ribbon was looped through his buttonhole. Only the faintest threads
showed that it had been blue once.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">But he would live, years yet, forty, fifty,
and he would find roads and travel them, to Lizzie and shoe-shops and houses on
heaths.</span></div>
<div class="Standard">
<br /></div>
<div class="Standard">
<span lang="EN-US">Not the men on the <i>Misselkree. </i>They
lay at the bottom of the sea in a boat full of blubber, and not all the luck in the
world could have saved them. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-US">Neither had the whales.</span></div>
Scathing Jellyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06220890396738929917noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-60987793419387723852013-03-20T06:02:00.001-07:002013-03-20T13:52:04.344-07:00The Tin Man's Price (by Claire Legrand)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mama always says we
should never hurt each other but Mama don’t know nothin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She don’t know about all the marks on my chest.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She don’t know what Edie and I get up to in the attic
these days.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She knows things are goin real swell for us all of a
sudden but she don’t know why.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I think Pa knows, but he won’t tell. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I think it happened to Pa too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Edie’s always wakin me up
in the middle of the night. We’ve always been opposite of the other. Like Edie
don’t sleep much and I can sleep through the end of the world, that’s what Mama
says. And Edie eats enough for ten people and I eat like a bird. We’re opposites,
Edie and me. Miss Vickers at school says sometimes that happens with twins. One
of you’s this way and the other’s that-a-way, and together you make up one
person.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I like Edie but I don’t like us being twins. It’s like we
were supposed to be one person but we got split up inside Mama and now we’re
two people. It’s almost like one of us shouldn’t be alive. Like one of us is a
mistake.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So Edie wakes me up in the middle of the night and instead
of goin out on the roof to play cards like usual, she says, Someone’s here,
Tom. I know someone’s here.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone’s
where? I say. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the
attic, she says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How do
you know?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just
got this feelin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Edie’s
always getting feelins. Sometimes I think her feelins are real and sometimes I
think she’s lyin just cause she gets bored and thinks our town’s dull as mud.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How do you know someone’s there, Edie?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I just
know, why you gotta be such an idiot?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well I
wish I wasn’t an idiot but everyone says I am so I shut up.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We go up to the attic. Pa keeps his old books up here,
about geography and outer space and Egypt pyramids and irrigation. Sometimes
Edie and me like to sit in the window and look through all these books. They’re
hard but we read em anyway. We like to do somethin that Pa likes to do. We like
to impress Pa. Pa don’t say much, and Mama says thank god almighty for that,
why’d you want a chatterbox around anyway?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There ain’t no one up here Edie, I say, cause there ain’t.
Just dust and boxes and old clothes and Pa’s books. Why you always playin
tricks?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It ain’t no trick, says Edie. Her face looks stubborn,
like Mama when she’s on a tear. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know I
heard something, she says. I felt it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cause I know Edie won’t shut up about this till we do it,
I say, Okay let’s look around then, and we do. Through the dust and boxes and
old clothes. Out the window and on the roof. Under the loose floorboard where
we hide our best stuff. Nothin. Nobody.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m goin back to bed you scaredy-cat, I say.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wait, says Edie.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She’s by
the chest full of our old toys, the ones we’re too big for now. She pulls out a
tall round tin covered with pictures and letters I can’t read cause they’re old
and scratchy. It looks like the kinda thing you might could keep candy in. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I ain’t never seen this tin before. It ain’t one of our
toys. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It must be heavy, cause Edie drops it and it hits her
toe. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ow, she
says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then we
heard it:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What’re you children doing up here.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What’re you children doing up here.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why’d you wake me up.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why’d you touch me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t touch me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>DON’T TOUCH ME.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We should run I guess but we’re too scared, so we just
stand there starin at the tin. It’s shakin on the floor. It’s spinnin faster
and faster. Then the lid pops off.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It stinks at first.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then it smells good.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t know what’s comin out of that tin, but it’s dark
and it’s slimy like tar and it’s silky and slow like molasses. It looks kinda
like a person but kinda not.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t like it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hello, it says, and I guess it’s smilin but it’s hard to
tell cause its face is made up of globs and cracks. I apologize for yelling, it
says, but you startled me you see.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Who are you? Edie says. I wanna slap her for bein so
stupid. We should be runnin, Miss Smarty Pants, not talkin to it. And they say
I’m the dumb one.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have many names, it says. But you can call me Luck.
Because that’s what I’m going to give you.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Good luck or bad luck? I say.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It looks at me. It blinks real slow. When it smiles, I
feel sick to my stomach.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Good luck of course, it says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie crosses her arms. Oh she thinks she’s so smart.
She’s tryin to be like Pa. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How
much? she says. We don’t got a lot of money here if that’s what you want.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have no need for money, Luck says. All you have to do
is follow my instructions. It’s quite simple.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What do you want us to do?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Luck
blinks at Edie. It smacks its lips.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I want you to hurt your brother, it says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie looks at me, at Luck, and back again. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What? I say. That’s nuts. Edie let’s get out of here.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How much do I have to hurt him? Edie says. And what’ll
you give me for it?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We’ll start out small, says Luck. A little hurt for a
little luck.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie’s thinkin fast. I see that look on her face. I got a
math test tomorrow, she says. And I ain’t studied.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck smiles real big. A slap will do for that I think, he
says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie’s eyes light up. Hang on, I say. But Edie’s fast.
She runs over and slaps me across my face. It hurts. I get mad and smack her
right back, and it knocks her to the floor.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh, Luck says. Oh oh oh. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then
Luck shakes, and then it’s not so slimy anymore. Like it figured out how to
stand up straight. Now it looks more like a hole, just a hole in the attic
where there should be wood and dust and boxes and now there’s nothing there
instead, just a dark spot that almost looks like a person if you squint real
hard.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s good, Luck says. Thank you, darling ones. Now go
to bed and when you wake up tomorrow you’ll feel so much better than you did
today.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ll pass my math test? says Edie. You promised I would.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You’ll make a perfect score, says Luck.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then Edie says, And what about Tom? He hurt me, so he
should get something too.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How clever of you, sweet girl, says Luck. Then it looks
at me. What do you want, Tommy Tom Tom?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t feel right. This don’t feel right. Edie’s got a
red spot on her cheek. My cheek smarts where her hand hit it. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I got a math test too. And I need even more help than
Edie does.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Idiot Tom. Edie the smart one.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Same here, I say. Math test. I want a perfect score.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck smiles. Its mouth drips. Then you shall have it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our teachers don’t
believe us both gettin perfect scores. Especially not me. They think we cheated
so they’re makin me do my work on the board in front of everyone. And it’s like
my hand isn’t my hand and my brain isn’t my brain, and soon there’s perfect
algebra problems written all over that board. I didn’t have to erase once.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At home Edie and I show our tests to Mama and she says
she’s so glad we finally started studyin like we should now if only we could
peel potatoes faster, that’d be nice. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We show
em to Pa too once he gets in from the fields.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He looks at us real strange.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How wonderful, he says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We run upstairs before he says anything more. It’s like
he knows, and I don’t want him to know. I got this feelin he’d make Luck leave
if he found out.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t want Luck to leave.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I like having Luck around.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I like it even though that night after Mama and Pa go to
bed me and Edie go to the attic and pound on each other while Luck watches.
Even though it leaves bruises all over Edie’s arms and all over my chest. Even
though it hurts so much I almost pass out and Edie starts to cry.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We don’t stop. We’d do anything for Luck. We go for
hours. We pound and bruise and slam and cut. It hurts it hurts but we don’t
stop.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Very good, Luck says. It’s not as scary-lookin tonight. It
looks more like a shadow than a blob or a hole. And shadows ain’t scary,
they’re just places where the light don’t reach.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck runs its hands through our hair. It makes me feel
even sicker but I don’t complain. I got a baseball game on Friday and I wanna
win. Make a double play. Hit a grand slam. Not sit on the bench the whole time
for once. And Edie, she’s got a softball game, and she wants a grand slam too.
Stupid Edie, always wantin to be the same as me. Just cause we’re twins don’t
mean we gotta be the same all the time.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wanna hurt her again.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hurt and ye shall receive, says Luck. It’s laughin so I
guess somethin’s funny but I don’t know what it is.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One day Luck gets tired
of watching us.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I want more, he says. I’m bored of you.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We could go into town, Edie says. She’s cryin because I
think I just broke her toe, but she won’t say nothin and neither will I. We won
both our games this weekend. We’re gettin good grades for once. Amelia Simmons
bought me a milkshake at lunch. Everybody’s lookin at us different, like we
mean somethin. Like we ain’t just Tom and Edie those twins who live out on
Hillside Farm, no sir. We’re Tom who gets hundreds on tests and Edie who hits
grand slams. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Town, Luck says. He looks happy to hear that. He moves
his head funny like a bird. And I’ve started callin him a he because he looks
more like a man now. He’s still dark and fuzzy around the edges and sometimes
when he blinks that tar drips out his eyelid but he’s mostly a man. He has a
tall hat on and he’s skinnier even than me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I should very much like to go to Town, Luck says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we take him.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And the first person we see, Luck points and says, That
one. Hurt that one.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We look. It’s a girl from the junior high school walkin
her dog. I’ve seen her before but I don’t know her name.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie frowns. But it’s the middle of the day, she says. We
can’t just go up and start punchin her. Someone’ll see.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck says, Not if we wait until she’s somewhere hidden.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t like this, I say.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh. Oh no.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn’t
mean to.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It just came out.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck, don’ be angry. Don’t be angry, Luck.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I didn’t mean it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck looks at me long and hard. Edie looks at me even
longer and harder.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t ruin this for me you idiot, Edie says. Don’t make
him mad. We need him.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m sorry, Luck, I say. I’ll do it. We’ll do it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You had better, says Luck. Or I’ll go somewhere else
where my gifts are appreciated and then where you will be?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You’ll be back in the rotten no-good place you came from,
Edie says to me. You’ll go back to stupid bad-grades on-the-bench idiot Tom.
Livin on a farm. Goin nowhere. Is that what you want? Is that you want for us
Tom?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tom, Luck says real soft. Tommy Tom Tom.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No, I say. That’s not what I want.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we follow the junior high girl through town and all
the way to Thistledown Road, where it’s quiet and the grass is high on either
side.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We chase her down. She starts screamin and we run even
faster. She sets her dog on us and we dodge and the dog runs right into Luck’s open
arms and I don’t see what happens to the dog after that.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t want to either.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We’re runnin faster than we’ve ever run before.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Isn’t this great Tom? Edie says. She’s laughin her head
off. We’re almost flyin, she says. We’re like superheroes.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ain’t nothin hero about it. Luck is right on our heels. I
think Luck’s helpin us run this fast, tell the truth.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It ain’t a good fast.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s like runnin from somethin in a bad dream.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I guess it’s like what the junior high girl feels with us
gettin closer and closer. We reach for her arms. We grab em. We pull hard.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It ain’t her fault she can’t outrun us. She don’t have
Luck on her side.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We get home and eat
dinner and go upstairs without sayin a word to nobody. Mama don’t notice cause
she ran into Mrs. Jackson at the supermarket and there’s a whole scandal about
Mrs. Jackson’s son runnin off to the city or somesuch and Mama’s happy as a
clam about it. Finally somethin’s happenin, she says, in this dull as mud town.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pa watches me and Edie from across the table.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t like him lookin at me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s like he knows.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s like he saw us hit that girl. Just the one time is
all it took for Luck to shiver and shake and roll around on the ground like he
got an electric shock. When he stood back up I could see his eyes real clear
for the first time. They were dark and didn’t have no white around em.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t like Luck’s eyes.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie stood there twistin her hands. Oh golly Luck, she
said, we shouldn’t’a done that. We shouldn’t’a hurt that girl. She’ll tell on
us.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She didn’t see you, said Luck. He smoothed down his coat.
He dusted off his tall hat. He kicked dirt off his boots. All she saw, he said,
was her fear.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then he took our hands and led us home.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And now we’re sittin here across from Pa tryin to choke
down cornbread and I swear he knows what we’ve done.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I almost say somethin. I can’t help it. This ain’t right.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It ain’t right it ain’t right.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>IT AIN’T RIGHT IT AIN’T—</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Edie kicks me under the table.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Stupid Tom. Stupid idiot Tom.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I shut up. I don’t say nothin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I ain’t stupid idiot Tom with the smart sister no more.
Not with Luck around.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I don’t act like it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At first when I wake up
that night I think it’s Edie comin to get me cause Luck said when he brought us
home before dinner, he said, Darling children I want you to come up and see me
tonight. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But we just hurt that girl for you, I said. Ain’t that
enough for today?<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck touched my arm. He squeezed tight till I couldn’t
breathe. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s never enough, he said.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But it ain’t Edie wakin me up. It’s Pa.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hurry, he says. Follow me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Where’re we goin? </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To the attic.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I stop cold. Why?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cause I know what’s goin on and it’s gonna stop tonight.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pa, ain’t nothin—</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I ain’t an idiot Tom and you ain’t either.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I am an idiot, I say. Ain’t no use lyin. I ain’t a good
liar. Edie’s the one who’s good at lyin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I need Luck, I say. We’re at the attic door. Pa’s holdin
the cross from above the supper table like a gun.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I ain’t no good without him, I say.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m cryin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No you got that wrong, Pa says. He leans down so I can
see him. His face got criss-crossed lines all over it. He looks tired but his
eyes don’t.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You’re a good boy, Pa says. He holds me tight.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Where’s Edie?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She ain’t comin with us. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cause she ain’t strong enough. Ain’t her fault. You
could’a been the weak one just as easy.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m the mistake twin, I say. I’m still cryin cause that’s
what idiots do. I shouldn’t be alive.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s right, says a voice.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s Luck.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You shouldn’t be alive, he says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The attic door flies open.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pa holds out his cross in front of us. He’s got it in one
hand and me in the other. He rushes into the attic.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Somethin’s screamin:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You again.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You you you.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not again.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Get that away from me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>GET IT AWAY.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>PUT IT DOWN.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No, Pa says. I ain’t puttin it down.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He grabs that heavy tin Edie dropped, the one Luck lived
inside. It’s so heavy Pa can barely lift it. Maybe with two hands he could lift
it but he can’t let go of that cross. I know that without even askin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tom, he says, help me get it outside.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So much screamin and so much wind. Books and clothes and
boxes flyin all over the attic. There’s a kind of dark in here so thick it’s
like drinkin cement.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But we lift it together, me and Pa, and we get it
outside.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Luck follows us, and there’s dirt flyin in our eyes and
the ground’s shakin under our feet but if I look out into the fields it’s calm
like springtime. It’s a good thing we didn’t stay in the attic. We might’ve
brought the whole house down.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I guess Pa knows that.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How’d you know Pa? I say. How’d you know what we done?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It happened to me too. He has to shout it cause Luck is
screamin nasty words so loud I cain’t hardly think.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When? I say.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I was a boy. Luck found me too.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You should’a gotten rid of it, I say. So me and Edie
couldn’t find it. This tin, we found it with our toys.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s the thing, Pa says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He looks at me.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I did get rid of it, Tom.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>TOM. TOM. TOMMY TOM TOM.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>WHERE WILL YOU BE WITHOUT ME TOM.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t listen, Pa says, real calm. We’re by the creek now.
He’s got the tin in one hand and the cross in the other and he’s tryin to bring
em together like magnets that just won’t go. There’s sweat on his forehead and
his muscles are big like mine’ll never be, I just know it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>YOU’RE RIGHT TOM, says Luck. He don’t look like a man no
more. He’s all kinds of slime and glob. He’s crawlin on the ground. His hat
ain’t a hat no more. It’s just a tall tall head. YOU’LL NEVER BE AS STRONG AS
YOUR PA.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>YOU’RE NOTHING WITHOUT ME.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>YOUR SISTER COULD MAYBE DO IT. SHE’S SMART ENOUGH. SHE’S
PRETTY ENOUGH. SHE COULD MAKE IT WITHOUT ME.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t listen to it, says Pa. He’s sweatin hard. He cain’t
hardly breathe. It ain’t nothin but tricks and lies, he says. Luck ain’t real.
Luck don’t last.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>DON’T LISTEN TO IT, Luck says. He drips black on my feet.
He’s real close now. DON’T LISTEN TO IT.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I NEED YOU AND YOU NEED ME.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>WITHOUT ME YOU’RE NOTHING.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then Pa says, Okay Tom. Okay now.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And I say to Luck, You got that backwards. And I’m cryin
but I just don’t care.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And Pa slams his hands together, cross to tin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And Luck shrinks into a smokin black piece of somethin
burnt.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And flies into the tin.</span></div>
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</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And the lid slams closed.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With Luck gone
everything’s quiet again. There’s crickets in the grass and a coyote out
somewhere by the foothills. And there’s me and Pa starin at the tin on the
ground like it’s this thing you don’t want to touch cause if you do it’ll blow
you to bits.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What’ll
we do with it? I say.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What’ll we do without it? What’ll we do without Luck?
That’s the question I really feel like askin but I know I probably shouldn’t. I
think of all the things I done. I wonder if Pa done those things too when he
was a boy. I wonder if anybody ever called him idiot or thought he was the dumb
one.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a while Pa says, We’ll bury it. Far from here.
Farther’n’ I did the first time. Deeper too.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We’re walkin back to the house now, me and Pa. We grab
two shovels from the barn.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Me and Pa.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not Edie. Not Mama. And Pa’s lookin at me like I ain’t a
boy no more. Real proud, he looks like. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I bet you didn’t count on that did you Luck? I bet you
didn’t see that comin.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You thought I was nothin without you.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You was wrong.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sling the shovel on my shoulder just like Pa does.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I liked having Luck around, I say. It was nice.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I know, he says. I did too.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What’ll we do without it? What if we never get it again?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There. I said it. I know it’s shameful but I said it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well, he says. Well. Then he says, We’ll go to sleep.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’ll
wake up in the mornin, he says.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And then
we’ll get back to work. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<![endif]-->Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-88580293008984596482013-03-13T07:55:00.000-07:002013-03-13T12:38:39.615-07:00Lucky Lucky Girl (by Katherine Catmull)<br />
Isn’t Simran a lucky girl?<br />
<br />
When she wants something—when she wants something quite badly—well, then, somehow, something lovely always happens—and she gets it!<br />
<br />
Like that awfully hot day when she <i>really</i> wanted ice cream, and she heard the truck, but she didn’t have any money. But then—oh, it was so lucky—the ice cream truck broke down just outside her house. All the ice cream was melting, so the ice cream man shouted, “Free ice cream! Free ice cream for everyone!” And she got as much ice cream as she wanted!<br />
<br />
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Isn’t that <i>lucky</i>?<br />
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Or another time, she wanted a particular pair of shoes in pale blue leather. But her mother said they were ridiculously expensive, and she wouldn’t spend that kind of money on her own shoes, let alone a child’s.<br />
<br />
Simran’s mother was a little <i>unlucky</i> just after she said that: she must have bitten too hard into her cheese sandwich, because her tooth broke off, right in the front of her mouth—which was awfully painful, and awfully ugly, too, until she could get it fixed.<br />
<br />
But later that same day, Simran had the <i>best</i> luck. A woman had bought those exact same shoes, just in Simran’s size, for her own daughter. The woman had saved and saved for months to buy the shoes, because she knew her daughter had her heart set on them. But—lucky for Simran!—something must have distracted the woman, because she left the package on the roof of her car. When she drove past Simran’s house, the shoes fell right into Simran’s yard, and the woman drove on, never knowing.<br />
<br />
How lucky is <i>that</i>?<br />
<br />
Or: in 6th grade, Simran liked this boy Jeremy. But he was the most popular boy in school—the cutest, and the funniest, and the best soccer player—and he never noticed her; you know how that goes. Well: Jeremy was in a dreadful car accident. That wasn’t very lucky for <i>him</i>, because he broke both legs. But it was very, very lucky for Simran, because he was in a wheelchair for many months afterwards. No more soccer for Jeremy! And after a while all his cute, popular friends got tired of sitting around with him, and they ran off to play soccer or ride bikes to the mall. Then Simran had Jeremy alllllll to herself.<br />
<br />
Wasn’t that totally lucky?<br />
<br />
Now poor little Emily: she was not so lucky. Back in second grade, their class play was “Sleeping Beauty.” Simran wanted to play Sleeping Beauty herself, of course—but instead, she was cast as Sleeping Beauty’s mother, a boring role where she only had one line (“Oh! How long have I been asleep?”: blah) and wore a stupid costume made out of a paper grocery bag with jewels drawn on it in crayon.<br />
<br />
Emily, with her sky-blue eyes and so-pretty long black hair—she got to play Sleeping Beauty, and wear a real-looking diamond tiara and a long blue dress that matched her eyes. So Simran asked Emily, very, very nicely, if she would trade roles with her.<br />
<br />
But Emily said, “No.”<br />
<br />
That same day, Emily ran into some very, very bad luck indeed. Something dreadful happened to her—no one knows exactly what, but it must have been quite bad, and quite terrifying. She was missing for three days. And when she reappeared, her black hair had turned pure white, and her blue eyes had emptied, and she couldn’t stop trembling for three days more.<br />
<br />
Emily would never say what had happened. In fact, that was way back in second grade, and Emily has not said a single word since the day she disappeared—not a single, solitary word.<br />
<br />
It’s pretty sad, really.<br />
<br />
On the bright side, Simran got to play Sleeping Beauty after all. Lucky, huh?<br />
<br />
It’s funny, actually, when you think about it. Simran’s friends aren’t lucky at all. Her family isn’t so lucky, either, and neither are her neighbors—sometimes they’re pretty unlucky, actually. It’s almost like Simran uses up all the luck in her part of the world!<br />
<br />
Like one time the man next door came over to complain about Simran’s cat going to the bathroom in his children’s sandbox. It wasn’t the cat’s fault—a sandbox looks like a litterbox to a cat!—but the neighbor <i>refused</i> to understand that, and said mean things about calling Animal Control if it happened one more time.<br />
<br />
But he never got a chance to call Animal Control, because that night, his house very unluckily caught fire and burned to the ground. The family got out okay—well, except for the dad. He was blinded in the fire. He never saw again.<br />
<br />
That was definitely some bad luck for him. But, well: maybe he won’t be so mean next time.<br />
<br />
(They never did rebuild that house, and now Simran’s cat uses the ashes of their whole house as a litter box. Which is a <i>little</i> funny, as Simran would be the first to point out.)<br />
<br />
Another time, Simran’s little sister, when she was only four, was watching some dumb baby show right when Simran wanted to watch Animal Planet. Simran told her very nicely that she had to change the channel, but her sister kicked up an unpleasant, screamy fuss. Her sister might have met some bad luck right then—it’s <i>quite</i> bad luck to scream around Simran, who doesn’t like screaming at all—but just then, their dad came in and swooped Simran’s sister away.<br />
<br />
He took the little girl into his room and shut the door. He talked to her in that quiet-but-super-upset voice that parents use to tell small children to stay away from fire, or not to run into traffic. He said: “Look at me. No: <i>look</i> at me, and listen. Never argue with Simran. Never, ever, ever argue with Simran. Do you understand me, honey? Say that you understand me. Just do whatever she says.”<br />
<br />
Her father thought Simran couldn’t hear him through the door. She could, though. She was standing right outside, and she heard every word.<br />
<br />
But it didn’t make Simran angry. It made her smile to herself, and nod.<br />
<br />
So maybe Simran’s dad was a little lucky, after all.<br />
<br />
It’s funny that the people around Simran — her family, her neighbors, and Jeremy, and Emily, and that little girl who got no birthday present—even that poor ice cream man, who lost his whole inventory that day, and had no money to replace it, and couldn’t buy food for his family: they were not lucky. They were very, very <i>unlucky</i>.<br />
<br />
But it’s okay, because Simran’s always lucky. When Simran wants something, what she wants comes to her—one way or another. So her luck sort of makes up for everyone else’s bad luck, at least in her opinion.<br />
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Isn’t she a lucky, <i>lucky</i> girl?katherine catmullhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13060204901478490767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-43929398062944696062013-03-06T05:35:00.001-08:002013-03-06T05:35:16.464-08:00The Circus (by Emma Trevayne) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.9080963971467866" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">They
said I was found in an eggshell. That a witch sailed to sea in the
shell to whip up a storm that would smash the boats to ribbons on the
rocks, and when the shell came back to land, there was I, curled inside.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">That’s what they </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">said. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Rubbish,
of course, but in our line of work, an interesting story was important
as the clothes on your back. Maybe more important. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And
it’s true I was always lucky, right from a tiny thing, always first to
find stones with holes in their middles when we cleared the ground for
the tents, or see a cat the color of midnight. Lucky Luke, they called
me.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But only once. Tempting fate like that is the height of foolishness, and we are by nature a superstitious lot. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Perhaps that’s what happened. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">*</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I
was seven, possibly eight. Not knowing exactly my birthday on account
of the eggshells, it was difficult to say for sure, but that sounds
about right. Seven or eight, and there was so much glittering, thrilling
fun to be had, ducking under the juggler’s clubs, spitting water back
at the elephants. Waiting for the moment when everyone had taken their
seats and the whole tent held its breath...</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Welcome,
welcome!” Mister Scully, the ringmaster, would cry. The towns changed,
some big, some small, at the edges of lakes or swaddled by mountains,
but this was always the same. And then I would be wheeled out in a
special box, because I was one of the small ones, and the magician would
saw me clean in two. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">truly. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But it looked for all the world as if he had.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">On
one particular day, the animals were tired and grizzly, and the rest of
us soaked through from a week’s worth of rain. “Are we there yet?” I
asked. I remember this quite clearly. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Nearly,
Lucky Luke!” roared Scully, trying very hard to smile beneath his
drooping, dripping mustache. Beside me the fortune teller made a sign to
ward off evil spirits. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We
turned down a dirt road walled on both sides with trees tall as hills.
Somewhere behind my little nest of blankets the lion roared, the tamer
rattled his chains. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And the beast was silenced.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Inside
the trees, nightfall had come at breakfast time, so dark it was. Leaves
rustled, and whatever tiny points of light broke through seemed more
like stars than daylight. The forest kept the rain off, however. That
was something. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It
felt an age that we traveled that dark road, peering ahead for any sign
of it ending, and when it did, trees giving way to open space and then a
large town of wood and brick, it was as abrupt and surprising as a
miracle. As finding a penny beside your shoe the moment you happen to
look down.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Everybody out!” </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Everyone
has a job, in the circus. In truth, everyone has twenty-seven jobs, all
part of a well-oiled mechanism. The acrobats climbed atop the piles on
the wagons to grasp tent pegs with their toes. The magicians vanished
burlap sacks as soon as they were emptied. I wriggled through the small
spaces, ran jackrabbit-quick between the carts and the tent.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">With
a sweeping arm, Scully donned his top hat and crossed the muddy field
to the town. I remember this quite clearly, too, though I could not now
say why it made such an impression. He always went to issue a formal
invitation, as if the people hadn’t watched our arrival through their
windows. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The circus had come to town, and oh, wouldn’t they come that very evening to see what wonders the Big Top held?</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Of course they would come. They always came, ready to stamp their feet and clap their hands and hiss like snakes.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Only
later, much later, did I realize I hadn’t found a single holed stone,
or seen a cat hunting for field mice. I was too busy helping the
tumblers with their spangles, tying knots in the trapeze ropes, fetching
buckets of sawdust and rainwater. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I wouldn’t realize until later.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">*</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
tent was full to bursting. I sneaked out and away, far enough that I
could see how grand it was, great stripes lit up with torches against
the backdrop of that deep, dark forest. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Luke!”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Here!” I ran back, back to Maximilian, the magician, ready to tuck me into the box so he might cut me in two again. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“In you go, then.” </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was dark as a bruise inside the box, but I wasn’t afraid. No need for that. Done it a hundred times, hadn’t I?</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
tent was dark, too. I couldn’t see, but I knew, it was always dark as I
was wheeled out to the edge of the ring in my box. Dark and quiet
enough to hear a pin drop. The band silent, Scully in his waistcoat and
top hat waiting, waiting until the townsfolk couldn’t stay still for
another moment. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And
then the lights would burst to life, and the waiting band would play,
and Scully would welcome everyone, and the show would begin.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Just another moment, that’s all. Squashed inside my box, I knew it would only take another moment.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">That’s
when the whistle began. A low, mournful whistle that brought goosebumps
to my skin. A trombone made a noise like a cat under a cartwheel. Glass
shattered.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Lights!” </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scully
ordered. Maximilian flicked the latches with fingers that made the
whole box shake. I tumbled out, heart thudding, as the ring of torches
flared on our fearful faces. High up on the ladders, Ivan and Cassandra
dropped their trapezes to put their hands to their mouths. Juliette
dropped her deck of cards that did not foresee this. She would have
said.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Who was that,” Scully whispered, gazing about the tent. “Who whistled?”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No one said a word. He looked terrifying, terrible, inhuman with his wide mustache and goggling eyes.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“It
is terrible luck to whistle in a circus tent, you know. Let us not get
off on such a terrible foot, my friends. Who was it?” </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Still, no one answered. Bunch of cowards, I thought then. Bunch of stinking cowards. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Scully gave a last look around the tent. “All right. Welcome, welcome.” It was not a cry, that time.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It was something more of a warning.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
smashed mirror was swept, cards gathered, latches closed on the box,
locking me back inside. For the first time I was afraid as the sword
sliced the air, but the trick went off without a hitch. And for the
rest, if our hands shook a little more, if our feet were not so steady
that evening, who was to notice? </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But
we would not stay another night, that was decided the instant the tent
had cleared. Pack up first thing, be on our way to somewhere more
hospitable. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In the morning, the wheels stuck so fast in the mud not even the elephants could pull them free.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">That
afternoon, bored, restless, Cassandra set up a tightrope between two
trees, and Ivan wasn’t quick enough to catch her when she fell.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Sulky
and starving, the lion seemed to feel the tamer was taking too long to
bring his dinner. A single scream broke the sunset, blood stained the
ground.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">By nightfall, we were all huddled in a single wagon, Juliette’s cards promising death, and death, and death again.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">For these things always came in threes. We stole glances at each other’s faces, wondering. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I don’t suppose I’ll ever know who knocked the candle, and I am the only one left to think of it.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">*</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I was always lucky. Found in an eggshell, the first to spot four-leafed clovers and make wishes on shooting stars. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
only one to wake as the flames licked and crackled over parched wood
and moth-eaten blankets. My screams trapped in my throat, my hands weak.
No one stirred when I shook them. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Jackrabbit-quick,
I ran. Into the woods, dark, dank, safe. From behind a tree I saw the
fire spread down the chain of wagons, heard the lion roar, the elephants
stamp their feet and toss their heads, strong enough to break their
chains and let them run. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But
there was no saving the circus. Nothing to do but wait for the flames
to burn themselves out in the hour of sunrise, when the sky matched the
burning embers exactly. On knocking knees I walked, edging closer to a
sight too terrible to look at, and yet too terrible to look away.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Part
of my magic box survived, charred wood held together by silver hinges,
surrounded by a pile of spangles and ash. A beautiful, brightly-colored
bird, like a fire itself, flew down to perch on its edge.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It turned a beady eye on me, and then on the rising sun. And it began to whistle, sounding for all the world like a man.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-67430604737767282832013-03-04T15:22:00.001-08:002013-03-04T15:22:09.656-08:00March is the Month of Luck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGliZ91CPcrHwfPkPmDreenmeLUzGS2T4SSTsv7epeTIlrznExHGSucii5V4O9NAPJb-6Ilj5o0RTKVmYsT1S571_6gN5qskh73YbbZaHyVBoXL0Re60FnLX035pOGTuVg1IUUb8jLBVQ/s1600/Heart+Lock+and+Key+Public+Domain+find+ALTME.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGliZ91CPcrHwfPkPmDreenmeLUzGS2T4SSTsv7epeTIlrznExHGSucii5V4O9NAPJb-6Ilj5o0RTKVmYsT1S571_6gN5qskh73YbbZaHyVBoXL0Re60FnLX035pOGTuVg1IUUb8jLBVQ/s1600/Heart+Lock+and+Key+Public+Domain+find+ALTME.jpg" /></a></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10045">
</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10045">
It's a new month in the
shadowy corners of the Cabinet (and perhaps
in the sunny world outside, too, who's to say), and that means four new
stories, four new nightmares that will frighten you or disgust you,
and preferably do both. This month, if you poke your head in our door, you will
find the stories are about luck. </div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10045">
</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10045">
<b>Not necessarily <i>good</i>
luck. </b></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10045">
</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10045">
Perhaps one story will be about wishing wells, and one about
troll bridges, and one about falling off of a boat and drowning. We
don't know yet. We won't tell yet. But the stories will without a doubt
feature dastardly deeds and frightening occurrences of the sort we're
sure you've never seen before.</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10046">
<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10047">
Last month we wrote of love. The
month before we dreamed up dreadful things about cake. Now, just in time for St. Patrick's day, we
bring you tales of fortune, serendipity, and chance. We hope you like
it. </div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10048">
</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10049">
May March be luckier for you than it will be for our characters.</div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10050">
<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1362434720608_10051">
The Curators</div>
Scathing Jellyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06220890396738929917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-77011397788802246892013-02-27T06:28:00.000-08:002013-05-03T12:29:59.198-07:00Motherhood (by Stefan Bachmann)<span lang="EN-US">The woman pushing the stroller was tall and
thin, and Amelia-Anne noticed her because her pants were a bit old-fashioned
like something out of an old cartoon. Her jacket was brown. Amelia-Anne thought
it looked like a potato-bag. She watched the thin woman's bell-bottoms drag
over the ground and then passed her and went to the park and played on the
slides until she was tired.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The thin woman was back the next day. She
pushed her stroller along with all the other moms, but none of them said hi to
her. Amelia-Anne wondered why that was. When they were at the playground, the
other moms laughed and talked and loaded their babies into swings and bounced
them and showed them off to each other.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The thin woman sat by herself, hugging her
baby and singing to it softly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne had to go to a birthday party
the next day. She didn't really want to, and her mom didn't want to take her.
In fact, her parents had an argument about it, but Amelia-Anne was getting
dressed so she didn't hear much of it. Her mom drove her to the party. There
were presents and balloons and cupcakes with pink and blue frosting. Ally was
turning nine and she wanted to be cool, so she had invited a bunch of
fifth-graders. Amelia-Anne thought that was dumb.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">After the party, Amelia-Anne was going to
walk home, but her mom insisted on coming in the car again to pick her up. All
the other moms picked up their kids, too. Amelia-Anne thought that was nice,
because it was getting cold.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">She went to the park the next day and sat
on her bench and started to draw with a red crayon on a big piece of paper.
There weren't as many mothers in the park today, but the thin woman was there.
She was by herself. She looked around, clutching her baby. She saw Amelia-Anne.
She came over and sat next to Amelia-Anne.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hi,” said Amelia-Anne, swinging her legs.
Then she went back to drawing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hello,” said the thin woman. “Did you see
my baby? Isn't my baby beautiful?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne looked at the baby. It looked
like all babies, she thought. She went back to drawing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Isn't my baby fabulous?” the thin woman
asked. She hugged the baby.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne thought he was a bit drooly and
a bit chubby, and she didn't want to be rude, so she didn't say anything. She
continued coloring, making a big red circle and drawing a red flower inside it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The thin woman didn't seem to mind. “My
baby's the most wonderful baby in the whole world,” she said, and stroked her
baby's head with her long fingers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne put a rake inside the red
circle, too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">After a while the playground emptied. The
sky turned gray and the leaves started to whirl. The other mothers went home.
Amelia-Anne headed home, too, but when she left, the thin woman was still on
the bench, holding her baby and talking to it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">*** </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The next day, at the park, the sky was
sunny and the birds were out, and so were the mothers, their toddlers stuffed
into colorful jumpers and put into strollers or onto leashes so that they could
crawl around. The thin woman was there. She was letting her baby crawl without
a leash, but she was following it. Amelia-Anne watched them. The baby took
about five crawl-shuffles for every one of the thin woman's long, long steps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The baby went right up to one of the other
mothers and looked up at her. The other mother saw and swooped up the baby,
laughing. “Who's a little deary!” she said. “Whoooo's a little
deary-schnookums?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The thin woman screamed. She screamed so
loud that Amelia-Anne broke her crayon. Everyone on the playground froze.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Don't touch my baby!” the thin woman
shrieked, and snatched the baby away from the other woman, who stood shocked and mortified. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The other mothers frowned and put their
heads together. The mother who had picked up the thin woman's baby went away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">After a few minutes the playground calmed
down again. Most of the mothers left. The thin woman let her baby stay on
the ground, crawling as it pleased, and she followed it. Amelia-Anne went home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The next day was dark and rainy, but
Amelia-Anne went to the park anyway. Her mother had said, “Amelia-Anne, I don't
want you going out by yourself,” but Amelia-Anne had forgotten and had done it
anyway. She went up the gravel lane to the playground and sat down on the
bench. The wind gusted around her. She swung her legs. After a while the thin
woman came, pushing her stroller. She saw Amelia-Anne and smiled and waved. Her
hair was a bit mousy, Amelia-Anne thought. She needed extra-pomegranate
conditioner. Amelia-Anne had seen extra-pomegranate conditioner on TV, and she
was sure everyone with mousy hair needed it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hello!” said the thin woman, and sat down
next to her. She lifted the baby out of the stroller and set it on her knee.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hi,” said Amelia-Anne. She didn't have her
crayons with her today. She wished she did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The wind blew around them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Isn't my baby the most wonderful baby in
the whole world?” the thin woman asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne sighed. She swung her legs.
“What's your baby's name?” she asked. That was good. That was polite.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I called him Max,” the thin woman said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“How old is he?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“A few months.” The thin woman bounced the baby gently. “Isn't
he fabulous?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Don't you know <i>exactly</i> how old he
is?” asked Amelia-Anne.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The thin woman looked at Amelia-Anne,
smiling. “Isn't he fabulous?”she asked again, and then the baby gurgled a big
bubble of spit right out of his mouth, so Amelia-Ann said yes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I just love babies,” the thin woman said,
and Amelia-Anne couldn't be certain, but she thought the thin woman's eyes
looked very dark right then. Very, very dark.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne went home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">Amelia-Anne's mom wouldn't let her go to
the playground the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Finally,
Amelia-Anne's mom said they could go, but only if Amelia-Anne's mom went along. So Amelia-Anne's mom did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">They sat on the bench. There were a few other mothers
at the playground. The thin woman wasn't there. Amelia-Anne searched
and searched for the brown coat and the long, long legs in their cartoon jeans,
but she couldn't see them. Amelia-Anne's mom talked with some of the other
moms. They kept looking over at their toddlers, and at Amelia-Anne, too, as if
they wanted to make sure Amelia-Anne didn't hear. Amelia-Anne didn't really
care what they were talking about and she wished they would stop looking at
her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US">The next day, the thin woman wasn't at the
park either. But that was the day that Amelia-Anne overheard her parents
talking about the baby that had been stolen two weeks ago while sitting in its mom's grocery cart, and how
no one knew where it was, and no one knew who had kidnapped it, and how there
hadn't been a ransom note or anything. Police had been out looking for a crazy
woman who might have done it, but they couldn't find her. They had been asking for clues. Amelia-Anne thought of the thin woman, clutching her baby,
smiling. “I just love babies,” she had said, so Amelia-Anne knew it couldn't
have been her.</span></div>
Scathing Jellyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06220890396738929917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-91422117571029486242013-02-20T06:05:00.000-08:002013-02-27T07:58:14.920-08:00Red Shoes and Doll Parts (by Claire Legrand)The story of Jackie and Mr. Jimmy is similar to that of the chicken and the egg. <br />
<br />
Which came first? <br />
<br />
Did Jackie start talking to Mr. Jimmy so much because the kids at school made fun of her and called her Wacky Jackie? Or did the kids at school start making fun of Jackie because all she ever did was talk to Mr. Jimmy? <br />
<br />
No one really knows; not even Jackie knew. <br />
<br />
But she thought she did. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
She would get home from school and take Mr. Jimmy out of her backpack and sniffle over his cold, wooden head. <br />
<br />
“Oh Mr. Jimmy,” she would say, crying into the mirror, which made things all the more awful, because she hated her uncontrollable hair and her pimples and how she looked like a string bean boy in her clothes, “why do they have to be so mean to me?” <br />
<br />
And Mr. Jimmy would say something soothing like, “You shouldn’t care so much about what they think, Jackie. Jackie, they’re scum. Jackie, they’re little creeps. I hate them so much. Don’t you hate them?” <br />
<br />
But Jackie would shake her head. “No. Hating’s bad. Mom and Dad say so. You shouldn’t hate people, Mr. Jimmy. Please don’t.” And then she’d put Mr. Jimmy away. He frightened her when he said things like that. <br />
<br />
One day, though, it was the first warm day of spring, and Jackie had worn the prettiest sundress to school. It had polka dots and ruffled cap sleeves and a bright red belt. She had felt like an absolute princess, like a flower full of petals. But instead of everyone at school being impressed by Jackie’s style, they had poked fun at her—for dressing up too much, for dressing too old-fashioned, for being able to see through her skirt, for trying to be so pretty when she obviously was so not. <br />
<br />
Jackie ran all the way home from school, and tore up her matching red shoes. <br />
<br />
Her parents weren’t home yet, and she was glad. No one should have to see her like this. No one but Mr. Jimmy. She hugged him tight and cried over his crisp little blue suit. <br />
<br />
“Oh Mr. Jimmy,” she said at last, when she stopped crying enough to speak. Her voice was full of hiccups. “I do hate them. I <i>do</i> hate them.” <br />
<br />
Mr. Jimmy was quiet for a very long time. Then he said, “Oh? Is that really true?” <br />
<br />
Jackie nodded fiercely. “I hate every single one of them.” <br />
<br />
“Then we should do something about it. Don’t you think?” <br />
<br />
Jackie wiped her eyes and stared. “What do you mean? What could we do?” <br />
<br />
“Oh.” And Mr. Jimmy, even though it shouldn’t have been possible, seemed to smile. Not his painted-on smile, but one from deep inside himself. “I have lots of ideas. I’ve had lots of ideas for a very long time.” <br />
<br />
“What kind of ideas?” <br />
<br />
“We could get back at them.” <br />
<br />
“But how?” <br />
<br />
“Trust me, Jackie. Trust me. I have your best interests at heart. I love you, Jackie.” <br />
<br />
And poor Jackie, her face all red, smiled. “I love you too, Mr. Jimmy. You’re the best friend I have in the whole world.” <br />
<br />
“And I have been for a very long time.” <br />
<br />
“Why, yes.” <br />
<br />
“And I always will be. Your very best friend.” <br />
<br />
Jackie laughed. “Of course! Don’t be silly.” <br />
<br />
“This isn’t silly to me, Jackie.” <br />
<br />
There was that tone of voice that sometimes scared Jackie, the tone of voice Mr. Jimmy had when he talked about hating people. But Jackie was too tired from crying to care very much. So she put Mr. Jimmy on his stool and crawled into bed for a nap. It was exhausting to cry so much. She didn’t even stop to take off her ruined red shoes. She nestled into her pillows and stared across the room at Mr. Jimmy’s face until she fell asleep. <br />
<br />
And Mr. Jimmy sat on his stool and stared back, which is the only thing ventriloquist dummies are supposed to be able to do. <br />
<br />
But Mr. Jimmy was special. Jackie would have been the first to tell you that. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
The next day, Jackie’s parents heard a slight wooden clatter at the kitchen table, and looked up from their cereal to see Jackie settling Mr. Jimmy onto her old booster seat, from when she was too little to reach the table on her own. <br />
<br />
“Jackie,” said Jackie’s mom, “why is your doll at the kitchen table?” <br />
<br />
Jackie’s dad frowned and fiddled with his glasses. “Aren’t you a little old for such things?” <br />
<br />
“Don’t listen to them, Jackie,” Mr. Jimmy said through his bright white wooden teeth. “Things will be different from now on. People might not understand us, Jackie. They might not understand how much we love each other. But you and I understand, and that’s enough. That’s enough.” <br />
<br />
Jackie worked very hard to pretend like Mr. Jimmy hadn’t said anything at all. She had figured out a long time ago that no one else could hear Mr. Jimmy but her. It made her feel special. It made her feel beautiful, like a thing that people wanted instead of a thing people teased, a thing people tripped in the hallways so she would drop all her books, a thing people pinched like she was some kind of ugly toy to be tortured. <br />
<br />
“His name, Mother,” Jackie burst out, her cheeks bright red, “is Mr. Jimmy. He’s not a doll. He’s my friend.” <br />
<br />
Her mother gasped at the meanness in Jackie’s voice. Jackie’s father stood up and tugged his shirt straight. “Now see here, Jackie-kins . . . ” <br />
<br />
But Jackie didn’t listen. She pushed her chair back so hard it crashed into the refrigerator. She grabbed Mr. Jimmy and cradled him against her chest as she ran out the door. She kicked the cat when it got in her way, and as the poor creature yowled and scrambled away, Mr. Jimmy laughed against her ear. <br />
<br />
“Such a pretty girl, Jackie-kins,” he said, and his breath was foul, but his lips were smooth. “We’ll show them. We’ll show them.” <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
On the school bus that day, Jackie held Mr. Jimmy in the bookbag on her lap and fussed over him, petting his smooth, painted-on black hair, running her fingers down his smooth, painted-on suit jacket. <br />
<br />
“You’re so handsome, Mr. Jimmy,” Jackie said dreamily, although she didn’t say it as quietly as she thought she had, and a couple of boys nearby—Greg and Michael, were their names—turned around to look and point and laugh. <br />
<br />
“Me?” said Mr. Jimmy. “You think<i> I’m</i> handsome?” <br />
<br />
In answer, Jackie kissed Mr. Jimmy’s bright red lips. <br />
<br />
“What are you saying to Mr. Jimmy today, Jackie?” said Greg. He had switched places with Mary, in the seat in front of Jackie’s, so he could bend over the back of the seat and get right in Jackie’s face. He was a handsome boy, and he had secretly always liked Jackie, and was the one who pinched her the most when no one else was looking. <br />
<br />
He didn’t understand why Jackie preferred a doll to him. <br />
<br />
“None of your business,” Jackie said, turning toward the window. <br />
<br />
Mr. Jimmy’s bright blue eyes stared out of the open bookbag, right at Greg. <br />
<br />
It made the deep, secret part of Greg—the same part that told him when he was in danger, or when someone was watching him—feel uneasy. But Greg wasn’t good at reading the deep, secret part of himself, so he just got angry instead. <br />
<br />
He grabbed Jackie’s arm and twisted her around so she would look at him. Some of the other kids—Michael, and Mary, and Timothy and his sister Elizabeth—gathered around. The bus driver didn’t care; the bus driver never cared. <br />
<br />
“Let go of me,” Jackie said, miserably. She was not good at standing up to these people. When they treated her like this, she felt ten times smaller than she actually was. She felt squishable, and dirty. <br />
<br />
“No,” said Greg. “Not until you tell me what you’re saying to Mr. Jimmy.” <br />
<br />
“Mr. Jimmy!” Michael said, in this high, fake-girl voice, and he batted his eyelashes and made kissy faces. “I love you, Mr. Jimmy!” <br />
<br />
Mary laughed nervously. Timothy and Elizabeth watched with their mouths hanging open. <br />
<br />
This went on for a while, and soon the whole bus was singing a song Greg had invented: “Jackie and Jimmy, sitting in a tree! One is a doll, and the other’s a fre-eak!” <br />
<br />
Mr. Jimmy was very calm in Jackie’s lap. “I’ll bite them. I will, darling Jackie. If you want me to.” <br />
<br />
“No,” said Jackie, and her whole body was shaking. “We can’t hurt them. It isn’t right.” <br />
<br />
“But yesterday, Jackie, yesterday you said we could hurt them.” <br />
<br />
Jackie squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands over her ears, but that seemed to make Mr. Jimmy’s voice even louder. <br />
<br />
“Yesterday, Jackie, yesterday you said you loved me.” <br />
<br />
Jackie opened her eyes. Mr. Jimmy was very close to her; his eyes seemed alive; his mouth seemed wet. He smelled like something burning. <br />
<br />
“I do love you, Mr. Jimmy,” she said, wiping her tears. <br />
<br />
Mr. Jimmy did not seem very sorry for her. His voice was cold and rattling. “Then <i>prove</i> it.” <br />
<br />
So Jackie stood up in the middle of the aisle, one fist clenched, the other holding her bookbag with Mr. Jimmy’s head poking out. <br />
<br />
“I’ll tell you what Mr. Jimmy said,” she announced, and the whole bus quieted because they thought <i>this</i> was going to be <i>good</i>. <br />
<br />
“Shut up,” Greg said, punching Michael, who couldn’t stop laughing at his own mean jokes. “Wacky’s got something to say.” <br />
<br />
“He told me,” Jackie said, “that he wishes he was alive, so he could hurt you—every one of you—for being mean to me. He said he wishes he could make you cry. He said—he said—” <br />
<br />
Jackie’s bravery left her as quickly as it had come, and she sank back onto her seat, hugging Mr. Jimmy. <br />
<br />
The other kids sat back down too. They weren’t laughing anymore. The deep, secret parts of themselves were screaming out warnings. It made their bellies feel funny and their skin feel cold. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
That night, sirens filled the air of Jackie’s neighborhood. She lay in bed, breathing hard under her covers. Her bedroom flashed red and blue. When she got up to peek out the window, she saw the ambulance and the police cars the next street over: Greg’s street. And that house was Greg’s house. And that broken window was Greg’s window. <br />
<br />
Was that body, on the stretcher, Greg’s body? <br />
<br />
“Mr. Jimmy,” she whispered, “what did you do?” <br />
<br />
He was there, at her feet, lying on the ground with his limbs askew. His cold wooden fingers touched her ankle. <br />
<br />
“Just what you wanted me to do,” he said kindly. “I did it so you didn’t have to.” And when Jackie went back to bed, she held Mr. Jimmy close under the covers. He whispered how much he loved her against her ear until she fell asleep. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
“So horrible, what happened to that poor boy,” said Jackie’s mom, at breakfast the next morning. <br />
<br />
“I heard he’s going to be all right, though,” said Jackie’s dad. “That’s what I heard from the neighbors.” <br />
<br />
“What happened, exactly?” <br />
<br />
“A nasty fall. Apparently, he fell right through his window.” <br />
<br />
Jackie was shoveling cereal into her mouth like a robot. Mr. Jimmy sat beside her. <br />
<br />
Jackie’s mom tried to ignore that smiling, frozen face. She had never liked that doll. She wished they had never visited that antique store that one, hot summer. <br />
<br />
“Jackie,” Jackie’s mom said, “are you all right? You look terrible.” <br />
<br />
Jackie paused, a spoon of cereal halfway to her mouth, and glared at her mom. “Gee. Thanks.” <br />
<br />
“I mean it, sweetie.” Her mother pressed a hand to her forehead. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all. You have dark circles under your eyes. You’re burning up.” <br />
<br />
“Maybe you should stay home from school,” said Jackie’s dad. <br />
<br />
“No!” Jackie bolted up out of her chair. “I have to go to school.” <br />
<br />
“Poor thing,” Jackie’s mom said, concerned. “We’ve been talking about little Greg too much, haven’t we? Don’t worry, Jackie-kins. Your friend will be all right.” <br />
<br />
“He’s not my friend,” Jackie said, as she walked out of the kitchen with Mr. Jimmy dangling from her left hand. <br />
<br />
“Did her voice sound funny to you, just then?” Jackie’s dad said, after a moment. <br />
<br />
Jackie’s mom shrugged. Like most grown-ups, she had not listened to the deep, secret place inside herself for years. “I hope she’s not getting a sore throat.” <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
“He deserved what he got. He deserved what he got.” <br />
<br />
Jackie sat in the girl’s restroom at lunchtime, Mr. Jimmy in her lap. The tile was cold against her skin. <br />
<br />
“You shouldn’t sit on the floor like this,” Mr. Jimmy said. “It’s probably covered with germs. You will get germs on your pretty legs.” <br />
<br />
“Are my legs pretty?” Jackie asked, feeling pleased. <br />
<br />
“Of course. You know I think you’re pretty, Jackie-kins.” <br />
<br />
Anger exploded inside Jackie. She threw Mr. Jimmy across the room. “Don’t call me that!” <br />
<br />
Mr. Jimmy did not break, but the sound of his wooden body careening across the floor was awful anyway. Jackie was horrified with herself. She ran to him and swept him up in her arms. <br />
<br />
“Oh, Mr. Jimmy, I’m so sorry,” she said, crying. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” <br />
<br />
“It’s all right, Jackie,” said Mr. Jimmy, very quiet. <br />
<br />
“I just got so angry! Thinking about Greg. Thinking about the others.” <br />
<br />
“What about the others? That there are so many of them left? They are all the same, you know. They will just keep doing it, again and again, unless we get them first. They are making you angry, and sad. They made you hurt me, just now.” <br />
<br />
“Did I hurt you?” Jackie’s face ran wet with tears. <br />
<br />
“You did. But I don’t care, because I love you.” <br />
<br />
“You still love me.” Jackie clutched him close. “You do, you do.” <br />
<br />
“Of course I do. But I feel a bit betrayed now, you understand.” <br />
<br />
Jackie nodded vigorously. “I understand, of course. You’re right to feel that way. I was so terrible to you, throwing you like that.” <br />
<br />
“I know how you can make it up me.” <br />
<br />
“Anything for you.” <br />
<br />
Mr. Jimmy’s fingers were cold on Jackie’s neck, on Jackie’s cheek. It made Jackie feel nice. “Anything?” <br />
<br />
“<i>Anything</i>.” <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
It was Michael’s house this time, which was close to Greg’s—just across the street, in fact. All the children lived close together. All the children rode the same yellow bus. <br />
<br />
It was two nights after Greg fell. Two nights later, and the neighborhood once again filled with sirens and flashing lights. There was another broken window. Michael had fallen, too, and this time they were not sure if he would be all right. Michael’s family was richer; Michael’s house was taller. <br />
<br />
The police officers did not know what to make of the marks across the paint in Michael’s bedroom. It was like something had dragged him, like he had dug his fingernails into the walls. The marks disturbed the police officers, but what disturbed them even more were the footprints. <br />
<br />
Muddy footprints, in Michael’s bedroom. Girl-shaped footprints, with ten girl-shaped toes—down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the kitchen door. Into the backyard, down the sidewalk. <br />
<br />
The footprints were easy to track. It had rained, earlier that very night. The world was wet and sloppy and quiet. <br />
<br />
“They go through there,” said one of the police officers to the others. She pointed down a garden path that led between two lovely paneled houses—one white, one yellow. Flat gray stones marked with muddy brown footprints led into bushes and shadows. Sounds met the police officers’ ears—sounds of wood crashing against a hard surface, someone crying, someone in pain. A deep voice, and a high voice. <br />
<br />
The police officers hurried into the space between the houses, flashlights first. <br />
<br />
“I couldn’t stop him!” It was Jackie, crouching there in the mud, barefoot and still wearing her pajamas. They were painted brown and red—an awful, sticky red. Surrounding her were the parts of a doll—there, a wooden leg; there, a chubby little hand <br />
<br />
“Holy smokes,” said one of the police officers. <br />
<br />
“Here now, little girl,” said one of the other officers, crouching low, “just calm down.” <br />
<br />
“No! You don’t understand!” Jackie backed away, trying to pick up all the shattered parts of Mr. Jimmy, but there were too many of them, and they tumbled out of her arms. She had destroyed him. She had beaten him to smithereens. “He said he needed my help, but I didn’t know, I didn’t think he would—I didn’t think <i>I</i> would—”<br />
<br />
Jackie looked up at them, these men and women with their shining white lights. Behind them, Jackie’s mom and dad came out of the house in their robes and slippers. Jackie’s mom put her hands over her mouth. <br />
<br />
“Grab her,” muttered one of the police officers. “She looks nuts.” <br />
<br />
“But she’s just a little girl!” Jackie’s mom cried. <br />
<br />
The police officers took hold of Jackie’s skinny arms and wrenched her out of the mud. She kicked and screamed, she bit at them. She hit them, and her hands scraped their cheeks, because her palms had bits of glass in them, and splinters of wood. <br />
<br />
“But I love him!” Jackie screamed. One of the police officers threw her over his shoulder, and Jackie reached behind him, struggling toward the pieces of Mr. Jimmy. “It was only because I love him! He told me to do it. He <i>told</i> me to!” <br />
<br />
One blue eye stared back at her from the muddy ground. One blue eye above a shattered red smile. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* </div>
<br />
The story of Jackie and Mr. Jimmy is similar to that of the chicken and the egg. <br />
<br />
Which came first? <br />
<br />
Did Mr. Jimmy come to life because Jackie loved him? Or did Jackie love him because he was alive? <br />
<br />
Or maybe it was like the real answer to the chicken and the egg question: <br />
<br />
What does it matter? The end result is the same: One loses its head, the other gets cracked open.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~*~</div>
Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-35231764908655267542013-02-13T10:43:00.002-08:002013-02-13T10:45:41.057-08:00Dark Valentine (by Katherine Catmull)<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People say love is life, is the great thing, makes the world go round, all that. It’s a powerful thing, that’s for sure. And it can lead you to some dark places. And I’m not talking about being sad when you break up, or whatever. I’m talking a lot darker than that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This thing happened just a couple of years ago. I still think about it all the time. This boy I knew—he lived in your neighborhood, actually, on one of those streets named after a tree—this happened to a boy I knew. His parents are friends of mine, or they were at the time. They moved away, after all this happened, and no one around here hears from them any more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jack was twelve years old, and he was in love with a girl named Mindy. Both of them were dark kids, him with a sweet smile that he only broke out once in a while, and her with a hilarious little frown and a determined walk. People who say you can’t really be in love when you’re twelve? They don’t know what they’re talking about. Those kids were crazy for each other, and tender of each other, and nothing came between them. She went to his cello recitals and he went to her soccer games; and every night, before they went to sleep, they would video-Skype each other from their computers to say good night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But one day she got sick, and it was the bad kind of sickness, the kind annoying girls who are into tragedy do reports on in health class. The kind you don’t get better from. The second time Mindy went into the hospital, her parents got her a smart phone, so that she could Skype and text with her friends—which mostly meant Skype and text with Jack, of course. And he sold his best comics, did extra chores, and begged his parents and aunts for early birthday money until he could get a smartphone, too. Just a used one, but it worked. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last time Mindy was in the hospital, she and Jack Skyped and texted for hours every day. He fell way behind on his schoolwork, but his teachers knew, so they cut him some slack. She was in intensive care, and they wouldn’t let non-family-members visit. But at night Jack would sit on the edge of his bed, staring into the little screen, fingers texting away—or else staring at the grainy, moving Skype picture of her, sickly-pale against white sheets under the yellow hospital lights. Day and night he would talk to her softly, words no one could hear but her, and she would whisper back to him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But of course, in the end, Mindy died. Most of the school came to her funeral. I went, too. They buried her with her soccer trophy, and her colored pencils—she was a really good artist, Mindy—and her bright purple phone, with the stickers on it from some band she liked, and the head of a unicorn she had drawn herself with black magic marker. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I saw Jack at the funeral. He didn’t walk past the coffin when his parents did. He sat in the very back corner, staring at the ground, holding his phone in two hands in front of him, staring at the empty black screen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What happened next I found out about in pieces. Jack’s parents had me over for dinner a couple of weeks after the funeral, after the kids were in bed. Jack had a little sister who was almost three, then—her name was Eleanor, but they called her Booshie for some reason I never quite got. Anyway, Booshie got out of bed that night, came wandering down in her pajamas with a smiley stuffed possum she liked. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Booshie!” said her mother. “Back to bed, young lady!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mindy,” Booshie said. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the table got quiet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No, no Mindy,” said her father, “Get back to bed now, Boosh.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mindy Jack’s phone,” said Booshie. Her parents looked at each other. “Mindy Jack talking,” she added helpfully.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her mom got up and kneeled down by Booshie. “You’re having a dream, sweetheart,” she said. “Come on, I’ll take you to bed.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No,” said Boosh. “Mindy Jack! Where Mindy?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(“She loved Mindy,” her dad murmured to me.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Honey, you didn’t see Mindy,” said her mom. “Jack’s talking to someone else. Listen to me,“ and she held the kid gently by her little pajama’d arms: “Don’t make up stories about Mindy. Ever. You can’t ever make up stories about Mindy, Boosh. Do you understand?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She didn’t yell it, her voice was calm, but Booshie must have picked up something in her tone, because she burst into tears and started shouting “I sorry! I sorry!” Her mother scooped her up and took her upstairs. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jack’s dad and I sat around in a weird silence for a while. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“How’s Jack doing, after . . . everything?” I said, finally.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ehhh, not good. Not so great, really. Not good.” We went back to staring at our plates.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And after that I started hearing stories about Jack, from other parents in the neighborhood who heard stories from their kids. About him skipping classes, about him dropping out of orchestra. Sitting alone at lunch, typing furiously into his phone. Some kids claimed they saw him sitting way out in the empty soccer field at lunch, leaning against the goal, holding the phone in front of his face and talking, all excited, like he was Skyping with someone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“But he doesn’t have any friends, my kid says, so who was he texting and Skyping with?” they’d say. “He never had any friends, really, but Mindy.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe six months after Mindy died, I had dinner with Jack’s parents again. Their downstairs bathroom was broken, so I went upstairs. And at the top of the stairs, I heard the strangest thing: this voice, only it almost wasn’t a voice—it was like a voice made of static. Whispery, jagged static that had somehow made itself into a girl’s voice. “Love,” the voice was saying. <i>SSshhhhh, hiss, zzt, szzshhhh: </i>Love, love, love, love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was coming from Jack’s room, and his door was just cracked open. I walked up to the crack and peeked in. I know I shouldn’t have, but that strange, staticky voice unnerved me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jack had his back to the door, so I could see the phone he was staring into. What I saw—it’s hard to explain, how it hit me in the stomach, how it made me stumble back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a face, I knew that. It was the face of a girl, but it was the wrong color, purplish and gray, and it was only . . . I don’t know how to say it, but it was only pieces of a face. Or maybe the whole face was there, but some of the pieces were in the wrong place. A brown eye had slid down too close to the mouth. And the mouth was too wide, as if the lips were peeled back, exposing too much of black and grinning gums. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that voice, that whispering, hissing voice, saying “love, love, love.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stumbled back, I stumbled down the stairs. I told Jack’s parents I wasn’t feeling well, and I went home. And I tried to forget about it, tell myself I misheard, I mis-saw—though for the first few days, that gray, grinning, lopsided face made it hard to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we’re almost at the end of this story, which is this. A few months later, I was out late, walking our dog. We’d been out to dinner and stayed later than we’d planned, so it was almost midnight. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t usually walk out beyond the Safeway, on these walks, but the dog hadn’t been out all day, and he wanted to keep going . . . and I forgot, to tell you the truth, I forgot what’s out there. No streetlights, for one thing. No streetlights, but the yellowy light of a low full moon rising just over that little hill . . . that hill that’s part of the cemetery. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d forgotten I was walking past the cemetery. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And just at that moment, when the sight of all those gravestones in the moonlight was making my skin go cold—just when I was telling myself not to be ridiculous, but still, still wishing I were home—just at that moment, behind me, I heard it again. I heard that voice, that whispering, hissing, staticky voice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I froze. My dog pulled forward and whined. I turned around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He emerged out of the darkness like he was a piece of darkness himself. He trudged down the road, his shaggy head down, staring at a glowing screen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Jack,” I said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He looked up. He had changed since I saw him at Mindy’s funeral. It wasn’t just the moonlight. He was taller, and thinner, and his face was gray, and his eyes were huge and black in their dark circles. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Jack,” I said again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I was losing the signal,” he said. I wasn’t even sure he was talking to me. He seemed to be talking into the night, or over my shoulder, or to the moon. “I was losing the signal, I thought it was almost gone,” he repeated. “But then I figured it out. It’s way stronger out here.” He smiled, a wide and unnatural smile. “It’s way, way stronger out here.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Jack,” I said, as he passed me. He started to run. “Jack!” I shouted. “Come on, man, don’t—“ But he had already disappeared into the dark. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should have followed him. I know I should have, or at least called his parents. I’ll know that for the rest of my life. But I felt so cold all of a sudden, chilled right to the bone, and I turned around to walk home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did look over my shoulder, once. I saw a small, shaggy-haired figure up on that cemetery hill, outlined against the moon, kneeling over a grave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So anyway. That’s the story. They found him the next morning, lying on her grave, face down. The grave was half dug up, as if he’d dug down with his bare hands. His fingernails were torn and bloody. He couldn’t get through the wood of her coffin, but his hand was pressed flat against the lid. He was dead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the weird thing was that when they found him, his phone was still on, was still hissing gray static, like an old TV—like something was still trying to get through. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They opened her coffin to make sure her body was all right, and found that her bony hand was pressed up flat against the lid, too. You can imagine how her parents felt about that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So anyway, love. It’s not all pink hearts and flowers. It’s not all <i>sweetness</i>, the way you might think, the way they try to make you feel like it is, on Valentine’s Day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess that’s all I wanted to say. </span>katherine catmullhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13060204901478490767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-89667080695648080022013-02-06T11:33:00.000-08:002013-02-06T11:52:19.916-08:00The Graveyard of Hearts (by Emma Trevayne)<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.10110202530876766" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> <i>Curator's note: Happy February, curious readers. This month in the Cabinet, you shall find delights centered on the theme of "love," though, of course, with our own special, wicked twists. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.10110202530876766" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">--- </span><br />
<br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.10110202530876766" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">No
matter how bright or warm the day, the graveyard was always a cold,
foggy place. Fingers of shadow reached from headstone to headstone,
brushing over dates long past, long forgotten.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Every
week, Alice came with her mother, and wandered deep amongst the tombs
and statues while her mother stayed at the edge to put flowers on those
graves that bore their their family’s name. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“It’s
how we remind them that we still love them,” said Alice’s mother, and
that was fair enough, but she always felt a chill in the graveyard.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
ground was soggy, sloshy from the recent rains, sucking at the soles of
Alice’s boots as she walked. By now, she had memorized almost all of
the etchings on the stones, knew which residents had lived long lives,
and which had only lived short ones, and it was at old Mr. Fernsby’s
spot that she tripped.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Mud
splattered everywhere, and this would surely mean a bath later, but
there was no point in worrying about such injustices now, not when Alice
saw what had made her fall. Even covered in muck, the necklace was a
pretty, delicate thing, clearly old, a filigreed heart hung from it on a
tiny clasp.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Perhaps it had washed up, she thought, washed up on the bones of the last to wear it. It was a delicious, shivery idea.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Time
to go,” Alice’s mother called, and quickly she slipped the necklace
into the pocket of her coat. After dinner, she made sure her parents
were occupied with their books before she fetched it again, took it to
the kitchen to rinse it clean under the tap. When it shone, all bronze
and gold, she dried it carefully and slipped it around her neck.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Nothing happened. It was a disappointment, really, since </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">something </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">ought
to happen when one slipped on old jewelry found in creepy graveyards,
but Alice felt no different. She hid it beneath her pajamas while she
slept, and under her sweater to school the next day.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The following week, it was warmer in the graveyard. Not much. Possibly Alice was imagining it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Spring is coming,” said her mother, hands full of daisies, though the shadows still slithered around the headstones.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m going for a walk,” said Alice. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Don’t go far. I love you.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I won’t.” And Alice went off with a smile, eyes adjusting to the gloom. Against her chest, the little heart began to beat. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And the shadows were not just shadows anymore.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Deep,
etched wrinkles marred the ghostly face of Mr. Fernsby as he sat on his
own headstone, lips pursed in a whistle. Alice stood very still. There
was Mrs. Culpepper, young and beautiful and translucent, drifting over
the grass in her wedding dress. And Joseph Brown, who was shorter than
Alice herself, eyes bright with the fever that had taken him.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Alice wondered if she should be afraid, but she was not. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">~*~</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“You look pale.” Alice’s mother held her hand to Alice’s forehead. “Would you like to stay home today?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
filigreed heart thumped in time with Alice’s pulse. “No,” she said,
throwing off the covers. She wanted to go to school, so she could go to
the graveyard after to see if the ghosts were there again. Muscles and
bones aching, she tried to pay attention during math and science and
art, trembling with cold.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Inside the graveyard gates, the air was warm again, blissfully warm. Alice let go of her mother’s hand. They were </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">everywhere</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">,
so many more of the graveyard people than the week before. Gaunt and
bloody, old and young, tattered, rotten clothes hanging from pearl-gray
limbs.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“Don’t go far,” said her mother, carrying a bunch of lilies right through Mrs. Dankworth, who had a friendly smile. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So her mother couldn’t see them. But to Alice, the ghosts seemed so much more real, more solid than they had the week before.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The
metal heart hammered. Old Mr. Fernsby adjusted his tie and touched
Alice’s arm with cool, dry fingers. Mrs. Culpepper whirled, arms spread,
in her wedding dress.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And the shadows ran away.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">That
night, Alice fell asleep before she could even eat supper, and the next
day she sneaked from the house while her mother was cleaning. In
bone-brittle whispers, the ghosts told her their stories. Her
great-great grandfather held her on his knee until she was so ill and
exhausted she dragged herself home to bed, pretending, when her mother
asked, that she had been there the whole time.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Against
her chest, the heart was hot, too hot. She tried to pull it off, but it
wouldn’t come. The tiny clasp slipped through her hands. She tried to
call for her mother, but her voice was silenced, stolen by the graveyard
people for their own.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In
the graveyard, the people danced, warm and alive for the first time in
many years, in centuries for some, as Alice lay in her bed. The door
creaked open and Alice’s mother immediately flew into a panic, calling
for Alice’s father, for Alice was not in her bed, was nowhere to be
seen.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But
Alice was there. As her parents rushed downstairs to see if perhaps she
was there, Alice dragged herself up and over to the mirror above the
chest of drawers.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Lit
by the moonlight streaming through the windows, the faintest,
ghostliest reflection of Alice, too weak even to cast a shadow, shimmered in the mirror, a tiny,
filigreed heart still hung round her neck.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-69524205694983834002013-01-30T10:50:00.003-08:002013-01-30T14:42:50.725-08:00The Other House (by Stefan Bachmann)<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Two houses
stand at No. 17, Farringdon High Street, behind the station tracks where the
steam engines used to whistle and where the mushrooms grew tall as trees. One
house you see, grey and cold, red drapes and only a single
window lit. One house you don't see. One house you'll never see. I write this
as a confession. I write this to speak of that other house </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">– the one under the
back stairs </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">– and what happened to it, and what I did.</span><br />
<div class="Standard" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The stairs
are still there. I hobbled down them just to be sure, while the nurse was sleeping. It is a dark, creaky little flight, squeezed between
the scullery and the back hall. It has a door under it leading into what may
have once been a broom-cupboard or a boiler room. You wouldn't know it now. You would never guess. I
had it papered over years ago in dull green stripes. Behind the door, that is where the other house
stays. It is so silent, but when I was small, and we had servants and maids for
every little thing, the other house used to come out at night and I could hear
it wheezing and clattering from all the way upstairs. It had <i>legs</i>, you
see. Long clicketty legs like a spider's.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Mother,
there's another house under the stairs,” I said to my mother once before bed,
and she said, “Oh, how wonderful,” and looked worried and hurried away.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I thought
it was wonderful, too. One night, when I was feeling very brave, I left a crust
of bread for it in the back hall and watched from between the spindles in the
banister. I waited a long time before the little door under the stairs creaked
open and the house scuttled out. It was like a doll-house with eight sharp
metal legs and a turret. It went right up to where the piece of bread lay and seemed
to tip forward, its joints scraping. If it were a dog, I would have thought it
had sniffed the crust. It wasn't a dog, though, so I'm not sure what it did.
Then it retreated back into the door, leaving the bread untouched on the tiles.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
doesn't much fancy bread,</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> I remember thinking. <i>I wonder what it does fancy. I wonder it wants.</i></span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For several
nights I did the same thing only with different foods. I tried a teaspoon of
quince in a saucer. The house didn't eat it. I tried a single ripe
gooseberry and a bit of pear. A great angry puff of smoke went up from the
house's chimney when it investigated those and it immediately retreated under
the stairs, slamming the little door behind it. It did not fancy gooseberries
either.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I tried
biscuits and snapped beans, a slice of plum pudding and a bowl of curds. It
investigated all of them, but it did not take any.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Father,
there's another house under the stairs,” I said one day, when he came back from
the city, and he said, “What utter nonsense!” and had a talk with my mother, as
if it were her fault.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nonsense.
. .</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> When I saw the
house again it seemed a bit darker and the windows were full of soot.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That evening, at
dinner, I hid a disk of sausage inside my napkin. Mother saw me, but she said
nothing. Father saw, too. He said something.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“What is
that for?” he demanded. “Why did you take that sausage?”</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I said
something about the other house, and how I wanted to catch it and open its roof and look at its insides, and how-</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“There is
no other house!” Father snapped. “There is <i>no such thing!”</i></span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But there
was! I knew there was!</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That night,
I slipped from my bed and padded down the back stairs. When I had settled
myself behind the banister, I tossed the sausage into the hall. It struck the
tiles with a sound like a slap. For a second nothing stirred. Then I felt a
shudder under the stairs. The door opened a crack. Two long black legs
uncurled, testing the tiles, testing the air. With a whir and clatter, the house shot out
the door and fell upon the sausage in a frenzy of smoke and metal. I saw
something, something so small I cannot be certain what it was, flicker out and
snatch the sausage. That was when I knew I wanted to catch that house more than
ever.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span></span> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A few
nights later I stole a small roast from the larder. The roast had a mottled
white bone at one end, and to this I attached a length of twine. The
twine I tied about my wrist. I laid the roast in the back hall. I sat up on the stairs. I leaned my head against the spindles, and thought about the house and all its secrets.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The other house came out after not very long. It was on the roast in a
blink. The twine snapped tight around my wrist. The house began to
drag at the ham, pulling and scrabbling, frantically trying to get it back
under the stairs. I gasped, struggling to undo the twine. It was so strong. My head slammed flat against the banister. The
house pulled and pulled. The twine went tighter, tighter, and then I was
thrown off balance and went tumbling down the stairs.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Help!” I
shrieked. “Father, mother, <i>help me!”</i></span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
spider-house was pulling me toward the door, right along with the roast. I
squeaked over the tiles. Somewhere I heard doors open. Footsteps and worried
voices. Faces peering down at me, pale moons of beffudlement and indignation. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I wasn't moving. I was lying on the cold
tiles. The roast was next to me, and the twine, and there were bruises on my
arms and back.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Mrs. Barrowstamp!” the housekeeper shouted. “Mr. Barrowstamp, your son!”</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span></span>*</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I got the
most horrible lecture that night. It went on and on until I felt the words in my bones,
and my head was full of them, full enough to burst.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nonsense,
nonsense, nonsense.</span></i></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I went to bed, and woke the next morning with it still ringing in my ears. Mother had cried, Father had shouted, the maids had whispered, and the housekeeper had sneered. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
<i>Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense. Someday you'll have to grow up.</i><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And I did. I stole a
great big ham next. I think it was for New Year's Eve; I think a servant was
probably sacked because of it. But I didn't think of it then. From Father's
glass cabinet I stole a syringe and a bottle of carbolic acid. I had heard what
carbolic acid does. I wasn't innocent. The cold precision with which I went
about all this would shock me now. I filled the acid into the syringe and
injected the entire load into the ham. </span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As soon as everyone had gone to bed, I
took the ham and laid it out on the tiles. Then I went up to my
perch behind the banister and waited.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And waited.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And waited.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nonsense,
nonsense, nonsense. </span></i></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was
almost ready to assume the problem had taken care of itself and I could go back
to bed, when the
door under the stairs opened. The other house stood in it, swaying slightly on
its long, long legs, staring at the ham. It clicked over to it. It leaned down.
The ham was already shriveling, drying into a thin twist of sinew. The house
turned slowly. Its gable tilted up, and I might have sworn it was looking at
me. Then it turned back to the ham and began to eat it, quietly. A spring
popped from the tiled roof with the sound of a snapped wire. It spasmed and
jerked. It staggered around the newel-post toward the foot of the stair. It began climbing the
stairs, right up toward me, legs scrabbling for hold on the wood.</span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But when it
was only two or three steps below me, it stopped. Through its little windows I
could see people, tiny shadowy figures moving frantically this way and that. They had
fingers and eyes and clothes on their backs. A woman ran to one of the windows
and mashed her face against the pane. Her mouth was open, gaping in a silent
shriek. She had been pretty once, like porcelain painted doll. Now she was hideous, her face cracked and wicked-eyed. I watched as the fumes engulfed
her and ate her away. </span></div>
<div class="standard0">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">*</span></div>
<div align="center" class="standard0" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="standard0">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I vaguely
remember the house retreating, dragging itself back under the stairs.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> I
have not seen it since then. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> I think
it must be there still, silent in the dark, spider-legs curled around itself, but I have not seen it. I have not seen anything particularly interesting since, and
I no longer believe there were ever mushrooms growing as tall as trees on
Farringdon High Street.</span></div>
Scathing Jellyfishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06220890396738929917noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-52328927289455148832013-01-23T06:00:00.000-08:002013-01-23T06:33:45.091-08:00The Cake Made Out of Teeth (by Claire Legrand)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Henry Higginbotham was generally
considered to be the worst child in the world, but even then, it’s hard to say
if he deserved what happened to him.<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Do note the use of the word “generally”
rather than “universally,” for Henry’s parents, as is often the case with
horrible children, believed their son to be remarkable, precocious, and even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">darling</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
For example, when Henry would not eat
his supper of chicken and green beans, instead choosing to sit at the table
hurling insults at his parents for a solid quarter of an hour, and then
proceeding to throw the green beans at their heads like darts, Mr. and Mrs.
Higginbotham praised his stubborn spirit and fixed him a heaping platter of
cookies instead. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
When Henry was called to the principal’s
office for bullying the third-graders—pinning them to the blacktop during
recess and pummeling them until he was satisfied; calling them nasty names that
would have made even hardened criminals cover their ears—Mr. and Mrs.
Higginbotham gave the school board a heap of money in exchange for “putting
this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">punishment</i> business behind us.”
They then congratulated Henry all the way home, for inspiring the younger
students with his physical prowess. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And when Henry threw an absolute raging
fit the day of his 11<sup>th</sup> birthday, declaring the birthday cake his
mother had worked so hard to make “an ugly heap of eyeball pus,” Mr. and Mrs.
Higginbotham sent home the partygoers at once (who were only too glad to leave,
having been bullied by Henry into attending) and took Henry into town for a new
cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Of course—and this should not be
surprising—not just any bakery would do. Not the bakery in the supermarket, and
not the fancy bakery with all the cupcakes in the windows—but the little bakery
far on the outskirts of town, in a neighborhood the Higginbothams did not
normally frequent . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ah</i>. Henry
pressed his face against the car window and smiled at the sight of the tiny
rundown building with the faded lettering: MR. HONEY’S HAPPY DELITES.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry began thinking of all the ways he
could make fun of the unimpressive shop’s proprietor, and his shriveled black
heart leapt with glee.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“What a dump,” said Henry. “We’ll go
here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“But Henry,” protested Mrs.
Higginbotham, “don’t you think it looks a bit shabby?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry whirled on his mother, smiling
when she shrank back from him. “What, do you think I’m blind, you idiot? I said
we’ll go here and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we’ll go here</i>. I
know what I want.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Of course you do, son,” said Mr.
Higginbotham, glaring pointedly at his wife. “You know what’s best.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry marched up to MR. HONEY’S HAPPY
DELITES and let himself in, his parents hurrying to catch up. Inside the
bakery, Henry stopped short, for the inside of the bakery and the outside of
the bakery were, in a word, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">incongruous</i>.
Bright white tile covered the floor, warm lights blinked overhead, and displays
of cakes, cupcakes, cookies, and pies sat behind pristine glass windows. Bright
posters of laughing children at birthday parties and picnics and bowling alleys
covered the walls. Some sort of cheery old-fashioned music came from a radio in
the corner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry scoffed, to cover his surprise. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wow</i>. This place is so . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cheesy</i>. What is this, 1950?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
At that moment, a man came out from the
kitchen through a set of swinging doors, and said, “Hello there. I’m Mr. Honey.
How can I help you today?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Now, Mr. Honey was a man so
exceptionally handsome that even Henry felt a bit discombobulated. He had fair
skin and fair hair and fair eyes, and a wonderful smile that made Mrs.
Higginbotham say to herself, “Well, my heavens,” and blush a bright pink.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry saw the blush, and felt furious.
His mother was not supposed to think anyone handsome but Henry himself. So he
marched up to Mr. Honey and slammed his fist against the cake displays with
every screamed word:</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Give us a cake. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham rushed forward
to gush about how delightfully <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">outspoken</i>
their son was—and, perhaps, to more closely inspect Mr. Honey’s handsome
smile—but Mr. Honey ignored them. He had eyes only for Henry. You could say, in
fact, that they were staring each other down, Henry with a fearsome scowl on
his face (his most typical expression) and Mr. Honey with a broad smile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“It’s for his birthday,” Mrs.
Higginbotham explained. “The cake we gave him wasn’t good enough.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“The cake <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> gave him,” Mr. Higginbotham added sourly, eager to get back
into Henry’s good graces. “I told you we should have gone with a store-bought
cake. Didn’t I, Henry?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Oh, shut <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">up</i>, both of you.” Henry was in top form. “Do you see what I have to
put up with?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Honey nodded, his smile a bit
smaller now, and his eyes a bit less kind. “Oh, yes. I see quite a lot. If
you’ll excuse me for one moment, I think I have just the thing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
When Mr. Honey returned from the
kitchen, he held in his arms an astonishing cake. Not only was it enormous, but
it looked <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">just like Henry</i>. Yes, a
boy-shaped cake, from head to toe—from Henry’s brown hair to his red hi-top
sneakers. His exact sneakers! In fact, the only thing about the cake Henry that
was different from the real Henry was that cake Henry was . . . smiling. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham found it
unsettling to look at, and stepped away. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry, however, was enamored. A cake, an
entire cake, that looked just like him! It was, he decided, the perfect
tribute. He wouldn’t have to sit and look at stupid balloons or animals or
other meaningless icing decorations while he ate. No, he would be able to look
at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">himself</i>, and was there anything in
the world he liked to look at more than his own reflection? (There wasn’t.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“We’ll take it,” he said, looking up at
Mr. Honey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Honey smiled, but it did not reach
his eyes. “Yes. I thought you might.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
At first, everything seemed marvelous.
As soon as the Higginbothams arrived back at home, Henry commanded his parents
to set up a fresh table setting. They were, he told them, to sit there and
watch while he ate a piece of cake, surrounded by his piles of presents. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Maybe,” Henry said, “if you’re good, if
I feel like it, I’ll let you have some cake too.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Higginbotham smiled gratefully. “Oh,
isn’t that generous of you, Henry?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“So generous,” Mrs. Higginbotham agreed,
though she wasn’t sure she actually wanted any of that cake. It was, she
thought, too disturbingly lifelike to be trusted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
She wasn’t wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Where shall I start?” Henry lovingly
inspected his cake, admiring the shape of his own arms and legs. “I suppose
I’ll start at the bottom and work my way up. Father, cut off the left foot. And
hurry. I’m hungry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Higginbotham sliced off cake Henry’s
left foot and slid it onto real Henry’s plate, and the latter began to eat, and
. . . oh. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh</i>. It was, without doubt,
the best cake Henry had ever eaten. The icing melted on his tongue; the cake
was moist and rich. But as Henry put the last bite of foot into his mouth, he
noticed something strange; he paused mid-bite. His eyes went wide, and his face
went green. He swallowed, and began to scream.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Something’s eating me! Help me! Help,
make it stop!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
For a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham
watched in stunned silence as their son fell to the floor, writhing and sobbing
and clutching his left foot. What they did not yet know was that, though, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">technically</i>, nothing was eating their
son, he certainly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">felt</i> like it was.
All over his left foot, he felt the nibbling of teeth; they tore at his flesh,
chomping, swallowing, grinding his foot bones into little bone granules. And
Henry knew, instinctively, that the teeth he felt were his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">own</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Make it stop!” Henry clawed at his own
flesh, drawing bloody red marks across his skin, which, as you can imagine, did
nothing to help the pain. “MAKE IT STOP MAKE THEM STOP MOMMY DADDY MAKE IT
STOP!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Now, Henry Higginbotham had not called
his parents anything but their first names, scornfully, since the moment he was
able to speak. So hearing him scream Mommy and Daddy like that shocked Mr. and
Mrs. Higginbotham into action. They did everything they could to help Henry;
they bandaged his foot, they forced medicine down his throat between his
screams, they took him to the hospital to have him examined. But the bandages,
of course, did nothing; and Henry just threw the medicine right back up, in
this sour, evil-smelling puddle; and the doctors could find nothing wrong with
him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“He’s having a tantrum,” they said.
“Just let him cry it out.” (The doctors were not, as most people in Berryton
were not, the biggest fans of Henry Higginbotham.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Helplessly, Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham
returned home, and watched Henry scream and sob and bang his fists against his
foot until he passed out, in a drooling puddle on the floor. His left foot was
a quite abused shade of red. Mr. Higginbotham picked Henry up and put him to
bed; Mrs. Higginbotham cleaned up in the kitchen. Together, as Henry slept
upstairs, they sat at the kitchen table in silence, and stared at the
one-footed cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The next day, Henry limped downstairs in
a terrible temper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“I’m hungry,” he announced, with his
usual haughtiness (but he did eye the cake, wrapped up innocently on the
countertop, with no small amount of suspicion).</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mrs. Higginbotham offered him a plate of
eggs, and though Henry complained about their consistency, he gobbled them up.
Perhaps he was eager to get the sugary aftertaste out of his mouth? But no
sooner had he swallowed the last bite did it all come back up, in a most
unsettling and foul-smelling puddle of steaming black goop.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The Higginbothams looked at the black
goop in dismay. Henry blinked. “But I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hungry</i>,”
he said, and Mrs. Higginbotham quickly toasted some bread, while Henry banged
on the kitchen table with his knife and fork. But the toast was no good either;
and neither was the waffle, the bowl of strawberries, the bowl of cereal. Every
bit of food came back up stinking like rotten eggs, and each time, Henry became
hungrier, and, worst of all, he began to crave a piece of cake. Yes, his foot
still stung with the memory of all those invisible teeth eating him, and yes,
he had had nightmares too unspeakable to write about, but he was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hungry</i>. And he knew only the cake would
satisfy him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
So, Henry made a dive for it, dragging
it off the countertop and into his lap. Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham tried to stop
him, but he flung them away with a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hiss</i>,
and a terrible look in his eyes, and began scooping the right foot of cake
Henry into his mouth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham watched,
horrified, as Henry finished eating his right foot and once again began to
flail and thrash across the ground, shouting terrible things: “IT’S EATING MY
FOOT, I’M EATING MY FOOT, I CAN FEEL THE TEETH, IT HURTS, IT <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HURTS</i>!” He begged them to make it stop,
but, of course, they could do nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Nothing, but take him back to the place
where the cake was made.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Honey was waiting for them, standing
politely behind the counter of his shop in a fresh white apron.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Now see here,” Mr. Higginbotham said,
slamming the cake down on the countertop. “You’d better explain yourself, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“This cake is hurting our son,” Mrs.
Higginbotham said tearfully. “I don’t understand it, but it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry, chomping and slobbering to
himself at his father’s side, made a wild-eyed leap for the cake, even though
he was still crying.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“MORE CAKE,” he said, clambering up onto
the countertop. “No no no no. YES. MORE CAKE. Make it stop, oh it hurts me!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
It was as though Henry was having a
conversation with himself. Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham backed away from him,
huddling in the corner by the refrigerated ice cream cakes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Honey stood and watched. “It’s
eating you alive,” he said, “isn’t it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Red-eyed, red-footed Henry looked up at
Mr. Honey. “Yes. YES.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Good.” Mr. Honey’s eyes flashed.
“Horrible children deserve horrible cakes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Then Mr. Honey smiled and turned to
Henry’s parents, and despite the fact that her son was rolling around on the
floor screaming like a demon, Mrs. Higginbotham patted her hair smooth and Mr.
Higginbotham puffed up his chest impressively.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“You should take him home,” Mr. Honey
said. “There isn’t anything to do now but finish it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Now see here,” Mr. Higginbotham said
once more, “I’ll call the police on you, I will. You can’t just—you can’t just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">poison</i> someone and get away with it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Honey smiled; it was not a nice
smile; it could, in fact, be described as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bestial.
</i>“The only poison in Henry is his own.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
The Higginbothams left quickly after
that, Mrs. Higginbotham wondering what she had ever seen in the handsome baker
man, and Mr. Higginbotham sustaining a good number of bite marks from the
wailing Henry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Cake Henry stared at everyone, smiling,
from the back seat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
To this day, the Higginbothams’
neighbors trade gossip about what happened to the Higginbotham family that
terrible week in August, when all they could hear from the Higginbotham house
was Henry’s unearthly screams. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Maybe they’re finally teaching him a
lesson,” said Mr. Bradhurst, on Monday. “Brat’s needed a good beating for
years.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Maybe he’s decided he’s not getting
enough attention,” suggested Mrs. White, on Tuesday, “so he’s moved on to constant
screaming. You can’t ignore screaming.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Should someone call the police?” asked
Mr. Rockwell, on Wednesday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
No one called the police. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Quite a few of them, they shamefully
(but not too shamefully) confessed some time afterward, had hoped something
awful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> happening to Henry
Higginbotham—though none of them could have guessed how awful that something
was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
*</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
At the end of that week, when all that
was left of cake Henry was its smiling, red-cheeked head, the Higginbotham
family gathered around it on the floor of the kitchen, for Henry could no
longer sit up properly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
His entire body was red with teeth marks
and brown with bruises where he had punched himself to try to stop the pain. He
had spent the week either miserable with hunger and craving cake, or devouring
said cake and then feeling it, as it coursed through his body, devouring <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him</i>. He had, like a wicked game of
reverse Hangman, eaten his way through all of cake Henry . . . except for the
head. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“This is it,” Mr. Higginbotham said,
exhausted. “Just one last helping, Henry, and this will all go away.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mrs. Higginbotham was so tired, her head
so filled with Henry’s screams, that she felt a bit mad. “Just . . . <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">eat</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it</i>,
Henry. And hurry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Henry, on the floor, dragged himself
closer to the cake and looked at his parents with bleary, wild eyes. “Help me,”
he said, in a voice not entirely his own, and not entirely Mr. Honey’s, but an
unnatural blend of the two. It was deep and horrible and eager. “Help me eat
it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham shared an
uncertain look.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“HELP ME EAT IT. THIS IS YOUR FAULT. YOU
MADE ME. HELP ME EAT IT. IDIOTS. STUPID. STUPID IDIOTS STUPID IDIOTS.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
They did, fumbling for forks—as if forks
mattered at such a time!—and when Henry—just Henry’s voice, this time—screamed,
“No! Wait! DON’T!” it was too late, for Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham had already
taken their first bites.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And Henry collapsed, mouth full of cake,
screaming the loudest he had yet screamed. For now it was not only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his </i>teeth chomping through his skull and
across his face, but also his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">parents’</i>
teeth, and there was something infinitely worse about that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
When it was finished, however, when the
last bites had been swallowed and the cake platter licked ravenously clean by
Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham (who had, in the eating of cake Henry’s head,
discovered how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">good</i> this cake was,
how irresistibly sweet), Henry lay stone still and cold on the floor, white as
a sheet, his eyes open in shock.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
And for a few minutes, Mr. and Mrs.
Higginbotham thought he was dead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
(But of course, he wasn’t dead. What a
wasted effort that would have been.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham realized, as
they stared at their possibly-dead son, that they weren’t as beat up about it
as they ought to have been, and this thought so completely disturbed them, that
when Henry blinked awake at last, his parents vowed to make things different
from that moment on. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How</i> they would
make things different, they weren’t sure. (But life, they would soon find out, would
be much easier for them now that Henry had apparently lost all will to speak
and instead devoted himself to peaceful, solitary tasks like bird-watching and
organizing the spice cabinet.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Mr. Higginbotham, however, did know one
thing he would do, now that the frightening week had passed and he could think
clearly once more. He picked up the phone and called the police, describing the
odd bakery on the outskirts of town, and how he suspected the proprietor, a “Mr.
Honey,” had sold his family a poisoned cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“See that he’s put out of business, will
you?” said Mr. Higginbotham authoritatively. “No man should be able to get away
with something like that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“Of course, Mr. Higginbotham, we’ll
start our investigation right away,” said Sergeant Moseley, who had been taking notes at the police
station. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Both men hung up, Mr. Higginbotham
feeling quite good about how effectively he could get things done. Sergeant
Moseley, who didn’t care for the Higginbothams and their horrid son,
begrudgingly started an investigation anyway, because the Higginbothams had
recently helped financed the construction of the new city hall.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
So, as Mr. and Mrs. Higginbotham carried
their pale, speechless son to bed and tucked him in as they had always longed
to do (and which he had never permitted them to do), Sergeant Moseley and his
deputy drove to the outskirts of town and found the bakery, just as Mr.
Higginbotham had described it . . . at least, on the outside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
Inside, however, the counter displays
were crawling with moldy cakes, the kitchen was buzzing with flies, and the
refrigerators held congealed, rotten pools of melted ice cream.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“There’s no one here!” said the deputy,
pushing back his cap. “And it stinks to high heaven.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
“That Higginbotham’s an idiot,” muttered
Sergeant Moseley, who had just found something odd on the floor behind the counter.“What
is this, some kind of sick joke?"<br />
<br />
He picked it up and frowned at it—an old stained apron, obviously not worn for years. On the apron's nametag, swirling blue letters read <i>MR. HONEY.</i> The fabric smelled rotten, like cake gone bad, and no matter how many times Sergeant Moseley washed his hands after that, he could never quite get out the stench.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
Claire Legrandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11408980024518278564noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-11880547691395094662013-01-16T06:26:00.000-08:002013-01-17T10:49:34.106-08:00Anyone Home? (by Katherine Catmull)<br />
“Anyone home? It’s me.”<br />
<br />
No answer. The boy's new key felt warm from his pocket in his chilly fingers. He turned the cold knob. The door creaked open.<br />
<br />
“Hey, anyone home?” he called again.<br />
<br />
His footsteps on the old wooden floor made hollow clock-clock-clocks; nothing like the soundless carpets of their old house. Through the row of wide windows on his left, he saw the nearby woods turn black under the dimming sky. It was only early October, but already swirls of dry yellow and brown rattled past the window in every gust of wind.<br />
<br />
A lamp sat on the bare, dusty floor, and he switched it on. His family had only moved in the day before. The boy moved among piles of cardboard boxes, clock-clocking across the room. He didn’t know this new house—this very old house, but new to them, and much bigger than their last house. He didn’t know whether his parents could hear him calling from the front room, if they were upstairs, or if they were down.<br />
<br />
In the kitchen, last night’s empty pizza box sat on a yellow-tiled counter.<br />
<br />
“Anyone here? Anyone home?”<br />
<br />
And for a moment the house seemed to call back, but he couldn’t quite hear what it said. He was quiet, listening. Was it only the emptiness, echoing back?<br />
<br />
The boy slid his cold fingers up his wrists, under his sweater, for warmth. He didn’t know how to turn the heat on in this house.<br />
<br />
An icy draft slipped down the neck of his sweater, like fingers.<br />
<br />
Oh: the basement door was open—just a crack. Just a crack leading into the blackness of the stairwell. That must be where the draft was coming from. His dad must be down there, setting up his workroom.<br />
<br />
The boy slipped through that cracked-open door into the darkness. He felt the air for the string to pull the light on, but it was too high, just too high for him to reach, though he could feel it with the tips of his fingers.<br />
<br />
So he walked down the narrow wooden steps in the dark, feeling his way. At the bottom of the stair, he took a few steps in.<br />
<br />
A silky hand brushed across his face. He stumbled backwards, thinking: <i>a cobweb, it was obviously a cobweb, a cobweb for sure. </i><br />
<br />
But for some reason, at the touch of the cold silk, he remembered the woman from next door, the woman who had brought them a welcome cake the night before. She had stood in the doorway, smiling, but she wouldn’t come in, and wouldn’t look them in the eye. “It’s your first night in the house. You should have some of this ginger cake,” she had said. “You should all have some, tonight, for luck. It’s a special cake, for luck.”<br />
<br />
Then she smiled, as if she were joking. But her eyes hadn’t smiled at all.<br />
<br />
His parents had called the cake delicious, licking crumbs from their fingers, laughing at the idea of lucky cake.<br />
<br />
But the boy didn’t like ginger, so he had had no cake at all.<br />
<br />
“Dad?” he called into the echoing dark. “Anyone here?”<br />
<br />
And now he heard, he definitely heard, a whisper—unless it was only water running in the pipes.<br />
<br />
But why would pipes say <i>Yes, yes; here, here.</i><br />
<br />
And it was still so dark. If his father was here, why was it still so dark?<br />
<br />
“Anyone home?” he calls, and now his voice is high and thin, his throat is dry, and the cold of the basement runs through his veins, up and down his arms and legs. Shouldn’t his eyes be adjusting by now; shouldn’t he see something? But he sees only darkness.<br />
<br />
He hears something, though. Yes: now he hears it, he hears the voices, and now they are certainly voices, rustling and whispering around him. And although hasn’t moved, although he has stood quite still, the cobwebs—are they cobwebs?—are all around him now, caressing his face, tangling like silk around his fingers and wrists, stroking the back of his neck.<br />
<br />
“Anyone home?” he whispers.<br />
<br />
<i>We are, we are, </i>they say, folding themselves around him.<i> We’re home, </i>they say, gathering him up, caressing him, muffling his screams. <i>Yes, we’re home. We’re home. We’re home.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, another key in the front door, his parents’ laughing voices, the rustle of boxes and packages.<br />
<br />
“Anyone home?” they call.<br />
<br />
But the only noise is the October wind singing through the door, then the creaking of the door as it swings shut. That is the only noise in the old house.<br />
<br />
And that is the only noise there will ever be.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
katherine catmullhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13060204901478490767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8897117031581058690.post-47445609699622842402013-01-09T07:39:00.000-08:002013-01-29T05:39:08.836-08:00Fairy Cakes (by Emma Trevayne)<style type="text/css">
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<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
fairies come in the night, leaving tiny footprints in the sugar and
the flour.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The
townspeople are always too tired after the day of baking to tidy up
properly, sweep the floors and wipe the countertops with a rag. A
mess can wait.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">But
the fairies won't. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Everyone
knows what happened the first time the fairies didn't get their
cakes. It <span style="font-style: normal;">is, coincidentally, also
the </span><i>last </i><span style="font-style: normal;">time the
fairies didn't get their cakes, and the stories are still told in
shaking whispers, in lead-lined rooms, the only place the people can
be sure they won't be overheard.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">They
come on a Tuesday, which is an odd sort of day all around, really,
but most Tuesdays are not so very odd as the first Tuesday of
February. For as long as anyone can remember, and far longer than
that, the fairies have come on this day, and the snows always melt
just in time to clear the pass through the mountains. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In
the morning, the townspeople line the streets to wait for the
deliveries. Fresh milk, and flour, sugar and eggs wrapped in cotton
and honey from warm, distant lands where the bees are hard at work.
The honey is especially important. No one speaks. No one even looks
up. Eyes closed, they listen for the rumble of wheels over the broken
road.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And
on this morning, the rumbles never come. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">An
hour passes, then another. Higher, higher, the sun creeps. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">They're
not coming,” says a voice. Quietly, but the whisper carries down
the line, passed from neighbor to neighbor.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Have
to,” says another. </span><i>“Have to.”</i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Everyone
is thinking the same thing. Angry teeth and unbreakable, fluttering
wings. The light fades and the shivers start, and the suggestion
comes to check all the cupboards. At once the street is empty, the
kitchens full of searching hands, thin and bony from winter. Little
children are sent to bed, but they do not sleep, their fingertips
trapped in the dust on windowsills as they watch their mothers and
fathers scurry to and from the town hall.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It'll
be all right,” says a young girl to her younger sister. Their noses
press against the glass, tips growing cold and red, until they have
to wipe breath-mist away with the sleeves of their nightgowns. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Promise?”</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">I
promise,” says the older one, fingers crossed behind her back. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">On
the wide countertop in the town hall, too much wood shows between the
meager gatherings, certainly not enough to bake for each one of the
fairies, and no honey at all. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Outside,
the moon rises in the sunset-sky. The clock on the wall, hammered
into the lead with a heavy spike, chimes the truth that there is no
time to get away.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">There
is no choice but to make do with what they have. When all is said and
done, a few dozen tiny cakes sit, cooling, where there should be
hundreds. One by one, the townspeople slip through the door and back
to their homes. They pull the little children from the windows and
tuck them into their beds, planting kisses on foreheads. The girl and
her sister curl on their sides, huddling together for warmth, and
they are asleep when the humming begins.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Thousands
upon thousands of wings block out the moon and the mountains, the
noise growing louder and sharper as the fairies descend. Smiling,
teeth bared, ready for the feast that is their due. The town hall
door stands open; some fly inside, others land on the ground to run,
cackling, over the floor.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">And
the cackles turn to screeching, inhuman cries.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Years
later, the stories are told of what happened the <i>second </i>time
the fairies didn't get their cakes. The girl is old, wrinkled, her
younger sister only a little less lined. In lead-lined rooms, they
tell their children and grandchildren of the night the fairies went
hungry. Of the sound that woke them from their beds and sent them
back to the windows to watch as feathers flew and blood-curdling
screams tore the night apart.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">They
covered their eyes, and then their ears, and then tried to cover both
at once. Crouched down, they waited, safe, for the fairies never harm
little children. The screams finally stopped, and the humming grew
distant, disappearing over the mountains into the dawn.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">By
the light of day, feathers littered the broken road where the
townspeople had tried to protect themselves, even while knowing it
was no use. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">There
was no blood. There were no bones. There was only silence, and then,
slowly, whispers as the children met outside their houses. Older ones
took smaller hands, promising, again, that it would be all right.
They had watched their parents, and knew what to do on the next first
Tuesday of February, and the one after that.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It
would be all right.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Bravely,
the children crept into the town hall. Crumbs littered the
countertop, spat out by fairy-mouths the moment they tasted the
cakes, baked without honey. Splintered wooden spoons lay strewn on
the floor, mixing bowls sat dented where the fairies had used them
for war drums. </span>
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">In
the last scraps of sugar and flour were tiny footprints, no bigger
than a fingernail, from when the fairies had come in the night. </span>
</div>
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