Can't stop the rain

She sat by the window and stared into the darkness. She traced the raindrops that raced down the window pane with a finger, trailing them until they were out of sight. The darkness outside was so complete that she couldn’t even see the farmhouse across the road but she didn’t need to see it to know that it was as much of a mess as her family’s farm.

It had been raining steadily, heavily, for about a week now. The road that ran through town was now a flowing river of mud and all of the animals had been taken inside after the first pig was swept away by flooding. Her family was a little luckier than most. Their farm was on the very edge of the little village, which meant it was slightly closer to the mountain and as a result, on slightly higher ground. People were talking about crops being ruined and it felt like she would never be able to wash off all of the mud that had soaked into her skin. They couldn’t get rid of the feeling of damp in the air and all of the clothes smelled musty from not having been dried all the way. It was difficult to dry them inside.

There was never any lightning, but a shock of thunder groaned down from the mountain, making her jump. She pulled her knees up onto the window seat with her, tucking them under her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs in an attempt to warm up. The thunder never sounded like normal thunder to her. It sounded like moaning. Almost, she thought, like someone crying.

She had mentioned it to her mother a few days after the rain began, only to get a smack. Her mother had told her that she was too old to imagine such nonsense. And that if she had time for such imaginings, she should get some work done instead.

But now there was nothing to do. No more clothing to mend, no more knitting, no more laundry and the animals were as snug and warm as they could be. So she just sat on her window seat and watched the rain pour down like angry tears, listening to that strange thunder echoing down from the mountains.

In the darkness

Sometime after midnight

when the black has turned to gray

when the tears have finished falling

when illusions drop away

I see only darkness

in the charcoal-sooty skies

I gaze at the heavens

and wait for the sun to rise

What is there to pray for?

And what is left to love?

What reasons to stay for?

And what can I dream of?

Sometime after midnight

through the darkness crests a voice

calling, rising, singing,

telling me I have a choice.

That though I may have fallen

Still somehow I may fly

Darkness cannot last forever

Look to the sunny sky.

Cracked glasses Part 3

She gaped open-jawed at the tiny creature standing on her book.

“What’s the matter?” the fairy asked. “Do you stare at everybody like that?”

“Well… I’ve never met a fairy before,” she said, quietly, still not certain of what she was seeing.

“I suppose that’s all right. We do tend to keep to ourselves after all.”

The tiny woman looked up at Lindy speculatively.

“By the way,” she asked. “How is it that you can see me? I’ve flown right up to your house and you’ve never noticed me before.”

“I don’t know,” Lindy answered honestly.

“Maybe it’s these.”

Before she had time to protest, the fairy had grabbed her glasses off of her nose and flown off somewhere.

“That’s not fair! Bring those back!”

Lindy set her book aside and shakily got up from her seat. She wanted to chase the fairy, but she knew she wouldn’t have much luck without her glasses. Still, she didn’t seem to have any other choice, so she stumbled off into the woods, hoping to find the fairy again. She had only gone a few feet before she tripped over a root. She landed on her hands and knees with a loud flump and the snapping of twigs.

She sat and examined her scraped knee. She didn’t try to get up again. The first tear fell down her cheek and landed on a leaf and there were plenty more behind it. She’d always believed in fairies. Whenever the other kids had called her a baby and teased her for it, she’d still believed. But she wouldn’t have bothered believing if she’d known that they’d be so mean.

Swiping the tears from her cheeks, Lindy squared her shoulders and prepared herself to face her mother again and tell her that she’d not only broken her glasses, but lost them as well. She pushed herself up from the ground, but she nearly fell down again when a voice sounded from a branch by her face.

“I was just trying to have a bit of fun with you,” the little fairy said. “Here, you can have them back.”

The glasses reappeared on her face as though they’d never left it, cracked left lens and all.

“That was an awful trick.”

Lindy scowled at the fairy, now that she could see her again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“That’s ok,” Lindy said, now intent on memorizing every detail. She squinted at the little fairy, taking in her glowing green eyes and leafy clothing. Looking at her now, Lindy realized that the fairy wasn’t very much older than she was, or at least she didn’t look like it.

“Do you like my dress? I made it from lilacs and maple leaves.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Lindy said. “Quite a daring fashion statement.”

“Thank you.”

She twirled on the branch, allowing herself to float slightly into the air. Lindy closed one eye and then the other. When she closed her left eye, the fairy disappeared and was only visible through the cracked glass of the left lens. She smiled at herself for having figured out the secret and wished that she had cracked her glasses sooner.

Leaning up against the tree, she looked up at the fairy.

“So, what’s it like being a fairy?” she asked.

The tiny thing flew right up to Lindy’s nose, poking her with sharp, accusatory little fingers.

“What’s it like being a human?” she yelled. “You think you’re soooo special. That you’re lives are sooo different. I’ve got news for you, buddy. We are just like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Lindy said. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just wanted to know.”

“That’s ok,” the fairy said, slightly mollified. She made herself comfortable sitting on Lindy’s unscraped knee.

“Well…” Lindy was looking for something to say that wouldn’t upset the little fairy. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Pumpernickel,” the little fairy said proudly.

Lindy tried her best to keep a straight face.

“That’s a lovely name,” she commented.

They sat in silence for a few moments as each thought of something to say.

“You said you knew Cinderella?” Lindy asked.

She knew she’d asked the right question because suddenly, Pumpernickel lit up.

“Oh, yes,” she cried. “She was wonderful! I was just a tiny little baby, but she was so sweet.”

“My grandmother was her fairy godmother, you know. It was so long ago but I still remember her dresses shimmering in the moonlight. Nobody makes a dress like a fairy,” she added, smoothing down her own gown.

“Grandmama made sure I didn’t interfere, you know, but she let me watch everything. It was the most beautiful night. And as soon as she started dancing with him. Well, you just knew the world had shifted for them,” Pumpernickel said.

“It sounds amazing,” said Lindy, half in the dreamworld cast by the fairies words.

“Do you guys do that a lot?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Change people’s lives,” Lindy said. “Change the world for the better.”

“Oh, yes,” Pumpernickel said. “But it’s usually not so big. We’re here to set things right and usually things just need a light touch, like the leaves that need to change color in the fall or the flowers that bloom in the spring.”

“You guys do that?” Lindy asked.”

“Mm-hmm.” Pumpernickel’s voice was full of pride. “We change the colors of the leaves and bring the first frost. We make sure the flowers bloom and the trees grow. We keep everything in good working order.”

Lindy could listen to the little fairy speak forever. And she almost did. Before she knew it the entire afternoon had gone by the sun was setting in a puddle of gold beyond the trees. The air was starting to chill and she knew it wouldn’t be long before her mother came looking for her.

She pushed her glasses up from the tip of her nose and lifted herself up from the cold, damp ground. As politely as she could, she bid her fairy friend good night and promised to return. The darkness outside was almost complete when she finally pushed open the screen door and let herself into the house. It was dark and the night surrounded the little house as she got ready for bed, but it didn’t matter, because the glow of joy inside Lindy kept her warm.

Cracked glasses part 2

She was careful not to bang the screen door as she walked in. There wasn’t any need to be in trouble before the time came and she cringed at the thought of her mother’s reaction. She made her way slowly to the kitchen, letting her backpack rest quietly on one of the chairs before she sat. The plate of cookies and glass of milk waiting for her on the table didn’t make her feel any better about what had happened.

Her mother was turned toward the counter, washing the dishes. She was singing to herself, humming some unrecognizable song. Finally, she finished and turned around to see her little girl sitting mournfully at the kitchen table. She rested her hands on her hips and pressed her lips together into a tight line, quickly recognizing the situation for what it was.

“So it happened again?” she asked, her voice somewhere between anger frustration and pity.

“Yup.”

“Lindy,” she said. “You promised me that last time was going to be the last, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

She sank into a chair and her mouth twisted itself into a frown. The words came out pleading.

“I couldn’t help it, Mama,” Lindy said quietly, finally meeting her mother’s eyes. “They all sort of ganged up on me.”

“I’ll call the principal tomorrow to see if I can do something about it. Maybe I can talk to their parents,” she said, forcing herself up out of the chair.

She placed her hand under her daughter’s chin, raising her face up.

“We’ll have to get you a new pair of glasses,” she said. “Again. But it’ll have to wait a few days. I’ll order a new pair tomorrow but the optometrists can’t make them as fast as you break them. You’ll have to keep wearing these for a while.”

Lindy shoved the broken glasses up from the tip of her nose and gazed mournfully at her mother.

“Yes, Mama,” she said.

With a heavy sigh, Lindy’s mother walked out of the kitchen and in a minute, Lindy could hear her sorting laundry in the living room.

She looked down at the cookies and wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t eat them. Somehow, she knew they’d feel like lead in her stomach. She pushed the plate across the table and away from herself and hopped of the chair.

Unzipping her backpack, she pulled out her hard-won book of fairy tales and, hugging it to her chest, pulled open the back door. The kitchen door led into a garden or at least what used to be a garden. Lindy’s house sat in the corner of town and as a result had the privilege of sitting next to the forest.

The garden, which had been a well-tended, geometric masterpiece long ago, had been started by the people who lived in the house before them. Lindy’s mother never had the patience for plants, just as she had never really had the patience for children, so the garden had been allowed to go to wreck and ruin. The paths had become overgrown and barely recognizable in the green wild. Roses climbed wherever they chose, filling the air with their heady scent in the spring. Ivy had begun to climb the houses walls of its own accord, green covering up the ugly brown brick.

Lindy made her way past the garden to the edge of the forest, settling down against the wide trunk of her favorite old tree and cracking the book open across her knees.

She didn’t read this time, just let her fingers trace the lines of the old drawings as the tears dripped down from her eyes.

“That wasn’t what she looked like at all,” said a little voice over her right shoulder.

Startled, she looked around, but couldn’t find anybody.

She looked down at her book once more and was forced to squint at the pages, not believing what she saw.

A tiny little person with gossamer wings stood in the middle of her page, pointing at the picture of Cinderella with her toes. Her feet were bare and her dress seemed to be made of leaves, although they sparkled like no leaves she had ever seen. Her wild little tangle of hair was pinned back by what looked like leaf-stems, and her startling blue eyes looked up at Lindy.

“She had the darkest hair I’ve ever seen,” the little person said. “I don’t know why they always draw her as blonde. And her dresses were far prettier than the ones here. These pictures don’t do them justice. I have no idea what the artist was thinking.”

Cracked glasses

She was staring down at her math book, trying to fight out the answers the fraction problems in her head when the bell rang for recess, causing her to jump. As the other kids raced for the door, running to get the best soccer balls and a good spot on the field, she slipped a book out from under her desk and followed sedately at the back of the class, trying to be far enough behind everyone else that maybe they wouldn’t notice her.

Everyone was already settled when she walked onto the playground. The girls were on one end playing foursquare and hopscotch and some other kids were on the field with the soccer balls. Most were settled in between, but it didn’t really matter to her what the other kids did as long as they left her alone.

Plopping under the old oak tree on the edge of the playground, she lay the book across her knees, pushed her glasses up from the bridge of her nose and smiled as the book fell open with a soft, familiar crack, the spine naturally opening to the well-loved, favorite place. The story she’d read hundreds of times, the one she knew by heart. To be fair, she knew all of them by heart, but this was her favorite.

She traced her fingers along the words as she began to read.

Once upon a time, it said, in ornate golden letters. She let her fingers trace across the swirls and loops of the design, let her eyes rest on the lace and gold and elegant lines of Cinderella’s dresses. The book she held had belonged to her mother. Although she did not know where her mother had gotten it, the book was old and the story it told was not the sugared Disney version seen in the movies. The ball lasted three nights and each night Cinderella was able to evade the prince as she ran home, barely hiding her dresses, which grew in magnificence with each ball.

She grinned and shuddered at the same time as the evil stepsisters cut off first toe and then heel, mutilating their huge, ugly feet to fit them inside the tiny delicate shoe. And she smiled truly as the prince found his true bride.

“And they lived happily ever after,” she whispered, shutting the book just as the bell rang, signifying the end of recess. It had been good today. The other kids had left her alone. She shouldn’t have expected it to last.

When the bell rang at three o’clock, she packed up her things slowly, carefully placing each book and folder inside her backpack. She clutched the book of fairy tales to her chest and walked out of the room several minutes after the other kids had already left. She hoped they’d be gone and that she could walk home in piece.

The playground was almost empty. Except for a few little kids on the swings, it was abandoned. Swiftly, she walked past the playground and into the neighborhood, hoping to get home as soon as possible. It was only a twenty minute walk, on a good day and if she could make it without running into anyone else, then so much the better.

She had gone a few blocks and had thought she was in the clear when she heard the voice behind her.

“Hey there, Four-eyes!”

Gina’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey Four-eyes, where ya goin’ so fast?”

That was Jenna. Which meant that the entire group was standing behind her. Slowly, she turned around to face all four of them, standing lined up on the sidewalk behind her.

“Please leave me alone,” she said quietly, pressing the book to her chest like a shield. “I just want to get home as soon as possible.”

“What’s the rush, Four-eyes?”

That was Lina.

“Yeah, don’t ya wanna stop and play with us?”

The last was from Tina. Or at least she thought it was Tina. They all kind of dressed the same and it was getting harder to tell them apart.

But it was definitely Gina who walked up to her and grabbed the book out of her hands, running backward a few steps before she could react.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked, flipping through the aged pages.

“The baby’s got a baby book full of fairy tales.”

Gina’s voice dripped poison as she held the book open for her cronies to look at.

“Awww. Does the baby need to get home to get her diaper changed?”

That was Lina, she thought.

“Give me my book back!”

She charged Gina, trying to grab it out of her hands, but couldn’t do it before the book got tossed to another pair of hands.

She watched in terror and humiliation as the book flew through the air, passing from person to person like a Frisbee. She got to be monkey in the middle.

“Maybe the baby should ask the little fairies to help her get her book back,” one of them yelled, tossed the book in the air yet again.

She did believe in fairies. She hoped to meet one someday, but she wasn’t about to admit it to these goons. Her cheeks grew red and she pushed her glasses up once more. She had tolerated enough. Ignoring the book for a moment, she charged Gina, knocking her onto the ground. She shoved Gina into the dirt but the other girl only smiled through crooked teeth.

“It looks like the baby wants to fight,” she called to her friends.

Before she had time to think about it, all four of them were on top of her, shoving her into the dirt and punching. They couldn’t punch very hard, but it still hurt. After a few minutes, she found herself on the ground, bruised and still angry.

They tossed the book into the dirt beside her as they walked away.

“We didn’t want your stupid baby book anyway,” Gina called over her should as they went home.

She got up, took stock of her bruises and dusted herself off. It could be worse, she told herself. At least she still had her book. She picked it up to make sure it wasn’t damaged, but no pages were torn. She wiped it off using a corner of her skirt and gingerly put it in her backpack.

It was only when she was walking home again that she noticed her glasses were broken. The right lens was fine but the left was cracked in the center, with spidery veins running out into the edges. It looked like a strange, glass spider web. She could still see out of it, although she didn’t enjoy the view much. Her mother wouldn’t be happy when she got home. She would need new glasses again. That would make the third pair this year. She sighed and kept walking.

Blind Date

He didn’t look anything like she had expected.

The online profile had said he was five foot eight, with ‘luxurious’ dark hair and ‘striking’ blue eyes. The only thing vaguely striking about the man was the size of his beer gut, which was considerable, and rested against the counter as he ordered a venti mocha frapuccino with an extra shot of chocolate. He carried the drink, which was heaped with whipped cream and produced a slight drip of chocolate sauce as he walked, as he wandered into the middle of the Starbucks.

She frowned internally, dreading the experience. She hated liars. He was obviously shorter than she was and at 5’5, she was no giant. And the ‘luxurious’ dark hair had receded, creating an oddly shaped bald spot directly on top of his head. She watched disdainfully as his eyes finally landed at her table, taking in the red rose sitting beside her book.

“Oh, well,” she told herself. “At least this won’t take long.”

“Hi, there,” he said, sliding his bulk onto the uncomfortable wooden chair across from her. “You’re Cindy?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, planting a false smile on her face and forcing herself to make eye contact. “And you’re Robert?”

“One and the same,” he said proudly, one hand subconsciously patting his belly. “I must say, you look just like your picture.”

“You look… great too.”

She managed to say the words without breaking her smile.

“You know,” she told him, looking up at him through her lashes and taking a sip of her latte. “I’ve been waiting such a long time to speak to you in person. All the things you said in our chats … well, I just couldn’t wait to hear your voice in person.”

“Me too,” he said, chubby hands curled around his drink and eyes planted firmly on her chest. “Meeting in person was a great idea, if I do say so myself.”

She grinned at him and took another sip, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“So, did you come here straight from work?” she asked finally.

“Yeah, just traded the lab coat for a suit jacket and went. Barely made it here on time with this traffic.”

“You mentioned before that you worked in a lab. Which one?”

“Preston labs,” he said, before taking a prolonged sip. “Downtown.”

“That sounds really interesting,” she prodded. “What department do you work for?”

He stroked his stomach again as he answered.

“You know,” he said, scooting in closer. “That’s not really something we’re supposed to tell people. But seeing as a lovely lady like you wouldn’t tell anybody, I think my secret’s safe."

"I work in the genetics division."

“That sounds fascinating,” she leaned in, crossing her legs under the table. “I wish I knew more about genetics. Do you find cures for diseases? Help people get healthy?”

“Umm, something like that,” his eyes were glued to her chest and she didn’t expect much of an answer.

She ran her hand through her long dark hair, taking the time to twist a strand around one well-manicured finger. She glanced around the café, deliberately avoiding his glance for a moment.

“I would love to learn more about… genetics,” she told him softly, speaking the words quietly enough that he had to lean in farther to hear them. “I would love to learn more about you.”

She reached out and ran a finger down his chubby cheek. She watched his breath catch in his throat and knew that she’d had the desired effect.

“I’d love to get to know you better too,” he stumbled through his words slightly, but it didn’t matter.

“Maybe we can go somewhere … more private?” she asked. “You know, so we can discuss more.”

“Sure, that sounds great,” he stood with surprising speed for someone so awkwardly built. “Do you want to maybe go back to my place?”

“Perfect.”

She stood, flinging her bag over her shoulder and walking out. She could feel him waddling along behind her and knew that he was staring at her ass. That was ok. It would help her get the job done… and she did have a fantastic ass. She walked confidently, knowing her job was halfway done.

Flinging open the swinging door, she turned right down the now-empty street. Traffic had died down and most people were home for dinner now. She wasn’t worried about that. Walking a block down, she took another right into the alley. It was long and fairly narrow. There was also a large garbage bin at the mouth of the alley that would block the view from the street nicely. She wouldn’t have been able to find a better place if she’d picked it herself. Oh wait, she had picked it herself.

She turned down the alley and he’d followed her fantastic ass for another half a block before he realized that this was not the route to his car.

“Umm… Cindy?” his voice echoed slightly in the alley. “You’re going the wrong way, sweetheart.”

“No, I’m not.”

Her voice was a little more than a whisper, but he could hear it perfectly.

Before her words could properly register, she turned around, shoving him against the wall.

“I’m sorry Bobby,” she told him. “I just couldn’t wait till we got to your place.”

She had pulled the gun out of her handbag when she was walking down the alley and now he felt it, pressing insistently against his stomach.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Those seemed to be the only words he was capable of, until she gave the gun a hard shove into his gut. She could feel him gulp.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, his voice taking on a whining tone.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she muttered it under her breath. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“Where is what?”

“You know perfectly well what.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “The formula. I want the formula.”

“Who do you work for?”

The whine was gone from his voice but his face was ghost-white.

“That is none of your business,” she told him. “Now, tell me where the formula is and I won’t harm you.”

“I don’t know,” he pleaded. “I swear, I don’t know.”

She frowned for a moment, thinking.

The sunk was sinking fast, throwing odd shadows in the alley. The red glare caught some of the windows across the street and for a few moments they were bathed in orange light.

A strange look of focus passed over her face and she smiled at him. For a moment, he thought maybe she would let him go and he let out a sigh of relief as she removed the gun from his gut.

He wasn’t expecting the blow to the head. Swiftly, she tapped his skull with the butt of the gun and her smile widened as she watched him crumple to the ground. She knelt over him almost lovingly and reached her arms around his neck. Carefully, she undid the latch of the thin silver chain that hung around his neck, allowing the chain to pool in her palm, along with the charm hanging on it. The charm was a diamond-shaped tag. It looked like surgical steel but was probably silver and the engraving on it was the answer to a puzzle she’d been trying to solve for a long time.

Standing up, she examined the engraving in the dying light before stuffing the necklace into the pocket of her jeans. The smile swiftly faded from her face as she walked from the alley.

“All that trouble for only half of the formula,” she thought to herself as she hailed a cab. “Maybe I should have killed him.”

Unwashed Dishes

I ate the mashed potatoes

and the broccoli and the stew.

I had a cup of tea

And vanilla ice cream too.

The next day I had salad

and some warmed up apple pie.

I glanced over at the dishes

sitting piled up, what a sty!

I would not wash the dishes

Though they truly looked forlorn.

I added two more glasses

And the plate from my creamed corn.

The stack only grew higher

and things began to stink.

Piles and piles of dirty dishes,

growing higher in the sink.

The next day I ate eggplant

And some lemon egg drop soup.

The dishes got all crusty

with yellow-whitish goop.

I went back to the sofa

to watch some more TV.

I felt something fly past me.

I turned. What did I see?

A large plate flew right by me

It was followed by a cup.

I watched as one by one

all my dishes floated up.

As those plates flew past me

all that I could do was stare.

There was some slight panic

when a fork caught in my hair.

They floated out the window

And they flew out to sea

After all that sitting

my plates wanted to be free.

I watched as they flew

and I waved a fond good-bye

As my dishes left me

and flew off into the sky.

I didn’t do the dishes.

But I really should have done.

Because now I don’t have any.

It was I who made them run.

And I sit here hungry

because now I cannot eat.

You see, without my dishes

all my food is incomplete.

Here you find my lesson:

Wash your dishes every day.

‘Cause if you don’t pay attention,

They might just fly away.

The Doll Part 2

The next day I woke to the bright sunlight warm on my face and I felt cheerful. I knew children would come today. Maybe one of them would take me home.

Home. Just the word sounded safe and bright and I couldn’t wait until I found one. I held my breath as I heard the tinkling of the doorbell.

It was a little boy with a wild mop of brown hair. His mother attempted to hold him by the hand but as soon as they entered the shop he raced over to the dinosaurs.

“You may choose one toy, John,” his mother said, trying to make herself heard over the growling and roaring noises. Apparently, each dinosaur had its own voice and John wasn’t going to rest until he had spoken to each one.

He continued, completely obsessed by the toy beasts, while his mother chatted with the store owner. I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the noise of the dinosaurs.

Time passed and eventually John left the store with a stegosaurus happily tucked under his arm.

I have to say I was relieved. I didn’t want to go home with a little boy anyway, particularly not such a loud one.

After lunch a little girl came into the store, primly holding on to her mother’s hand. She had long blonde hair in two pigtails and she wore a blue dress. She did not smile and I should have known that she was not the girl for me.

Her mother, a tall, thin woman with sallow cheeks, began to speak to the child.

“Now, Emma,” she said sweetly. “I promised you that if you were good, you could pick out a dolly. There are lots of lovely ones here. Which one would you like?”

Emma strode across the store like a queen at the head of an army and stared hard at us, inspecting us as though we were poorly behaved soldiers.

“That one’s dress is not pretty enough,” she said, pointing to a lovely china doll in a kimono.

“And those are much too … babyish,” she pronounced, her little finger stabbing in the direction of the baby dolls.

“That one’s hair is too light,” she decided, passing judgment on a pretty blonde-haired doll in a green dress.

“How about this one?” her mother asked, holding me up for her to look at.

“Mother!” cried Emma, wrinkling her nose. “That one is just ugly! How could you think that I would ever like that?”

Decidedly, I did not like the looks of Emma either. Her nose was too pointy and her lips were too thin. But I was too polite to say such things, even if I could talk. Still, being insulted, even by such an unappealing little girl, hurt my feelings immensely.

Emma’s mother put me down like I was on fire, immediately stepping away from me and I did my best to hide my face. I am ashamed to say it, but I was fighting hard not to cry.

Eventually, the little girl chose a doll, a dark-haired one in a deep blue velvet dress, and marched proudly out of the store. Only then did I allow myself to cry.

A few more children came in that day, but I did not notice them. Instead, I hid my face and tried to bury my tears in my dress. I knew that I was not like any of the other dolls in the store, but now, for the first time, I felt ugly and I could not stop the tears.

Untitled Part 2

I climbed slowly and I heard the creak of the ceiling beams as she paced the floor above me. Carefully, I stepped off of the ladder and into the dusty attic.

It was pretty dark up there. The attic apparently ran the length of the house, so there was plenty of space sitting in shadow. Two small windows at either end served more to emphasize the darkness than to let in light, but I could see dust motes floating through the quiet air. For such a large space, it was surprisingly empty.

I thought it’d be full of old clothes and family heirlooms. I had expected to see boxes of old photo albums and discarded toys, but the attic was bare. The only thing I could see was a large old trunk sitting against one of the walls. It was under one of the windows and it looked spot-lit in the comparative darkness.

“Watch your step,” she said, gingerly moving across the beams. “No one’s been up here for a while and I don’t know how stable the floors are.”

“Ok,” I said, following as she made her way toward the trunk. “Why are we up here?”

“You’ll see.”

She settled on her knees in front of it and looked up, waiting for me.

I sat down gingerly next to her. Now that I looked closer at it, I saw that it was older than I thought. The leather casing looked beat up and scarred with age, like an old sailor. I couldn’t imagine what it looked like when it was new, but that must’ve been long before I was born. Probably long before Anna’s parents were born too.

“They’ve always kept this up here,” she told me quietly. “They don’t even know that I know where it is. And they’ve never shown me what’s in it.”

“Do they talk about it?” I asked. “Have they mentioned what’s in here?”

She shook her head and light from the one small window glimmered on her dark hair.

“They pretend it isn’t here, but I know it’s important,” she said.

She paused for a moment and her breath seemed loud in the quiet space. I saw a tear roll down her brown cheek as she spoke again.

“It’s more important to them than I am,” she said.

She threw open the brass latch and pressed her small fingers under the lid, lifting it back to rest against the wall behind it. The first thing we saw was cloth. I had expected her to dig through the box, rifling for the prize, so I was surprised when she gently lifted the first layer. The diaphanous cloth caught the light and I saw that it was a shimmery, sheer white silk. It looked like something that belonged on a wedding dress, not in a dusty old box in an attic. Slowly, she unwound layer after layer of white silk, until it looped around us like a cloud.

Finally, after the veils of silk were unwrapped, a box started to take shape. As she slipped off the last layer of silk, I saw that it was a jewelry box. She held it in her cupped palms and I could see that it wasn’t just any jewelry box. For one thing, it was studded with jewels. I don’t mean rhinestones or plastic. I mean jewels. Even in the semidarkness, I could see rubies and emeralds. Sapphires winked at me. I didn’t know exactly what Anna held in her hands, but I knew that it was special.

The jewels caught the light, holding it inside themselves. I could’ve sworn they glowed in the darkness. I almost couldn’t look away from them, my eyes caught in the dance of light. When I did look away, I saw the gold script on the box itself.

It must’ve been painted on, but it didn’t look painted. I couldn’t see the brush strokes and it looked as though the box had been born that way. Now that I think about it, the box didn’t even look as though it had been made. It looked as though it had been created or born, but not made.

The writing curled around the gems and I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew it wasn’t any language I could recognize. I squinted at the box as we both sat there in silence. For a moment, I could’ve sworn that the script was moving, that it was twining around the gems like a snake. I blinked and it was still again.

“It’s so beautiful,” I said.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s beautiful. But I want to see what’s in it.”

Balancing the box in one hand, she pulled the hinged lid back with the other. Inside, on a bed of dark velvet, lay a small red bottle. She pulled it out and it sat neatly in the palm of her hand. In the light, the bottle shifted between red and silver, with a cork stopper keeping it sealed. There was nothing written on it, no decorations or instructions. Just the tiny red bottle on its own, glimmering in the half-light.

“Ok,” I told her. “You saw what’s in the box. Now you should put the bottle back.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“I know you’re mad at them, and you should be,” I said. “I mean, as parents go, they’re pretty crappy … But I don’t know.”

I stayed silent for a moment as I watched the light play across the silver-red bottle. She waited for me to speak.

“Something about this doesn’t feel right,” I said. “Maybe we don’t want to know what’s in there.”

“Maybe you don’t want to know,” she said. “But I do.”

She placed the jewelry box on the floor in a nest of silk and held the bottle up to the light. She smiled at me conspiratorially before she pulled the plug.

The flash of light caught me unprepared and knocked me backward. All I can remember seeing is that blinding flash of white light and seeing the look of horror on her face before she was gone.

I rubbed my eyes, blinking in the glare, but when I was able to see again, she wasn’t there.

A woman I didn’t recognize filled the space like a storm cloud.

With caramel-colored skin, bright white teeth and striking dark eyes, she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen but also the most terrifying. She was tall and dominated the space, her loose silk scarlet dress flowing around her like water.

And the laughter was the worst. She looked me right in the eyes and her throaty chuckles tore at my ears like a windstorm.

“Freedom, at last!” she cried. “Finally, someone foolish enough to open that bottle!”

I was awestruck and I couldn’t have run even if the thought had occurred to me.

“Thank you little one,” she said, smiling a terrible smile. Suddenly, her teeth reminded a little too much of fangs, stark white against crimson lips.

She looked down and laughed again. The bottle was now lying on the floor, rolling between the rafters and she nudge it with a bare brown foot.

“Thank you for all you have done,” she said, before she turned and leapt through the window.

I rose shakily among the shards of broken glass and looked out the window, careful not to cut myself. I expected to see a bloodied woman lying on the ground but she wasn’t there. Bewildered, I scanned the surrounding area, only to see a large scarlet bird flying away into the distance.

Where was Anna? She’d disappeared when the horrible woman had appeared, but where had she gone? People didn’t just disappear, did they?

“Anna!”

I called her name uselessly into the empty space.

“Where are you?” I yelled, feeling foolish and scared.

I sat back down on the floor and I could feel the tears welling behind my eyes when I heard it. It was a small sound, of glass rolling against wood. And as I looked down, I saw it. The little red bottle was rolling around on its own. I picked it up carefully.

There inside it, staring back at me, was a miniature Anna. Her long dark hair was disheveled and her eyes were wide with terror. Her tiny fists beat against the glass and although I couldn’t hear her, I knew she was screaming for help.

What was I supposed to do? Let her out?

Somehow, I knew that wasn’t the answer. I didn’t know why, but I somehow I realized that uncorking the bottle had released that terrible woman, unleashed her on the world. Uncorking the bottle would mean setting Anna free, but I would be trapped in her place and I had no desire to spend the rest of my life in a small glass vial. But I knew I had to get her out. I just couldn’t do it by myself.

It was time for Mr. and Mrs. Chitral to do some explaining.

Holding the little red bottle gently in my hand, I made my way downstairs.