Dia de los Muertos

She knew something was wrong as soon as she walked in the door. Sara could hear music and noise as she walked up to the house, but only when she opened the door and stepped inside did she realize what was going on.

If the music hadn’t given it away, the table would have. The bright red patterned table cloth screamed its presence in the otherwise sedate décor and the sugar skulls caught the light from the many taper candles surround them. It was November 2^nd, she remembered belatedly, as she dropped her bag on the floor next to the door and crossed the living room to the dining room.

Dropping into a chair, she ran a hand along the table cloth, feeling its’ rough weave against her fingers and popped a brightly colored piece of candy into her mouth. Bowls of it sat along the table.

“Don’t eat those,” her mother called. “They’re not for you.”

She was mixing something in the kitchen, baking something, Sara thought, as she saw the smudges of flour on her mother’s face. She’d even managed to get some in her hair and it was stark against the dark brown.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again, Ma,” she said, discreetly taking another piece of candy. “What’s the point?”

“The point is, Mija, to honor those who have passed,” her mother told her, yet again, as she swayed to the music streaming from the boombox in the corner. “It’s the Dia de los Muertos, honey.”

“I know, I know. It just seems like such a silly tradition.”

“What’s silly about it?” Her mother swatted her lightly on the head as she passed by. “Your grandmother passed away this year. You don’t want to honor her memory?”

“That’s not fair.” She looked angrily up at her mother. “You know I loved Grandma. You know I miss her.”

Images of Grandmother flashed through her mind. She always so dignified. Sara couldn’t remember a time when her grandmother hadn’t stood tall at the head of the table. And when Sara needed advice, she had always been there with a kind word. Photographs of Grandmother sat on the table. Sara took one in her hand and touched her grandmother’s face through the cold glass. She couldn’t imagine how her beautiful, strong Grandmother had produced the short, loud, disorganized woman who had grown up to be her mother.

“Then I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to do this for her,” she said, spooning batter into a pan.

Sara sat quiet for a minute.

“You don’t really think that the souls of the dead walk the earth on the Day of the Dead, do you?” she asked her mother.

“I don’t know, Mija,” she answered, with more honesty than Sara had hope for. “Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. But if they do, I’m sure they appreciate our efforts. I know what it’s like to come home to an empty house.”

Sara went to bed early that night. She could still hear laughter and the clinking of glasses as she brushed her teeth and pulled on her pajamas. She had told them it was because she had to be in school early tomorrow, but really it was because she couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore. It was garish, she thought. It was gaudy. It wouldn’t bring honor to anybody, much less her beautiful grandmother.

Closing her eyes tight, she tried to sleep, but the din from downstairs banged in her ears and it was a long time before sleep found her.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was that clearly, it was not morning. The moonlight still poured through the window. She blinked through her sleepiness as she became aware of what had awoken her. The crunching sound seemed to fill her room. Pushing back the covers, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, still listening to that mysterious crunching noise.

“Well, it’s about time.”

The voice came from across the room… and it was a familiar one. But it couldn’t be, she told herself, as she rubbed her eyes again and focused on the person seated at the chair by her desk.

But it was…

“Grandmother?” she whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart.” The old woman’s white teeth shone in the darkness. “I’m here.”

She popped another chip in her mouth from the bowl that was sitting in her lap.

“By the way, you sleep like a log. It took forever to wake you up.”

“But you’re…. you’re…”

“Dead? Of course I am.”

She sat up and pulled the covers up to her chest.

“How is this possible?” she whispered.

“You’ve forgotten that it’s the Day of the Dead, haven’t you?” Grandmother shook her head. “Your mother certainly didn’t. I’m so glad she left me all of those snacks and sweets. It’s a long trip you know.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess Mom was right for once.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve come to talk to you about,” her grandmother told her, waving a chip for emphasis.

“What? Chips?”

“No.” She could feel her Grandmother’s dark eyes bore into her, even in the darkness. “About your mother. And you know it.”

“What about my mother? She’s fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“She’s fine, but you’re not. You need to start respecting her, Mija.”

Sara’s face scrunched up.

“I respect her plenty.”

“No, you don’t.” Another chip flew into the old woman’s mouth. “She is your mother, Mija. She does everything for you. She deserves respect.”

“She’s just so… different.”

This elicited a laugh and Sara got another glimpse of those white teeth, like tiny pearls.

“She’s not as different as you think,” she said. “She’s not as different from me as you think and certainly not as much as she thinks.”

Sara scoffed, with a quiet humph.

“She loves you. And you’re not so different from her. You love her too, sweetheart,” her Grandmother told her. “You just need to remember it more often.”

“So you came here, all the way from the Great Beyond, just to tell me to be nicer to my mother?”

“Something like that.”

Her grandmother set aside the bowl of chips and rose from her seat by the door. Step by step, she came towards the bed and that familiar old face became clearer in the moonlight.

“I also came to tell you that I love you,” she said. “And that I miss you and your mother.”

“I miss you too, Grandmother.”

Tears sprang from Sara’s eyes, rolling slowly down her cheeks.

“I love you so much,” she said, looking up into her grandmother’s face for the last time.

The old woman wiped away her granddaughter’s tears for the last time, tucking a strand of hair back behind her granddaughter’s ear and touching her cheek.

“I have to go now,” she said solemnly and Sara could see the tears running down her Grandmother’s cheek. “It’s almost midnight and it’s a long journey.”

Sara wanted to say goodbye and the word was on her lips, but she blinked and found herself all alone in the darkness of her bedroom. She stared into the darkness for a long time, hearing her grandmother’s voice echo in her head. Soon, however, the darkness turned grey and as her eyes slid shut there was a smile on her face.

Time

I have a bottle full of time.

I guard it with much care.

People see it and they scoff.

They say it’s full of air.

I have a bottle full of time.

I keep it hid away.

But no matter where I keep it,

my bottle will not stay.

I’ll put it in my dresser

and find it under the bed.

I’ll go looking for ketchup

and find my time instead.

My little bottle taunts me

Sitting sparkly in my hand

“Drink me,” it cries, “Use me.”

as my life drifts by like sand.

I have time in a bottle.

And I’ll save it for a day

when all my dreams have come true

and time still will not stay.

I have time in a bottle.

I hold on to it tight.

I know I’ll use it someday.

But that won’t be tonight.

In the old stone chapel...

Hello,

I've just finished this one, so you'll excuse if it's a little unpolished. I started it a few days ago and you can consider this post my tribute to the Halloween spirit. I hope you like it.

- Lena

“This chapel was built after the castle was already in existence, but don’t worry guys, it’s still quite old. It dates from the early 14^th century.”

The pretty blonde tour guide walked backward down the aisle. She smiled and gestured to the stained glass windows on either side, before continuing her speech. She spoke with a Scottish burr and it felt like she was always laughing.

“The stained glass is genuine, from the time the chapel was built. Many family members are buried right under these flagstones. Despite the many funerals this chapel has seen, there has yet to be even one wedding, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles, I suppose. You’ll notice that this chapel is considerably colder than the rest of the castle. That’s because, as beautiful as those windows are, they’re not very well insulated. You see, medieval architects didn’t exactly have access to modern heating. But if you’ll follow me through this archway into the main castle and I’ll show you the bedrooms.”

The rest of her classmates filed out behind the guide, sneakers clomping and echoing against the heavy stone, but she couldn’t seem to move. She could catch up to them later, Anna reasoned, but her feet felt rooted in place as she gazed up at the stained glass windows. It was a cloudy day but they glowed in the half-light, casting reds and blues and shimmery whites across the deep gray paving stones.

No one noticed as she hung behind. Anna was surprised that no one had ever been married here. The windows cast such a sense of peace in the cool stone space. It would be a beautiful place to start a life with someone, she thought. She gazed reverently at the windows. Surprisingly, they were quite secular. There were crosses interspersed there, but for the most part, they portrayed abstract designs. She saw animals, suns, stars and moons, shining out from the windows as though someone had taken the celestial objects down from the sky.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

She jumped and turned around at the voice. She had been alone in the chapel, she thought, her cheeks burning a brilliant crimson at getting caught staring. The old woman sat on one of the wooden pews, looking at her with a clear, blue-eyed gaze.

“Yes, they’re lovely,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like them.”

“There’s nothing like them in all the world,” the old woman spoke softly, almost whispering to herself. Like the tour guide, she had a Scottish burr, although hers was much more pronounced.

“I’m glad I got to see them.” It was really awkward, trying to keep up a conversation with a complete stranger.

“I come to see them every day,” the old woman said.

She was wearing an old-fashioned black dress and wrapped in a thin black shawl. Must be a local, Anna thought.

“Wow, that must be quite an effort,” she said. “I mean, walking all the way up from the village every day.”

“I live here,” the old woman answered.

“I didn’t know that anyone still lived in the castle,” Anna said.

“It’s hard to leave your home,” the old woman’s voice was quiet, but Anna understood every word. “I’ll never leave the place where I grew up.”

Anna smiled.

“That’s part of why I’m here,” she said, smiling across the aisle at the woman. “I left home because I wanted to see the world, see new things and learn about them.”

The old woman’s eyes raked her up and down. She shuddered a little under that gaze, but it might have just been a breeze in that drafty chapel.

“You remind me of my daughter,” she said. “She left home, left me, but she never came back.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna told her. “I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”

“When you’re my age, darling, all you’ve got left is memories.”

The old woman stared into space for a moment before looking back at Anna.

“Come here, child,” she said, beckoning with an old thin hand.

Anna walked hesitantly over and forced herself not to shiver as the old woman ran a hand over her hair.

“You have such lovely, dark hair,” she said, gazing off into space again before snapping back into the present and looking into her eyes.

“I would like to give you something,” she told the young woman.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Anna answered, and started to back away, as the old woman grabbed her hand.

“I want to,” she said. “I would like to give you something to remember this place by. You should remember that somewhere, your mother is waiting for you to return, that she will be waiting, no matter how far you go.”

The old woman reached deep into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a beautiful gold locket. It was circular in shape and it glowed in the half-darkness of the chapel.

“Take this,” she said, dropping the locket into Anna’s palm. “And remember.”

The girl’s hand closed over the locket almost against her will. She could feel the cool metal pressed inside her fist when the woman spoke again.

“You should catch up to your group now, Darling,” she said. “You wouldn’t want them to forget you in here. Run along.”

“Good-bye, Ma’am,” Anna answered, as her feet carried her up the aisle and out the door at the rear of the church. Honestly, she was quite happy to get out of that drafty chapel and away from the strange old woman.

Her feet stumbled over the lintel in the doorway and she looked back as she tripped, barely bracing herself against the firm stone of the arch. There was no one in the chapel behind her.

Maybe she’d imagined the encounter, she thought, as she ran along the hall to catch up with her group. No, she couldn’t have. She could feel the locket firm and real inside her hand. The old woman must have walked out of the chapel while she was going up the aisle. Yes, she was certain. That must be what happened.

Her shoes slapped loudly against the stone. The blood pounded in her ears. By the time she caught up with the group in the large, airy chamber that the hallway emptied into, she could barely hear the tour guide over the sound of her own heartbeat. She’d missed half of the lecture, but she gathered that the room had been used as a grand dining hall, primarily when the family had important guests, but she could’ve figured that out on her own, judging by the enormous, heavy wooden table filling the center of the space. The chamber was quite gloomy and the windows were small for such a large space, presumably built that way to keep enemy arrows out. Enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling and she imagined they would have given the room a nice glow, but they weren’t lit.

While she looked, the guide continued speaking.

“If you gents and ladies will take a look round at the walls, you will see portraits of all the members of the family, down through the ages. Some of these date from the 1200’s.” She smiled at the group, making sure she still had their attention. “To be sure, they weren’t a particularly attractive lot, but the paintings do give us an insight into the long and complex history of the castle. We also host parties in this room, for a handsome fee. Quite a few brides have gotten upset when the paintings didn’t match their wedding themes, but such is life. Feel free to have a look around and the tour will resume in ten minutes.”

She caught her breath as the others wandered around the room in small clumps. Some pulled out cameras and avidly began snapping photos, while some plopped down on the uncomfortable wooden chairs and sipped from water bottles, discreetly munching away at whatever chips they had stashed in their bags, for all snacks weren’t allowed on the tour.

The tour guide wandered over to a corner and drank from her own water bottle, chugging quite energetically. Anna followed, trying not to look too eager. She didn’t know quite how to ask her question without sounding odd.

“So,” she said, gaining the girl’s attention. “These tours must make it really difficult for the people who live around here.”

The tour guide screwed the top back on the bottle and sat it on a side table.

“The villagers?” she asked, looking up at Anna. “They really don’t mind. After all, the tours bring in money. And a village so tiny can always use a little extra income. And the tourists really aren’t so bad.”

She smiled, inviting Anna to laugh at her small joke, but Anna merely looked perplexed.

“I didn’t mean the villagers,” she answered. “ I mean the people who live here. You know, in the castle.”

Now the tour guide looked slightly confused.

“No one lives here,” she said. “The castle is a historical place and it’s protected by the government. It’s not a residence. Who would want to live someplace without heat or running water anyway?”

“Oh. I guess I hadn’t thought about that.” She knew she sounded like an idiot, but she didn’t know what else to say. “Of course no one lives here.”

The tour guide turned back to her backpack and surreptitiously pulled out a cookie, as Anna slowly backed away, hoping to pretend the conversation had never happened.

She uncurled the fingers of her right hand. The locket was still there, but it wasn’t the golden shimmery piece she had seen before. A locket that had turned brown with age hung from a rusted chain, sitting neatly in her palm. Quickly, she shut her hand again, backing further away. If she’d been looking where she was going, it might not have happened. She might not have bumped into the side table, nearly knocking it over, but she did.

It rocked on its’ four, spindly carved legs, seconds away from falling over, but she managed to catch it, only to receive a glare from the tour guide.

“Most of the furnishings here are authentic, you know. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more careful.” The blond girl glared at her to emphasize the point and took a large bite of cookie.

Anna averted her gaze quickly, making sure the table was steady again and found her gaze caught in the painting on the wall behind it. It was an old woman wearing a voluminous black dress. The painting was well done. The viewer could clearly see everything from the intricate lace on the woman’s shawl to the steely blue gaze of her eyes. Her skin was wrinkled and her grey hair piled in an elegant bun on top of her head. She was undoubtedly old, but sat with a self-possession and control that belied her age. And she was absolutely, without a doubt, the woman Anna had spoken to in the chapel.

“Who is she?” Anna nodded toward the painting. To her surprise, the tour guide smiled.

“She’s an interesting story.” The blonde young woman gazed up at the portrait reverently. “Her mother was the duchess of Windsor, who was, unfortunately, none too fond of her daughter. She came here when she sixteen, married off to some man she hardly knew and stuck in a big, drafty castle. But she ran this place like a queen. She’s the one who commissioned the stained glass in the chapel. She made this castle her legacy, despite a philandering husband and a sick son. She put all of her faith in her daughter. She raised that girl like a princess, gave her the run of the place, always said that someday, this castle would be hers.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a sad ending,” the guide said, looking from the painting back to Anna. “Her daughter hated this place, insisted on moving back to London. And she stayed there, until she died, which wasn’t actually very long. Caught some disease and died young. Broke her mother’s heart. But she kept running this place, even after her son and husband died. After she finally passed the castle was untenanted for a long time, until some cousins picked it up.”

Anna gazed up at the portrait for a moment, before turning back to her guide.

“You know,” she said. “You never mentioned her name.”

The tour guide looked up from what was currently her third cookie.

“Her name was Anna,” she said, through a mouthful of crumbs.

The tour guide didn’t hear Anna’s sharp intake of breath and it didn’t really matter, as she trotted off to use the toilet before the tour started up again.

Anna stared at the portrait and then at the locket in her hand. She looked back at the portrait again.

Later she would pretend that she hadn’t seen it, that the portrait was just a picture of an old woman with a shawl, sitting dourly in a plush chair. And she would never admit it, but it was nonetheless true. At that particular moment, gazing up at that portrait, Anna watched as the old woman gave her a wink and a smile.

Happy Holidays

This one came from a writing prompt and I've literally only written it in about forty minutes, so it probably reads that way. It's not terribly well-thought-out, but hopefully it's worth reading anyway. I still think it was a good exercise, even if it's not something I would typically write.

She walked down the stairs slowly, gingerly taking one at a time, as though afraid she would break. Her steps were quiet and no one noticed as she made her way down. Noise filled the house like a bright cloud.

The children of all of the collective relatives were sprawled in the room, like some sort of live rug, watching some sort of holiday special. Between the characters breaking into song and the kids yelling at each other, the living room wasn’t a great place to be. The kitchen down the hall was scarcely quieter, with the banging pots and pans, step-aunts and grandmothers cautiously guarding their secret recipes from the dreaded in-laws.

The men were in the garage, drinking beer and awkwardly telling jokes. Every place in the house, it seemed, was brimming with noise, full of a happiness that rang false to her ears.

She stopped at the bottom step and pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. It was almost seven o’clock. That meant it would be almost eight in New York. She allowed her mind to drift out the front door for a moment, out into the darkness and the world beyond.

She shook her head, trying to clear it and crossed the hall to look into the living room. Her little cousins were still spread out over every available surface, sitting rapt in front of the TV. The small black cell phone in her hand seemed to draw her gaze to it. With a sigh, she brushed her long red hair back behind her ears and slipped on a pair of shoes.

The bracing, cold air hit her as she opened the door and walked out onto the snowy sidewalk. The red sweater she wore was too big and clashed with her hair but she was grateful her mother had forced her to wear it as she shuffled toward the car.

It was the same car her parents had driven since she was twelve. The locks tended to freeze in the winter, so she wasn’t surprised when she pulled on the cold metal handle and found the car unlocked. She sat in the driver’s seat and stared back at the brightly lit house. She imagined she could hear laughter coming out of it. Pressing her cheek against the cold window, she felt her eyes welling up. She didn’t deserve to be in there. She didn’t want to be in there. But she couldn’t stay in the car forever.

The phone was heavy in her hand. She wiped the tears from her face, took a deep breath and dialed the number by heart.

“Lenox Hill, how may I direct your call?”

Her voice stuck in her throat for a moment when she tried to answer, but finally the words came out.

“Can you please connect me to the critical care unit?”

“Sure thing. Please hold.”

Generic hold music filled the line for a few moments before she heard another click and another voice answered.

“Lenox Hill Critical Care, how may I help you?”

“Can I …. Can I please speak to Layla?”

She heard background noises; paper shuffling and footsteps, as the phone was handed over.

“Layla speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hi Layla,” her voice was quiet. “How’s your holiday going?”

“It’s …. going.”

She looked up at the house and wiped away another tear, hoping it didn’t show in her voice.

“How is he today?” she asked, knowing the answer would be the same.

“He’s doing well.” Layla’s voice was steady, the way it always was. “His leg is healing up fine and so are the skin abrasions.”

“And has he…. come out of it?”

Layla’s voice was soft.

“No honey. He hasn’t woken up yet,” she said. “But I’m sure he will really soon. Don’t lose hope.”

“Can I speak to him?”

“Sure thing.”

The next thing she heard on the other line was the slow rise and fall of Hunter’s breathing, the rhythm was steady. She could almost believe that he was just sleeping. If she closed her eyes, she was back in New York, back in their apartment, watching him sleep in the warm morning light.

“It’s going to be all right,” she told him. “You’re going to wake up soon. And the nightmares will be over.”

Then Layla’s voice was on the other end again.

“I have to go now,” she said. “I’ve got to finish making my rounds.”

“Ok,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “I’ll call again tomorrow night.”

“Good night,” Layla told her. “Go enjoy your holidays, sweetheart.”

“I’ll try,” she said, but the line was already dead.

She brushed the tears off her face and ran her fingers through her hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside yet. She stared off into the darkened air, trying her hardest not to think. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, but the knock on the window startled her.

“Hey Bud.”

She rolled the window down to reveal her father’s well-worn face, nose slightly red from the cold. He wasn’t wearing a jacket either.

“Hi Dad.”

“What are you up to out here all on your own? Your Mom’s starting to worry.”

“Nothing, Dad.” She rolled the window back up and opened the door. “Just wanted some quiet time.”

He looked concerned for a moment.

“Is everything ok at school? How’s everything with that boy, what’s his name, Horton?”

“Everything’s fine, Dad.”

“You ready to go back in, milady?”

“Sure.”

He took her hand, pulling her out of the seat and shutting the door behind them as they trundled back up the sidewalk. She hoped he didn’t notice how unsteady she was on her feet.

She was a little surprised when he paused, right before the front door, and turned to face her.

“Bud?”

“Yeah Dad?”

He pulled her into a hug for the first time in years, the first time she could remember since she’d been a little girl.

“Merry Christmas,” he told her, as he let go and turned back towards the door.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

Spiderwebs

Ok, this one is a little off-beat, but I'm pretty tired right now, so it makes sense in my mind. I'm not really sure where this idea came from, but it probably needs some work to be a little more... palatable. Also, I'm not particularly educated about spiders, so I'm sorry if I'm off on any of that. I wrote it without any research. Anyway, I hope you like it.

She had been born in that theatre. The blinking lights and colors of the enormous screen had been the first thing she ever saw. The flash and glow of the lights washed over her, painting her slender black legs in luminous color.

She started watching and she never looked away, sitting rapt in her little corner of the theatre, up near the roof, where the view was best. She spun her web beneath the glow of the screen, feeling the roar of the audience’s laughter as it shook the delicate threads. She watched movie after movie, perched quietly in her beautiful web. She sat through action movies, watching the humans fight. She sat through horror movies, although she really didn’t understand them. Why were humans so upset when they lost a limb? Wouldn’t they just grow back anyway?

Humans worried about silly things, she thought as she munched on a tart little fly and watched the screen.

The romantic comedies were her favorites. No blood. No mess. Everyone ends neatly and comically together and the credits roll. She perched in the center of her web, laughing at the right times. Her favorite part was watching the human male as he bent down on one knee and pulled the sparkly ring out of his pocket. He held it out like an offering, or a prayer, as though the idea of spending his life with this one woman was all he could wish for, as though she was bestowing a gift by gracing him with her presence.

She only regretted that she would never get treated like that or be loved that way. Spiders, you know, are not a particularly affectionate species. So she contented herself with the lights on the screen and the life she had to live.

Another Friday night came and another movie premier. This one was about another single girl in the city… but the plot wasn’t really important. She smiled to herself as the lights dimmed and music began to play. Just a few minutes for the previews and then the main show would begin. She took a moment to glance down at the audience. As usual, the theatre was packed full of people, rows and rows of dark heads… and then she saw it. There, they were sitting in the front row.

It was a young couple. From where she sat she could see his blonde crew cut and her long dark hair. But most of all, she saw the way the dim light sparkled off of the diamond ring on her hand. And the moment she saw it, she knew she must have it. She imagined the whole scene in her mind, the way he’d knelt down on in a beautiful park, surrounded by flowers, or maybe in a fancy restaurant, hiding the ring in the dessert. She couldn’t see their faces, but she imagined the look of joy when the woman had accepted him, saw him scooping her up in his arms and twirling her around. That ring was more than just a shiny bauble. It was a symbol of their love. And for once, that symbol would belong to her.

Slowly, she spun another thread of silk and used it to lower herself to the theatre floor. Inching her way down, she held her breath. It was the farthest she’d ever gone and it was a long way down. She was relieved when she finally got to the floor. She crept forward. It was shocking, she thought to herself, how unclean these humans were up close. The dirt on their shoes was simply revolting. Down the aisle she went. She tried her best to rush, after all, she was no big spider and she only had an hour and a half.

The movie cast a spell over the audience. Everywhere she looked, feet were still and faces were upturned toward the glowing screen. No one noticed her as she legged her way across carpet and footlights. She wasn’t really one for exercise, but finally, huffing and puffing, she reached that first aisle, where she’d seen the glitter of silver and stone.

Right in the middle of the aisle, she found the pointy toed-shoe she’d been seeking. For some reason, these young women always wore those stupid shoes. Personally, she didn’t see the need for shoes in the first place, much less the painful contraptions that human females tortured themselves with.

But she decided as she crawled north on the shoe leather and made her way onto the jean-leg, it really wasn’t her place to judge. From the jean leg, she hopped north to the armrest. She heaved a sigh of relief that everyone was still focused on the screen.

Carefully, she edged towards her destination, landing lightly on the couple’s entwined hands. The stone sparkled enticingly, mere inches away. Slowly, painstakingly, she wrapped her pincers around the ring, dancing around the young woman’s hand as she pulled off her prize. She was aware of every muscle, every twitch of the fingers she sat on. More than once, she sat still, holding her breath as the surface moved beneath her.

Finally, she was safe and sound on the floor, pulling her prize behind her on a gossamer thread. The stone was even more beautiful than she could imagine, its facets reflecting her own beautiful face back at her, shimmering with her own beauty. She dragged it back to her web, feeling its satisfying weight as she crept. She clambered up the wall, eight legs scurrying and wove her gem into her web.

It was her centerpiece. Finally, her life was complete. Admittedly, there was no guy standing on bended knee, begging for her company, but she didn’t need one. With the gem reflecting back her own shimmering dark beauty, she didn’t need to pretend that she was loved. She loved herself and it was enough.

She sat with her furry black body perched on that silvery hoop and watched as the movie ended in yet another fairy-tale ending. And she smirked as the couple ransacked the theatre, crawling on the floors and rooting through the garbages. They didn’t need the ring, she knew. They had each other.

And she had her prize.

Beauty Cont'd

This is also one I started a while ago that I've picked back up (and again, it's fairy tale themed, although this one's quite recognizable. It's been kind of done to death, but I'm doing it anyway). I'm reposting what I've already posted, for the sake of ease, and I've added a bit onto the end and I plan to continue with it when I have more time.

- Yelena

I never even really wanted the stupid flower. And it’s not worth the price I have to pay.

My father asked each of us what we would like from his trip to the city and my stepsisters’ eyes lit up with the glow that they only get when gifts are mentioned. Stella wanted jewels, of course. She requested rubies and garnets to match her new red silk dress. And sapphires to match her eyes. Diana wanted dresses, yards of silk and velvet. She wanted lace petticoats and all fabrics in the brightest colors. She requested the most expensive ones, naturally. And then he turned to me, expecting me to demand something equally inane and ridiculous.

I asked him for the most beautiful flower he could find.

I wanted him to see that I was different, that I wasn’t like them. Maybe I just wanted to him to look at me and really see me for once. He hadn’t really met my eyes since mother died. I didn’t really want a flower. I wanted my father back.

It was October then. The flowers were starting to die. Maybe I just wanted to hold on to a little piece of beauty in this season of darkness, to prove to myself that life really does go on. And once I had said it, I couldn’t take it back.

He wrote it down on his list with the other requests, one more item to check off. He didn’t look at me. He just muttered a gruff good-bye and shouldered his bag. I tried to keep the tears from my eyes as he walked out to the waiting carriage and left without a backward glance.

I knew Stella and Diana would mock me mercilessly if I cried.

Daddy’s little girl, they called me, knowing he had barely spoken to me since Mother died.

“Does the little baby miss her daddy?” Diana crooned in her saccharine voice.

I walked up the stairs to the garret, knowing they wouldn’t follow me. They hate mice.

******

He came back on the first of December, looking much older than his forty years. I barely recognized him and the sorrow in his face was painful to look at. We all rushed out to meet him.

Diana and Stella yelled at the servants to help with the trunks; they wanted to get a look at the gifts he’d brought. They wanted to see if the jewels were big enough and if the silks were rich enough. They’d find something to complain about.

The coachman gingerly helped Father down from his seat in the carriage. As soon as his feet were on the ground, he stumbled over to me. Tears were in his eyes. Before I had the chance to say anything, he’d wrapped me up in his arms. He held me tightly and for the first time since Mother died, I knew how much he really loved me.

He pulled back for a moment and looked into my eyes. I smiled at him and he could hold back no more.

“I’m sorry,” he told me, right before he burst into tears.

******

The servants helped him inside as he wept and I watched, unable to move.

Finally, when all the things had been packed away, all of the fine things properly admired by my stepsisters, who couldn’t care less about father’s condition, we all sat in the parlor.

Stella and Diana draped themselves across the couches and the servants had placed father in the easy chair. Stepmother was away on a visit, so I wouldn’t have to suffer her haunting presence while Father told his story.

The rose lay on the coffee table. Even in the dim firelight, it gave off an otherworldly glow, its scarlet petals becoming embers in our eyes.

I sat down at his knees and looked up at him, waiting for him to begin. He took my hand and held it between his own thin white ones.

“All was well while I was in the city,” he began quietly. “I was able to trade our goods for a fair value. Swiftly, I found as many beautiful gems as any young lady could want and found enough yards of expensive silks to clothe an army of princesses.”

He nodded at my stepsisters and I smirked, knowing that there would never be enough jewels or expensive clothes to satisfy them. He took a deep breath and continued.

“But I could not find any flowers. There were none beautiful enough for my little girl. I visited every florist and merchant in the city. I looked at Dutch tulips and English primroses. I sought every flower imaginable, but in the dark of winter, they were all beginning to wilt and I could not disgrace myself by bringing home a wilted flower. None of the silk flowers were lovely enough. Finally, I resigned myself to coming home empty-handed.”

He looked down at me.

“I hoped you would forgive me,” he said. “We left the city at noon, two days ago, hoping to ride through the night and arrive by morning. I was a fool. We should’ve waited until the next morning but I was eager to be home again, after so many weeks spent away. I didn’t want to wait. So, like a spoiled child, I commanded the servants to load up the carriage. We left just as the sun began to sink.”

“The forest at midnight was not the one we had known during the day. The paths turned and betrayed us. The familiar landmarks hid themselves and the canopy of black branches crowded out the starlight. Soon we were lost, with nothing but a single lantern to light the way. We had almost given up hope. We decided to stop where we were and spend the night in the carriage. Daylight would show us the way home, we hoped, but then the lantern showed us the garden.”

“It was the most beautiful garden I have ever seen in my life. It was filled with every flower I’ve ever known and plenty that I could not name. The colors blended together, brilliant reds and blues and greens and purples. It looked like an exotic painting. And surrounded by snow, in the dead of winter, these flowers bloomed as though it was May. I saw the roses almost immediately. They sat at the heart of the garden and they glowed as though the sun itself lay inside them. ”

“The garden stood at the foot of a great castle. We hadn’t noticed it before. The entire structure sat in darkness, with not a single window lit. I thought, surely its owners must have abandoned it for warmer climes. And I thought that they wouldn’t begrudge me one little rose. They probably wouldn’t even notice one missing, I thought, not after they had been gone for so long.”

“I climbed out of the carriage and made my way to the center of the garden, careful not to trample any flowers. I removed the pen-knife from my belt and gingerly clipped a red rose. I was looking at the flower in my hands when a roar knocked me off my feet.”

“My hands sprang to cover my ears from the painful noise and the rose fell to the ground as I met the gaze of a fearsome beast. He must’ve been over nine feet tall, covered in a shaggy brown fur. One of his claws wrapped itself around my throat as he lifted me off my feet. His grip began to choke the life from me and I couldn’t breathe. A deep gurgling voice, accompanied by a foul stench, came from his snout.

‘What are you doing here? You thought you could steal MY roses and get away with it?’

I couldn’t reply, couldn’t find the air, but somehow, I must’ve coughed out the words ‘my daughter,’ because I swiftly found myself hurled down on the snowy turf.

His eyes narrowed and he growled at me as I struggled to scoot away. I could see sharp white teeth, each as long as my finger. I dreaded what he would do to me next.

‘What about your daughter?’

I explained to him your request and how I couldn’t return home without a gift for you. I explained,” he tripped over his words here, and fresh tears fell from his eyes. “I explained how much I love you.”

“He told me that a price must be paid. He said… he said that I would take the flower but only in return for a life. That I must return there, to his castle, a week from that day, or that I must send you in my place.”

He stopped talking and broke down weeping.

I knew then what I must do and I hated it. I knew I could not let him go back into that forest. I could not let him face that creature.

I only asked for that silly flower because I wanted my father to notice me. And now, thanks to one foolish choice, I’ll never see him again.

******

I lay on an old sofa in the garret. My eyes stared into the dark, but the night was moonless and black. The house around me was silent and if I concentrated, I could almost feel the heat of sleeping bodies in the rooms beneath me.

“Get up,” I told myself, forcing my arms to push me up off of the dusty old sofa. My feet flumped onto the floor quietly.

I wanted to stay up there, to lie in the quiet and the warmth of that dusty old attic forever. I didn’t want to leave. And I really didn’t want to imagine what was waiting for me out in that forest. But I had to.

I pulled myself up and picked up the bag that I had packed. I slung it over my shoulder as I headed down the stairs. It wasn’t heavy. I decided not to take very much with me. I took some bread and dried sausage from the kitchen, along with a brick of hard cheese. And I took whatever warm clothes would fit, a few pairs of woolen leggings and some warm sweaters.

The stairs creaked as I made my way down to the second floor, but I wasn’t worried about waking anyone up. My stepmother and stepsisters were sound sleepers. My father was a light sleeper, but I knew that he’d taken a calming draught before he went to sleep and nothing would rouse him any time soon.

I could hear my stepsisters’ snoring through their bedroom doors and for once I was grateful. It made the night less hazy, less like a dream. And it made what I was about to do seem a little less real.

I walked softly down the hall, past my stepsisters’ room and slowly turned the knob to enter my father’s bedroom. My stepmother lay on the opposite side of the bed, facing the window and I was grateful I wouldn’t have to see her hateful face again.

He was facing me, snoring softly, nothing like the grunts and snorts coming out of my stepmother. His face was drawn and thin. There was much more white in his hair now. The moonlight cast a bluish glow across his face, making him look ghostly in the half-darkness. I hope he would get better, even if I wasn’t there to see it.

The rose lay on the cherry-wood table by his bed, glowing softly in the moonlight. I knelt over him and planted a last kiss on his cheek. He stayed fast asleep. I felt the tears building behind my eyes, so I grabbed the rose and left the room quickly. The kiss didn’t wake him but crying most definitely would. I calmed myself as I walked down the last flight of stairs and into the main hall.

I pulled on my boots and put on my warmest coat. I opened the door and blue moonlight flooded the room, casting everything in grey. I took a deep breath and looked around the house, seeing it for the last time before I shut the door behind me and walked out into the night.

The Monster in My Closet

I imagine this one as more of a picture book. I know I'll have to simplify some of the language for it to be a picture book and probably I'll have to shorten it, but hopefully it's enjoyable as it is for now.

- Yelena

I always known it was there, hiding from me. I’ve heard the rustlings at night.

Mom tucks me in. She gives me a kiss and turns off the light. She leaves the room and that’s when I hear it. The strange noises come from the closet, scratching and rumblings.

I know there’s a monster in there. I don’t know what he looks like. Sometimes I imagine he’s covered in slimy green scales and has strange yellow eyes. Or maybe he’s covered in fur and has huge claws, like a bear. Maybe, I think, he’s like an octopus, with lots of legs and poisonous suckers.

I make these pictures in my head and I always fall asleep waiting for him to come out. I’m scared of the night when he’ll finally come out of my closet, but I don’t want him to catch me while I’m sleeping, so I’ve promised myself that tonight I’m going to stay up as long as it takes.

My mother gives me a kiss and tucks me in. She turns off the lights and shuts the door. And the noises start.

I sit in my bed with the blankets pulled up to my chin and I wait. I know that there’s a good chance I’ll be eaten tonight. It’s really too bad, I think, because my stinky little brother will get all of my toys.

I wait and I wait. The night gets darker and darker until it looks like my room is made of shadows. It’s so dark that I can barely see the large shadow that comes out of the closet and creeps into the room. When it gets closer, I can see that none of my ideas even came close.

He’s huge. He has to be at least nine feet tall and has horns on his head like a bull. They look sharp, even in the darkness and I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of those horns. His teeth are sharp and they look like the pictures of Tyrannosaurus Rex teeth from the books at school. He’s covered in green fur and once he gets closer, I can see he glows in the dark. His eyes are a poisonous, burning green and I’m trembling as he comes closer to the bed.

I watch as he gets closer and closer. And I’m scared, because I’m sure getting eaten by a big, green monster is going to hurt.

But he passes my bed and I watch as he goes to the corner of the room. Slowly, he opens my toy box.

“Oooh, Barbies!”

It’s so quiet that I hear the words clearly. His voice is low and gravelly, but I’m sure that’s what he said. It’s enough to make me crawl forward to the foot of my bed.

“Hello?” I say.

He jumps and his fur waves like grass.

“Oh, you’re awake?” he asks, in his deep voice, as he comes closer to the bed with a Barbie doll in each hand.

“Yes, I’m awake,” I tell him. Now I’m starting to get impatient. I’m not sure if I’m going to get eaten, but if I am, I’d rather get it over with. “I knew that there was a monster in my closet. And I wanted to see you for myself.”

“So, you knew I was there the whole time?” he asked.

“Well,” I answer slowly. “You weren’t being very quiet.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I think for a moment that he actually looks sad, if enormous green monsters are capable of looking sad.

I don’t know what to say now and we’re both quiet for a few moments. He’s looking at me and I’m looking back at him.

“So…” I ask. “Are you going to eat my toes now?”

This instantly gets a reaction. He scoots away from the bed.

“Eeeewww.” His face scrunches up the way my brother’s does when someone offers him liver. “Why would I do that? Do you know how gross feet taste?”

“I know how gross they smell,” I tell him. “They probably taste about the same.”

“Worse,” he says and I believe him.

“So….. would you rather start with an arm?” I ask, holding out my left arm to him.

“Blech,” he says. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Aren’t you going to eat me?” I ask.

“No way,” he tells me, looking disgusted at the suggestion. “I’m a strict vegetarian. But I am a little hungry, if you’ve got any carrots or broccoli sitting around.”

Now it’s my turn to look disgusted. Ewww. Broccoli.

“Don’t you eat people?” I ask. “Isn’t that what you monsters do?”

“Nope.” He shakes his head so that his fur waves like grass again. “A few of us do like chicken, but that’s about it.”

“If you’re not here to eat me, what are you doing in my room?”

Now he looks embarrassed and glances down at the Barbie Dolls he’s holding in his hands. He looks back at me before he speaks again.

“You have the best toys,” he tells me.

“Is that why you came?”

“Yup.”

He nods so hard his horns almost stick into the mattress.

“You just want to play?” I ask.

A big smile breaks across his face. He has a lovely smile, for a big green monster.

I take one of the dolls from his hand.

“I’ll be Skipper,” I tell him. “If you’ll be Barbie.”

When he answers, it’s in a Barbie-doll voice and I know it’s going to be a fun night.

We start out playing Barbies’ and when that gets dull we break out my toy blocks and build a castle. He helps me with the tall parts and I’ve never built a better one.

We play all night, until the sun starts to come up. He has to go back into the closet and I crawl back into bed, yawning.

I’m still tired when my Mom comes to wake me up in the morning, but it’s ok. Because I’ve met the monster in my closet. And he’s my new best friend.