Stomach vs. Me

(Warning: This story is not for the faint of stomach. It involves puking.)

  When I was a child, I often got the flu or a bad cold, and was at the mercy of my overly delicate internal system. My record of puking in one day is sixteen times, and that’s a fact. My body was more of a spoiled brat than I was, throwing tantrums at every possible moment.

  However, those days are in the past, because now I am a mature and in-control seventeen year old. I have carefully learned the art of ignoring my stomach’s complaints, and can put off having a cold for weeks. It’s really all in the power of the mind, I have discovered. That, or I’m just lazy.

  Once such example of this new found power happened during spring break. We were visiting my aunt and uncle for a few days. My aunt is a wonderful cook and I took every opportunity to stuff myself silly with croissants, potatoes and sausages of all kinds. It felt like my days were full of meal after meal, and I really don’t remember actually feeling hungry at all during those few days.

  All was well, right until the evening before we were going to drive home. Before going to bed, I watched a TV show with my parents, snacking on leftovers from supper. And of course, I had to wash the food down with a glass of juice.

  Feeling quite satisfied, I said goodnight to my parents and wandered off to my room. Being a writer, I like to stay up late, working on stories and chatting with people on Facebook. At around eleven o’clock, I was feeling rather tired, and knew I should go to sleep, because I’d be getting up early the next day. I closed the laptop, wrote in my journal for a few minutes, and then turned off the light.

  The darkness was so warm and cozy and I felt quite content as I burrowed under the covers. My bed was just a mattress on the floor, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t comfortable. I was so excited to sleep. Already, I could feel my brain shutting down, and knew that I would fall asleep in no time.

  Until my stomach suddenly started to complain. Usually, my stomach only complains quietly and I can easily ignore it. Tonight though, it was super loud, annoying me greatly.

  “Hey! Hey you! Yeah, you, stop ignoring me!” It said, and I rolled my eyes. “Go away, Stomach, I’m trying to sleep.”

  It was silent for a few moments, and I closed my eyes. Then it yelled, “No, I don’t want to let you sleep! I hate you!”

  I wasn’t too upset by this, seeing as the feeling was mutual. I was already half in dreamland, and was too tired to do anything but sleep. My stomach would just have to deal with it.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you!!” It shrieked, and for a moment, I wondered if my stomach was actually really serious today. I curled onto my side and growled angrily. “Go die, stomach.”

 This made my stomach really mad, and then it asked my imagination for reinforcements. Suddenly, the only things I could think of were gross things, like dead animals, and eyeballs, and axe murderers. I realized what my stomach’s plan of attack was, and shook my head stubbornly.

  “Really, Stomach, this is quite childish of you, resorting to such low tricks. I don’t feel like getting up to puke, and that’s that.”

 

  My stomach whined at me. “I told you over and over to never eat food again! But do you listen to me? Noooo. You just think you know best, and so you eat, causing me such awful distress.”

  “Oh, cry me a river and shut up.” I grumbled, now trying to ignore both my stomach and my imagination. However, my imagination was far more powerful than my stomach, and once it had decided to turn against me (the traitorous wretch), I knew it was a lost cause. Still, I wasn’t going to give my stomach the satisfaction of rushing to the bathroom and puking, like it had won or something.

   “Really now, go puke. I don’t really have a reason, but I just want you to puke.” My stomach said, and I’m pretty sure it chuckled evilly.

  “Stomach, I don’t want to get up, and I’m already half asleep. Do you know how far the bathroom is from here?”

 “GO NOW!!” It screamed, and then followed with several terrible swear words that I wouldn’t dream of repeating.

    Just to spite my stomach, I lay there for ten more minutes, and then sat up slowly, taking my time and thinking to myself, “Hm…maybe I should puke. Maybe that’s something I should do.” As though my stomach wasn’t the one with the idea.

   I shuffled as slowly as possible to the bathroom, and I felt like I was taking a lovely stroll in a park. My mind had already fallen asleep, and I couldn’t be bothered to rush around in a panic. It took too much of an effort.

 

  Slowly, I turned on the light, slowly closed the door, and then slowly knelt down by the toilet, rather lopsidedly, because I was so tired. My stomach had its moment of fury, and the mental image that came to mind was of those sewage tunnels that spew waste out into the ocean. It made me start giggling, even though I had just puked my guts out.

  This defeated my stomach completely and it gave up, calling off my imagination as it retreated. I flushed the toilet and then sat on the floor. Getting up felt like too much work, so I sat there for a good twenty minutes, contemplating my existence.

 

  “Well, that was an interesting adventure.” I finally thought, and shuffled back to bed, tripping over the carpet in the process.

“I’ll be back.” My stomach whispered, but by then, I had already fallen asleep.

 End

Boudicca Reflects

  History can be so boring sometimes, so I decided to write a little something from the perspective of one of my favorite historical people, Boudicca, a Celtic warrior in AD 60 or so. Enjoy!

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Those of my people who are still alive call me a hero. A martyr. Someone to be remembered for ages to come, even after our lands are long destroyed. They have written songs about me, praising my courage and strength, and how I stood firm in the face of destruction.

   I don’t think I deserve any of these praises. And if they knew that I was still alive, then perhaps they wouldn’t praise me so. The truth is, I only wanted revenge, and in the end, it killed hundreds of our people, leaving me to run away like a coward. They call me a great leader, the Warrior Queen. I never wanted to lead my people. I never wanted to command an army. Yet in the end, I did, and now I am immortalized forever.

  The bards tell stories of how intimidating I was and how strong. All this was fueled by my anger. My hatred. The Romans had always pushed at us, causing us to hate them, but what they did to my daughters…that was unforgivable, and I wanted to see their blood spilled for it.

  The first injustice, of course, was how the Romans had ignored my husband’s last wishes. The land that he owned was to go to me, and my daughters. Ah, the Romans and their foolish notions of women being weak, of not being allowed to own land or lead their own lives after the husband has died. My daughters and I survived their brutality, despite what they thought.

  They should not have let me lived. While the flogging I received was painful, the only real pain I felt was when I heard the screams of my two daughters. My daughters, both so sweet and trusting. Those Roman soldiers had no right to them, and yet they took them. Raped them while I was tied to the flogging post, unable to do anything.

   Once the soldiers had left us, taking our land and money away from us, it was then that the anger inside me grew. It festered like an unattended wound and revenge was never far from my mind. The Roman soldiers, each and every one, were to blame. They took our lands. They took our children. They did what they pleased because none of us dared to strike back.

  Finally, I had had enough. Because my husband had been leader of our tribe, the Iceni, I led them in a revolt. We joined forces with several other tribes and destroyed some settlements. We attacked a legion and defeated them. Revenge tasted sweet and my people were willing to go further. What had started as a personal battle quickly turned into a full scale revolt my people against the Romans.

  We destroyed Londinium and continued on to other settlements. The Roman governor Suetonius fled before us, realizing he was too weak to stand against us. At least, he was until his new forces arrived and he prepared for battle.

  My people would have followed me to the ends of the earth. Anything I told them, they would have believed. With revenge comes a great sense of power, and I relished in it. For once, our oppressors had become the oppressed. We were finally going to rid our lands of the Romans, for once and for all.

  I do not think that I could have stopped the battle, even if I had wanted to. Even if I had refused to go into that last, fateful battle, my people would have continued on, drunk on the wine of promised victory. At the time, retreating simply did not make sense. Though the Romans had new forces and were ready to fight, we still outnumbered them.

  Perhaps the gods did not want the Romans to leave our lands yet. Perhaps it was not the right time. Perhaps the revenge in my heart had turned me into something awful, and I was being punished, and with me, the rest of my people who fought that day.

  There may not be an answer as to why we lost the battle. We fought well and I am so proud of my people. We were united, and for a time, it seemed we would win. I can still hear the battle cries, and can still feel the energy of everyone around me. That was a good battle and everyone fought well.

  Yet that was not enough. In the end, we were the ones who lost and everyone was killed, save myself. I lay there among the fallen bodies, recognizing friends and their families. My vision was blurring, from a head wound. I could hear the Roman soldiers getting closer now, to count the dead and kill anyone who still lived. Crawling away, like a snake, I made my escape to a nearby forest. Before I reached the trees, however, I saw two bodies that broke my heart.

  My two daughters died that day. With all the revenge in my heart, it had blinded my eyes from the real issue. I wanted to protect my daughters, reclaim their honor. But in the end, they too fell dead like the others, and now only I was left.

  I've lived alone in a forest cave ever since. Almost overnight, after that battle, my red hair turned grey. The revenge that had so long dwelled in my heart is now gone, leaving me empty inside. I hear the songs about me and shudder.

  Becoming a hero of my people was never my intent, and the older I become, the more I wonder at all of it. Yet…my people were brought together for a time. They nearly dispelled the Romans from our precious lands.

   If a hero I must be, then so be it. If me being called a hero gives the people hope, something to remember, then let me be called a hero. Let me inspire generations to come to be strong, to unite, and not sway under oppression. Only then will all of this have had any meaning.

Character Drawing-Kalani

Here's a drawing of a character from a story I'm currently working on. Her name is Kalani  :)

Supper Time-The Distressing Ordeal

   Sometimes, I think adults forget how truly difficult life is when you're only five years old. Oh, sure, it's all fun and games, that is, until it's supper time...then begins the distressing ordeal.

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  I always ran to the table when it was supper time, so that I could eat and go back to my play time. About two minutes in, it already became apparent that while I could eat as quickly as a ravenous wolf, the rest of my family had become a herd of turtles, intent on eating as slowly as possible. After looking up from the remains of my meal, it was painfully obvious that play time would just have to wait.

  The adults really enjoyed their talking while they ate, but as a five year old, all I could think about was the toys that were calling out to me. They were begging, pleading that I return to them as quickly as possible. How could they understand that I was chained to my chair by the "we don't get up until everyone is done eating" rule? Would they think that I had abandoned them? The more these dreadful thoughts filled my mind, the more I wriggled in my chair, mentally urging my family to eat faster.

   Finally, my family was nearly done and I was ready to bolt from my chair. However, my mother finally looked at my plate and said, "Oh, you haven't touched your bean-spinach puree. You have to finish that before you can get up."

  Utter despair filled my heart. Tears began to well up in my eyes. "Mom, I'm too full."

She smiled and I felt hopeful. But then she said, "Well then, you can sit here until you're hungry again."

  I started to panic, seeing that everyone was going to get up soon. Glancing at the loathsome green mush, I wished that it would just grow legs and walk back to whatever vile place it had come from. This was just so unfair. I hadn't asked for this puree, so why should it keep me from my valuable play time?

  Desperately, I began to come up with ways of getting rid of the dreadful substance. I poked at it with my spoon, spreading it around the plate so that it looked eaten. Then I managed to "accidently" drop some on the floor. I put some in my mouth and then asked to go to the washroom, where I disposed of it in the toilet. Still, when I came back, there was a noticeable amount left on my plate and I had run out of ways to get rid of it.

  Everyone else was done and had started to leave the table, off to better things. I watched my older cousins leave to go play, and a longing pulled at my heart. They simply couldn't understand the torment I was going through.

  My mother began to clear the table and I started to plead with her. "Mom, I can't eat this. I'm allergic."

 She shook her head. "You're not."

  I tried a different tactic. "Well, it's not cooked enough. So I can't eat it."

  Looking at the puree, she sighed and said, "Yes, it is. Now hurry up and eat it so you can go play."

 She was about to leave and I knew that I had to take drastic measures. "Mom, if you let me not eat this, then I'll clean my room, I promise."

  My last hope left the room, not even dignifying my bribery attempt with an answer. I was lost.

  At this point, I wasn't poor five year old girl anymore, no, I was a captive princess who was an orphan and was being tortured in a dark dungeon by evil trolls who liked to make food out of snail vomit. They were forcing me to eat it because they knew it would make me fatally ill and I wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

  I had to stay strong! I would never give in! I would sit in that chair till the end of the world, if I had to, but there was no way I was going to eat the puree!

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  Two hours later, my resolve finally began to crumble. Not only was I hungry again, but I was also bored out of my mind. My imagination could only last for so long at a time.

  Feeling terribly noble, I picked up the spoon. Though in all likelihood this green stuff would kill me, I had to eat it, or die of boredom. Grabbing onto one last scrap of imagination, I became the brave princess who would suffer through this to save her people. Everything depended on me eating the bean-spinach puree and I would willingly suffer for my people.

  A few bites and then three cups of water later, I was done. I had come through the valley of darkness. As I got up from the table, legs wobbling a little bit, I thought I could hear a choir of angels singing. I had completed my trial and could now reap my reward of play time.

  As I put my plate in the sink, my mother came into the kitchen. "Oh good, you're finally done."

  I nodded proudly. She began to wash my plate. "Well, go brush your teeth and put your pajamas on. It's time for bed."

  Needless to say, that night, the orphaned princess had escaped from one dungeon, only to find herself in another one, left alone to plot her revenge.

Haunted Nursery

(This short story is based on a song by Midnight Syndicate, with the same title. Their music is always very image inspiring, despite the dark themes. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJRjEC_tku8 )

Haunted Nursery

  “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you.” Said Wellington as I tried to open a locked door.

   I frowned and turned to him. “Why ever not? This is my house now and I should think I have the right to go into every room, don’t you?”

 He wiped his balding head with a handkerchief and said “But Miss Morana, this is a very old house, in which there are some rooms where…well, you just shouldn’t go into this one!”

  I laughed and put a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. “Are you scared? You think a ghost might pop out and scare you? It’s just another room! This is my house now and I intend to explore every inch of it.”

 Wellington blew his nose in a rather nervous fashion and said “But…the Master never went in there. He even had this room padlocked. I-I don’t know where it’s gone now….”

  I rolled my eyes and rested my hands on my hips. “Listen, Wellington; you’re just the family butler, got it? I’m not my father. If he didn’t like to go into certain rooms, then whatever, that was his problem, got it?”

  Wellington nodded as he fiddled with his handkerchief. Then he put it in his pocket. “I understand, Miss Morana. I’m terribly sorry for speaking against you. I just thought that…that I should warn you!”

 I sighed, trying to be patient. I hadn’t seen him for a very long time and I had forgotten what he could be like. “Oh, Wellington…I’m sorry for getting angry, alright? It’s just that…ever since Dad died…everyone’s been trying to tell me what to do and how to behave, as if I was some commoner just because I haven’t lived here since Mom took me away. But I know how to behave! Even if I haven’t lived in this house since I was seven, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be the Lady Morana De Mors!”

  I turned away from him and frowned at the door, planning out how I would get into that room. I had been in nearly every other room in this large, rambling mansion, but this one…I didn’t even remember it from my childhood. It was rather odd, actually. Then again, I had only been seven, and now I was twenty-seven.

 “Wellington…I really do want to get into this room, alright? So please, I’d appreciate it if you’d either help me get in, or go somewhere else.”

He looked at me nervously, crinkling up his handkerchief. “Alright, Miss Morana, I'll help you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

I rolled my eyes but had to smile at him. “Thanks. Now, go get me the lock picking kit that’s on my nightstand. I bought it just before I came here, because I knew Dad would have locked rooms.”

He bowed his head and shuffled off while I inspected the lock again.

After about an hour of trying, I heard the tell-tale click and slowly opened the door. It took a considerable amount of force but I finally found myself standing in the doorway of the now unlocked room.

My first glance around the dark room relieved little. Like most of the abandoned rooms, sheets covered everything in a pitiful attempt to keep the dust away. I could tell, however, that there were large stacks of boxes on the far side of the room.

Wellington came up behind me, holding out a flashlight. I took it gratefully and said “I'll explore the room for awhile and then I'll have lunch.”

He bowed his head, saying “I'll go prepare it then.”

“Thanks, Wellington.” I said. He smiled but then glanced at the open door and walked away. I rolled my eyes and walked into the room.

My second quick look around proved to be more informative. Several boxes that weren’t covered by the sheets were open, and I could see little porcelain dolls peeking out. Their eyes stared at me, as if trying to speak to me, but failing. I shivered a little and looked around some more.

I could now see that on the floor were many little toys, most of them broken and all of them covered in cobwebs and dust. The more I tried to see them, the darker the room seemed to get, despite the small beam of my flashlight.

I whirled around as I heard a crash and then a shattering. Looking around the dark room, I could see that one of the boxes had fallen over for some reason. Several old dolls had smashed and now their pieces were lying all over the floor. As I bent down to pick one doll up, I thought I heard another sound.

 I stiffened and listened closely. It sounded like a baby crying. I frowned but then the noise stopped. Just my imagination.

But then there was a creak. I turned, just as the door closed. I ran over to it and pulled on the door, but it remained closed. I pounded on the door. “Wellington? If this is your idea of a joke, then I’m not amused! Let me out this second!”

Nothing happened. But then I heard the crying again. I turned around, my back now to the door. Shaking, I tried to see where the sound might be coming from, but I couldn’t tell.

It suddenly felt very cold and I sneezed, dropping the flashlight. The sound of both my sneeze and the shattering glass echoed and I felt like I was very small, in a very large room. This is stupid. Keep it together!

I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and I whirled to look, eyes wide in the darkness. A tinkly noise sounded and then the something moved again.

I took a step closer, trying to feel braver than I actually was. As my eyes adjusted a little, I saw that the thing that was moving was a large music box that was shaped like a merry-go-round. Miniature horses traveled around in circles, going up and down with the music. The music sounded vaguely familiar, for some reason. I tried to place it, but couldn’t.

But that still didn’t explain why the music box had just started up for no reason. I walked closer and touched it. It kept going, the song getting faster, instead of slowing down.

More noises came from behind me and I looked. An old rocking horse was moving on its own. I frowned. What is going on? These things shouldn’t be moving!

Another faint sound came to me and I frowned, trying to figure out what it was. As it got louder, it also became clearer. Singing. A little child, singing.

“A ring, a ring, of roses; a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”

I shivered and then called out “Hello? Who’s there?”

There was silence. And then a little white figure appeared before me, causing me to gasp.

“Want to play?” Asked the figure. It was a little girl, of maybe five or six years old. She wore an old faded dress, and had no shoes on. Her hair was a long, black tangled mess and her skin…her skin was as white as snow. It wasn’t normal.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. She smiled at me, her eyes staring. Something about her eyes scared me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

“Morgan. And who are you?”

I was startled by the question. I mean, this was my house, after all. “I’m Morana. As in, the Lady Morona De Mors, the one who now owns this house?”

She stared at me blankly, as if none of that meant anything. I suddenly realized why her eyes scared me; either her pupils were enormous, or her eye color was pitch black. They were like the blackest of coals.

“You own this house? But what happened to…hmm…there was someone else, before, wasn’t there?”

I nodded. “Mr. De Mors? He was my father. He died and now I own this place.”

She frowned, biting her thin lip. “Dead? Too?”

I was confused. “What do you mean, ‘too’?”

She shook her head and twirled around. “I want to play. Play with me!”

This was ridiculous. And yet I found myself holding her cold hand, and dancing with her. She sang her song again. “A ring, a ring, of roses; a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”

We crashed to the ground and she started giggling wildly. I felt laughter bubble up and tried to quench it. But the more she laughed, the more I wanted to laugh. Finally, I gave into the feeling and laughed loudly. She grinned wickedly.

“I win. I made you laugh.” She announced as she stood up.

“So…what are you doing here, Morgan?” I asked her, also standing.

She frowned, the change so sudden that I almost laughed again. But her voice was so serious that I didn’t dare. “I belong here. I am home.”

“Um…no offense, but this is my house, you know. How can this be home for you?” I asked her, suddenly feeling wary of her again.

She looked away, shaking her head violently. “No, no! Can’t tell! He’ll be angry and then sad and I can’t tell, we’ll all fall down!” She ended in a singsong voice again and started twirling around.

“Listen, Morgan. I have to know why you’re in my house.” I said, taking a step towards her.

She shrieked and I was suddenly flung backwards into the far wall. I crumpled to the ground, the back of my head pounding. She continued to shriek, but it wasn’t as loud now. She seemed to be looking at something while she did, though I couldn’t tell what.

Then my vision started to go fuzzy and I fell unconscious.

“Miss Morana! Wake up, Miss!” Wellington’s voice came through my fogged mind and I opened my eyes slowly. I was in a well lit room; the library.

Sitting up slowly, I rubbed the back of my head and groaned. “What…what happened?”

Wellington handed me a glass of water and I took little sips from it. As I did, he began to explain.

“You see, Miss Morana, she couldn’t tell you because…well, she promised she wouldn’t.”

“But Wellington, who is she?”

“Your twin sister.”

I choked on my sip of water and he patted my back until I could breathe properly again. “My sister? My twin sister? Look at me, Wellington! Do I look like a little girl?”

He shook his head and waited for me to calm down so he could continue. “She is your twin sister, Miss. She’s also dead. A ghost. That’s why she appears the age that she is.”

I closed my eyes, sure that he had finally lost it.

“Please keep an open mind, Miss.” He said and I sighed, opening my eyes again. “All right, go on.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember her. When she died, you were upset for months, barely eating, not playing at all. The doctor finally said that you had completely suppressed your memories of her.”

I tried to argue against him but could say nothing. Even while he was explaining, little memories seemed to be peeping into my mind. Myself, but different. Laughing and playing with dolls. Oh no…those dolls!

“My old toys…they were in that room! Packed away!” I said, sitting up even more but falling back in pain. He nodded.

“The dolls were Morgan’s favorites. You couldn’t look at them without screaming after she died.”

I kept shaking my head, but I knew it all must have been true. “How did…how did she die?”

He sighed. “There’s part of the reason your father never said anything. This will be hard for you, Morana.”

I swallowed. “Tell me.”

He took a deep breath and began. “Your mother loved her work, as you know. She was seldom at home during the day, and your father was often doing work in his study. So you and Morgan had the run of the house. You were only five and a half. You two went everywhere together, exploring and making up games. You rarely were noticed all day.”

I nodded, taking it all in. I seemed to remember this much. “Go on.”

“Well, one day, your father was working on a very important part of his work. Morgan was yelling to you from across the house, but she was right outside his study. He grew angry and put her in the nursery, your room at the time, and locked her in for punishment. Then he went back to his work.”

I felt a lump growing in my stomach and I swallowed again. “Keep going.”

“Well…you know how wrapped up your father would become when working…so…well, he…”

“He forgot about her.” I said, knowing my father too well, though I still couldn’t quite believe it. “So…she died in there?”

He nodded. “When they found her, they all thought it was an accident, and your father never told anyone the truth. You went into instant depression and your father had an excuse to have the nursery locked up, along with all the toys. He decided not to remind you of her, after you got better. But then…after you left, he started seeing her. Hearing her laugh. He was tormented. So finally he went back into the nursery and spoke to her. Told her to never tell anyone what he had done. She was too scared to refuse, and so she never told. I only found out because your father told me, the night before he died.”

I closed my eyes, taking it all in and trying to sort it out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I opened them. “I can’t stay here, you know.”

He nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”

A giggle came from somewhere out in the hall and I shivered again.

End  

The Adventures of Katkin Sharpeyes-And so we begin

(Let me begin this by telling you about Katkin. She's a character that reflects myself in many ways. She's also a wonderful character to write, because she's so diverse and can be anything I want. I haven't done many short stories lately, because they've felt constricting, but now Katkin has opened up the short story world again. I plan for her adventures to be many, and to not be read in any order. Except for this intro: This is where it begins.)

And so we begin:

A gentle breeze blows in a blue glowing void. Almost like water, yet it is air, not water. Small, nearly seen figures flit in and out of the blue area.

“Child.”

One figure solidifies, giggling. “Yes?”

The first Voice is unseen. “You must leave this place. It is time you live elsewhere.”

The figure, a young girl, pouts a little. Suddenly, her human looking ears are replaced with cat ears. A tail appears from under her floating skirt.

“Must I?”

The Voice laughed gently. “You’ll have fun, I promise.”

The tail disappeared and wings like an eagle appeared. “Alright. But only if it’s fun and exciting.” She said, cat ears replaced with rabbit ears.

A glass ball appeared, suspended in the air. “Take this. And go live.”

She grabbed the sphere, looking at it curiously. Then she grinned, turned her red hair green, and then disappeared.

*        *        *        *        * 

All is quiet, frozen in a timeless place. Every tree is a thin skeleton, a shadow of a better time, reaching outwards and upwards. Snow covered the ground, creating a beautiful, yet monotonous setting. Sound is muffled by the thick blanket of white.

As a little bird appears from under a nearby bush, another figure appears. The bird doesn’t see the newcomer, busy instead with the need to find food. The second figure crouches in the darkness, waiting.

With a sudden burst of energy, the second figure leaps upon the first. A squeak emits from the bird but it then falls into silence. The small, lithe cat that attacked it batted at it, searching for life. But it was too late now.

The cat meowed and took a step back. Then, in less than a blink of an eye, there stood not a cat, but a young woman. She sat down on the snow and picked up the bird, green eyes glittering with sorrow.  Holding the bird closer, she gazed at it intently.

"I’m sorry. I only wanted to play.” She whispered.

She dropped the bird onto the ground and then stood up, dusting snow from her pants. She took one last look at the pathetic little bird, and then walked away.

Desdemona

Desdemona

   I leaned my head against the windowpane. It was cold and made me shiver a little as I looked out at the falling rain.

  It was a grey, dismal day, the kind of day that sucked the energy out of you and made you sit somewhere, lifeless, until the sun came out. Which was exactly what I was doing. I was sitting on the window seat in my new room.
  Looking around, I sighed. My room was still filled with brown cardboard boxes. The boxes were filled with everything, from books, to clothes, to my art supplies. I hadn’t been very inspired to unpack them, despite my parents telling me to, over and over again.

  The rain drizzled on as I got up and went downstairs to where my parents were unpacking their own boxes. They hardly noticed me as I walked in the room. I looked around, hoping for something to do, but saw nothing that interested me. I sighed again, utterly bored.

  I hadn’t wanted to move. I loved my old home, back in the city. London. But then my parents both needed a change of scene and new inspiration for their books and blah blah blah. So we packed everything up and moved out into the country, near some nowhere little village.

  My parents loved the place, but I couldn’t say the same thing. There was no one my age around here. Just lots of old people who offered stale biscuits and drank lots of tea. And usually had lots of dogs or cats around. I was allergic to both.

  My mother was putting cups and plates onto a shelf when she finally noticed me standing there. She smoothed down her short, brown hair and said “Emma, if you have nothing to do, then you may as well help with unpacking.”

  I groaned. “Mum, we’ve been unpacking for days! I want a break for a little bit.”

She frowned a little but said nothing as she went back to her unpacking. My dad walked by carrying a bucket of cutlery. “If you’re just going to mope and sigh, then you can do it somewhere else. You may as well go outside and take a walk, if only for a little bit.”

  For some reason, a walk sounded like a good idea, even though it was still raining. I nodded and went to the front door. I grabbed my blue raincoat from the closet, put on my rain boots and then went out into the dreary outdoors.

  Everything seemed to be lacking color. It was late fall, so all the colorful leaves were now dark brown and lying dead underfoot. Tall skeleton trees lined the road as I trudged along, avoiding the large puddles. They seemed too tall, and over all very foreboding. I didn’t like the feeling they gave me.

  After about ten minutes of walking, I was just about ready to turn back when I saw someone sitting by the side of the road. I walked a little closer and saw that it was a rather old woman. She had silver hair that was tied in a bun, though it was a very messy bun. She wore a long dark dress that seemed rather out of place for this day and age; it reminded me of something from my history textbook.

  She saw me and smiled warmly. “Good afternoon, girl. Lovely weather, isn’t it? Come here and talk with me for a little while.” She smiled even more and I could that she was missing several teeth.

  For some reason though, something about her made me want to talk with her. I mentally shrugged. Why not? I had nothing better to do anyway.

   I walked over to her and saw that she was sitting in a fold up chair. As I walked closer, she pulled out another fold out chair and set it up. A little hesitantly, I sat down next to her.

  “There we are then.” She said. Now I could see that she was crocheting a long, red string. In fact, the string was so long that it trailed down all the way to the ground, sitting in the mud. But she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she simply didn’t care.

  “So who are you, dear girl?” She asked, her fingers never stopping for even a moment.

  “My name is Emma Leavenworth. My parents and I just moved here a couple of days ago, in the house down the road.”  I pointed in the direction of my house and she nodded, her fingers flying.

  “I heard about your family. I didn’t know they had a little girl though.”

  I nodded. “Well…they do. Me.”

 She smiled. “Any more of you? Siblings, I mean?”

  I shook my head and sighed. “Nope. Just me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ah, do I detect some unhappiness?”

 I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just, it’s always so boring being the only one, you know? My parents work all the time…they’re writers and are always writing! And I don’t even get to read what they write! It’s so boring.”

  “It would seem so, dear.” She said, nodding her head. The red string was even longer now, and I was surprised by how long it was getting. It was coiled in a little circle, going around her feet.

 “And what’s your name?” I finally asked her.

She smiled, though she didn’t show her teeth this time. “Desdemona.”

 “O-oh.” Was all I could think of to say. She nodded more. “Unusual, isn’t it?”

 “Yeah. But…it’s kind of cool.”

 “Why, thank you, dear child.”

  We fell silent again, the only sound being the rain falling on the ground. It wasn’t raining as hard as earlier, which was nice. Strangely enough though, Desdemona didn’t really seem to be all that wet, even though she wore no hat or raincoat. But I didn’t think much of it.

  “So, my dear, what do you think of this place?”

I shrugged, swinging my leg. “It’s not bad…but there’s no one my age around here. It’s kind of….boring.”

  For a moment, I thought she grinned. But then her face was normal again. Maybe I had just imagined it.

 “I’m afraid that’s the way it is, dear. You’re the first child to live around here since….let me see now….there was that little boy who….well it must be at least twenty years now….it’s been a long time, it has.”

  This seemed odd to me. “Any reason?”

  She shrugged and then frowned as a piece of her thread tangled up. She carefully fixed it and then said “Children have lived here, but…well, you see they don’t ever stay here for that long. It’s rather….odd….” she trailed off and started crocheting again, the tangle completely gone now.

 I sighed. “That’s too bad. Because if there were other kids here, then I would have someone to talk to.”

 She looked up, her fingers still flying. “What about your parents?”

 I shook my head, scowling. “They never have time for me. They’re always too busy for me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that can’t be true.”

 “Oh but it is! If I disappeared….I don’t think they’d even care. Probably wouldn’t even notice.”

 The rain was starting to fall even harder now. I shivered a little and pulled my hood over my head, wiping away some rain drops from my face.

She spoke rather suddenly. “Emma, dear, would you like a present?”

 Warnings about not taking things from strangers alarmed in my head, but I ignored them. “All right, sure.”

  She stopped crocheting long enough to reach into a little bag that I hadn’t seen earlier. She rummaged about and finally pulled something out and held it in her hand.

 “Close your eyes and hold out your hands, dear.” She said, and I did so. I felt something cold and a little heavy get placed in my hands.

  “Alright, open them!” She said, sounding very excited.

I did and looked at what was in my hands. It was a very old looking watch, the kind you would see an old train conductor using. It was all golden and shiny, as if it was polished often. The glass front sparkled and the hands inside were actually moving. I looked at the watch in wonder, not quite believing that she actually meant to give it to me.

  “Wow, this is beautiful! But…are you sure you want to give it me? I mean, you just met me! This must be some sort of…I don’t know, heirloom or something. I-I can’t accept it.”

  She laughed a little. “Of course you can. I have many watches like this one, although each one is a little bit different. I want you to keep it, alright? Oh, but wait. I need to add something to it.”

  Picking up the long strand that she’d been working on, she took one end and tied it to the watch. Then, pulling out some scissors from her bag, she cut the other end so it wasn’t so long. Then she tied it off in a knot, so it wouldn’t unravel.

 “There. The red matches your hair.”

 I touched the watch gently; its’ smooth shiny face was somehow comforting. “Thank you so much.” I said, smiling.

 I suddenly realized what time the watch said; I had been gone for over an hour. “I should go home now. It’s probably time to eat.”

 Getting up, I folded the chair and placed it next to hers. She smiled and said “It was nice talking to you, my dear. I’m sure I'll be seeing you soon.”

 I waved goodbye and trudged back home. The rain had stopped now but the road was as muddy as ever. I nearly lost my boots several times as the mud tried to pull them off.

 Opening the front door, I said “I’m home!” But no one replied, as usual.

That night, I lay in my bed, thinking about the old woman. I pulled out the watched and looked at it for a long time, touching the face and twining the red chord around my fingers. I must have drifted off though, because next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and looking around.

 But I wasn’t in my room. I sat up, very confused. I was lying on the ground, still holding the watch. I was covered only by a thin blanket. The walls were dark brown and as I touched the ground, I saw that it was only dirt. No floor.

 My heart pounding, and a bad feeling starting to rise, I got up and walked over to the doorway. There was no actual door, just a long piece of cloth covering it. I pushed it aside and gasped.

I wasn’t home. I wasn’t in the village. I wasn’t even in a forested, green area. Spread out before me was a sort of desert. Cacti and a few small shrubs dotted the place. I couldn’t see any signs of wildlife.

 The only signs of life were several small huts, spread out in a random fashion. As I stared at it all, a human came out of the hut nearest to me, and started picking some bits and pieces off of one of the bushes.

 I was feeling very scared now. This just wasn’t normal! I had to be dreaming! And yet…everything seemed so real. Too real.

 Before I could figure out what to do next, another figure appeared from around one of the huts, and started coming towards me. A dark feeling of dread filled me as I recognized that small, silver haired figure.

Desdemona.

 I ran towards her, nearly dropping the watch as I tripped over a small root. “Desdemona! What’s going on?”

 She grinned when she saw me and said “Ah, my dear Emma. Aren’t you pleased? You’re finally in a place with no parents that don’t pay attention to you! You’re surrounded my children your age!”

 My jaw dropped. “What are you talking about? Where am I?”

She was using a walking cane, which she leaned on now. “My dear, dear child. You’re in a new place. It’s not on earth. I suppose you might say it’s in another dimension.”

I gaped at her, sure she was crazy. “Are you serious?”

She nodded, still grinning. “I’m not human either. I simply come to earth, looking for something fun to do. Like sending bored, lonely little children to this place.” She motioned to it all with one hand. “This dry, dusty place.”

 I shook my head. “This can’t be real. How can it be?”

At this, she cackled, sending shivers down my back. “The watch. The red chord! All part of my little game. Hehehe, this is so much fun! The look on your face, dear. Priceless. But now I must be going. I have other children to play with.

 “What? You can’t leave me here! I want to go home! I want my parents!”

 She turned away from me, still laughing. “You yourself said they wouldn’t miss you if you disappeared. So it doesn’t matter, now does it?”

 “But I…” I trailed off, at a loss for words. I could feel hot tears welling up in my eyes now, and I bit my lip, trying to stop them.

“Goodbye, child. Enjoy your new life.” She said. Then she waved her stick around and disappeared without a sound.

 On their own accord, my legs carried me to the spot she vanished. I fell down to my knees, the tears falling now. “Please! Take me back!!” I screamed, my fingers clawing at the dry ground where she had been standing. “I want to go home! I want my parents!!”

Want my parents! A mocking echo replied. I stopped screaming, knowing that it was no use now.

End

Haunted Nursery

  “I wouldn’t go in there, if I were you.” Said Wellington as I tried to open a locked door.

   I frowned and turned to him. “Why ever not? This is my house now and I should think I have the right to go into every room, don’t you?”

 He wiped his balding head with a handkerchief and said “But Miss Morana, this is a very old house, in which there are some rooms where…well, you just shouldn’t go into this one!”

  I laughed and put a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. “Are you scared? You think a ghost might pop out and scare you? It’s just another room! This is my house now and I intend to explore every inch of it.”

 Wellington blew his nose in a rather nervous fashion and said “But…the Master never went in there. He even had this room padlocked. I-I don’t know where it’s gone now….”

  I rolled my eyes and rested my hands on my hips. “Listen, Wellington; you’re just the family butler, got it? I’m not my father. If he didn’t like to go into certain rooms, then whatever, that was his problem, got it?”

  Wellington nodded as he fiddled with his handkerchief. Then he put it in his pocket. “I understand, Miss Morana. I’m terribly sorry for speaking against you. I just thought that…that I should warn you!”

 I sighed, trying to be patient. I hadn’t seen him for a very long time and I had forgotten what he could be like. “Oh, Wellington…I’m sorry for getting angry, alright? It’s just that…ever since Dad died…everyone’s been trying to tell me what to do and how to behave, as if I was some commoner just because I haven’t lived here since Mom took me away. But I know how to behave! Even if I haven’t lived in this house since I was seven, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be the Lady Morana De Mors!”

  I turned away from him and frowned at the door, planning out how I would get into that room. I had been in nearly every other room in this large, rambling mansion, but this one…I didn’t even remember it from my childhood. It was rather odd, actually. Then again, I had only been seven, and now I was twenty-seven.

 “Wellington…I really do want to get into this room, alright? So please, I’d appreciate it if you’d either help me get in, or go somewhere else.”

He looked at me nervously, crinkling up his handkerchief. “Alright, Miss Morana, I'll help you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

I rolled my eyes but had to smile at him. “Thanks. Now, go get me the lock picking kit that’s on my nightstand. I bought it just before I came here, because I knew Dad would have locked rooms.”

He bowed his head and shuffled off while I inspected the lock again.

After about an hour of trying, I heard the tell-tale click and slowly opened the door. It took a considerable amount of force but I finally found myself standing in the doorway of the now unlocked room.

My first glance around the dark room relieved little. Like most of the abandoned rooms, sheets covered everything in a pitiful attempt to keep the dust away. I could tell, however, that there were large stacks of boxes on the far side of the room.

Wellington came up behind me, holding out a flashlight. I took it gratefully and said “I'll explore the room for awhile and then I'll have lunch.”

He bowed his head, saying “I'll go prepare it then.”

“Thanks, Wellington.” I said. He smiled but then glanced at the open door and walked away. I rolled my eyes and walked into the room.

My second quick look around proved to be more informative. Several boxes that weren’t covered by the sheets were open, and I could see little porcelain dolls peeking out. Their eyes stared at me, as if trying to speak to me, but failing. I shivered a little and looked around some more.

I could now see that on the floor were many little toys, most of them broken and all of them covered in cobwebs and dust. The more I tried to see them, the darker the room seemed to get, despite the small beam of my flashlight.

I whirled around as I heard a crash and then a shattering. Looking around the dark room, I could see that one of the boxes had fallen over for some reason. Several old dolls had smashed and now their pieces were lying all over the floor. As I bent down to pick one doll up, I thought I heard another sound.

 I stiffened and listened closely. It sounded like a baby crying. I frowned but then the noise stopped. Just my imagination.

But then there was a creak. I turned, just as the door closed. I ran over to it and pulled on the door, but it remained closed. I pounded on the door. “Wellington? If this is your idea of a joke, then I’m not amused! Let me out this second!”

Nothing happened. But then I heard the crying again. I turned around, my back now to the door. Shaking, I tried to see where the sound might be coming from, but I couldn’t tell.

It suddenly felt very cold and I sneezed, dropping the flashlight. The sound of both my sneeze and the shattering glass echoed and I felt like I was very small, in a very large room. This is stupid. Keep it together!

I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and I whirled to look, eyes wide in the darkness. A tinkly noise sounded and then the something moved again.

I took a step closer, trying to feel braver than I actually was. As my eyes adjusted a little, I saw that the thing that was moving was a large music box that was shaped like a merry-go-round. Miniature horses traveled around in circles, going up and down with the music. The music sounded vaguely familiar, for some reason. I tried to place it, but couldn’t.

But that still didn’t explain why the music box had just started up for no reason. I walked closer and touched it. It kept going, the song getting faster, instead of slowing down.

More noises came from behind me and I looked. An old rocking horse was moving on its own. I frowned. What is going on?. These things shouldn’t be moving!

Another faint sound came to me and I frowned, trying to figure out what it was. As it got louder, it also became clearer. Singing. A little child, singing.

“A ring, a ring, of roses; a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”

I shivered and then called out “Hello? Who’s there?”

There was silence. And then a little white figure appeared before me, causing me to gasp.

“Want to play?” Asked the figure. It was a little girl, of maybe five or six years old. She wore an old faded dress, and had no shoes on. Her hair was a long, black tangled mess and her skin…her skin was as white as snow. It wasn’t normal.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. She smiled at me, her eyes staring. Something about her eyes scared me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

“Morgan. And who are you?”

I was startled by the question. I mean, this was my house, after all. “I’m Morana. As in, the Lady Morona De Mors, the one who now owns this house?”

She stared at me blankly, as if none of that meant anything. I suddenly realized why her eyes scared me; either her pupils were enormous, or her eye color was pitch black. They were like the blackest of coals.

“You own this house? But what happened to…hmm…there was someone else, before, wasn’t there?”

I nodded. “Mr. De Mors? He was my father. He died and now I own this place.”

She frowned, biting her thin lip. “Dead? Too?”

I was confused. “What do you mean, ‘too’?”

She shook her head and twirled around. “I want to play. Play with me!”

This was ridiculous. And yet I found myself holding her hand, (which was very cold), and dancing with her. She sang her song again. “A ring, a ring, of roses; a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”

We crashed to the ground and she started giggling wildly. I felt laughter bubble up and tried to quench it. But the more she laughed, the more I wanted to laugh. Finally, I gave into the feeling and laughed loudly. She grinned wickedly.

“I win. I made you laugh.” She announced as she stood up.

“So…what are you doing here, Morgan?” I asked her, also standing.

She frowned, the change so sudden that I almost laughed again. But her voice was so serious that I didn’t dare. “I belong here. I am home.”

“Um…no offense, but this is my house, you know. How can this be home for you?” I asked her, suddenly feeling wary of her again.

She looked away, shaking her head violently. “No, no! Can’t tell! He’ll be angry and then sad and I can’t tell, we’ll all fall down!” She ended in a singsong voice again and started twirling around.

“Listen, Morgan. I have to know why you’re in my house.” I said, taking a step towards her.

She shrieked and I was suddenly flung backwards into the far wall. I crumpled to the ground, the back of my head pounding. She continued to shriek, but it wasn’t as loud now. She seemed to be looking at something while she did, though I couldn’t tell what.

Then my vision started to go fuzzy and I fell unconscious.

“Miss Morana! Wake up, Miss!” Wellington’s voice came through my fogged mind and I opened my eyes slowly. I was in a well lit room; the library.

Sitting up slowly, I rubbed the back of my head and groaned. “What…what happened?”

Wellington handed me a glass of water and I took little sips from it. As I did, he began to explain.

“You see, Miss Morana, she couldn’t tell you because…well, she promised she wouldn’t.”

“But Wellington, who is she?”

“Your twin sister.”

I choked on my sip of water and he patted my back until I could breathe properly again. “My sister? My twin sister? Look at me, Wellington! Do I look like a little girl?”

He shook his head and waited for me to calm down so he could continue. “She is your twin sister, Miss. She’s also dead. A ghost. That’s why she appears the age that she is.”

I closed my eyes, sure that he had finally lost it.

“Please keep an open mind, Miss.” He said and I sighed, opening my eyes again. “All right, go on.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember her. When she died, you were upset for months, barely eating, not playing at all. The doctor finally said that you had completely suppressed your memories of her.”

I tried to argue against him but could say nothing. Even while he was explaining, little memories seemed to be peeping into my mind. Myself, but different. Laughing and playing with dolls. Oh no…those dolls!

“My old toys…they were in that room! Packed away!” I said, sitting up even more but falling back in pain. He nodded.

“The dolls were Morgan’s favorites. You couldn’t look at them without screaming after she died.”

I kept shaking my head, but I knew it all must have been true. “How did…how did she die?”

He sighed. “There’s part of the reason your father never said anything. This will be hard for you, Morana.”

I swallowed. “Tell me.”

He took a deep breath and began. “Your mother loved her work, as you know. She was seldom at home during the day, and your father was often doing work in his study. So you and Morgan had the run of the house. You were only five and a half. You two went everywhere together, exploring and making up games. You rarely were noticed all day.”

I nodded, taking it all in. I seemed to remember this much. “Go on.”

“Well, one day, your father was working on a very important part of his work. Morgan was yelling to you from across the house, but she was right outside his study. He grew angry and put her in the nursery, your room at the time, and locked her in for punishment. Then he went back to his work.”

I felt a lump growing in my stomach and I swallowed again. “Keep going.”

“Well…you know how wrapped up your father would become when working…so…well, he…”

“He forgot about her.” I said, knowing my father too well, though I still couldn’t quite believe it. “So…she died in there?”

He nodded. “When they found her, they all thought it was an accident, and your father never told anyone the truth. You went into instant depression and your father had an excuse to have the nursery locked up, along with all the toys. He decided not to remind you of her, after you got better. But then…after you left, he started seeing her. Hearing her laugh. He was tormented. So finally he went back into the nursery and spoke to her. Told her to never tell anyone what he had done. She was too scared to refuse, and so she never told. I only found out because your father told me, the night before he died.”

I closed my eyes, taking it all in and trying to sort it out. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I opened them. “I can’t stay here, you know.”

He nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”

A giggle came from somewhere out in the hall and I shivered again.

End