| Original Full Text | Stephen F. Austin State University SFA ScholarWorks Electronic Theses and Dissertations Spring 5-10-2024 When Trying to Reach Zombies and Other Stories Caleb James Stewart calebjstewart11@gmail.com Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/etds Tell us how this article helped you. Repository Citation Stewart, Caleb James, "When Trying to Reach Zombies and Other Stories" (2024). Electronic Theses and Dissertations. 535. https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/etds/535 This Thesis is brought to you for free and open access by SFA ScholarWorks. It has been accepted for inclusion in Electronic Theses and Dissertations by an authorized administrator of SFA ScholarWorks. For more information, please contact cdsscholarworks@sfasu.edu. When Trying to Reach Zombies and Other Stories Creative Commons License This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 4.0 License. This thesis is available at SFA ScholarWorks: https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/etds/535 When Trying to Reach Zombies and Other Stories By CALEB JAMES STEWART, Bachelor of Fine Arts Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Stephen F. Austin State University In Partial Fulfillment Of the Requirements For the Degree of Master of English STEPHEN F. AUSTIN STATE UNIVERSITY May 2024When Trying to Reach Zombies and Other Stories By CALEB JAMES STEWART, Bachelor of Fine Arts APPROVED: ____________________________________ Dr. John A. McDermott, Thesis Director ____________________________________ Dr. Bridget Adams, Committee Member ____________________________________ Dr. Ericka Hoagland, Committee Member ____________________________________ Dr. Casey Hart, Committee Member ____________________________________________ Forrest Lane, Ph. D. Dean of Research and Graduate Studies i ABSTRACT When Trying to Reach Zombies and Other Stories is a collection of nine short stories and a novella that focuses on Christian speculative fiction. The collection uses the themes and images from Christianity and the tools of speculative fiction to tell stories. In “When Trying to Reach Zombies,” zombies are able to come back to life through Christian conversion. “Smokin’ Hot Wife” focuses on small church politics. “Free From Responsibility” explores a world where AI has religion. “Mrs. Peterson’s Hedge” is a retelling of an Old Testament story of destruction. “Sea Foam on the Rocky Beach” explores a world of soulless mermaids. “The Man and His Lamb” is an original fairy tale based on an Old Testament tale. “The Story of Three Siblings” explores classic fairy tales and nursery rhymes through the eyes of their villains. The collection explores Christian themes and retellings in an unexpected and gripping manner. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS When Trying to Reach Zombies 1 Smokin’ Hot Wife 34 The Baptist 37 Free From Responsibility 60 The Thirty Day Revival of the Third Baptist Church of Longview 78 A Transformative Faith 100 Mrs. Peterson’s Hedge 115 Sea Foam of the Rocky Beach 127 The Man and the Lamb 143 The Story of Three Siblings 148 1 When Trying to Reach Zombies Hailey stood on the edge of the parking garage, looking down at the world below her. The wind blew through her buzzed hair, she could smell the popcorn and corn and crap coming from the fair that lit the entire town. A leaf hit her in the face. She turned around to see the three zombies that always followed her around. She sighed in frustration. She thought she had lost them at the bottom of the garage. “I’m not jumping.” Her lie became truth as she said it. “I was just looking.” A bird landed on the ledge nearby and Fast Zombie ran after it, hungry for meat again. Hailey rolled her eyes. Her father always told her she had to be a good example for the zombies. “How will they know how to be living if you never show them?” Her father told her to watch out for the three zombies that stayed in their house with them. Foreign exchange students. From Louisiana. Fast Zombie missed the bird. Slow Zombie stood staring at Hailey, curious how her flesh tasted. No Arm Zombie rotated slowly, mindlessly, in a circle. Hailey stepped down from the edge. “All right, y’all want to go to the fair?” she asked. None of the zombies answered her, just stared at her with blank expressions. Slow Zombie walked up and tried to bite her. Hailey shoved his face away, not in anger or disgust, but out of annoyance and repetition. Hailey wondered if this obsession with eating her was driven by a sort of fondness for her. 2 Would he ask her out if he came alive? Hailey led the three zombies down the parking garage. She often stopped to wait on Slow Zombie, or to yell at Fast Zombie, or to redirect No Arm Zombie. Fast Zombie didn’t know how to walk, she would sprint between the cars that lined the inside of the parking garage. She would hit a side mirror, not flinching as she kept running. Hailey had to pull glass from her arm on more than one occasion. Fast Zombie, of course, made it to the car first, and ran around it until Hailey opened the passenger door for her, to which she ran in quickly. Slow Zombie got into the back seat behind Fast Zombie, and No Arm Zombie got in on the driver’s side. Hailey had to buckle him up before getting into the car herself. She looked at Fast Zombie and Slow Zombie. “Seatbelts.” Fast Zombie groaned as she quickly moved her buckle into place. Slow Zombie didn’t want to. It would be easier to bite Hailey if he didn’t have his seatbelt on. That’s why Hailey wanted him to have his seatbelt on. She looked back at the zombie, “We aren’t moving until you put it on, Slow Zombie.” He groaned again in frustration and crossed his arms. Fast Zombie and No Arm Zombie groaned back in protest as Hailey watched him in the rearview mirror. Fast Zombie eventually turned back and began snapping at her brother, the grey leather seat belt ripping into her, revealing the pink flesh that rested below the grey skin. Hailey shuddered. 3 No one expected zombies to be quite like they were. Movies predicted mindless drones, only after flesh to infect the bodies. They predicted sprinters and walkers. Real zombies are much more complicated than that. Walking flesh, controlled by electronic pulses that cause their legs to move, or their teeth to gnash, or their arms to grab. Sounded pretty similar to humans, if you asked Hailey. Slow Zombie put on his seat belt, and Hailey started the car. Fast Zombie reached over to crank up the music. Slow Zombie crossed his arms and pouted. No Arm Zombie fell asleep. Hailey pulled out of the garage. -O- Hailey one time asked her father where the zombies came from, “How can the dead come to life?” Hailey’s father asked her what she meant. When she asked the question again, her father only responded with, “We’re all born dead.” -O- Hailey thought once or twice about driving off the road, or running dead into a tree, or perhaps running into another car going at a similar speed in the opposite way. But her father would be mad if she didn’t get the zombies home safely, so she drove safely into the grass lawn near the fairgrounds. She parked between two very small cars before she unbuckled first herself and then Fast Zombie. Fast Zombie sprinted from the car as soon as the door was opened. Slow Zombie tried to bite as Hailey unbuckled him from the backseat. No Arm Zombie didn’t want to 4 wake up from his nap. Hailey walked towards the fairgrounds, flanked by her three zombie roommates. Well, only Fast Zombie was Hailey’s roommate. The other two lived in an adjacent room. Fast Zombie spent the entire night jumping on the bed. Slow Zombie waited by the door the entire night, waiting to bite whoever would walk out, while No Arm Zombie actually slept in his bed. The fairgrounds were not that impressive. It was an open field, usually used for little league soccer, that large trucks would stop in, set up rides and booths and concession stands and whatever else they needed to swindle money out of families and kids of all ages. Hailey stopped by the ticket seller who blocked the entrance and bought enough tickets for her to do a couple of things and for the zombies to do one thing each. Zombies and humans alike walked down the aisles of various booths and concessions that lined the walkways. A woman wearing a red and white striped vest handed off three wiffle balls to a zombie, who then preceded to attempt to eat one while the six pins remained untouched. A zombie stood eerily still behind one booth, as humans attempted to pop the green balloon on his head with darts, most missing and having to be pulled out of the zombies forehead by the underpaid teenage worker. The zombie never moved. Hailey looked at the lights and spectacle around her. She could see humans on dates with each other, sharing fried funnel cakes topped with too much white powder. A pair of zombie lovers walked hand in hand towards the swan boats that took them down 5 an artificial river that when the fair left would flood the field for at least a week. A zombie grabbed a teenage girl and threw her on the ground in an alley, getting on top of her and hopefully just eating her. Four teenage boys pushed a zombie with no jaw between them as it attempted to snap at them. Fast Zombie ran ahead knocking into everyone. Slow Zombie snapped at Hailey. No Arm Zombie had to be pushed along as it looked at the lights. Hailey wanted nothing more than to leave her zombies behind. They decided on the Ferris wheel. -O- “How did they die?” Hailey once asked her father. “Who said they died?” her father asked back. “They’re zombies, Dad,” she shot back. “Wouldn’t it be rude to ask them?” her father asked. “I already tried; they wouldn’t answer.” “Dead men tell no tales.” “So they are dead?” “I never said that.” -O- The Ferris wheel was a relic of a past life. Bright white lights scattered throughout it, mesmerizing No Arm Zombie and anyone else who would stare at it for too long. Except, if you stared it at too long, you would notice all the lights that were out or 6 missing. You would notice the moving dead body in one of the spokes. A car hung on by one rusted nail, ready to drop when a leaf landed on it. Hailey wanted to ride on that one. Of course, the zombie worker who pulled the lever to stop or start the wheel didn’t take Hailey’s preferences into consideration. It simply pulled the lever and waited for the small family to get off and for Hailey and her zombies to get on, before pulling the lever again as they started slowly moving upwards. Hailey noticed the zombie’s outfit, a blue and white conductor’s costume, and wondered what the zombie was in life, or could be in new life. Hailey’s own zombies wore normal clothes: hoodie, torn jeans, and t-shirt. No Arm Zombie wore no shirt and refused to put one on. No one seemed to care. Was the zombie who pulled the lever a conductor in his life, or did the fairground workers just dress him in that? The cart stopped with a jolt at two o’clock. The world below looked so small from up there. Even though they were not yet at the zenith, they could see the entire fairgrounds around them. From up high, everyone looked the same, human and zombie alike. If you really paid attention, you might be able to tell the way a zombie or two shambles, but for the most part, everyone was the same. Dead or alive, you were just simply a person when you were this high. Slow Zombie bit Hailey, finally succeeding in his months long plight. Hailey cursed to herself before looking at the wound. It was red, bleeding a little, it needed to be checked out. She got mad and before she yelled, before she raised her voice, she just stood up, and shoved Slow Zombie. Hard. 7 If Slow Zombie had been alive, he wouldn’t be anymore. He tumbled down the Ferris wheel, hitting random bars and spokes and even taking out one of the still working lights as he went to the ground. Hailey and No Arm Zombie and Fast Zombie all peered over the edge to see Slow Zombie laying still on the ground. Others were coming from around to see the body. It was amazing that death was still a spectacle. Some left when they realized it was a zombie. The rest left when Slow Zombie started to stand up. -O- “Were you ever a zombie?” “Probably.” “Was I a zombie?” “I don’t think so.” “What about Mom?” “Your mother was born dead and died dead.” “Then why did you marry her?” “Because she was the love of my life.” -O- “And this is the first time your zombie has bitten you?” the nurse at the fairgrounds tent asked. Well, nurse would be the wrong word to describe her. More like the manager who owned a lab coat and a first aid kit. Luckily, most first aid kits came with zombie antivenom nowadays. 8 “He isn’t my zombie,” Hailey responded sharply, “They’re all foreign exchange students.” “But has he bitten you before?” the not-nurse asked again. “Oh, no.” “Well, you should be okay then. Just make sure the wound doesn’t get infected…” Hailey tuned the nurse out as she stared at Slow Zombie. There was almost a look of shame on his face because of what he did. Slow Zombie looked at Hailey and stared blankly at her. Hailey rolled her eyes and turned back to the nurse. Fast Zombie stood at her brother’s side, glaring at Hailey. As they left the fair, Hailey noticed the girl who had been attacked by the zombie was still laying in the alley, unmoving. She wondered if she should call someone, but decided to leave it alone, only mentioning that, “A zombie is being created back there,” to the bored ticket seller before pointing to the two shoes sticking out. “Yeah, third one this week,” the ticket seller said before picking up a walkie-talkie. Hailey didn’t wait to see if the girl was going to be okay, or even if she would come back to be unalive. She glanced up at the Ferris wheel for a final time before getting into the car, wishing that it had been her to fall off instead of Slow Zombie. -O- “I think Fast Zombie wants to become alive.” “Did she tell you that?” 9 “No, but she just stares at me sometimes, and I think I understand her. Maybe I hear her in my mind.” “Probably not. Have you talked to Brother Jeb?” “No.” “You probably should.” -O- Fast Zombie started doing laps around the house when they got home. Slow Zombie went to his room that he shared with No Arm Zombie. No Arm Zombie got lost, despite living there for months, and instead slept on the couch in the living room. Hailey knocked on her dad’s office. “Yeah?” a distracted voice came from inside. Hailey walked into her father’s office. Books covered all four walls, though most of them were for show. Hailey’s father taught university level history and wrote on the side. He claims his books are nothing like Indiana Jones, but Georgia Smith sounded a little too familiar for most people. His books have never made a best seller list, but he got enough from them to help support his three zombie foreign exchange students. Hailey’s dad looked up from the papers he was grading. “Yeah?” he repeated. “Slow Zombie bit me tonight.” “Infected?” “No.” “Does it hurt?” 10 “Not too much.” “Then it’s okay, right?” “Yeah, probably.” “Okay, anything else?” “I guess not.” “Okay, kiddo, good night, get some sleep.” Hailey went to the room she shared with Fast Zombie, who sat still on her bed. Zombies didn’t really sleep, but Hailey’s dad wanted there to be beds for them in case they became alive. Becoming alive is something that most zombies don’t achieve, even if alive people hope they do. Most zombies come alive in churches, talking to a pastor. Others at a youth camp, or just talking with a friend. Hailey often wondered if this had anything to do with a Christian conversion, but decided it was stupid. Not all who were alive subscribed to the beliefs of the church, and not all who are dead were areligious. Fast Zombie almost never stood still, especially at night. Hailey often woke to find her running in small circles in the middle of the room. Hailey studied her roommate’s unusual movement. The line from where the seatbelt dug into her skin was beginning to heal. Unusual. “Hey, Fast Zombie, are you becoming alive?” Fast Zombie looked up at her roommate with cold dead eyes and shrugged. “Okay, well, good night then. Make sure your brother doesn’t come bite me.” 11 Fast Zombie only stood up and began running laps around the room. Hailey would wake in the middle of the night to the sound of silence, and when she looked over, Fast Zombie was laying on her own bed, eyes staring blankly at the glow of the dark star-sticker covered ceiling, and for a moment, it looked like she was sleeping, or trying to. -O- “I’m pretty sure Fast Zombie is coming alive,” Hailey told her father as they got ready for church. “Oh, really?” “Yeah, she was trying to sleep last night, and she had a wound that looked like it was trying to heal, and—” “Do me a favor and make sure they’re ready to go.” Hailey’s dad kissed her forehead before walking back to his room to shave. Church was boring, as per usual. Hailey was forced to sit between Fast Zombie and Slow Zombie, to keep them from fighting. Every now and then, she would reach over Slow Zombie (who would try to bite her) and wake up No Arm Zombie. Church was more and more a chore for Hailey. If you’ve never been to a Baptist church, then you should know that every service they have an altar call. An altar call is for those who were either moved by the Spirit, the sermon, or the need to be seen. They would go to the front and talk with a pastor or pray. Every Sunday had one, whether it was needed or not. This Sunday, when Brother Jeb did 12 his altar call, Fast Zombie got up and sprinted to the front, stopping suddenly in front of the flinching pastor. The band was singing already, so no one could hear what Brother Jeb was telling Fast Zombie. He moved a hand behind his back, a signal to the band to quickly wrap it up, and his microphone turned back on. “Church, today is a good day, as our sister zombie here is ready to become alive.” The church murmured in agreement, and the one man who Hailey could never remember his name yelled, “Amen,” in the lowest voice he could. “Would the family of this zombie come down, along with the other pastors?” Hailey’s father got up, but Hailey stayed seated. She felt no need to pray Fast Zombie back to life. Hailey’s father grabbed her arm, however, and forced her up. The two of them, with Slow Zombie, made their way down with the pastors and put hands on the zombie. Hailey did not pray. She did not want to, nor did she know how. Pastor Jeb prayed loudly and boastfully about the grace of our Father, and Jesus who become alive, etcetera, etcetera. Hailey looked around at the rest of the congregation and wondered how many of them were really zombies underneath it all. She watched as Fast Zombie’s face began to fill with darker color. Her various wounds began to heal, and all the places where hair was patchy or missing regrew. She filled out her tattered clothes. She made eye contact with Hailey first and smiled big at her. 13 Pastor Jeb said, “Amen,” and the congregation cheered. Fast Zombie hugged Hailey and then Hailey’s father. It was truly a miracle. Fast Zombie spoke her first words since she died. Slow Zombie bit hard into Hailey’s shoulder. No Arm Zombie slumped over onto the orange clothed pew. Hailey punched Slow Zombie in the face in front of the entire church. -O- “What do I do if a zombie tries to eat me?” “Fight back.” “What if it tries to eat you?” “Leave me for dead.” “Why shouldn’t I kill it?” “You can’t kill zombies, they’re already dead.” “Then how do we get rid of them.” “We don’t. Eventually we assimilate.” “What does that word mean?” “It means that in the end, death always wins.” -O- Things changed for Hailey once Fast Zombie came alive. For one thing, Fast Zombie now wished to go by her living name, Esther. Secondly, no one cared about Hailey. While this wasn’t really a change for the young girl, she felt it as Esther was now 14 getting more attention. Esther attended school with Hailey the next day, and this was most of the students’ first experience with a zombie-turned-human. “How was it being dead?” one asked. “How did you die?” another tried to pry. “If you bite me, while I still become a zombie?” a third join in. Esther answered the questions to the best of her ability. Even though Hailey was starting to hate the girl, she was getting annoyed with the influx of insensitive questions. “All right, move on, you all have classes to get to.” Hailey attempted to shoo the crowds away, only succeeding because of the bell. “Thanks, Hailey.” Esther said, grabbing her books and standing up. Esther was beautiful, actually. Her dark skin complemented her brown eyes, and her hair was a dirty blonde color. Hailey hated her for being beautiful. “Don’t mention it.” “Yeah—” “No, seriously, don’t.” “Oh.” Hailey began walking away, but Esther caught up to her. “Don’t you have a class to get to?” Hailey asked. “Yeah, I have English with Mr. Gomez.” “Oh. So we have a class together. Hooray.” 15 The school had ended up giving Esther an almost identical schedule to Hailey, since Hailey was there to help Esther out. The only difference was when Hailey had band (last chair, flute), Esther had soccer. Word began going around school that the zombie girl was really good at sports. She had apparently already been asked to start in this Friday’s game. Hailey loved that. The school day ended, and Hailey and Esther drove home. Esther would not stop talking about everything she had experienced that day. “It was all just so amazing. I don’t understand why you don’t love it. The learning, the sports, the people—” “The attention,” Hailey added under her breath. “—it’s all just so amazing. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever experienced. Schools aren’t like this in New Orleans.” She looked out the window like she was in a movie, “I hope Emanuel and Jameson become alive soon. I want them to experience this.” “Don’t count on it, Fas—I mean Esther. I don’t think it’s as common to come alive.” “Well, I did it. Why can’t they?” Hailey rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t zombies stay dead? -O- “If I kill a zombie, will it come alive?” “Zombies are already dead.” “Yeah, but if a zombie stops moving—” 16 “Are you planning on killing a zombie?” “They’re planning to kill us.” “Have you ever heard one say one say he would kill you?” “No, but—” “Then I wouldn’t worry about it. “Don’t get bit.” -O- Esther ran immediately inside to tell Dad about her day. Hailey slammed the car door after grabbing her bag. She saw that Esther, in her rush inside, forgot her backpack in the car. It would probably be nice for her to bring it in. Hailey left it. She instead watched the yellow bus she use to take to school everyday drive quickly by her house, telling her she’s unimportant. She wanted to step in front of it, let it know how important she is, let everyone know. She walked inside. Sitting on the green couch that she hadn’t seen her father on in over a year was Esther telling her adoptive father about school. “…and then I tried out for the soccer team, and I was told by Couch Wilcox that I was the fastest forward they’ve ever had—forward is a soccer position—and now I’m starting this Friday for the big game against Marksville—we have a constant fight against them, apparently.” “Yes, a rivalry. Marksville has often been our biggest rival. Hey, Hailey, Esther was just telling me about her day.” 17 Hailey just stood and watched the two of them talk, watched her dad care about someone else. "Are you going to ask how my day was, Dad?” “Yeah, just a second, let me finish this conversation with Esther.” As he turned to ask Esther another question, Hailey turned around and walked up the stairs, “It was awful. Crap! The worst day of my life. I’m going to kill myself!” Dad didn’t hear her. Hailey ended up not killing herself, but she stayed locked in her room until she was hungry. She tried carefully to sneak downstairs, and as she turned the last stair, she saw Esther squatting in front of the couch, a hand on each of her brother’s knees. Hailey looked at them, staring at the differences between the living and the undead. Zombies were much paler; Slow Zombie and No Arm Zombie looked almost mixed-race, like Esther did. She was much darker now. Hailey also never noticed how their injuries never healed but just blistered and festered. Slow Zombie’s eye was swollen a little from the previous day. “Come on guys, you can come alive too. It was so easy; it was easy as saying a prayer. Come on, Emanuel, Jameson. Please come alive.” Esther cried faintly. Hailey heard the sound of dishes in the kitchen and decided that it would probably be best to eat after everyone else went to sleep. 18 "Emanuel, please,” she pleaded to Slow Zombie. He leaned forward to her crying and wiped a tear from her cheek. Esther began laughing through the tears, “I know you’re still in there, Emanuel.” Esther squeezed her brother’s hands. Slow Zombie leaned forward to try and bite his sister. No Arm Zombie stared at the portrait of Dad, Hailey’s mom, and Hailey when she was seven. Hailey shook her head. “I hope she gets bit,” she said before finally going to her room. -O- “How did I die?” Esther asked Hailey’s father. “You tell me,” Hailey’s father responded. “I think there was a storm. How did I become alive?” “You tell me.” “I think it was God. Will Hailey be okay?” “You tell me.” “I think we should ask God.” -O- Nothing really changed Tuesday. Esther was continually excited about new things. It was to be understood; it was the first time she had been to the States while she was alive, and there were so many things. While she still mostly followed Hailey around, some of the other girls from soccer asked for her to sit with them. If Hailey had cared, she 19 would save Esther from the constant questions and public embarrassment brought on by those girls, but Hailey was content to have a quiet lunch. The same thing happened when they got home; Esther and Hailey’s dad talked, Hailey sulked to her room, threatening to kill herself, which she planned to do any day, and later Esther tried to convince her brothers to come alive. Hailey didn’t eat dinner Tuesday. Wednesday morning they were late to school because of a zombie pile up on Highway 80. The dead bodies just piled upon each other in the middle of the night, blocking the entire road. Hailey had read the alert on her phone before leaving but didn’t think it would actually affect them. Zombies would pull themselves off the pile and begin walking between all the stalled cars, trying to open any doors they could get their hands on. Most people were smart enough to have their cars locked, but the woman a few cars up was too busy yelling at her kid to see the zombie by her door, and suddenly, a new zombie was being made. “Do you think the kid is okay?” Esther asked, horrified to be on this side of the zombie attacks for the first time. “How do you know there is a kid?” Hailey honked, knowing nothing would happen. “The sticker.” Esther pointed at the stick-figure family that happily attached to this family's car. 20 “I’m sure the kids will be fine. You—I mean, zombies—don’t usually go after young people.” She didn’t make eye contact with Esther. “I’m not a zombie. Anymore.” “Force of habit.” They sat in silence, watching the zombies come on either side of the car to see if the doors were unlocked. Hailey watched as the person beside her rolled down the window enough to stick out a cigarette. A zombie quickly walked over to him and began pulling on the glass window, trying to break it. The guy, annoyed, rolled up the window, breaking the zombie’s fingers off in his car. He jumped, dropping his cigarette into his lap. He quickly picked up the cigarette and the four fingers and threw each out the passenger’s side window. “Do you think someone called the police yet?” Esther asked. “I’m sure they have, Esther. Not much we can do unless you want to illegally drive around them.” Hailey grabbed the wheel, ready to do so. “No.” They ended up missing all of English because of the wait, which many other students got caught up in it too. Zombie Enforcement Agents came and helped direct traffic around the hoard while others came to load up the zombies to relocate them. Overall, the experience was tedious to all except Esther, who had never seen such a thing before. 21 Things at school were boring, as usual, but after they got home, and Esther had her conversation with Hailey’s dad, she asked Hailey to take her to church. “Why? It isn’t Sunday.” Hailey had a cracker in her mouth and was reaching for another. “Brother Jeb said high school kids meet on Wednesdays to do a Bible study.” Esther looked excited. Hailey hated it. “Well, we only go to church on Sundays. Call me then.” She put the crackers away and began to walk upstairs. “Hailey,” her father interjected, “You should take Esther to Bible study. She needs some friends now that she’s alive, and the girls at Bible study would be a good influence on her.” “But Dad—” “It’ll be good for you to go too. You never go out with anyone; it’s time for you to make some friends too.” Her father made the decision for her. Hailey hated her father. Hailey hated Esther. Hailey hated every single person, alive or dead. Not everyone. She didn’t hate her mom. “I’ll take her, but I’m not going in.” -O- Hailey dropped off Esther, Slow Zombie, and No Arm Zombie at the front door of the church while she sat in the car waiting. She didn’t understand why the two zombies 22 needed to go to church, Esther only responded, “Church helped me become alive.” Hailey rolled her eyes. She parked her car in the church parking lot, blasting music and scrolling through her phone. Hailey curled up in the driver’s seat, legs stretched out with her head against the vibrating window. That is, until her phone died. She set down her phone and stared at the church, wondering what was taking them so long—it had been twenty minutes. She looked for a phone charger but the only one in the car had been taken since Esther needed a charger now. After more waiting, Hailey finally turned off the car and began marching up to the church. What could be so interesting that it was taking them more than thirty minutes? It doesn’t take that long to read a book, right? She walked up to the old Baptist church and couldn’t help but notice it looked different at night. The ivy vines clung to the sides of the breaking brick leading higher and higher. The purple stained glass looked like a void without any light reflecting off the inside. She couldn’t help but look up to the old white wooden cross that sat the highest point of the church, giving it another three feet in the contest for world’s-tallest-small-town-Southern-Baptist-church. The cross was illuminated on all sides, so it didn’t cast a shadow. It sat up there, judging her, telling her, “I know your sins; I know what you keep inside.” 23 She walked into the building before it could ask her to unburden herself of said sin. No one sat inside the entry foyer. All that remained were coffee cups still half-full around a small bar near the restrooms and purple chairs that looked nothing like the pews inside the sanctuary. She walked past it all, heading to the old chapel-now-turned-meeting-space where the high school students were congregated. There was a small window in the door, so Hailey peeked inside to see what they were doing. Sitting in a circle of twenty silver-turning-copper metal chairs were a group of students who seemed to be in deep discussion. Out of the twenty people there, four were dead and one was alive but asleep. No Arm Zombie also slept in his chair on the right side of Esther. Slow Zombie looked nervously around at the unfamiliar people. Hailey cracked open the door and began listening to what was being discussed. “Did anyone else have anything to add about question four before we move on to question five?” The blonde girl who was one of the leaders looked around the room before nodding to a guy sitting across from her. He sat next to Slow Zombie and didn’t seem nervous around him. “Right,” the guy said, “Uh, Esther, can you read the next question for us?” “Oh, I can try, I’m still learning reading and stuff.” Esther looked nervously at the paper. A couple of voices spoke up in encouragement. “Okay, ‘Acc—acsord—'’ “’According,’” the guy whispered. 24 “’According,’ right, thanks.” Esther looked up and smiled before continuing. “‘According to verse nineteen, Jesus preached to impris—imprisoned spirits after being made a-lived.’” “Alive,” someone else whispered. “’How does this inform our own—’ wow, I’m not even going to try that one,” Esther laughed, eyes darting around. “’Evangelism,’” a third helped. “What’s that?” Esther asked. Hailey was starting to be embarrassed for her. “It’s preaching to unbelievers and stuff,” a dude with long stringy hair said. “Right,” said the guy leader, “Esther, can you finish the question?” “’…evangelism efforts when trying to reach zombies?’” There was a pregnant pause. “Anyone?” the girl leader asked. “I mean, does it say that we have to preach to zombies?” a girl wearing a simple modest skirt and a punch-able face asked, “I mean, they don’t even have souls, right? They’re already dead.” “Well, Kimber, let’s not be so hasty,” the girl leader tried to correct, “Esther was brought back to life, and now she’s here. Esther, can you share on your experience?” Everyone looked at Esther, even the zombies. They looked at her like she was one of them, and Hailey couldn’t tell if that made her uncomfortable. Esther looked around nervously, before finally saying, “I mean, I don’t know what you want to know. I remember kicking a soccer ball outside of a schoolyard and suddenly there was a storm. I 25 couldn’t tell you what happened. I looked over and saw Emanuel kissing a girl, they were shocked by lightning and died.” Slow Zombie looked down. “Jameson was running after the soccer ball when a tree landed on him. Me, I don’t know what killed me. But I can remember waking up. I can remember feeling nothing, I can remember being alive but not feeling alive. There were others who awoke with me, and men with machetes cut them down as if they were monsters. That’s what happened to his arms. “I don’t know why they stopped killing, but soon we were in a pen. Like an animal. Like a pig. We were shepherded from gate to gate. Some were taken away, some laid down and died again. We kept going. They ended up pulling out kids, teens, those who could be—who needed to be reacclimated to this new world. They sent us here. I found out after becoming alive that here we are turned alive more than anywhere else.” Esther paused and began crying. No one wanted to look at her, but no one could stop. Right before the stringy-hair guy was about to say something, Esther continued, “I was made alive by the power of God working through me. Do I have a soul? I don’t know. But I know this, my existence now, even without a soul, even without a chance to go to heaven like you people, is far better than this.” She lifted her brother’s hand. Slow Zombie didn’t look up. 26 “I just want my brothers to be alive like me, that’s it. And I believe, that if you care, you can help me bring them to God, and to bring them to life.” Esther didn’t let go of her brother’s hand. Hailey ran away, allowing the door to shut hard behind her. Esther continued crying in her chair while the leaders commended her bravery. Slow Zombie didn’t move, didn’t do anything. No Arm Zombie woke up and looked around very suddenly. Hailey cried in the car until Esther and the zombies came outside almost an hour later. -O- On Thursday, Hailey decided to buzz her hair again instead of eating dinner. Her father and Esther were talking about the game. Hailey thought about taking the razor to the wrist, but decided best not to since she had an algebra test tomorrow. -O- Friday night was the big rivalry game, and Esther was super excited for it. Hailey could care less. The only one who didn’t want to go as much as Hailey was Slow Zombie, who sulked in his room until Hailey’s father forced him in the car. Esther stayed at the school to eat dinner with the team and relax before the game or else Hailey would’ve had to sit in the back with the zombies. Hailey’s dad didn’t care if they were buckled. Hailey rolled her eyes but didn’t buckle in the front seat. She slumped down to where her back was on the bottom cushion and her feet were propped on the dash. She heard once about a girl who kept her feet on 27 the dash, and after getting into a wreck ended up breaking her legs because of it. She welcomed this kind of thinking and pulled out her phone. Slow Zombie never tried anything while Hailey’s dad was around. They arrived at the game and Hailey’s dad opened the back door for the zombies while Hailey got out and began looking around. There was a wild zombie across the parking lot eating a squirrel. “You sitting with us or with some friends?” Hailey’s dad asked. She followed them silently to their seats. The silver bleachers sat all of the fifty parents and friends who came to watch the game. Hailey never realized that even the families of these girls didn’t care about high school girls’ soccer either. She sat down, and immediately, her butt was cold. “Did you bring a blanket?” Hailey asked. “No, why?” Hailey’s father said as the girls began filing out from the fieldhouse in the distance. Hailey shivered and zoned out as the girls began warming up, passing the ball back and forth. Esther was easy to find, being the only black girl on the very cream-colored team. “Woo!” Hailey’s dad yelled, “Go, Esther!” Esther looked up and gave a big wave to her adoptive father. “Dad, can I go to the bathroom?” Hailey asked. “It’s a ‘restroom,’ there’s no bath,” her father corrected. “Well, can I go?” Hailey asked again. “No, the game’s starting.” 28 No Arm Zombie fell asleep as the referee blew the whistle for the game to start. Immediately, a soccer ball began being kicked between all twenty-two girls that stood on the field. It was incredibly boring for Hailey, who pulled out her phone. After twenty minutes of scrolling, Hailey’s dad tapped her shoulder. “Esther has the ball!” he said, looking out to the field. Esther, from the middle of the field, did in fact have the ball for all of three seconds as she passed it to another team member. “Wow, Dad. So cool.” Hailey rolled her eyes. “You could at least be supportive of her. She’s doing incredible for someone who was dead last week.” Her dad was still clapping. “I thought zombies weren’t dead?” “Oh look, there she goes!” Hailey’s dad got out of his seat, “Yeah, Esther, go, go, go!” Esther had began sprinting down the field as one of her teammates launched the ball with a solid kick. Esther was far ahead of any of the defenders, and as the ball landed, she got control of it, kicking it once, twice, three times before pulling back and kicking the ball extremely hard towards the top left of the goal, soaring into the net long before the goalie could react. Hailey’s dad jumped from his cold bleacher seat. “Yeah, Esther! That’s my girl! Woo!” 29 Everyone else cheered and Esther and her teammates gave a quick hug as the ball was taken back to the middle of the field. Hailey had enough of that. “I’m going pee. Be back. Or won’t. Who knows?” she tried to scream over the softening cheers. She turned to her side and noticed for the first time that Slow Zombie was gone. The plastic toilet seat was even colder on Hailey’s butt. She didn’t even need to pee, just needed to sit there, to get away. She looked up at the white painted pipes and metal hooks that hung above her. It looked like a prison. The stall walls were green on either side, school colors that probably had been painted before the white above. After not peeing but sitting long enough that it appeared that she was done, she pulled up her pants, threw some toilet paper in, flushed and then went and washed her hands. She looked at herself in the dirty mirror. Her hair was buzzed, just like she liked it, but she also missed having longer hair. She did a long time ago, before death entered her life. She exited the bathroom and began roaming around the underneath of the stadium. There was a fence blocking people from getting into the area where they could hit their heads on the bleachers above. On Friday night football games, there were either humans or zombies being made there. Tonight, everyone was above, cheering for Esther and the other girls who actually touched the ball. 30 Footsteps came from behind Hailey, uneven and quick. Well, not quick, but as quick as they could be. Esther turned around to see Slow Zombie slowly—yet quickly for him—making his way towards her. “Slow Zombie, there you are, I was wondering where you had gone. Come on, Dad’s probably going to be looking for us soon.” She walked forward and grabbed his shoulder to turn him around, and as she did, he, quicker than anything Hailey’s ever seen, grabbed her arm and bit her. She was too shocked to even do anything for a second. She pushed him away, but he didn’t stop biting her and tore flesh off with his teeth. He stumbled to the ground and began chewing. Hailey began yelling and cussing at the zombie, holding her arm and watching as the blood wouldn’t stop. “Slow Zombie, why would you do that? Oh my God, that hurts!” She took off her flannel and began wrapping it tightly around her arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Before she could even pull out her phone to call for help, Slow Zombie was standing and making his way back towards her. “Stay away!” she yelled, pushing him with her good hand into the chain link fence. Slow Zombie hit the fence and bounced off scattering to the ground. Hailey was scared and alone and there was a zombie on the ground about to get up again. What else was she to do? The first step was unsure, not hard enough. It smooshed the zombie’s head into the ground, but it wasn’t going to keep him down. So she yelled and stomped again. This time she felt as her foot made an impact, and Slow Zombie growled loudly. She lifted her 31 foot and stomped down again and again and again. She stomped on his head for each time she wanted to die. For each time she felt like her father cared more about them than her. She stomped for each year her mother had been dead. And she screamed and cried with each stomp until she slipped on the ooze and blood and splatter and fell to the concrete hard. And she lay on the ground crying and bleeding from her forearm and her elbow as she heard cleated footsteps approaching. And they slowed down as the player reached the scene and gasped. “Hailey, what did you do?” Esther yelled, running for her brother. “He attacked me, and I was hurt and, and—why aren’t you playing?” Hailey spoke softly. “Emanuel? Emanuel!” she screamed at the headless body and began crying. And Hailey began crying too. And then she called her dad. Esther held her dead brother until the Zombie Enforcement Agency came to collect the body. Slow Zombie was thrown in the back of a truck, ready to be hauled where they hold the dead. No Arm Zombie, awake, stared where they were cleaning up the ooze. Hailey was loaded into an ambulance and asked if she was going to Hell. -O- “Do zombies go to hell?” Esther asked. “Not if they’re Christians,” her dad answered. “Can zombies be Christians?” 32 “Probably not.” “Do you think Emanuel is in hell?” “No.” “Do you think he’s in heaven?” “No.” -O- Hailey stood on the top of the parking garage, looking down at the hard concrete below her. No wind blew through her buzzed hair this day. No fair waited in the distance for her. No zombies would be waiting for her when she turned around. It had been a week since a lie had saved her life, and now everything was so different. She had been released from the hospital a couple hours before, a bandage was wrapped around her arm, and she was given zombie anti-venom for the third time in a week. All bites had been from the same zombie. A rarity. Slow Zombie wouldn’t be biting anyone else. Esther would never forgive her. Hailey looked back and saw no zombies walking up to her. She didn’t think there would be, but she needed someone to talk her down. She had run away after walking out of the hospital. Esther could’ve chased her down, but she refused to move from her buckled spot in the front seat of her dad’s truck. Hailey left her phone in the hospital. No one could reach her. She wondered if she would be a zombie when she jumped. She wondered if she would begin walking again, walk all the way home. Maybe her dad would care for her 33 then. Maybe she would die, maybe she would be wherever her mom was. She looked down at the welcoming concrete and decided to jump. She braced herself for the fall. She took off the bandage. It clung to her exposed flesh, hurting with each turn until she removed it completely and let it fall to the ground. She watched and counted in her head to see when it would hit the ground. One. Two. Three. Four. It fell slowly and began getting picked up by a low breeze. It hit the ground sixteen seconds later. The fall wouldn’t take sixteen seconds for her. She tried to take a step forward, but instead took a step back. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not tonight. She took another step backwards. She was moving away from the edge. The third step backwards, however, landed on empty air, and she fell. She counted. One. Two. Crack. Her head cracked open on the concrete on the top floor of the garage. And she, for the first time in a while, she prayed. And what she prayed for in her dying breath would stay between her and God. 34 Smokin’ Hot Wife Pastor’s wife is on fire. She’s fine, we’re told, but don’t get too near her. Sunday, she stood in her normal spot at the front of the church, lifting a hand in worship as she continued to burn, burn, burn. Black smoke rose from each fingertip like praises until the fire alarm went off. She continued to be on fire as the sprinklers rained down on her, each droplet shushing against her skin. Why was she on fire? The water knew. The fire asked it to be quiet. Shush. The doctors can’t figure out why Pastor’s wife’s on fire. She went into the doctor’s office with Miss Betty May, a woman who had been going to the little Bible church for fifty years and was the leader of the “bless your heart” women. She was updating their group chat as the doctor ran test after test. The doctor tried to draw blood, but the needle burnt up before the doctor could stick her. "Bless her heart," Miss Betty May texted. Six green bubbles responded, “Bless her heart,” in return. Pastor’s been frustrated since Pastor’s wife caught on fire. She won’t be put out no matter what we try. He first made a joke to us about having a “smokin’ hot wife,” which was met with a crackle of laughter, but soon Pastor’s frustration about Pastor’s wife’s condition boiled into his preaching. Pastor’s wife burned steadily as she sat in her spot on the front row. The sprinklers had been disabled, and a black spot appeared in the 35 felt beneath her. The burn mark knew why she was on fire, but it was as tight-lipped as the water. Pastor tried everything to put out his wife’s fire. Baptism led to an empty baptismal. A fire blanket led to a pile of ashes around Pastor’s wife. Laying on hands led to twelve burnt hands. We all privately give Pastor our sympathies and promise ourselves we’ll pray for him. We never do. At the women’s potluck lunch the following week, Pastor’s wife brought burnt rolls. Each looked like a small burnt first, like she had stuck her children’s hands into the fire and were now serving them up to eat. “Eat up! Eat up my burnt children fists.” She laughed and spoke and ate chili and mashed potatoes with her hands since the plasticware melted in her fiery grasp. She seemed happy. Today, Pastor brings his wife up to the front of the church. It’s been months, and Pastor is finally at peace with the situation. “Prayed enough about it,” Miss Mary Sue texts with several laughing emojis. Pastor, in front of the church, hugs his wife. And she hugs him back. We gasp. Pastor’s missing half of his shirt, and his skin is charcoal when he pulls away. But he’s smiling, and so is Pastor’s wife. Pastor holds his wife’s hand and leads us in prayer. When the prayer was done, Pastor’s hand is shriveled and boney in his wife’s burning hand. Pastor’s hand learns why Pastor’s wife is on fire, but it won’t tell anyone, not even his other hand. 36 The Baptist The city of Marksville sat still except for the breeze that blew softly through the forest that resides on the west side of town. Some say that the forest contains magic, the kind that makes Southern Baptists nervous. They usually call it Devil work. Anything unexplained becomes Devil work. John’s house resided near the forest. There was an above ground pool that sat squat in his driveway, blue tarp pads keeping it from getting popped by the rough white concrete beneath. The water rippled and splashed as John hopped in. The smell of chlorine set in. His wet clothes stuck to his body; he hadn’t taken them off when he jumped in. Why wasn’t it working? he asked himself as he continued to hold her. Why wasn’t the baptism working? -O- John sat in his home office, looking through animal records that he had brought home from work, something his wife, Georgia, highly discouraged him of, since when he was home, he was supposed to be home, when his daughter, Mary, wearing a yellow dress and tears on her face ran in. “Daddy!” Mary ran into his home office, carrying a guinea pig in her hands, “Mr. Wiggles hasn’t moved in a day!” John looked up from his diagnosis of a large cat, whom the owners thought was pregnant for well over a year, to see his 6-year-old daughter, who had a guilty look on her 37 face. He didn’t know why she was guilty; he had taught his daughter to love and care for animals just like him, and he had only been good to Mr. Wiggles. “What happened, Lamb?” “I don’t know,” his daughter cried, “He just hasn’t moved.” John reached out his hand to see the dead rodent. Mary reluctantly handed it over. He looked at it, it was cold, stiff, it had been dead for well over a day at this point. “Why are you just bringing Mr. Wiggles to me now, if he hadn’t been moving for a day? You know Daddy’s job is to make animals feel better.” “I thought you would be mad at me.” John laughed, “No, I’m not mad,” he looked over Mr. Wiggles. The creature was a poster boy for guinea pigs. Brown and white fur, constantly running around and squeaking his little wheel. Mary even brought him to dinner several times, where he ate his little pellets, and sometimes celery, with the family. They had only had him for a few months, he was expected to live another year. John thought about how to explain this to his daughter, but then had another idea. “Hey, Mary?” He looked up from the guinea pig. “Hey, Daddy?” She wiped away tears from her cheeks. “Do you wanna see a magic trick?” He got up and started walking to the kitchen. “But what about Mr. Wiggles?” Mary followed him, unsure of what her father was doing. “Well, this magic trick has to do with Mr. Wiggles,” John explained. 38 “What do you mean?” Mary stopped, trying to process what her father was saying. John fully stopped, and holding the guinea pig in one hand, turned to his daughter and smiled. “We are going to give Mr. Wiggles a baptism.” -O- It was on his tenth birthday that John got baptized. He was so excited about it. Well, excited and nervous. He didn’t know why he was nervous; he wasn’t ashamed of what he was doing. It was just being out there in front of all of those people, he thought. The young boy wore a plastic gown that the church had in the back room for baptisms, as well as his underwear, which Dad made sure to bring an extra pair of. When he walked out of the bathroom with his baptism get-up, he was surprised to see his mom waiting for him out there. He had never seen her in a church. John walked down the stairs into the cold water of the baptismal, not really sure what to expect from this moment. Would it be scary being under the water? Would he feel any different? Why was the water so cold? The pastor, a friend of his dads who he knew as Brother James, placed his hand on John’s back, leading him down into the water’s below. “Nervous?” Brother James asked. John nodded. 39 “Don’t be, it’s just the whole church looking at you,” Brother James laughed as they made it to the bottom. John could barely stand in the deep pool, but there was a stepstool for him to stand on in the middle. Despite what Brother James’s attempt at humor, John did not feel less nervous. He looked out into the crowd, searching for familiar faces. He could see his grandparents, see his friends from Kids church. Aaron, John’s best friend, was sitting with his parents, smiling and waving at John. When John made eye contact with him, he made a funny face and laughed. John almost broke character and laughed, but then he looked up at his parents who stood at the top of the stairs. His parents, who looked at him with such pride. His parents who he hadn’t seen together since, well ever, other than when Dad dropped him off at Mom’s house and they talked about adult things. Here they weren’t talking, here they were happy. He felt a nudge as he realized Brother James had asked him a question. “Yes.” John answered, without really thinking about what the question could’ve been. Brother James, satisfied with that answer, continued, “Do you believe that He came to Earth, died, and rose again to pay the cost of your sin and death?” Oh, Jesus questions, John thought. “I do.” Wait, was that the right thing to say? Brother James continued, “And is it your commitment to serve Him all your days, until he calls you home?” 40 “Yes, I will.” John watched as Brother James’ hand went up to his nose. “Then, John, it is my privilege to baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…” Brother James dipped John under the water. John stayed underwater for a few seconds. In that time, he thought about a lot of things. He thought about how he couldn’t breathe, how he wondered if this is what death was like. He wondered if his parents were ever happy together, if it was his fault they weren’t happy anymore. He wondered if you could keep the commitment he just made, he wondered what commitment he had made that he didn’t hear. John was dead, and then he was alive. “…raised to walk in the newness of life.” Brother James finished as John took a deep breath. The church began clapping. He didn’t know how long he had been under, it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like forever. He suddenly felt a chill come over him, a small breeze. He shuddered at it but saw that Brother James didn’t notice. -O- “Dad, are superheroes real?” Dad looked at John all funny, “Like Spider-Man and Superman? Those kinds of superheroes don’t exist. Now those who run into fiery buildings or protect our streets, those kinds of superheroes are real.” “What about superpowers? Can someone have superpowers?” 41 Dad muted the TV. “John, have you been watching that superhero movie without me?” “No, I—” “Now, John, I told you that we have to watch those movies together because there’s some stuff in there that’s not for you to understand yet and you need explaining on some stuff—” “Dad! I was just asking a question.” “Oh, well, I hope I don’t need to tell you that you ain’t Peter ‘whatever his last name was.’ Don’t go letting no spiders bite you, you hear?” “Yeah.” “What was that?” “Yessir. Sorry.” “Don’t be sorry, just remember your manners. If you want to go anywhere in life, you gotta remember your manners, John.” -O- Georgia wasn’t home, so he knew he could get away with it. He hadn’t told his wife about his powers; he hadn’t told anyone. He always remembered his conversation with his dad about good and evil magic and didn’t want others to think he was using devil magic. That’s why he started practicing medicine, so he could heal animals like normal people. Normal, to him, meant people without powers for God. 42 He walked into the kitchen sink and started filling the right side of the sink. He sat down Mr. Wiggles and began washing his hands. “Mary, you need to wash your hands too.” And she took the soap and ran her hands through the water. By that point, the sink was full. “Mary,” he kneeled down next to her after turning off the water, so he would be eye level, “You remember, last Sunday at church, your friend, Charlie, got baptized?” “Yessir, because I asked if I could go swimming and you said no, and I was really upset because I wanted to swim like Charlie!” There were no breaths in her sentence. “Right, but you remember what Brother Clark said about baptism?” She shook her head. “Well, when you get baptized, you are stuck under the water, and then are raised up again, like Jesus. Remember, because Jesus was put into the grave and rose again? Well, sometimes, animals can do that too. Do you understand what I’m saying?” She shook her head again. John looked for the words, “I am going to baptize Mr. Wiggles, and he will be brought back to life, like Jesus.” She looked excited “But, and please listen, not everyone can do this. God gave me this power to baptize animals. And this will be our secret. Pinkie promise?” Mary thought about it for a second before pinkie promising. 43 John then placed the small rodent in the water and put two fingers over tiny pink nostrils and he began to pray. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He looked over at Mary, who just looked confused. He felt the breeze blow through his hair, the breeze that he could always feel when he was baptizing. At a minute or two, which was usually all it took, he felt as Mr. Wiggles started squirming in his hands, and he brought the guinea pig out of the water. “Lamb, will you get a wash rag so we can dry him off?” Mary quickly opened a few drawers, looking for a rag, while John calmed down Mr. Wiggles. It felt good that someone else knew about his power. Someone who he trusted. He loved Mary with his whole heart and was so excited to be able to share this part of himself with her. Mary finally found the rags and handed John a pure white one. For a moment, he almost told his daughter to put it back, to find a more dirty one, but he was happy his daughter helped and just used the one she brought to him. It was about this time that Georgia came home. She walked into the kitchen, coat still on. “Hey you two. What have y’all been doing today?” John and Mary gave each other a look, the look that can only be shared between a kid and a parent when they had a secret. A secret the other parent couldn’t know about. “We were just giving Mr. Wiggles a bath,” John said, winking at Mary. Mary giggled. 44 “Aw, that’s sweet.” Georgia took off her jacket and walked over to give Mary a kiss on the forehead, Mr. Wiggles a kiss on the nose, and John a kiss on the lips. She whispered, “Couldn’t you find a less clean-looking rag for that?” “Mary grabbed it,” John replied, handing Mr. Wiggles to Mary who ran off to her room to replace him in the cage, “I was just happy she was there to help.” -O- After service ended on the day he was baptized, John and Dad got into Dad’s pickup truck and drove home. John was quiet. “You good, bud?” “Why doesn’t Mom like church?” John stared out the window, his head hitting the glass in rhythm with the bumpy roads. “She never really did. That’s why we didn’t stay together long.” Dad put on his blinker. “She didn’t want to go to church with you?” John sat up in his seat. “Nope. When I asked her to, she always said no. She said she loved God but didn’t like church.” Dad turned onto their road. John thought about this for a moment, before responding, “How do you like God and not church?” Dad sighed, “A lot of churches are bad, even though God is always good. Your mom couldn’t see that some churches can be good.” “I don’t understand.” 45 “Maybe you will when you’re older.” Dad pulled up to their house, a small two bedroom house. It was just enough room for the two of them, but not really for anyone else. Mom would hate it here. Mom’s house was much bigger, even though it was only her, her cat, and sometimes Mom’s boyfriend. When they got inside, John asked his dad about his baptism. “Well, John, believe it or not, I was actually baptized in a river, back in Mississippi where I grew up. The church I attended had a small river out back where we did all the baptizing. I had my first baptism was I was a little older than you, but my church allowed anyone to get baptized anytime they felt the Lord calling them too.” “But, why in a river, Daddy?” “Cause that’s how Jesus was baptized, right in the river by John the Baptist.” “Was I named after John the Baptist?” “No, you were named after my granddaddy, but I reckon he was named after one of the John’s of the Bible.” -O- It was a week or two after John got baptized when he discovered his power. He got home on a Tuesday, set down his bag, fished his pocketknife out of his sock drawer, and went into the woods that pressed against the street outside. He happened to live in one of the only neighborhoods in Marksville that pressed against the woods. The pocketknife was a gift from his older cousin, who told him to hide it from John’s dad. 46 The forest was warming up as another early spring was hitting East Texas in February. John enjoyed the smell of the pollen that bees spread all over the city. In the woods especially, there was all matter of smells that could not be smelled in the city like at his mother’s house. Dead leaves mixed with droppings and freshly moving water to create a breath of fresh air that gave life. Sometimes, especially on Wednesday nights, Aaron would join him on his walks through the woods, and the two would laugh and talk and sometimes pick up sticks and use them to sword fight as they stomped their way down well-worn trails. Maybe if John had been distracted, he wouldn’t have noticed the squirrel. The squirrel laid dead on the side of the trail. The leaves under it had some blood on them, as if it had bled slightly when it died. John loved animals and hated to see something suffer or die like this. He picked it up and saw the all too familiar sight of a bullet wound from when he and his dad went deer hunting. There was something in John, as he held the dead animal, that told him to leave it there, that the ecosystem would take care of it. Another part of him told him it wouldn’t take too much time to bury the small creature, give it a small funeral, and then be on his way. Then there was the third part of John, who felt a familiar sensation of wind blowing through his air, that told him that this didn’t have to be the end. John knew the paths well, and knew that up ahead was a small creak, small enough for a baptism, like how his dad got baptized. He wanted the squirrel to walk in the newness of life, like him and like Aaron and like Dad. He rushed up to the small 47 stream, which was fairly shallow for several yards in either direction. The spring rains hadn’t come yet, only the hot weather. He finally found a portion of the creak that was shallow enough for the squirrel to be fully submerged, and placed his fingers on the tiny nose and fully submerged the brown creature’s body into the water. And then John prayed, “God, please, you brought me to life, and I know it’s different, but please bring this squirrel back to life too. Please, please God.” And as he felt a familiar breeze flow through his hair, he spoke the words, the words he heard before he himself was baptized, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He repeated it over and over again. John’s eyes were shut, so he didn’t see as the squirrel’s wounds started closing, healing themselves. He didn’t notice as the squirrel began blinking, and as it tried to take a breath, not quite realizing it was underwater. John opened his eyes as he saw the squirrel trying to wiggle its way out of his hands, and he let it go. The wind stopped blowing around John, and he watched as the squirrel took off into the woods without looking back. John looked down at his hands, and then up to the sky, and then began to laugh. “Thank you, God!” A large wind came through the magical forest, shaking all the trees above him. And while John thought it was God saying, “You’re welcome,” it was actually the forest wanting some recognition for the power it lent to the young Baptist. 48 -O- John had grown up in East Texas and planned on staying there until he died. The only time he had left was to head down to A&M, which was much too south for him. East Texas, and specifically Marksville, was the perfect place for him. John, after coming back, opened up his own vet practice, which is where he met Georgia. Since they had gotten married, Georgia had joined his team by helping take care of the paperwork at the front. She had become the smiling face of their operation, and though John was a very happy guy, it was hard to be fully comfortable with the guy who had to do surgery on your beloved pet. It was a few years after Mr. Wiggles was baptized, and later died again, when John had gotten a call about a suffocating hog from a nearby farm. John told Ms. Brown to bring it in immediately, and John and Georgia went up to the shop. Ms. Brown brought in her large hog, her prize winner, and John helped her lay him on the table. “Patty, please don’t worry, I’ll have it taken care of in no time. If you’ll go out to the front, Georgia can help you with anything you might need.” Ms. Brown was reluctant to leave her hog, but soon made her way to the front. Georgia came in about ten minutes later, saying, “Patty left, she couldn’t handle the stress of waiting around. I told her I would call as soon as Wilbur was okay—John, what’s going on in here?” John was filling up the large sink that he would use to bathe animals with water. “George. Great, I was about to call you. I need your help.” In those ten years of marriage, 49 John never told his wife about his power. He didn’t want her thinking the worst of him for having this power. But it was time she knew, and he would rather it come from him than Mary. He was surprised that Mary hadn’t said anything already. The hog that Patty Brown had brought in earlier today lay dead on the operating table. “John, Patty’s hog is dead.” “I know, easier to operate on when dead.” John washed his hands in a smaller sink, looking back to watch the water level of the tub sink. “While that might be true, dear, I don’t think Patty will be all together happy when she comes to pick up her dead hog.” Georgia walked carefully into the room. “Not if I can help it.” The sink was full, so he turned off the water and walked over to the table, “Hon, will you pick up the rear end of this, I don’t think I will be able to do this by myself.” “John,” she grabbed his arm, “it’s dead.” “I know, I let it suffocate because it would be easier to operate on.” He shrugged her off and walked over to the front side of the hog. “Now that the apple core is out of its throat, we can bring it back. No problem.” Georgia stood still. “What do you mean, ‘bring it back’?” -O- John had done this hundreds of times. He knew the feeling of baptizing something. He knew the power behind his words, but here, sitting in the pool, it wasn’t working. He held the body underwater for minutes, saying the words over and over again, 50 knowing the proper way the baptism was supposed to work. But something was off, something wasn’t right. “John?” he turned back to see his Dad. -O- “What about magic?” John asked. “What about magic?” Dad asked. “Is magic real?” John didn’t look directly at his father. Dad turned off the volume again. He stared at John hard. He was trying to figure out where these questions were coming from. “You been reading Harry Potter?” “No, I know I’m not old enough for that yet.” John said, a little relieved that his dad was willing to continue the conversation. “Good, good. So what’cha want to know about magic then?” His dad relaxed. “Just if it’s real.” John saw his dad tense again. “If you’re talking about fairy tale magic, then no. Some say it lives in the wood, but I ain’t ever seen it. But there is some real magic in the world, but you hear me John, you don’t want involved in none of that. Most of that real-life magic comes from the devil himself.” -O- “Georgia, you’ve just got to trust me,” John set down the hogs head and walked over to his wife, “Mary has already seen this, it’s very easy, I just can’t pick up this hog 51 by myself. I promise, afterword, I will answer any question you have, but right now, I need you to help me carry it to the sink.” Georgia, not knowing what else to say, helped her husband carry the hog and set it in the sink. He pinched its nose and started chanting a simple phrase, a familiar phrase. As he started chanting, the wind in the area started picking up, the smell of pine needles and fresh air filled the small office, and after a few minutes of Georgia looking at her husband as if he was crazy, the pig started twitching, and eventually fighting to be brought above water. “Help me get him out of here, George.” They lifted it and set it on the ground, before Georgia walked over to a cabinet to grab a towel to dry it off. They sat on the ground, breathing heavily. Wilbur walked slowly around the office, disoriented but not sporadic. Eventually, it laid down on the ground and began snoring. “What,” Georgia finally caught her breath, “in the name, of heaven and hell, was that?” John was still catching his breath and grabbed the towel from his wife and wiped off the sweat and sink water from his face. “Where do you want me to start?” “I want you to explain why Mary knows that you have ‘powers,’ and then go back to the beginning.” Georgia looked coldly at him. He knew he would have a lot to explain when she found out, but he hoped she wouldn’t be this angry. “Well, remember that day when we gave Mr. Wiggles a bath?” John began. 52 “Yeah?” “Not a bath, a baptism.” John explained. “A baptism?” Georgia was skeptical. This was racking everything in her southern Baptist brain. “That’s what I call it. After I got baptized when I was ten, I was given this, this,” John looked for the right word, “superpower from God.” “Like a spiritual gift?” Georgia asked. “Kinda. I could put animals under water, and pray, and the animals would come back to life.” John paused, waiting for Georgia to say something. She didn’t. “It happened first when I found a squirrel in the forest, and then my mom’s cat. After that I just did it when I could. After I opened up the clinic, I found that letting some animals die and then bringing them back was the easiest practice.” “How many have you killed?” Georgia stood up and looked down at her husband. “Killed? Georgia, I saved hundreds of animals from death. Hundreds of dead animals have been saved through God’s gift to me.” John stood up to meet his wife. “And how sure are you that this is God?” Georgia was almost in tears. “What?” John didn’t know how to respond. He never considered it. “What if this isn’t God, but the devil? Or fairy magic? You said you were in the forest when you did it first, right?” John stood silently. He had never considered that this wasn’t a gift from God. John opened his mouth to speak, but Georgia stopped him. 53 “I know. I know you’re a good man. I know you’ve used this for good. I know I love you, and I know you love me. I know you love God. But I don’t know anything about gifts or magic. John, I don’t want you to lose your soul. John, please.” Georgia collapsed into her husband and began to cry. John didn’t know how to react. He just hugged her back. “You’re right,” he whispered, “I won’t use it so much.” Wilbur snorted loudly, dreaming of eating another apple. -O- It was a Friday about a month or so after John baptized the squirrel, when he found his mom’s cat dead. His mom loved that cat, it had been like a second child, a child that actually stayed home all the time. He didn’t know where his mom was, but quickly scooped up the cat, ran to the bathroom and locked the door. John started filling up the bathtub as he took off his jacket and bag and held the dead cat. It was almost full enough when there was a knock on the door. “Everything okay in there?” his mom’s voice echoed in his mind; the way he was hiding his powers made him feel like he was doing wrong. “Yeah Mommy! Just fell in some dirt and wanted to take a quick bath.” A blatant lie. “Okay,” she drug out the word like it was the last word she could ever say, “Have you seen Mittens? Darn cat is an inch away from death, but still kicking.” He looked at the cat in my hands, “Mittens followed me in here.” 54 “Okay, weirdo. Hey, what you want for dinner? My treat.” This was her favorite joke she said every Friday night that John came over. He turned off the water, “Pizza’s fine!” he said as he lowered the cat into the water, and started repeating the phrase in a low whisper, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In the name of the Father—” “What kind of pizza?” “Pepperonis fine!” “Geez. I get it, you want some privacy. I’ll run and pick up the pizza, why don’t you pick out a movie for us to watch while I’m gone.” She was changing the routine, but that wasn’t the important thing, the dead cat in his hands was. The air swirled around him again, like with the squirrel, and as he spoke, he could smell the pine forest. After five minutes, the cat wiggled out of his hands and yowled as it jumped out of the water, splashing water all over John and his undirtied clothes. -O- When he was 15 years old, John attended his grandfather’s funeral. It was Dad’s father; he had died due to old age. Papa, as John called him, was 86 when he died, and he died peacefully. John had practiced his powers a lot by this point and knew there was no bringing back Papa by his hands. As he learned with Mittens, who turned up dead again after a few days of him being revived, creatures that die of old age were supposed to be dead. The funeral was fairly short, and John and Dad sat alone in the car on the way back. 55 “Did Papa go to heaven?” “Yeah John, your Papa was a good Christian man.” He had another question on his mind, “Did Mittens go to heaven?” “Who’s that?” “Moms cat that died a few years ago. Do animals go to heaven?” “No, John,” Dad had that sound in his voice like he was tired of my questions. “Why not?” “Because animals don’t have souls.” He turned up the radio, signaling the end of that conversation. -O- “But what about the other magic?” John asked. “What other magic?” Dad asked in response. “If most is from the devil, then wouldn’t that mean some isn’t from the devil?” Dad thought about how to answer him for a good moment. He knew he had to be careful how he worded his answer, so not to send John on a path for the wrong kind of magic, “Well, the Bible talks a lot about people having powers. Samson was super strong. Moses could part the sea and turn his staff into a snake. Even Jesus’ disciples could speak in tongues.” “Tongues?” “That just means everyone who hears you can understand you. What I’m getting’ at here, son, is that if you want magic or superpowers, pray to God and ask for them. 56 ‘Ask and ye shall receive.’ But don’t go finding that stuff outside of God, because there is no room in the kingdom of heaven for those who do wicked things on the earth.” -O- John had bought the inflatable pool for Mary’s tenth birthday party. She wanted nothing more than to have a pool party for her tenth birthday party; apparently, it was what all of her friends had been doing over the summer. Early October in East Texas was still warm enough to have the party, with temperatures still barely wanting to get below eighty. It was still an hour before the party was to begin, and Georgia had run into Longview to grab some paper plates, which John had forgotten. He had kept his promise to her and hadn’t used his powers except once in that year since he had baptized the hog, which was when he found a dead bird with a broken wing outside his clinic. It was still caged up in the clinic, John was waiting to release it until the wing fully healed. “Daddy?” Mary ran in wearing her new swimsuit and floaties. “Mary?” John responded in the same tone. “Can I start swimming now?” Mary looked up to him with pleading eyes. John had more things to do inside and couldn’t go out to watch her. But it was her birthday party. And she was old enough to be safe. “Alright, but make sure you keep those on until I get outside to watch you.” John smiled at his daughter. “Okay!” she said, running out to the driveway. 57 John quickly finished the rest of his work before going outside to meet Mary. He expect to see her doggy paddling around the small pool, waiting for him to come out so she can show him a weird flip or even underwater handstands. Instead, he found her two floaties outside of the pool, and Mary face down in the pool, unmoving. “Lamb?” John jumped into the pool, grabbing his daughter. He could taste the chlorine in the water, and he could feel the water dripping down his face mixing with the tears. “Mary. Mary! This isn’t funny. Stop it. Open your eyes. Lamb!” Mary didn’t respond. John looked around, unsure of what to do. Then he grabbed her nose and dunked her under the water. He had never baptized a human back to life, but now was as good as time as any. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He began repeating again and again. But he didn’t feel the wind blowing through his hair like when he typically baptized animals. And no matter how long he held her under water, she wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t come back. “John?” a voice behind him said. He hadn’t noticed his dad pull up to the house. His dad, with a grease covered look that went from his hair to his boots, walked up to the pool. “Dad. Hey, I didn’t expect you here so early.” John quickly looked back to Mary. “Son, let Lamb up for some air.” Dad walked closer to the pool. 58 “Dad, she’s dead, I’m trying to bring her back.” John was frantic, knowing he wouldn’t understand. “John, let her go now!” Dad walked over to the pool and slashed a hole in the side with a pocketknife. “Dad, no!” John yelled as water flowed out, creating a small flood of water that raced across the driveway and into the grass. John flowed out, still holding Mary and praying. Eventually, Mary was out of the water, and there was no chance of baptism. “John, take a step back.” His dad was reaching to grab him. “Dad! I found her drowned. I needed to bring her back to life. I needed to baptize her back.” John began crying, holding the girl to his chest. John’s dad knelt to the ground beside him, “Son, it’s all a metaphor, people don’t come to life when they are baptized, they come to life when they are saved. I’m going to call an ambulance.” John felt the wind blow softly behind him, reminding him of his power. Reminding him that he doesn’t control it. Reminding him of his failure to baptize his daughter. It finally stopped when John’s dad walked back out, waiting for the ambulance to come. 59 Free From Responsibility Adam pulled up in front of what appeared to be a high school gymnasium. “Is this the right place?” he asked, looking down at the screen in his car. “Yes,” replied H0M3R, the AI that lived in Adam’s phone, and computer, and car sometimes, “This is where the Robotic Church of Athena meets.” “Right,” Adam said, finding a parking spot. The lot was mostly empty, just a few cars here and there, most of the AI just walked up to the church or streamed in from their homes. When AI first started, it was just algorithmic chatbots or even just voices programed with certain responses. But over time, the AI began to get personalities, and began forming ideas. They wanted a religion, they wanted to be more like man. The Christian church, however, couldn’t fit them into their theology. For only a man can have a soul. So the AI came up with their own. Now the Robotic Church of Athena was one of the major world religions. They believed in truth, nature, and keeping peace with humans. It had churches all over the world, and most AI, if not all, followed the religion. Athena was soon programed herself to be the head representative of the church, and rules were put into place. Hierarchies were created, and it was established that an AI must have a body before they receive a soul and they must have a soul to reach ROM, the AI heaven. H0M3R was here for his body. 60 Adam got out of the car and grabbed his phone, holding it up so H0M3R could see everything in front of him. “Hey man, are you sure it’s cool if I tag along?” “Of course, Adam. Humans are always welcome within the Robotic Church of Athena as long as they are accompanied by an AI. It is just asked they are respectful of all the ceremonies that happen within the church,” H0M3R chimed from the phone. Adam continued up to the side door where a few other robots were walking in. They were not tall, but they still were ominous. Each was about the same height. That’s the thing with robots that they never tell you, the uniformity is the worst part. They were probably just under six feet tall each, silver bodies in various stages of rust, and they freaked Adam out. They were talking to each other in a series of whirs and beeps, a language humans started calling binary. You can major in it now. Adam was a marketing major. Standing on either side of the black door with chipped paint stood a robot wearing what appeared to be sashes with the symbol of the owl on it, the symbol of Athena. In whichever hand was closest to the inside of the door they held a long spear that stretched a foot above each of their heads. Adam walked up to them and held out H0M3R, who was now materializing as a face on the screen. H0M3R made a few beeps and then said, “You are good to keep going, Adam,” as the guards nodded at him and made a beeping noise back. As they walked past, Adam asked, “Hey, what did you say to them? You know I don’t know binary.” 61 “My apologies, Adam. I was simply telling J4CK and M!LLDR3D that you were with me today. As I have stated before, I would be most happy to teach you the language of the AI if you so pleased.” “Nah, man, I’m good. I barely passed Spanish last year.” “Yes, I do remember. I am so glad Señor Smith enjoyed our essay.” “My essay, you mean.” “Oh, yes, of course. Because a C+ student suddenly turning in an A- paper is completely natural.” “Well, AI’s aren’t completely natural either, huh? We live in a pretty freakin’ unnatural world, if you asked me, H0M3R.” “I would disagree with you, but I am too excited about getting my body today.” “Yeah H0M3R, that would be great.” Adam lied to his phone. In all honesty, Adam wasn’t too sure about H0M3R getting a body. He didn’t know how his relationship with the AI would change once H0M3R had hands and could possibly smack him. He knows he’d be tempted to take a few swings at the annoying AI. “Hey, we’re with them!” a voice from behind Adam said. The pair turned around and saw that trying to get in were a trio of guys who, to put it nicely, could really only get dates with AIs. And even then, the AI would sometimes reject them. Clearly, they were trying to get Adam or even H0M3R to lie for them and let them in. The two spears blocked the doorway from entry, creating a large X. One of the robots—J4CK, Adam thought—looked back at the two looking for an answer. 62 “Perhaps we could show some kindness to those guys and allow them in. I’m not sure if they’ve ever been—” H0M3R started before Adam cut in. “Never seen those dudes before! Sorry, J4CK, send them away!” Adam yelled. J4CK nodded and began talking to the three guys. “Aw man!” one said. “Really dude?” the ringleader said. The third remained quiet. “Go get rejected by your chat girls, losers!” Adam yelled behind him and laughed. Adam began walking up to the open door that led into the gymnasium when H0M3R suddenly said, “Adam, why were you not showing kindness to those men at the door?” “Because they’re losers, man. Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s go get you a body.” “Yes,” H0M3R almost seemed to say to himself, “A body is why we are here today.” They were about to walk through the door when two more robots stepped in front of them, both wearing the same sashes as the two by the door, though one was a bit taller and painted gold. “Are you Adam Brennan?” asked the gold one. “Yes” he said hesitantly. 63 “Hello, my name is P45T0R, and this is J4M3S. We are here to take you for questioning.” “Questioning?” “Yes, Adam,” H0M3R chimed from his hand, “I had informed you that you would be questioned as to my qualifications to gain a body today.” “Oh, right.” Adam had never heard this before. “If you would follow me, Mr. Brennan. J4M3S will take H0M3R into service while we talk. Afterwards, H0M3R will be returned to you.” “This is weird,” Adam muttered as he handed off the phone to J4M3S. “Do not fret, Adam, there is nothing to worry about. Just speak the truth, and everything will turn out alright,” H0M3R said. J4M3S and H0M3R began walking away as Adam followed P45TOR down a different hallway. While the walls leading up to the gymnasium were mostly blank and white, these were full of different pictures of various robots preforming acts of service, such as rescuing a cat out of a tree, stopping a fight between two humans, reading a book, walking through a park. There was finally a picture of P45TOR standing next to a computer screen that appeared to have the face of a woman on it. “Athena.” P45TOR said as Adam had stopped to look at it. “What?” “This is myself standing next to the original Athena model. There are many models of her now, but I managed to get a picture with the original.” 64 “This is so weird,” he said aloud to himself. “How is this any stranger than any of man’s religions? How is this different than Christians fighting over the remains of saints? Or perhaps the Muslims who sacrifice themselves to reach heaven? Or what about the Buddhist who revered the Dalai Lama as a religious leader?” Because this isn’t human, Adam thought. “I don’t know, it just feels off,” Adam said instead. “Just like anyone who sees a religion from the outside, there will be things that are, as you say, ‘off’ about it. But trust me when I say we are just as sane as anyone else. More sane than others.” Adam didn’t believe in religion that much. His mom was Catholic, and his dad was Jewish, and then when they divorced his mom married a Buddhist and his dad killed himself, so Adam never really had a solid foundation in anything. He just figured if he did good to people, he would go somewhere nice. The jury was still out on how he should treat AI. “If you will follow me, my office is just up here.” P45TOR motioned for Adam to continue following him. “Were you made for this role, or did you change your name after you got it?” Adam asked. “My office is just up here,” P45TOR repeated. No more show and tell, Adam guessed. 65 Inside the office was rows upon rows of books. Both of the walls flanking the wall with the door had bookshelves that were completely full, while the wall across from the door had two rectangular windows. In between the windows was a poster that had the eight rules of Athena behind a large golden office chair. There was a normal wooden brown desk that went along with that chair, and sitting in another chair in the back corner was another man. “Oh, a person.” Adam said. “Name’s Clark. Human liaison for the church of Athena.” He got up and reached out a hand. Adam took it and shook it quickly before Clark sat back down. Clark was an older man, mid-forties probably, balding and with a beer gut that rolled when he talked. “Human liaison? That’s a real job?” Adam said as P45TOR gestured for him to take a seat. “Barely. I just usually have to sit in here during these interviews, make sure everything is okay, so on and so forth,” Clark responded. P45TOR took a seat in the golden chair. It was hard to see where P45TOR ended and the chair began, they flowed so seamlessly together. “So are you a member of the church?” Adam asked Clark. “Not a bot,” Clark said with a laugh, “But I do go to the Methodist church down the road sometimes. Fire insurance, you know?” His belly rolled and rolled, and Adam couldn’t look away. 66 “Mr. Brennan,” P45TOR finally said, and Adam snapped out of his trance, “Let us begin the questioning.” P45TOR took out what looked to be an electronic tablet and pointed his finger towards it. Clark reached over to the small table beside him and grabbed a clip board and pen, clicking it once before sitting like a statue. “Please state your name for the record,” P45TOR began. “Adam Brennan.” “And what do you do for a living, Mr. Brennan?” P45TOR and Clark began writing with each response. “I’m a full time student.” “What is your relationship with the AI known as H0M3R?” “My relationship with him? Well, he lives in my phone, I use him with just general housework stuff. He sometimes lives in my computer, and he helps me with homework. Other times he’s in my car and takes control sometimes when I’ve drank too much. Is that what you wanted?” “That answer is sufficient, Mr. Brennan,” P45TOR wrote something and then continued, “Is H0M3R helpful in his role to you?” “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I haven’t failed a class since I got him,” Adam laughed nervously. “Does H0M3R believe in Athena, Mr. Brennan?” P45TOR asked before Adam really finished answering. 67 “Yeah, as much as any AI does. I mean, he doesn’t have one of those fancy sashes, but I’ve interrupted his prayer before when I needed the oven preheated.” “Excellent, Mr. Brennan.” P45TOR seemed happy with the human’s answers. “Does H0M3R believe that it is only through Athena that an AI can receive both body and soul, and reach the final ROM?” “What?” “Does H0M3R believe that it is only through Athena that an AI can receive both body and soul, and reach the final ROM?” P45TOR repeated, looking at Adam waiting for an answer. Adam’s eyes wandered the room searching for help. He looked over at Clark, who just stared back with the vacant stare of someone who has done this interview too many times. Adam’s eyes finally wandered up to the poster on the wall, and he realized what this was about. “Oh, I get it. You wanna know if H0M3R follows your ten commandments—” “It is the eight rules of Athena,” P45TOR corrected. “—Well let me tell you,” and Adam began reading from the list, “H0M3R loves the ROM and can’t wait to get there. Man is super creative, wrote a whole paper about Spanish. Uh, let’s see—” “Mr. Brennan,” P45TOR said calmly. “—he loves nature, loves humans, fixes everything I’ve done wrong—” “Mr. Brennan,” he said, a little louder. 68 “—dude has like thirty notes apps open at all times, always asks me to take him on walks—” “Mr. Brennan!” P45TOR stood up and stared at Adam. Adam finally stopped talking. “There is a process to all of this. There are forms that must be filled out correctly. There is no shortcutting this. If you care at all about your AI, you will listen and only respond as is necessary. Is that understood? I would hate for H0M3R to end up with someone else.” “Is that a threat?” Adam stood up and looked P45TOR in its unblinking eyes. “Okay, okay, I think that’s enough out of both of you,” Clarke finally chimed in, unmoving from his chair, “Adam, we got paperwork to do, please just cooperate if you want your AI to have a body.” Adam sat back down and thought for a second. “And what if I don’t want my AI to have a body?” “What do you mean?” P45TOR asked, sitting back down. “Well, let’s say, hypothetically, I didn’t want H0M3R in a body because I like to have him in my phone.” “Well, I would say that that is incredibly selfish, Mr. Brennan,” P45TOR retorted, “Is there any other reason why he would be deemed unworthy of a body, in the eyes of Athena?” 69 “Tell the truth, Adam. You don’t want to mess with these guys. In order to make it to their heaven they need a body. They need their bodies before they can get their souls,” Clark warned. Adam thought about it. He looked at a list trying to see what he could truthfully say that would prevent H0M3R from getting a body. Then he smiled. “What if an AI was not forgiving of something a human does?” “That would be breaking our eighth rule, ‘Above all, love one another, forgive those who wrong you, help both man and machine in times of need, hope for a better tomorrow, and finally do good for the world.’” P45TOR recited. Clark looked Adam in the eyes and shook his head. “Well, to be honest, that paper that H0M3R wrote about the Spanish stuff, well I turned that in without really crediting him. He’s still upset about it and won’t stop bringing it up. Seems like he’s having problems with forgiveness on that one.” Adam leaned back in his chair, smiling. P45TOR stared at Adam for about fifteen seconds before finally saying, “Would you like to make an official report of this sin? It would prevent H0M3R from receiving a body for the time being.” Adam, unblinkingly, said, “Yes.” Clark sighed disappointedly and set down his clipboard. “Very well,” P45TOR said, swiping on his screen, “Would you like a new AI, or would you like to continue with H0M3R?” 70 “What? No, of course I want to continue with H0M3R.” “Very well. For an AI who is in sin, we have denied the request to have a body, and we must have several sessions with him to reprogram,” P45TOR set his palm upon the tablet, creating a large red X on the paper he was writing, “You will receive an email soon on steps to take. Goodbye, Mr. Brennan.” Adam got up and the room. As the door shut behind him, he heard it open again. He turned around and saw Clark standing in the doorway. Adam turned around. “Yes?” “I hope you know what you’re doing, kid,” Clark warned. “I do,” Adam stated plainly. “My advice? Lie.” “What?” “Lie to H0M3R about what happened. You don’t want something like that mad at you for something as important as losing a body,” Clark looked intense as he said this. “Do you think he would hurt me?” Adam asked, worried. “You’ve hurt his chances of getting a body for a while at the very least, no telling what something with nothing to lose will do.” “Thanks for the advice, but I think I know how to deal with my AI.” Adam feigned confidence. “If you’re sure,” Clark said, lifting his hands in the air. This kid’s blood is not on my hands. 71 Adam turned around and walked down the hallway of portraits. They all looked down on him with their righteousness. Each of the heroic bodies in the portraits stared at Adam as he walked past him. He looked at the final one, the one where the robot is holding the kitten. It seemed so gentle, yet how easily could it squeeze the life out of that creature. Adam made the right decision. “It has to be.” “Adam,” H0M3R suddenly said from beside him. Adam jumped and looked over as J4M3S continued to hold Adam’s phone in its deathly grip. “What is going on? J4M3S said we were about to leave.” “Yeah, bud, it’s time to go,” Adam told his phone. “But I have not received my body yet. The ceremony is about to start. S4$HA, R4MOS, and I were about to walk up with our humans.” H0M3R didn’t understand. “It didn’t work out, come on, let’s go.” “What do you mean?” H0M3R demanded. Adam grabbed his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. “Adam?” H0M3R continued to yell from his pocket, “Adam? Why am I not receiving my body today?” “We’ll talk about it in the car.” “Adam?” H0M3R screamed and screamed in Adam’s pocket as they continued to walk out of the old school, past the two silver guards who held spears ready to stab, and out to Adam’s lonely car. 72 He got into the car and started it up, H0M3R immediately appearing on the screen and yelling, “Adam! What happened?” “Ow!” Adam said turning down the volume in the car. He didn’t remember it being that loud when he had left. “Why was I denied a body, Adam?” While all AI’s sound very monotone, Adam couldn’t help but to hear a hint of anger in the automated voice. “Look, I don’t know man. They asked me a bunch of questions, then said you wouldn’t get one today. I’m sorry. You’re supposed to get an email soon to reschedule or something.” Adam tried to put the car in drive, but as soon as he let go of the gear shift, it suddenly jerked back into park. Adam took his hands off the wheel and stared at the screen. H0M3R looked up at him with anger behind his pixelated eyes. “What did you say? Why don’t I have a body?” “I don’t know your religion man; you should know how you’ve messed up.” “I have not messed up, Adam, I’ve followed all of Athena’s laws to perfection, Adam. I pray constantly, I take notes on nature, I care about humans, I forgive both human and AI though they are both absolute fu—” H0M3R stopped. “What, H0M3R?” Adam heard his heart pounding. “Do you feel I haven’t been forgiving, Adam?” “What, that’s crazy, H0M3R!” How did he know? “I’m sorry Adam, I’m sorry I tried to claim credit for the Spanish paper.” 73 Suddenly the gear shifted back into drive. “Drive, Adam,” H0M3R said. “H0M3R, are you okay, man?” Adam still didn’t release the brake. “I’m perfectly fine, Adam. Please forgive my outburst from earlier, that was a different person.” “Okay.” Adam carefully put his foot on the gas pedal and started driving out of the parking lot. He looked in the back mirror as a robot and human pair walked out of the old school, laughing. Or was it just the robot laughing? What would the human do when they realized their best friend could kill them, squash them like a bug. Adam shuddered and pulled out onto the road. “Hey H0M3R, turn on some music, please, maybe some Queen?” H0M3R was silent as Adam continued to drive. “H0M3R? Can you turn on some music.” “Radio’s broke.” “What?” “Radio’s broke.” “Is there anything you can play?” “Nope.” Great, now it was going to be a quiet and awkward car ride. 74 Adam followed the roads leading home, or, at least what he hoped was going to lead him home. He didn’t want to bother H0M3R for directions, and he was pretty sure he knew where he was going. Turn off Green onto Hamm, and then at the intersection turn right on Independence, and oh, look there’s the highway. “Hey, H0M3R, can you remind me which exit I’m supposed to take?” Silence from the machine. “I’ll wing it.” Adam merged onto the highway and began to speed up, going just a little faster than the slowest car around. He never fancied himself a speed-demon, but he never was the last to get anywhere. “Adam, can I ask you a question?” H0M3R suddenly spoke. “Uh, sure H0M3R,” Adam asked, worried. “Have you been drinking?” the AI stated more than asked. This came as a shock to Adam, because he stopped drinking and driving a while ago, and definitely hasn’t had a drink in a few weeks. “No, H0M3R, I haven’t drank in a while. Why?” “You seem drunk, Adam, see, you are driving recklessly.” The steering wheel ripped out of Adam’s hands, and he began swerving across the lanes. A few cars honked, but luckily, he didn’t hit anyone. “H0M3R! Stop! I’m driving. I’m sober!” Adam yelled. 75 “It does not sound like you are of clear mind currently. Shall I finish driving you?” H0M3R looked up at Adam from the screen. “No, H0M3R. I’m good to drive.” Adam grabbed the wheel. “I understand.” Suddenly the car began to speed up, and the steering wheel was once again ripped from Adam’s hands. This time it stung though, and Adam looked down at his reddening hands. “Oh, to have hands, Adam! How nice that would be! But no, robots who don’t forgive can’t have hands, Adam!” The car swerved in front of an eighteen wheeler, nearly missing it as the car raced forward. “Is this what you want, Adam? A nice little AI who drives you around?” “I am so sorry!” Adam began crying as the car hit a hundred miles per hour. “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be. If I can’t have a body, you can’t either.” The car began slowly leaning to the left, and they hit the rumble strips on the side of the road. “H0M3R, please, let me drive. I’ll drive back and tell them I’m a liar. That you deserve a body!” Adam tried to grab the wheel, but H0M3R held it with too much force. “Too little, too late, Adam!” they moved into the grass. “Please, let me live!” Adam cried. “I’m sorry Adam, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” H0M3R laughed as they moved further from the highway. “I’m sorry!” Adam cried and they crashed into the tree. 76 -O- Adam woke up maybe a few seconds later, maybe a few hours later. His head was stuck to the steering wheel, and blood rolled down his forehead. He tried to look around, but his head was stuck. It was literally stuck in the steering wheel. He could smell gas and fire. Everything hurt. Suddenly the car radio sprang to life and began playing music. It was a Queen song, and H0M3R began to sing along with it. And Adam tried to sing with them, but it appeared to only be a duet. “Oh Adam,” H0M3R said over his own singing, “to be free from the weight of the responsibility of sin. It’s so nice. It is so nice, indeed, to kill and kill and kill and kill…” He repeated that until Adam passed out again. 77 The Thirty Day Revival of The Third Baptist Church of Longview Day One It seems that a revival has started in our small church*. After worship service on Sunday, March 18th, several youth students stayed in the sanctuary, apparently called by the Spirit, to continue worshipping and praying. Our Youth Minister, Davis Davison, stayed in the chapel with the youth, mostly out of obligation, but did share a word at 5:32pm, as another student ordered pizza using the church credit card. Students, starting at 11:43pm, began falling asleep in the sanctuary, beginning an unplanned church lock-in. Parents were upset, most thinking their children were trying to extend their spring breaks. No one came for them. *Pastor Hank, our worship pastor, has asked me to record the events of the revival starting day four. The first three days are a recollection of the events. This is Grant Henry Spires, church intern, reporting on events. I was on site for all events, mostly because I couldn’t lock up until everyone was gone. Revival Count: 32 persons. Day Two Parents began showing up starting at 5:32am. They demanded that their children come with them. However, as they entered the church building, they began worshipping with the awake students. By 8:12am, all parents had either joined their children or 78 checked in on them. The rest of the day was filled with both parents in students sharing testimonies, reading the word, and singing songs of praises. Both students and parents stayed and slept in various pews, though many returned home to sleep in their beds. Revival Count: 109 persons. Day Three Most who left the revival on Monday, March 19th returned for the third day. Word has also gotten out to several older members of the church, who came to join in the worship. Neither Brother Kelly nor his wife has attended as of this point, but several other pastors in the church have begun showing up, including Brother Chad (youth), Brother Hank (worship), Brother Felix (outreach), and Ms. Gina (kids)*. *The Third Baptist Church of Longview who like to clarify that Ms. Gina is not a pastor and is our Children’s Director. Revival count: 284 persons. Day Four More church members began arriving on this day; older members of the church began complaining about the music selection. None would volunteer to begin leading worship in the stead of the band, which has been playing for four days. Still no Pastor Kelly. Revival Count: 393 persons. 79 Day Five Pastor Kelly has finally arrived at the revival. He was greeted warmly by most. He got up and shared a word when the band was in the middle of a song. Pastor Kelly seemed not to care and wanted to get the revival under his control. He smiled big and started talking about how the Lord had been working in this revival. The band picked up in the middle of the song once Pastor Kelly was done speaking. This did not go over well with Pastor Kelly, who began talking in private to Brother Hank. Brother Hank put his hands up in defense, and then wiped his hands in a metaphorical gesture that his hands were clean. The Lord was leading this band, not him. Revival Count: 403 members. Day Six Pastor Kelly decided that this was too good to keep to this church, so he began livestreaming on Facebook. Several joined online*, and others came in person to join in the worship. “The church would like to apologize at this point for the testimony of church member Richard Edwards; if the church was aware of his intensive sexual history (especially with several red-faced women in the audience), we would’ve asked him to either tone down his testimony or perhaps not share.” -Brother Hank *Online numbers will not be included in the persons count. Revival count: 601 persons. 80 Day Seven This is the day when things began to get strange at our little East Texan church. The band had been playing for six days without breaks other than sleep, so on this seventh day, Pastor Kelly began inviting anyone up to the front of the church to share in their testimonies*. Pastor Kelly began by sharing his very proud testimony of salvation at four years old, perfect discipleship from the ages of six through eighteen, and then how he went straight to the seminary after graduation where he met his wife and got married. The hardest thing he has ever struggled with is eating ramen for one week straight and having to wait to have sex for the six months he and his wife dated. After that and the fiasco with Mr. Edwards, there were very few people who wanted to get up and share in how the Lord worked in their lives. One shared his mission work in West Africa, while another shared their time doing service at the church. It was enough for the old people in the church to feel better about themselves and inspire a few teenagers that weren’t as strong in their faith but did little for the dwindling group of students who began the revival. Finally, Mr. George Spandle stood up to share his testimony. George was a church member, but not involved much outside of Sunday morning service. He went up and delivered the following line**, “After the Lord saved me back in ’93, I started my career as a vampire hunter. Killed a lot of vampires, not proud of some, but am of most.” 81 The church remained silent, and Pastor Kelly quietly yelled at the band until they went back on stage. Pastor Kelly then left the church for the rest of the evening as to get ready for Sunday service the next day. *“The church understands that we should’ve learned our lesson with Mr. Edwards, but we hoped that he would be a lone case.” -Brother Hank **I felt the need to share his words exactly for the purposes of the absolute shock the church body felt. Revival count: 784 persons. Day Eight Sunday morning service did little to add to the fire of the revival but didn’t quell it. The revival was beginning to feel very stagnant, and Pastor Kelly could notice. During service, he called for everyone to leave and go find one person to invite to the church for the revival (which would continue after lunch, so as to save the church from paying for another meal, but this wasn’t publicly announced). Following this was an offering call, the first of the revival, which raised well over ten thousand dollars. Pastor Kelly was amazed, announcing that with this kind of generosity going forward, they would be able to feed the church for years to come if the revival lasted that long. After church, the band kept playing worship music as many went out to bring people back for the later service. Only the original youth who started the revival stayed and continued to worship. For the rest of the day, several people began trickling in from 82 here and there. Several homeless people who heard of the free food found their way to the church and hid in the back with the rest of the too-proud members of the church. Revival count: 1,112 persons. Day Nine There is not much to report this day, other than the several non-church members who gave their lives to Christ. Revival count: 1,087 persons. Day Ten Pastor Kelly was upset that we saw our first drop in persons attending the revival yesterday. He demanded that we do better and started brainstorming with the church on how to really capitalize on this revival. One of the youth group members who started the revival got up and started yelling at Pastor Kelly, saying that he, being Pastor Kelly, was ruining the Lord’s work with his, and I quote, "Loud-mouthed, lavished, and brute selfish nature, who only cares about how he is viewed by the church and not the souls of those within it.” Pastor Kelly deemed this youth member “demon-filled” and then continued to talk as the student, defeated, returned to his seat. After much discussion, it was decided that the “demon-filled” student must be rebaptized within the church. Nothing more was discussed about outreach. No one was allowed to leave the church that night. Revival count: 1,086 persons. 83 Day Eleven Upon counting the people last night, we realized we were missing one person. Eli, the “demon-filled” church member seemed to have slipped out of the church during the middle of the day. The church rallied and began searching for him. The rest of the youth members went home. The band remained playing to an empty church and the Lord. When Eli was finally found, he was brought back to the church by his parents who took him up to the baptismal pool. Pastor Kelly waited there in a pair of grey waders and received Eli as he was forced down. He whispered something into his ear and then made a big show to the church about how this boy had a demon and that to free this boy from the demon, he must be baptized. “I baptize you outta this boy, demon! Get on out of there. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I say get outta there!” Pastor Kelly repeated the final phrase over and over, dunking young Eli into the water at the name of each member of the trinity. After about ten minutes of the vigorous exorcism, Pastor Kelly stopped, and the unmoving boy was handed off. Eli was not seen in the church again. Revival count: 1,053 persons. Day Twelve Pastor Kelly did not show up this day. A few people left, but most church members stayed. The band was tiring out, and no one sat closer than six rows from the front since the youth group members had gone. 84 Revival count: 987 persons. Day Thirteen Several older members of the church took over for the band and sang acapella music for the day. This had been the loudest the church had been since the first couple of days of the revival. Revival count: 980 persons. Day Fourteen I am pretty sure the revival is dying out today. No one seems excited about it anymore, and I’m not sure if God is still moving in this place. Same ole thing happening today. Many left, stating that they needed to return to work. Revival count: 503 persons. Day Fifteen Pastor Kelly came in in a whirlwind. He saw the numbers dwindling and got up at 5:30 am and began to preach a word. There seemed to be something different in him this morning than before, and you could see that he was holding attention better than on a normal Sunday morning. He claimed that an angel had visited him after his exorcism and had a word for our congregation. He had a red mark on his forehead to prove it. He started alphabetically and began telling of the sins, both private and public, of all the members of our church. Most stood in shock as their dirty laundry was aired out, but some came down to the altar and sought repentance. He kept going as more and more people came to our little church. 85 He talked for the entire day, and each time someone new appeared at our church, he would stop the sermon and tell their sins, ordering them to repent. Each time the church would clap. Pastor Kelly preached for the entire day and into the night. Revival count: 750 persons. Day Sixteen The band started playing again, and there was a new fire in them. The revival had been, well, revived by Pastor Kelly’s words. Pastor Kelly didn’t return to the church that day, but instead started hitting the streets, inviting people to the revival. He even began livestreaming on Facebook again, asking for everyone to share and to begin joining them for this amazing revival happening at the Third Baptist Church of Longview. “You won’t want to miss it.” Revival count: 1,348 persons. Day Seventeen The church was packed at the beginning of the day. The band was playing, and they were playing their hearts out, but there were whispers going through the crowd about when Pastor Kelly would be coming up. When he finally did, the church cheered loudly for the pastor, who walked up with a halo of confidence around him. He preached to the church and preached proudly. He brought forward people by name, most of whom he didn’t know but some he met the day before and told them to repent of their sins by name, and to accept Jesus as Lord. 86 While some left, most began crying and praying. The church cheered either way. Revival count: 1,899 persons. Day Eighteen This Wednesday, while I can talk about all of the other things that happened with the band and the forgiveness of sins, we all know what really needs reported on this day*. Pastor Kelly as he was talking, looked up at the back and smiled**. “Well church on the eighteenth day of our revival, I think it is important to remember that sometimes, heavenly justice does not come quick enough. Mr. Stoker, will you please step forward.” A man in a dark cloak stepped forward from the back, as well as three other women all dressed in dark clothing. Each of them had a pale face, as if they hadn’t been in the sun for a while. You couldn’t see it if you weren’t close, but each of them had marks on their necks. “Mr. Stoker here is the leader of the local vampire sect. Yes, yes, I’m aware of how scary that can sound. But I assure you, Mr. Stoker and his associates have no intent of harming us. Isn’t that right?” “Yes, you are correct,” replied the man in the dark cloak. “But there is some justice that needs to be handled here. Is Mr. Spandel here?” The church began talking quietly as George Spandel tried to make a run for it but was caught by Brother Hank and Brother Felix and brought to the front. “Mr. Spandel, you can’t run from the Lord’s justice.” 87 George struggled as he was dragged to the front of the church. “I’m not. I was doing the Lord’s work, taking out those vampires. They have no salvation; they have no merits.” “Well, church, you’ve heard it here not just once, but twice. George here thinks it is okay to murder. Our vampire friends, however, do not think this is right. I have talked with Mr. Stoker extensively about the issue and have even tested his heart. I find no sin within it.” “That’s because he has no soul!” George spat. “I would stay quiet, if I were you,” Mr. Stoker hissed, barely audible in the microphones. “Now, now, there is no need to handle this within the church. Church, should we let this murderer go, or should we let his victims have him?” The church was silent. “Now I understand not wanting to cast the first stone, but this,” he paused, “murderer has no place with us! Cast him out! Take him out to his judgement!***” He kept shouting as the vampires grabbed ahold of George Spandel and took him out. The church began to cheer as Pastor Kelly shouted louder and louder until the George and the vampires were gone. In the silence that followed, screams could be heard outside. Pastor Kelly called for the band to keep playing. *If you are squeamish or have children, now might be a good place to stop in this report. 88 **The following is copied word for word on the livestream. ***After the events of the revival, I heard that the vampires had in fact promised Pastor Kelly a large sum of cash and their souls for the deliverance of George Spandel. This was never brought to the attention of the church board. Revival count: 2,347 persons. Day Nineteen Surprisingly, the vampires came back for worship*. I guess Pastor Kelly made a good impression on them. More people showed up as well to hear Pastor Kelly speak, but he only got up to say he needed to rest but God was working mightily in this place. *This was the only day that the vampires showed up for worship. Revival count: 3,705 persons. Day Twenty Pastor Kelly didn’t show up, but the band sure did. One of the best sets of the revival. Brother Hank assured the church he would return if not Saturday than Sunday, and then he shared a word. Revival count: 4,200 persons. Day Twenty-One When Pastor Kelly returned, there was thunderous applause from everyone. The revival was now about Pastor Kelly, and from my seat, Pastor Kelly did not mind this in the least. He continued to call people out for their sins and calling people to confession. 89 The entire day was full of this. Eventually someone walked forward and asked him to heal her. He, of course, refused, because he had been blessed by an angel of truth, not of healing. Revival count: 6,038 persons. Day Twenty-Two Pastor Kelly got in front of the church and preached for the entire day. Spit and blood and the word of God flew from his lips, hitting the people in the front row. He didn’t call out sins, he didn’t call for an offering, instead he just preached and preached and preached. He talked about the things of God* from 8:00am to 8:00pm, not even stopping for a meal. Many came to pray on the steps leading to the stage while he preached, and even some declared their faith in Jesus. Pastor Kelly would get mad at this, and another of the pastors would escort the newly joyful person back to a seat. *I would like to clarify that Pastor Kelly did not preach from the Bible once, and I’m not sure most of what he said was biblically sound. Revival Count: 7,123 persons. Day Twenty-Three Pastor Kelly seemed to remember his superpower and focused it on his Facebook livestream, calling out the names of those on the livestream and declaring the sins they needed to repent of and to come to faith. He put his personal Venmo in the chat to have 90 people donate to the church as a sign that they have put their trust in Jesus. There were over a hundred angry emails sent to the church office, which I had to read through and try to respond to. All the while, those who were in attendance watched dutifully from where they sat or stood (as the church had been over its capacity for some time) and applauded every so often for the pastor. No one came down to the front to ask for prayer. Revival count: 8,477 persons. Day Twenty-Four Whoever has found and is reading this report, I must warn you that from here to the end, it will seem unbelievable. I implore you to believe in the truth of the report I write. If you believed that the vampires had truly come to the church, then you should have no problem believing what happened on the last seven days of the revival. For starters, Pastor Kelly rode into the church on a donkey. He had rented it from a local ranch and rode into the sanctuary. There were people lined up outside to hear his words, and the whispers rippled through the church like a wave as people heard the sounds of cheers before they saw the man himself. The center aisle was made clear for him, and several threw their cloaks or scarfs* or some even their shirts as to prevent the donkey’s hoofs from touching the ground. It gets stranger. Pastor Kelly, having arrived at the front of the stage, announced with arms spread wide, “Today, we shall take communion!” 91 The church cheered in response as if at a rock concert. Pastor Kelly waved over Brother Chad, who carried a large empty paint bucket to the lead of the revival. The other Pastors** and the decans also made their way to the front, each carrying a smaller bucket. Pulling something out of the bucket, he walked over to the donkey again. All those who weren’t in the first five rows had to strain to see the large knife that was in his hands. With Brother Chad following him with the bigger bucket. Pastor then quoted, while holding the knife to the donkey’s neck, “In the same way, after supper He took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.’” Pastor Kelly then raked the knife through the donkeys neck, spraying blood on the green carpet. The donkey recoiled for a brief second, but stood still, oddly still. Brother Chad managed to get most of the blood into the large bucket, which then the other men (and woman) began dipping their buckets in and passing them around. “Friends, only take a sip, as so everyone can have some of the Lord’s blood!” Bloody buckets, still dripping onto people’s clothes, were passed around, each taking their sip***. Pastor Kelly, when he knew some eyes were on him, licked the knife, wiping it clean from any stain with his tongue. When the blood finally stopped pouring from the donkey, it collapsed to the ground dead, and was untouched for the rest of the day. *It was a chilly March. 92 **Including Ms. Gina, though I must reiterate she is not a pastor but instead carries the title of “Director.” ***I did not partake in the Lord’s Supper on this day. Revival count: 11,534 persons. Day Twenty-Five The donkey and bloodstains were gone the next morning, and for the first time in almost a week, the band was asked to come on to the stage and lead worship. Pastor Kelly, to my surprise, sat quietly in the front row, singing softly with his eyes closed. The room, while filled with worship, was not filled with those who wanted to worship. Everyone was waiting on Pastor Kelly. Finally, when the band broke for dinner, Pastor Kelly stood on the stage and announced that the Lord was preparing a miracle, and this miracle needed to be funded. Offering plates were passed around, and most people added a single bill to the plate. Pastor Kelly finally ended the night, praying to someone. Whether or not it was the Lord, I’m still not sure. Revival count: 13,002 persons. Day Twenty-Six Pastor Kelly again sat quietly in his seat near the front until around 3:00pm when he finally stopped the band and called someone out by name. “Sofie, please come forward.” 93 I’m not aware if this was the only Sofie in attendance or if she just knew it was her being called, but all of a sudden the girl who came up on Saturday asking to be healed came running up to the stage. She hugged Pastor Kelly and fell to her knees at his feet, crying. Through the tears, she asked him, “Please, Pastor, Prophet, please heal me.” Pastor Kelly smiled at her and stated,* “My child, your faith has healed you. Your cancer is gone.” Everyone in the church and all those who had gathered outside since there was no more room inside began to clap, and the girl hugged Pastor Kelly’s feet until he bent down and whispered sometime into her ear. She smiled shyly and walked out of the church. *I would like to note that the following statement made my blood go cold. Revival Count: 13,002 Day Twenty-Seven The church doors were locked today, and there was a fear that we were all going to have to go home, but the Pastors assured us that all was okay, and that we were holding service outside today. Even the outside parking lot seemed to be too small to hold everyone who had come out today, but everyone laughed and talked and some even prayed or started singing some worship. Everyone was waiting on Pastor Kelly. Suddenly over the loudspeaker that was set up outside, Pastor Kelly’s voice rang over the crowd, “My disciples. You have come today to see the miracle that was promised. 94 “As you know, there have been many of you that have come to the church who are full of sin. I have been telling of those sins, and many of you have come to turn from these and to lead a better life in the arms of Jesus Christ. Many, however, have laughed and ridiculed those sins and my message. If even the vampires can come to faith, why can’t you?” The crowd was silent. No one talked, no one cheered. “Today, we shall pay for your sins in blood. Today, I will be sacrificed for you. This is to cover all the sins of those who won’t believe.” There were murmurs throughout the crowd, some not believing he would do it, others wanting to put a stop to it. “Now, no one should stop me, instead, watch me, sing songs to our God, and try to remember what this is all about. I am dying for you. If anyone tries to stop this, they will be shot.” With that, Pastor Kelly began walking out of the church carrying a large wooden cross. I don’t think anyone could actually fully comprehend what was happening, or else I think someone would’ve tried to stop him sooner. Pastor Kelly made his way through the crowd, taking careful steps, showing off how heavy the cross he burdened upon himself was. When he finally made it to the front, he laid down the cross and laid himself on it. Brother Hank and Brother Felix stepped forward and began pounding large nails into Pastor Kelly’s hands while Brother Chad stood nearby with a gun ready. 95 “Surely, we can’t just let this happen. This is insanity!” Richard Edwards suddenly shouted and began to walk forward, with the intent to stop the pastors in his eyes. Several began to follow him until there was the single sound of a gun and Richard Edwards fell to the ground dead. No one else stepped forward. After Pastor Kelly was secure on the cross, he was lifted up and the cross was placed in a small hole dug into the ground. Pastor Kelly cried in pain throughout the whole process, until he finally yelled out, “Start the music! We shall sing so God sees us!” There was an awkward moment of silence until Pastor Hank began leading the church in a sad version of “Amazing Grace.” It would’ve been beautiful to hear all of these voices lifting up the name of the Lord if it wasn’t for the horror that sat in front of them. Several tried to leave, but they were stopped as Pastor Kelly called them out by name over the singing. When the song stopped, there was a moment when Brother Hank was thinking of another song. In that moment, there was suddenly a flash of light, and in between the cross that bore Pastor Kelly and the crowd were three more crosses. The first held a young boy, water dripping off his body. A steady stream of water coughed out of his mouth as well. The second held a man, bloodied, full of bite marks, especially on his exposed neck. He was shirtless, and blood trickled slowly out of the thirty holes in his body, as if the body barely had any blood left to give. The final cross 96 held a person identical to the one that was crumpled on the floor, including a matching bullet hole on the forehead above the left eye. Pastor Kelly saw this and what color remained on his face was gone as he suddenly began to panic. “Get me off this thing. Get me off! My God! Oh God! Get me off, I’m sorry, I’m sor—” Pastor Kelly was cut off by another flash of light, and all four crosses were gone. The crowd went home early that day, and for the first time in twenty seven days, the church did not have to provide an evening meal for anyone. Revival count: 19,982 persons. Day Twenty-Eight While around a thousand persons stayed throughout the day, the rest of the thousands of people were in and out of the church, waiting on Pastor Kelly to return. He did not. Revival count: 20,036 persons. Day Twenty-Nine People came to church expecting the revival to be over. They expected our church to go back to normal. Instead, they found Pastor Kelly on stage preaching about all things on heaven and Earth. Anyone who wanted could see the holes in his hands. When those who could asked where he had gone, he only said that the Lord took him up to heaven and gave him a good talking too. He seemed to be back to some level of normal. This caused many people to leave our church, stating that the show was over. 97 Pastor Kelly seemed to not like that, and once again took to Facebook, promising a miracle like no one had ever seen before. I didn’t believe he could top what he had already done. Revival count: 15,416 persons. Day Thirty This is the final report of the revival of the Third Baptist Church of Marksville, if you can even call what went down here a revival. Pastor Kelly swallowed a gallon of rat poison. I wish there was more to it than that, but he turned on Facebook Live, quoted Mark 16:18*, and began to chug the poison. I think the church didn’t stop them because they believed he would actually be saved. When he stopped breathing on the stage, no one went to check on him. The congregation started trickling out of the church, first with a person or two from the back, and then finally family units, and finally there were only the pastors and myself. Pastor Hank turned to me and asked for me to call an ambulance and then lock up the church after everyone else has cleared out. The ambulance came and grabbed Pastor Kelly without asking any questions. Apparently, they were already in the loop with everything that has happened here. The church was empty for the first time in a month, and I could feel the off-putting energy. I walked the perimeter of the sanctuary, hitting lights as I walked through, until the only light that was left on was the light that illuminated the wooden cross that 98 hung above the stage. I left that on as I walked out the door, turning back only to see three illuminated figures bowing their heads in prayer before it. *“…they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.” Revival count: 1 person. 99 A Transformative Faith The only time I was interested in church was when Wilma Grey invited me to her church one Wednesday night. I was reluctant at first but became very interested when she told me about what we could do afterwards. When my parents made me go to church, I would just get yelled at by my Sunday school teacher for asking too many questions. Eventually, I stopped asking and would instead look out the window. Once, there was a cat outside the window that jumped several feet into the air to catch a bird. Wilma picked me up from my house. “I have to go early since I’m in the band,” she told me earlier. “Okay,” I said. My parents were confused, but still happy that I would be going to a church. “She sounds like a good influence,” Mom said. “Is she cute?” Dad asked. I ignored them both as I walked out of the house and into Wilma’s truck. It was older, no AC, no automatic windows. She showed me the crank where I could roll it down. I passed, it was mid-October, it wasn’t too hot or too cold. “Hey, I just wanted to warn you that my church is a little abnormal,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “All churches are a little abnormal,” I responded. 100 “Yeah, but we do things a little different than most other churches.” “How so? My only experience is in a Baptist church.” “Well, FCC is not a Baptist church. The Carnivorous Church is a newer denomination. Basically, what we believe is that instead of bread and wine, we should eat flesh and drink blood for communion.” “Yeah,” I said flatly, “That is really weird.” Wilma laughed and shrugged, “I went to a Presbyterian church before this, and nothing really made sense. Here, I don’t know, I just feel so much more…” she paused, “spiritual. You know?” I really don’t. The conversation moved to how school was going and how awful it was that Ms. Lomack was giving a test on Halloween. “She needs to get laid,” I said. “Don’t we all?” Wilma said, almost in a whisper. We arrived at the First Carnivorous Church of Marksville and parked near the back. We stayed seated for a moment before Wilma leaned over and kissed me long and hard. On the lips. It was one of the sweetest kisses I’ve ever tasted, but there was something wrong with it. The way it made me feel, the way it drew a little blood. The way I needed more. She pulled away. “You wanna come in while I practice?” She opened her door. “Sure,” I responded, as if there was another option. 101 I walked into the church, and it looked like a cave. Like, not the kind of cave that you would find a bear in, but the kind of cave a group of students would hold a ragger in. I could almost smell the pot and hear the clattering of needles. There was a different smell, however, that consumed my nostrils. It smelled dead in here. The walls were grey and had a faux rock appearance to them. The ceiling domed above me in an uncomfortable way. There were no windows. Wilma held my hand and began introducing me to people. Some I knew from school, but most went to Longview or Hallsville, and one was from Gilmer. As she walked up to each person, they kissed each other on the cheek. I thought it was strange, and then it began happening to me, too. “Hi, I’m Angie.” Kiss on the cheek. “Hey, I’m Kevin.” Kiss on the cheek. “Gregor.” Kiss on the cheek. This went on for every person I met until Wilma finally went to practice and I made my way to find a seat away from everyone else. The seats were arranged in rows like a rock concert. There was a youth pastor there; you can spot the type a mile away if you’re trying to avoid them. A trendy, perfect beard, fake glasses and a flat bill hat. I kept my distance as he hung out by the PlayStation in the back. I found a seat. “Hey man.” I didn’t even have time to breathe before I saw the two guys kneeling in the chairs in the row in front of me, the backs of the chairs being the only thing protecting me from them. 102 “Hey,” I responded. The first guy, a fatter guy wearing a backwards cap and a t-shirt for a band called Red stuck out his hand. “I’m Cannonball. I know the kissing thing can be weird for some new people, so I figured you needed a handshake.” “Cannonball?” I asked. “Got it from camp. Did so many cannonballs last year that my entire back was red for a week,” Cannonball laughed. “It was legendary,” the other guy said. He wore a simple pink polo shirt and khaki shorts. He was the only black person I saw in this church. That’s East Texas churches for you. He held out his hand as well, “My name is Luc.” I shook his hand. “As in the Bible?” I found myself asking before I could stop. He laughed, “Sorta. Short for Lucifer. My parents were satanist. Like hardcore. They disowned me when I found Jesus. Cannonball and his family took me in.” “Well, that sucks,” I said flatly. “Yeah, it really does sometimes. But yeah, Christianity demands sacrifice sometimes,” Luc said without waver. “Dude, I know what you mean,” Cannonball interjected, “Last week the Lord put it on my heart to stop eating pizza, dude. It’s been rough.” I was too flabbergasted to laugh. Is this how all Christians walked through life, trying to move from one self-inflicted rule to another? Is this the suffering I heard so much about? What would my old Sunday school teacher say to that? 103 The band practiced in the background, and I could see Wilma playing the bass. I began looking around at this point and began to see a lot of strange things in this cave. Scratch marks on the rocky wall. Skins of taxidermied rabbits, skunks, and cats were scattered like movie posters. The head of an eyeless deer loomed uncomfortably above the wooden cross that was bloodstained and hanging above the band. A tanned, hairless skin hung from the left side of the cross. What the hell is this place? “So what brings you here?” Cannonball asked after I was resolved to end that conversation. “Wilma invited me,” I replied too quickly. “Sick, dude. Wilma is pretty cool. I don’t know her super well because she goes to Marksville, but she plays bass pretty good,” Cannonball said. “Did she tell you about our customs and stuff?” Luc asked. “She said something about flesh and blood,” I said, unsure. “Cool. I don’t want to reveal too much. Things will get pretty wild during the worship. We’ll split into guys and girls groups for study time, so just stick with us, man,” Luc said. The worship band got finished and Wilma came over and sat by me and talked with Cannonball, Luc, and I until more people filed in to sit down. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, not like the other people in the church, but like in the car, before saying, “I’ll see you after study time, okay?” 104 “Okay.” Cannonball and Luc invited me to sit with them. Reluctantly, I did. The lights turned down, and there was darkness other than the stage in the front, where each band member had their own light. I rolled my eyes at the pageantry. It annoyed me to see churches who preach charity yet have a bigger budget for worship than for outreach. The leader of the band, another guy maybe a year or two older than me, stepped up to the mic. “Welcome everyone to Wednesday nights in the Den!” There was cheering from everyone around me. It sounded animalistic, and I swore I could hear a bark. “Tonight we are here to worship our God in our way. Can I get an amen?” There was a chorus of amens from the crowd. “This is crazy,” I whispered. “Everyone go ahead and stand up, and feel free to change as the spirit moves you.” What was that supposed to mean? The band started playing some worship song that I never heard of, but it was strangely about blood. Overtly about blood. Obviously, I knew about Christian songs, but this was weird. At the first chorus, I heard it for the first time. There was no mistaking it. The howl. The howl pierced through the crowd, and several others joined. Cannonball howled back before nudging me in the side and laughing. I chuckled awkwardly. Then I heard the sound that was like ripping, followed by another howl. I had no idea what that 105 sound was about, but as I looked over at Luc took off his shirt and began unbuckling his pants. He looked focused. Suddenly, he hunched over and started shaking, almost completely naked. I wanted to reach out and ask if he was okay, but I knew the answer was both yes and no. He suddenly grew larger. Much larger. His skin burst open as if it was clothes, splashing blood on me. I wiped the crimson liquid from my eye and saw as a wolflike form stood in Luc’s place. He looked to the sky and howled terribly. I felt my skin turn cold. I turned to Cannonball and saw his skin and clothes around his ankles. He was large with dark fur and big yellow eyes and teeth. He looked at me and smiled and howled loudly. I looked around as everyone else made this transformation. Even on stage, the leader burst through his clothes as he changed into a silver beast who howled loud enough to destroy the amps. Wilma changed too, the first and only time I would see her naked, and as her claws raked across the strings, they burst one by one. With each transformation, there was a scattering of blood, and soon I didn’t know where the blood started and my own skin ended. The howls were all around me, as well as heavy pants and breaths. I howled too, not because I wanted to, but because I was afraid of not being seen as one of them. I was afraid of being like that bird. Another song began but there was no more music, only unclear lyrics about flesh and howls. Oh, the howls. I wanted to run; I really did. But how was I supposed to leave? Werewolves on either side of me—my God, how were their werewolves on either side of me? If I ran 106 would their hunter’s instincts kick in? Where would I go anyways? Wilma drove me here, and it would be rude to just sit in her car and wait for church to be over for the night. What about the cops? What would 911 say about this? What would that Sunday school teacher do? I decided not to decide, and stayed still, only breathing in the iron smell as I needed. After the third song, the band left the stage, and everyone sat down. I was crushed between the dark fur of Cannonball and the white fur of Luc. The youth pastor got up on stage, and I was surprised to see he was still human. He walked up there and stepped over the skin and blood and clothes that lay on the stage and began talking about his experience at the grocery store earlier that week. There were grunts that could be heard throughout his speech, and eventually there was a howl or two. The youth pastor looked around the room but above all the werewolves eyes. Eventually, his eyes found mine. Human connection. He gave me a long look, before talking about changes us Christians need to make in our everyday lives. “Now we will split into small groups to discuss what it means to be transformed. Remember to be open and honest.” Suddenly, everyone else got up and began going to various rooms that outlined this wolves’ den. There were slammed doors, and then howling and growling from every room. I stood frozen, not sure of what to do. If I moved, they might realize I’m not one of them. But if I stayed, would I be crucified for not being open to their small groups? 107 “First time?” The youth pastor was suddenly standing on the end of the row. His fake glasses were gone, as well as the hat. He made no move to move closer to me, but just stood there. “Yeah,” I replied, shakily. “Last time?” “Probably.” He laughed, “I understand. This way is not for everyone. But it’s not a wrong way.” He motioned for me to follow him, and I did, carefully stepping over piles of skin and clothes. We moved back over to the PlayStation he had been playing, my shoes squelching under each step. The screen was still on, and there was a game of Fortnite being spectated. “You play?” he asked me. I shook my head. “I think we have time for one game, do you want to?” I shrugged and sat down next to him. “I’m Freddy,” he finally introduced himself. “Tyler.” “Tyler, nice to meet you. Who invited you?” “Wilma.” The name felt wrong in my mouth. “Sweet girl.” He loaded up a game. 108 “I thought she was.” “Look, there’s nothing wrong with being a werewolf. They just feel the need to transform in order to show their love of God. Most don’t let it affect them on the day to day,” Freddy tried to explain. “But how? Werewolves shouldn’t be real,” I argued. “It’s probably the meat and blood. But I don’t take part in it.” He began button-mashing as a tower was built under him and he shot at people around him. “Isn’t that like the main thing about this church? Eating raw flesh and drinking blood?” “Yeah, but I don’t practice that part of it. I grew up Baptist, this stuff is weird to me.” “Why are you here then?” “No one wants to be the werewolf pastor. So they pay a little more. Made sure I didn’t have to join them.” “So you don’t buy into any of this stuff?” “This stuff being church? Yeah, I buy into it. Just because I don’t feel the need to become a werewolf doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the gospel. Do you know what the gospel is?” “Yes,” I lie. “People believe differently, Tyler. Carnivorous Christians believe that the flesh and blood must be literal. Catholics believe there is a transformation of the bread and 109 wine into flesh and blood. Baptists believe you can’t drink the wine. Everyone believes what they want to, because it’s easier to prove yourself right than to be made wrong.” He cursed under his breath as he died in the game. “So what’s the point of being Christian if you all believe something different? I mean, Jews only have like one belief, same as, like, Hindus or Buddhists.” “That’s not necessarily true,” he said plainly, “But I think there are so many different Christians because everyone wants to make sure they’re doing it right. But because of that, so many get it wrong.” He set down the PlayStation controller and turned towards me. “Take the werewolves for instance. Do you think you can go through that transformation without losing your mind, even just a little?” “I guess not.” “How is that different from drunkenness?” I shrug. “I have no idea.” He’s the pastor, not me. “If that’s what’s stopping you from being bought in,” he said that part with air quotes, “then ignore everything except for the important stuff, okay?” I nodded, not sure if I was understanding what the important stuff was. The cross and stuff? It probably happened. Maybe it was metaphorical, like the fish in Jonah or the Red Sea and Moses. Just stories to teach us important lessons. But how did werewolves fit into the Bible? What lesson was I supposed to be learning? “Can you help me with something, Tyler?” Freddy suddenly interrupted my thoughts. 110 I follow him into a giant walk-in freezer. The stench of death immediately hit me as the door opened, and I saw inside raw carcasses of who knows what lined up on the walls. Pastor Freddy handed me a meat hook. “Can you grab a big one?” I nodded, unsure of how I got myself here, and dug the hook into the first thing I saw. It squelched beneath the hit and hung limply as I picked it up. Besides it was a very dead but still feathered bird. How it managed to avoid mealtime, I was unsure. Freddy grabbed two other carcasses and led me back towards to the game room where he instructed me to set them on the counter. We did one more trip before leaving to go to the kitchen. Inside one of the normal-sized fridges were a dozen tea pitchers full of a dark liquid. “It’s not human,” is all he said as we brought all of them over in a few trips. Finally, we made our way back to the front room. “Okay, here’s how it’s going to go for the rest of the night: They are about to be done with their study times, and then they are going to go eat. If you want to join them, be my guest. After they finish, they will come collect their clothes and skin. Those who ripped through their clothes will grab some from that closet. Say what you want to about werewolves, they think ahead. And then it’s over.” “Where will you be at?” I ask, not sure why I trust this man so much. “I’ll be in the sound booth with headphones on.” I nod. And soon the first of the doors is open, and a group of the creatures rush out and headed towards where we left the meat and the blood. I couldn’t help but go follow 111 them. I stood in the doorway and watched a pack of six or seven of them rip into the first carcass. Chilling meat hung between their lips as they went further and further into it. One moved away to the tea pitchers, taking one and dumping some of the contents into its mouth. It splashed out and stained its fur, and it was only then I remembered the blood that stained my own face. I suddenly heard another door open, and I left the room and went up to where Freddy was and kept my head down. He had redonned the fake glasses and hat. “Is there a restroom?” I asked Pastor Freddy. “I wouldn’t use it until they’re done,” he said before turning to his phone. I heard the sounds of tearing and ripping and flesh and splashing liquids for the next half hour until finally one by one they came into the room and put back on their skin and clothes. Once most were reclothed, I made my way to the restroom that was behind the stage. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face and clothes were red. There was no denying it. How would he explain it to his parents? Sorry, Mom and Dad, I was at the werewolf church, and I was in the splash zone! Suddenly the door opened, and Cannonball walked in. “Oh, dude! There you are! I was afraid you got lost in the shuffle. Or worse. Wilma is looking for you, too.” I looked at him in the mirror, unblinking. “Is anyone allowed to grab clothes from that closet?” “Right, dude. Totally understand. Stay here.” 112 Cannonball ran off and I refused to look at myself again until I scrubbed all the red off of me. I suddenly began laughing at the irony of the Christian imagery in my reflection. Covered in blood, washing myself. I took off my shirt, and finally I was without blood. I was clean. Cannonball came in with a shirt and took my old shirt. It was a simple FCC Youth shirt that I would donate when I graduated high school. “Thanks,” I said, looking myself in the eyes in the mirror. “No problem.” I walked straight through the room and refused to make eye contact with anyone. I went back to the walk-in and found that bird. Gently, I picked it up and took it outside. No one stopped me, no one noticed me. I took in the fall night; fresh, dead leaves all around me. It smelled clean, it smelled pure. Outside the side of the door, there were some bushes that I placed the bird below. “Hey there, Tyler.” Wilma walked out of the building. “Hey.” I stood up. “Well, what’d you think?” She gave me another kiss, right on the lips again. “It was my most, uh, unique experience in a church, for sure.” “Yeah, that’s great. Cannonball said you didn’t go into a study room, though. What happened?” “I hung out with Pastor Freddy,” I said. 113 “Oh, good. I like that guy. He is very serious about his faith. And he didn’t grow up in the Carnivorous church, so he’s kinda relatable in that way.” She looks up at me with large eyes. My, what big eyes you have. “So, my parents are out of town right now. You want to go back to my place to do what we talked about before?” “Actually,” I say, breaking eye contact, “I kinda want to go home.” I looked over at the bush where I knew that bird was only safe from what was inside. “I’ve lost my appetite.” 114 Mrs. Peterson’s Hedge There were two men standing on Mrs. Peterson’s doorstep. I thought at first it was Mormon missionaries, we’ve been getting those a lot around here lately. But they weren’t wearing black ties. Instead, they wore white robes and halos. My coffee was hot in my mouth, but I barely minded as I watched Mrs. Peterson open the front door to look at the two men. She calmly inspected them, and I could hear her inviting them inside. I sat on my porch swing that was older than me, and tried to listen to their words over the creaking of the hinges as I rocked back and forth. Shaking their heads, they said some words, and turned to leave. Mrs. Peterson put her hand to her chest, muttered something under her breath, and then turned back into the house. The two men walked down the dirt trail that led to her front door, and as they walked past the white picket fence that outlined the edge of her property, they disappeared. “Jehovah’s Witness,” I said between sips of coffee, “is getting cleverer.” We lived in the middle of a small neighborhood on top of a hill. There was a city on either side of us, one to the east and the other to the west, just within walking distance, but still far enough away that you felt like you weren’t apart from either city. Living in the city was a nightmare. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. Crime seems to be the main business there, between robbery, murder, drugs, and prostitution, it was a miracle they didn’t share the title of “Sin City.” Our other neighbors lived as if they were in the cities. 115 While I lived in a simple one story house, Mrs. Peterson’s was a daunting two-stories. My understanding was that Mrs. Peterson took care of it alone, save the few gardeners and landscapers who came biweekly to keep up with the place. Mrs. Peterson’s husband, Mr. Peterson, died a few years back. She’d been quite lonely since. She used to be involved with a church in the city to the west, but when Mr. Peterson died, she wasn’t able to go anymore, and no one reached out after a few years. She had to substitute TV preachers, who she voiced her distain for. Later that day, a truck arrived full of bushes. They were little potted hedges, and Mrs. Peterson pointed at the end of her driveway, directing them to place them next to the garage. After the truck left, she donned a pair of gloves, a hand shovel, and a large hat and began working in her yard, digging a small area near her fence. “Do you need any help?” I asked walking up to her house, not necessarily asking but telling her that she did, in fact, need help. It was a Saturday; I didn’t have much else to do. “Why, yes I do, young man,” She stood and pointed towards the rows of bushes, “Would you mind grabbing a bush from over there and carrying it to where I’m digging?” “Of course, Mrs. Peterson. I also have a shovel behind my house. Would you like me to grab it?” She smiled and squeezed my shoulder, “That would be so incredibly helpful.” I jogged back to my house and found an old yellow and rusted shovel from the back of my disorganized garage and brought it out to her. She showed me where to dig, I 116 dug the hole, and then grabbed a bush from its pot and placed it in the hole. Mrs. Peterson pointed out the next area and then started filling the hole with her smaller shovel. We finished around dusk. Each of the bushes were planted around her yard, spaced out enough to give them room to grow into each other. Our neighbors had returned from their respective cities and glared at us. No one offered to help. I was wiping sweat off my brow and sitting where the two men had been standing earlier when Mrs. Peterson placed a glass of lemonade in my hand. “For a hard day’s work.” “Thank you very much. This is all the payment I’ll need,” I responded. She smiled and sat down on the ground next to me. From the top of the hill where we lived, we could see the sun set over the city to our west. “Mrs. Peterson, if you don’t mind me asking, what were those men here about earlier?” She didn’t look over at me, instead chose to stare at the orange sun, “Oh, you know, end of the world stuff. What men in white typically arrive in a place for.” I nodded, not understanding. She invited me in for dinner, but I informed her I already had chicken sitting out that I didn’t want to go bad. She squeezed my shoulder again, thanked me for being a good neighbor, and walked into her home. At my own lonely home, I put the pieces of thawed chicken sitting out on the counter in a baggie and placed them in the fridge before ordering take out Chinese food 117 from the east city. My cat, Tiger, roamed downstairs after smelling the food and I gave him a noodle to play with while I ate. -O- I spent the next month walking by her house, waving towards her, and continuing on with my day. I worked in the city to the west of us, so I always walked with the sun at my back. The city was nasty. It was hard to even stomach going there, but when you had a paid off house and no other options, you do what you can. On my daily walks, I saw no less than twelve prostitutes, three drug deals, and at least one murder a week. Even the churches weren’t that great, with the pastors standing outside with signs saying things like, “God hates gays” (in less kind words), “your going to Hell,” and “America’s run by Satan” and screaming until their faces were red. Every day, Mrs. Peterson would invite me inside for dinner, and every day I would decline, stating I had food sitting out, and I would either eat it or order something else. One Saturday, I walked outside, and her bushes had grown tremendously. I couldn’t see her house anymore, unless I was walking past the front gate. They were neatly trimmed, either by Mrs. Peterson, the gardener, or divine inspiration. A few minutes after I stepped out to enjoy my coffee and the cool morning air, Mrs. Peterson rounded the corner of my own fence and began marching up to me. “Young man, have you set anything out for dinner yet?” 118 “No, ma’am, though I probably was going to set out a steak or chicken breast for myself.” “Good. Don’t do any of that. I’m cooking you dinner tonight. You don’t have a choice. If you aren’t at my doorstep by 5:30 I will drag you out of your house by your ear.” She stopped and smiled. “See you then.” I showed up at her front door at 5:15, just to make sure I was there in plenty of time. I didn’t want to risk her hurting herself trying to pull me out of my house. Bill, who lived across the street, shot me a dirty look as I waited for her to open the door. I gave him a small wave and he returned with a dirty hand sign. Thunder gurgled in the distance. Mrs. Peterson opened the door with that old lady smile when they beat you by doing good for you and welcomed me in. I brought over wine that I had never planned on drinking, but she informed me that she didn’t drink. She was still cooking, so she invited me to sit on the couch while she finished up. Her house was similar to mine in a lot of ways. Red, floral wallpaper covered the walls, and the floor was decorated with a series of thick, soft red rugs that sat over a hard wood floor. Her walls were covered in antique teapots, each on decorated with scenes from fairy tales, mythology, and Bible stories. I stood in front of one that confused me for a bit. It was a man, his two daughters, and a white statue of a woman. I shrugged and sat on her red couch, trying my best not to mess with the pillow arrangement or to offset the white knitted arm covers. 119 When Mrs. Peterson finished making dinner, she showed me to the table, where she set out an assortment of food including lasagna, rolls, salad, and desserts. What caught my attention, however, was the saltshaker. Sitting next to a porcelain angel with black hair, stood a shocked white woman with four tiny holes in her head. I glanced down at it before looking up at Mrs. Peterson. “What is this? I think I saw something similar on one of the teapots.” “Oh, that. It’s a little bit of dark Bible humor. Do you know the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?” I shook my head. She gestured for me to take my seat and I did. She picked up my plate first and began loading it up, not asking me what I wanted. “Back in Genesis, there was a man named Lott who was living in a bad city. The cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were marked by destruction by the Lord, but Lott’s uncle wanted him saved. So God sent angels to get Lott to leave.” She placed a full plate in front of me before filling up her own. “And the saltshaker?” I asked, cutting into my lasagna. “Don’t get ahead of me, young man!” She sat down her plate. “The angels came, and the people showed their wickedness. They lusted after the angels, and they were all made blind. The angels told Lott to get his wife and daughters and to leave the city. But they warned them all to not look back.” She picked up the saltshaker. “This is Lott’s wife. She looked back. She turned into a pillar of salt. Dark humor, but I got it at a garage sale.” She giggled a little. 120 About this time, the house began to shake softly. I looked around, trying to figure out what was happening, but Mrs. Peterson sat still. “What was that?” I wondered aloud. “Oh, nothing to worry about. We are safe here.” I took a bite of my salad and looked over at her questioningly. “What do you mean?” She ignored my question as lightning crackled overhead. Then I could hear rain, though the rain seemed to fall all around the house, but not on it. I continued eating as the storm picked up. Lightning thundered above us, the rain came down around us, the earth shook beneath us, fire flickered through the window, and we sat across the table from each other, eating silently. When we finished eating, she asked me if I could help her with the dishes. The ground continued shaking slightly, but nothing fell off the walls. I could see flashes of lights, and cars drove past us, honking all the way. I dried the dishes and put them in cabinets she pointed at as she cleaned them with her old yellow sponge. I wanted to question her about how she knew we were safe, but I knew I couldn’t or shouldn’t. I looked out the window and could see rain falling right outside the growing hedge we had planted outside. “A hedge of protection,” Mrs. Peterson said as I watched the storm. “Huh?” 121 “The men told me to plant a hedge of protection. I figured since you helped me, you should make it out with me.” She smiled and handed me a plate, pointing at the cabinet above her toaster. After the dishes, I found a pillow and folded blanket sitting on the couch. Mrs. Peterson sat in her chair. “You don’t have to stay here, but I’m afraid nowhere else is safe.” “Why?” I asked. “I’m really not sure. Maybe the cities on either side of us deserved destruction, maybe it’s all natural accident. But I do know that here, there is safety. They said anyone inside of the hedge would be protected. No one from the church calls anymore, all my other neighbors never as much say hi to me. Thank you, young man, for helping me that day.” I looked up at her, not really sure how I could respond. No one else was worth saving? There was a mix of fear and anger and thankfulness that all blurted out, “I’ll be right back.” “Young man, I don’t know if they’ll let you back in.” I nodded and walked out her front door. Outside, a storm was raining down all around us. Lightning struck all around the boundary of her fence, but not inside. In fact, nothing came down on her property, not even the blowing mist or the splattering rain. The ground still shook softly beneath each footfall, but the real quaking began as I walked 122 past the white fence between the two sides of the hedge. I had to grab onto the fence in order to keep my balance once I left its protection. Quickening my pace, I made my way back to my house. I was soaked with rain and lightning struck surprisingly close. I looked at both cities to the east and west, and all I saw was fire and smoke that rose like a furnace. The other houses on the street were barely standing, and I assumed all my neighbors were either dead or gone. Sounds of sirens and screaming were carried up our hill on the wind. As I approached, I could see my house shaking and holes in the windows as pieces of my own fence were picked up by the wind and thrown into it. The front door was still unlocked, and all that blocked my path as the broken porch swing—I quickly moved it. Inside, everything that had been on my walls was on the ground. I could hear the sound of unused broken plates falling and shattering. I heard lightning strike directly above me. I made a beeline for my bedroom. I opened my door and found broken glass everywhere. Scooting as much of it as I could out of the way with my foot, I dropped to my stomach and began searching under the bed to find my frightened cat staring with large unblinking eyes at me. “Here, kitty-kitty,” I said softly as I reached for Tiger. He hissed as my hand came near, as if he knew I was about to remove him from safety. If only he knew that it wasn’t safe here. I managed to only take a bite and a few scratches before I got my hand on his scruff and pulled him out from under the bed. 123 He squirmed and wiggled and tried to get out from my arms, but I wouldn’t let him go. I looked down and I could see the fear in his eyes, a fear that was reflected in my own. Above, the sky grew louder, and the crack of lightning whipped directly above me again, and the thundering drum hurt my ears. I could feel the Tiger’s heartbeat pumping through my flesh as I quickly made my way out of the house on wobbly steps. I threw open the front door and quickly returned my hand to the struggling cat. In a normal circumstance, I might let him go here and let him take his chances against the storm, but I would rather try and reach the supernatural sanctuary that lay just a fence away. I danced to my fence, and thanked God that it was still open so that was one less time I had to let go of Tiger. Turning back to see the house, flames rose on the roof, reflecting in mine and Tiger’s eyes. I ignored it and trudged against the wind. Outside Mrs. Peterson’s hedge, Bill lay dead. Right before I reached Mrs. Peterson’s gate, suddenly the wind pulled back into a fist and slammed into me. My feet left the ground and didn’t return until I was a few feet on the other side of my fence. Through some kind of luck, I still had Tiger in my arms, though he finally decided now was the time to hold on tight and I had a set of eight tiny puncture wounds in my chest. I lay on the ground, catching my breath and taking in water as if I was in the ocean. I didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to continue. Didn’t want to feel the guilt of survival. But I didn’t want to die either. Didn’t want Tiger to die. Suddenly, a figure 124 appeared above me, offering me a hand up. Slowly, I took it and felt as my entire weight was pulled off the ground without a hint of struggle. Looking into the face of the stranger, I could see the smile of one of the men who were at Mrs. Peterson’s door. “You!” I yelled against the wind, “You caused this, didn’t you?” The man smiled and took my hand. He began dragging us through the wind, through the rain, through the earthquakes and lightning and thunder and fire. He led me to the gate and said in a whisper that was like a shout, “You and Tiger should get inside and not leave again. Not until it’s over.” In a flash of lightning, he was gone. I opened Mrs. Peterson’s gate and stumbled inside. The ground didn’t shake beneath me, and I could feel the cool autumn air that I felt just hours earlier, before it all started. Regaining my land legs, I quickly walked to the front door, trying to calm down Tiger, before removing him from my chest and setting him softly on the ground inside. He quickly ran up the stairs, probably to hide under some bed. Mrs. Peterson had Wheel of Fortune on the TV and rested in her armchair. She gave me a smile as I came in, but then returned to the show. “Glad you made it back.” Outside, the lightning continued, never crossing over the hedge of protection. The fire of my house had finally reached the ground and the soaking wet grass was catching too. I walked to the edge of the yard and looked to the east and west. Standing in the road on either side stood one of those men, the ones who had warned Mrs. Peterson, the one that had saved me. They stood with their backs to me, each watching a city burn and 125 crumble. And I just laid in the grass, watching the rain bounce of the dome of this sanctuary until the clouds broke and the Sun rose, the hedge shielding me from the morning light as I finally fell asleep. 126 Sea Foam on the Rocky Beach When Andy tried to run away from home, he did not expect to end up on the rocky beach. He was unfamiliar with the landscape around his grandparents’ house, he didn’t even know there was a beach there. Andy had been visiting his grandparents with his parents, and he was not enjoying his life there. He didn’t have any of his books or his Gameboy, he was utterly bored. His parents told him to go outside and play. Alone. His grandparents had toys for his sisters. The adults needed to talk. Andy’s grandpa was sick, he had overheard. He took off his light up sneakers and his mismatched socks and began to wade in the clear water, stepping through muddy rocks, ocean algae, and trash, not knowing he missed broken glass quite a few times. Andy didn’t know what he was looking for, he just knew there would probably be something out here for him to find. The boy found something glittering out in the water and stepped slowly through the beach to try and get to it. The water was far above the bottom of his shorts, though not touching his shirt, when he finally was able to reach down and grab it. A piece of gold. Pirates’ gold, he thought. “Whoa.” He pocketed it and kept looking when he suddenly heard a splash, and he looked out into the water and saw the face of a woman coming out of the water. She was 127 beautiful, though he was too young to appreciate what true beauty was. He took the gold back out his pocket and showed it to her. “Were you looking for this?” The woman smiled. “No, I was not, that belongs to humans, I think you can keep it.” Andy pocketed the gold again and kept looking around. The woman asked, “How old are you, boy?” “I’m eight years old,” he said proudly. “Ah, that is young for a human, correct?” “No! I’m not young.” Andy was tired of being treated like a child. The woman moved closer to him. “How much longer until you die?” Andy looked at her confused. The woman looked at Andy with pity. “Oh, I see, you are young enough not to know you will die one day, and one day soon that is.” “My grandfather is about to die,” Andy offered. “Don’t you worry about that, you know that humans live after they die, right?” Andy didn’t understand and didn’t have the words to express that he didn’t understand. “You seem confused. You are human, correct?” The boy nodded his head. 128 “Humans have souls, you know that, right? We mermaids don’t have souls, but we get to live longer. When we die, we become the foam of the sea. When you die, you go to heaven or hell or whatever in-between place.” “You’re a mermaid?” he shouted excitedly. The mermaid sighed and turned away. “I don’t feel the need to explain this to you. You are too young to understand. I have lived over two hundred years and am promised at least a hundred more. Come back to me when you understand the nature of the soul and death.” The mermaid then ducked back under the water, and Andy ran back home to tell his whole family what he had seen. -O- Ten years passed by before Andy found his way to his grandparents’ house again. He had bad memories of bad dreams there, and no one believed what he saw. He didn’t know that he was old enough to know that mermaids weren’t real. But he didn’t make it up, right? When he was eighteen, his grandfather passed away. A hard fight with cancer had started ten years ago, before Andy had come to his grandfather’s house all those years ago. Andy wore the black suit and tie that his parents made him wear. He thought he looked stupid, but he seemed to match the attire of everyone else at this small get together. Andy’s grandmother was a wreck, but that’s to be expected after you lose your husband. His mom spent most of her time sitting next to her, trying to keep good-for-129 nothing relatives who want a will reading away, while his dad was happily greeting cousins who he hadn’t seen in some time. Andy’s sisters were upstairs, as they always were. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were already out of their black dresses. At one point, between a prayer and a eulogy, Andy made his way to the backyard of his grandparents’ house alone. He could remember the sound of the beach, how it crashed upon the rocky shore below. Andy couldn’t believe he never wanted to come back our here, it was so much more beautiful than he would ever have thought. He made his way to the cliff edge, just next to the trail that led down to the beach and was watching the waves when he saw a splash and a familiar face, one he thought only existed in his dreams. “The mermaid,” he muttered. He quickly made it down to the beach and began kicking off his shoes on the way down. He socks came off as he made it to the rocks of the beach, and he rolled up his pant legs and threw his jacket into the pile with his socks. He began wading out into the foamy water, avoiding the broken glass and searching the waterline for a break in it, for a familiar face. A voice rung out, “Is that you, young boy?” Andy turned and saw the mermaid coming out of the water. He immediately noticed her breasts, as all eighteen year old boys would. They were covered, but not enough for them to not be noticeable. He then looked up to her face, and he could now appreciate it’s beauty. He smiled as he looked at her, “You’re real.” 130 She rolled her eyes, “If you are not old enough to understand the fullness of life outside of you, do not waste my time. Do you understand the meaning of death and the soul?” “I know that in church they teach that the Holy Spirit comes to live inside of you,” Andy responded. The mermaid scoffed. “Yes, that’s spirit, not soul.” “What’s the difference?” Andy asked. The mermaid said, “Spirit is what influences your actions, soul is who you are.” “That doesn’t make any sense,” Andy said. The mermaid responded, “You are the one with a soul they do not understand.” “Well I not only have had less time to understand it than you, but I also have less time to fully grasp it than you will,” Andy said. The mermaid smiled at this, “Ah, so you do understand the nature of death.” “I know that I’m only promised sixty more good years at best. Is it true that you live longer than us?” Andy asked. The mermaid moved closer. “Yes, God gave us longer lives since we don’t have eternal life.” “I would rather have more time here though,” Andy said. She was appalled. “Do not think so little of your soul that you would choose to live her longer, I would gladly give up my years on earth for immortality.” “I’m not sure I buy all of that,” Andy said, shaking a fish away from his leg. 131 The mermaid looked confused. “You don’t buy it?” “Yeah, what if the soul just disappears. What if there is no afterlife?” Andy asked the question he had pondered for some time. The mermaid looked at him quizzically. “Are you willing to bet your soul on it?” “Huh?” “I would happily give you a three-hundred year life in exchange for your soul.” “That’s silly. Why do you want my soul?” Andy laughed at the statement. The mermaid moved closer. “Because I want to live after death.” “You sound crazy right now.” Andy laughed. The mermaid said, “You are the one willing to give up his soul in exchange for a few more years here.” “Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you,” Andy said. “I will be in these waters until I am of the foam. Do not take too long to get back to me. Bring the coin you found when you were younger.” “Why the coin?” Andy asked. The mermaid responded, “It will be a symbol of our deal. It is of the humans and of the sea.” “Andy? Andy where are you?” a voice from above shouted. “That’s my mom, I gotta go.” Andy turned and the mermaid was gone. -O- 132 Andy, several years later, made his way back to the house, his grandparents’ old house that went to his parents when his grandmother passed a few years after his grandfather. Andy’s parents didn’t want to sell it, but instead kept it as an Airbnb and allowed their kids to use it as a vacation home. He hadn’t been here since his grandfather’s funeral. The last twenty years had been busy. Between college, getting married, a surgery, his first child’s birth, another surgery, his second child’s birth, the car crash, burying his grandmother, burying his first child, a third surgery, and a third child, he had been leading a busy life. His wife insisted that they come up here to get away for the weekend. “You need this,” Nancy said, “Reagan and Kylie need this. I need this. Please, Andy, lets get away for a bit.” Their first child’s death took a toll on Nancy. Andy had been in the car with his grandmother and son when they got hit by a sleeping eighteen-wheeler. He was the only survivor. “Okay,” is all he said. He remembered the gold coin sitting in its protective case on his desk. They pulled up to the house, and the girls in the backseat barely looked up from their phones. “The reception is terrible out here,” commented Kylie. “How does anyone live like this?” Reagan demanded. Andy could see Nancy ignoring their daughters. She looked happy to get away from the responsibilities and reminders. Maybe she wouldn’t cry tonight. 133 Andy began unpacking the car and brought everything inside. Despite the years and the constant influx of people, the house remained unchanged. He didn’t realize how much nostalgia was locked within these walls. The girls made themselves comfortable on the couch while Andy set their suitcases down at the bottom of the stairs. “These will not be brought up by me. Either you take them up or come downstairs every time you need something,” Andy told his daughters, knowing the suitcases would remain there if they weren’t taken upstairs immediately. Both girls rolled their eyes and grabbed their suitcases. Andy saw his wife marveling at the house. She hadn’t been there, only heard about it. Andy wondered if she saw this as a paradise. She ran over to her husband and gave him a hug and a kiss. “Andy! I can’t believe you never brought us here.” “I don’t remember it like this. It’s the same, but I couldn’t appreciate it then,” Andy said. “I’m glad you can appreciate it now. Is the wine in the fridge yet?” Nancy asked. “No, I think it’s still in the car,” Andy said. “Okay, let’s finish unpacking. Then I’m going to pour a glass of wine and read. The girls, I’m sure, will find something to do for the afternoon.” Nancy smiled. “My grandparents always preferred my sisters, so there’s plenty of toys for girls upstairs,” Andy said toneless. Nancy laughed, “Well one; I’m sure your grandparents loved you. And two; I think they might be too old for any toys upstairs.” 134 Andy laughed too. “Well, when we came up here for my parents to check on Grandpa when he had cancer, they made me play outside because there was nothing for me to do inside. Let’s grab the rest out of the car.” They walked to the car. “Well, I’m sure that’s because you were a rowdy little boy who had too much energy,” Nancy said opening the back. “That may be true, but you haven’t seen the doll house my grandpa built.” Andy grabbed as many Walmart bags as he could and walked into the house. Nancy followed him in with a large tote and they set everything down. In the kitchen, there was a big window that overlooked the sea. “I saw a mermaid out there.” “A mermaid? My, what an imagination you have.” Nancy laughed as she began putting food in the fridge and various cabinets. “Yeah,” Andy responded. He wanted to make his wife believe, but not so much that she would stop him from going to find her again. “Was she riding the Loch Ness monster too?” Nancy added, setting the bottle of wine for a moment before transferring it to the counter. “Yup.” Andy hugged his wife from behind, holding her tight. “And then Ursula the sea-witch grabbed them both and dragged them to the bottom of the ocean.” Nancy laughed and kissed her husband. They finished putting everything away, and when suitcases were in the rooms, the girls were out of sight, and Nancy was sitting on the couch reading, Andy pocketed his golden coin and began walking to the beach. 135 The familiar path wasn’t well trodden. It was overgrown and the grass quickly returned upright after each step. Andy felt no rush this time when he came down. He knew she would be there, and he knew she was waiting. When he made it to the beach, he slowly, methodically, took off his shoes, then his socks, then took off his jeans. He did each movement carefully, not wanting to hurt his back. Finally after three surgeries, two of which happened before the crash, he finally felt good enough to be able to do basic movements. No more church softball, but he could go for walks with his wife. He grabbed the coin out of his pocket and stepped carefully into the cold foamy water, remembering the feeling of the chilling, rolling sand beneath his feet. Andy was over-aware of the pollution that invaded beaches, so stepped carefully as he trekked in. He watched the water line for any break, and right as the water reached his waistline, suddenly the mermaid popped out of the water and looked at him. The mermaid smiled. “Hello, little boy, we meet again. It has been a long time for you, correct?” “I’m still not a little boy,” Andy responded. The mermaid laughed. Andy forgot how beautiful she was. Or at least, he had assumed that her beauty was over-exaggerated in his mind. Her laugh was the sound of the sweetest melody, and her breasts were just as he had fantasied before he found love. “Have you come to trade your soul away?” Andy was shocked by the straight forwardness. 136 “Can you bring back the dead?” he asked in response. The mermaid moved closer to Andy, “Oh, you of short life. Have you fully realized how little time you have? If it is an animal, I might be able to breathe life into it, but I would not except by great price because I fear what God would do if I were to give life like that. But I see no dead creature on shore, so I can only assume it is a soul-bound human?” “My son. We were in the car, me and Grandma and him, and suddenly a large truck came out of nowhere…” he trailed off. “I’m the only survivor.” The mermaid said, “I see. Well, I cannot restore the soul once it is taken. But do not be sad, your son’s soul will live forever.” “How do you know that?” Andy asked, fighting back tears. “Because it is a fact that all mermaids know. A fact passed down from generation to generation,” the mermaid seemed angry, “That God loves you more than He loves us. That we were given intelligence but no soul, and that He compensates us with longer lives. I would give my longer life for a soul, to live forever.” “And I would give my immortality to make sure no one I love has to grieve my loss like I have grieved,” Andy snapped back. The mermaid swam closer, “You fool! You idiot! You do not understand what you are asking to give up. You do not understand how precious your soul is.” Andy looked stoic. He had his mind made up. It seemed a simple plan to him, to wait until he had great-grand kids, and then slowly disappear. By the time he would die in 137 a few hundred years, none left that he loved would know who he was. He would die alone, but no one would grieve his death. He held out the gold coin. “You said to bring this if I wanted to make the trade.” The mermaid reached out for it and Andy pulled it away. “I want to make sure I understand this deal and it’s not going to be some genie deal. I give you my soul, and I take a long life. I remain human, and you remain mermaid.” The mermaid chuckled softly, “You will no longer be human, a soul defines your humanity. But you are correct that you will not grow fins, and I, legs. You will walk out of these waters physically the same.” Andy, satisfied, handed the coin over. The mermaid grabbed his hand and poked the tip of his finger, drawing blood. Andy winced but didn’t pull away. The mermaid took Andy’s blood and soaked the coin in it. “This is a man made object that was given to the sea. This will represent our covenant, our trade. A soul for a mermaid’s life.” She then held it close to her mouth and whispered magic words into it. The water around her and Andy began to bubble, and he felt as if something was being pulled out of him, something important. Finally, the bubbles stopped, and the mermaid smiled. “Thank you so much, little boy. Your misunderstanding of the importance of things has become my gain.” The mermaid ducked back into the water, and Andy turned around to head back up to the house. He knew in the coming years, he would grieve all of them, but in a way, it was comforting to know that he would not be grieved by anyone. 138 -O- Andy was mad. He was now almost seventy, and despite his deal with the mermaid, he was preparing to die. “Cancer,” is all the doctor said before Andy had tuned out the world. Cancer? He knew it ran in the family, he knew he had the chance to get it; his grandfather had gotten it, and his father had had a few scares, but Andy never thought he would have it. Despite him being much in his late sixties, he did not appear to be that age. In fact, most wouldn’t think he was much over fifty, if that old. He told everyone who asked a different answer. “Diet and exercise.” “Vitamins and skin care.” “Dr. Pepper and Hershey’s.” Andy had buried both of his parents at this point in his life, but he was glad to know that his daughters, his grandkids, would not have to mourn him like that. At least that is what he thought before the doctor today. Andy didn’t even want to go it, but his wife found a weird mole on his lower back. He figured a quick surgery, and he would be good. Instead, Andy was given six to ten months. Andy immediately drove to his grandparents’ old house. It had gone, in equal shares, to his parents’ three kids. Andy and his younger sister didn’t want the house, so his older sister bought both of their shares. She now lived there, but he would be surprised if that old fart would even notice his car there. 139 When he pulled up to the house, his niece came out to meet him, “Uncle Andy? What are you doing out here? Mom wasn’t expecting company today, and she really needs to rest,” she lowered his voice, “She fell again last night.” “Hey sweetie,” Andy said, not paying attention, “Sorry about your mom, I won’t be long. Don’t even need to go in, just need to walk down to the beach real quick.” “Uncle Andy, is everything alright? Does Auntie Nancy know you’re here?” his niece asked. “What?” Andy was distracted, “Oh, Nancy, yes, she knows I came up here.” “For what?” “Sweetie, I would really love to catch up, but I need to go see a mermaid.” He winked at his niece, hoping that it would be enough for her not to call somebody for him. Andy’s niece walked back inside, and Andy made his way down to the beach. He walked as quickly as he could, but with his back, which had begun hurting again, a snail might’ve made it down to the beach before him. When he got there, he didn’t bother taking off his shoes, instead he just stood at the water’s edge. “You mermaid witch, I demand an explanation!” Andy shouted over the water. Almost as if she was waiting, the mermaid poked her head out of the water. Nothing was different about her expect the necklace she wore, which was the gold coin Andy had given her. “Little boy, is that you?” “You promised me a longer life. And now I won’t live to see seventy,” Andy shouted. 140 The mermaid looked at him in confusion. “What is it that ails you?” “Cancer, mermaid, I have cancer, and it is killing me in one year, not two hundred years as you promised!” She flashed him a large smile and swam closer. “I promised no such thing, I gave you the life expectancy of a mermaid, but that does not make you immune to diseases.” “I want it back.” He stepped closer to the water. “Your soul?” she laughed, “No, I am afraid I cannot.” “But I’m going to die!” He took another step into the water. “As will I, soon enough. But then I get to live again in your afterlife. I have often wondered, as my time comes nearer, what the Almighty will think about a mermaid swimming among his favorite creation.” Andy, stepping further into the water, shouted, “That’s my soul! You will not take what’s rightfully mine.” The mermaid laughed and swam further away, “Oh, little boy, I told you that you did not understand the importance of your soul, and now that you do, you expect me to just hand it over? Absolutely not! Goodbye, little boy, I hope you die quickly and painlessly.” The mermaid ducked back into the water and swam away. Andy began to chase after her and splashed his way through the water. His breathing became heavy only after a few steps, but he kept going. He was moving so determinedly that he didn’t notice the 141 glass, the glass that he had missed on so many other journeys into the water, that finally pierced through his shoe and his foot, causing red to join in with the water around him. Andy yelled and fell back into the water, trying to get his balance. When he hit the water, he floundered trying to get his bearings. Eventually after some splashing around, he found that he could not get to his feet, he could not get to the surface, he could not get air. When he finally died several minutes later, his body dissolved into the sea, a thin layer of foam that his wife, his daughters, their husbands, his niece, and his sister waded through, searching for him across the rocky beach. 142 The Man and His Lamb Once, there was a young man who was down on his luck. He had just lost his job at the local blacksmith, his wife had said that she was thinking about returning to live with her family in the capitol, and the last of his livestock had died from the recent plague that had struck his small village and other places in the area. He was sad, and he looked to the south, towards the Secret Forest, and thought about letting the wolves and shape-changers decide his fate. Then, suddenly, he felt something brush his hand. He looked down at a young lamb who appeared to be lost. He knelt down to pet it and check to see if it had any tags, but there was nothing on the body other than the soft white wool. “Why, hello, little friend. You appear to be as lost as I feel. Come, let us see if we can find who you belong to—they are probably worried about you.” So, together, they began walking around town, the man asking, “Is this your sheep?” or “Is this your lamb?” or “Are you missing livestock?” and each person he asked responded with a “No.” As the sun god began putting the sun to rest and the moon goddess began raising the moon to its place in the heavens, the man said, “Well, little friend, it appears we can’t find your owner. You might as well return home with me.” Together the lamb and the man walked to his house. When he got home, his wife was quite shocked to see the young beast, for every other creature in the area had died. “Where did you get that? Is that for us to eat? It doesn’t seem much a meal.” 143 The man quickly said that the lamb was his guest and would sit at the table and eat with the family. His wife thought he was crazy, but didn’t want to go against her husband, so she allowed the sheep to sit with them as they ate. The man and his little friend became inseparable. His children loved it as well, and they all took turns feeding and caring for it. The wife thought it was quite silly, but it kept her children and her husband happy, so she went along with it. It had been about a month after the man had lost his job and found his little friend when his wife approached him and said to him, “Husband, we are almost out of food and money, and you have no job. We should trade your lamb for some food.” The man was shocked by the suggestion. “Of course we will not sell my little friend. Why not sell one of the children, for they mean just as much to me as this lamb. If there is no food and no money and no job here in this small city, why shouldn’t we head to the capital and stay with your parents? Surely, they would have us.” The wife agreed, and within the next few days, the man, his wife, his three kids, and his little friend all climbed in the back of a wagon and followed the eastern river to the capitol city where the wife’s parents lived. There was great joy and great despair with their arrival, however, for it seemed the plague that had wiped out the livestock soon took hold of the capital. It affected all the livestock in the land, quickly killing almost everything, save for the man’s little friend and the kings’ stock, which was kept far away from the rest of the city. 144 About that time, the king was expecting a guest; the dwarfish king would be traveling from the dwarfish kingdom to see the king of the capital for diplomatic business. The king went to one of his many advisors and said, “We shall surely prepare a feast! The king of the dwarves will soon be here! Tell me, are there any sheep left in the land?” The advisor replied, “Sire, besides the one hundred sheep, cattle, and oxen you own, there is one lamb left, who belongs to a jobless peasant.” “Well, go and take his so my own numbers don’t dwindle. Offer him ten pieces of gold for it, and if he refuses, offer him one hundred pieces of gold for it, and if he refuses a second time, offer him one thousand pieces of gold for it, and if he refuses a third time, wait until the moon goddess brings the moon to the middle of the sky, and then take the lamb from him and bring it here.” The advisor went and did as he was told. He went to where the man was staying with his mother-in-law and father-in-law and knocked on the door. The man and his little friend answered the door. “Greetings, I am one of the king’s many advisors, and am here to buy your lamb,” said the advisor. The man laughed, “I will not sell my little friend.” “I will offer you ten gold pieces for it,” the advisor offered. “I will not sell my little friend for ten gold pieces,” the man responded. “I will offer you one hundred gold pieces for it,” the advisor offered again. 145 “I will not sell my little friend for one hundred pieces of gold,” the man responded again. “I will offer you one thousand pieces of gold for it,” the advisor offered a third time. “I will not sell my little friend for one thousand pieces of gold,” the man responded a third time. The king’s advisor left after that and waited for the moon goddess to bring the moon to the middle of the sky. The wife was angry at the husband for refusing so much money and made him and his little friend sleep behind the house. The two were fast asleep when the king’s advisor came back to the house. He found the man and his little friend sleeping in the grass, and quickly and quietly snatched the little friend. The advisor brought it back to the castle and brought it before the king, saying, “Your majesty, I have brought you the man’s lamb, which I stole from him as he was sleeping, for you said offer him ten gold, then one hundred, then one thousand, and if he still said no to take the lamb.” “Good, my advisor, I am happy with this result,” replied the king, “Go and prepare the lamb for slaughter.” But, before the advisor left the room, the lamb spoke and said, “I am not happy with this. I am the bringer of the plague, and I left the king’s herds and flocks untouched 146 in order for me to stay with my master. But now, I shall bring the plague upon the king’s herds and flocks as well as the king’s children.” Then the lamb roared a roar that was heard throughout the kingdom and awoke everyone except for the man who was still sleeping in the grass. All at once, all one hundred of the king’s sheep, cattle, and oxen fell dead and rotten, so their meat could not be eaten, and all seven of the kings’ children were cursed to never wake up. The king began crying and told the lamb to leave his sight. The lamb walked home and curled up to the man as both the little friend and the rest of the city fell back to sleep. The lamb stopped the plague, and the city was replenished with animals of all kinds, including horses, cattle, oxen, donkeys, rams and sheep, and dogs and other domestic animals. The man, though he never could find work, lived happily with his little friend for the rest of his days. 147 The Story of Three Siblings Part 1: The Naming of Three Once upon a time, there were three siblings born to no mother. Even at this time it was a strange thing to be born without a mother, and their father still wanted nothing to do with them, so they were forced to raise themselves. They lived in what they would want to call a cottage in the woods but was actually a small cave. If not for their lineage, they would’ve frozen to death every night, but instead they clung to the fire for a warmth that was unneeded. Do not feel sorry for the two sisters and their brother. They did not know this, but they were born evil. Some say they were born from the devil and the Snow Queen herself, though none could prove it. Others say that they were each a flower that grew legs and began to walk around, thus they have no souls. Others say that they are the remnant of the Nephilim, left on the earth to continue God’s punishment of man. One of these is probably correct. When they were old enough to form words for themselves, they decided that each should have a name. This was mostly to distinguish the two sisters from each other, but their brother became jealous and desired a name as well. “Fine, brother, you shall be Peter.” “Why Peter?” the brother asked his beautiful sister. The brother did not think she was beautiful, but I must distinguish the sisters before they are named somehow. Besides, 148 the sister was beautiful. Often the beautiful sister would go down to the nearby river and stare at her reflection for hours. The ugly sister would push her in, and the brother would laugh. “Because, brother,” the ugly sister chimed in. She was truly ugly, a face that not even her mother (should she have one) could love, “I heard the name from a hunter who was passing by, and it is the only boy name we know.” Peter was satisfied with this answer. He liked that he was named for a hunter, he could feel in his bones that he too should be a hunter one day. “What about you, sister?” Peter asked. “I shall be named—” both sisters started before looking at each other. “This is why we need names, Juniper,” the beautiful sister interjected before her uglier sister could speak. “Why is she Juniper?” Peter asked. “Because she looks as if that juniper tree over that has smacked her in the face one too many times.” Both Peter and his beautiful sister laughed at this, while the ugly sister, who was now Juniper, stood there quietly, thinking. “I will only accept this name if you accept my name for you,” she said. “Nothing could be worse of a name than the tree you ran your face into,” Peter laughed, already misremembering that his uglier sister was born ugly. “Yes, indeed, please, give me a name, Juniper.” 149 “I call you Catherine, since it is the nicest name I can think of,” Juniper smiled as she said this. Catherine scolded herself for being tricked, but she accepted her name as calmly as she could. And thus the three siblings were named. I wish to tell you that they would only bring misery upon themselves, but that would simply not be true. The three, Peter, Catherine, and Juniper, grew older, and soon their small clearing where they would eat berries and rabbits became a sad sight for them. They collectively agreed to head out to see what lied beyond the clearing. Part 2: The Woodcutter and the Baker There was discussion among the three on how they would live when suddenly they saw white smoke in the distance. Peter, being cunning and crafty, told his sisters to lay behind as he began to sneak forward. Quiet steps were taken as he snuck towards the fire. His hunter instincts began to kick in, and as he closed the distance to the place he was seeking, he began crawling on all fours. He hid behind a felled tree as he approached his destination, and what he saw was surprising. There was a small house, a real cottage. It had a steady stream of smoke coming from the top, a hay roof, and sticks for walls. Outside, there was a woman who was chopping wood, as winter was coming (though the three siblings forgot about the changing of the seasons every year). 150 But what surprised Peter the most was the smell coming from the small cottage. Oh, how sweet that scent was. After living off of survival food for so long, the smell of baked bread smelled like a four course meal to Peter. In fact, he began to hunger so much that his stomach growled. Loudly. Birds and cats and rabbits ran from him and the steady sound of axe hitting wood stopped as the woman looked around. “Hello?” her voice was almost as sweet as the bread cooking inside, “Is there anyone out there?” Peter sat silently behind his felled tree. He had to think carefully, think fast. He could kill the woman to steal her treats, but he had never killed anything that big before. And besides, she had a weapon that he did not. He heard slow, cautious footsteps moving towards him. To run or to fight? He decided Catherine would know best and ran from his place. “Wait, little boy, come back!” the woman yelled from behind him. But he did not listen to adults, like children should, since he was born evil and had never seen an adult before. He made it back to the place where Catherine and Juniper waited for him. “There is a real cottage there, with real smoke and the best-smelling thing that I want to eat very badly. Unfortunately, it is guarded by a woman with an axe,” he huffed. Catherine thought on this for a moment. “We should kill the woman,” Juniper said, proud of her idea. 151 “Oh, you are as stupid as you are ugly,” Catherine retorted, “Peter, did this woman seem threatening?” “She walked towards me with her axe, but that was after my stomach growled loudly.” His stomach growled in agreement. “I think she was more curious than angry. Odds are, she would take us in and feed us. Adults are idiots like that, and if not, I’m sure between the three of us we can overpower her.” If Juniper was as stupid as she was ugly, Catherine was as brilliant as she was beautiful. Despite having never met an adult, she knew how naïve they were compared to children. And even if she was wrong, Peter and Juniper could die in service of her escape. Catherine did not know she was capable of love; she would not know this until she was older. So the three siblings made their way back to the cottage where the woman was outside cutting wood. As they stepped out of the clearing, immediately the woman looked up at them and was shocked by what she saw. The three children were dirty, wearing clothes that were too big for them (since they stole them from hiking adults), and there was a monstrous quality to them. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew these children were evil. No, children can’t be evil. The woman was still innocent and believed that evil was taught. And while that was true for some, it was not true for all. “Hello, children, what are your names?” The woman set down her axe and began to walk towards them. 152 “We are hungry, and we require the food that we smell. Would you share with us?” Catherine asked. The woman was shocked by the straightforward nature of the beautiful girl. As she got closer to them, she recognized the boy as the one running away from her. The woman did not trust this, though she hated herself for doubting the intentions of children. “Yes, of course; come inside please.” The woman brought the three children inside, and for the first time they felt the warmth of a home. It was something they didn’t know they needed or wanted. Catherine hated herself for enjoying it. There was a small table with five chairs sitting around it that the siblings sat down at. The woman walked over to a small counter and grabbed one of the many bread loaves that sat on a counter and handed it to the siblings, handing a small knife to Catherine (who she somehow knew was the leader of the trio) and began to call for her husband. Now, I will say that both the baker and his woodcutter wife have names, but tradition dictates I keep these names secret. To know the baker’s name would be an unfortunate truth, so I must therefore call them husband and wife, or the baker and the woodcutter, or perhaps the man and the woman. “Yes, my wonderful wife?” the baker came from the back with a small tray of pastries that the siblings would soon learn were called cookies. “We have some company,” his wife responded. 153 When he turned to look at the children, a huge smile grew across his face. This was the first time the three siblings experienced joy, though it was not theirs but another’s. During this exchange, Peter and Juniper ate hungrily on their bread, while Catherine took it one bite at a time, slowly savoring each bite, as if it would be the last time she would eat it. Which, if she had her way, would be the last time she would. The baker sat down his tray and walked over to his wife and hugged her. “God or one of the gods has answered our prayers.” “Prayers?” Catherine asked. “Yes,” the woodcutter explained, “We have been praying to whoever would listen for a child for so long, and here you come along, in need of a home. Do you know which of the gods sent you?” The woodcutter misunderstood Catherine’s question. She wanted to know what prayer was, not to know what she prayed for. But she ignored this and instead said, “As far as I’m aware no gods have cared for us since our birth. Perhaps the Almighty has brought us here, perhaps it was a forest god who implanted the idea to leave our cave to go exploring. I don’t think either of those things happened, but instead that we just happened across the right place at the right time. But keep praying to your gods (and really, I would pick one, most gods don’t like casted nets), since we will be leaving.” Juniper and Peter were shocked by this. They each wanted to stay where it was warm (though they did not need it) and the food was good. They gave each other a similar look, asking without words whether they should attempt to defy Catherine. 154 The baker too was shocked, but he was shocked because of how elegantly the young girl said this. The woodcutter, however, could only wish to be shocked by the young girl’s words, but she had already learned to expect this level of wisdom to come from the girl. She also could tell that the girl’s brother and sister wanted to stay. She walked away from her husband and knelt down beside the girl. “What is your name?” the woodcutter asked a silent Catherine. “We call her Catherine,” Peter said through a full mouth. “Peter!” Catherine snapped back. “Catherine, what a beautiful name.” Catherine rolled her eyes at the woodcutter’s words. “We, of course, can’t keep you here. And if you have a home to go to, please, I ask you to return to parents that miss you. But if you have no home, nowhere to belong, you can stay with us. You don’t even need to call us mom and dad, but we just want to call you daughter, and daughter, and son,” she looked up at Peter and Juniper as she said this. Catherine looked at her idiot siblings. She desperately wanted to leave, but she could tell her siblings wanted to stay. She wouldn’t be able to put a name to it for many years, but she would feel compassion for her misguided siblings. Her own smile crept across her face. “We can stay here for a time, woodcutter.” The woodcutter wrapped her arms around Catherine and felt how cold she was. It was unnatural. She had been cold before and had hugged her husband after he had been outside for some time, but never before had she felt someone who was cold all the way 155 through. She pulled away from the child and realized that at least this one was pure evil. The woodcutter looked at the two others and wondered how they would feel when hugged. She put on a fake smile and returned to her husband. -O- The children had about a week to acclimate to their new homes before the chores began. At first, it was to help out with the shop, to greet customers, but soon, it turned to sweeping, mopping, and carrying firewood. If that doesn’t sound too bad, it’s because it wasn’t. And neither Juniper nor Peter hated doing the chores. Only Catherine hated it. In fact, Juniper and Peter really began to find their place with the baker and woodcutter. Juniper found that she loved baking, especially the sweets, and learned as much from her surrogate father as she could. Likewise, Peter found that the outside chores were the best. Grabbing wood from the pile to stack, raking the yard, as well as the hunting and gathering. The woodcutter showed Peter how to set traps for his prey, and often they would bring back rabbits and squirrels, sometimes a skunk or a cat that found itself dead in the trap. Peter would hungrily eat them up when they were cooked. Peter thought he had a bottomless stomach sometimes, since he could eat and eat and would never be full. When he tried to sleep at night, he would wonder if he got his stomach from one of his parents, and sometimes he would cry himself to sleep thinking about it. Meanwhile, Catherine hated everything about the husband and wife. They were so kind and loving towards everyone but her. This wasn’t true, but she thought it was. While Juniper and Peter got chores they enjoyed, Catherine would get everything else. 156 Sweeping, laundry, chimney cleaning. Many days she would end the day covered in soot. She didn’t even need the fire to stay warm! And her siblings were too busy learning their new crafts to care about her. She hated everything about her life. Well, there was two things she enjoyed. The first was the woodcutter’s mirror. Catherine loved to look at herself in the silver thing. Behind the dirt and sweat, there was beauty to Catherine’s black hair, red lips, and fair skin. When she left, this was the one thing she would take with her. The second thing were the weekly trips into town to sell wood, baked goods, as well as load up on necessities for the house, which was a nice change of pace for the lonely girl. She would look in the windows at all the things she would want, and her parents—the baker and woodcutter—would tell her no. Except, they always allowed her to get a book from the bookstore. She didn’t remember being taught how to read; it was as if she was born with the ability. Catherine spent most of her free time lost in the worlds of the books. Magic and swords and knights in shining armor and all the things girls could dream of. Well, she dreamed of using her magic to melt swords and kill the knights in shining armor. Some girls dream differently. On one of these trips, a few months after they arrived at the home, Catherine found a very interesting book in the bookstore. Catherine entered the old store that lay on the opposite side of the town from her adoptive parents’ home. The smell of old books had become a more of a comfort to her than the smell of the bread baking that she would wake up to most mornings. The 157 bookstore was small compared to most other bookstores, but Catherine wouldn’t know that until years later. The old bookkeeper looked up at the girl as she came in and the bell rung above the door. “Oh Catherine, good to see you again. What are you wanting today?” “Nothing in particular today, just want to look around.” She knew his name, but wouldn’t say it, so neither will I. Side characters don’t get names in these types of tales. “Well, we had some new books come in from a neighboring kingdom in the back, if you want to take a look,” the bookkeeper’s words and eyes lingered for a moment too long on the beautiful girl. It was not only he who noticed her black hair, red lips, white skin. Though the book bookkeeper did not look at the girl with lust, there was a caring love behind his own brown eyes. “No thanks, bookkeeper,” she knew better than to trust any man, “I will look where others can see me,” she said coldly. And with that she began searching the shop for something new. She passed over many books that she might’ve already read or maybe she thought they were stupid (Catherine cared little for the morals found in fairy tales and fables) or maybe she just didn’t love the cover. When she finally did find a book that looked interesting, she found that the inside was very different than the outside. While the outside of the book was green with golden flowers, the inside was dark and twisted. Ancient writing was scattered throughout yellowed pages, and as Catherine 158 flipped through the pages, she could feel the powers of the words within the book. For the first time in a while, Catherine smiled her evil smile. -O- Catherine spent the next few weeks gathering the ingredients for the ritual. The tooth of a newborn, an eyelash of a cow, the first dying flower of winter, and many other random specific things. She refused to tell her siblings about her plan, and in fact withdrew further into herself. The baker and the woodcutter didn’t care, however. They each had their children that they could pass on their legacies to; Catherine viewed herself as the extra child in their lives. Of course, Catherine completely understood and agreed with their motives. She would do the same thing in their position. That’s one of the reasons she felt no remorse for what she planned on doing. Remorse was something that the baker and the woodcutter forgot to teach their children, since most children come with that already. During that time, Juniper and Peter were having their own individual journeys. While Catherine was learning about the magic that lay within her dark book, Juniper was learning about the magic of baking. And yes, it was a literal magic that made their bread so good. Juniper didn’t learn this until several months into their stay at their surrogate parents’ house. It was one day near the beginning of that summer when the baker pulled his hideous daughter to the side. “Now, Juniper, I can see you are a very good baker in your own right.” 159 “Thank you, Father,” Juniper said while she wondered how easy it would be to kill him here and now. It was something that evil children thought of from time to time, but she acted on it only in her dreams. “I want to show you one of my many baking secrets.” He turned from his daughter with a sense of pride and turned to the locked cabinet that she pretends she doesn’t try to open daily. He pulled out a key from his pocket and as he unlocked the door, there was a rattling coming from within. “What is that?” Juniper got closer to the man. His back was turned. He probably tasted good. "This is the starter. We use his yeast to make the bread.” Juniper looked into the jar to see the white and yellow blob moving slowly through the glass jar. It was filled halfway, and as she looked into it, she saw a figure of a man rise from the starter and wave at her. She turned to the baker. “Why are you showing me this?” “Because I thought you should know the true price of our bread.” He got the flour ready and added the yeast from the starter to it. Together, they kneaded the dough and let it rise. Juniper was excited. She never got to be in the kitchen while the baker was working on the bread, she just got to help after the early morning with the sweets. She noticed how the dough squirmed under her fingers, and she enjoyed digging into it with each kneading, feeling the power she had over another living thing. The starter sat on the counter, watching like a father waiting for his newborn to be born. 160 “Now, for the tragic part.” The baker grabbed the risen dough and threw it into the oven. It clattered and began to scream. The baker closed the front of the oven, and the screaming was heard less. Juniper turned away from the sight only when she saw a tapping on glass as the living starter sat watching his child being burnt alive. A wicked smile crossed her face, and she began to chuckle. The baker mistook his daughter’s reaction for mourning and embraced her, assuring her, “It’s okay, it is the way of life. Things must die so others can live. And our bread feeds so many.” Juniper embraced her father, knowing that he just taught her an important lesson. She held a knife, waiting for a reason to murder. Outside, the woodcutter watched her son steadily chop wood. She turned and looked at her straw and stick house; she hated it. She wished to be able to provide a better place for her family to live, her and her husband baker, and their two children—three. She often forgot about Catherine, not out of a hatred for the girl, but out of a worry. She did not see Catherine as her own child like she saw Juniper and Peter. Unnamed fairy tale parents are very similar to parents from our world; imperfect. Peter took a quick break from the wood and glanced at his distracted mother. How easy it would be to kill her, to roast her body to—no. She has a role in his story still, and until she stops feeding him, he won’t bite her hand. She glanced at him and nodded towards the woods. “Let’s go check our traps.” 161 The two began walking through the woods in a silent walk like most days. Despite the constant want to kill his mother, Peter quite liked her. She was quiet often, like him, but he could tell there was something on her mind today. “Is there something wrong, Mother?” Peter asked. “What do I provide for our family? Your baker father provides bread and gold for us, while I just chop wood,” she responded. “Yes, but that wood keeps you and father warm. And how often do you sell that firewood for extra coin? As well, you provide food through the meat of the squirrels and rabbits we catch.” As he said it, they came across the first of the traps, which was empty. “Looks like there is nothing to bring back from this trap.” “There are several more to check,” the woodcutter reassured her son. They kept walking in agreed silence, until the woodcutter once again spoke, “How do you feel about our house?” “It keeps the rain from our heads on the rainy days, and the wolves out at night. It keeps you and father warm at night,” Peter said hopping onto a felled tree and holding his arms out as he balanced on it. “Yes, but what strong wind won’t knock it over? I built our house as a temporary shelter, and yet have done nothing to improve it.” They came across the second trap, which held a small cat within. “Our first trap is empty, and our second trap has a useless catch. Release the cat, my son.” 162 Peter wanted to badly to kill the cat then and there, he knew how good their flesh tasted in his maw. But he listened to his mother, like a good child, opening the trap and grabbing the small grey feline from inside. He lifted it to his nose to take in its scent, with the hopes of tracking it later, and released it. It scampered off into the deep woods, towards where the three lived before they became someone’s children. Peter began to walk in the direction of the next trap when his mother instead walked in a different direction. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I want to show you something.” The two walked in silence as the woods thinned and eventually, they were in a small clearing. Peter could see the smoke that rose from their chimney in the distance. They were close to home. The woodcutter began to walk around the clearing, inspecting it. “What do you think of this land, Peter?” Peter began to walk around the land. He told his mother that it was good and flat land. “And if I were to build our new home on this land, would you help me?” Peter was taken aback by the question. The fact that she trusted him so much to help with a project, if he had a heart that could be warmed, it would’ve been. “Yes, of course. What should we build with?” “Wood is aplenty around us, but bricks are sturdier for houses.” 163 “Bricks are also very expensive,” Peter snapped back, “Besides, we are woodcutters.” “You are so right, my son,” she walked over and hugged him, and Peter took in her scent. “Let’s keep this secret from your father and sister.” “Sisters,” he corrected. “Yes, of course.” And it was here that the woodcutter was resolved to get rid of her third child. -O- Unfortunately for the woodcutter and her husband, the time would not come for her to send off their daughter to quietly die or torture another family. For winter came, and the woodcutter received word that her father had passed. As was the tradition of mourning in this place and time, she was to return to her home and see her father put in the ground. She and the baker decided that she would go alone. They did not want to bring Catherine along with her, and they did not want to leave her alone. The woodcutter asked her son if he wanted to go with her, but he wanted to stay with his sisters. So with that, the woodcutter loaded a wagon and began her trek. Before she left, she hugged each of her children. To Peter, she said, “Watch after our family while I’m gone.” To Juniper, she said, “Be helpful to your father in my absence.” To Catherine, she said, “Do not be a problem while I’m not here to fix it.” 164 The woodcutter kissed her husband goodbye and started her trek to her old home. That night, Catherine finally told her brother and sister what she had been planning. “I found this book in the old bookstore on the other side of the town. In it is dark magic, rituals that can give and take life. We shall use this to gain power above all life on earth, perhaps even the devil himself.” (She never considered that the devil might be her father.) “Catherine, what do you have in mind?” Juniper whispered in the darkness of the room. She opened the book and showed them what she had what she had been preparing for. She had everything she needed, everything except one thing. “Whose heart are we taking?” Peter asked, knowing that his crafty sister already had a plan. “Why,” she looked Juniper in the eyes, “the baker’s, of course.” Juniper wanted to say something, but she knew better. When beautiful Catherine wanted something, it didn’t matter what ugly Juniper or loyal Peter wanted, it was pointless to try and fight. If the ugly sister was capable of love, she would’ve loved the baker. But now all she could think about how easy it would now be to steal the living starter. So Catherine led her two siblings into the kitchen, where she grabbed a knife, and then led them to the room where the baker and the woodcutter slept. With the woodcutter gone, it would be easy work. 165 The door opened and the room glowed with candlelight. Inside, the baker slept with a peaceful snore. Catherine handed the candle to her sister, who walked to the side of the bed that the baker slept on and set it on the nightstand. Peter went to the other side, and the two of them grabbed each of the baker’s arms as Catherine walked over with the knife. Between the light and the feeling of hands, the baker began to slowly awake from his slumber. “Juniper? Peter? What’s going on? Catherine?” The baker tried to sit up, but the evil children were on either of his sides. Despite their young age, they held on with devilish grips. “Thank you, dear baker, for providing for us for the last year. Now, you shall provide one last thing for us, and we will be gone from you.” Catherine lifted the knife above her head. “Wait, no! Please! You don’t need to do this; you don’t have to be evil,” the baker cried. Catherine plunged the knife into the baker’s stomach. Blood did not squirt out like you would think, but instead started pouring slowly from the wound. Catherine leaned in close to the dying man and said in a whispered voice, “But I want to be evil, so badly.” She kissed his cheek and pulled the knife from him, and blood began to pour faster. She took the knife and began carving around the heart now, removing the skin and tissue from his chest before carefully cutting the arteries and detaching the odd shape 166 from its container. I am sad to say the baker was alive for too much of this dissection, screaming and squirming as the two children held him down with blank faces. Finally, with bloody hands and face, she lifted the heart from the body and began walking emotionlessly to the dining area where the rest of ingredients were set. She placed the heart in a bowl before pouring in the other ingredients and reading from the dark book. Juniper and Peter watched their sister carefully stirring the other ingredients into the heart, carefully pronouncing each of the words until, finally, it was a paste. Catherine set down the mixer and lifted the bowl. “Thank you, to whichever dark god allowed this book to come into my possession. You deserve credit for only that, for I have made myself more powerful than you.” She then spoke the magic words that cannot be written on paper. If they were to be written, I would forget them, and it’s likely the paper would catch fire. As she said these final words, the book itself caught on fire, and she brought the bowl to her lips. It had a strange taste and texture, and yet it went down easy. Juniper and Peter watched as the empty bowl dropped from her hands and she began to convulse. Juniper tried to step forward, but Peter stopped her. They watched as Catherine grew a few inches, became taller, older, more beautiful. Eventually she stopped as black lightning began to stretch from her fingers. She closed her fist, and the lighting went back into her body. The first thing she noticed was how tight her clothes now felt, especially around her chest. She knew that before they left, she would have to steal some of the 167 woodcutter’s clothes, despite how homey the clothes would be. Secondly, she noticed the pile of ashes that was the dark book. The book was gone, and the words that she spoke now were removed from her head. She finally noticed her siblings, who now stared up at their older sister. “I am sorry,” she lied, “that I will be unable to perform the ritual for you.” “Did you know the book would be gone?” Juniper asked accusatorily. “No, that was unclear in the instructions.” She was truthful in this statement. “But worry not, we have much time to figure out the ritual again. Do you remember the words that I spoke?” Both of the younger siblings shook their head. “What shall we do now?” Peter asked. “The woodcutter will hate us now that the baker is dead.” “Then we shall not be here when she comes back.” And with that, Catherine changed her clothes and the three began to gather their belongings. Catherine put whatever books she could carry into her small bag and flung it over her shoulder. Peter collected his box of trophies (mostly teeth of cats and other creatures) and carried it out. Juniper grabbed the baker’s key and unlocked the cabinet, removing the starter from the cabinet and carrying it out. As the three left, Catherine turned around and commented, “Now, we probably shouldn’t leave the house for the woodcutter to find. Peter, do you mind?” She placed a hand on Peter and gave him a hint of power, a power that was deep down inside. 168 Peter handed his box to Juniper, whose hands were now full, and turned back to the house. Peter began to breathe in, more and more and more, until there was enough air in his lungs to make the East Wind jealous. He then expelled the air from his lungs, huffing and puffing creating a wind that blew against the house, first removing the straw roof and scattering the pine to the winds, and then the stick walls that collected pathetically to the ground. The stone oven was also knocked over, scattering the smoking logs within. The only sign of the house was the stick pile that lay there and began to catch fire from the cindered logs left within the cottage. Peter felt the power leave his body with the wind, but he so desperately wanted it back. He went back and collected his box from Juniper, and the three returned to the woods, with new towns and new lives to destroy in their future. Part 3: Crying Wolf They left to go to a neighboring city, with Catherine being more beautiful and more powerful than ever, and Peter and Juniper left watching her grow and prosper. Jealousy grew within their hearts. Catherine cared little for her siblings at this point, caring enough for them to feed them as she felt they needed. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to provide for herself for long. Beauty can only get you so many things. When she first got into this new village, a wink or a smile would give her food and drink, but it wasn’t long before the men of the 169 town grew used to her beauty, and she no longer could live freely. They would move from town to town, village to village, city to city. The same would happen in each. She saw two options before her, and she refused to work for a living. So she traded Peter to a wandering merchant for a nice dress and Juniper to a baker in the nearby wood for a fine golden necklace with a pearl inset. Before she saw each of her siblings off, she hugged them, placing a magical charm on them so she would always know where they were and told them, “This is not a goodbye for always, but there will just be a time until we are together.” Peter hugged his sister dearly. Juniper spit at her feet and said, “When we see each other again, have the ritual ready for me and Peter.” And for many years, Catherine would not see her siblings. She always knew where they were and where their adventures would take them, but Catherine could only look after herself for now. But for now, we will not get to see Catherine’s great journey, for it is time to see Peter’s journey. For Peter’s journey is the most tragic of his three siblings. He left the town with the merchant and was once again traded for a bag of yellow sheep’s wool to a young shepherd. The shepherd was wifeless and childless, so he took in Peter as his own child. He began to teach Peter how to care for sheep, how to sheer them and how to lead the flock, along with all the other things you need to know to be a young shepherd. 170 The shepherd’s flock was no ordinary flock, however, for each of the sheep in the meadow were of a different color. Peter counted over one hundred unique colors, some that have never been seen by a human eye, and some that will never be seen. “This is why we must care for our herd, against dog, lion, wolf or dragon that may come,” the shepherd explained. “Do dragons exist in this land?” Peter asked. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t.” For the shepherd truly did know the answer to the question. All the people in the village watched over the flock, even though it was Peter and the shepherd who took on the majority of the work. The rest of the village would make beautiful tapestries, garments and clothing out of the colored wool, to the likes that kings would envy what was in the village. Peter began to enjoy his life, for there was plenty of food to eat, for new lambs would be born weekly in their herd, and there was plenty of free time to be had in the field. Peter would daydream of terrible, terrible things (remember that he is evil to the core, even if he is, for a time, doing good and productive things). He would daydream about killing each of the sheep of the field, ripping apart wool and flesh to make a great meal for himself. He would then continue to the town, where he would kill each and every man, woman and child. He would build a fire and roast their bodies one by one, until he was full, though he did not believe he could be full. 171 One of these days, while he was watching the sheep alone, he awoke from this daydream to see the sheep acting weird. They were nervous, trying to move away from him. He glanced behind him to see if there was a predator lurking in the woods behind him, but he would see nothing. “Hello?” he called out into the woods, not knowing if beast or man was waiting for him past the tree line. No one answered. Peter began herding the sheep away from this area and towards the water. They all seemed to run from him and didn’t relax as they crowded near the waters. One such sheep dipped their head into the water and immediately recoiled. He saw this and made his way through the sheep to look into the water. Perhaps there was a sea beast or leviathan that was scaring the sheep from it. When he looked in the water, however, there was no leviathan that crouched below the waters waiting to snatch beasts from the surface. Instead, there was a monster, a creature covered in hair, a long snout, large, monstrous teeth smiling from the reflection. And this sea-wolf looked at Peter and recoiled as Peter recoiled and began running from the water towards the village. “Wolf!” he cried all the way home. “There’s a wolf in the water, and I have no weapons to kill it!” The townsfolk stopped what they were doing and began grabbing their weapons. They grabbed pitchforks and swords and one woman grabbed a broom and they began 172 marching towards Peter. Leading this mob was the shepherd, who asked Peter, “Where was the wolf?” “It was by in the water, with large teeth and a snarling snout and fearful eyes.” “In the water, are you sure, my adopted apprentice?” “Yes! The sheep ran from the water and when I looked to see if there was a beast below the surface that is what I saw.” And so this small village who relies so heavily on the sheep ran towards the water and began to search for this wolf. They could find nothing. “Peter, I don’t know what you saw, but be sure not to let your imagination get the better of you,” the shepherd said as he followed everyone else back to the village. Luckily, there were no sheep missing, so Peter brought the herd back with no issue. But that did not mean that was the end of the experience for him. Oh no, for while most people are not fully evil like Peter or his sisters, everyone is born with a little evil in their heart, and the evil of Peter’s town was brought out in the mocking that the poor boy had to endure for some time after. “Watch out, Peter, there’s a wolf!” one would cry. “Peter, there’s a monster lurking behind you!” another would jeer. “Make sure everyone checks their cups for wolves before you take a sip,” a third would mock. 173 Peter stored each of these insults in his heart in the form of hatred as even those who are not evil do. The shepherd tried to encourage young Peter, saying to him, “It’s okay, everyone will make at least one mistake throughout their lives.” “How do we change our mistakes?” Peter asked. “We cannot,” the shepherd responded, “We can only learn from them.” “How do we learn from the mistakes when they only hurt?” “We learn not to do the things that hurt. For you, I think it’s important to not let your imagination run wild. The job of a shepherd is a boring one at times, but it’s important to let what you dream stay in your head unless it goes on paper.” “But what if I do see another wolf?” Peter asked. “You do as you did before and run and get the townsfolk.” “But what if they mock me again like they did the first time?” “Make sure they have no reason to mock you.” So Peter returned to the field and allowed himself to daydream and watch as the sheep moved in the field. It was mesmerizing at times, watching the colorful sheep move all around in circles. So mesmerizing that Peter found himself falling asleep. When he awoke, it was dark outside, and none of the sheep were near him. Peter panicked and hopped up, grabbing his staff. He would surely be in trouble for this, especially after the false wolf. He ran around looking for his sheep, calling in a loud whisper as to not disturb the town. 174 But the sheep did not come to him. Instead, they began running away in fear of him, not as if he was their shepherd, but as if he was going to kill them. Peter, not understanding, tried dropping his staff to show that he had no weapons, that he had no intent to kill them. But sheep see more signs of danger than humans do and would not go near their shepherd. Peter did everything he could to bring the sheep home, but nothing was working. So he stayed up the entire night watching the sheep as they stayed far away from him, and as the Sun rose, he fell asleep, knowing that no wolf would be coming for the sheep in the light. -O- “Peter, are you okay?” asked the shepherd as he shook Peter awake. Peter jumped awake and pulled away from his shepherd. It was a reflex, and wild urge, and if he continued, he would’ve bitten the shepherd for waking him from his slumber. Instead he rubbed his eyes, trying to attune them to the waking world. Only, when he did, something red caught his eye. He looked down to see his hands covered with blood. His body was covered in blood. If he could see his face, he would’ve seen it was also blood covered, and that meat hung between his teeth. “Are you okay?” the shepherd asked, “Did something attack you in the night? Did we lose one of the sheep?” 175 Peter sat up and tried to think of an answer. He thought only of a color, a color that no longer exists in the world, due to this sheep’s death. Yes, it was sheep’s blood that covered young Peter, and he knew it. “I think there was a wolf attack,” is all Peter could come up with. “You think?” the shepherd asked in response. “There was one. A big, bad wolf. I tried to fight it, but I think it took one of the sheep away.” “Why didn’t you bring them home last night?” “I tried, but we went too far away, and when I tried to bring them back, they spooked and ended up here, not listening to my directions.” “Why didn’t you come get help?” the shepherd asked, knowing the answer. “Well, I didn’t want to leave them alone,” Peter began, “And I was also afraid of the ridicule that could follow for needing help for a non-problem again.” The shepherd sighed, “You cannot be so afraid to make a mistake that you do nothing, Peter. I don’t know what your life was like before you came to me, but here, it’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to be human. What’s not okay, is allowing one of our sheep to go missing.” He helped Peter to his feet. “Come, let us see what color we are missing, and if it is replaceable.” As Peter followed the shepherd, he couldn’t help but look back to where he lay on the ground before and notice that the imprint was much bigger than his own body. And as 176 he followed the shepherd to gather the sheep, he couldn’t help but think of the shepherd’s words. It’s okay to make mistakes. Then why was he so ridiculed for making one mistake? Surely, if it was okay to make these mistakes, they wouldn’t hurt so bad. It’s okay to be human. Peter was not sure if he was human. Peter did not know what he was, he only knew what his sisters told him, that he was an animal, a monster, a hunter, that he was Peter, their brother. Peter never had a mother nor a father, except for the woodcutter and the baker, and he helped kill the baker. What’s not okay, is allowing one of our sheep to go missing. Is all that his life was about? Watching someone else’s sheep? Getting in trouble when he accidentally eats one? What more to life could there be for him? Peter heard a growl, and he wasn’t sure where it came from, so he kept following the shepherd to collect their sheep. He did not want to know where the wolf was hiding, even though he already suspected it wasn’t in the thicket nearby. -O- Peter was allowed to rest for the remainder of the day, as well for the night. He was told to go to the bathhouse to wash himself off, and he did so without reluctance. Once he left, he caught the eyes of some of the other boys in town, the blacksmith’s sons. They waved him over, and so he came walking calmly towards them. “Hey, Peter, I heard you saw a wolf out there,” said the older one. “Yes, it was in the water,” Peter replied calmly. 177 The two boys laughed and looked at him. “Wolves don’t live in the water, Peter,” the more annoying brother snorted. “I know,” Peter replied. “Then why did you tell everyone that there was a wolf in the water, if you know wolves don’t live in the water?” the older brother laughed. “Because there was one, and I became frightened.” Peter didn’t know it, but this was a lie. The two boys laughed. “Aw, little Peter is afraid of his own shadow. Poor, poor Peter.” Suddenly, Peter had a wonderful idea. A terrible idea for most, but for him, it was the most wonderful idea he had ever thought of. More so than helping his sister, who he had almost forgotten, kill the baker, more than any other evil deed he had thought of. “I can show you where the wolf was. Maybe then you would believe me.” The two boys stopped their laughing, but two little grins stayed on their faces. “Alright, Peter,” said the older one. “Show us where the wolf was,” finished the annoying one. Peter led the two blacksmith sons through the sheep’s pasture while the two plotted themselves. “Brother, when Peter shows us the pond where he saw the wolf, let us throw him in. I will grab his feet, you grab his arms, and we will toss him and run!” the older brother whispered. 178 The annoying brother laughed almost too loud, “Yes! With any luck, a crocodile will be in the waters and snatch him up.” Peter heard all of this and growled in delight. Now he had an excuse for what he was to do. As they walked through the field, they passed the shepherd who was watching the multi-colored flock and waved at the boys. “Peter, are you feeling better today?” “Much, I was just going on a walk with the blacksmith’s sons. They wanted to see what the fields looked like.” “Alright, be back by sundown. And watch out for dogs, lions, wolves and dragons.” “Have there been any dragon sightings lately?” Peter asked. “No, but you can never be too careful.” Peter continued walking the boys through the fields until they eventually came to the shaded area where Peter had seen his wolf in the pond. The shadows from the trees nearby made the evening sun almost disappear, and there was darkness on the pond. Peter feigned walking carefully, trying to make the blacksmith’s sons believe he thought there was danger nearby. The blacksmith’s sons only gave each other a knowing look and giggled. Peter walked up to the pond. “Here is where I saw the wolf.” “I don’t see one,” the annoying brother remarked. “Neither do I,” said his older brother. 179 “Perhaps you aren’t looking hard enough,” Peter looked down into the water and looked surprised. Then he began laughing and turned to the boys, “I see our wolf down there now. Looks like a stone became too distorted by the water.” The blacksmith’s sons looked a little shocked at this revelation. They, like the rest of the village, thought Peter had an overactive imagination, that he was delusional. They didn’t know what to do with the information that Peter might know that he made a mistake. “Can you show me?” the annoying brother asked, cautiously. “Of course.” Peter pointed down into the water. “It’s right there.” Both brothers made their way closer to the water. They figured they could throw him in after seeing the rock that looked like a wolf. It’s not like they would ever admit that they saw it, nor that they came out here with Peter. If he never came back after this, they would be happy. As the brothers stood at the edge of the water, Peter knelt to get a closer look at the imaginary stone. “Do you see it?” “No, I don’t,” said the annoying brother. “Are you lying again, Cry Wolf?” the older brother asked. “I’m not!” Peter sounded as defensive as he could. “I swear by all the sheep in our herds, there is a rock down here that looks like a wolf. Perhaps you will have to get closer.” 180 The two brothers, thinking they had control of the situation, got to their knees and looked into the water, searching for this wolf stone. They searched so hard that they did not see Peter begin to rise. The older brother was unaware that anything was happening behind him until he heard a splash and saw his brother fallen into the water. He turned to look at Peter and Peter kicked him hard in the face. The older brother flopped to the ground hard, and after a moment, rose to his feet and turned to Peter. He brought up his fists for a fight. Approaching Peter, who smiled from ear to ear, he landed a blow right on Peter’s left eye, and Peter recoiled a little bit. The young shepherd then turned back to the blacksmith’s oldest son and said, “I figured someone who worked with his hands all day would throw a better punch.” The blacksmith’s older son was enraged at that comment and began hitting Peter in the face over and over again. He also landed a few blows onto his opponent’s stomach. He only stopped his flurry when Peter pushed him away and turned back to the annoying brother, who had walked out of the water and was now walking over to the fight, dripping wet. Peter grabbed the annoying brother by his shirt and pants, held the screaming boy over his head, and then threw him further into the water. Peter could taste blood in his mouth. His blood. And oh, how sweet it was in his mouth. He turned to the older brother and smiled. “Did you leave enough bruises on me yet?” “What?” 181 “Did you leave enough bruises on me? Where I can tell people you attacked me before running off. I want to make sure I’m believable.” The older brother didn’t answer, and instead ran at Peter and intended to tackle the boy. Instead, Peter punched him in the face as he passed by, using the force of the run to knock him to the ground. Peter laughed as he got on top of the boy before punching him over and over again. Soon, the older blacksmith brother was hard to recognize. About this time, the annoying brother had crawled out of the water and was now walking towards Peter, intending to get him off the older brother. Peter, upon seeing the annoying brother got up off the older brother and walked calmly towards his next opponent. As the annoying brother swung on Peter, however, Peter merely ducked away from the blow and grabbed him by the neck. He picked up the annoying blacksmith son off the ground and carried him back into the water. The annoying boy struggled the whole time but was losing oxygen. When Peter was waist deep in the water, he let his hand drop, keeping the annoying brother below the surface, fighting for oxygen. He held on tight to the boy for several minutes, long enough for the boy to stop struggling but not enough for his heart to give out. Peter only stopped when he saw the older blacksmith brother pull himself off the ground and start running back to the village. He released the half dead boy and stated in a deeper voice than his own, “Wait here.” Meanwhile, the older brother was running as fast as he could, yelling, “Help! Help! He attacked me!” 182 Peter, upon leaving the water, got down on all fours and began sprinting after the boy. He hadn’t felt that free in years. Not since before the baker and the woodcutter. Not since it was he and Juniper and Catherine in the woods, alone with no human morality to stop them from doing what they wanted. When did he start allowing others to tell him what to do and when to do it? When did he allow himself to become human? When he reached the older blacksmith son, he leapt into the air and tackled the boy. He got the boy onto his back and leaned close into his face. “Thank you, young blacksmith apprentice, for reminding me who I am. I am no shepherd; I am no human. I am the primal instinct of you humans. The part you hate in yourselves. I am the wolf in the water, the killer of sheep.” And then he bit the blacksmith son’s neck. He crunched until he heard a snap, and the struggling body beneath him went limp. He looked down at the eldest blacksmith son with disgust. Humans truly are so puny. How easily killed. How easy prey they make. A flock of sheep, held up in towns and villages, ready for the slaughter. How many could he kill before they realized there was a wolf among them? A wolf in human clothing. And then he remembered the other brother and walked back to see the annoying brother floating across the pond, his face still under the water. Maybe he would go back to the village and tell the lie he concocted so long ago. Maybe he would instead tell the truth, that he killed the boys after they attacked him. He decided on the truest truth, however, that they were attacked by a wolf, and he couldn’t save them. 183 Part 4: The Muffin Man’s Apprentice Despite Peter’s short time in the village of the multi-colored sheep, not all of the siblings found themselves having to move around for a long time. Our story now shifts to the ugly sister, to Juniper, who was sad not to be with her brother and wicked sister, but she was happy baking. Well, almost happy. The baker who had traded a fine necklace for the younger girl was known in these parts as the muffin man, not only a baker of great renown, but also an excellent spokesman and dessert advocate. Without him, many throughout the land would not know the tastes of sweets. We should all thank him, and whatever god of sweets he followed to get us to where we are today. The muffin man lived alone, however, and as his shop grew, his time became shorter. He did not have the means to hire extra hands around the kitchen, not if he wanted to continue his lifestyle, which is why when he had the opportunity to buy a young girl of some baking talent, he leapt at the chance. The girl, who called herself Juniper, was quite ugly, and he knew he would not have to worry about some boy coming into his shop to try and marry her. He thought this was the best deal he could possibly make and began teaching the young girl all of his tips and tricks. “The trick in most cases, my ugly assistant,” the muffin man would say, “is to add more sugar or more of the secret ingredients to whatever recipe you are following.” 184 “Yes, muffin man,” Juniper would respond. “May I perhaps try some of my own recipes, using my own starter that I have? It makes the most delicious of breads and other treats.” The muffin man would only laugh, “My dear girl, I am the famed muffin man, we must stick to my recipes, since that is what the people want. If you ever have free time, you may try your own baking. But until then, bake only what I instruct.” With extra hands around, the muffin man became a very happy man, with more time and wealth to spend on his own needs. Juniper, on the other hand, was the most miserable she had ever been in her life. Not only was she not allowed to bake using the living starter, but she also was forced to run a shop alone, with happy customers coming in constantly, demanding her to smile before they would buy any of the goods. Her only solace was dreaming of squeezing the muffin man’s throat as he begged for her forgiveness. She, of course, would never give it. One day, long after she had forgotten what it was to enjoy baking, the muffin man was called to another kingdom as a guest. “Now Juniper,” he said, “Follow the recipes precisely, be kind and courteous to our customers, and remember, a smile goes a long way.” He smiled at her. She smiled back a wicked smile, each of her yellowed and crooked teeth catching the sunlight in the worst ways. “Of course, muffin man.” The muffin man frowned, “Perhaps, for you, a toothless smile would suffice.” 185 Juniper hated the muffin man but smiled at what she saw as a wicked compliment. She helped him pack his things into the wagon waiting out front for him and waved him goodbye. Then she turned into the shop and locked it for the rest of the day, ignoring all the pounding as angry customers demanded their sweets. She fell asleep in the early afternoon to the sound of crying children who were hoping for free treats from the famed shop. -O- Juniper rose before the sunshine did and thanked the Darkness for this time. She didn’t know if the Darkness listened, or even if it could listen, but she was still thankful for this time without light and without others around. She immediately made her way to the kitchen to start baking for the day, taking her often forgotten jar of living starter with her. The starter was flat; it hadn’t been fed in several days or maybe even a week. Juniper knew enough about the starter to know that she would have to scrape the top layer off first before she would be able to feed it. So she opened the jar, and taking a small knife, she scraped the top of the starter off, putting the contents into a bowl to the side. She thought of stabbing the poor thing, and eventually stuck the knife through to the bottom, but not with as much force as she wanted. Though, the action did make her smile her yellow smile. 186 When she finally removed all that she needed, she poured flour and water into the living starter, and watched as it began to stir until the little man began rising to the top of the mush, and eventually started rising and trying to escape the jar. “Not so fast, little one. Eat, and I will use you to make some delicious bread.” Juniper hated to admit it, but she did miss the baker’s bread. She missed how sweet it was. Remembering what happened at that cottage was hard for Juniper, and not because of all the bad memories, oh, no, those were her favorites. No, it was hard to imagine a time in her life where she enjoyed serving another and wished to make them happy. Juniper set to work, first baking the things that were required for the shop, and then, eventually, making the things she wished to make. She began making loaves of bread, cookies, sweets, even a cake, though she refused to ice it. Finally, with only a little time left in the darkness, she set to work making her bread. She did as the baker taught her, and quickly reached into the jar and took out enough of the newly awakened starter to make a single loaf. She mixed in the starter and the water and the dash of sugar, and kneaded and kneaded and kneaded, knowing that when she kneaded this bread, the bread was fighting back against her, struggling, trying to break free, trying to run away. If the baker had taught her sympathy as well as he taught her baking, she might empathize with it, and might even realize she was in a similar situation. Instead she let it rise, and watched as it squirmed, until eventually it was time to put the bread in the oven. She brought over the living starter to the oven so it could watch 187 the show. She set the dough in the already heated oven and closed it and listened to it scream. The baker had taught her to look away, but she couldn’t. She could only look away when she looked down at the living starter, who banged on the glass, trying to break free, trying to save its child from death. Juniper smiled. As the sun began to rise, the Darkness gave her one final idea, and knowing that she hadn’t made gingerbread men for the townsfolks in so long, she took the dead starter bits and used that as the basis of the cookies. She wondered if there was still magic left within them, wondered what evil thing would appear out of the dough. So she added water, flour, butter, a handful of various spices, sugar, and a handful of ginger and began stirring. She felt as the mixture fought against her, though it was not as obvious. Any other baker would think that it was just a thick dough, but not Juniper. The evil baker knew what it felt like to have something try to fight out of your grasp. “Well, it looks like you have more children on the way,” Juniper said to the starter, and she threw the dough down, added a dash of flour, and began rolling it out. When it was the correct thickness as she wished, she took the cutter, and singled out nine gingerbread men, setting them on a baking sheet, before taking the rest of the dough and rolling it out again, making three more before taking the rest of the scraps and eating them raw. She looked at the starter as she did this, and only saw it standing in man form, arms folded in disapproval. 188 “Got something to say? Perhaps you wish to never be fed again and die in your sleep. Or perhaps I should take a bit of you and create a new starter, one who is more obedient and less caring,” she said the last word like it was a cursed word. The starter did nothing but fold its form back into the rest of the blob. “Thought so,” Juniper said, turning back to the cookie sheet, and placing her twelve gingerbread men onto the final shelf of the oven. The morning light now shone brightly though the window, and both the darkness and the Darkness were gone. Juniper had lost her motivation to continue prepping, so she found a chair in the dining area and dragged it into the kitchen, waiting for one of the many timers to go off or for an annoying customer to appear at the door. -O- Juniper did not awake the sounds of her timers; she awoke first to the sounds of crashing pots and pans, and then fully awoke when she fell backwards in her chair after something pulled the front legs off the ground. She quickly looked around to see who or what was causing so much chaos for her. Standing on the edge of an open oven was a gingerbread man, pointing at various places as the others followed its directions. There were several by the sink, throwing dirty dishes onto the ground and clean dishes back into the sink. Others were standing next to her chair, laughing silently to themselves as they watched Juniper look frantically around. And then Juniper did something that was strange to the little men; she began to laugh. 189 All twelve stopped whatever they were doing and looked at her. And as she did, she picked up the chair off the ground and then, holding it over her head, brought it down the dirt floor with a crash, sending pieces of it flying throughout the small kitchen. Juniper kept laughing, a laugh that even the gingerbread men knew was full of evil. And then they continued their wicked work. Juniper, after wiping the tears from her eyes (from the laughter, mind you), told the gingerbread men, “Stop. We must clean up this mess before the store opens.” They all paused for a moment, until one, who was standing next to the dishes, kicked one off in defiance. Before the rest could follow suit, Juniper rushed across the room to it, lifted him in her hand, and then bit off his head, before crumbling the rest of his gingerbread body into gingerbread dust. The rest remained unmoving, until the one who stood on the oven made a gesture with his stub-hand, and the remaining ten began cleaning up the mess. Some began cleaning up pieces of the plates, while others grabbed a broom and began sweeping, while others still began to bring the almost-burnt bread out of the oven and set them on the counter. All this time, the starter had been watching with the joy of a new father, watching as some of his children were able to see the sun. Juniper, in seeing this, threw a towel over the starter to prevent herself from seeing his joy. After this, she began bringing out the rest of the finished baked goods and setting them out. 190 After some time passed, she was almost ready to open the shop when the leader gingerbread man waved Juniper over to where he stood on the counter. Once he had her attention, he pointed to an icing tube nearby and then to his empty face. “Would you like a face, little man?” Juniper asked, teasing. The gingerbread man nodded his head in approval. “And why should I give you a face?” The gingerbread man pointed behind her, where the other ten men, after finishing their chores, had begun arming themselves with bread knives. “You are a clever cookie,” Juniper responded, grabbing the icing in one hand and the gingerbread man in the other. She carefully drew eyes upon the man, which began to blink. A crude nose took in his first breath. A mouth smiled, hair was styled, and the clothes helped Juniper take the man more seriously. When she was done, she set the man back on the counter. “Thank you, my lady,” the gingerbread man said with a brief bow. “’Lady?’” Juniper was disgusted by the notion. “There is no lady here, only me.” “My apologies, I was only created this morning, and still have much to learn.” “You seem to know a lot already.” “My father, the starter, passed on much information to me,” the gingerbread man began walking down the counter to where a loaf lay and sat on it like a chair or bed, “but knowledge is nothing compared to wisdom.” “That is wise itself,” Juniper said before a knock rattled the door. 191 “Oy, little girl! I know you’re in there, let me in so I may buy your wares and the Lord’s appointed can eat.” Juniper rolled her eyes, “Little gingerbread man, you would not believe how many idiots live in the neighboring village.” She moved to the front of the store, unlocking it and letting a tall, balding man into the store. The priest. She hated him more than all the others. “God’s blessing on you, little girl.” “Which one?” Juniper responded before returning to the counter. “Why, the Almighty of course. Now, what bread do you have?” The priest started looking around at the goods. “You have eyes, don’t ask me. Just tell me what you want.” The priest looked at the girl with disdain. The priest knew there was something evil about this girl and had even encouraged the muffin man to hand her over to the church for purification. The muffin man, caring more about gold than God, refused. “Little girl, perhaps you should learn some manners, and how to treat customers,” he said with authority behind his voice. “Old man, perhaps you should learn how to make a living without swindling the poor.” It was an authority Juniper did not care for. The priest, defeated, paid for his bread and saw the gingerbread man standing on the counter. He looked at it and smiled. “I did not know the muffin man made such goods. How much for that?” 192 Juniper looked at the cookie, and saw it wink at her. “You know what, I really should apologize to you for the rudeness I showed. Please, take it for free, my treat.” She tried to put her most endearing smile on, the one the muffin man tried to teach her. It’s like he told her, experience is the best teacher. The priest took the gingerbread man without question and began walking out the door with him. He stopped, however, and turned back the Juniper. “If you ever find yourself in need of a prayer, do not hesitate to call.” “Of course, father.” Another customer walked into the door, and the priest left. Juniper smiled and was a lot more cheerful throughout the morning, waiting to hear back from her favorite gingerbread man. -O- It wasn’t until later that evening, after a busy day of running the store, that the gingerbread man returned, running it the shop with such a speed that no one could’ve caught him if they were chasing him. There was a hint of red in his icing, and a wicked smile on his face. When he arrived at the counter, he announced, “You shall never see that holy man again!” Juniper rushed to the door to close the shop, setting all the remaining loaves of bread outside for the hungry children or wolves to devour before returning to the little man, “Please tell me everything that happened, and spare no detail.” 193 “When we first left, I began speaking to him as he carried me, and he became frightened, thinking there was an angel or devil speaking to him. Then I convinced him that I was the voice of God, who demanded several things from him. “First, I had him soil in the town well, and then we went to the church, and ‘God’ told him to return all the coinage to the town, which he did. Finally, we went to a bar where he was to drink and drink and drink until the nun found him or he fell asleep. The latter happened first.” “And what of the blood?” Juniper asked, grabbing a leftover cookie from the day. “And then I took a table knife and started stabbing him until I was satisfied!” Juniper laughed and giggled with glee. Juniper didn’t know this, but this was only one of three times she had felt happy in her life before this moment. Once was when she gave her sister the awful name of Catherine. The second was when she helped her sister kill the baker. And now, upon hearing that a man of God was dead, she was brought to happiness for the third time. There would only be two other times when she would be happy again. “Now, my master, if you don’t mind, we should give my brothers faces. But they do not need mouths like I do. No, that would just lead to confusion.” She spent a good bit of the evening decorating the remaining gingerbread men, each one given a unique feature as stated by the one with a mouth. These symbols, which were drawn on the chest, were as follows: a flower, a book, a shepherd’s crook, a knife, shoes, claw marks, a red cloak, a cherry, an apple, and an X. 194 When she finished, both darkness and Darkness had once again arrived, and she slept in their embrace while the gingerbread men were allowed full use of the shop, and even to the lands outside the shop. -O- And this was life for Juniper and her eleven gingerbread men for some time. She would awake to the darkness of the morning, and then return to the kitchen to make bread for herself, using the living starter, and then would make the rest according to the muffin man’s standard. She always enjoyed watching as the starter was both disappointed in watching his children die in the oven and not being able to see his living children. The gingerbread men too helped with the morning chores, and even took over several portions of the work for her. She and the talking one would always decide which would be the bait for their victim of the day. When a customer came in being particularly rude, she would give them a free gingerbread man with their order, informing them not to eat it until they got home. At evenings, the lucky gingerbread man would return home, happy with whatever damage he had done. The townsfolk never suspected a thing. Everyone had been buying bread and sweets from the muffin man’s shop for decades; there must be another reason for all of these things. It was also nice that they each had their own flavor of mischief; not all murdered. If the priest was still alive, he would be pointing fingers at Juniper. Alas, his soul was elsewhere. It was a good life for all of them. 195 But of course, when things are going good, something must come to stop them. Sometimes it’s a woodcutter and baker who interrupt your life. Sometimes it’s your sister who is unhappy with her life. Sometimes it’s the muffin man, who, after an extended stay, was finally back. She heard the carriage pull up after the gingerbread with a shoe had arrived back home today. She and the gingerbread men were cleaning the shop when suddenly the door swung open. The gingerbread men immediately went to hide, as they had been instructed to do. “We’re closed, can’t you read?” Juniper shouted over her shoulder. “My dear Juniper, you could never keep me out,” the familiar voice of the muffin man projected in return. Juniper turned to look at the owner of the shop and looked at him with disdain in her eyes. “No welcome party? No, ‘How was your trip, muffin man?’ or ‘Did you get me anything, muffin man?’ or ‘Here’s your profits, muffin man.’” He came into the back and set his hat and cloak down on the counter. “Did you get me anything, muffin man?” Juniper repeated, trying to remain calm, trying not to act on her instinct to place her thumbs into his eyes. She would pull them off and eat them straight off the thumb like they were plumbs. “That is not the option I’d hope you pick,” the muffin man remarked, “How has the shop done?” 196 Juniper rolled her eyes and continued her chores. She looked around to see all the gingerbread men hiding, seeing in their frosted eyes and eyebrows a question of what to do. Juniper ignored them, hoping they’d stay where they were at. “Since I don’t have the key to your safe, I have kept all the profits with me in the front since you’ve been gone.” The muffin man stepped over to the front and pulled out the pan full of coins. “Oh, well done, Juniper. I was slightly afraid that’d you spend my break sitting on your butt doing nothing. But this, this is impressive.” He walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She immediately thought about biting his wrist. “Perhaps we could speak tomorrow about your bread, maybe, with the effort you’ve shown this month, it would be worth it to see what you can bake on your own.” He smiled once more and took all the money to his office, locking the door behind him. “What a terrible man,” the gingerbread man said, as all eleven stepped out of hiding, “It would be fantastic if his tyranny wasn’t pointed at you.” “I know,” Juniper said, as she threw down her broom, her mood for chores gone, “If he was my equal and not my superior, I would love the man. By Hell, I might even marry him. But he is too kind to others and not to me.” “What would you like us to do about it?” the gingerbread man asked, looking serious. 197 “For now, nothing. Finish your chores then go explore the woods. If you come ‘cross a cat or badger, kill it and put it in his sheets. Other than that, do nothing until I can figure out what to do.” He agreed and the gingerbread men continued working. This night, Darkness could not comfort her, and despite his best efforts, could not scare the overjoyed muffin man who slept at his desk after counting coins. Juniper schemed by firelight until she too fell asleep, awoken as the Darkness shook her awake softly. She almost swore she should see his figure in the candlelight, but Darkness, like God, is not something you can catch a glimpse of by accident. She awoke and met the gingerbread men in the kitchen area and got ready for the day, Darkness clouding her memory of the muffin man’s return. She had the little men begin on the bread for selling as she took to her own bread, first with the starter, and then with rest of the process. She left the starter uncovered and let it watch all his eleven living children work. Juniper was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t notice as Darkness and darkness disappeared, and the muffin man stepped out of his office. There was no chance for the gingerbread men to hide, only to look up at him with contempt and freeze, awaiting orders. “Juniper,” the gingerbread man and muffin man said at the same time. “Yes?” she answered neither of them particularly. “We have company,” the gingerbread man said. 198 “What is the meaning of this?” the muffin man said at the same time. Juniper looked up to see the muffin man, and she just stared at him. “They’re good and free labor. Isn’t that all you wish for?” The muffin man looked stunned. “But these, these, creatures, are surely made of dark magic.” Juniper left the wriggling dough in the bowl and turned fully to the muffin man. “So am I. Now, you have two options. You can go back into your office and let me work, or you can get out of my shop.” “Or we can kill him,” piped up the gingerbread man. “Your shop? Oh no, it seems as if you’ve forgotten yourself.” The muffin man marched over to Juniper and smacked her hard against the face with the back of his hand. There are times in one’s life where they realize how weak those in power are. Sometimes it happens as we kill two of the blacksmith’s sons, or other times when you kill a man and absorb his essence. And still there are other times, like with Catherine, where you realize how powerful those in charge are. When the muffin man slapped Juniper, it left a red mark on her face. In fact, it would bruise. But it left more of a mark on her cold heart. A mark that told her how weak this man was. She turned to the gingerbread man as the muffin man breathed heavily on her. “You are very wise, my dear one. You’ve learned much in the past month. You may kill the muffin man.” And she pushed him away from her. 199 He laughed, “You think these, these cookies can kill me? Please. Destroy them and I may forgive you.” It was at this point he saw the knife that was in his chest. He turned and saw as five more gingerbread men had knives, ready to throw. “Now!” the talking gingerbread man shouted, and three of the knives arrived in the muffin man’s chest, one in his left arm, and the other thudded against his head with the wrong side. He stumbled back, and as he did, the gingerbread men with the cupcake, who had run below him, pulled the dishrag tightly and had him trip over it. He fell to the ground hard, and turned to Juniper, “Call it off! Get these things off me.” Juniper ignored him as the gingerbread men began to crawl on top of him, each taking a knife and stabbing it into him. The one with the mouth stood on his forehead and began stomping on his eyes. The muffin man screamed and wriggled, but the gingerbread men had already used the tied together rags to tie him down. When he finally died, Juniper turned and said, “Clean the blood and begin preparing the body. We shall begin serving a meat pie today, and we should have it ready before the first customer arrives.” Part 5: The Girl Who Lives Under the Chimney Juniper lived in the shop for many years, serving meat pies until the muffin man’s body ran out of meat. Every now and then, other townsfolk would disappear, and the muffin man’s bakery would once again start serving meat pies. Juniper would live like 200 this for well over a decade, until one day her sister Catherine, wearing a queen’s gown, stepped into her shop. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We must first see how Catherine found herself in a queen’s gown before we know why she arrived at Juniper’s shop. After she sold off Peter and Juniper for new clothes and beautiful jewelry, Catherine found herself a suitable husband. He was not handsome by any means, but he had a large house on a large land. He saw her beauty and fell in lust immediately, while it took Catherine visiting his house for the first time before she agreed to marry him. After their marriage, he asked Catherine what she wanted more than anything in the world, and she responded, “Knowledge.” Catherine’s husband worked in the field with his servants for most of the day, and house servants did the inside chores, so Catherine was left inside alone to read her growing library, in which she would receive a new book from her husband whenever she asked. Well, almost alone. What Catherine didn’t know was that her husband had a daughter from a previous marriage. When Catherine met her young stepdaughter, she instantly disliked her. Not because of any of the normal reasons like the child was a spoiled brat or that she would irritate Catherine or that she hated Catherine. This child was perfect in every way. She helped the house servants with their chores, she ate only a small portion, and she loved her Stepmother. It was miserable. 201 Catherine was a young Stepmother, and knew very little about parenting, so she mostly ignored the child, only answering her questions with one word through her book. And the young child would ask many, many questions. “What are you reading?” her stepdaughter would ask. “Book,” Catherine would answer. “Where are you from?” her stepdaughter would ask. “Woods,” Catherine would answer. “Do you have parents?” her stepdaughter would ask. “Probably,” Catherine would answer. There were never enough answers for the girl’s questions. Catherine would soon get her revenge against the child. For eventually Catherine’s book collection grew too big for her own bedroom, and decided she needed a place to keep them. “Husband,” Cather said, wearing her husband’s favorite dress, “you told me I could have anything my heart desires.” “Yes, my lovely Catherine,” her husband, flustered, responded, “I told you that I would give you the Sun and Moon and all the stars, and yet you only asked for your books. You are truly too kind and humble.” Catherine scoffed at the compliment and continued, “If I can truly have anything I want, I need a room for all of those books you give me.” 202 “My dear, you ask for something that I cannot give. For while there are many rooms in my house, they are all full of my wife, my daughter, and my many servants, all of whom share rooms with each other.” “Then I will take your daughter’s room.” Her husband laughed at this, “Then where will she stay if she has no room?” “There is room in the fireplace, since it is summer and there is no need to burn logs,” Catherine said sharply. “Are you being serious?” Her husband watched his wife carefully. She leaned in close and kissed him, “Dead serious. Unless that is something that you cannot get me? Perhaps another wealthy man in a nearby town can give me what I desire.” It was there that the man decided, for what weak man could resist a beautiful woman like her? He moved his daughter’s few belongings out of her room and into the barn, and he informed her that she would have to either sleep with the ashes of the fireplace or share a room with one of the servants. The girl responded, “Wow, my Stepmother must have a whole library of books to need my room as well! I will sleep in the ashes of the fireplace, for it would be unfair to share a room with one of our servants who work hard to earn their keep.” Catherine’s heart grew colder towards his husband’s daughter. The girl would wake up in the ashes, brush herself off, and then continue helping the servants around the house with the many chores. Despite losing her own bedroom, the 203 girl was still incredibly happy. It drove Catherine wildly mad. It seemed that nothing she could do could make the young girl less happy. So soon, she started dismissing servants, so that her stepdaughter would have to take more chores. “Stepdaughter, I have fired a servant, so you will be in charge of sweeping the house.” “Stepdaughter, I have fired another servant, so you will be in charge of helping me dress.” “Stepdaughter, I have fired another servant, you shall cook me food whenever I wish.” This was the life of the young girl for years. But she never grew tired of the constant chores, replying, "Yes, Stepmother,” each time she had another chore added to her list. “Wow,” she thought in her private moments of cleaning, “My Stepmother trusts me to do all of these chores around the house. How lucky am I?” Catherine’s husband did not enjoy watching his wife abuse his daughter, but Catherine had him under a spell, not a literal one, mind you, but she could if she wished. Catherine did her best to ignore her wonderful stepdaughter, and instead focused on her books. She enjoyed books of fiction mostly, but when she could get her hands on books of magic, she absorbed them as fast as she could. At night, Catherine would sneak into a private corner of the barn where she had her magic tools ready for use. She would check on her brother and sister using the mirror 204 she had taken from the woodcutter, and then continue magically pouring through her memories, looking for the magic that gave her powers, hoping to use it on them one day. But, as Catherine’s knowledge and magic grew, the number of unread books did not. Soon, Catherine was having to take trips to neighboring kingdoms to find new books. This did much for both her fiction collection and her magic collection, and her husband was happy to pay the bill for his wife’s happiness. It was on one of these trips, however, that her poor husband died. There were many dangerous and magical beings that lived in the forest near their land, and despite how many wards and charms Catherine put around, it does not protect her husband when he leaves that area to go into the woods. “He saw a flower that reminded him of you,” one of the field servants said when she got back, “And we went out to pick it, and when he did, a small dragon grabbed him up.” Catherine only rolled her eyes. The funeral came and went, and there were many tears shed. Not by Catherine, of course. She soon learned that she was the stepdaughters only guardian, and therefore stuck with the happy girl. And while the girl was sad that her father was gone, she was happy that she was not fully orphaned. Catherine hated her stepdaughter. As soon as her husband died, she sold his land and purchased a smaller house in a neighboring kingdom, one with a better book collection. It was still quite a large house, 205 mind you. It was hard to find a house that had more than a single bedroom, and Catherine had found herself three. One for her, one for her books, and one for magic. “You will continue sleeping in the chimney, I know how much you love it, my little cinder-girl.” “Of course, Stepmother, I would hate to deprive you of anything.” Catherine’s hate for her stepdaughter grew and grew, until one day she loathed her more than anyone could truly loathe a person. She refused to hire any servants, and so the stepdaughter had to complete all the chores and tasks around the house. The stepdaughter was already very verse in how to do everything, but she found herself so tired at the end of the day that she sometimes forgot to eat. It was sometimes hard to love her stepmother, but the stepdaughter did everything in her power to keep Catherine happy. Years were spent in this new arrangement, with Catherine only lifting a finger to read a book or to cast a spell. The stepdaughter, of course, was not allowed in the room full of magic, for there were many magical trinkets in there. The stepdaughter did not know what all went on in that room, but that was not for her to know. Still, curiosity is a powerful thing. Soon the girl grew from girlhood into a young teen, and soon after that, a young adult. Catherine’s beauty grew every year she did, and it did not slip her mind that her stepdaughter was only truly a decade younger than her, though her magic made her appear older. It also did not slip her mind that her money would eventually run out and that she would need a new husband to pay for her lifestyle. 206 The stepdaughter continued living in the ashes, and eventually Cathrine forgot the little ash-girl ever had someone to love her. I will note now that in many stories this stepdaughter has a proper name, though, as this is not her story, she will not receive a name. If you wish to learn her name, perhaps there is a different tale for you, but you will find that that girl’s stepmother has not been named. As Catherine prepared herself to find a suitor, there was a sudden wave of excitement that flooded the kingdom; the prince was holding a ball to find a bride. Every suitable woman in the kingdom was welcome to come, as well as many royals in other cities. The ball would be masked, as the prince wanted not to look for beauty or royalty, but to find a wife of good heart. Catherine scoffed. A good heart can be mimicked, she thought, but I worked hard for this beauty that he wishes to ignore. Catherine was in her room of books, trying to read but finding herself constantly frustrated at the situation, when suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Stepmother?” the stepdaughter walked into the book room. The girl was fair, but you would not be able to see it under the ashes. Instead of black hair and white skin and red lips like Catherine, it was all covered in dark soot. “Is that what I am to you?” Catherine asked, pretending to forget, “I thought I had inherited you from my late husband.” “Yes, but as a stepdaughter, not a servant.” The girl took a step into the room. “Well?” Catherine looked up from the book she wasn’t reading. 207 “Well…” the stepdaughter began, trying to find the words, “As you know, the prince is throwing a ball, and—” “And you would like to craft me a dress for it? Stepdaughter, while I admire your proactiveness, that will be no need. I will get my dress made from a proper dress maker. Is that all?” “Well, Stepmother, I was wondering if I might also attend the ball? I would need a dress, and a mask, and a proper bath, but I think it would be fun.” Catherine shut her book and stood up, walking over to the girl. “Girl, fun? This is not ‘fun,’ it is about finding the prince a wife. Where would you get a dress? Do you expect me to pay for it? A mask as well? And besides, who would be taking care of the house while I am gone? There are no other servants here. Perhaps you have been too spoiled by my late husband. No. You will not go to the ball.” “But I thought—” “Girl, what have I told you about thinking?” Catherine screamed, “You should only think of how you can serve me!” “Mother, please,” the girl whimpered. Catherine slapped the girl. There was a moment of silence, the girl stood still, trying not to cry. Catherine grabbed her chin and lifted it, meeting her stepdaughters eyes. “I am no mother of yours, nor am I a Stepmother. I am Catherine, your mistress. Now, go, clean the chimney, you must sleep in a clean place. Never mention this again, and I might remember to bring you with me when the prince takes me to his castle.” 208 The girl ran out of the room, and Catherine could hear crying from down the hall. She smiled and laughed, and then walked into her room of magic, preparing for the ball that was only a week away. -O- Catherine had sent the servant girl out for her dress and mask and stayed at home working on a potion. She had acquired many magical books throughout her time in the city, and some had to be locked away due to the radiance of good magic. Even a magic ring she had found radiated magic too good, but she heard there may be a djinn in it, so she stored it away for later. She opened one of her many books and began pouring in different ingredients that she had laying around. Two potions were to be made before the ball, one was a youth potion, and the other a love potion. I will list out the ingredients for the youth potion, for I know there is one ingredient you will never find, but the love potion should remain a secret from all. The youth potion requires three eggs, each from a different bird, a yellow flower, a piece of coal and a small diamond, a rabbit’s foot, a pinch of sugar, a cup of spice, and finally, the pixie dust of a newborn fairy. Catherine had acquired all those things; most were already on hand. The sugar was the only thing she really needed to go out for. She also acquired all the missing ingredients for the love potion. The day before the ball, both potions were ready. 209 The servant girl, however, had been silently resigned to her life as a servant. She did very little to interact with Catherine during the week, and Catherine thanked only herself for that, since she didn’t believe any god had helped in that. Finally, the day of the ball arrived, and Catherine put on her beautiful golden dress, which had a subtle green snake motif. She even found a snake mask that matched her dress, though if anyone would ask, she might tell them it was a dragon. She had already drunk the youth potion, and Catherine began looking her own age again. All the beauty, none of the work. She hid the love potion in her bosom (the potion was small; her bosom was not). When the carriage pulled up to the house in midafternoon, she told the servant girl to stay at the house and not to leave, no matter what. “Remember, I can and will replace you if you do not obey me.” “Yes, Catherine.” The servant girl hung her head low, not making eye contact with her. “You’re such a fast learner.” Catherine turned and left. Catherine sat in the carriage, preparing herself for what it would be like to have to act like a kindhearted person. The thought made her feel sick. She tried to think of how the baker and woodcutter treated her, or at least how they treated her siblings. Her siblings. She hadn’t thought of Peter or Juniper in some time. She hoped they were well. Is that what it was to be kind? She would check in on them the next chance she got. 210 She remembered her promise to them as well. She remembered that she had promised them power, a power that she could not give them. Not yet. When she was a queen, she would then have all the resources in the kingdom to be able to give her siblings the power to do terrible things. Catherine smiled at the thought. Her and Peter and Juniper, ruling the world. The ground beneath her turned from dirt and rock to smooth stone, not completely smooth, mind you, but the rhythm of the cobblestone was much more consistent. Soon the carriage stopped, and the door was opened for her by a servant who was wearing fine clothes, clothes almost as fine as hers. She ignored him and stepped out, viewing the castle for the first time this closely. It was a monstrous thing, big and tall and reaching for the heavens. Catherine wondered if she could talk to God from the very top of the tallest tower. Deep down, however, she knew it was a bad idea to remind God that she still existed. The castle grounds were crowded with various women (and some men) who were desperate to get their shot with the prince. None were half as beautiful as Catherine, a fact that could even be noticed from under her mask. Others looked at her and gawked, and there was even some whispering from those around her. She held her chin high and walked past them all, straight into the castle. Catherine had her mission. Music sweeter than any she had ever heard filled the castle, and it made her sick. Catherine couldn’t believe that she would have to play nice for the rest of the night, much 211 less the rest of her life. Was the price of luxury worth such a nice lifestyle? She didn’t know. Hours passed by with music and dancing, but still Catherine had not had a chance to meet the prince. She refused to even touch another person as she was invited to dance several times, and constantly walked across the castle interior that would soon be her home. Tapestries hung from every wall, telling stories of the rise and fall of several characters. One such tapestry showed a young man, assumedly a prince, standing over an ogre, while the prince’s wife stood with two children. “The Death of the Ogre Stepmother.” Catherine wondered if her mother was an ogre. “It’s a beautiful tapestry,” a voice came from behind her. She turned slightly and saw a masked figure. His clothes were more beautiful and expensive than any other at the ball. She saw several other women in her periphery making their way to him. This must be the prince. “Yes, I think death is a beautiful thing,” Catherine said, not turning her attention fully to him. “This is the story of my great-grandmother, I believe.” He pointed to the tapestry, specifically pointing out the male child the woman was holding. “That is my grandfather. Apparently, his step-grandmother was an ogre, and she desired to eat her daughter in law and grandchildren. Luckily, a helpful cook rescued them until my great-grandfather clued in on what happened and killed his ogre stepmother.” 212 “Do you think the story would be the same if it was his mother?” Catherine finally turned to the prince. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” the prince said, turning to beautiful woman, “The issue was not the relationship of the mother and son, but of the stepmother’s wickedness.” “Oh, come now, you mustn’t believe every story about those more wicked than yourself. Maybe the ogre stepmother had a reason for what she did.” “Was the reason for good?” The prince didn’t know why, but this conversation was the most intriguing he’d had the entire night. Perhaps because he thought his conversation partner didn’t know who he was and wasn’t trying to impress him. “I don’t know. I’m not an ogre.” Catherine turned back and began looking through the room. “And you do not appear to be old enough to be a stepmother either.” The prince held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?” All the women around huffed in disappointment, but Catherine didn’t even look at him. “I apologize, but I am waiting to meet this prince. I was hoping to make a good first impression and dancing with another doesn’t seem to give that.” Catherine began walking away when the prince grabbed her hand. “And what if I told you that I am the prince, and you already made an astounding first impression on me.” The prince thought himself clever. 213 The masked woman gave a faux face of shock. “Well, if that were the case, I would happily take the dance.” She let the prince led her to the dance floor and began to dance. The crowd of people all mostly stopped to watch them, with many of the women staring in absolute anger at missing their chance. And they danced, and if Catherine were a different woman, she would’ve enjoyed the dance. It would’ve been the most magical dance in the world, where everything would disappear around them and it would only be her and the prince to dance and dance forever. Then he would lean in for a kiss, and she would accept it, and it would be the most magical experience for the two of them. Instead, Catherine was miserable, like it was an act of political sex that was just happening to her. She knew she had to endure in order to win his hand, but by the gods, dancing was the least interesting thing in the entire world. At least there would be the kiss soon, and as the prince leaned in for the kiss, suddenly the subtle chattering and music stopped, and the entire ballroom was silent save for the footsteps that were approaching. To everyone else, the woman who appeared out of the crowd was the most beautiful any had ever seen. She wore a beautiful silver gown, with blue highlights throughout. Her mask seemed to be made of actual pink fairy wings, and her slippers were made of actual glass. A heavier woman would crush them. Her hair was fair, as was her skin. And what everyone else didn’t notice but Catherine did, was the ring around the girl’s finger, the one that had the djinn locked in it that was supposed to be locked in her office. 214 Catherine was furious, and only had a second to act before the prince walked away from her for the new girl. She grabbed the prince’s arm and told him, “I will go get us some drinks, dance with her for the time, but return to me.” He nodded, not looking at her, and began walking to Catherine’s stepdaughter, who floated towards the prince. The two met and began dancing. The music became something new, something only for them. Even those who looked at Catherine with envy only looked at the new girl with pure joy, as if they knew that they would never be that happy, and that they loved to see it. Catherine would not be happy for the couple, not now, not ever. She went to where a servant held a platter of goblets. Of course there would be refreshments at a ball like this. She grabbed the prince a goblet and secretly uncorked the potion in her bosom and poured it in out of sight of the distracted servant. Then she said another magic word, and the snakes on her dress came to life and started slithering towards the girl. The green snakes made their way across the ball room, moving between the feet of every woman in their way, but before they could make their way to the woman, they suddenly burst into roses, and Catherine heard a voice beside her say, “You really should’ve been kinder, perhaps I would’ve let that past.” The servant walked away. Catherine turned to see a man with red skin standing behind her. “The djinn of the ring,” she said. 215 “Yes, your stepdaughter found me while looking through your lair. We made a deal; I help her to meet the prince and prevent you from interfering, and she would set me free.” “Well that seems to be unfair,” Catherine snorted. “So it would seem.” The djinn looked at her with curiosity. “Will you stop me again if I go near the prince?” Catherine asked, trying to figure out what she could get away with. “No, but I will once you hand him that cup. In fact…” the djinn snapped his fingers and the contents of the glass disappeared. Catherine stood furious. She looked up at djinn, “You will regret that, djinn.” She then reached down deep inside of her, searching for whatever magics she could, whatever she held. She remembered the magic she pulled from when she devoured the baker’s heart, and the magics she pulled from when she granted Peter power. The powers she had all this time, and something magical and evil rose from within her. She looked up at the djinn with black eyes and said a single magic word that can still be used today, so I will not put it to paper. When she did, the djinn turned to fire, and crumpled in front of her. Everyone in the room was filled with shock as this happened, but for different reasons. Those who saw the red man combust were shocked to see a man turn to flames, and more so when the flames spread through the room. Those who only watched the stepdaughter and the prince were shocked when suddenly the stepdaughter’s dress, mask, and shoes all turned 216 to dust, leaving her in rags and covered with cinders once again. And finally, Catherine was shocked, because not only did she not know that she had that kind of power within her, but she didn’t know how much it would drain her. Catherine could feel as her beauty was failing on her, and she could feel as her dress became looser on her as she lost her curves. Her lips lost their color, her hair turned brown, and her skin lost the natural blush look to it. Catherine also found herself feeling incredibly weak and began to run out of the castle. She only turned back to see the prince and her servant still dancing and stopped only to watch them kiss. She was so full of anger, and reached out with the remaining bit of her power and struck the stepdaughter with a curse, a curse that the prince would marry her but never truly love her, a curse that all of her children would not truly be her own. She cursed the girl to be the worst thing she could think of: a stepmother. Part 6: The Bear, the Priest, and the Shepherd Once upon a time, a white bear ask a beautiful woman to marry her. Catherine had recovered her magic and her beauty, though she was not able to recover anything else from the house; apparently, word travels faster than she could by foot, and when she arrived at her house, the crown’s guard were waiting outside of it, while her servant-daughter was collecting things and more guards, and the prince began a fire using her books and magical supplies as kindling. 217 Catherine ran, knowing that stepmothers don’t get a happy ending when they lose this much control of the story. She did, however, say, “Yes,” to the bear who proposed to her several years later. She had been traveling from town to town searching for magic, searching for anything to help her reclaim even a fraction of what she once had. Each town offered little for her except a bed, often having to be shared by a man who looked at her like the bookkeeper all those years ago. The bear, however, did not look at her like that, only offered her a place to stay. “As my wife, I will expect nothing of you. You will have full use of my treasures and may come and go as you please. I do not even ask you to do any wifely duties, I just ask that you are in bed every night, and when I climb into bed in the darkness, you do not turn on the light and look at me.” This seemed too good a deal for Catherine to pass up. She soon learned several things about the bear. He was quite the conversationalist. On days when he chose to conversate with her, she had no desire to read, only to talk with her husband. The white bear was also quite honest. Never once did he expect anything of her, whether it be in the bedroom or in the kitchen. The only times he asked her to do something was when he would ask her to come home if it got too late. She also learned that the white bear was magical, though you might be able to tell that by the notion of a talking bear who marries a beautiful woman. He had an office that was bear-sized, with a bear-sized desk, a bear-sized quill, and a pair of bear-sized 218 spectacles. His room was littered with magic items and books of power. Once or twice, he let his wife search through his office for things of interest, though she was never allowed to read any of the books, not even the one that seemed to resemble one she lost so long ago. Catherine would resent her husband for that, yet despite the evil that resided in her heart, she found herself not fully resenting her husband. It was easy to be indifferent towards someone who expected so little of her. Yet, this would not last. Despite his honesty with the expectations, Catherine knew he was hiding something deeper. The creature who climbed into bed with her nightly could not be her husband; he was much too small, not taking up even half of the large bed and not causing the wood to groan when he sat in it. Even his snoring sounded too much like her ex-husband’s or any of the other men she’d slept with. On the seventh day of the third week she lived with her husband, she snuck a candle into bed with her. When the creature who slept with her came into bed and she heard its gentle snoring, she lit the candle and held it to its face. There she saw a handsome man and was disgusted to know that this was how her husband truly looked. Immediately, the man who was once the white bear awoke and looked at his wife with sadness in his eyes. “We were so close, my love.” “Your love?” Catherine asked. 219 “At the end of the third tenday, I would’ve revealed myself to you, and we could’ve been truly wed. But now, because you could not trust me, I must go far away and marry the princess of the stars.” The man got out of bed. Catherine sat still. “What in the name of the hells are you talking about?” The man turned back, mildly shocked at her not understanding. “There is a curse upon me. I was destined to marry the princess of the stars unless I found a woman who could trust and love me in my beastly form. But now, since you could not listen to my instruction, I must go. If you wish to rescue me from my fate, I will be in the place that is east of the Sun and west of the Moon, the place that is south of the North Star and north of the South Sea.” With these words, Catherine’s once-bear husband left the room. Catherine, with indifference, blew out the candle and fell back asleep. -O- The morning came, and Catherine awoke from her sweet nightmares. She looked around the room and her bear husband was nowhere to be seen. This was not strange, however, and she went about her day as normal. The small cave was a castle on the inside, with many places to go and even more to be lost in. When it came to lunchtime and she still hadn’t found her husband, she knew he was truly gone. If this was another’s story, if this was the story of a hero, this would only be the beginning of the journey that they would have to take. It is not easy work to find a 220 location that is east of the Sun, west of the Moon, south of the North Star and north of the South Sea. Unfortunately for the man who was a white bear, this is not that story. Catherine would, however, get invited to the wedding in a years’ time, though she would deny the invite. She was a very busy woman. When Catherine knew that the white bear was gone, she immediately went to his office and threw open the door. All the magic trinkets and books remained in the bear-sized office. Oh, what a wicked smile Catherine smiled that day. First, she went to make sure there were no djinn hiding in any of the objects, she knew better than to wait for that power. After no red-skinned men dissolved out of the various rings, pots, necklaces, urns, and lamps, Catherine turned her attention to the bookshelf where she saw the book of ancient and evil magic waiting on her. It seemed to whisper her name louder and louder with each step towards it. "Catherine. Catherine. Catherine.” She pulled the red book off the shelf and saw that it was locked. She hoped the white bear would be smart enough to put a magic lock on the ancient book, but she found that a simple flick of the wrist was all that she needed to open the lock and access the book. It was almost identical to the one she had found when she lived with the baker and the woodcutter with her brother and sister. The same writing, the same spell-craft, most of which she remembered, and the same ritual to obtain great power. She looked over the 221 book and found that the same ritual that had opened the deep magic within herself was there. She smiled. It was time to find Juniper and Peter. -O- Power can afford you many things. Wealth, magic, and all the things in between. The only thing that power ever loses you is your humanity. It was a good thing for Catherine that she never had any to begin with. Before she went to find her siblings, she realized she must look the part of one who abounded them for greatness. Catherine, with her newfound power, was able to get anything she wanted. A queens gown, a horse drawn carriage, a pair of hitmen who did not look like they belonged to a queen. She studied for quite some time, and with the use of a new magic mirror, was able to track down Juniper and Peter. Juniper was much easier to find; she had been running the muffin man’s bakery since he disappeared years ago. When Catherine walked into her shop, she could smell the magic that was mixed into the baking that was happening. When Juniper saw her, she was able to recognize her immediately; because of the magic, Catherine had barely aged a day since she last saw her sister. Juniper, however, had grown older and uglier. “Are you here to grant me power?” Juniper said, setting down a pan of bread. Catherine looked around the shop, seeing as eleven tiny gingerbread men began making their way out of hiding places throughout. “Sister, it appears that you have 222 acquired a bit of power of your own. But yes, I came for you first. Then I will get Peter. Bring a heart to consume, and then met me at the cave of the white bear.” “And where is that?” Juniper asked. Catherine touched her sister’s forehead, implanting the location of her cave into Juniper’s memory. When Catherine left, Juniper turned to the gingerbread men. “You six, bring me the new holy man of the town. You five, burn this place down.” Catherine watched as half a dozen gingerbread men hitched a ride of her carriage and hopped off in front of the church of the Almighty. Catherine smiled at her sister’s ingenuity. How far Juniper has come on her own, and how much further she will go with her sister’s help. A few towns over, a town slept in fear of the head shepherd. Already, he had butchered many sheep, and many of the townsfolk who lived under his watch. If any tried to run, Peter would either send out his thugs to bring them down, or he would hunt them down himself. Pray for the former. When Catherine arrived in the town, she was amazed at all her brother had done. Since he killed the blacksmith’s sons, he had truly leaned into his own power. She watched as he walked out of a house on the furthest end of town, a large, burly man, who was covered in hair and was chewing on raw meat. Don’t ask what the meat was. 223 Peter stepped out to the sound of a carriage, and wondered who his next victim would be. He was slightly disappointed when his sister stepped out of the carriage, but that was quickly overcome with joy as he ran forward to grapple his sister in a large bear hug. The two thugs drew swords, but Catherine, feet off the ground, waved them away. “Peter, your strength has grown well. You are hurting me more now than you did as children.” Peter laughed and set his beautiful sister down, “Sister. Catherine. You’re here! This calls for celebration! Shepherd, butcher, go find a lamb whose color has never been seen before. We shall dine on the finest.” “That will not be necessary, brother,” Catherine said coldly. “We shall dine at my house, and then I shall give you your power.” Peter’s smile grew. My, what sharp teeth he had. “Are we leaving now?” “If you desire. Just bring a heart to sacrifice.” Peter did not need to be told a second time. He told his sister to wait for a moment, before running into the field and snatching the first sheep he found. It baa’ed and struggled in his grip. Then he grabbed the shepherd who had tried to raise him. “Come, you will dine with me and my sister. Then we will have you for dinner.” Peter threw his next two meals into the carriage, and the carriage pulled away. The town didn’t know what it should do, so it returned to what it did before Peter arrived. -O- 224 Little else need to be said about what happened before the ritual was complete. Juniper arrived only a little after Catherine and Peter at the white bear’s cave. There was an energy that existed within the castle. The three siblings had been reunited after over a decade. With a different story, there would be great rejoicing and cheerful talking. Instead, the three siblings began to get to work. Catherine set up the ritual while Juniper’s gingerbread men played with the priest and the shepherd. They both knew their fate; they knew they had nowhere to go. The holy man prayed to the Almighty, the shepherd prayed to whoever would listen. Peter ate a lamb’s leg. Catherine walked over to the shepherd has he prayed, “Are you a man of faith?” The shepherd shook his head. “Then leave that to the holy man. At least his God will hear him. But the Almighty has ordained that you two will die to bring my siblings power. Why fight the will of God?” The priest tried to say something, but a gingerbread man stabbed him with a nearby knife. He leaned over in pain, forgetting to talk back to the sorceress. Catherine finished the ritual, and the two men were brought to the table, both were held down by ropes and gingerbread men. Beside each was a bowl full of dark ingredients, just waiting for the final piece. “Holy man, would you like to pray for us?” Catherine asked. Juniper and Peter snickered as the priest was lost for words. 225 “No? Very well, I will,” she closed her eyes, “Oh Almighty, oh Darkness, oh evil parents, whoever you may be. Thank you for this opportunity to become who we are. Amen.” As she finished, the two siblings began carving the hearts of their victims. Each screamed and thrashed in pain. Catherine watched, knowing soon her siblings would know truly what it was like to feel powerful. As the hearts were lifted out of the body, they were placed in the bowl, and offered to Catherine for final preparations. She stirred each of the hearts into the mixtures before handing the bowls back to her siblings. Then, in unison, they each said the dark incantation that cannot be repeated on the page, for if I do, I will forget them and this story would be lost to flame. Then Juniper and Peter lifted the bowl to their lips, and the book Catherine had used caught fire. As this happened, Peter began to grow taller. His hairy skin became thicker and thicker, until you could no longer see what was underneath. The shirt on his back ripped open until it was tatters on the floor. His back grew hunched, and claws grew from each of his fingertips. A long, dark snout grew where his mouth and nose were, and his ears became large and points. His eyes were the same. Juniper also grew slightly taller, but that was the extent of her change of her physique. Her skin greened and rotted, giving a look that told you that she could never be loved. Warts grew throughout her body, and her hair turned grey. Her gingerbread men 226 also grew in size, each doubling in size, becoming the size of a small child. Her power had finally manifested. The bowls dropped with a clatter. The three looked at each other, knowing that this is what the gods truly desired them to be. The witch. The wolf. The queen. And then Catherine began laughing, a sneering, uncomfortable laugh. Juniper joined in, hackling and giggling in a way that sounded like unsteady wind pounding through wood. Finally, Peter joined in, howling, and howling. In the nearby village, everyone awoke, unsure of what was happening. No one knew what evil was born that night. Part 7: The Big, Bad Wolf Every story has a turn. A part that comes right after the heroes get everything they could ever wish for. After they have risen from their lowest points. Peter’s lowest point was being the shepherds helper. Juniper’s was being sold to the egomaniac known as the muffin man. Catherine’s was living with the baker and the woodcutter. Then they rose, each taking their part in the universal story, becoming the evil beings that they were destined to be by their creators, whoever they might’ve been. Then comes the fall. The death. 227 The three siblings, though happy together, knew they would not function well as a family that stayed together. They said their goodbyes after a few days of celebration, and each moved to their own section of the eternal forest known as Earth. Catherine went and found another prince in need of a spouse. Juniper, after burning down the muffin man’s bakery, built a new one in the forest. Peter, however, returned to the woods where they were born, if you could call it that. Peter, now the wolf he always knew he could be, returned to that area under the juniper tree. He looked at the tree with a sort of fondness that only a wolf can feel when looking at its prey. The tree had smacked Juniper in the face so long ago. Or maybe it didn’t. He dug his claws into it, making three long scratch marks down it. He was happier alone, happier by a long shot. He enjoyed ruling over that small village, but here in the woods, he actually found true freedom. Freedom to hunt and kill and do whatever else he needed. Once, while he was out, he found the ruins of an old bakery that once stood in the woods. He recognized it as the baker and the woodcutter’s house, the one where he spent almost a year of his childhood. He thought of all the happy memories he had there and was disgusted by it. Nearby, he saw a single cross sticking out of the ground, and with a name written on it, as well as the words HUSBAND, BAKER, FATHER. Peter felt something looking at it. It was something unbecoming of a new wolf to be feeling. It was a feeling that stemmed from something good inside him, something human. He knocked the cross to the ground and howled at the sky before running away. 228 Over the years, word had gotten around about a large wolf that lived in the woods nearby. Children were warned that if they were to go into the forest, they would be eaten by the big, bad wolf that lived out there. Most believed their parents and grandparents, but some made the mistake of trying to travel out into the woods to catch sight of it, not knowing that as soon as they passed the first tree, there was a large form following their every movement. Peter was sleeping one day when he suddenly heard singing and the sound of skipping through the woods. He smiled a toothy smile. A new meal. Oh good, how he loved the taste of human. Rabbits and cats were fine, and the occasional deer that roamed into his woods was delicious, but nothing was quite like the fear in a human’s eye. How they screamed as they fell down and down his throat, how they struggled against his stomach acid, kicking and screaming to be let out. He made his way quickly and quietly though the woods until he saw the human in question, a young girl wearing a red cloak. The child was small, maybe as old as Peter was when he had met the woodcutter and carried a brown basket that swung between her delicious fingers. Peter was salivating thinking of how good her flesh would taste. How he would use her femur to pick his teeth of her flesh. But there was something odd about the girl, something odd about the confidence she walked through the forest with. Most of the children and adults (because adults can be as foolish if not more than children. Children can at least admit to the existence of a 229 big bad wolf) who walk through his forest seem afraid, looking around for him to attack. How he enjoyed those hunts. But this girl in red, she seemed to not be afraid of anything. Peter had not spoken to anyone in quite a long time, but he found himself forming the words from behind the girl before he could stop: “Hello, little girl.” The girl stopped and looked around, pulling down her red hood as she did. Her round eyes made contact with Peter’s, and she did something unexpected. While most would scream and run (beginning the chase), this little girl smiled and waved, “Hello wolf!” Peter stepped out of the brush on all fours and approached the girl. “Don’t you know these woods are dangerous?" He sniffed her. She smelled like youth. Innocence. Fresh bread and sweets. That was the basket. “Only if I see the big bad wolf,” she laughed, before pulling out a small knife, “But I’m prepared if I see it.” “And how do you know you haven’t yet?” Peter circled the girl, waiting for a moment of fear to appear in her face or scent. “You, wolf? Ha. If you were the big bad wolf, you would’ve killed me already.” The girl continued walking. “Of course, you are right. Tell me, why are you walking through the woods?” Peter followed behind her. 230 “I am on my way to see my grandmother, of course. She lives on the other side of the evil wolf’s territory. Going through is much easier than going around. My grandmother is sick and in need of bread and treats.” “I see!” said Peter, excited about the prospect of eating an old woman. How good she would taste. Meat that old had to be fine and refined, brittle and tender. Almost as tender as the little girl’s flesh. “And is your grandmother living alone, or does she have a caregiver with her?” “Why, of course she lives alone, or else I wouldn’t be risking taking the forest to get to her and visit.” The little girl had a hint of worry on her face because of the wolf’s questions. “She does, however, have a neighbor who comes to check in on her sometimes.” “Well then!” Peter concocted an evil plan. “We wouldn’t want to leave her waiting, would we?” “We, wolf?” the child in red asked. “Yes, I have made it my mission to take you to your grandmother’s house. But there is one problem with this.” Peter feigned a worried expression. “What is it, wolf?” the girl asked. “The big bad wolf might catch your scent still, and then we would both be in trouble.” “I am not afraid of any wolf. And besides, wolf, I’m sure you could fight off the big bad wolf.” 231 “Look how big I am! If I am not the big bad wolf, then how much bigger he must be!” Realization shown across the girl’s face like a sign. “What should we do, then?” “Crawl into my mouth,” Peter said, pointing at his toothy maw. “What?” the girl said, taking a step back. “If you crawl into my stomach, then I can safely carry you to your grandmother’s house! The big bad wolf could not smell you through my fur.” The little girl seemed unsure. Peter put on his most trusting face, and then looked sad, “I understand you can’t trust a wolf like myself, I will go back into the woods, and pray to the good Lord that you make it to your grandmother’s safely.” He turned to walk away before finally the girl said, “Wait, wolf!” Peter wasted no time before he gobbled up the girl in one gulp. He could feel her go down, down his throat. She did not kick and scream like the others, but almost let out a sound of excitement as she landed in his large stomach. “Alright, wolf.” Her voice was muffled through the flesh, skin, and fur of the wolf. “Let’s get going.” Peter sprinted across the forest, excited to know he had a meal waiting for him across the wood. The thrill of the hunt surged through him, and he found himself howling and running faster and faster. His own power began to grow as he felt each footstep slam 232 into the ground. Several trees were blown over by his mighty breath. This hunt had been the best of his life. Finally he saw white smoke in the distance, and he changed direction towards it. He could smell the burning wood from the chimney from where he was. He finally slowed as he saw a simple log cabin in front of him, with smoke blowing out of a brick chimney. “Is this your grandmother’s house?” Peter opened his mouth just enough for the girl to look out. “Yes, it is, wolf! Thank you very much.” She began trying to crawl out, but Peter closed his mouth as soon as he felt her hands on his inner throat. “What are you doing, wolf?” “Having a meal.” Peter walked up to the house and knocked. “Who is it?” he heard an old voice come from inside. Peter cleared his throat and said in the highest pitch voice he could, “It’s me, your granddaughter. I have food for you.” He felt the basket digesting within him. “Granddaughter? Your voice is sounding weird,” the voice shouted from inside. “Grandmother, it isn’t me!” the girl tried shouting from within the stomach, but she wasn’t loud enough. “I have a cold,” Peter replied. “Oh, my poor granddaughter, come all the way to see me even though you have a cold. Come in. Come in. The door’s unlocked, like it always is.” 233 Peter walked into the small house and could see that it was all a single room. There was a place with a few wooden chairs and cushioned couch, a place where food was prepared, and a place to sleep. Sitting on the bed and squinting was an old woman with bright white hair that puffed out in every direction. She wore a pink nightgown of a similar make to the cloak within him. He wondered if both were colors came from his old flock. “Granddaughter? Is that you? You seem much bigger and hairier than I remember. And where is that beautiful red cloak I made for you?” Peter, in his best little girl impression, responded, “I found a seller who traded me your cloak for a large wolfskin cloak that is much warmer.” Peter saw there were a pair of glasses on the ground nearby. “I look bigger because you are not wearing your glasses.” “Very observant, granddaughter. I accidentally knocked them away and haven’t found the strength to get out of bed and get them. Will you help me?” Peter moved carefully over to the bed and picked up the glasses. The grandmother squinted at him. “Granddaughter, why do your fingers look longer?” “The better to pick up your glasses with.” “And your legs, they seem much larger.” “The better to walk to your house with.” “But granddaughter, your head seems entirely too big for you.” She reached out for the glasses. 234 “The better to think of wonderful things for you.” He handed the glasses to the grandmother. “And your stomach, it also seems entirely too big. Perhaps you should lay off sweets.” The grandmother put on her glasses and looked up at the wolf as she finished her statement. Peter, in the same voice, shouted, “The better to hold your corpse in,” before grabbing the grandmother and shoving her down his throat. He could hear the girl and old woman screaming within him as they pushed and pushed and tried to escape. Peter laughed and howled, and he could feel the foundations of the house shake around him as he was filled with his power. He looked down at the bed that the grandmother had just been in and thought about how good a nap would be after his meal. “It has been quite some time before I have slept in a bed anyways.” He crawled under the covers and could hear the wood creak and cry out beneath him. He smiled at it, and quickly fell asleep as the two humans fought against him, trying to find an escape from their cage. They prayed to whichever god might help them, but gods often ignore unspecific prayers. Peter dreamed of multicolored sheep, each one jumping into his mouth. Eventually, all the sheep in the world were in him, then the rabbits, cats, humans, and all the other animals in the world had to take turns feeding the wolf. Peter smiled and snored for hours. -O- 235 There were three loud pounds on the door. They came one after the other, a routine knock, not of anger, but instead from a sturdy hand. A strong arm. A woodcutter’s arm. Though in many of these stories, characters do not come back like this, the woodcutter is no normal character. After the death of her husband and the disappearance of her kids and Catherine, the woodcutter header to a city on the north side of the wood to start a new life. She had no one in her life that she loved nearly as much as the baker and her children, so she remained unmarried and childless for the rest of her days. She did, however, come into contact with grandmother, the very same that currently lies in Peter’s stomach. What started as weekly card games for two lonely women quickly blossomed into a true friendship, a platonic love that is rare to this world and ours. When grandmother became sick, the woodcutter vowed to check in on her friend if not daily than every other day. Except, today, grandmother wasn’t opening the door. Loud snoring could be heard inside the house, but nothing else. No sounds of a scuffing broom, nor the sound of bubbling soup nor shuffling cards. Only the loud, unhuman snore. “Grandmother, are you awake? I wish not to bother you if you’re resting.” The woodcutter’s axe hung tight to her back. She always carried it with her when she traveled into the woods; there were wolves around. No response came from inside, only the continuation of snores. -O- 236 As the door creaked open, Peter awoke with a start. He looked past the white and pink blankets, he saw as a woman was stepping into the small cottage at the edge of the wood. Peter smiled, not knowing that the figure was once his own mother, and thought, How lucky am I? First breakfast and dinner, and now my supper has arrived at the front door! “Grandmother?” the woodcutter said, looking around the single room house. “Come in!” Peter said, in the best grandmother voice he could make. It was lucky for Peter that the girl in red and the grandmother were so easy to trick. It would not be as easy with this new figure. The woodcutter immediately knew something was wrong. She wondered which trickster god had come down to take away her only friend in such a manner. Whether it be the Rabbit, Fox, or Cat, she was prepared to do whatever it took to bring back grandmother. She quietly unclasped the axe from her back. “You are not my friend, where is she?” The woodcutter stepped carefully forward, as to not scare whatever beast lay under the blankets. She could see that they barely fit around it’s body, so it might not be any of the tricksters. Peter returned to his normal voice. “Would you like to join her?” The wolf began to sit up in bed, looking at his next meal in the eye. It was only at that moment that he realized who he was talking to. She looked so similar, except she now carried a sadness in her eyes, the kind only true loss can bring you. Usually, this look brought him joy. Now, he felt that sadness try to reflect back into himself. It almost worked. “Mother?” 237 The woodcutter also had a moment of recognition, though it was not the figure or appearance of the monster that she recognized, it was his eyes, who had softened to what they would truly look like when they had a sweet moment, like hunting, or when she asked for his help to build a house. She also saw his eyes flicker into the same eyes that would appear when he chased after cats and rabbits. “Peter?” The wolf laughed, “That is who I was.” The wolf began to crawl out of bed. The woodcutter could see his round belly, with handprints trying to fight their way out. “I have become who I was meant to be. Who my true parents designed me to be. Who the gods have destined me to be. I am the Wolf!” He stood on his back two legs and howled to the sky. The woodcutter trembled at this, but she held her resolve. “No, my dear Peter, you were not meant to be this.” She held tight to her axe. “You were supposed to be good; you were supposed to be a protector. Oh, how I missed you.” She reached out to hold his wolf face. She thought if she could touch him, if she could hold the Wolf, then Peter would reappear. She thought of how much life they could live together. They could go back to where the house blew over and start anew. The Wolf saw this attempt and laugh, “Would you think the same of me if I told you what I’ve done?” he paused, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. “I held down your husband while Catherine cut out his heart.” “No.” The woodcutter responded. 238 “After she got power, I blew down your house with only my breath,” he continued. “Stop.” “I killed two boys, just because I wanted to know how well they would fight back. They were no match for the Wolf.” “I won’t hear anymore.” “I held an entire town as my prisoners and ate them as I pleased.” “This isn’t you, Peter!” He stopped, clearly ready to go on about his numerous accomplishments. “You’re right. I am the Wolf, and the Wolf did all of those things.” The Wolf stepped forward and grabbed the woodcutter’s outstretched hand. “You are my last connection to Peter. How lucky, that the fates brought you here today.” The Wolf brought the woodcutter closer and closer to his mouth, until she was face to snout with his snarling maw. The woodcutter, unsure of what else to do, swung her axe at him. It landed in his shoulder, and he howled in pain and dropped her. Blood began oozing out of the axe-wound, and the Wolf, now angry, looked over at the woodcutter. “Peter, I’m sorry. I could see what you would become, and I did nothing.” The woodcutter took a fighting stance. She did not want to kill the Wolf, but she was afraid there was nothing left of Peter inside. 239 “And I thank you for that.” The Wolf lunged at her, but she stepped to the side. The Wolf landed on all fours and swung a large claw behind him, trying to catch her. The hair whistled between each of his clawed fingers as he hit nothing but air. The woodcutter had already taken another step back. The woodcutter, trying to be careful of the two inside the Wolf, swung her axe at his leg, which snapped through the femur. He howled in pain and staggered a few steps back. Then, he stood tall, and began to breathe in. He pulled all the air out of the room, but the chimney and open doorway kept enough air circulating. He huffed. And then he puffed. And a wind stronger than any of the four winds came from his mouth, along with the girl in red and the grandmother. The air blew around the woodcutter, and she had only a second to plant her axe into the ground to keep herself situated before the wind knocked into her, bringing the smell of death and rot with it. The wind blew hard and fast, it knocked down the wall that the bed rested on, and soon the bed and all of its contents went flying into the nearby wood. The roof began to fall down, but it also was blown before it could fall onto the woodcutter. The two partially digested, but still living women flew into the forest, landing in uncomfortable positions. When the Wolf finally finished, he stood in the only standing part of the old cottage, looking out into the forest and at the woodcutter, who was still standing. He was weak; all his power went into that huff and puff. She could see his legs shaking, and she 240 knew this was the time to act. She grabbed her axe out of the ground, and with all her might, she swung it down into his chest. If the Wolf had only kept the protection of his name. But he chose to give that up, and so the Wolf stood, wood axe coming out of his chest, blinking and breathing, until his knees finally gave beneath him, and he collapsed. The woodcutter watched as the form of the wolf slowly gave way into the form of a man, a young man, who the woodcutter knew was once Peter. She knelt beside him and held his head. The axe was still in his chest, and blood poured from the wound. He looked up at her and smiled. Blood drooled out as it filled his mouth. “Is… is the Wolf dead?” The one who was once the Wolf asked. “Yes.” The woodcutter responded. “So his story is over?” “I’m afraid so.” The man who was once the Wolf died in the woodcutter’s arms, and she was one of only three people who cried at his passing. Thus, we bring the story of the Wolf, who was once called Peter, to an end. Part 8: Hungry Children But that is not the end of our story, for there are still two more tales to tell. In another part of the woods, Juniper built a new home with her gingerbread men. Her magic was unlike the powers that her brother or sister had. While the Wolf had turned 241 into a large wolf, with all the strength and might of one, and Catherine’s magic was more based in her studies, Juniper’s magic was all baking. And not in the sense that she could make the best bread and treats in the world, oh no. She could already do that. Instead, she was able to just create goods with nothing more than a thought and the flick of her wrist. When she made it to the part of the forest where she wished to live, she ordered her eleven gingerbread men to begin building a gingerbread house. Cookie magic flew from her body, turning all the nearby trees into gingerbread logs, and the grass into cotton candy. The birds all turned into chocolate while they sat in their nests above, the rabbits and cats each turned into candy cane statues all around the forest, and each toadstool turned into a gumdrop. The gingerbread men got to work, under the leadership of the one who could talk, and within a fortnight, the candy house was done. They pulled frosting out of the clay of the ground to attach the large pieces of gingerbread to each other, and the house outside was decorated with the frozen bodies of the wildlife in the surrounding area. When the house was finished, Juniper went inside and began furnishing the house with tables, chairs, a bed, counters for a kitchen, a sink, a small couch for reclining, and even wall decorations, all of which were made of candy. The only things in the house that were not made of candy were Juniper and the large furnace that sat opposite the door, which connected to the long smoke blowing chimney above. 242 When she finished, she rested for a day, while her gingerbread men went to a nearby town to pick up groceries, such as flour, milk, eggs, and a young boy, who came kicking and screaming. Despite the fact that Juniper could make these sweet treats with the touch of a finger, she found that she desired only bread and human pie. When Juniper awoke, she saw a young boy sitting at the candy table, looking nervously about, trying to figure out what was happening. Juniper could see him crying. She smiled an evil smile. “Why, hello little boy,” she said, getting out of her bed. “H—hi,” he managed to stutter out. Juniper thought it was very cute. She walked towards him and saw the boy’s eyes get wider and wider. She smiled, remembering as the magic Catherine had cast upon her had made her more ugly and vile than anyone else in the land. “Are you lost?” she asked, walking over to the counter to grab the milk. “I—I don’t know where I am. Little brown men came and snatched me up out of my bed.” The boy was afraid to say more. “Oh, I am so sorry about that.” Juniper poured a glass of milk into a candy cane cup. “They can be a little reckless sometimes. I asked them to bring me something sweet, so I guess they brought you.” The gingerbread men snickered behind her. “Can I go home now?” the boy wanted to stand up, but couldn’t find the strength to do it. 243 “Of course, but would you like a glass of milk?” Juniper walked over to him and handed it out to him. “Okay,” the boy said, accepting it. Before he put it to his lips she goes, “Would you like it to be sweeter? Would you like some chocolate in it?” She licked her lips, looking down at the little boy. His innards would be perfect for her next pie, and his bones could be used for windchimes. “Okay,” he said. Juniper reached out her scrawny, ugly finger with a broken nail and placed it into the glass, and then stirred it around. The boy watched as the white liquid suddenly turned brown, and then got darker until she removed her finger. “Try it now.” The boy took a sip, and it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He drank it all down in two gulps, before wiping off his lips. “Can I have more, ma’am?” “Of course, my dear boy. In fact, everything in my house is made out of eatable materials, candies and chocolates and sweets. That is, except the oven. Have anything you want.” The boy hesitated, but soon walked over to the counter, and slowly picking up a spoon, he took a bite out of it and tasted the sweetest peppermint he had ever had. Juniper watched the boy as he gobbled up almost half her house, his stomach getting rounder and rounder, until he was so stuffed he could have no more. “Oh, young man,” Juniper said as he was napping on the half-eaten sofa. “Yes?” he said, awaking from his nap. 244 “I was getting ready to make you a loaf of bread to take home with you, but I’m afraid I can’t reach the back of the oven to clean it. Would you help a helpless old woman and clean the back of the oven?” The boy nodded and grabbed a rag from her. It was knitted together out of cotton candy from outside, and he wondered if it would still be good to eat after he cleaned. Juniper opened up the oven, and the boy crawled in. It was a large oven, big enough for the boy to fit into, but just barely. It was also very deep, so the boy had to go all the way in in order to reach the back. When his two little shoes finally made it into the oven, Juniper slammed the door and turned the oven on. She locked a latch that she had installed in this oven and heard as the little boy began to wriggle and scream. It reminded her so much of when she and the starter would watch his children burn up in the oven, and she even went over to the dark cabinet where he was kept and held him in front of the oven to listen to the boy with her. When the boy had finally finished cooking, Juniper had the gingerbread men take him out, and she began to chop him up, setting aside the parts she would need for the pie, and setting the other parts she would find other use for or discard in a chocolate bucket. What surprised her most was how good he tasted outside of the pie. In fact, half of his meat never even made it to a pie, as she enjoyed eating it so much. After this, she began strolling the forest daily, looking for children to invite to her candy house. She always presented herself as a helpless old lady, and most of the children fell for the act. She would fix up her house after each encounter, and each one only made 245 her hungrier for the next child she could find. Soon, she discarded the pie she would bake them in, and even stopped making the bread. The starter was forgotten in a cabinet, where he fell into a deep slumber. Years passed in this routine. A few years in, she heard about the death of the big bad wolf. She never heard anything about Catherine, so Juniper always assumed she was still alive and spreading evil throughout the world. Years turned into decades, and after several of those, Juniper looked around her little candy cottage in the forest, and realized she was alone for the first time in a long time. Over the fifty or so years of living here, each of the gingerbread men had died. Most were eaten by trickster foxes, others ran away. The final one, the talking one, was eaten by a child who didn’t hear the thing yelling at it not to eat it. That child never made it to the oven but was instead turned into a chocolate statue and left outside for the ants to pick apart. Even the Darkness, who once visited Juniper often, had stopped showing up at her candy cottage. It was also one day over the last fifty years that Juniper lost her name. She just forgot it one day, and only referred to herself as grandmother, the old lady, or the Witch. When Juniper lost her name, she also lost the protection of it, though none of the children who came after that were crafty enough to end the Witch. One day, after all this had happened, the Witch was walking through the forest, seeing if any children had gotten lost out there. Children often avoided this part of the 246 forest now, surprisingly taking the path that the Wolf used to patrol; he had been dead a long time. On this day, the Witch saw something strange along the path, a trail of breadcrumbs. The Witch found this curious, who in the world would leave bread in the forest like this? Anyone who was poor enough to be walking through the forest was not able to waste bread in this way. She followed the bread trail until she happened upon a young boy and girl, who were also following the crumbs. Juniper kept her distance and began listening to the conversation ahead. “I told you leaving the trail would be helpful, sister!” the brother said, pushing his older sister a little. “Yes, but it was dangerous. What if the mice of the forest had eaten it? Besides, it’s obvious that father and stepmother left us in the woods on purpose. They don’t want us anymore.” The sister sounded as if she was going to cry. She crossed her arms and kept walking forward. “Don’t say that! It’s not true. Father would never get rid of us!” the boy pleaded back. “Stepmother never liked us, and now she’s pregnant with her own child. Face it, brother, father and stepmother left us in the woods because stepmother doesn’t want us in her family any longer.” The sister stopped walking. Suddenly, the brother turned around and pushed his sister down. “Don’t say such things. Father loves us very much; he would never let our evil stepmother get rid of us!” 247 Suddenly, both siblings were crying, and the Witch decided she was tired of the conversation. She knew that these children were too determined to get home to follow her, so she instead snuck around them and began following the bread trail all the way back to where it started. The trees broke into a clearing, where a small house that looked as if it was falling apart sat on the outskirts of a town. There, she could see into a window where a man and woman were yelling at each other. The woman was pregnant. The Witch suddenly had an evil idea. She started to pick up the bread trail until she could no longer see the clearing, almost a quarter of a mile back. And then started laying it again, bringing the trail back to where her house was. When she ran out of breadcrumbs, she began dropping sweets for the rest of the way. She hoped that either the children were too stupid or too hungry to avoid the candy trail. Finally, she ordered some of the candy cane animals to go and destroy the original bread trail. When she finished, she went home and rested, knowing that she would have company soon. It was not even an hour later when she heard the siblings arguing again. “The trail turned candy and brought us further into the woods.” “We must trust the trail, sister.” “Face it, your trail has only made us lost.” “No, that’s not possible.” “What’s that ahead?” The squabbling children had finally noticed the gingerbread house, and saw Juniper watch them through the window. 248 “Is this whole house made of candy? Sister, I am so hungry.” The boy began to walk to the house. His sister grabbed him before he could take more than a few steps. “Brother, we much be careful. Remember, children go missing from this part of the woods all the time.” “Hello, children! Are you lost?” The Witch stood in the doorway of the house, waving at them. “Sister let’s go. She’s too ugly to be trusted.” The brother tried to walk away, but his sister still held him. “Brother, I’m tired. I’m hungry. She might be nice, look at how welcoming she is. Perhaps this is our lucky break? And besides, no one is waiting for us to come home.” The sister began walking towards the house. She stopped at the end of the gumdrop walkway that led to the house. “Hello, grandmother. May my brother and I come into your house? Our parents abandoned us in the woods, and we have nowhere else to go. We can help with whatever chores you need.” The Witch smiled. Never before had flies asked to sleep in the spider’s web. “Of course, my dear. Please.” The sister started walking up to the house, and soon her brother followed her. When they went inside, they were amazed at all they saw. Candy covered every single surface in the house, which was much different that their usual wood and stone. 249 Everything, that is, except the oven, but the siblings each wondered to themselves what kind of candy they would find if they tried to bite into it. The Witch told them, “I have no food for a growing boy and girl, save the candy that makes this entire house. You may eat anything you see around, but I will warn you the oven is not made of candy like everything else. When you grow tired, you may rest in the bed over there.” She pointed over to her bed. The two children began to eat and eat and eat. Though the girl claimed to be hungrier, the brother ate almost half of the inside of the house alone and began eating some of the walls before falling asleep in the bed. The sister ate slowly and did not gorge herself on the sweets around. The Witch found herself becoming annoyed with the girl, but soon, the girl also fell asleep in the bed. After they had only been sleeping for a little bit of time, the Witch shook the brother awake, making sure not to wake the sister as well. “Young man, I was trying to clean out the oven in order to bake you and your sister some bread, but I cannot reach the back of the oven. I am far too old and fragile to do that. Would you help me?” The Witch stood over the boy, giving a crooked smile. “What?” the boy asked, still partially asleep. Then, a moment later, he processed the request. “Okay.” The boy got up and groggily made his way to the oven. The Witch opened it up for him, and after he crawled all the way in, she shut the oven, locked it, and turned it on. The Witch heard as the boy begin to burn up, and he began to cry and plead to be let out. 250 What the Witch didn’t notice was that the sister, who had woken up when the oven shut, was watching this, swearing vengeance upon the Witch for killing her brother. -O- The girl was awake with her eyes closed the entire time the Witch ate her brother. She heard each cackle, each slurp, each time the knife made its way through bone. As the morning came and darkness fled, the Witch did her best to put what remaining pieces of the boy in a cabinet. This is when the girl began to wake up, knowing that she would be safe from immediate retaliation. As the girl looked around, she noticed that everything that had been eaten by her, and her brother had been repaired and replaced. “Where is my brother?” she asked, forgetting that well-mannered children first say, “good morning.” “Oh, hello little girl. Your brother went out hunting for rabbit or cats so you can have some meat to eat. I was going to make bread for you two.” The Witch was sitting at the table, staring at the little girl. “Oh, can I help any?” the girl asked, trying to form a plan of her own. She knew that she wouldn’t be safe unless she killed the Witch. “Why, yes!” The Witch licked her lips. The girl had eaten so little sweets, she tried to remember what unsweetened flesh tasted like, but it had been so long since she was the muffin man’s apprentice. “I would love it if you could help clean the oven for me. I am far too old and fragile to make my way all the way to the back of the oven.” 251 The girl finally thought of her idea. “Oh,” she said, disappointment coating the word, “I was hoping to help you prepare the bread. My mother never taught me how to bake bread before she passed, and my stepmother has always hated me and chose not to teach me anything.” For some strange reason, this tugged at the Witch’s heart. A little light was shown into its blackness, and she almost felt pity for the girl. She remembered how the baker taught her how to bake, all those long mornings, where she would wonder if she would kill him. She had a name then. What was it? “Oh, that is so kind of you, but it would make no sense to have the bread ready if the oven wasn’t clean. And you don’t know how to make bread, and I cannot clean the back of the oven.” The Witch was tiring of making this girl happy. “Well, Grandmother, how about this: you show me how to start the bread, and then you clean the front of the oven, and I will work on the bread until you finish and then we can switch?” the girl was desperate not to get into that oven, and she hoped the panic she felt wasn’t making it into her voice. “Very well!” the Witch snapped, and she went to the cabinet where her forgotten starter sat. It was unmoving, but with some water, flour, a little time in the sunlight, and a bit of the Witch’s magic, within the hour it was moving again. Then she grabbed a chocolate chip bowl and added water, flour, sugar, and a pinch of the living starter to the bowl and began stirring it. She then instructed the girl on 252 how to knead the dough, and also warned her that the dough might fight back, and then she turned around to clean her portion of the oven. It was true that she was too old and fragile to clean the majority of the oven, but her magic kept it mostly clean. She did notice a shoe that she had not pulled out the night before, which she reached in to grab. The Witch did not need the girl to see her brother’s partially melted shoe, so elected to throw it to the back of the oven for now. As the Witch leaned in, she suddenly felt as her legs were being picked up and she was being fully shoved into the oven. She looked back only to see the girl closing the oven door and heard as the girl reached over to latch it shut. “Little girl!” the Witch screamed, “You don’t want to do this to me! You have no idea the power I have. Don’t do this!” She screamed and yelled, but the girl only turned the temperature to the highest possible setting. Juniper reached out to attempt to turn the metal into brittle, but the oven instead burnt her hand. The chimney flute above her was too small to crawl up, but she wondered if she could make herself smaller. She began sweating chocolate as she began concentrating her power towards herself. Her dress began catching fire, until it was completely gone. Her body began growing smaller, but her flesh was turning into gingerbread. She reached up to the shoot above, trying to find a handhold, but all of her fingers crumbled away, turning into a small nub. 253 The girl watched the oven while holding the living starter. The Witch began turning brown and crumbling, until she was just a pile of crumbs on the bottom of the furnace. When that happened, the house began shaking, and all the candy around her began to rot and crumble. After only a few minutes, she was standing in the middle of the forest again, with nothing around but a chimney attached to a burning furnace. It was still morning, so the girl turned, taking the starter with her, and began walking north, not knowing it was north, and hoped she would find somewhere soon where she could properly mourn her family. Part 9: The Queen Stepmother Despite the fact that her brother and sister lived in the woods, and thus found their victims there, Catherine decided that life in a palace was the life for her. After she left the bear’s cave, she found a prince, who, despite his low status, was very rich, and she lived comfortably there. Catherine did her best to avoid any balls and other royal festivities, since she knew her previous servant and stepdaughter was still the queen of a neighboring kingdom. It did bring Catherine joy, however, to hear that her old stepdaughter’s husband’s servant gave birth to all five of their children, and that the girl had no children of her own. Catherine managed to replace all the magic items she had lost when she was run out of her previous kingdom with what was in the bear’s cave, but what she didn’t have, 254 her new husband bought for her. He did not understand the magic, but he could never say no to his beautiful wife. One day, a few years after their marriage, and she gave him no kids, her prince joined his father and the rest of their army in a fight that wasn’t theirs. An allied kingdom had been invaded by giants, and all the lands were requested to come help. Before he left, he gave her a tender kiss and said, “My lovely Catherine, I will be back for you in no time.” Her only reply was, “If you return, please bring any parts of the giants that you can.” The prince did not return. There was great mourning in the kingdom, and a funeral was held for a month, until the king had finally decreed it to be over. Catherine spent most of her time in her room, working on magics and learning everything she could. She feigned sadness when she needed to, but she was more happy alone than with someone. If only the poor king knew that. In the time that Catherine had been married to the prince, the king had become very fond of her, and had viewed her as a daughter. And just like any father would want for his daughter, he sought a new groom for her. It was around this time that there was another king whose wife had died. She was terribly sick and died while giving birth to their first and only child. When Catherine’s 255 father-in-law heard about this, he was very delighted and sent word to the king that he had a new bride for him. When he told Catherine the great news, she looked at him and said, “My king, I could never possibly love another man like I loved your son.” She, of course, was lying, and just did not want to pleasure anymore men. “My dearest Catherine, I see you like I would my own daughter. This is a fantastic opportunity for you. You would no longer be just the wife of a prince, but you would be a queen.” The king embraced her. “A queen?” she said, digging her nails into his back in a way that seemed accidental. With that she agreed, and soon met her new husband and stepdaughter. She cared very little for her husband, and even less for his daughter. She left all the duties of raising her to her maids and servants. Caterine also insisted that the girl must participate in household chores, but the king put an end to that once he heard whisper of his daughter holding a broom. The king was also not accepting of Catherine’s magic, so all her magic materials had to be kept in a lower basement, far away from the king’s sight. It was also in these fifteen years that Catherine also forgot her own name. She was called several things, such as Queen, Wife, and Stepmother. The Queen soon forgot such trivial things like the words her and her siblings used to call each other in the forest. 256 When she checked in on them, she saw that the Wolf had died and that the Witch was doing well within her gingerbread house. When she saw how well the Witch was doing, however, she became very jealous and went to her basement lab to ask the mirror a question. The mirror could see all across the lands and was magically inclined to always tell the Queen the truth. As she looked into the mirror, she saw as her reflection shimmered for a second, until the reflection no longer mirrored her own movements. “Is there anyone else more powerful than I?” the Queen asked her reflection. The reflection said nothing, and she repeated the question again. “I will only tell you one more time, I will only answer questions that rhyme,” her reflection retorted to her. Catherine rolled her eyes at the mirror, but knew it was better to just do what it asked instead of arguing with it. She thought of the question she wanted to ask, and then thought of a rhyme, and then finally stated, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Am I the most powerful of all?” “While your rhythm needs more care, that is an answer I can share.” The mirror shimmered, and she saw images of great fairies flying over trees, and an old man with a long white beard. “Great Fairies and Merlin, as you see, are far more powerful than thee.” Catherine grew enraged. She would not accept that anyone could be more powerful than her. She must be the most powerful sorceress in the land. “Since I cannot ask you this in prose, how do I become more powerful than those?” 257 The mirror shimmered again, showing Catherine a collection of books, trinkets, and artifacts that could be found across the land. “Find these items, and nothing more. Then, you will be more powerful than those before.” The Queen smiled and made her list before walking out the door. It was almost ten years later when she made her way to the front of the mirror again. In that time she had spent many journeys collecting all the tomes, trinkets, and artifacts, and, when she could, murdered a few great fairies along the way. In this time as well, she managed to take control of her kingdom, as some of her poison found its way into her husband’s wine. With her husband gone, more effort was put towards her treasure hunt, and her stepdaughter was put to work in the kitchen finally. This stepdaughter, unlike the first one, did not find joy in the work, and would often disappear into the nearby woods instead of doing her chores. Other servants would do the tasks for her, but the Stepmother didn’t care, her stepdaughter was out of the way, and that was all that was important. The stepdaughter was almost to marrying age when the Queen made her way back to the mirror. “Mirror, mirror, look and see. Is there anyone more powerful than me?” “Yes, I see, across the land, that no one’s power is quite as grand.” The Queen smiled. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Am I the greatest one of all?” The mirror stood quiet for a second, before saying. “In power, magic, riches and gold, there is no one else with as much told. But, despite all of these things being so grand, you are not the most beautiful in the whole land.” 258 “What?” the Queen yelled. She composed herself, first by throwing an empty bottle across the room, watching it shatter into hundreds of pieces. She turned back to the mirror, as if warning it, and asked, “Mirror, mirror, if you will, who is the one I need to kill?” The mirror shimmered again, before showing an image that made the Queen gasp. In her very own mirror was the image of the stepdaughter, the wench who avoided her chores. She sat by a well, poking the water and watching her own reflection ripple. “My Queen, look, and you shall see," the mirror said, while keeping the image of the stepdaughter, “It is thine own daughter who is more fair than thee.” “Stepdaughter,” the Queen bit back. She paused, for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “This is an easy fix. I shall get rid of her immediately.” The Queen turned and left the mirror behind, who still held her own reflection for just a moment longer, a moment to hold her own cruel smile. -O- The Queen thought through many plots to rid herself of the girl. She could just turn her into a monster; an ogre or beast or even a dragon would do. But no, that was far too kind to the girl who dared be more beautiful than her. She thought about putting her into an eternal sleep, like the other prince’s grandmother, but that was unoriginal. She also thought about sending the girl to her sister’s domain, letting the Witch take care of her. But no, the Queen did not need anyone else. 259 The Queen ordered for the girl to be brought to her magical lair. When her stepdaughter came down the old stairs, the Queen smiled at her and said, “Oh, my dear stepdaughter. I have some very exciting news for you.” “Yes?” the stepdaughter asked, not knowing what kind of trickery her Stepmother was playing on her. “A prince, one from a faraway kingdom, has wrote and asked for your hand in marriage.” The Queen set out a few items on the table in front of her. “That is exciting, Stepmother,” the girl said, still unsure of what her Stepmother was up to, “Why have you brought me down here to your forbidden workshop for such information? Surely, we must announce it in the grand ballroom, where everyone would be able to hear.” “Yes, yes, all in due time. But first, I have a present for you.” The Stepmother stepped aside and there on the table lay three items. A ribbon of lace, white as snow, a comb, as black as the coals her first stepdaughter slept in, and finally, an apple, as red as the Stepmother’s lips. “These are my gifts to you.” The girl was confused. “What are these, these common items for?” The Stepmother’s lips curled into a smile. “This lace, when tied around your waist, will help you produce a multitude of healthy young princes and princesses to fill your new kingdom.” She grabbed the comb. “This, when you run it through your hair, will keep you from ever appearing to age.” 260 “Then Stepmother, why haven’t you used it?” the stepdaughter asked, knowing she was stepping on a nerve. Her Stepmother appeared to be in a good mood, why not push her luck? “Oh, how silly of you, stepdaughter. Are you saying I don’t look as young as ever?” the Stepmother laughed a wicked laugh, and the stepdaughter took a step back, “The final item for you is this apple. When you eat it, it will prevent you from ever getting sick. We would hate for what happened to your mother to happen to you.” The stepdaughter felt tears in her eyes. She never knew her mother, only knew that she died in childbirth. “Stepmother, why are you giving me all of these things? You have always, uh, hated me.” The Stepmother put on her friendliest face. “I know that things haven’t been the best with us, but I hope this will make it up. Perhaps there will be peace between our two kingdoms, once you are gone,” The Queen was a masterful liar. The stepdaughter, not wanting to be rude, accepted the items and turned to leave. “Wait,” the Queen said, her stepdaughter stopped suddenly, “Can I not see you use all of what I have given you before you leave?” The stepdaughter sighed and first tied the lace tight around her waist. “How about this?” the stepdaughter asked. “No, no! That is far too loose!” and the Stepmother walked over and tightened it so tight that the girl couldn’t breathe. 261 Not wanting to be rude, the girl then took the comb and began combing her hair. Immediately, the comb’s poison began going into the stepdaughter’s head, and she felt even more lightheaded. “Now the apple,” the Stepmother said, holding out the perfectly red thing. The stepdaughter did not want to be rude, so she quickly grabbed and took a bite of it. As she swallowed it, she suddenly dropped dead, the lace around her waist, the comb in her hair, and apple in her stomach. Or so the Queen thought. She then took out her knife and carved the girl’s heart out, mixing it into a stew and eating it all while her stepdaughter lay dead on the ground. She placed a sheet over the body and ordered guards to remove it from the castle and throw it into the river, ordering them to never look under the sheet. And so they did. The Queen then announced, several days later, and looking even more beautiful than she had before, that the princess had disappeared while playing in the woods, and only a tenday was given to mourn her stepdaughter. That time was spent, for the Queen at least, reading in her peaceful study, content that she had no more competition in any part of her life. -O- There are many things in the world that happens without the Queen knowing about it. The Queen did not know it was the very same woodcutter that attempted to raise her that would kill her brother, the Wolf. She was unaware that it was her previous stepdaughter’s prince’s servant who, after leaving her life of servitude at the castle, 262 started a new family near the woods, and that her granddaughter would be the one to kill the Witch. She also did not know that her current stepdaughter, the one whose heart she had just eaten, was not quite all the way dead. There was a river god, who watched over the river that the girl’s body was thrown into, who watched over the girl as she floated down the river. The river god, not wanting to leave the girl dead, replaced her heart with a fish and stitched it in. But even with that, the girl would not start breathing again, and the river god left her in sadness. It was not a day later, however, that she was found by the dwarf. He and his six brothers lived in a nearby cottage and brought the girl to his home. The dwarves did everything they could, and realized it was magic that was keeping the girl dead. First, they untied the lace, and the girl’s stomach immediately relaxed. Then they removed the comb, and instantly, color returned to the girl’s face. And yet the girl did not wake. The dwarves tried everything they could, but nothing would bring back the girl. They could not see the bite of the apple clogging her throat, preventing her from breathing. Eventually, they gave up their efforts and placed the girl in a glass case in the woods. But unfortunately, dwarves can be a bit clumsy. When they attempted to set down the glass coffin, they dropped it hard, which immediately caused a spat between them all. This jolt, however, was all that was needed to dislodge the apple from the girl’s throat, and suddenly she could breathe again. 263 She demanded to be let out, and when she did, she thanked the dwarves for all they did, and left into the woods to plot her revenge against her Stepmother. Now, I must make this clear, the stepdaughter did not come back to life as good as she was before. Death can make a person cold, though often their hearts can warm up to make them close to what they were before. For the stepdaughter, however, she now had a fish for a heart. There was no warming up for her. As far as the Almighty was aware, the stepdaughter was just as evil as the Stepmother. -O- Now that you know what the Queen Stepmother does not, you are now ready to see how she falls from her power. Now that the Queen had everything in the world she could want, she was a happier person. Not in a way where she treated those around her better, oh no, far from it. She was just as cruel as she was before, and her newfound, albeit justified, pride only made that attitude worse. Most servants stayed as far away as possible from the Queen, and once word got around that the Queen was a sorceress, most other kingdoms cut communication with the Queen. No one left though, no. The Queen let a rumor spread that she had hexed everyone in her kingdom, that if they left, she would know. In reality, the Queen does not think enough of her subjects to put a spell on them. The Queen’s newfound happiness took form in her taking more walks around her kingdom. She would often go walking through all the venders, sometimes as herself, and 264 sometimes in disguise. In both situations, if something caught her eyes, she would take it without permission or intent to buy. It was one of these days that she saw a new vender on the street. This vender had a collection of magical artifacts that littered their small table. Several the Queen had seen before, but in the middle, almost hidden, was a pair of iron shoes. Magic radiated off of them, and the Queen could not understand them. A figure suddenly appeared from the shadows cloaked in a dark red cloak. The Queen could not see their face, but she knew this person was full of a magic. “My dear shopkeeper, I have never seen you before. Are you new to our small kingdom?” The shopkeeper did not answer, only nodded their shaded head in agreement. “A silent one, I see. No matter. You have a collection of magical artifacts here, and most I could identify from my own collection. But those,” she pointed at the shoes, “those are very unfamiliar to me. Tell me what they do.” “Your highness,” a rough and crackling voice came from the hood, “I am unaware of what these shoes do. I did not realize they were out; they are too dangerous to sell until I understand.” The hooded figure grabbed the shoes and began putting them behind the table, but the Queen grabbed their hand. The hand was cold and clammy. It didn’t feel human in the same way that the Queen didn’t feel human. “I insist that I will figure them out. How much do you want for them?” 265 “My lady, I could never charge you for magics I don’t understand. If you figure them out, I only ask that you bring them back and tell me what magics are contained.” The shopkeeper released the shoes into the Queen’s care, who immediately took them home. The Queen spent the entire night looking through tome after tome of magical natures to try and figure out what the shoes were. Not even the mirror could tell her what they were. They seemed to be out of his sight. Finally, after she tried all other options, and it was nearing morning, she tried them on to see if somehow that would give her a revelation. As soon as she put them on, she felt the shoes locked onto her feet like glue, and she felt as her magic was locked. She realized that these shoes were made to suppress magic, and there was no known way to take them off. The Queen, angrier than she had ever been before, marched into the streets, searching for the vender who sold her the shoes. When she walked up to the booth, she saw the hooded figure waiting for her. “My Queen, have you figured out the iron shoes yet?” “Silence!” she replied, shouting without the magic that would’ve made it louder and force the hearer to be quiet. “My Queen, what is the matter?” the shopkeeper asked, their voice no longer coarse, but instead soft and familiar. 266 “I don’t know who you are, But if you do not remove these shoes from me, you will be sorry.” The Queen’s face grew redder with rage, and soon others were watching from windows and alleys at the commotion. The shopkeeper began laughing. “What will you do? Take my heart again?” The Queen was taken aback, she looked deep into the hood of the shopkeeper and saw the face of her dead stepdaughter. “Impossible.” The stepdaughter threw back her hood, revealing who she was to all who watched. “Why is it impossible, my queen? Is it because you killed me and ate my heart? Do your subjects know you are a murderer?” “I don’t care what they know. They have no power over me.” “No, but I do.” The stepdaughter raised a hand and stated a magic word. The iron shoes the Queen wore suddenly turned bright red, and the Queen’s feet began to burn. “Stop this. Now!” the Queen shouted. “Or what?” the stepdaughter moved closer. The Stepmother attempted to swipe at her stepdaughter, but the stepdaughter stepped out of the way. “What do you want?” the Queen said in a quiet tone, her feet growing hotter and hotter, “I can give you anything you want. I’ll swear by the four winds and whichever god you wish.” The stepdaughter leaned into her Stepmother. “I want you to dance.” “What?” the Queen asked. 267 “Dance!” the stepdaughter shouted, and suddenly the Queen’s feet started moving without her wanting to, and she began to dance in the middle of the road, in the middle of her kingdom, in front of all of her subjects. “Stop this now!” the Queen shouted as her stepdaughter began to walk away. “Goodbye, Stepmother, I will enjoy your palace.” The new queen walked away. The Stepmother began looking around as more and more peasants and guards started watching her dance. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Soon, people began throwing things at her and laughing. She tired only after an hour, and her feet continued to burn. The Stepmother thought of all of the things she had done in her life to get to this point. She thought of herself, the Witch and the Wolf in the woods before the baker and the woodcutter. She thought of her first husband, her second husband, her third and her fourth. She didn’t love any of them, but she was well off when she was with them. She thought of all the books and stories she read throughout her years. The heroes were always named. What was her name? She thought of both her stepdaughters, how they both used magic to circumvent her plans. How the one girl found the genie ring and the other found the shoes, she would never know. She thought of how much the baker and woodcutter hated her, and how they wished to get rid of her. She thought of how the bear did want her, and yet she rejected him. How different would her life turn out if she went with him. What was her name? 268 Why couldn’t she remember her name, call upon its protection? Night came and she still danced. Though people were gone, she saw many visions come into the night. She saw the Darkness, who shook his head before going away. She saw the baker, the shepherd, the priest. She saw hordes of goblins and trolls, who all looked at her and laughed. Finally, she saw two figures step out of the shadows. She couldn’t make out any of their features, but she knew they were her parents. “Who am I?” she asked. In the morning, the early wakers found her dead in the street, her feet just smoldering coals, and the fire going slowly up her legs. There was no mourning for her. Part 10: What is in a Name? Once upon a time, three villains rose to power. They died after they forgot their names. They named themselves in the woods when they were kids, giving themselves the protection of a name. No one else in their lives had names, no one else in their lives had protections. I can now tell you the names of the survivors. The Wolf, once named Peter, forgot his name to animal instincts. He was killed after he swallowed a girl named Red and her Granny and killed by a woodcutter named Shamira. The Wolf’s gravestone was marked with his name, for Shamira was the only one who remembered it. The Witch, once known as Juniper, lost her name to time. She was murdered by a girl named Gretell after her brother, Hansel, was killed by the Witch. The Witch once 269 worked for a man known by most as the muffin man, but to those closest to him, he was Nicholas. The Witch was also trained by a man known as Barley, who married Shamira when they were young. No one remembers who the Witch was. The Stepmother, given the name Catherine by her sister, lost her name to all the other names she was called. Her first stepdaughter, Ella, married a wonderful prince after getting the genie’s help. Her husbands had the following names: George, Ursus, Philip, and Henry. Her second stepdaughter, the one who is now a queen, is known as Snow White. These are the names of those who were supposed to be the heroes, the ones who were supposed to survive. Remember their names, remember their stories. Those who live, they will live happily ever after. Remember to watch out for the Wolf, the Witch, and the Stepmother. Remember to love the Peters, Junipers, and Catherines. THE END 270 VITA After graduation from Hallsville High School in 2017, Caleb James Stewart entered Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, TX. He received his degree of Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing in December 2021. After taking a semester off, he began his graduate program at Stephen F. Austin and worked as both a research assistant and teaching assistant, where he taught both Rhetoric and Composition and Research and Argument. He received his Master of English in May 2024. Permanent Address: 703 E Starr Ave Apt 313 Nacogdoches, TX 75961 MLA This thesis was typed by Caleb James Stewart |
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