Supernatural Fairy Tales

SQUIRT - Thumbelina inspired short story

2008-07-25T07:44:00.006-05:00

Squirt

by Dorlana Vann

I cringed when I heard Mom shouting my name from downstairs. “Squirt! Squirrrrrt!”

I adjusted my awful tie, inhaling as deeply as I could, and then slowly let the air escape—at least it could. I didn’t want to go to the dance with Pearl. She didn’t like me. Never had. None of the kids did. Mom hadn’t heard my objections over her shriek of delight that I had finally made some friends.

“Squirt!”

“I’m coming,” I said as I walked down the stairs.

Mom stood in the foyer with the front door open. “Squirt!”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh! Hee-hee. Your friends are here.” She stepped away, revealing Pearl and her friends Clay and Iona.

“Isn’t she pretty,” Mom said with a sigh. “Go on, tell her how pretty she is, Squirt.”

“You look pretty,” I whispered, and Clay and Iona snickered.

“Thank you, Squirty. You ready?”

“Wait! Wait!” Mom said. “You forgot the corsage.” Her hands waved above her head as she ran out of the room toward the kitchen.

I nodded my head. “I’m ready.”

“But…” Pearl whined, “what about my corsage?”

“Oh. All right.”

Pearl hit me in the shoulder almost knocking me over. “Just kidding!” She laughed as loud as Mom. “Let’s get out of here before that crazy woman gets back.”

***

The ride started out the way I figured it would: the windows down, the three of them singing loudly, and me wishing I was any place else but there. I gazed out at the night realizing we were going in the opposite direction of the school. Of course I didn’t say anything that might have received a mocking reply. I accepted my thoughts that maybe they needed to pick someone else up. But then Clay swerved and came to an abrupt stop on the side of the road.

“Clay, come on,” Iona said. “We were joking. I don’t really want to do this.”

“Just a toe,” Clay said. “Aren’t you curious? OK? Just to see.” He clapped his hands together. “Everybody out.”

I knew what was beyond the trees even before I opened my door; the forbidden, barricaded beach. Even though I lived only a few miles away, I had never been this close. I leaned against the car. The wind ruffled my hair as my nerves tangled my insides.

Pearl walked around the car and just stood with her hands on her hips. “You coming?” She looked even larger than normal, standing there in the moonlight with her hands on her hips and her legs apart, making a perfect triangle with her skirt.

I shrugged my shoulders, half happy they didn’t leave me behind to be the look-out and half scared to death. “We’re not supposed to be here,” I managed.

“There’s no law against it. The wall’s just there for our protection, you know. So no one will wander into their territory by mistake. We’ll be going on purpose. No law against it.”

“Let’s go, you two love birds.” Clay shone the flashlight on us for a second and then moved on.

“Don’t let him intimidate you.” Pearl took a step closer to me. “Look, just don’t step in the water, and you’ll be fine.”

“Have you ever seen it happen?”

“No, but my cousin Heart said he did. He said one of his friends went in the water on a dare and changed right before his eyes. The sea took him, and he never saw him again… but I don’t believe it.”

My heart began to race as I thought about how many times Mom had warned me to stay away from the beach… to stay away from the wild merfolk. Dirty, shameful creatures, behaving like animals in that dirty ocean; immoral and naked, catching and eating raw fish with their mouths. It’s shameful. It’s shameful. It took your father you know…

Pearl grabbed my hand, and I let her lead me through the trees, the same salty air that I had breathed my entire life now bursting with intensity. After we finally caught up with the other two, we helped each other over the concrete barrier and down into the soft sand. I heard the rumble of the waves until my eyes found the dark ocean. The water came towards me, but it had no end; the movement was the only thing separating it from heaven.

I vaguely heard the others talking behind me. I’m not sure how long we had been there before they grabbed me and started pulling me towards the sea.

“Come on, Squirt,” Clay said. “We just want to see if it’s true…”

They pushed and laughed me right to the edge where the sand became wet. I pleaded, “Don’t! Don’t!” Tiny droplets of ocean sprayed my face.

They shoved me hard, letting go.

Before I could run, a wave grabbed me, pulling me with it, soaking my pants up to my waist. I screamed for help. Screamed for it to let go! I lost my balance just as the water retreated, and I landed on my knees. I looked up to see sunken sand tracks where the kids had run away.

I scrambled to dry sand before the next wave, trying to catch my breath, trying to catch my senses. I put my hands in front of me, waiting for it to happen. The change. I heard a noise in the darkness behind me. I thought that maybe the others hadn’t left me but waited in hiding to watch me turn into a creature. Tears filled my eyes as I decided to ignore them and see if I noticed any changes yet. I looked at my feet and my legs, remembering the pictures. But then the sound seemed more like a moan. I knew Clay: If he was still around, he wouldn’t be hiding.

“Who’s there?” I said, with the alien surroundings increasingly becoming my main concern. I stood up, feeling no difference in myself, and followed the sound to a pile of drifted sand and tangled weeds.

“Uhhh….”

I took a step back and then cautiously walked around the pile. My mouth fell open as my breathing picked up pace. A woman? I dared a little closer, finally squatting down beside her. Her long hair was out behind her and mixed with the sand and seaweed. “Hey… are you all right?”

She didn’t make a sound that time. And then I noticed her bare arms and her bare chest. I looked away. Immoral and naked. My heart quickened because it knew I had to look again. I looked at her face, down to her neck… to her chest and then past her stomach… No legs! A fishtail!

I stumbled back to standing, turning and looking towards the sea. “Oh! Ohhhh…” I put my hands up to my head. “What do I do?” A mermaid. But a woman. And she was hurt.

I loosened my tie and started unbuttoning my shirt as I thought about how Mom would kill me if she knew I’d come there. It might not have been against man’s laws to walk the beach, but it sure the hell was against her’s. I turned back around and gently placed my shirt over the mermaid’s shoulders, covering most of her exposed upper body that didn’t look monstrous at all.
She didn’t move, except for her labored breathing. My eyes moved back down to her tail. And then I spotted something… something was wrong with the tip of her tail. There was a two inch gash in-between her two bottom fins that was clogged with sand. I ran to the water, cupping it in my hands and ran back. I did this several times, cleaning the wound as much as possible. I pulled my tie over my head and then wrapped it around her fins, bringing the edges of the cut as close together as I could.

“I’m really sorry. But my…” I closed my eyes. “I hope you’ll be all right. But I have to go.”

By the time I made it home I had dried completely, but I had no idea how I would explain the loss of my shirt. It was still early, and I wasn’t expected until later, so I was able to sneak in and run up the stairs undetected. I waited a couple of hours before yelling down that I was home. Of course Mom banged on my door demanding I tell her this and that, but I wasn’t listening. “I’ll tell you all about my wonderful time at the dance in the morning,” I said, finally putting a stop to her questions at least for the night.

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t believe that I had left her there like that. I thought I should’ve done more. I should have moved her closer to the water. Anything. I had no idea how long she could survive out of the water. I might have left her there to die.

As soon as the sun began to peek through my window, I ran out the door and jumped on my bike. Mom would sleep for hours longer, and I figured I could make it back home before she woke.

With a running head start I climbed back over the wall as close to where we had been as I could tell. I must have searched the beach for hours, forcing myself to look on the shore instead of out into the ocean that had lost all of its darkness and now glistened and pumped silver blue waves as far as I could see.

Finally, I spotted her a few feet away. I knelt in the sand right beside her, my anxiety mounted to overwhelming sympathy for something… someone I didn’t know. I didn’t check to see if she was breathing; instead, I hoped and ran to the water. Cupping it once again, this time I put it to her lips. I almost fell backwards when she gave a quick sudden inhalation of the water.

Her eyes fluttered, and I jumped up, ran back over to the ocean and shouted. “Anyone!? She’s alive, and she needs help. She’s hurt. But she’s alive!” But only the spirited seagulls soared overhead, their replies loud but unclear over the soft roar of the water.

After walking back and forth a couple of times, I dipped into the water once again and took it to her. That time her eyes flew open, and she looked at me before drinking the water.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She could talk, but I was speechless.

“You have been so kind.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything…”

“You saved my life. Thank you.” She sat up, letting the shirt fall to her waist. I quickly turned my face.

“It’s all right,” she said after a moment. “I remember.”

When I turned, I saw that she had put my shirt on. But she swayed like she was about to fall over.

“Are you all right?” I asked as I steadied her by her arm.

“I haven’t had anything to eat in a couple of days.”

“Oh, well what can I get for you? I can go make or… bring…”

“Thank you, but if you could just help me to the water, I can take care of that myself.”

“Oh,” I said, remembering what Mom had said about them catching raw fish in their mouths.

“I have many clams saved up in my home.” She looked at me and smiled. “You can come with me, and I will share.”

I looked at the ocean, allowing myself to realize how much I admired it. “I can’t, my mom… Besides, I’m not like you. It wasn’t true after all. I was in the water last night, and I didn’t change”

“I was raised like you: rumors, untruths, false history. My dear boy, you must want to change. The sea wants no one who doesn’t want to be there. See?” She waved her hand over her tail. “Just like I didn’t change just because I sat on dry land. I don’t want to stay here. I love the sea and I want to return. You must love the land.”

She lifted her arms to me. I carried her and then placed her into the water.

“What is your name?” She asked, looking up at me.

“Squirt.”

She smiled at me and said, “That doesn’t suit you.” And then she swam away.

***

“Where have you been?” Mom said. “I’ve been worried sick.” She looked me over and then put her hand over her heart and her mouth opened wide as she cried, “Ahh!”

“What?”

She pointed down at my feet.

My face grew hot as I looked down at the golden sand that clung to my shoes. I had hoped I would be able to avoid ever having to tell her.

She sat down on the stairs, blocking my escape to my room. Finally she said, “How many times have I told you never to go to the beach. There’s danger. Shameful, dirty beasts. Filthy-cannibalistic-naked-immoral-ugly creatures…”

“They’re not ugly…” I whispered.

She sucked in her breath, her face a frozen mix of horror
and shock. “What did you say?”

I avoided her eyes. “I met one. I… umm… I helped one. Her.”

Mom put her hand over her mouth. “Just promise me. Promise me now…” she gritted her teeth and almost sneered. “Promise me you will never go there again.”

I began to nod, to obey, but then I remembered something. I remembered this conversation, but she wasn’t talking to me at the time. “Why?” I asked instead.

She frowned. “Those animals are dangerous, and the sea lures in unsuspecting respectable landfolk.”

“Why? Because they chose to live in the ocean instead of on land? You know, they eat clams… just like us. They talk… just like us. They hurt, they care… What really happened to Dad?”

Tears that I didn’t know Mom was capable of began to seep from her eyes. “I should have moved us to the compound like the Werly’s years ago.”

“He chose the ocean didn’t he? He wasn’t taken! ”

She stood up abruptly and pointed up the stairs. “Pack up your stuff. You’re moving and never coming back, so it will never ever get you. But I have to wait. I have to wait.”

“For what Mom? Dad’s not coming back. He’s free.”

I felt the sting before the realization of the slap. “Don’t you dare disrespect me, Squirt. Go pack… Now!”

That time I did nod as I made my way up the stairs to pack for the inland compound. A compound so far inland I heard the air smelled of pine. A compound that I would not be able to leave until I was of age.

***

There was nothing worse Mom could do to me now, so I went to visit the ocean one last time. Despite my new determination not to be little any longer, I cried.

“Why do you cry?” It was she. Her soft blue hair blended into the water. If she had not still been wearing my white shirt, I’m not sure I would have seen her.

Unashamed of my tears because I was so overjoyed to see her again, I told her that I had to tell her, as well as the ocean, farewell.

Concern covered her face and then she smiled and said, “You’ve fallen for the sea.”

“I don’t know.”

She held out her arms to me. “There is only one way to find out. This is your heart’s decision.”

I thought of Mom. The only reason I had to stay no longer existed. I stepped into the ocean. The mermaid smiled, beautiful in the rising waves. The further I waded the further away she seemed, until I could no longer touch the bottom. I squinted and searched until I finally saw her tail as she dove into the water. I held my breath and plunged in. When I managed to open my eyes, I saw at least twenty merfolk surrounding me. Overjoyed at the welcome, I actually looked for my dad. But when they smiled, their daggered teeth protruded, and then they began to lick me with their long serpent tongues. At that moment I realized… I loved the land.

The End

Fairy Tale Quotes

2008-07-18T09:06:00.002-05:00

I recently discovered some great fairy tale quotes on Goodreads. Be sure and let me know which one is your favorite and/or if you know of any more interesting ones.

Oh, and if you’re a member of Goodreads (My profile here) be sure and add me as your friend. :)

Have a great weekend,

Dorlana

***

"I use to be Snow White, but I drifted." Mae West

"If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales." Albert Einstein

"Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again." C.S. Lewis

"Every man's life is a fairy tale, written by God's fingers." Hans Christian Andersen

"you see the magic in a fairy tale, you can face the future" Danielle Steel

"Fear isn't so difficult to understand. After all, weren't we all frightened as children? Nothing has changed since Little Red Riding Hood faced the big bad wolf. What frightens us today is exactly the same sort of thing that frightened us yesterday. It's just a different wolf. This fright complex is rooted in every individual." Alfred Hitchcock

"The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in." W.H. Auden

"In a utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should be respected." Charles Dickens

Mermaids

2008-07-08T07:36:00.011-05:00

During my research on mermaids for this month’s short story, I found some really interesting and some really strange pages.

Mermaid Mummies: This blog has strange pictures of mummified fake mermaid that were made by fishermen by sewing together the top half of a monkey and the bottom half of a fish.

Mermaid stories: A list of mermaid short stories from around the world.

Starbucks Mermaid Logo: There’s been some controversy about the Starbucks logo. Here’s how it all started with a little mermaid.

Mermaid History: This is a nice article about the history of mermaids, including how Columbus claimed to have seen three mermaids near the shore of the Dominican Republic in 1493.

Ancient Mermaid Art: This link will take you to some 18th Century mermaid art, but there is also a lot more categories on this website.

Mermaid Cove Jeweler: Lots of pretty and unique mermaid jewelry and gifts for you mermaid lovers.

I love the internet.

What's Up for July 2008 - Are You Up for a Challenge?

2008-07-01T08:01:00.009-05:00

Hi friends,

This month I would like to invite everyone to participate in my short story challenge. I haven’t challenged myself with a “write a paranormal short story inspired by a fairy tale in a month” story since February. It's time! And I'm hoping for some company. Whoo Hoo! Let's Go!

Since coming up with a fairy tale and a supernatural element is a challenge in itself, I would like to thank my daughter for providing them. And here they are...

Supernatural: Mermaid
Fairy Tale: Thumbelina
Word Count: Under 2k
Deadline: July 31, 2008.

If you would like to join me in this challenge, give me a shout by commenting to this post so I can hold you to it. *grin* If I have any crazy… I mean, brave takers out there—please let me know within this week—I'll have a special post for these stories on July 31st where you can post a link in the comments to let us know where we can find your story. Or, you can email me your story ( by the 31st) and I’ll post it to my blog next month (As long as it is under a pg13 rating.) And please try to read and comment on everyone else’s stories. I will :)

Have a happy and safe 4th of July,

Dorlana

Snow White inspired short story - The Summers (Part 2 - the conclusion)

2008-06-23T07:22:00.006-05:00

The Summers (part 2)

by Dorlana Vann

Click Here to read The Summers Part 1

“Here’s what we’re going to be making,” Uncle H said and held up a drawing of a green dragon with fire protruding from its mouth. “Wows” and “way cools” came from the kids, who all looked like tiny scientists with their white rubber aprons, gloves, and goggles. “First, me and Dewey will use the big tools to get the biggest chunks off and then the rest of you can help with the chiseling.” That time he got replies of, “Awe mans,” and “no fairs,” but they all scooted back by Gwen and watched as he revved up the chain saw, and Dewey began to work with the hand saw.

The younger kids didn’t get to start working until after noon. They politely asked Gwen if she wanted to help, but she declined, saying, “I bet you guys are getting hungry. I’ll go make some lunch.” She had really wanted to, but she had to respect what she believed to be their healing time together.

Grateful just to be there, Gwen didn’t let a single tear fall as she put the pot of leftover chili on the stove. As she made the peanut butter sandwiches, the doorbell rang.

She opened the door to a tall woman who dressed in a manner Gwen had never seen. It looked as though she wore every article of clothing she had in her closet—well, every old, torn, and ugly article of clothing. Layers of colorful scarves covered her head, and she wore black leather gloves on her hands.

“Hi,” Gwen said, examining her from all angles because, even dressed as strangely as this woman was, she somehow seemed familiar. “May I help you?”

The woman never looked her in the eyes but kept her face down toward the porch. “I’m just a poor old lady selling belts.”

“Oh, I don’t need any belts.” Gwen bent down and then up just a little to try and see the woman’s face. A scarf covered half her face, and a huge pair of Jackie O sunglasses covered the rest. But there was something about the way she stood. “Do I know you?”

“Umm… no… of course not. I just moved here, young lady. So, are you going to buy a belt?”

“I don’t have any money.”

“That’s OK sweetness,” the lady said, bringing the belt around Gwen’s waist.

“Oh,” Gwen said and jumped at the unexpected advance.

“Let me just help you with this.” The lady pulled and tugged until the belt squeezed so tight Gwen couldn’t breathe.

“It’s… it’s a little…”

***

“Gwen… Gwen. Are you all right?”

Gwen opened her eyes and saw the foyer light fixture. “What happened?”

Uncle H said, “Move back kids. Give her some room.” He helped her sit up, a frown of worry covering his brow. “We found you passed out with the door wide open and this belt around your waist.”

“And our lunch burnt on the stove,” Gabby said.

“The belt,” Gwen said and remembered at the same time. “There was a lady at the door, and she was selling belts.”

“A belt salesperson?” Simon said, out of breath like he had just gotten back from a jog.

“I’ll have some of what she’s been taking,” Dewey said.

“She put it on me, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

Gabby had her hands on her hips. “You should have consulted your tea bags before you opened the door.”

“That’s enough,” Uncle H said. “Dewey, take your brothers and sisters into the kitchen and find some lunch.”

“Because ours is burnt,” Gabby said.

Davie said, “If you need help with her diagnosis, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Daddy, can I go take a nap?” Sadie asked with a yawn.

He nodded his head, and she ran up the stairs as the others went to the kitchen.

Gwen felt a little light headed as she stood up, and her waist felt a little sore, but other than that she thought she felt all right. “I wonder why that lady would do that to me.”

“Tell me what she looked like, and I’ll call the police. I wonder if she took anything. Maybe she

wanted to rob us.” He looked around the empty front area of the house as he took out his cell phone. “Not that there is anything to take.”

“I feel so stupid,” Gwen said.

“You had no idea what she was going to do. From now on, unless you know for sure who it is, it’s best not to open the door.”

***

Monday morning, after all the kids had left for school and her uncle went to his workshop, Gwen sat at the kitchen table reading her uncle’s leftover newspaper. She had circled several employment possibilities when the doorbell rang.

She looked out the peep hole. The same strange lady stood with her head down.

“Hello?” she said. “Are you in there? I can see you. I can hear you.”

Gwen sucked in a breath. “Um,” Gwen said. “I can’t open the door this time.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not supposed to answer the door unless I know the person.”

“Well, we met yesterday… Dear.”

Crap, that’s true. “I don’t know,” she whined. “Yesterday, you put that belt on me so tight I passed out.”

“Oh dear, that wasn’t what I intended… at all. I’m sorry? Just look at what I have for you today.”

When Gwen looked through the peep hole, she was thrilled and puzzled at the same time. Her locket. She stared at the necklace she had given the gardener to give to Ava. “Oh my goodness.” Gwen couldn’t get the door opened fast enough. “How did you get my locket?” she asked the lady.

“It isn’t yours, yet. But it can be. Any of these that I have acquired from around the world can be yours.” The lady opened a box full of different lockets and rings and bracelets.

“But it looks exactly like the one my mother gave me,” Gwen whispered and felt sadness wrap around her. “I can’t believe how much they look alike. May I open it?”

“First, let’s try it on you. It will look delightful up against your fair skin,” the lady said. “Here, let me…” and she brought her hands up and around Gwen’s neck to fasten it.
Gwen felt a slight prick… “Ouch!”

***

“I’m telling you Pops, she’s just on something.” Gwen heard Dewey say.

Uncle H said, “I think it has something to do with her locket. I don’t remember her wearing it before, and look how red her skin is. As soon as I took it off of her… look, see, she’s coming to.”

“This is a clear case of narcolepsy,” Davie said as Gwen opened her eyes.

“It’s still here,” Sadie called from upstairs.

“Yeah, leave it up to weirdo witch to let someone in to steal all of our money for our trip.”

“It’s all right, Gabby,” Sadie said. “It’s still there.”

“Pops told you not to open the door to anyone,” Gabby said.

“Maybe they broke in,” Basil said, the first time Gwen had heard him talk since she had been there.

“There would be some signs of—”

“I did it,” Gwen said reluctantly. “I opened the door, again. But the locket looked just like the one my mom gave to me. I’m so sorry.”

Simon walked into the room holding a baggy of ice. He sneezed real loud and then slumped his shoulders before saying, “I’ll go get another one.”

“No need to be sorry,” Uncle H said, holding the necklace by the chain. “I’m just glad you’re OK. I’m going to give this to the police to have them analyze it. See, look, there is a tiny needle at the back, and I’ll bet you there is some kind of poison on it. This is really strange, and I’m really worried about you. Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

“No, no,” she said. “I’m fine, really. And you guys have to get up early and go on your trip. There is no way I’m going to ruin that because I was so stupid. I’m fine. Really.” She stood up as steadily as she could.

“Maybe you should go back home until we get back. Just so you’ll be safe.”

“Oh,” Gwen said as the tears began to fall. “I can’t do that please, Uncle H, don’t make me go back there, Ava hates me, and everyone wants me gone, and I just want to stay here with you, I promise I won’t open the door to that lady again, never again, if she comes back, I’ll call the cops… Please.”

“Just slow down, there. I didn’t get everything you said, but obviously I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Stay here if it makes you feel better, but please, don’t open the door to any more strangers.”

***

Gwen woke with everyone and prepared breakfast and made sure they had everything they needed before waving goodbye and wishing them luck. She sighed. “It’s going to be one long and lonely week.”

She forced herself to go into the kitchen instead of doing what she really wanted to do, go back to bed and sleep for the week that they would be gone. She made a cup of coffee and sat at her usual spot behind the borrowed newspaper. It’ll be nice to find something before they get back. No sooner had she picked up the phone to call the first want-ad when she heard a knock at the door...

Gwen stood behind the door, her curiosity building with each second. What if Uncle H forgot something? She peeked out the window, but she didn’t see their van in the drive. What if something bad has happened and they need help? She looked through the peep hole. A lady stood out there, but it didn’t look like the same lady as before. She had her back to the door, but her hair appeared young, long, and blonde. She could just keep the chain on the door and have a little peek.

“Hi. May I help you?”

The lady turned around, but still Gwen couldn’t make out much through the little hole, and the hole immediately became compromised by a red apple.

“I have some big, juicy apples that I just picked from my apple tree,” she said in a sweet singsong voice.

Gwen inhaled the sweet aroma of the apple, which made her remember her favorite tree at home. Her tree hadn’t produced fruit since autumn, and oh how she missed the fresh, crisp apples. But then she thought about what her uncle had made her promise. “I’m sorry, but I can’t open the door. I’ve had some problems with strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger. I’m the neighbor. I live right next door. The kids always come over to play. Well, sometimes Simon can’t make it. Poor child seems to always be sick. Dewey and the twins do though. Gabby is so grumpy that she’s adorable, and that brother of hers always trying to heal me, even if I’m not sick. Even bashful little Basil comes to see me once in awhile and Sadie, too, if she not taking a nap.”

Well, she must be who she says she is. She knows everyone so well. And it’s not the same lady that tried to hurt me. She unlatched the chain and opened the door.

The lady held up the apple, blocking Gwen’s view of her face once again.
Gwen adored apples, and this one put her under a delectable spell. It had the syrupy sweet aroma of candy, and it looked so round, red, and fresh that it made her stomach rumble. Without another thought, she grabbed the apple and took a huge bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed and tasted the delicious juices and tender white fruit crunch.

Laughter, loud and vicious, rang out from the woman visitor.

Gwen smiled a little at first, until she looked up to see that nothing blocked her view of the woman’s huge blue-green eyes, dark arched eyebrows, and high blushed cheek bones. “Ava?”

“Oh my… aren’t you quick today.” Ava took off the long blonde wig revealing her short, dark hair. “I must say, you are a tricky one. But I did it. Finally, finally, finally! And I’ll make sure the job is finished this time.”

“What?”

“You are so hard to kill.” Ava smiled wildly. “I started thinking that perhaps you were a witch, you know, but then I was like, hell no... It’s just some kind of stupid dumb luck, because you don’t know the first thing about being a real witch... just a real bitch.”

Gwen’s stomach churned and hollered. She looked down at the apple and watched as pink juice oozed out of it and covered her hand.

“Sure, that backstabbing gardener tried to tell me you were dead. But then your poor concerned uncle called me. He didn’t want me to worry about you.” She took a step toward Gwen. Gwen took a step inside the house, dropping the apple at the doorway. “He is just so cute and happy all the time.” Ava scooped up the apple with a napkin and put it in her patchwork Coach handbag.

“I don’t feel so good,” Gwen said.

“That would be my own special batch of apple poison working its way into your blood stream, not enough to kill you, unless you ate that whole thing, but enough so I can.” Ava followed her inside the house, shutting the door behind her.

“You poisoned me?” Finally, with Ava blissfully admitting it, Gwen began to digest her situation. True, Ava’s intimidation factor had been felt ever since the wedding—Ava had given Gwen a typed booklet with the house rules including punishments for disobeying them on the last four pages—but Gwen had never been scared to death of her… until that second. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice shared her fear. She kept backing away from Ava, but then the dining room table stopped her. She slid along it, ending up in the kitchen.

Ava pointed a long French-manicured finger at Gwen. “You… you are the last thing of hers to get out of my house. I would have done it years before, but I’m not a child killer.”

Gwen’s stomach began to surge with jabbing pain, and she thought, and truly wished, she could throw up. “Oh my goodness,” Gwen whispered as another realization popped into her head. “My dad. That was you. Wasn’t it?”

“Well, not on purpose. Just another pitfall you managed to avoid, somehow. Your father just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But your lives are over, pussy cat.”

“Then,” Gwen said, her back on the back door and her hand on the handle, “it wasn’t my fault.”

She coughed and then managed to open the door out into the yard, the brisk morning air refreshing on her hot and sweaty skin. She backed outside, thinking about the tools in her uncle’s warehouse. Thinking if she could just make it in there, perhaps she could defend herself.

“But this is your fault,” Ava said, following like she hadn’t noticed they were moving. “If you would have just tripped over those silly candles yourself, like you were supposed to, he wouldn’t be in that hospital. It would have been you. Better yet, it would have killed you, dead, dead, dead. But no, here we are… and my husband can’t even sign a check. Yes, it is your fault, sweetheart. It is your fault for being born.”

Gwen tried to open the warehouse door, but it was locked. Locked! She leaned on the door, breathing heavily, and then a cramp doubled her over… the mat. Her uncle kept a spare key under the mat. She grabbed the key and lethargically turned and put it in the lock.

“Do you know how pathetic you look trying to get away?” Ava asked as Gwen unlocked the door.
Gwen used the remainder of her energy to open the door just enough to squeeze inside and then round to the other side, pushing with all of her might, trying to shut Ava out. But Ava had one foot in the doorway and just laughed and laughed.

“OK,” Ava said finally. “That’s enough. These boots cost more than your first year of college.” She gave one nice-sized push, and the door slammed into Gwen, knocking her backwards. “Fabulous.” Ava’s eyes lit up, and she smiled with horrible delight. “You are so adorable to give me so many choices of how to finish you off.”

After those terrifying words, Gwen’s head buzzed so completely that she could no longer hear Ava. The heaviness of her eyes won over the desire to keep them open. Her limbs felt boneless, and her struggle to stay standing ended. She knew the fall should have hurt, but she felt nothing and heard nothing, until her father’s voice brought her out of the darkness.

The End

Winter Poem for the Summer

2008-06-13T11:50:00.004-05:00

In keeping with my summer and opposites theme this month, I wanted to share my poem, Sonnet to Old Man Winter. Last year I played around with different styles of poems--using fairy tales as inspiration of course--when I happened upon the sonnet. According to Wikipedia the English Sonnet has this rhyming scheme: a-b-a-b / c-d-c-d / e-f-e-f / g-g (/ represents a new stanza) and they “almost always have 10 syllable lines, but do not always have the natural accent” In the Italian sonnet “Typically, the ninth line creates a "turn" or volta which signals the move from proposition to resolution. Even in sonnets that don't strictly follow the problem/resolution structure, the ninth line still often marks a "turn" by signaling a change in the tone, mood, or stance of the poem”

I think I kind of combined the rules. The inspiration for my sonnet was the Russian fairy tale Morozko (Old Man Winter). Keep in mind that this was my first attempt at a sonnet. So, please don’t laugh too hard. :) This year I’ve decided to leave the poetry writing to the poets. But I would recommend at least trying some of the different types of poetry to anyone who enjoys words; it is a fun but disciplined way to write.

Sonnet to Old Man Winter
by Dorlana Vann

You’re a vision in white; lightly sun kissed.
Your touch can be soft and your rhythm slow.
You take my breath away with your crispness.
Your name echoes with the breeze, Morozko.
I met you in the bitter woods that day.
Your trick question I answered with the truth.
Please tell me, what was I suppose to say?
To blatantly lie would have been uncouth.
Your mood changes from slightly cool to harsh.
Your nature is biting; naturally cruel.
Your icy winds went straight through my cold heart.
You gave me chilling death, my sister jewels.
Respect Old Man Winter, father would say.
I’ll pay my respects...in the month of May.

I would love to know about your favorite sonnet or summer/winter poem. Have a Great Friday the 13th!
Dorlana

"Split" Book and Candle Giveaway

2008-06-04T17:34:00.011-05:00

I'm pleased to announce Humble Fiction Cafe's first giveaway! Enter to win a signed copy of our dichotomy/opposites anthology SPLIT and a rich Cappuccino Brule' scented 3x4 pillar Candle, created by Studio 3B.

Please visit Humblefictioncafe.blogspot.com for details.

Contest ends June 20th. Winner’s name will be posted on Humble Fiction Cafe's blog on June 21, 2008.

Good Luck!

Dorlana

Split
by Humble Fiction Cafe
Come into a world of love-struck fish and super-intelligent bugs; of the ordinary and the bizarre; of then and now; of this world and the next; of people you know and folks you hope never to meet. These twenty-seven original stories and poems have but one thing in common: they all show two halves of an idea, two sides of a coin. They show what happens when a concept becomes SPLIT.

Click here to read an excerpt from Split. "Hell's Kitchen" by Dorlana

What's Up June 2008

2008-06-01T20:03:00.003-05:00

The month of June promises to be full of summer and opposites on Supernatural Fairy Tales.

This week I will be sharing details about the fabulous contest Humble Fiction Café is having. We will be giving away a signed copy of our dichotomies/opposites anthology, Split, and our Split candle created by Studio 3B.

I will be reposting a cold poem, and by the end of this month, I’ll post the conclusion of my Snow White and Seven Dwarfs inspired short story, The Summers.

Have a cool summer,

Dorlana

P.S. Woo Hoo! As of May, Supernatural Fairy Tales blog has had over 10,000 visitors. :)

The Summers Part I - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs inspired short story

2008-05-22T06:45:00.006-05:00

The Summers (Part 1)

by

Dorlana Vann

“Can you hear me?”

Gwen glimpsed colors and faint images in quick flashes as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She knew she had been asleep, but she didn’t feel refreshed. The heaviness and fatigue reminded her of how she felt on Saturday afternoons after she had overslept. She heard her father’s voice again…

“Sweetheart? How are you feeling?”

As she managed to wake completely, she became aware of the hospital room around her. Under the layers of blankets, she shivered. When she tried to sit up to have a look around, her father, who sat in a chair beside the bed, gently discouraged her by placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Just take it easy,” her father said. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

“Oh my goodness… You’re awake!” Her forced voice crackled, and her throat felt like it had been dusted with sand. “But how? And what am I doing here?”

“We were hoping you could tell us.”

“We?” With a slight movement of her eyes, Gwen focused her hazy vision until a guy standing next to her father came clearly into view. She studied him for a moment—a blue tattoo peeked out of the neck of his white uniformed short sleeved shirt. His hair blazed noticeable red, and gold dots adorned his pierced ears—but she didn’t recognize him.

“This nice young fellow from the ambulance saved your life,” her father said. “If he hadn’t given you mouth to mouth after the defrost, I would have lost you.”

“I’m saving this cookie,” the guy said, holding up a small piece of paper and a broken-in-half fortune cookie in the other. “It says, ‘a pleasant surprise is in store for you.’” He smiled at her, and she could have sworn his teeth sparkled in the light.

Gwen wished she knew his birth sign and couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Ouch,” she said and put her hand up to her lips that were painfully chapped.

Her father grabbed a small tube of ChapStick. “Here.” He smoothed it on her lips as he said, “When I came out of my coma last week, you were nowhere to be found.”

“I’m so glad that you’re all right,” she whispered.

“I’m great, but you… you gave me quite the scare. I asked Ava where you were. She said you were staying at my brother’s, but I was stuck here and couldn’t get a hold of him. I was frantic for a week—”

“I’ve been out for a week?” She looked back and forth from one man to the other. The visitor just smiled and stared at her and then stuck a piece of the cookie in his mouth.

Her father patted her hand. “It seems you were frozen for a week.”

“Frozen?” When she tried to sit up that time, her father didn’t stop her but assisted in propping her up a bit on her pillow. He grabbed a cup that sat on a tray next to the bed and helped her take a sip of the most wonderful water she had ever tasted. And then she said, “I don’t understand because the last thing I remember—” She stopped short as the cutting memories flooded in all at once. I can’t tell him.

“I know Ava is being accused of some things,” he said as his eye contact wavered. “The gardener told me some stuff that I’m having a hard time believing. Then your uncle came back from Alaska yesterday. That’s when he found you frozen in one of his ice tanks…”

“I know it was scary for your pops and all,” the E.M.S guy said, “but when that block of ice was lifted out of the tank with you inside, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so amazing and beau…” His light skin turned crimson, and in an abrupt move, he turned away from Gwen.
Gwen figured she had turned a shade of red herself, but her father didn’t seem to have noticed the little sparks. He continued talking.

“I have to find out one thing: Did Ava do this to you? She said… oh never mind what she said happened. I need to hear the truth from you.”

She looked into her father’s weary eyes. “Are you sure?”

He nodded his head. “Whatever it is…”

Two weeks earlier…

“You need to get the hell out of here,” the gardener said.

“Why?” Gwen asked, as she looked up at him. She had been reading a romance novel under her favorite tree by the pond.

“It’s not safe for you here... for any of us. At least not until your papa’s out of his coma.”

“But I don’t understand.” She stood up and wiped the soggy, dead leaves from her black jeans.

“This time she asked me to kill you.” The gardener shook his head slowly. “She tried to persuade me by saying you stepped on my gladiolus. She’s getting crazier and crazier. You didn’t step on them… did you?”

Gwen had heard whispers around the mansion all month. She knew that her step mom’s mood changed with the moon, but this couldn’t be true. “Oh, gosh.” She put her hand over her mouth.

“My magic eight ball was right; Ava must have put those knives in my bath on purpose.”

“And she made the chandelier fall in the dining room,” he said. “And she put the slivers of glass in the milk, and I’m really suspicious about those snakes in your closet. It has become a death trap for all of us. Just yesterday, poor Maria got a nasty cut.”

“Ava did all of that? But why?”

The gardener shrugged his shoulders. “She’s crazy, and she hates you.”

“Oh…”

“The staff had a meeting just a while ago. We were thinking that maybe it might be best if you didn’t call the police about all this. You see, a few of us have some… legal issues. We were thinking that it might be best if I convinced her that you were dead. We don’t mean to be so stingy. It’s just that we all have our families to support. You understand.”
Gwen gave a slight laugh at the obvious joke he had just made, but then he continued the charade without flinching.

“To prove I completed my mission, Mrs. Summer asked for your heart. Would you mind giving me your necklace?”

“What? Wait, I don’t understand...” Gwen said, grabbing the heart locket on the necklace in a protective manner. Ava had destroyed everything else that had anything to do with her mother when she had married Gwen’s dad seven years before. The necklace was the only thing she had left.

He said, “I’ll tell her that the necklace was in my way when I tried to cut your heart out.” He shook his head. “I’m telling you, she’s so coo-coo she’ll believe anything.”

“You’re not kidding?”

He shook his head. “It’s the only way.”

A single tear escaped Gwen’s eyes as she gave the gardener her most prized possession.

“Here,” he said, handing her a bag. “We packed this for you. It has a few things you will need on your journey. Good luck.” He patted her on the shoulder and then walked back to the house, leaving Gwen standing in the backyard feeling really lost and confused as to what had just happened.

***

“Gwen, Gwen, Gwen.” She heard voices and felt the pulling of things like her hair and boots.

“What?” she said, stretching up her arms, yawning, and then coming out of her sweet dreams. She rolled over and saw fourteen eyes staring down at her. “Hey,” she said. “Everyone’s home!” She had walked to her uncle’s who lived just a couple of blocks from her home.

“Going Goth, Dude?” Dewey, her sixteen year old cousin, asked. His body slightly swayed as he leaned on the door frame like it held him up. He was the oldest of her cousins by eight years, then the rest of them stair-stepped.

She reached up and touched her hair. She had forgotten they hadn’t seen her since she had dyed it jet black. “No,” she said. “I’m a practicing witch.”

“Far-out,” he said. He made a couple of jerky head movements, and then left the room.

“Gwen, you’re too big for my bed,” Gabby said. She had her arms crossed and a snarl on her face.

“I’m sorry, I was just so tired and—”

“Are you sick?” Davie, Gabby’s twin, asked. A stethoscope hung around his neck. He put it up to Gwen’s heart and listened intently. He nodded his head and took a step back. “Well, all sounds good.”

“I’m not sick you guys. I was just a little sleepy.”

“Me too,” said Sadie, the other bed owner, and the only blonde of the bunch. She curled up beside Gwen. Gwen smiled and petted Sadie’s long hair.

“Well, I’m sick,” seven year old Simon said, taking a whiff from his inhaler.

“You’re always sick,” Gabby said.

“Am not,” he said and then sneezed.

“Settle down,” Uncle H said. He had a friendly smile, even while being authoritative. “We’re all excited to see Gwen, but let’s give her some room.” They all moved back an inch, except for Sadie who had fallen sound asleep on Gwen’s lap. That’s when Gwen noticed eight year old Basil’s head poke out from behind his father.

“Hey Basil,” she sang, “Why don’t you come give me high five?”

Basil ducked behind his dad again.

“What time is it?” Gwen asked, looking around for a clock.

“Almost five,” Uncle H said. “So, how long have you been here?”

“Five hours…”

“Then you must be starving,” he said and smiled. “All right troop, let’s go clear and set the table.”

“Yay! Time to eat,” Simon said. He then let out three loud and extremely wet sneezes.

“Gross!” Gabby said. “Dad! He just got his boogers all over my room.”

“Go on,” Uncle H shooed. “Go on.”

“But this is my room,” Gabby said as she stomped out the door.

Uncle H went over and picked up Sadie and laid her on the pillow. “I’ll just let her rest until dinner is ready.”

Gwen nodded her head and then whispered, “So, aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

“Come on.” He motioned with his head for her to follow him out of the room. “We’ll talk after dinner.”

Dinner consisted of Kraft macaroni and cheese, corndogs, and instant mashed potatoes. Gwen didn’t care what she ate for dinner; she delighted in being in a household with such animation and laughter. At her house, dinners were formal. If she wanted to eat at the dinner table, she had to dress, use table manners, and excuse herself when she had finished her meal. At her uncle’s table, all hands were in the middle at once grabbing for spoons and reaching for the salt. They were all talking with loaded mouths. There were spills galore, and no one got in trouble. Fantastic!

After dinner, the little kids stood in the kitchen, most on stools, and washed the dishes. Dewey had left right after he finished eating to go meet friends, and Uncle H had invited Gwen to go look at his newly remodeled shop.

The few steps across the backyard to her uncle’s workshop in the cold February night air didn’t compare to the freezing temperature inside the metal building. Her uncle snapped on a switch, and the florescent lights way above on the high ceiling illuminated the open area. “Welcome to White Ice, Inc’s new home,” he said.

“Wow, you finally moved the whole thing.” She looked around at the tables and huge machines that occupied most of the space. Power tools, chisels, aprons, and rubber gloves covered one peg board wall. And way on the back wall sat rectangular and square containers that Gwen knew made gigantic ice blocks for his sculptures.

Uncle H said, “Yep, sure beats having to go all the way into the city.”

“I bet. But I am surprised Emma didn’t take all of this, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw that she took everything else. The TV.…”

“No, we sold all of that on Ebay.”

“Your couch? Why?”

“Me and the kids are saving to go to Alaska.”

“Alaska? Isn’t it cold enough in here?”

“There’s this big ice sculpting competition—The World Art Championship. I thought we would enter the Amateur Open. There’s no prize for it, but I thought getting our minds off of everything would be reward enough. The kids are really excited.”

“I can’t believe Aunt Emma just up and left you guys. I’m sorry I haven’t been by. I feel really bad. I could have helped or something…”

“The last couple of months have been rough… but we probably needed that time by ourselves to adjust. But thanks.” He smiled, causing his big, rosy cheeks to puff up. “So, enough about that. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you. You doing all right, kiddo?”

Gwen shrugged her shoulders and turned away from him, pretending to examine the chain saw. She knew she had to tell him that she wanted to stay there. But if she told him what the gardener had said, he would surely call the cops. She couldn’t upset the staff.

Her uncle put his arm around her. “I know what’s wrong. You miss your dad, don’t you?”

She nodded, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

“I can take you to the hospital. I don’t mind. I need to get by there again myself.”

“I can’t… not yet.”

“Gwen, it was an accident. He tripped—”

“On my candles. I must have dropped them on my way to the garden. Why did I have to drop them at the top of the stairs?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Ava thinks it is.” Oops! She hadn’t meant to say anything about her.

“Is that what this is all about?” He gently turned her around to see her face and then wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m sure she doesn’t blame you. She’s just upset, you know. Everyone just wants him to get better.”

Gwen wanted to tell him so badly that Ava had been trying to kill her and that the staff had voted her out of the house, but she kept quiet about it all and just asked, “Would you mind if I stay with you guys for a while? I can cook… help with the kids… clean up a little.”

“You know you can stay here, without doing all of that stuff… but I must say, the cooking part does sound enticing. Let’s just give Ava a call—”

“No!” Gwen shouted. “I mean, I already told her, and she said maybe it would be best…” She felt her face turn apple red from the little white lie she had just told, but he couldn’t call her. He just couldn’t!

He smiled. “Well, all right. We don’t have to call anyone right now. Oh my. Gwen, you look like you’re freezing. You have to wear a sweater when you come out here. Come on. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

Gwen sat on the Cinderella sleeping bag in the girl’s room wearing the T-shirt and shorts the gardener had packed for her. Being around her cousins made her realize how lonely she had become since her father’s accident. She shuffled the Bicycle cards she had borrowed from Dewey and then placed four of them upside down in a row as she whispered, “Will my father get well soon?” She flipped them over one by one: a joker, a seven of diamonds, a queen of hearts, and a king of clubs. “Hmmm,” she said, hoping the draw meant something good. She had to believe her father would get better any day and then everything would go back to normal. Maybe then, Ava wouldn’t be mad at her anymore. Maybe then, she could go home. And maybe then, she could go back to college — where she would have been at that moment, but Ava had told her there were too many hospital bills.

To be continued...

Because of the length, Part 2 will be posted next month.

Ghosts, Vampires and Snow White

2008-05-16T07:49:00.007-05:00

Before I write a short story for this blog, I think of a fairy tale to use for inspiration, but I also like to include a supernatural element. I have written about ghosts, vampires, werewolves, luck, elves, time travel, warlocks, druids, mind reading and some others difficult to define. My favorites to write about have been ghosts and fairies. I’m curious to see what the reader’s favorites are to read, and/or if you are a paranormal writer, what do you find yourself drawn to write?

Since this month’s story was inspired by Snow White, I thought this would be an appropriate poem (rispetto) to repost. Can you guess the point of view character? (Which is also the title)

When I saw her stretched across the tidy beds,
Love’s potent sword struck my heart before I knew
Who this lovely stranger was or one word said
But I remained silent as I always do

With one bite, she fell ill on that dreadful day
In a glass coffin, it hurt to see her lay
I longed to kiss her ruby lips but froze
Joy but regret - the prince woke her and betrothed

Guest Reviewer Chrissa Sandlin - Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales

2008-05-08T07:53:00.019-05:00

Book Review:

Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales
by Bruno Bettelheim

Reviewed by Chrissa Sandlin

I am slightly disappointed by this book, interesting as it was. I became disenchanted with it toward the end, as the continual emphasis on a biological, nuclear family as the ultimate end of existence... not a metaphor, not a symbol, but the actual end goal of life itself became more apparent. Finally, I reached the following sentence regarding full self-fulfillment "of the female."

...complete selfhood comes only with having given life, and with nurturing the one whom one has brought into being...

Aside from the this, assumptions are made throughout regarding the multiple meanings accessible to preconscious and unconscious parts of the mind, sometimes later identified after discussion with a therapist. Not having training in psychology, I can't speak to the current state of these theories and assumptions; however, persons who have training may find these outdated. There is little mention of families not formed in a traditional mold, although much reassurance is provided that reading children "original" fairy tales more or less guarantees that the child will be able to take everything he or she needs at the appropriate time from these stories. I find this an interesting theory, particularly in the ways to identify the true fairy tale from a modern or lesser version. It seems to me there is hopeful note in terms of encouraging children to continue to a stage at which they can appreciate "art;" however, if they are not at that stage already when they are read the story, the multiple meanings are not accessible to them and there goes the use of the story.

I decided to read this mainly because of the defense of the fairy tale which it contains and to have a deeper understanding of the many layers on which a story and its symbolism may develop and I found it very useful in this respect. Mr. Bettelheim's continual reference to myths, number symbols, and the physical and emotional relations between them helped to deepen my understanding of the way we tell ourselves stories to continually reinforce beliefs and patterns and has caused me to reevaluate some of the material that I'm currently writing.

On the whole, I found this to be an interesting and useful book with which to explore the different expectations of stories and to further understand why some are more resonant than others.

Visit Chrissa’s blog: http://pollenandsting.blogspot.com

What’s Up for May 2008 & Jaclyn’s Ghost Candle Winner!

2008-05-01T08:07:00.002-05:00

Hi!

This month I’ll have sort of a retelling of the fairy tale Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. My goodness, this story gave me fits, but I’m happy with the results. Because of the length, I will be posting the 1st part of my short story, The Summers, this month and then the 2nd part next month. It is a possibility that it will have a 3rd and even a 4th part – but I haven’t decided yet. (The first 2 parts do make a complete story. If I write more, it will just be from another characters P.O.V. - the flip view :)) I’ll have it up by the end of the month.

Congratulations to KimW! You are the winner of the Laced Champagne scented Jaclyn Jade Candle. Please claim your prize by sending me an email with your mailing details by May 31st. I want to thank everyone who read the first chapter and entered the contest. I also want to thank candle artist JFay for creating such a fabulous custom candle and scent. You can visit her online studio at www.studio3bonline.com.

On a personal note, I want to share two reviews Jaclyn’s Ghost received last month. I’m very excited!
https://www.darkangelreviews.com/Jaclyn.html

http://kylee-p.blogspot.com/2008/04/jaclyns-ghost-by-dorlana-vann.html

Happy Mother’s Day to all!

Dorlana

SFT Presents: Guest Writer - Wendy Koenigsmann

2008-04-23T06:17:00.010-05:00

The Song of Rusalka

by Wendy Koenigsmann

The rain is an unwelcome guest. I feel its damp penetration and its interlocution of mist and fog prey silently on the seas of the harbour, much as it were the seas of my mind, my mind, clouded, obscured, by something unknown, unknown and, somehow repentant, as if it wished to cast aside its grey veil for something much more horrible and horrific.

Meanwhile the seas turn to blood in my imagining, mouldering with the strains of the lyre and the harp that are plucked in the chamber, resounding in my hollow head like a strange dance from long ago, baroque and solemn.

I told you that the harp played. It played, yet incessantly. It was She who, with her nails sharpened like small knives, fashioned these songs that haunted me. Rusalka, always so silent and grey, as if she were prematurely aged and withered by time, the darkest, deepest eyes that seemed to know so much . . . pain, all pain, even my own -- and yet her skin was as fragile and moonlit white and smooth as a pearl of the greatest quality, like those the deep-sea divers find on the coasts of China. She, Rusalka, betrayed so much only by her eyes alone.

Every night I listen to her song. I try to imagine what it would be like if the strings should suddenly break under the morose and strict plucking of the lovely Rusalka. Her hands glided smoothly over each one, tentatively, I often stole by night to her song. I hid in the darkest recesses of the chamber, oftentimes behind the door, only to catch a glimpse of her loveliness. Such dark loveliness. I could not tell if she knew. Often, I thought that she did know. At times, she stopped and looked out the great window towards the sea below, beyond the crags of highly-piled rocks that threatened menacingly. She sang of love and death as she gazed out of the windowpanes, into the unknown. Into an abyss.

I thought I spied a moment of tenderness in her eyes, but then, the wicked gleam I knew so well would reenliven itself, and I would fall back with a near-silent sigh in the dark corner of the chamber. I began to see the most horrible things in my mind's eye. Turning away, I attempted to find my way through the darkened hallways, only to meet the strange gaze of silent denizens amongst its walls. Family portraits. Yet they changed, hideously. In place of the lovely Rusalka, I saw a livid Medusa's head, her mouth agape in the silent scream of horror. I panicked, I threw the glass of the vile elixir I had been drinking as it shattered against the stone wall, not thinking that Rusalka might hear me. This frightened me, for then she would know that I had been wandering about, and she would pursue me. Oh, anything except that, Beloved, I must flee from you now before the death toll, before the darkest hour. And so I fell near my door, retreating against a pile of lush drapes, and lay against them, they fell upon me as I drooped down in a heap.

A silent shadow seemed to come around the corner now. Was it she? I took to my senses and pulled myself up, now completely disgusted with my state. Had I become so much less of a man since I met her? I ran along the hallway, attempting to flee. I did not know where it was that I was going, only that I wished to escape completely. The absinthe, the laudanum, the opium, none of these worked so well as the retreating from Rusalka's stern gaze, her haunting gaze, for my heart seemed to plummet and my own soul shirked. This delirium became my new addiction.

"Friedrich?" she called. I tried to remain as quiet as I could, I did not stir. I could hear her footsteps upon the carpeting. I could hear her whispers. Suddenly, I threw myself over one of the small turrets and landed with a crash into the topiary below. In the garden, I felt the souls of the plants and vines commingling. They whispered. Friedrich. I cut myself with one of the thorns from the rosebush in order to quiet my thoughts. Now, she knew. My secret was no longer. I tried to stop the tears and imagined that she would find me, hiding within the darkness of the greenhouse. She would caress me, and tell me to be quiet. She would suck and kiss the wound on my wrist and implore me not to run from her any longer. If only I would comply, she would chide.

But behold. The moonlight was so bright that I could see well enough now. I made my way through the greenery, until I reached the doorway out of the castle. I ran through the vineyards, ran past the gates of the crumbling walls, until I was outside. Outside was were I wished to be, away from her, away from her sad songs and the sound of the detestable harp.

But it is true , I did love her. Many years ago, I met her by this very sea. I had been riding through the hillsides when her siren song called to me. I thought she was a most lovely woman, and despite that she was dressed in the strangest garments, I found myself bewitched. She told me very little about her family or her history, only that she had been the descendant of an old Feudal Lord, now long dead, and that within her swam the strange blood of the Easterner. She could not have hidden it any further, for in her eyes I saw the dark gleam of Attila's fervour, the hint of the old clan oftentimes spoken of by the people in the village. She was a stranger in this land, she added, and had been spending time by the North Sea, known for its delightfully remedic properties. Her health, she said, had been compromised as of late, and the seas would heal her of her malady, of this she was sure.

And so beautiful and unearthly she was, of course I acquiesced without repentance. In a few months, we were wedded, and she took my family name. As we both drank from the cups of gold filled with wine, I looked down at her, and saw, for the first time, the hint of an unearthly gleam that would later betray much more than I had imagined. I shivered, and tried to destroy the first ill thoughts that crossed my mind that night on our wedding.

You see, her flesh, seemed to be made of water. It glistened like something strange. It moved like waves, reeked of the strange perfumes of the seas, and her bones seemed to me the fragments of coral. As I kissed her I felt myself go under and the plush, solemn light of daylight went out like a spark underneath the dark seas of her strangeness.

It was many year later that, wandering through my ancestral home, I had found such strange things that I dared not speak of. In place of her coral lips and coral frame, I found, heaped in the bowels of the castle, bones of men. Hundreds of them. It was then that I knew.

Now, as I wandered amongst the seaside where we first met, I felt a kindling of regret. But the regret was not as strong as my urge to flee, and so I saddled one of the horses up and began riding past the coast of sand and fog, and past the last turret's proud top, until I could see very little of it left, until the entire ocean and the castle disappeared from my memory. I wondered, if I could learn to forget, if I could begin anew, and so I became a wanderer. No more a Lord myself, but a beggar, and a thief. I learned the ways first, of scoundrels, then began to fashion a new life for myself, once I had enough money, in a small town that sleeps lazily near Schwarzwald, the Black Forest. There, I married a wonderful woman and had many children. We were very happy. Despite that I left everything behind, even my own family name, I was no longer plagued by the fears that haunted me all along while I lived in the castle.

And so it was that for many years my happiness was undiluted by any recollection of the past. I seemed immune from the dangers that once besieged me. But then one day I heard that a carnival was coming into town, and my children begged for me to take them. This carnival was in the Black Forest that I spoke of. It was made up of a band of people from Hungary or Romania, else some other group of Slavs, for they spoke a similar language that I had heard Rusalka once speak. This frightened me. As first I made many excuses for not taking the children to the festivities, but they were so insistent that I made arrangements to take them one weekend, and kissed my wife good-bye with a bit of foreboding. Until then I had only known happiness and joy.I felt the past flooding my senses.

I had never seen the Black Forest before. Not even when I had all the riches of the world did I know this place. It was a provincial little place, often spoken of in legends by the peasants. I thought it was beautiful. Never before had I seen so many trees, so many beautiful trees. The scent of the forest was like a heavenly breath of perfume. As we neared the carnival, the children scampered away merrily. I seemed to regret now that I had once been so frightened. It was only a carnival in the forest, and the children were with me, what could go wrong? I neared the various tents and thought I saw an old gypsy point at me, push me towards the door of one of the tents. I entered tentatively. Inside were various strange things to be found. A man who ate fire, and yet lived. Little men and women, like the gnomes that were often spoken of by the villagers. I was entranced by these sights when a small child with eyes that were so light that they were almost white like sea-green diamonds looked up towards me. I shivered. Something about the child's eyes reminded me of Rusalka, and I began to feel my heart race. I tried running out of the place, but a hand caught me. I looked at the face, and it was the child. "Would you please, to buy some flowers, Sir?" I looked at the pitiful child with sea-green eyes and plucked a Pfennig from my pocket.

The child handed me a withered rose, with sad velvet skin as its lining. I took the rose hesitantly and watched the child turn away. I began to walk towards the exit when from one of the corners of these odd exhibits, something caught my eye. There was a large tank of water, sea water it appeared, in one of the corners. Something seemed to . . . lead me to it. I looked into the water, gazed into the depths of these waters, so like the sea that lined the dottings of my family castle up north. I watched and waited, half-expecting a mermaid to come out of the depths, but then, a white hand, delicate and white, reached towards me palm up against the glass. I recognized the fingers on the hand, for they were the same that played the harp endlessly for those years that I lived by the sea, it was the hand of Rusalka! I backed away, but then a chill settled into my spine, so that I felt nearly paralyzed and compelled by some strange force.

I waited for the white perfect face of Rusalka to appear near the glass, but at that moment, I saw the face of a monster appear near me! I cannot describe the hideous face, nor the sudden fear that catapulted me. A man puffing on a cigar came near me and smiled. "Do you like 'er Sir?" He smiled and laughed, his eyes reflecting my own face, askew in the expressionless face of horror. I felt hot blood pour down my wrist as I had been gripping the thorns of the pathetic rose the entire time. The creature behind the glass seemed to smile and the man beside me took the bloody stem and threw it into the tank, whereupon the monstrous Rusalka began to devour it. "I think she likes you" he told me. "What . . . is that thing?" I asked him, "Where did you find it?" The man took out a cigar and puffed away as he recollected. "It was many years ago. Me and my Bruders had been playing by the sea. We were but wee things then. My father had been catching fish that day and pulled her up in it. Seems she ate all the fish in the net, almost ate through the net itself, in fact," he whispered now, "I later heard she did devour one of the fishermen."

The monster in the tank now settled, and as she lay still in the water, I swear that her face turned the most lovely shade of porcelain, and her features turned back into those of the woman I had once loved. I put my hands on the glass and muttered under breath that I was sorry. So Sorry.

"But that was long ago," said the man. "By now, this girl ought to be about nearly fifty years old or more, but she hasn't changed. Well, except when she's hungry. Loves the taste of blood upon the lips this one, will eat everything, just about. Better be careful, I think she really does like you now."

I backed away from the glass. Rusalka's face was placid and human-like now. A mask. I told the man that I had to be going and walked away, unable to think or reason. All that I know is that, turning back once more, I only saw the plaintive gaze of the lovely Rusalka looking at me, only looking.

I began to run again, as I did so many years ago. The forest was dark and deep. The trees seemed to whisper my name and converged around me in the darkness, occluded my vision. The smell of the fir and pine now became a noxious poison, and I felt my breath fail me. Yes, she called me again, "Friedrich," as she always did back then. I turned towards the heavens and prayed for forgiveness, prayed that God would forgive me for my cowardice, for betraying my wife. Yet, at the same time, I muttered curses for the fact that I had been burdened with this knowledge, with this price that I would always pay. Why? Why did she come for me back then, and why did I find her yet again?

As I ran through the forest I realized that I had lost my way, and I could not find the right path back home. I had run so far that by now the snows fell in the hillside and I did not know where I was, to be honest. Would I forever be running from the past like this, I wondered? Would I now leave my wife and my children behind, and become a recluse in this forest, never to return? I felt a deep guilt again, at the notion, but what I had seen forever changed me.

For many years I lived in the forest, alone. I became a lost and ragged man, forever wandering the forest, forever eluded. I never saw anyone again, except in dreams. In my dreams I am often only a man living in a nice village with his wife and children. The smell of bread by the hearth. The laughter of children. In other dreams I am a noble who lives in a castle by the sea. The harp plays haunting sounds as I sip the absinthe in darkness. Either way, every dream is always the same, for in every dream I am always alone. No matter what I do, whether I am this or that, I am forever haunted by my own loneliness.

Many years later a wandering child came by the forest. The child had eyes like crystal glass, but green. Like the sea. I swear I had seen this child before. Where? The child was selling gazettes and asked if I would buy one. I had no money. I had nothing, I told the child. He looked at me sadly and gave me one of the papers, then walked away. I read in the paper that a carnival, which stopped in Odense this Spring had been discovered to have a living creature that had somehow escaped. They called it "The Rusalka." The creature was born of the sea and yet had the face of a woman. I shivered. It was my Rusalka. It was she. I looked for the child again and wondered, was it her child? But he was gone . . . had we had a child at all, for I do not remember much from my past, not much at all.

But no matter what, by now, it was too late to remedy things. Too late. I had betrayed her, betrayed my family, betrayed myself, most of all.

And as I realize this, now a broken man many years since then, I make my way back home again. To the North. To the castle. I walk into the cold waves, the taste of salt in the spray, the music of the sea in my heart. As I look into the water I can see her face still. Rusalka. I call your name this time. Yes, I will come to you now. I hear her siren's song and willingly succumb. No Rusalka, no more running.

No more running from life, from this life which has been nothing but vanity. For all was vanity before I knew you. I feel you bite at my wrist and the blood becomes one with the sea, both running with the taste of the salt, the lifeblood of our very birth. I let myself go into the waves and feel the watery kiss of Rusalka one last time. I feel her pulse replace my own. I hear her voice in the water push against my ears and fill my head with the empty, embryonic music of the water. The sea will become my tomb now Rusalka, and you my Bride for one last time.

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