When the Sorceress heard that she would be overthrown one day by a child in a no name village, she did not react violently.. She did not kill the messenger, nor strike down the divinder who had the premonition of a little brat ruining everything, no. She knew far too well that doing any of those things would just seal her fate as “Evil Enchantress” (despite the fact that she is not an Enchantress or a witch). Instead, she calmly called the head of her guard and planned a siege of the village. If she was going to have someone overthrow her, it was going to be in her control, not some brat who is a “Savior of the people”. Thinking those words only made her want to vomit. How could someone come and ruin her beautiful world and all of her effort to clear the world of horrible rulers? And how was she the heartless one for not wanting it to be ruined? 

So here she was, standing in front of a burning village; fire always made her happy, the smell, the sound of the cracking wood and the screams of people not yet dead. She was waiting for her minions to come back with what they came for. Soon enough, she was in front of five children of varying ages. They were screaming and crying in the soldier’s arms, all except for one. A small baby with bright green eyes, staring out at the fire with delight and giggles.  She was even reaching out to touch the burning cleanse, enamored by it and its power. The Sorceress drew closer to her, hooking her umbrella on her arm to take the small child from the silent soldier. 

She made the small girl look at her directly in the eyes–something that made hardened warriors shake and fall to their knees to beg for mercy–and she giggled. She didn’t look away or start crying, she just squealed with delight and reached out to touch the wixen’s face. She looked beyond happy despite her family being dead and four other crying children behind her. 

The Sorceress was confused, but continued to examine the small child until something caught her eye. A bright pink streak in the little hair she had, as well as a small mark on the side of her head; a symbol reserved only for those blessed by Lady Magic herself. 

She immediately waved the other children away to be killed as she cradled the small girl in her arms. She was sure that this girl was the one destined to overthrow her, so she simply would care for her herself and grow her up to be a proper ruler of the kingdom and keep the idiot people from ruining everything she worked so hard to build by putting awful thoughts in the darling little baby’s head.

As the other children were led away, still screaming and crying, The Sorceress simply held the happy girl. She summoned a small ball of magic to her hand and showed the girl her first glimpse of the very thing she would learn to harness and use to rule in her adopted role. It lit up the baby’s face as well as the Sorceress’, revealing the bright purple streak in her own black hair that was previously hidden in the dim light of the fire.

The distant screams of the lost innocent lives finally faded out as every single one of them perished in the fire or the wixen’s soldiers. The Sorceress would make sure that she would have guards continue to check the surrounding area for any survivors and keep an eye on the land so there was absolutely no chance of another child trying to overthrow her and ruin her and her child’s life. 

As she cradled the baby in one arm, she pulled her umbrella off of the other and pointed it at the sky, watching as a purple stream of light shot out, visible to everyone miles away if they were even away. She cooed at the squealing child as she stepped into the light, letting her look forward as both of the chosen walk into the next step of their lives.

“Welcome home, Meteora.” 

 

Into the Dark

A Short Story by Ari Hensley

You wake up. 

It’s pitch black and you don’t know why you woke up, other than the mildly unsettling feeling running up and down your spine. You can hear some groaning and rumbling noises, but your house is old, and old houses make lots of noise. 

Instead of waking up and getting some tap water to clear the dust settling in your throat like you normally would, you just lay back down. After all, you have a new baby brother in the house and he is such a light sleeper. Your dads need their sleep too. 

As you settle back into the bed, closing your eyes and concentrating your breathing into a measured manner (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight), you hear some scratching noises underneath your bed. You groan, turning around and beckoning your cat to join you on your bed instead of sleeping underneath. 

Instead of a soft chirp from your black cat, you instead hear silence, only broken by the wind out–

  BANG!

You shoot straight up in bed. That isn’t a house noise, no, not at all. 

As you look around, straining your ears to catch where the noise came from, it sounds out again–

BANG!!

It’s louder this time, and coming from your closet. You wonder if things are falling because of the sheer amount of stuff inside of it. 

You slowly slide out of the warmth and comfort of your soft bed with the quilt your grandmother made to welcome you home from the hospital, bunching it at the foot of your bed to make room to get up. You shudder as the cold air hits your skin and feel goosebumps run up and down your arms. 

As you walk towards the closet, the world darkens around you; the nightlight must have gone out, but that doesn’t make any sense. You just put a new bulb in the other night. How could it have gone out already? The lack of light makes your chest swell up with dread. 

You hate the dark.

You reach the closet door in darkness, only now noticing that the only light is some red spilling out from underneath the doors. Did you leave the LEDs on in the little nook between all of the crap in there? You hardly ever had them on red, as you hate the color. 

As you reach for the door, it opens all on its own. The things you had stuffed in there fall all around you as you stand there, blocking your head from the debris crashing to the floor. You curse to yourself–you could have woken up your brother and now you need to clean all over again! 

You start looking for the cause of the noise when your cat runs out and starts to rub against your legs, purring softly and glad to be let out of the stuffed closet. You pick it up, scolding them softly, when you hear the scratching noise from under the bed again. You stop dead in your tracks and stare at the space under your mattress; it was covered by your blankets and you couldn’t see under it, but there was definitely something scratching up, and it wasn’t your cat. No, he was safely in your arms, his hair sticking up as he growled at the duvet. 

You feel your feet move towards the bed again, unable to stop them as your curiosity runs over your fear of whatever could be moving underneath your bed. It moves out, and stares up at you. It flashes a grin of spikey machinery as the teddy bear clicks a picture of you with its innards. It rushes forward and grabs your ankle tightly with its claws. They sink into your soft skin easily. It latches on as the voicebox, now distorted with water damage, plays automatically; “Ỉ̴̭̾͠’̷̭̼̗̽m̵̡̜̓̍̕ ̶̫̠̑͆͝y̶̢̢̾͝͝o̶̜͓͘͝ú̶͕̘͘ŗ̷͎̃̈ ̶̝̤̔̅̈́f̶̪̓r̴̡̬̙͆͊i̴͙̒͝e̸̙͓̞͂n̴̞̍ḑ̵̟͊̽̀~̵͙̞̟̕” It just latches on harder the more you try to kick it off. “ ̶̹̟̈́̑C̷̜̎ͅo̸̗̩͙̅̀m̸͓̰̗̉͂̂e̴̦͍̟͛͗ ̷̯̽p̸̣͔͖̚ĺ̴̤͍͝ͅa̷̦̒y̵̢̗̪̋̐ ̵͖̈́͝w̸̲̱̻̿̊͌í̷̟̖̝͂́ẗ̶̰́ḫ̶̬͆̽͂ ̷͉̎̃m̸̬̙̻̋e̴̢̘͂~̴̨͔̲̓͑͆” it continues as it bites you, the voice box still going as your blood stains the metal and the fabric of the toy, adding to the already present stains of blood and other liquids. You hear more shutter clicks and throw your cat to the ground to use your hands and try to wrestle it off of you. You manage to grab a heavy book and beat it over the head. Screws and Springs splurt out and break off as you mercilessly destroy the bear. 

As soon as it is off of you, you rush out of the room, scooping your cat up again and locking the door behind you before you leave. All you hear after the door is closed is one last line from the fading voicebox; “Ỳ̸̥̯͒ŏ̶͚̫͉̾̅u̵͈̯͓̽͒̕’̵̡̪̼͑͛r̷̠͈̋̔̃ë̶̖̞́̐͂.̵̢̨͒͒̕.̴̱́͑͒.̸͇͓̜̋̈̍ ̸͈̇s̴̤̎̒̑a̴̹̿̽͠à̵̲͔̈́̕a̴̲̲̞̎f̸̤̎͝e̷̯̒ ̸̙͚͊̒̚ẁ̵̦́͝i̵̻̾͗t̴̰͔̀ḩ̴̟̔͒̾.̴͇̹͍͝.̸̫̙̀͆̓͜.̸͇̱̒̒̚ ̵̛̻m̸̡̫̰̓-̶̢̟̺́̌̄ṁ̸̧̨̠͘.̵͔͊̎.̵̻̿e̵̱͐̐e̴͉͉̠͋͊”

You breathe for just a moment, closing your eyes and resting your head against the door. You don’t know what’s happening or why it’s happening and you just want to go to bed again. You need to tell your parents what happened. They’ll know how to fix this. They may even make you hot chocolate like when you’ve been waking up from nightmares after you came home. 

These thoughts are interrupted by quiet mutterings that sound like they are from the kitchen. You cautiously follow the sound and peek into the kitchen, expecting to see your parents quietly talking to one another. Instead, you find her staring out the large bay window. She looked different then when you last saw her, no longer wearing orange either, but it was easily recognizable to you who she was. 

So, you cautiously approach. You are confused why she was in your parent’s house; they made it very clear that she would not be allowed to see you without your permission, and you did not want to see her in the slightest. 

Like she sensed you, her head turns completely around despite her body not moving a muscle. Her eyes are white and her skin gray like dirty dishwater. Her mumblings are getting louder and you could hear that she was talking about ungrateful children. You stare at her, determined to face her rather than be scared and hide again or run away like you always did. 

She did not like that one bit. 

Like she was struck by lightning, she suddenly appears by your side, the only hint of movement beforehand was the creak of the floorboards under her feet. She turns her body to match her head as she grabs your arm. Her nails dig into the uncovered flesh as she leans over and breathes rancid breath into your face. She’s speaking louder and louder until her quiet whispers turned into screams. She grips your face with her other hand, nails feeling once again like claws. She calls you horrid things that she always did. Despite the repetitions, however, it still hurts to hear. You open your mouth to try and respond, but the words die on your lips as they always seem to lately. You can’t bring yourself to talk anymore then you could earlier. . 

You close your mouth as her claw-like nails dig further and further into your skin. She smirks as poison drips from her mouth like the viper she is. “If I kill you right here, do you think they’ll throw me in jail again? Or do you think anyone will care at all?”

You pause with that as she starts to pull on your arm. Suddenly, your cat jumps out of your arms and starts to attack Her with a blinding fury. You are frozen to the spot for only a moment before you too jump into action. You don’t want to die, not yet.

You grab a large cheese knife from the block and knock her to the ground. She falls as your cat makes a run for it and you climb onto her back. You start stabbing before you can think of anything. Blood is rushing towards your ears, blocking everything out and keeping you from hearing anything other than her cries for mercy as she oozes black blood that burns your knees and hands like acid. You are too panicked and adrenaline-filled to be able to process this, and you only pause in your own survival instincts when she starts to sob and call herself terrible. That she never should have left you and that she is just horrible and shouldn’t be forgiven. You stop your onslaught and watch her silently. Your hands are trembling and you don’t know if you’re too scared to stop it or if you want to watch her like this. You know she’s lying; she always does this. You don’t want to be scared of her anymore. 

So you take the plunge. 

She turns to dust and the only remnants of her are the burns on your legs and arms. 

You take a moment to catch your breath. You bested her. You did it. You didn’t fail like you thought you would. 

You’re still alive. 

You get up and are tempted to throw the knife away, but keep it with you in the end. You never know what might happen or when you might need it.

So you walk away with your cat following you behind. 

 

You enter the back yard and almost fall to the cool dewey grass from the way your legs are trembling. You want to cry, but as sobs threaten to leave your throat, not a sound escapes you. 

You need to keep going.

You need to get out of here with your life, and you are going to do it. You cannot fail, no matter what. You need to wake up. 

You want to stay in the calm, cool, air for a few more minutes

Your cat brushes against your legs, chirping softly as it looks up at you with bright green eyes and a calm look. You feel some of the edge erode off of you and you pick up your cat, burying your face in its fur to just… pause.

You hear rumbling. 

You tear your head away and your cat jumps out of your arms to growl in the densest part of the fog that closed in around you. It seems to be rumbling on its own. It doesn’t sound natural. 

Soon the rumbling reveals itself for what it truly is: laughter. You are frozen to the spot as the recognition sparks in your brain. Soon, you see a dark figure of tar come towards you. It leaves behind a path of dead grass and more of the tar. It’s laughing at you.

When it speaks, it sounds like Him, but it’s distorted like the sound is coming from an underwater speaker. You can see that its mouth doesn’t move when it makes any sort of sounds. It’s stuck in a permanent smile as it stares at you with blank eyes. 

“You really think that puny jail cell could hold me?” it asks. You know it does not expect an answer. It is smarter to stay quiet around it anyhow; it can’t tear you down if it can’t get into the cracks. 

But it knows you’re scared.

You hold the venom covered knife tighter in your clenched fist. You don’t want to live in fear of something you knew would try to hurt you no matter what you ever did. When it sees this, it just laughs again. “You think that little thing can hurt me?” it taunts as it gets closer. You can see that there was nothing under the tar as it laughs and jiggles. It isn’t solid. You won’t be able to get rid of  Him like you did with his counterpart. 

You know you won’t be able to escape with the way it is moving towards you and how the fog continues to follow as it moves. You would get lost if you tried to run away, but you can’t fight it. 

You run back inside of the house, locking the door behind you to buy yourself some time. You feel like you could run for hours as you look for something that could kill it. You hear Him enter as well as you hold your breath. You have to hide, but you know he would be able to find you. He is like a bloodhound–able to find anything with the slightest hint of a scent. 

You manage to find a lighter in the junk drawer in your frantic searching. You hold it up and look towards the door for a few moments. 

Before you can act, he enters the kitchen once he manages to tear the back door off of its hinges. He grins that everlasting smile at you as he stops to a standstill, trapping you. He tilts his head slightly and you know you only have one shot at this before you get caught and are unable to escape his poisoning grasp. 

You lunge for the stove on the other side of the room close to where he is standing, hardly noticing that he is surprised that you’re not running away. You manage to turn all of the knobs to light the stove to the side so they would release gas but not light just yet. With that, you turn towards him and face him down with a scowl. You are shaking, but holding your ground yet again. This causes him to chuckle and move just a little closer.

“The kid grows a backbone, huh?” it asks rhetorically. It doesn’t expect an answer and you are not going to give it one. You hold up your knife like you could really do something with it as your cat growls at it by your feet, readying itself to charge into battle if needed. The tar tilts its head back while it has a fit of laughter at your idiocy. You continue to stare it down as it bubbles until you could smell the gas leaking into the room. When it finally stops laughing at your obvious misfortune, it turns back to you and reaches out to grab you. 

You light the lighter and dive out of the way with your cat.

The explosion that follows is loud and causes your ears to ring. You don’t have time to watch the tar scream while it dies a horrible death. You don’t want to stay and watch it, no matter how much it hurt you while you knew Him. 

You instead run out through the garage, the only place in the house where the floors are not wooden. You exit the house and scramble away, falling into the grass several yards away from the burning house. You turn back as you catch the breath you had been holding for far too long. As you stare at the flickering orange fire, breathing in the crackling and scent of a new life, you know this isn’t over. Not yet. You can not ever truly defeat the things you’ve been through, but… This was a good start.