Upon a Time

by R. L. Stedman

  “Granny? Hello?”

  The cottage seemed empty. On a shelf above the bed was the urn holding Gramps’ ashes, his rosary draped across the top.

  “Gran? Are you there?”

  Outside, trees sighed in the wind. A cold breeze swirled around my ankles.

  “Granny?”

  A gust of wind rushed through the cabin and shuffled the pages of the magazine. Behind me, the door slammed shut. The trees roared. The storm was coming. I thought I heard a low moan.

  The bed stirred. “Gran?” Was that a shape, under the covers? “Hello? Gran?”

  A blast of wind hit the cabin and the walls creaked. Perhaps Gran had gone to bed; perhaps she was asleep. She was old, and old people needed to rest. Although Granny had never been the resting kind.

  The lights flickered and the shape in the bed seemed to move. It did look like a person. “Gran?”

  Perhaps she was hiding under the covers. I could understand why; this cabin was frigging creepy.

  Suddenly, Pop! The lights went out. I stood in the dark. Shadows crept across the floor. I gasped, tried not to hyperventilate. Again, I heard the moan.

  “Gran?”

  Fighting the wind, I pushed the door open. Clouds raced across the sky and the moonlight seemed to strobe on and off, on and off. Beside the door was a firewood hatchet, set ready for a midsummer fire. I picked it up, hefted it. I tried to hook the door open, to let the moon into the cabin – I really, really wanted some light – but the wind was too strong, and pushed the door closed against me. Behind me, from the bed, I heard breathing.

  “Hello? Gran?”

  It’s just wind, and moonlight, and a power cut. Don’t be a scaredy-cat!

  The mound in the bed seemed to grow – or perhaps it was just the shadows, moving – and formed a shape, like a person, tucked into bed. There was a depression in the pillow that matched the shape of a skull. The wind sighed, and whistled through the window, making the curtains move.

  The bed was empty. Wasn’t it?

  If that was Granny, she should have a body. She should have a head. She should have a face, dammit, with eyes and nose and teeth. Not this empty space and only a dent where a head should be.

  I thought I heard a snigger, a high chuckle.

  Shut up, Red. You’re imagining things. There’s nothing there.

  Outside, the trees roared like the waves. Cold white light shone into the room, outlined the bed. There was definitely a figure there.

  Still holding the hatchet, I tried to push the door open, but the wind took it and bang! It slammed shut. The walls of the cabin shook; Gramps’ urn shifted on the shelf. I pressed my back against the door – later, Mom found the shape of the handle in my flesh – feet scrabbling to stay upright, I watched the bed.

  The shape seemed to move. It was like watching the dead rising. Oh my God! It’s floating.

  My stomach cramped; I was going to be sick.

  Crash! The cabin shook, and Gramps’ urn rocked. Another crash and the low, low groan of timber splitting. Nearby, a tree was falling. Then with a roar, the cabin shuddered. And slowly, slowly, Gramps’ urn tipped sideways. The top lifted and a rain of fine gray ash drifted across the bed like snow. Gramps’ ashes. With a clatter of beads, the rosary fell onto the bed.

  It was like watching something in slow motion; in the pause between heartbeats.

  I heard a groan, like someone crying in pain.

  Through my panic, I swear I heard Gramps’ voice. “Bullies are cowards, Red. Have courage, girl. What are you doing, a-holding onto that axe? Use it!” I remembered then: Evil spirits can’t bear iron.

  Under the cover a shape stirred. I strode toward the bed. I heard a breath sucked in, as if in fear, or perhaps it was just the wind, whistling through a crack in the windows. On the pillows an ash-covered face flickered: pale, wide-eyed, it stared up at me in fear, or in anger, or shame. Or perhaps it was just my imagination.

  Imagination or no, I lifted the hatchet, and brought it down, hard. Fast. Without hesitation, just as Gramps had taught me. Just as I’d done day after day, killing Olivia Newfield again and again until she held no more power over me.

  This time there wasn’t a lump of wood on a chopping block. This time the blade of the hatchet sliced through the pillow and the mattress and the sad gray pile of Gramps’ ashes. Feathers and ash filled the air. Gramps’ rosary clicked, the beads sliding into the hole I made in the bed. The strange mound resembling a person seemed to disappear.

  Abruptly, the lights flickered on and the cabin seemed almost dazzling in their electric glow. I heard a low groan. Still holding the hatchet, I opened the bathroom door.

  “Gran! What are you doing there?”

  She lay on the floor. “Red,” she said faintly. “I slipped. I think … I’ve broken something.” She eyed the hatchet. “What’s that for?”

  I set it down in the corner. “Nothing.”

  She closed her eyes. “I thought I heard your grandfather. He told me to be quiet. You know what I said? I said: Be quiet yourself!” She chuckled, and the colour began to return to her face.

  I crossed into the main room, grabbed a pillow (an intact one) from the bed and tucked it under her head.

  “Rest there,” I said. “I’ll go and get Mom.”

  Officer: There was a mess in the cabin. Can you tell us what happened?

  Witness: A tree fell over outside – you would have seen it?

  Officer: We did.

  Witness: Well, when it fell there was this almighty crash. It shook the whole cabin. I think that’s when Granny had her accident. It knocked Gramp’s urn over too; I tried to catch it but I was holding the axe at the time. Anyway, I forgot to let go of the axe, and well, you saw the damage.

  Officer: Thank you. Miss, why were you holding an axe?

  [Pause.]

  Witness: It sounds silly, but I was scared. You know, the storm, the power cut? I guess, I must have grabbed the axe, to make me feel safe, you know?

  Officer: And then, Miss?

  Witness: Mom heard the tree fall. So she drove over to check we were okay. I was real pleased to see her, because she’s a nurse and everything, so she checked out Granny. We decided to take Granny to the hospital. We would leave the keys at the office first; maybe stay the night in town.

  …But this is what really happened ….

  Mom gave Granny some painkillers. The tablets made her relaxed and kind of dopey.

  Mom was cross with me. “The state of that cabin! You care to tell me what happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” she said. “The bed’s nearly split in half.”

  What had happened in the cabin? Had I imagined it? I really thought I’d seen something in that bed. But what had I seen? Just shadows and wind.

  Mom sighed. “Guess I’ll have to pay for that damage.”

  Granny, sprawled across the rear, said slurringly, “Don’t blame her, Frances. She was only doing what your father told her to do.”

  Mom breathed in deeply. I could almost hear her counting to ten.

  We pulled up at the office and she dragged on the handbrake. The office lights were still on.

  “Key,” she held out her hand. Wordlessly, I passed it over.

  Perhaps there was something wrong with me. There had been nothing in that bed, just an empty duvet and a feather-strewn mattress. After Mom had gone, Granny stirred, reached a hand between the seats, palm up. I put my hand on it.

  “You did the right thing, Red.” Her pupils were so large that her eyes were almost black, but her cheeks were pink and she smiled at me. Codeine was obviously an amazing drug. “Granny? I don’t know what happened.”

  “Your mother thinks I slipped on a wet floor, but you know, I could swear I felt something push me.”

  Mom ran down the steps, dragged open the car door. Her face was pale, and she was sweating. She looked like she was going to throw up.

  “Mom? Are you okay?”

  Mom s
topped, tried to catch her breath.

  “Mom?”

  She swallowed. “Red, can you come with me?”

  We walked up the stairs to the reception. The door was ajar, and moths circled in the lamplight.

  She put a hand over her face, covering her nose and mouth. “I’m sorry. This isn’t pretty.” She nodded at the floor.

  Officer: Miss? Red?

  Witness: Sorry. It’s just … well. Mister Wolfe was there. On the floor.

  Officer: Can you describe what you saw?

  Witness: Um, do I have to?

  Officer: I’m afraid so.

  Witness: Okay. Um, he was behind the desk. On his side, legs half-curled up, like he was in bed, you know? One hand was raised toward his shoulders.

  Officer: Anything else, Miss?

  Witness: Um, yeah. His head.

  Officer: What about his head, Miss?

  Witness: Well, it wasn’t there, was it? I mean, it was there, but it was under the desk.

  Officer: Miss? Red? Are you alright?

  Witness [muffled] Do you have a bowl? Please? I’m going to be sick.

  [Sounds of witness vomiting]

  …And this is what really happened….

  Mister Wolf lay half-curled up, a hand open like he was trying to push something away. Flies buzzed about the broken stem of his neck. One landed in a sticky pool of blood. Mom pointed under the desk and there lay the head, face down. Oh my God!

  My stomach heaved. I rushed outside, down the steps, and was sick in the bushes.

  “Dear?” called Granny from the car.

  I wiped my mouth. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

  Mom put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I nodded, still fighting sickness. Breathe, Red, Breathe.

  “We need to phone the police,” she said.

  Mom turned off the lights in the office – I wouldn’t go back in there, not for any reason – and locked the door. I made the call from the car as she drove to the hospital. Granny said nothing. I think she fell asleep.

  Officer: You want some water?

  Witness: Yeah. Thanks.

  [Sounds of Witness drinking.]

  Witness: The hospital was real nice. Granny hadn’t broken anything; she was just badly bruised. Mom and I stayed the night in a motel in town, Granny slept in the hospital, just for observation, you know? Later the sheriff’s office called, could we come in to give our statement? They sounded shaken up, too. And … well, you know the rest. That’s everything.

  Officer: Thank you, miss.

  [Tape ends]

  …And here’s what really happened...

  “Thank you for your statement, Miss,” the Deputy said. He looked concerned, like he felt genuinely bad that he’d upset me. Nice of him.

  I smiled shakily. I still felt … odd.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he glanced about, and leant across the table. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but it will come out in the inquest soon enough. That Frank Wolfe? The manager? We ran some checks. Been three unexplained disappearances in these woods over the last twenty years.” He held up three fingers. “Three girls. All about your age. Each time, Frank Wolfe was a suspect.”

  I felt suddenly cold. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head. “Nothing was ever pinned on him, but we had our suspicions. Just, I thought you should know, in case you think a nice man lost his life. From what we see, it looks like justice finally caught up with him.”

  “Thank you.” I looked about, taking in the microphone, the old recorder. My first time in Colorado, and I’d already been to the Sheriff’s office. I smiled at the Deputy. He had a nice smile. “May I go now?”

  “Of course, Miss. You have a nice journey, now.”

  I walked from the police station. The morning was already muggy and warm, but the storm had cleared the air. I could see the forest and the mountains beyond. Colorado sure is a beautiful state. I could see why Gramps loved it so much.

  “Red!” Granny called. “Over here!”

  I walked over to the car. The sheriff’s office had retrieved Gramp’s urn, so we were going to scatter his ashes in the forest, just as he’d wanted. I didn’t feel as sad as I had; perhaps he hadn’t gone. Perhaps he was still around, keeping an eye on things.

  “Thank you, Gramps,” I whispered.

  I’m going to talk to Olivia Newfield when I get back to school. There’s no way I would ever, really, cut anybody’s head off. Not after seeing … that.

  Perhaps it’s time we stopped being afraid of each other.

  Dear Diary. Thanks for listening.

  RED

  Part Five

  Just For Fun

  The Humiliation of Abu-Hassan

  Once upon a time, in a great city, lived a young man named Abu-Hassan. Though of humble origins, Abu-Hassan was a godly man, abstemious and frugal.

  Now it came to pass that the king of the land took a new wife. This queen was more beautiful than the moon and sun and greatly loved, for she was truly kind and gentle.

  The king and his wife began a journey throughout their kingdom, and at last they arrived at the city of Abu-Hassan.

  Now everyone in the city wanted to see this new queen, but it was feared that the throng of people would be too much for the royal couple. So the mayor decreed that they would cast lots for the privilege of attending the royal reception, and that every right-thinking citizen might cast in their lot.

  And thus it happened that Abu-Hassan, being successful in the lottery, was invited to the banquet in the honor of the king and queen. It would be the most splendid occasion, and would be held at the mayoral palace.

  Abu-Hassan felt very nervous, for he was a humble man and uncertain of how to act in the presence of Royalty. But his mother told him to be mindful of his duty to God and his host. He should partake of his food abstemiously, without complaint, and offer sincere dutiful obescience to the king.

  Despite Abu-Hassan’s nerves, the evening was enjoyable. However, forgetting his mother’s sage counsel, he ate heartily, for the meal was rich and flavorsome.

  After the meal came lengthy, florid speeches as each official tried to outdo his peers in eloquence. But eventually, following a great length of time, the interminable speeches at last came to an end.

  A slave banged a gong for silence.

  “The Royal Audience will begin!” announced the mayor.

  In a flurry of anticipation, the citizens filed through to the Audience Chamber, where the king and his beautiful queen were waiting to receive the guests.

  The room was magnificent! Candlelight gleamed on gold walls, lapis lazuli and precious stones glistened. Musicians played; jugglers threw flaming torches; contortionists formed strange shapes.

  There was a long wait until the presentations began, but Abu-Hassan was not at all bored. The queen was even more beautiful than the tales; it was a pleasure to stand in one corner and watch her. Besides, his stomach felt unsettled from the unaccustomedly rich meal, so perhaps a delay was advisable.

  Finally, came the great moment.

  “Abu-Hassan!” boomed the vizier.

  Abu-Hassan stepped forward and made obeisance to the throne. The king appeared almost unaware of his presence, and barely glanced his way. Abu-Hassan felt concerned; perhaps he had offended his monarch. So, when bowing to the queen, he dropped onto one knee, and made the deepest bow he could manage.

  Unfortunately, in so doing, he had forgotten about his elaborate meal.

  As Abu-Hassan he bent forward, he let out the most tremendous, enormous fart!

  The silk canopy above the throne shook. Candles blew out. All conversation stopped. A juggler dropped his torch and a tambourine player dropped his instrument. It went crashing to the floor.

  The king looked first annoyed, then surprised. And the beautiful queen, who Abu-Hassan had so longed to meet? She began laughing. Quietly at first, and then louder and louder, until she was nearly doubled up with
mirth.

  After a surprised pause, the entire throne room joined in the hilarity.

  Abu-Hassan, overcome with embarrassment, backed from of the room. The laughter continued, as the rumors of the tremendous fart spread. Waves of merriment followed as he ran from the palace.

  News of the fart circulated quickly. Beggars in the gutter laughed; merchants in the marketplace could hardly contain their glee. The guards on the walls roared so hard they nearly fell.

  And Abu-Hassan left the city.

  At long last Abu-Hassan reached a far town. He worked hard, and said little about where he had come from or why he had left. He grew older, and was respected in business. He married, had three children. He told no one about his tremendous fart.

  Time passed. Abu-Hassan grew old and longed to look once more on the city of his ancestors. He said farewell to his children and grandchildren and took ship to his homeland.

  Drawing near to his old home, he said to himself, “I will wander about the outskirts and listen to what people are saying. Perhaps they will not remember me, or why I left.”

  And as he entered the city he heard a young man asking: “Mother, when were you born?”

  “My son,” said his mother, “I know exactly when I was born. It was on the eighteenth of March; the very night of Abu-Hassan’s tremendous fart.”

  When Abu-Hassan heard these words than he rose up from the bench. “Verily!,” he exclaimed, “my fart has become a date!”

  And he realised that such a fart will be always be remembered from now until eternity.

  Abu-Hassan remained no longer in the city of his birth. Instead he returned to his children and his grandchildren, and stayed there in self-imposed exile until he died.

  May God’s mercy be upon him.