Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore

by Heather Carson

“Hello? Is somebody there?” a familiar but groggy voice whispered from behind the crate. “Captain Liam? Commander Forest? Is that you?” Red held back a cry that threatened to escape her throat. She could not believe it. Her hopeful heart urged her to run toward the sound of her grandmother’s voice, but she resisted. She had to make sure she was not being tricked first.

  “Grandmother?” Red whispered, skipping the behavior and appearance signs since she could not see her grandmother from where she stood.

  “Is that you my darling grandchild? Are you truly here?” Her grandmother’s distinct honey-sweet voice filled Red’s ears. Red could recognize that voice anywhere. No Shifter could imitate her grandmother’s voice down to the twang that accented each word so perfectly. The hope that she had fought against for the last few days overcame her and filled her with relief. Her grandmother was alive.

  “Lieutenant Hood, what is going on in there?” The Captain’s voice entered through one of the rips of the fabric on the wagon.

  “It is my grandmother, Captain,” Red replied, peeking over the top of the crate nearest her to make sure. Grandmother’s angelic face stared back at her, her appearance and behavior normal from what Red could see.

  “Are you sure?” Captain Johnston asked, his voice light and breathy.

  “I am sure.” Red would not let the hope fully consume her before she could properly assess the situation and use the training Grandmother gave her. Red examined her grandmother for wounds, but besides the large crate that was settled on her legs and the other one that was on her arm, she appeared to be unscathed. “She’s trapped under some crates. I’m going to attempt to get her free to see if she can still walk.” Not waiting to see if Captain Johnston approved of her choice to prioritize her grandmother over the cargo, Red turned back to her grandmother. “Can you feel your legs at all?”

  “I can barely feel them, the area is very numb,” Grandmother replied. “Oh, my sweet child. I am so glad you are here.” Grandmother lifted her free arm to grab Red’s hand. Red squeezed her grandmother’s hand, noticing how it was much more swollen than usual.

  “Grandmother, your hand!” Red examined her grandmother’s hand in concern, looking for a reason for the swelling. Besides its larger than normal size, her hand appeared to be in good condition.

  “Do not worry, my dear. It is only a result of my lack of food. I have not been able to eat in so long.” Pain shot through Red’s heart. Swelling from malnutrition was not unfamiliar to her. Most young children back at the settlement experienced similar swelling. Red’s position in the guard was the only reason she had not succumbed to malnutrition herself. She hated that her grandmother had begun to experience its effects.

  “What happened?” Red asked, setting her grandmother’s hand down so she could assess how best to remove the crate from her arm first.

  “I honestly do not remember. One moment we were traveling along the path and the next I woke up trapped under these crates. I must have hit my head. I’ve been alternating between states of unconsciousness and consciousness ever since.” Grandmother captured Red’s gaze and tears formed in her eyes. Red blinked back tears that began to form as a result. She could see her grandmother’s eyes increase in size behind her dilated irises. She must be so afraid.

  “Don’t worry. I’m here now. I will figure out how to free you and we’ll get you back to the settlement where you will be safe. I promise.” Red got a good stance on the crate, and with all the strength in her arms and legs, she lifted the crate just enough for her grandmother to remove her arm. A sigh escaped Grandmother’s lips as she flexed the trapped hand, testing its mobility. Red watched her spread her fingers and wiggle them while twisting her wrist in a circular motion.

  “Can you sit up? I am going to need your help to lift this other crate,” Red whispered as she talked, keeping the conversation quiet to avoid making more noise than she already was. Red watched her grandmother ease herself into a sitting position. Grandmother twisted from side to side to allow blood to flow throughout her body again. In this movement, her disheveled hair fell back away from her face to expose her puffy cheeks and rather large ears.

  “Grandmother! What happened to your ear?” Red cried. Surely the malnutrition did not affect the ears as well.

  “Oh, my love. I am not sure. I must have hit my ear in the fall. Perhaps that is what caused me to lose consciousness.” Grandmother quickly brushed her hair forward again. Red frowned. Perhaps her grandmother was more injured than she appeared.

  “If your head is injured, Grandmother, I need to assess it.” Red reached toward her grandmother, but Grandmother grabbed her wrist before she could make contact.

  “I am fine, my dear,” Grandmother hissed. Her nails dug into Red’s forearm so sharply Red gasped in pain. She had never known someone’s nails to be so sharp. Blood prickled on her wrist.

  “You are hurting me,” she whispered, her voice pained. She could not believe her grandmother could be so hostile toward her. Grandmother’s grip lessened and Red pulled her hand to her chest, covering the wound.

  “Almost done in there, Lieutenant?” Commander San’s voice entered the wagon. Red turned her head toward the opening so her voice would carry more easily.

  “Yes, Commander. We only have...” Red’s response was cut off by the crash that sounded behind her. She whipped her head around to find the crate had been removed from her grandmother’s legs and Grandmother now stood facing her. “Wha-? Grandmother, how?” Red was barely able to lift the other crate on her own; she had no idea how her grandmother could have lifted the other crate without any help while also being trapped beneath it.

  Instead of responding, Grandmother grinned at Red. Her lips spread over teeth longer than Red’s fingers and sharper than spikes. Grandmother’s mouth seemingly enveloped her whole face, spreading out much farther than humanly possible. Red suddenly felt sick.

  “What a big mouth you have, Grandmother,” Red whispered breathlessly.

  “Yes, indeed,” Grandmother replied.

  Red could not withhold the choked scream that tore from her lips as she watched her grandmother’s skin begin to peel from her flesh. She stood frozen as the skin melted off of her grandmother’s arms, face, and legs. Skin was replaced with mangy, black fur. The putrid smell of burning flesh filled Red’s nose and she gagged. Her grandmother’s ears grew pointed and her fingers morphed into claws. What skin and clothes that did not immediately melt away was torn from her grandmother’s bones as her body and limbs doubled in size. Something made a horrible tearing sound, but Red could not tell if it was the fabric of the wagon or the skin on her grandmother’s back.

  The creature doubled over on all fours, its bones protruding disgustingly from beneath its skin. Its back became flesh with the fabric of the wagon as it stretched its limbs to work out the kinks that had formed while the creature held a human form.

  No one truly knew what Shifters looked like. Most people that came in contact with one did not live to tell the tale. Despite this, Red knew she was staring at a Shifter. She desperately fumbled for the gun strapped to her back, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her team members were screaming outside of the wagon, telling Red to run or hide. She knew they would not shoot blindly inside. The Shifter grinned at her again, its mouth growing even wider than before. Its solid black eyes did not indicate where the creature was looking, but Red knew it was looking at her.

  “Do not fret, my child,” the Shifter spoke, its voice sounding just like Grandmother still. “Grandmother is here now.”

  Red opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Everything she knew about Shifters was now obsolete. Shifters could mimic voices perfectly. They are evolving.

  Freeing her gun from her shoulder at last, Red pointed the barrel at the Shifter’s chest and put her finger on the trigger. But her team members never heard her let off a shot. Instead, all they heard before they began to run was a growl so deep they could feel it in their soul and a piercing scream that was
cut short by the crunch of what could have only been teeth on bone.

  Jordyn Kieft was born and raised in Bloomington, IN. Growing up, Jordyn was obsessed with reading; she was often found to be reading multiple books at a time. Never to be trusted in libraries or bookstores, Jordyn realized in middle school that not only could she read stories, but she could also write them. From then on, Jordyn knew that she wanted to be an author.

  Jordyn is currently attending college at Indiana University Bloomington where she is working on her Bachelor of the Arts degree in English with a Creative Writing concentration. Upon graduating in May of 2021, Jordyn plans to get involved in the field of editing while she works to further her career as a published author. “Lieutenant Red Hood” is her first published work.

  If you would like to contact Jordyn, you can find her on Instagram under @Jordy829

  Forever Young

  By Haleigh Diann

  They say he comes in the dead of night because that’s the time of dreams.

  But that’s not true.

  He comes at night because most sleeping children don’t fight. They fold themselves into his arms and think the car ride to the Second Star Hotel is merely a dream. Cool night air, glittering stars, and the floating pleasant sensation of being carried through the empty streets surrounded by bombed skyscrapers and crumbling brownstones belongs in the bewildering world of unconsciousness.

  That’s what I thought when Peter took me.

  I woke up in the basement of the Second Star Hotel and assumed that I’d been saved. No more dealing with the angry, hungry adults at the gas station. No more rules, shouting, or starving, which at seven years old had seemed to be the really important aspect of the whole venture. Being kidnapped never crossed my mind. I was free. A Lost Boy residing in the Second Star Hotel. Nothing bad would ever happen to me, because I was with Peter, and everyone knew that entailed a life of sweets and no rules and no war.

  But that’s not what happened. Not for any of us.

  ***

  “Simon,” I hissed and shoved my fingers against his ribs, a little unkindly.

  Simon groaned, rolling over on his bunk and cocooning himself inside his fluffy blanket. I could make out the tuft of his dark hair like a patch of faded grass at the top of the purple blanket but little else.

  “Simon,” I said again, and this time pinched what I thought to be his elbow.

  He sat up with a jerk, still encumbered by the blankets, and glared at me. With the blankets wrapped around him, he reminded me of a ghoul. Nothing but narrowed, hard, golden eyes in an expanse of black. He was thin and tall like a ghost, but nowhere near as white.

  “Callie,” he said.

  “Happy Birthday,” I replied with a grin, though my voice came out strangled.

  Simon’s glare hardened even more and he jerked the makeshift blanket hood off his head and looked around the room. It was unnecessary, since I wouldn’t have said anything if someone else had been in the basement, and once he realized we were alone, his tense jaw slacked.

  “Not so loud,” he mumbled, rubbing his palms against his cheeks the way he always did after waking up.

  I didn’t respond. Birthdays in the hotel weren’t the celebrations they were supposed to be. In the Second Star Hotel, birthdays meant you were one year closer to getting booted out onto the war-torn streets. To fend for yourself in the smog-covered city, scrounging and fighting like junkyard dogs for any scrap to survive. Avoiding the feral adults that sucked everything dry.

  At least, that’s what Peter said. And since Peter was the one that told us everything that happened in the world outside the locked front doors, we had no choice but to believe him.

  But Peter also threw one of his legendary tantrums whenever someone slipped up that they were one year older. Especially if, like Simon, that now put him one year older than Peter.

  Sixteen was a dangerous year in the Second Star Hotel.

  “Callie, stop looking so morose,” Simon said.

  “Fancy word,” I said, fighting to shrug off the feeling.

  He pointedly looked at the dictionary sitting on my bed. I grinned and shrugged. Reading was my thing. I had gathered up every book or scrap of newspaper from the rooms and devoured them. The dictionary was the only one I had yet to get all the way through twice. Simon learned by osmosis, meaning he picked up some words when I read out-loud definition after definition in the late hours of the night.

  “No one else knows, it’s fine,” Simon said around a yawn, “It’ll be okay.”

  I rubbed my finger against the side of my nose, mumbling noncommittally. Simon was a year older than me, but I’d been listening to him for years not only because of that. Simon had a stern demeanor, a solidness to him not many of us had. The sort of strength that made him immovable and yet trustworthy. Everyone knew exactly where he’d be.

  “It’s not just it being your…” I broke off and Simon stiffened as someone’s shrill yell echoed in the hall outside the door. The door to the basement bunkroom stayed shut but I finished on a whisper, “You know. But he’s called a meeting. That’s why I woke you.”

  Every few weeks, whenever he didn’t return with another kid plucked from the chaos of the outside world, Peter called a meeting. They were meant to be gatherings of all the Lost Boys, a get-together to unite us. Most of the time, they descended into madness within the first five minutes since there were no rules.

  I hated them. I was always afraid something bad would happen. Something worse than the general mess that came from everyone doing whatever they wanted. What that was, I didn’t know, but I waited for it with bated breath the entire time. Every time.

  “Of course,” Simon groaned and detangled his legs from the blanket. He swung his bare feet over the edge and then brushed his dark hair off his forehead. “Ready, Cal?”

  I shook my head but stood up anyway. Simon jerked his head towards the door and I followed behind him reluctantly. When we stepped into the hallway, the shouting from earlier rang out louder, echoing off the torn wallpaper. The storm of footsteps through the stairwell was a low hum that intensified the closer we got. Like a herd of elephants or wild buffalos stampeding through a river. At least, that’s what I imagined it would sound like.

  “Wonder what it’s about,” Simon said, shoving open the stairwell door.

  Confetti punched us in the face. I spluttered, jerking back as pieces stuck to my lips and eyelashes. Someone cackled high and peeling. Simon sighed wearily and brushed the glittering residue out of his hair.

  “Hey, Joseph,” he said.

  I spat out a piece of confetti and arched a brow. Joseph grinned, waving the empty plastic cannon he’d assaulted us with. His wild red hair was messier than usual this morning and as dirty as the rest of him. He was seven years old and like the rest of that age group had decided showers were too much of a hassle.

  “Callie! Simon! Ha! I got you two good, didn’t I? Betcha didn’t even see me coming before BLAM!” He karate-chopped the air and threw his head back with a cackle.

  I wanted to tell him to take a shower, but I was afraid he’d go digging for a stink bomb to place in my sheets if I did. Instead, I shook my head and said, “Yup, you got us. Scared me to death.”

  Joseph grinned wide and gap-toothed, he’d lost another front tooth in the time I’d last seen him, and barreled down the stairs.

  “Come on! Peter found a whole buncha toys! From that abandoned store in the scary section.” Joseph’s voice bounced in time with the slapping of his bare feet against the steps. “Ya gotta hurry before all the good ones are gone!”

  “Kinda thought it was all scary,” Simon mumbled, but his lips were twitching.

  I laughed despite not wanting to and headed down the stairs. The Second Star Hotel was an old building from the time before the outside world had devolved into the messy and violent landscape that made the Hotel one of the only safe places, and the only place for children.

  It was drafty and beat-up, years of abu
se from kids was etched into every corner. I had done the same as Joseph and all the others that age. My art was slathered over the second story bathroom, nail polish and acrylic paint would forever stain the porcelain sinks. Simon had left his mark on a utility closet on the fourth floor. Every single item inside it was broken in increasingly erratic ways.

  The only room that had escaped that fate was the Cabinet Room.

  We only called it that because it was on the gold-plated plaque screwed to the wall. The younger ones had a hard time saying it, so its other name was Peter’s Place.

  Plush carpet stretched from wall to wall and the overhead lights looked opulent, though none of us had ever seen them lit. The lights dangled in glittering shards of glass. Tables with thick white cloth circled a small lifted stage where a thickly padded leather recliner sat right in the middle.

  When we stepped into the Cabinet Room, Peter was already there.