Unhappily Ever After: Fairy Tales With a Twist

by Anchor Group Publishing

  Now, incredibly, her writing dream is also coming true. Her first novel, Dragon Wars, is being published by Anchor Group. Emily feels sincerely blessed to have been given so much in life and can’t wait to start the next chapter.

  Currently, Emily has a newly released middle grade novel, Dragon Wars, available wherever fine books are sold. If you enjoyed this short, please be sure to check out her other work.

  The Devil’s Belt

  by Leah D.W.

  Sitting down on the hard floor of the home she shared with her father, Sybil watched him take out various potions and ingredients for the incantation. A chalk drawing of a pentagram was drawn onto the wooden floor of their living room, all furniture moved aside against the walls to make room for the summoning.

  She watched without much concern as her father poured a strange smelling red liquid in the middle of the drawing and started chanting something in an even stranger language. She didn’t know much about witchcraft but she was learning. Her father wanted her to become as powerful as he was so that they could combine their powers and defeat their enemies.

  Sybil didn’t really have any enemies. She was popular among the other village girls and the boys considered her very beautiful, so she was never lonely like her father was. She still didn’t know what had happened to her mother, but whenever she asked her father about her he would change the subject and force her to study more magic. Maybe that was why, at that moment, she felt no love for the man in front of her.

  She didn’t want to be a witch. She just wanted to be a normal person that would one day marry and have a family of her own; a family that would never meet her witch father.

  Sybil turned back to what was happening in their home and saw a thick fog rising from between the floorboards in the pentagram drawing.

  Her father had hair as dark as the night and it began to stick to his scalp from sweating. That always confused her. He wanted to be a powerful witch, but whenever he performed a spell he would become nervous and panic. Perhaps he was afraid of what might happen.

  The fog in the drawing grew blood red and filled the rest of the room. Sybil blinked away tears as the fog burnt her sensitive eyes. The smell of burning flesh stung the back of her throat, making her cough, but she didn’t allow herself to utter a sound. Her father hated it when she interrupted him when he was trying to summon a demon.

  He has tried this summoning before, but without success. Either he was doing it wrong or the demon found him not powerful enough to truly call him to the world of the living.

  Sybil wasn’t afraid of a demon. She was powerful and trained enough to defend herself, but only herself. She wondered what her father would do if the demon attacked him.

  The chanting stopped and her father picked up a thick stick from the ash wood tree that stood behind their house. He raised the stick and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  Leaning forward a bit, she waited for the final process of the summoning. Her father had to stab the stick into his arm and draw blood, spilling it onto the edges of the pentagram, as bait for the demon.

  But he didn’t do that. Sybil frowned as he threw the stick to the far corner of the pentagram and dropped to his knees. Sitting back, she pressed her lips into a tight line. He has failed again. He was too afraid to summon a demon. Coward.

  She was about to stand and go outside for some fresh air, when the fog swirled back into the drawing and created a tiny tornado.

  She and her father watched as the tornado spun faster and faster, until a dark shape started forming in the center of it. It was dark and blurry, but after a few minutes Sybil could make out a long, withering thing. A snake perhaps? Did demons come to the world of humans in the forms of animals so as not to scare the witches off?

  She glanced toward her father and saw him smiling. He had planned this to happen. She was surprised. She turned back to the shape and watched the tornado evaporate, completely disappearing from sight, and in its place lay a furry belt in the middle of the chalk drawing.

  Standing up, she approached her father, who picked up the belt and stared at it in awe. “Father?”

  He looked at her and his smile grew. “Sybil, do you know what this is?” he asked, showing her the black belt.

  She frowned. “A belt?”

  Her father laughed and went back to staring at the object. He caressed it with his fingertips, gently touching the fur on the leather as if it were the skin of a lover.

  “This, my dear, is the Devil’s belt,” he explained.

  She didn’t say anything. She knew her father would explain everything once he got over the excitement. Walking into the living room, he placed the belt onto the polished wood of the table, never keeping his hands from it for too long.

  “The Devil’s belt will give its wearer incredible power,” he told her. “It can transform anyone from man to beast, from a pitiful human to a fearsome animal that has the power to destroy anything and anyone in its way.”

  Sybil could feel a strong, magical aura around the belt; it was intoxicating, like being in a field of flowers. However, the image of beautiful flowers was replaced by the sight of death and ash. Sybil looked away from the thing. It was powerful, but she dared not touch it.

  “I have to go,” her father suddenly said, grabbing the belt and heading for the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, hands gripping her dress.

  “Out,” he replied and was gone.

  Sybil was busy cleaning the kitchen after having dinner alone when her father returned. He had a huge smile on his pale face and the belt hung loosely in his hand.

  “Hello, Father,” she said and went to get him something to eat.

  “None for me, Sybil,” he said when he saw her reaching for the bread. “I am stuffed.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “You went out for dinner?”

  She knew her father wasn’t all that popular amongst the village people, and she was his only company when they went out. Who ate with him then? A lady friend that could become her new mother? Or perhaps his fight with some of the men in the village was finally forgotten and they were all friends again?

  “Yes,” he said and chuckled deeply.

  She didn’t ask anything else. It was pointless. Instead, she turned back to washing already clean dishes and sweeping the floor. She glanced at her father and saw him stroking the belt again. What was it about the belt that made him like it so much when the thing made her feel uncomfortable?

  She wasn’t about to ask him. She left him to being with his precious belt while she kept herself busy until deciding to go to bed. Unfortunately, she couldn’t sleep that night.

  She could hear her father still in the kitchen, whispering to the belt and no doubt still caressing it. Perhaps she should be concerned about him.

  No, she decided. He has been doing witchcraft since he was a little boy. He would be all right, even if he acted strangely because of that Devil’s belt.

  The next morning she couldn’t find her father anywhere in the house. He must have gone out to buy more bread, but they still had a whole loaf in the pantry.

  She was reaching for the door when it opened and in came her father. He was laughing loudly, face blood red and eyes streaming with tears.

  “Father,” she said, searching for the belt and finding it tucked into his pants.

  “My daughter,” he said, pressing her tightly against him. “I have never been so happy.”

  “Father, you are hurting me,” she said, struggling to get out of his bear hug.

  “Sorry, my dear,” he chuckled, “but I have had a wonderful morning.”

  “How so, Father?”

  He pulled the belt out and gripped it tightly.

  “This thing works!” he said, blue eyes gleaming. “It has helped me to destroy my enemies.”

  “What?” she stepped back from him. “What do you mean destroy?”

  “Killed!” He walked past her and sat down in his favorite armchair.

  “You ha
ve killed your enemies?” she frowned, closing the door so no one walking by could hear them.

  “Exactly!” He giggled. “When I put the belt on, I transform, my daughter.”

  She looked at him and finally noticed how pale his skin really was, and the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.

  “I became this terrible monster and killed them all!” He jumped up and hugged Sybil again.

  “Father, you are not well.” She pushed him away and sat him down again. “You should stop using that belt. It will kill you.”

  “Nonsense!” He held the belt tightly against his chest. “It makes me powerful.”

  She didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t thinking straight, but maybe some sleep would help him.

  “How about I make you some warm milk and then you can go take a long nap, Father.” She smiled at him gently.

  “I can’t sleep now!” He stood up, knocking her onto her backside. “I must do it again!”

  “Father, you haven’t slept since last night.”

  “I feel fine.” He smiled at her and left.

  Sybil stared at the door hanging open from her father’s departure. She knew he wasn’t really fine, but what could she do? She would just have to wait and see what happened.

  Turning away from the open door, she sat down. It was quiet in the house, but in the distance she could hear some animal calling out. She listened to it and recognized the howl of a wolf.

  That night, Sybil was kneading dough for a pie when her father burst through the door.

  “Sybil,” he said, collapsing on to the floor.

  “Father!”

  She forgot about the dough and went to his side. The belt lay next to him and he was clutching something against his chest.

  “Bloody hunters,” he whispered.

  “What happened to you?” she asked, eyeing the blood on his clothes.

  “The hunters came after me. One managed to get me.” He showed her his hand.

  Sybil gasped when she saw that it was missing. His entire left hand was just gone, a bleeding stump of flesh with only frayed skin left in its place.

  She hurried into the kitchen, and came back with a bowl of hot water and a towel. She wrapped the towel around the stump, wincing when her father uttered a whimper like a dog, and poured the water over his arm to get rid of most of the blood caking on his skin.

  “It’s that belt’s fault,” she said to him.

  He sighed. “No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have killed that baby when I knew the father was a hunter.”

  Sybil ignored what he had just said as she pressed down onto the towel to slow the bleeding. If she thought too much about what he had just admitted then she might just become sick.

  After using another two towels the bleeding stopped, forming a thick crust over the stump.

  “You need a healer,” she told him.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said and drank a glass of water.

  Sybil watched her father with concern, but he ignored her attempts to save him from that belt. Then, he left.

  That night, her father never came home. She stared out the window, waiting to see him walking up to the cottage. By the time the sky became as black as coal and no stars smiled down on them, she went out of the cottage to the edge of the hilltop, looking for him up there. She saw him in the village and her mouth opened in surprise at what she saw.

  Sybil watched in shock and anger as the villagers, with their flaming torches and sharpened pitchforks, dragged her father through the muddy streets towards the center of the village. A cold breeze ruffled her snow white hair but she ignored it, her mind only on the scene before her.

  She stood atop a small hill that overlooked the village, covered in shadows from the night, but she didn’t care if anyone saw her watching.

  Her father wasn’t even struggling to save his life as the men tied thick ropes around his wrists and ankles. Sybil wet her lips and her anger grew.

  The men got out four horses and tied the other ends of the ropes onto their saddles. She knew what was to happen next. She turned away from the scene just as they let the horses run in their separate directions and the scream of her father echoed in the chill air.

  She walked down the hill, bare feet falling onto dew wet grass, the torn hem of her white dress collecting dirt. She had to find the belt before the villagers came knocking at her door and decide to kill her as well.

  She could have used magic to save her father; a simple spell or two would have wiped the memories of the men, or she could have just killed them all. Unfortunately, she was frozen in place from what she had seen.

  Sybil had just lost her father. He had been the one to raise her, to feed her and dress her. She had felt no love toward the man, but seeing the villagers treat him like an animal stirred something dark inside of her. He was the one that had planned on making her a witch, but she refused him every time. He had ignored her, of course, teaching her magic and showing her how to summon a demon and make it grant his every wish.

  She knew that something bad was going to happen, especially when he got that damned belt, and now she felt the fear for her own life. Just like that, her mind snapped, and she began to be what her father always wanted her to be. She changed on that hilltop and the dark magic from her father clung onto her.

  Shaking her head, Sybil went into her cottage and closed the door. Her father had been a fool. He should have attacked the men in the village, that way they wouldn’t have hunted him down and discovered that the old man living near them was a warlock with the power of the Devil himself in the palm of his hand.

  Sybil went into the living area of the cottage she used to share with her father and saw the pentagram still drawn on the wooden floorboards. It had taken her father three nights to draw that symbol. Some might think it easy to draw a demonic sign in chalk to summon a demon, but it took a lot to complete the task.

  She remembered watching her father draw the symbols. He would sweat and shiver as he led the chalk over the wood, his lips whispering ancient spells to seal the drawing and give it power. Sybil stood over the pentagram and felt no more fear for it.

  She wasn’t a little girl any more. She was alone now, and the only thing left to do was to avenge the death of her father. She wasn’t fond of the old man with the bloodshot eyes, but no magical being deserved to die being torn to pieces by horses.

  She would have to find the magic belt and use its power to destroy her father’s killers. Revenge coiled around in her mind like acid. She fell down onto her knees and held her hands above the symbol. Chanting in a gentle whisper, she let her anger flow through her body and channeled it into the symbol.

  Her magic combined with her need for blood to be spilt, making it almost too easy for her to use what was left of her father’s work to locate the belt.

  The symbol glowed and an ice cold breeze burst through the wooden cottage. She tried not to shiver as the air froze in her lungs and lights flashed before her eyes. She stopped chanting and watched the images that flowed through her mind; the last of what her father saw before he was captured and killed.

  She saw him running through the dark forest that surrounded their tiny village; panting and grunting like some kind of wild animal. Her heart was racing as she watched her father jump over a fallen log and crash into a hunter. The man was screaming as her father sank his teeth into the man’s leg and pulled off a chunk of his flesh. Warm blood ran down his throat and Sybil almost choked as she felt the coppery tang in her own mouth.

  Her father killed the hunter, but he was so distracted by the kill that he didn’t notice the others. The men captured him with a net and stabbed at him with sharpened poles. Sybil winced at the pain that erupted through her ribcage and legs. She bit her lower lip, but continued to watch.

  One man, the leader of their village, raised his pitchfork and tore into the flesh of her father, breaking the spell of the belt. Her father surrendered, but not before tossing the magical item into the shadows as the men drag
ged him off to be executed.

  Breaking the link, Sybil stared at the walls of her home. The belt was in the forest and she had to find it in order to protect herself and gain the revenge she craved so desperately.

  She wasted no time. Flinging a wool cloak of deep red around her shoulders, she left the cottage.

  She could still hear the men shouting about her father’s dark magic and, hear her own name being mentioned. She hurried into the forest. It was pitch black out there and her bare feet ached from the cold that seeped into her body from the ground.

  Following the trail her father had taken, she quickly found the fallen log he had jumped over. She climbed over it, the rough bark biting into her hands, and she fell on the other side with a thud.

  Footsteps were following her. She crouched down in the dirt and dead leaves, using the shadows to hide herself. She wanted to use her magic to draw them away, but she couldn’t afford using anymore tonight without her losing another year on her life.

  Sybil knew she was only thirteen years old, but because of using magic that drained her life force she looked at least twenty. Her father had looked in his sixties even though he had only been thirty-two.

  She could hear people in the forest, searching and talking, their torch lights visible through the darkness of the night. Sybil quickly got up without brushing the dirt from her cloak and searched for the belt.

  She couldn’t see anything in front of her, so she relied on touch. Her hands moved around the ground where she suspected the belt had been thrown. Her nails chipped off of sharp rocks and she lost some skin grazing a bush of thorns.

  She searched frantically, not even feeling the pain from her damaged hands. She could practically feel the eyes of the hunters on her back, running towards her to kill her as well.

  Her hands brushed fur and her heart jumped. She grabbed onto it and lifted it up.