TwoSpells

by Mark Morrison

KEEP OWT

  EMPLOYEEZ ONLY

  BEWARE A SERIUSLY BAD DOG

  The last one was missing part of the ‘G’ and there were bite and claw marks along the edges. Sarah shivered.

  Tornado sat plopped against a sandy trench in front of Clyde’s door. He was covered in mud and had a single crooked tooth that stuck out as he snored. As the kids approached, one of his eyes opened and he began to growl.

  “We’ll have to get past that stupid mutt if we want the key,” Jon told Sarah. “Any ideas?”

  “You know the key isn’t in his room, stupid,” Sarah said. “It’s in his hollow leg.”

  Jon blushed. “I knew that. We’re just doing recon.”

  “Maybe he’ll like us if we feed him something,” she suggested. “You know, like those tea biscuits Grandma has in her cupboard.”

  Jon raised an eyebrow. “Does he look like the kind of dog that enjoys a spot of tea?”

  “He looks like the kind of dog that’ll eat anything—including us—if we get too close,” Sarah said. She swallowed hard. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but we can try.”

  Sarah and Jon sprinted toward the farmhouse and burst through the back door. Inside they found Grandpa dozing in his easy chair with a newspaper draped over his face.

  Jon shook him lightly and Sarah peeled away the paper. “Grandpa, are there any of those tea biscuits left?”

  Grandpa awoke, startled. “Oh—ah—I’m sorry, lassie—what?”

  “Tea biscuits,” Sarah repeated. “Are there any left?”

  “Heavens no. Finished them off me self, I did.”

  Jon groaned. “Now what?”

  Grandpa pretended to read his paper. “If’n you’re tryin’ ta’ curry favor with that nasty old watch dog, ya’ might fetch ah’ jar of Grandma’s sweet pickles. He fancies them.”

  Sarah took a step back, stunned. How did he know what they were doing?

  “I’m not blind and deaf, ya’ know,” Grandpa said with a smirk. “I asked for two jars, didn’t I?”

  Sarah grabbed a jar off of the counter and bolted towards the backdoor. “Thanks Grandpa, you’re the best!”

  “His name’s Tornado for ah’ reason!” Grandpa called after her. “And Abaddon means Hell!”

  Sarah paused. Jon tugged at her arm. “He’s just messing with us. Let’s go!”

  Jon was the first one out the door. Sarah followed close behind, clutching the pickle jar. They stopped just out of reach of Tornado’s chain and Sarah passed the jar to Jon. The dog’s lips peeled back, baring his long yellow teeth. He snarled a deep throaty growl and slowly stood up. He stretched and started to pace back and forth in front of Clyde’s shack.

  “Give him a pickle,” Sarah whispered, wrinkling her nose as the pungent odor of the dog washed over them.

  Jon took a step back, wrestling with the lid. “Why me?”

  “Oh, forget it,” Sarah spat. She snatched the jar back and twisted hard, the lid making a loud popping sound as it opened.

  “I loosened it,” Jon muttered. He pulled the jar back and reached in, flinching slightly at the sour smell of the vinegar. He pulled a pickle out and noticed that Tornado's tail immediately started wagging. Jon slowly made his way toward the dog, careful not to step in the sandy trench and put himself within reach. Tornado whimpered and began sniffing the air intently. His tail began to wag excitedly as he panted.

  “You like that, boy?” Jon asked, holding the pickle at arms length. “It’s for you.”

  Jon took a small bite, smiled and glanced at Sarah. Tornado whimpered louder and lowered his head, rocking it back and forth. He suddenly sat down and began pawing at the air.

  “Grandpa was right,” Jon said.

  “Give it to him,” Sarah told him, looking back at the kitchen window.

  Grandpa was watching them, waving and smiling. Jon tossed the pickle directly into Tornado’s mouth and he chomped it down with a loud gulp. He burped, rolled over and whined for more.

  Jon inched closer, reaching into the jar again. Tornado rolled back over and softly took the pickle from Jon’s hand and whined innocently. Jon squatted down and let him lick his face.

  “Come on Sarah,” Jon said, handing her the jar. “He’s happy now. Give him one.”

  Sarah took the jar and crept toward the cowering dog. She slowly reached out with a trembling hand. Tornado gently took the pickle, lowered his head and dropped it at Sarah’s feet.

  “He wants you to have it,” Jon said with a laugh.

  Sarah cringed. “Ew!”

  “Hurry!” Jon added. “Five second rule!”

  “Stop being gross,” Sarah said, picking up the saliva covered pickle with two fingers. “Here, boy. Eat it.”

  Tornado munched down the pickle as Sarah wiped the slobber from her hand.

  “We’re in now,” Jon whispered, taking the jar back. “We better save some for later.”

  Sarah heard a faint rumbling. She looked across the farmyard and saw Clyde’s truck coming down the dusty road.

  “Uh oh,” Jon said. He gave Tornado a pat and another pickle before grabbing Sarah by the arm. “We need to get out of here!”

  As the kids burst into the kitchen, they spotted Grandma and Grandpa waiting casually and sipping tea. Grandpa mumbled something as he peered down at his cup. Sarah accidentally let the backdoor slam shut, startling Grandpa who then spilled hot tea on himself.

  “Bloody—” Grandpa spat and shook his head.

  Grandma frowned and turned to Jon and Sarah. “How’d that go, kids?”

  “Fine,” Sarah replied, ushering Jon towards her room. “Thanks Grandpa for the cool idea.”

  He gave a sad half-smile and wiped tea from his hands. “Huh? What idea?”

  Sarah looked to Grandma. She smiled, grasping Grandpa’s trembling hand and patiently wiped the tea off of him. “Nothin’ love, nothin’ at all.”

  Jon and Sarah headed down the hall to Sarah’s bedroom. When they got inside, she shut and locked the door.

  “What do we do now?” Sarah asked, falling into her bed.

  “We get that leg,” Jon replied. He peered out the window toward Clyde’s shack. “We just need to wait till he falls asleep.”

  Sarah joined Jon at the window and watched as Clyde got out of his truck clutching a small brown bag. He bent down to Tornado and made a disgusted face as the dog licked him. He spun toward the farm house and looked directly at Sarah in the window.

  She fell to her knees beneath the window. “Jon. He knows about the pickles!”

  “Maybe,” Jon said, his back to the wall beside her. “But he has to sleep eventually.”

  The night crept over the farm like a cat on the prowl. Before the children knew it, brown bats darted through the air on the hunt for a meal and lightning bugs swirled about the yard. They heard a man singing off key and playing some kind of wheezing, moaning musical instrument that sounded like a tomcat having an asthma attack. He stumbled and slurred through an old folk tune. It drifted off slowly.

  It was Clyde.

  “Do you have the pickles?” Sarah asked, crouching behind a shrub beside Jon.

  “Yeah.”

  “And the extra flashlight?”

  “Of course,” he replied, handing it over to her.

  Clyde had been silent for a while now. He must have fallen asleep. The children made their way toward his shack, creeping along in the brush.

  Tornado was posted in his usual spot under the eave of the building. He sniffed the air and growled as they inched close. Once he caught sight of them, he raised his nose into the air and wagged his tail so fiercely that his whole body shook.

  “Here boy! Here boy!” Sarah whispered, reaching out a hand. “We got a treat for you.”

  Jon stopped just out of Tornado’s reach and drew a juicy pickle from the jar.

  “Sit boy,” Jon ordered, holding it above his head.

  Tornado obeyed. He sat down proudly and pawed at the air. Jon gingerly put the dripping pickle in
the dog’s mouth. He crunched loudly, gobbling it down in two swift chomps. Then he laid down, rolled over and whined for more. Jon grabbed another and plopped it into his hungry jaws.

  As Tornado ate, Sarah touched Jon’s arm. “That’s enough for now. Save some for later.”

  “Do you suppose Clyde’s asleep or just passed out?” Jon asked.

  “Let’s hope passed out,” Sarah said, pushing Jon forward. “Go in and find out. You’re the bravest one, remember?”

  “Yeah. I’m beginning to regret saying that,” Jon whispered back. He set down the jar and slowly turned the knob on Clyde’s door. It opened. “It’s not locked.”

  Before going in, Jon pressed his ear to the door and tried to hear if Clyde were sleeping or not. He started to enter, but stopped abruptly.

  “Wait. I hear something,” Jon whispered, tilting his head sideways and listening more closely. “It sounds like—oh, it’s just snoring.”

  He tugged on the door and it squeaked open eerily. He paused, listening to hear if the noise had woken Clyde. Jon took the pickle jar and poured a small amount of the juice on the hinges to quiet them. He looked to Sarah. “Pretty smart, huh?”

  Sarah held back a smile. “I guess so.”

  The two of them entered slowly. Clyde’s shack smelled musty and stale, like bad body odor. Sarah thought she caught a whiff of alcohol as well. Behind them, Tornado lapped at the door hinges happily.

  “Do you think he’ll wake up if we turn on the flashlight?” Jon whispered. “So far it seems like he’s out cold.”

  Sarah flicked on the flashlight and aimed it at the floor, waiting to see if Clyde woke up. He kept snoring. She lifted the flashlight a bit and moved it around the room. Clyde was laying face down on his bed in his dirty work clothes, his arms and leg draped over the sides. An empty bottle lay on its side nearby.

  Sarah moved the beam of light across the wall beside the bed and was amazed at what she saw. Dozens of wooden legs of all kinds sat on shelves, each uniquely carved. Jon signaled for Sarah to keep an eye on Clyde while he began his search for the key.

  “Ya’ there ya’ filthy bugger?” came a growl from the bed. “I can smell ya’.”

  Sarah and Jon froze.

  “Ya’ can’t hide from me forever. I’ll find ya’. I’ll find ya’ and kill ya’.”

  Sarah felt her stomach do a flip. Jon held one of Clyde’s legs in his hands, turning it over to find the secret compartment.

  “I’ll kill ya’ for takin’ me kids, beast. I swear it,” Clyde growled and rolled onto his side. “I swear on me life.”

  “He’s still asleep,” Sarah mouthed to Jon, pointing at Clyde. “Keep looking.”

  Jon pulled down another leg and searched through it. Still no luck.

  Clyde sat straight up in bed. “Ya’ found me babes. Now find me harpoon!”

  Sarah joined Jon, pulling down a leg of her own to look through. She set it back on the shelf, but it slipped and tumbled sideways.

  Down they went, knocking against one another loudly and crashing to the floor. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and crouched low as she waited for Clyde to wake up.

  “I’ll skin ya’ fin to tail ya’ filthy devil!” Clyde roared.

  Sarah swept the floor with her flashlight and noticed something small glinting beneath one of the fallen legs.

  “I’ve got it!” Sarah whispered to Jon. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

  After carefully setting the legs back on the shelves, she snatched up the key and took Jon by the hand, leading him out. Tornado was still lapping at the pickled hinges. The two of them crept by, careful not to disturb the dog on the way out.

  “We’ll try the key in the morning,” Sarah said, as they stepped out into the cool night air.

  “No way! Let’s do it right now” Jon argued. “If he wakes up and sees that mess he’ll go change the lock or something. We’re going now.”

  Jon drew another pickle from the jar and tossed it toward Tornado’s dog house before leading the way toward the root cellar.

  CHAPTER 10

  HEAT LIGHTNING PULSED ACROSS the night sky as they raced around the farmhouse toward the cellar doors. Fog had drifted in—cold and wet—weaving through the farmyard like a serpent on the hunt. They reached the locked cellar and paused.

  “Come on, open it!” Sarah whispered.

  Jon’s hands shook with anticipation as he fumbled with the key. A tremendous burst of light and a loud crack of thunder startled him and he dropped the key. The sickening sound of metal tinkling off the cellar door echoed across the farmyard.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah hissed. “Stop fooling around!”

  “Sorry!” Jon whispered, dropping to his hands and knees to search for the key. “Give me some light, will you?”

  Sarah lowered the flashlight. After a few moments, Jon found the key and shoved it in his pocket. “L-l-let’s get out of here,” he whispered, getting back to his feet. “We’re gonna get caught.”

  “Calm down. You’re the one who said we had to do it tonight,” Sarah said, nudging him back toward the cellar doors. “Nobody heard a thing. Open it.”

  “Fine,” Jon said, desperately working the key, his hands quivering. “It won’t fit!”

  Sarah snatched the key from him. “Oh, please! I’ll do it myself.”

  She grabbed the lock, inserted the key and twisted hard. There was a loud click and the lock slid open. She removed it and carefully set it in the grass. They each pulled on a door and a rush of sweet, fruity air washed over them. Sarah reached for the flashlight and flicked it on, but nothing happened.

  “Oh, crap,” she muttered, shaking the flashlight. “I think the batteries are dead.”

  Jon took her by the hand, leading her carefully down the slippery steps. “I can't see a thing—oof—” He lost his footing on the second to last step. “Damn it!”

  “Quit fooling around,” Sarah said, feeling along the wall. She felt a small switch. “Oh wait—”

  Sarah flipped it. Soft light glowed from a dull, yellow bulb that dangled from the rafters in the small basement. Within seconds, a flurry of flying insects surrounded the light.

  “Awesome!” Jon whispered. He studied the rows and rows of shelves stacked with glass jars of various sizes and shapes. “Do you think any of these have frog or bat parts for casting spells?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Sarah replied, looking closer. “They’re just fruits and vegetables. Start looking, there’s something down here that Clyde’s hiding. Why else would he lock the cellar?”

  They both crept around, looking for anything peculiar. Sarah picked one particular jar off the shelf to examine closer. “Ick!” she squealed, stumbling backward into a shelf and knocking several jars over. They crashed to the hard stone floor, shattering and splattering their contents about.

  “Sarah!” Jon hissed. “Are you all right?”

  Sarah stood, petrified, pointing to something on the shelf. Jon looked, laughed out loud and then crept back up to the cellar doors, peering out to see if anyone had heard her yell. He snickered as he tiptoed back down the steps, slipping again on the very same step before returning to her side.

  “All clear,” Jon said, looking at a spider crawling across the shelf. “It’s a harmless Orb spider.”

  He reached out and picked it up, holding it out for her to see more clearly. “Grandpa showed me some of these. They’re indigenous.”

  “Well, he didn’t tell me and I don’t care what it is!” Sarah said, pushing his hand away. “Look at the mess it made.”

  “You’re blaming the poor little spider?” Jon asked with a laugh. He stepped over the broken glass, placing the spider back on a shelf. “Come on, Sis. Keep looking.”

  Sarah kicked most of the glass under the bottom shelf and attempted to rearrange the shelf. A small glint of light reflected off something behind the jars. She leaned closer and discovered a strange object, now partially exposed. “Jon! Come check this out!”


  “What is it?” Jon asked.

  “It looks—it looks like a book,” she whispered, drawing it from the shelf. She hefted it down into her arms. “Ugh.! It’s heavy!”

  She looked for a clean place to sit down and spied a small table off to one side of the cellar.

  Jon pored over the cover. “What do you think the title means?”

  “In Aurora TwoSpells,” she read aloud. “I don't know.”

  “Maybe it’s warlock!”

  “There’s no such thing as a warlock language, you idiot,” Sarah mumbled, pulling out her phone. “But I’ll know in a minute.”

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Googling it. What else?”

  After a few moments she had her answer. She drew a deep breath and swallowed hard. “It’s Latin for The Dawn of TwoSpells.”

  “Oh, cool!” Jon exclaimed. “So it’s full of spells and stuff?”

  Sarah frowned. “Isn’t this the book Grandma was telling us about? The one from the library?”

  “I guess,” Jon answered. “So what?”

  “Didn’t she say they stole it? What if we get in trouble for finding it?” Sarah asked. “Everyone’s been looking for this for a long time now.”

  “Yeah, like that guy Cato,” Jon added.

  “What should we do with it?” Sarah asked, pushing it away as if it burned her hands.

  “Don’t look at me!” Jon cried. “I don’t want that smelly old thing cursing me.”

  “Grandpa and Grandma read it and they’re just fine,” Sarah reasoned. “We should be okay.”

  Sarah examined the leather bound book. She touched the gold embossed lettering hesitantly, as if something might happen. A pair of porcelain eyes were embedded on the cover—one blue and one green. They seemed to follow her as she located a latch on the side.

  “Those eyes—” Jon said. “They’re like ours.”

  Sarah nodded slowly and brushed her fingers along the binding of the book. She released the latch and eased the book open slowly. The first page of ancient parchment was revealed, glowing a soft blue.

  At first, the page was blank, but as Sarah brushed her fingertips across it, text began to appear. It shimmered and flickered faintly—just enough to make out that it wasn’t written in any language she recognized, not that she knew all that much about foreign languages anyway.