TwoSpells

by Mark Morrison

  “It’s not the same book you read?” Sarah asked.

  Grandpa shook his head, pushing the book further away.

  Sarah looked at it more closely. “What happened to the other book?”

  “We may as well finish what we started,” Grandma said. “The secret’s out now. We slipped the book back into place, we did. Was a scary book, ya’ know.”

  “Let’s wait till Mom gets home,” Sarah suggested. “And pray the Collectors don’t come back.”

  Grandma ignored her request and grabbed the book, quickly flipping it open to reveal more ancient text. “In the beginning, there were the Regulars and then there were us,” she read under her breath. She shut the book and latched it firmly. “Let’s be tendin’ ta’ the hall closet then.”

  Sarah’s jaw dropped. “But I thought you couldn’t re—”

  Grandma pressed a finger to her lips and shooed them down the hall. Jon trotted past them, pulled open the closet door and gasped. It was no ordinary closet. It was more like a full size room that had been converted for storage. Jon stepped in cautiously, carefully avoiding stacks of boxes and trinkets. The room contained the oddest collection of peculiarities, each with its own wondrous story.

  “I don’t get it,” Sarah said, pausing at the doorway. “How can this all-important book go missing for so long with all those powerful sorcerers looking for it? Couldn’t they just cast some kind of finding spell or something?”

  Grandma pressed a finger to her wrinkly lips. “That be ah’ fine question. It’s shrouded in a powerful invisibility cloak. The book can only be detected by pryin’ eyes when opened. Exposes the aura, ya’ see.”

  “Okay,” Sarah said with a nod. “We shouldn’t open it then.”

  As Sarah and Jon stepped into the closet, Grandma and Grandpa stood back and smiled. They wandered through the rows of objects, begging for stories about each one. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the closet, laughing and listening to their grandparents explain how every one of the relics came into their possession.Some stories were chilling, even horrifying. Others were amusing and whimsical, but all of them were interesting.

  Jon noticed something reflective behind an old cedar trunk. He reached down, pushed the trunk aside and retrieved the object—a round mirror bejeweled with shimmering gemstones.

  “Wow! Check this out!” Jon said, holding it up. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the coolest of them all?”

  Grandpa snatched the mirror from his hand, quickly stashing it behind his back as he sprinted from the closet with it.

  Sarah looked to Grandma in shock. “What was that all about?”

  “Yeah?” Jon asked, rubbing his hand.

  Grandma frowned. “He’s ah’ wee bit superstitious is all.”

  The children could hear Grandpa talking to himself as he stumbled down the hall.

  “See, Jon!” Sarah said. “Mirrors!”

  Jon didn’t seem to care. He was already rummaging through another pile.

  Several minutes later, Grandpa returned empty handed. He acted as if nothing at all had happened. Grandma motioned to the children to not say a word.

  Sarah broke the silence. “So where’d you guys get all this stuff?”

  “I did ah’ bit of nickin’ ya’ might say. I’m not proud of it ya’ know,” Grandpa answered. “I plan ta’ return it all someday. Maybe.”

  “Really?” Jon asked, hefting an old sword and waving it dangerously close to his own face.

  “That’s another porker,” Grandma said, grabbing Jon’s arm. “He’s taken ah’ fancy ta’ this old junk. Spells junk with ah’ ‘Q’, ya’ know.”

  But before the kids could ask another question, a deafening knocking came from the direction of the makeshift front door that Clyde had erected.

  Grandpa spun around, touching his temple. “It’s them. I can feel it in me bones.”

  He prodded everyone out of the closet and then started to close the door. A large hatbox tumbled from the top shelf, hitting the floor and rolling past them into the hallway where it came to rest against the wall. The lid popped off and two hats tumbled out embroidered with red lettering.

  Sarah reached down and picked them up. “Nice hats. Seventh-sense Security…isn’t that what you were talking about before?”

  Grandpa and Grandma looked at one another with their mouths agape. Before they could answer, another barrage of knocks interrupted them.

  Grandpa grabbed the hats, tossed them into the closet and then shuffled everyone away from the door. He slammed it shut and reached above the door fumbling for something. He found a small key, locked the door quickly and jammed the key into his rear pants pocket.

  The knocking started again, louder this time.

  CHAPTER 14

  “IT’S THE COLLECTORS,” SARAH SAID under her breath.

  “I warned ya’, I did,” Grandma said, rolling her walker toward the door. “Ya’ opened that dodgy book.”

  “Uh oh!” Jon whispered. “The seventh-sense.”

  There was another thundering set of knocks. Plaster and dust discharged from the surrounding walls as they quaked, sprinkling the floor.

  “What are ya doin’, ol’ woman?” Grandpa asked.

  “Answerin’ the bloody door before those brutes knock it down again.”

  Grandma slid the makeshift lock aside and twisted the doorknob. The leaning door opened slowly with an obnoxious squeak. Standing before her were the same two Collectors, Thirty-seven and Thirty-eight, their arms folded and faces twisted into stern expressions.

  A huge hand unfurled before her. “Text please.”

  Grandma nearly leapt over her walker. “What text might that be?”

  “Not again, Ma’am,” Thirty-eight grunted, peering over the top of his sunglasses.

  “Don’t know if I can trust ya’ mate,” Grandma said. “I can’t see your eyes.”

  Both Collectors reached up and tilted their sunglasses above their brow. Grandpa and Grandma stumbled back a few paces. Their eyes were translucent with long black slits, leaving the inside of their skulls on complete display.

  “What—” Grandma stammered.

  “Put the glasses back mates. I can see your brain matter,” Grandpa spat.

  The Collectors dropped their shades back into place, drawing a huge sigh of relief from Grandma and Grandpa.

  Thirty-seven extended his palm again. “Text.”

  As Grandma stood her ground, Jon mouthed to Sarah that he was going to go get the book. Sarah watched as he retrieved it and slipped quietly out the backdoor. Meanwhile Grandpa inched his way in front of Grandma.

  “Ya’ had your way with us already,” Grandpa said, waving his walking stick in their faces. “Now ya’ leave us be.”

  Thirty-seven stepped back and made an odd waving gesture over his shoulder. The two Collectors stepped aside and a half dozen more stepped forward; Twenty-nine, Thirty, Thirty-one, Thirty-two, Thirty-three, and Thirty-four.

  “Won’t do easy way,” he grunted. “Now our way.”

  Thirty-seven gently nudged them aside. “Search premises,” he ordered. “Everywhere.”

  The Collectors charged in and began a thorough search, ripping and shredding everything in their path. They even began tearing up the floorboards. An hour later, after almost total destruction of the farmhouse, they reached the locked closet Grandma and Grandpa had conveniently been blocking.

  One of the Collectors pushed them aside, grabbed the doorknob and jiggled it.

  Grandpa looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, mate. I lost the key years ago.”

  The collector grinned and with a simple twist of his muscular wrist, snapped the doorknob off. Four of the muscular thugs rushed into the closet with large wheelbarrows, piling up the contents. Grandpa and Grandma clung to each other sobbing. Jon returned from outside, utterly confused at what he was seeing.

  “Where’s it at?” Grandpa whispered.

  Jon looked around, checking to see if any Coll
ectors might hear him. “In Clyde’s room.”

  Grandma, Grandpa and the kids went out onto the front porch. After the Collectors finished inside, they moved outside searching the surrounding yard. Tornado barked and snarled at any Collector who came even remotely close to Clyde’s room, keeping them at bay.

  “Has anyone seen Clyde?” Grandpa asked.

  “Not after the incident at breakfast,” Sarah replied. “And his truck’s gone.”

  “Why’d ya’ hide the book in Clyde’s place?” Grandma whispered.

  Jon looked down at his shoes. “We think he works for the other side.”

  “Ya’ think so?” Grandpa asked, scratching his head.

  “Yeah,” Sarah answered.

  “Hidin’ in plain sight,” Grandpa mumbled. “Dodgy.”

  The four of them stood helpless, watching as the Collectors completed their search.

  “The dirty Golems took me stuff,” Grandpa complained, pacing the front porch. “I worked hard nickin’ those baubles.”

  Grandma hugged Grandpa as he grieved. “I know ya’ fancied that old junk.”

  Every building had been meticulously dismantled with the exception of Clyde’s room. They’d loaded all of Grandpa’s collection, their trunks filled to capacity. The collectors loaded back into their four cars and sped off into the setting sun.

  CHAPTER 15

  SARAH AWOKE TO THE USUAL RUDE trumpeting of the farm’s roosters. Milky moon rays slipped around the few remaining clouds from the nights’ thunderstorm, pouring through her window. She rummaged through her broken dresser drawers, managing to find clothes that hadn’t been soiled with dust and debris. Once she’d gotten dressed, she headed to the kitchen. As she passed Jon’s bedroom, she paused and watched him scrounging around looking for something to wear. His room was a mess long before the Collectors had been through it and somehow it looked tidier. Jon was dressed in a hideously wrinkled pair of pants and a stained t-shirt. He reached down into a pile of clothes by his bed and pulled out a pair of rolled up socks. He sniffed them, shrugged and then put them on. Sarah cringed and headed to the kitchen.

  Grandma was sitting at the kitchen table, wiping tears from her eyes as she overlooked the chaos. A stack of crispy flapjacks and a squeeze bottle of maple syrup sat on the table. Coffee was brewing, strong and bitter. Jon sprinted past her, jumped into a chair, grabbed a plate and filled it before saying good morning to anyone. The sound of someone whistling drifted through the open backdoor.

  “Good morning, Grandma,” Sarah said, sitting down beside her and filling a plate.

  “Ah, fine mornin’ ta’ ya’ both,” Grandma said.

  “Hi, Grandma,” Jon said, pausing to pour syrup.

  “Enjoy it kids. We’ve ah’ wicked day planned.”

  “Chores?” Sarah asked.

  “Not today. We’re cyclin’ ta’ TwoSpells,” Grandma said. She stirred cream into her coffee.

  Jon and Sarah dropped their forks and smiled at each other before digging into their flapjacks as quickly as they could.

  “Are we really going?” Sarah asked, struggling to form the words around a mouthful of pancake. “What about this mess?”

  “Your grandfather and I decided not ta’ worry. Ya’ kids need ta’ see where ya’ come from.”

  “Awesome!” Sarah and Jon said together.

  “We’ll take the peddlers.”

  “Bicycles?” Sarah asked, scraping her plate clean. Jon was busy licking his.

  “Aye, three-wheelers,” Grandma replied.

  Grandpa entered through the backdoor and washed his hands in the sink. “The peddlers are ready.”

  Sarah and Jon finished, dropped their plates in the sink, chugged their mugs of coffee and sprang to the kitchen window. They grimaced when they saw the three-wheelers.

  Jon groaned. “Ugh, tricycles for old far—er, people.”

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Sarah said.

  The four of them made their way outside to the peddlers. Jon hopped onto the largest one and started making motorcycle noises as he clutched the handlebars.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Hey Grandpa, there’s only three bikes.”

  “Aye, Granny rides in the cargo,” Grandpa said, adjusting an oversized pillow in the rear basket. “She can’t peddle. Her wee legs is struck with arthritis.”

  The kids waited patiently as Grandma and Grandpa readied themselves, checking out the features on the peddlers, honking the horns and testing the rusty lights.

  And off they went, leaving Tornado whining and yelping as they peddled down the driveway. It was daybreak and the sun was still fighting to break through the dense fog that had settled over the farm.

  “TwoSpells or bust!” Sarah cheered.

  The morning was chilly and the three of them peddled briskly, trying to warm up. As they made their way off the farm and through the surrounding foothills, a terrifying clamor erupted from a cluster of pine trees beside them. The trees parted and a grotesque childlike creature peeked its bald head through. It laughed and pointed at them as they passed by.

  Sarah nervously sped up, but Grandpa braked hard. “Pull over kids!” he shouted.

  They listened. Grandpa reached into his coat and withdrew a long wooden rod and made a swatting motion toward the creature.

  Grandma frowned and sank into the three wheeler’s basket. “Ya’ always take him so personally, Pappy.”

  “Enough is enough, Ogre,” Grandpa grumbled, swishing the stick through the air. “Make this big baby cry!”

  Grandpa casually pocketed the rod, sighing proudly. Nothing happened. The Ogre laughed harder and slapped its knee. Jon and Sarah giggled at the strange sight.

  Then, a bizarre sound began echoing through the woods. The monstrous pines began to shake and quiver. The Ogre stopped laughing and backed nervously into the woods. Several trees shook violently, uprooted completely and started swatting at the Ogre. Grandpa snickered as the Ogre cried out in pain, trouncing off across the foothills weeping. They peddled on, but for the next mile they could still make out his cries for mercy.

  A short while later, a shadowy figure plodded along beside them on all fours in the mist. This time Grandpa ignored the creature. Sarah and Jon did the same. Nobody dared say a word. A few hundred yards or so later it peeled away, disappearing into the foothills. Moments later, an eerie howling filled the still air sending gooseflesh up Sarah’s arms.

  “Grandpa,” Sarah said, panting as she struggled to keep up with him. “What was that?”

  “Just a poor lost soul,” Grandpa said. “Best ta’ leave him be.”

  Sarah and Jon shrugged it off and kept peddling. Sinister gray clouds hovered over the immense crater in the distance. Rain poured down on the western side of the mountain, creating a rainbow across the early morning sky.

  TwoSpells was further from the road than Sarah remembered. It seemed like miles and miles. The towering iron gates glistened with morning dew and hung open wide as if waiting for their arrival. Grandpa and Grandma looked worried as they came to a stop in front of the entrance sign.

  “Are they going to let us in?” Sarah asked.

  “Blimey! Why wouldn’t they?” Grandpa said, short of breath. His face was red and he was wheezing heavily.

  Sarah pointed at the members only sign. “That’s why.”

  “We be card carryin’ members,” Grandma said.

  “Grandpa, are you going to be able to get up this hill?” Jon asked.

  Grandpa breathed deeply. “I was worried about ya’ wee ones.”

  The kids silently nodded to each other, then jumped off their peddlers to give Grandpa a push.

  “What are ya’ doin?” Grandpa protested. “I’m still breathin’ ain’t I?”

  Granny smiled with pride. “They’re helpin’ ya’ out ya’ ol’ grouch.”

  “Yeah, Grandpa. It’s a long way up the hill,” Sarah said, looking upward.

  “I’m not bloody dead, ya’ know,” Grandpa spat, shaking his wal
king stick and retrieving his wand.

  “Stand back!” Grandma whispered. “The old lion has ah’ few tricks left for sure.”

  The kids watched in amusement as Grandpa pressed his lips to his wand and whispered. He began making peculiar gestures with the wand, seeming to be conjuring up something. After a few minutes, he grew weary, his arms sagging to his sides, sweating and panting. But nothing happened.

  Flustered and angered, Grandpa inhaled deeply and began waving his wand more vigorously, a steady stream of sweat running down his forehead. Grandma grasped Grandpa’s free hand and squeezed, a soft glow emanating from her own. She slipped a hand into her cloak and drew out her own wand, but Grandpa didn’t notice. She waved it slowly, mumbling words that Sarah didn’t understand. Suddenly, the rear wheels of the peddler began to spin and twirl wildly into a flowing white mist.

  As the smoke slowly dissipated, it exposed a miraculous transformation. The wheels had become something very different.

  “Awesome!” Jon cheered. “Hamster power!”

  “Wow!” Sarah exclaimed. “This is amazing!”

  “Well before ya’ get left behind,” Grandpa grinned, jamming his wand into his waistband. “Saddle up.”

  Grandpa wiped the sweat from his brow and waved his walking stick in the air. “Mush!”

  The tiny hamsters began to run with all their might. The three-wheelers lurched forward, nearly tossing them out of their seats.

  Grandpa looked back at Grandma, smiled and winked. “Yep. I still got it.”

  Grandma grinned and patted him on the back. “Ya’ sure do old man.”

  It didn't take long to reach the summit where TwoSpells awaited them. A long line of strange looking people were waiting before the two massive gates at the entrance. It was an eclectic parade with some on foot and some riding peculiar vehicles.

  Dozens of eager patrons formed two lines going in and two lines going out. There were characters of all ages and sizes—some ancient, some young, some big, some little, some strange and some even stranger. Sarah suddenly felt very out of place and vulnerable.