The Elf Girl

by Grabo, Markelle

  Journey into the Realm: The Elf Girl

  Markelle Grabo

  Copyright © 2011 Markelle Grabo

  KINDLE ISBN: 9781614347866

  Hardcover ISBN: 9781609106621

  Paperback ISBN: 9781609106638

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  BookLocker.com, Inc., 2011, First Edition

  For Sofi and Aunt Kim, who taught me to believe in magic.

  I wouldn’t have been able to write this story without their inspiration.

  Prologue

  Everyone is different. No two babies are born alike. This fact can be explained scientifically, genetically; religiously….The possibilities are endless.

  “Hi, my name’s Ramsey,” I said, as I sat down on the school bus seat.

  The five-year-old boy beside me watched me intently for a few moments and then asked, “What’s wrong with your ears?”

  Sure, there are many explanations for why people are so different from one another, explanations that made sense.

  Could magic be classified as one of them?

  “What do you mean?” I asked, tugging self-consciously at my hair.

  “They’re all pointy and stuff,” he pointed out, scrunching his face as if he smelled some pungent odor.

  I didn’t think so; not for a very long time, at least.

  “So?” I challenged. “My mom says it’s because I’m unique.”

  “Nu-uh,” he bit back. “It’s because you’re weird.”

  “No, it’s not!” I cried, tears forming in my eyes.

  “Yes, it is!” the boy yelled, loud enough for everyone else on the bus to hear. “You’re like an elf!”

  I once lived in a small city in Wisconsin with my parents and sister, Dina, who was one year younger than I. My parents and sister loved and supported me, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the impact others had on me when they saw me for the first time.

  I lived a sheltered life before that first day of kindergarten. I didn’t realize what effect my ears had on others until a little boy my age pointed it out to me.

  “Elf Girl, Elf Girl!” he chanted. It wasn’t long before others chimed in as well.

  “Stop it!” I shouted. “Please! You’re not being very nice!”

  For fifteen years, everyone, including myself, knew I was different. The problem was that no one knew why. There were things about me that others just couldn’t explain or understand, and I had so many questions that couldn’t possibly be answered.

  “I can’t invite you to my birthday party, Ramsey,” Olivia, one of my classmates in middle school, told me the day before summer vacation.

  “Why not?” I asked, dreading her answer.

  “Because everyone would make fun of me for having someone like you at my party,” she said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Someone like me?”

  “It’s not that I think you’re weird. It’s just that others…well, others do, and I can’t afford to lose all my friends right before high school.” She patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. Have a good summer.”

  I took a deep breath, collecting myself, before walking out of the school alone.

  I never enjoyed watching T.V. or going to the mall with friends. Instead, I spent my time outdoors in the forest next to my home, the only wooded area for a good twenty miles. It was sort of a sanctuary, one that represented true beauty to me. I would run through the trees, feeling the wind splash against my face. I would sit there for hours, not speaking or moving, because I didn’t need to. It was the perfect place. The place I felt most like myself. The one place in the world where I didn’t feel constricted or confined, but instead felt free.

  “Hey, beautiful,” a boy I bumped into in the hallway said on my first day of high school.

  I smiled and tucked my hair behind my ears. His expression changed from interest to disgust.

  “Freak,” he muttered, before stalking away.

  Mom said I was like everyone else and that my looks had nothing to do with me, but I never believed her. What she said, unfortunately, never made any sense. I had already taken Biology, and I knew that the way a person looked didn’t happen by chance. Genetics were involved. By the looks of it, my parents did not have the genes for pale skin, straight blonde hair, green eyes, or pointy ears. I am not even sure if that last one was a possible genotype.

  No one ever said I was ugly growing up, unless of course they saw my ears. One look at the things on the side of my head, and people ran from me like Olympic sprinters. At first, it bothered me, and then I just got used to it.

  “She should just cut them off or something. For her, no ears would be better than what she has,” a girl snickered.

  “Totally,” her friend replied, checking her reflection in the mirror of the girl’s bathroom. “Or she should just move to the North Pole.”

  The two girls erupted into a bout of giggles.

  They never knew I was in the stall behind them.

  Yes, I was different. Why was I? I didn’t understand for a long time.

  One of the names others called me stuck throughout those first fifteen years, and it wasn’t simply because it was used against me so often. The name seemed important somehow, connected to me in some other way than as an insult.

  No, it was something more.

  That little boy on the bus was the first to utter the words.

  “Elf Girl! Elf Girl!” he cried.

  I put my hands over my pointy ears and realized I was far more different than I once believed.

  ~1~

  The Water

  “Ramsey, Dina, time for dinner!” Mom called one Sunday evening.

  On Sunday evenings, the family had to eat together, no exceptions. There were no friends, no work…nothing but good old quality time. This rule was easy for me to follow, because I had only one friend, but extremely painful for Dina. I think every time my mom said no to friends, my sister died a little inside. The thought was definitely an exaggeration, but to me it was the only remark that came close to describing her feelings.

  “Be right there, Mom!” I shouted back, knowing we had little time before she came up to bring us down herself. “Come on, Dina, it’s time for dinner.”

  “Okay, I’m almost finished deciding what to wear for tomorrow. Hey, should I go with the dark denim skirt or the light?”

  “Does it really matter?” I wondered, eager to get downstairs and avoid my mother’s wrath.

  “Of course it does, Ramsey!” With a dramatic sigh, she threw her skirts down on her bed. “I can’t believe that you are so fashion impaired.”

  “Sorry…” I shrugged.

  “Don’t worry about it. Not everyone can pick out clothes like I can,” she beamed, standing proud as if she would receive some kind of award for her talents.

  “You got that right,” I muttered.

  I didn’t hate clothes, but I rarely cared what I wore as long as it didn’t draw unwanted attention to myself. With the way I looked, the first thing someone noticed after observing the outfit I was wearing was my ears. So I usually kept my style very plain. My outfit often consisted of a pair of dark jeans, a colored t-shirt, and a zip-up sweatshirt. The sweatshirt always had to have a hood for when I was out of school or in public places. I didn’t want people staring at my freakish ears while I was out shopping. That would be beyond annoying...not to mention awkward.

  “Come on, girls, dinner is waitin
g!”

  “I’m finished. Let’s go and eat!” Dina decided finally.

  She ran past me and down the stairs. I followed her at a slower pace.

  “So how has school been going?” Dad asked, as we all sat down to eat. He was always the first to start the dinner conversation.

  “Um, it’s okay,” I muttered.

  Actually, going to school sucked, as it did for most people my age. I mean, who actually enjoyed spending their entire day shuffling through crowded hallways and listening to boring lectures? It was a little different for me, however. School was not only boring, but also a complete waste of time. It came so easy to me that I could barely stand it. The only challenge I got was in Gym class or Spanish, but even that was stretching it.

  “Honey, what happened? Are kids still making fun of your ears?” Mom asked, obviously very concerned.

  “No, Mom…that was grade school. I think people have gotten used to them by now,” I lied, because people actually still made fun of them. But I didn’t want to get my mother started.

  “Honey, remember what I told you, just because you are different…”

  “It doesn’t mean I’m not just like everyone else,” I interrupted, touching a hand to my forehead. “I know, Mom. You don’t have to explain it again.” I sighed and prayed for a new subject.

  Thankfully, the ringing of the front doorbell put an end to the less than lovely conversation.

  “Oh, that must be your grandmother. Hold that thought, Ramsey,” Mom said, and ran to get the door.

  Yeah right, I told myself. That was one thought I would rather have run away.

  Mom was right; at the door was Elizabeth Wilder, my grandmother. She had come every Sunday for dinner since Dina and I were both in diapers, without fail.

  “Hi, Mom! Come on in, we were just starting,” Mom instructed as my grandma stepped through the doorway.

  “Hi, dear, sorry I’m late,” she replied, giving her daughter a hug. “Ramsey, your mother was just telling me on the phone about how well you have been doing in school. It makes me very proud to call you my granddaughter.”

  As anyone could guess after a day in the life of me, I hated attention, even from my grandma, unfortunately. After years of receiving bad attention, the good wasn’t much different.

  “Thanks. Did Mom also mention that Dina made the Pom Squad?” I asked.

  Because I wasn’t fond of the spotlight, passing the attention to Dina helped a lot. It was always easy to get Dina going on about herself.

  “Yes, she did,” she remarked, graciously turning toward my sister. “I can’t wait to come and see your routines!”

  “Thanks! I’m so excited to start performing,” Dina said enthusiastically.

  As the rest of the family chatted on about Dina’s school life, I slowly picked through my food, unsatisfied with the way things were. Sure, I loved my family. But it seemed as though I was always reaching for something more, yet I could never grasp what I wanted. I yearned for a life away from this place. I wanted to be away from my boring school and away from this boring life. Nothing seemed to excite me anymore. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but I had a feeling there was more for me out there if I had enough strength to reach for it.

  I often imagined what life would be like in the books I read, like the fantasy novels, where fairies, dragons, and mermaids reigned; where power and confidence could be found in the heart’s of all, and not only in their dreams. That would be the life for me. It would be interesting, not mind-numbing like school, and I wouldn’t be the only one who appeared to be so unusual. I sighed and pushed my plate away, feeling foolish and immature, reminding myself that the books were only make-believe.

  They were just fantasies.

  ***

  “Well, girls, I think it’s time to say goodbye to Grandma and get ready for bed,” Mother said later that evening.

  “Your mother is right. Bye, dears,” Grandma said, giving us each a kiss goodnight.

  “Bye, Grandma!” we both replied.

  Once the door shut, Dina and I climbed the stairs to our rooms. It was late, and even though this meant homework time for Dina, we always retreated into our rooms after Sunday dinner. For Dina, it created the illusion that she was actually going to sleep, not rushing through her Biology work she put off all weekend. In my case, it was the perfect opportunity to spend some much-needed time alone, especially after a long day.

  I absolutely adored my room. It was painted forest green and decorated with flowers lining the ceiling. Mom had them painted on a few years earlier. They weren’t girly princess flowers, but rather very elegant and beautiful.

  My room had a simple layout. I had a wooden desk, a large dresser, a mirror, a queen-sized bed, and a bookshelf overflowing with books. It was rather unlike Dina’s room.

  Her walls were soft pinks and blues. She had a queen-sized bed like mine, but also a vanity for her makeup, a large walk-in closet, and another closet filled with all of her shoes. Her walls had posters of boy bands and movie stars. I never really liked going into her room. The word cluttered was a huge understatement.

  It wasn’t as if Dina was my parents’ favorite child. I was sure that if I wanted all the stuff she had, I would get it. However, what Dina had was simply not my taste.

  “Goodnight, girls,” Mom called to us from the hall.

  “Goodnight, Mom,” I replied, the first to respond. I guessed Dina was texting on her phone…again.

  “Goodnight, Mom!” Dina called, and I heard the beep of the OFF button on her cell phone.

  Nights were always the worst for me. Sleep rarely came until the wee hours, when the rest of my family was sound asleep. I couldn’t seem to make myself sleep for very long. I was awake until midnight and up at around four o’clock the next morning, without feeling one ounce of drowsiness.

  Usually, I snuck out and went for nighttime walks, but tonight rain was quickly developing into a storm. It wasn’t as if I disliked the rain; I just didn’t want my clothes getting wet. It was too risky to leave wet clothes in the hamper because my parents could figure out I snuck out of the house.

  I decided to read instead. An activity that was both quiet and productive. Staying up twiddling my thumbs wouldn’t be the best use of my spare time. I quietly slipped out from beneath my covers and lightly tiptoed across the wooden floor to the shelf. Another reason I loved my room was that the floorboards never squeaked.

  I scanned the shelf for something I hadn’t read, but found nothing. I remembered the last time I went to the bookstore. Two weeks ago, I had bought three books, and as usual, I read them right away. I had planned to go today but had totally forgotten. I looked at the clock on my dresser. It read ten p.m. The bookstore closed at eleven.

  Guess I’m going outside after all, I decided. I had nothing else to do, considering sleep was out of the question for at least a few more hours. I quickly threw on jeans and a large hooded sweatshirt over my pajama top, put on some tennis shoes, grabbed my phone and wallet, and headed down the stairs. I would just have to do my own laundry before anyone could notice how wet my clothes were.

  Remembering I had to lock the door, I picked up the key in the basket and stuffed it into the large pocket of my sweatshirt with my phone and wallet. The door opened easily and noiselessly. I never had trouble leaving the house.

  The bookstore was only three blocks from our subdivision, Forest Grove. The area held all two-story homes with perfectly groomed lawns the size of swimming pools. I was surprised some of the homes could even fit pools into their property. What I liked about it was the forest that surrounded us. Its tall trees and small ponds here and there made it the perfect place to spend my time.

  Luckily, sidewalks led the way to the bookstore. To have a car hit me would definitely not be good. I almost ran the three blocks to the store. I loved the night, but the anticipation of being able to read was too great to walk, and I didn’t want to be drenched when I walked through the entrance of the store.

  I
felt bad about sneaking out; I always did. However, tonight it was worse considering I had gone to church earlier. Sneaking out of the house wasn’t exactly a Christian thing to do.

  The silver cross that dangled from my neck bounced slightly as my hurried pace took me to the bookstore. The cross was a birthday gift from my parents, and I hardly ever took it off. It felt comfortable to wear on a daily basis. When I forgot, I felt empty.

  Clutching the cross, I sent a silent prayer to God, asking for some forgiveness and understanding for leaving the house.

  ***

  When I finally arrived at the bookstore, it was ten fifteen. I didn’t worry about anyone seeing me there so late. I was a regular.

  I headed straight to the teen fiction section. The object of my desire was fantasy. I had always loved the genre because it was easy to let the books take me to another world, a world where I wasn’t a freak. I was just the reader watching the story unfold.

  My favorite books were about fairies, and the ones that told of a Realm far away from our own world. The Realms contained beauty, wonder, magic, and mystery. Those tales intrigued me. I had loved fairies since my earliest childhood. When Dina and I were younger, my mother would tell us stories of fairies who sang in the forests. She would also say if anything was ever missing, the fairies took it. It was up to them whether they would return it or not. Mom taught Dina and me to thank the fairies every time we found something we thought we had lost.

  As the years went by, my passion for fantasy grew, while Dina’s dwindled. None of her friends believed, so her interests changed to boys and T.V. I kept my fascination, and I wasn’t ashamed, no matter how childish it sounded. My belief in fairies had never left me, though deep down, I knew it was not likely they really existed. Even so, I liked the mystery and magic of believing in something I couldn’t see.

  It was easy to find something to read after scanning the shelves for a few moments; the store always came through for me. I soon had two books in my hands, just enough to get me through the week. Final exams at school were starting, so I wouldn’t have much time to read between studying.