by Shae Hutto
“Don’t make me shoot you, Frank,” she growled. “Weenie, guard the door. If something shows up unexpectedly, do something louder than sigh, ok?” Weenie looked at her quizzically. Then he woofed softly.
“I have no idea if he understood or not,” said Amanda. “Whatever, let’s go.”
Nick pulled out his wand and caused a little floating bubble of light to proceed them down the stairs. Amanda thought about telling him to put it out to keep from warning whoever was down there of their approach, but decided she would rather be able to see the stairs and not fall to her death. In order to not fall to her death, she put the blaster back in her pack and used both hands to hold the stair rails.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a storage cellar lined with shelves that held all sorts of weird things. Jars of creepy stuff sat next to dusty roots and boxes with illegible labels. Amanda tried to ignore the more alarming things, like the jar that looked suspiciously like it was filled with human eyeballs floating in some yellowing liquid. The light was coming from the other side of a row of shelves. When they crept around the shelves, doing an exaggerated creep that reminded Amanda of Scooby Doo, they discovered a small round table draped in red velvet. On top of the table was a black iron stand supporting a sphere. That sphere was most obviously an eye and it was the source of the soft illumination. Its elongated iris rested in a gold and black void and it seemed to be staring at her. Next to it on the table was the hairy head of the Witch, which was attached to the decomposing body of the witch, which sat in a chair, slumped over the table.
“Oh, yeah,” said Nick. “That is definitely the Eye of Connix. High five.” He stuck his hand up expectantly.
Amanda shook off the feeling of being acutely observed by that baleful eye and high fived Nick, but her heart wasn’t in it. Something didn’t feel right.
“Closer, child,” said a compelling voice that came from nowhere and everywhere. It was inside her head and coming from the Eye at the same time. She stared at the eye and it stared back. “Closer,” it repeated.
“I don’t know...,” said Amanda with hesitant uncertainty.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” asked Nick in confusion. “I’m pretty dang sure this is the Eye of Connix. What else could it be?”
“What?” asked Amanda, taking her eyes off the wicked looking ball. “Oh. Yeah. I agree, it’s the Eye, all right. I just don’t know if we should do what that voice is saying, is all.”
“What voice?” asked Nick quietly but with not much surprise in his voice. “Is that thing talking to you or something?”
“Yeah,” affirmed Amanda. “It is. It keeps telling me to come closer. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. That thing makes my skin crawl. And not in a good way.”
“How would your skin crawl in a good way?” joked Nick.
“Never mind. I’m just saying.”
“OK,” said Nick seriously, abandoning his half-hearted attempt at humor. “But I’m not sure we have any choice. We came here for that Eye and I don’t see how we’re going to take it with us if we don’t get closer than this.”
“You’re right, of course,” agreed Amanda reluctantly. “Let’s find a way to get it in my backpack without touching it, though.” She hoped Nick didn’t suggest putting it in his own bag, because she wasn’t sure she trusted the darkness inside him with custody of something so obviously powerful. It was still calling to her, and with more than words. She had a visceral need to touch its glossy surface, to run her hands over it and feel the smoothness. Instinctively, she knew it would be dry under her fingers even though it glistened wetly and her fingertips tingled with anticipation of contact with it. Despite this urge, she recognized that touching it would probably not be advisable. Besides whatever the Eye itself would do to her, she had to consider the possibility that touching it would bring Connix here, in pursuit of her. It seemed to have become attuned to Claire from her earlier use of it, so there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t do the same to her. Despite the tactical advantages of dividing his attention, she didn’t think she wanted to be pursued by a relentless, murderous, fire-breathing dragon. Nick was looking at her expectantly; like he was waiting for an answer to a question.
“What?”
“I said, why don’t you empty out your backpack and we’ll just put it over the Eye and take it that way. You can put all your stuff back in afterwards.” It seemed reasonable enough, although Amanda felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in sympathy with piling junk on top of a living eyeball. She shrugged it off and nodded.
Quickly, she upended the unzipped ruck sack that Claire and Roger had given her at the lighthouse. Precious little fell out. The blaster pistol tumbled out with a hefty thunk and thankfully didn’t blow a hole in anyone. Roger’s extendable baton clattered onto the floor. A little loose change and her red lipstick and matching fingernail polish also tumbled out along with a couple of spare pairs of socks that Claire must have put in there. She grabbed the blaster pistol and shoved it in her waistband, sparing a moment to think what would happen to her nether regions in the unfortunate event of an accidental discharge. She left the rest of the meagre detritus on the floor and approached the Eye the way someone would try to sneak up on a frog or an insect.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” said Nick in exasperation. “It’s not going to sprout wings and fly off.” He snatched the bag from Amanda’s hands and with no ceremony, upended it over the eye, cutting off its accusing glare. Amanda blinked in surprise that nothing dramatic had happened. Nick handed her the bag. She smiled in relief.
They quickly gathered their stuff and made their way upstairs and out of the old house. The first thing Amanda noticed was that the bluish glow around the building was gone. The second was that the original trio that had apprehended them was standing on the front lawn, along with Happy Jack, who did actually look happy, this time.
“As I told you,” he remarked smugly. “The Witch has not moved. At all.” He laughed wickedly at his own macabre humor and after a moment, his goons joined in with forced laughter. Amanda found herself feeling indignant at the cavalier way the scarecrow was treating the death of one of their acquaintances.
“You knew she was dead and you just left her there?” she asked with actual anger.
“We did know she was dead, Miss Drew,” Jack replied calmly. “But only because incorporeal beings, ghosts if you will, were able to go inside and see her earthly remains. Those of us in possession of physical bodies could not step onto the porch. We were prevented by some form of magical shield that manifested itself as a bluish light. Ah, I see you know about the blue light.” Jack had noticed the look of recognition that passed between Nick and Amanda when he mentioned the shield. “So, you see,” he continued. “We had no way to give her a proper burial, poor thing. Murdered by the fiendish arsonists, no doubt.”
“Gran Gran,” said Nick in a not very convincing show of grief.
“Hogwash, Master Hardy,” said Jack. “That Witch was no more your Gran Gran than I am.”
“If you believe that, then why did you let us go?” asked Nick.
“Because I thought you were probably after the artifact that was preventing us from entering the dwelling. I thought it might let you through. As long as it can consider itself to be unowned, it has a limited ability to protect itself. Now that is has an owner, that ability is gone. As you can see, the blue light has vanished and I can step onto the porch.” He put one foot onto the porch and Amanda stepped backwards. Neither Nick nor Weenie moved a muscle. “So, now I must ask you to give me the Eye.” Nobody moved. The only sound was the creaking of the rickety porch as Jack shifted his weight and stepped up onto the boards. Even the incessant howling had paused. “Please?” he coaxed with mocking politeness as he extended his hand toward Amanda.
Weenie bit the leather hand that Jack was extending. As the dog tore off Jack’s hand, Nick seemed to explode into black shadows that scattered in every direction
in the blink of an eye. Amanda was as surprised and confused as Jack was by the sudden violent exit. Nobody was more surprised than Vogel, though. As fast as the shadows that were Nick flitted away, they came back together directly behind the scarecrow with the burlap head. As he re-coalesced, Nick’s hand filled with his wicked knife which he used to quickly cut through the burlap that constituted Vogelscheuche’s neck. He grasped the head and threw it into the ditch with the half rotten ones already in residence. Surprisingly, Vogel’s body didn’t collapse. Instead, it began to stagger about with its hands outstretched. Searching, presumably, for its own head.
Espan lunged for Nick but grasped only air as the shadows dispersed again. Weenie bounded off the porch with Jack’s hand in his mouth, heading for the ugly goblin thing, who stared at the approaching Dalmatian with wide-eyed horror. Jack brought his other hand up, holding a chrome .45 and Amanda saw it in slow motion as it swung towards her, the barrel seeming to grow to the size of a train tunnel as it moved in line with her vision. Her own hand flew toward the blaster in her waistband, but she knew it wasn’t even going to be close. She shifted her weight to one foot in preparation to kick the gun from his hand as the barrel came level with her eye and she was staring down that long dark tunnel at her own death. Her blaster was out of her pants and on its own arc through the air, as was her foot, but the race was lost. Even as that thought flitted across her consciousness at the speed of light, she was aware that Jack’s trigger finger was squeezing. Now light exploded out of the barrel of the gun, but not right at her face like it should have. It was slightly above her because she was falling. At first, she thought maybe her leg had given way and she was fainting, but the pain of broken boards digging into her calf brought the realization that she had fallen through the rotten porch. Jack’s bullet actually passed through her hair, and grazed her skin with the lightest possible contact. Even that dainty lead kiss caused pain and blood, but they didn’t appear for another second and by that time her own blaster was aimed directly at the malevolent light shining through the squinted eyes of Happy Jack who had just realized he wouldn’t be able to recover his aim sufficiently after the recoil. He knew his next shot would be useless, but squeezed off another round anyway. His second shot went well wide as well as high and Amanda didn’t even feel the wind of its passage. Jack’s snarling face appeared over her sights as her arcing foot passed by in front and she felt a small tug at the corners of her mouth as a grin of satisfaction peeked through.
The blaster was strong enough to punch holes in brick and steel. Jack’s head was a pumpkin. The incandescent bolt turned most of the fiendish gourd into pumpkin spice scented mist. What was left exploded outward in a shower of steamy orange goop. The eerie glow remained suspended above the remains of his head for a split second before whiffing out like a candle in a gust of wind. Unlike Vogel, Jack’s headless body slumped limply to the side and then pitched over backwards. At virtually the same instant, Amanda’s foot made contact with the .45, sending it wind milling over the porch railing. Already, Amanda’s hand was moving with concentrated purpose toward the next target: Espan. Before she could blast him, Nick coalesced like a demon from the underworld and lightly touched the flailing scarecrow with his wand. Espan turned into a torch that lit the night and illuminated a particularly nasty grin on Nick’s face. Espan began to run in random circles and eventually collapsed in the grass, which began to smolder threateningly. They both turned to the last member of the gang, but he wasn’t going to be much of a threat.
The goblin thing was face down in the street, screaming in fear and pain as Weenie sank his teeth deep into the flesh of the grotesque creature’s buttocks and shook his head back and forth with extreme violence.
“So much for a low profile,” said Amanda as she scooped up Jack’s gun from the yard where it had landed and managed to get it de-cocked and tucked away in her ruck sack.
“I think we should take our leave,” suggested Nick with a calmness that seemed forced.
“You think?” she asked sarcastically. “Weenie!” she yelled. “Let him go, we’ve got to get out of here.” She turned to Nick again. “Handy trick of yours. You’re going to have to show me how you did that.”
“I wish I knew how I did it,” replied Nick, looking slightly perplexed.
Weenie released his mouthful of goblin butt, picked up Jack’s severed hand in his bloody jowls and started trotting back towards town and, presumably, to the door home. Amanda and Nick trotted after him, weapons out and ready. They didn’t see a soul all the way through town and Amanda chose to optimistically believe that was because nobody cared about their presence. This was a much more pleasant scenario than the more likely one of a mob of angry monsters waiting for them by the door home.
Amanda and Nick’s anxiety ratcheted up several levels on the way back to the doorway. They jumped at every unexpected sound or movement in the shadows. Their imaginations ran wild and several times Amanda almost blasted innocuous bushes and bugs out of sheer nerves. By the time they reached the door, she would rather have had to actually fight someone. Something to shoot would have been a relief. Fear without focus was wearing her down and when they arrived at the door with no further confrontations, she burst through the door and began to laugh hysterically. It was a high, yelping laugh not unlike a hyena and she was sure it was doing her no good in Nick’s eyes.
Nick was grinning a lopsided half smile and seemed a bit dazed. It might have been his newly found abilities or it might have been the sneaking suspicion that something else was sharing his head with him. Either way, they were both a mess when they got to the hallway and neither wanted to immediately go find the fairy tale world. Instead they sat in the hallway and rested. Amanda noted that the flat, unchanging light of the hallway almost completely dispelled the dark nimbus that seemed to constantly leak from Nick like stuffing from an old pillow. Weenie looked at them expectantly, but when they failed to follow him down the hallway, he picked a seat next to Amanda and began to gnaw Jack’s hand contentedly. Amanda patted him with one hand and with the other she felt the ruck sack to make sure the Eye was still within. Reassured by the heavy mass inside, she leaned against the wall and rested her eyes. Just for a second, she thought. Soon, she was softly snoring.
CHAPTER NINE: Let’s Go to Jail
“I wasn’t really naked. I simply didn’t have any clothes on.”
- Josephine Baker
“The Queens Colors again?” asked Claire, teasing.
“And then straight to the dungeons where we can die slowly in the darkness. Brilliant,” responded Roger scathingly. Claire couldn’t help but laugh.
“So how about we go see that shop we skipped last time,” she suggested. “What was it called?”
“I seem to recall a shop,” mused Roger. “I suppose you were fairly excited by the garish red lights out front? The ones that said, ‘Mad Mike’s Marvelous Marvels?’
“Mysteries,” corrected Claire. “Marvelous marvels would be a bit redundant, don’t you think?”
“Says she that couldna’ remember what the place was named,” muttered Roger with an ugly face that amused Claire. The resulting giggle abruptly morphed into a most un-ladylike snort. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror at the uncouth noise she had just produced. “You’re such the delicate flower, you are,” said Roger, laughing. He mimicked her snort for good measure. Claire blushed fiercely, her face trying to match the red of her hair (and an eye). She swung her fist at his shoulder half-heartedly and he easily dodged. Because of the miss, she was off balance and lost her footing. Before she knew it, she was twisted about and falling through the air.
Claire tensed, expecting the pain and shock of impact between her rear and the ground but to her surprise it never came. She became aware that she was being supported by Roger’s arms; he had caught her as she fell. Her eyes, which had closed in anticipation of the hard landing, fluttered open to stare directly into Rogers’. She was impressed by his quick reflexes and the seemingly u
nconscious strength with which his arms supported her. He was warm and the feeling of being held by him was not at all unpleasant. She found herself prolonging her stare as she gazed directly into his eyes from a distance of just a few inches and she felt a great urge to kiss him. Her eyes strayed to his lips and she felt her own lips purse slightly in anticipation of feeling his upon them. With a start, her brain objected to what was about to happen and she firmly pushed him away and turned her head. Before he left her line of sight, she saw a look of profound disappointment flash across his features. Oddly, that fleeting look gave her a little thrill of pleasure. With very little effort, he returned her to a vertical position and with a bit more effort, composed his features into a mask of indifference.
Quick on the heels of her feeling of happiness upon realizing that Roger was disappointed by the lost opportunity, were her own feelings of loss. She pushed her emotions aside. No time for this. She started to walk along the path before realizing that she was turned around and walking the wrong way. In front of her was the woodshed from which they had just exited outside of Auntie Ginger’s cottage. They had not gone close enough to the well to see if Auntie Ginger was still stuck in it and no shoes were visibly protruding from it at this distance. Behind her, Roger laughed again and she turned back around, flustered at her mistake and mortified that he realized just how flustered she was. She could feel the blush continuing to burn on her face. For some reason, she hated all males at this exact moment. She ignored her snickering Irish companion and stuck her nose in the air as she haughtily proceeded past him, eyes straight ahead. Her fingers itched to pull her wand and try her flaming lasso on him. Roger fell in beside her and after a few minutes, his annoying amusement faded away. With it went her dislike of all things male.
They quietly traversed the same pleasant path they had followed not so long before on their first trip to see the Queen. Not much had changed. The season was slightly different and it was warmer than the last time they were here. Spring had given way to summer in much the same way that it usually does. Of course, they didn’t know for sure it was even the same year in this world. Time moved mysteriously on the other side of doors. Nevertheless, seasonal progression seemed to give some continuity to the experience. Not as much was blooming this time and the ground seemed drier and harder, and they found themselves sweating a little in the warmth. Claire eyed the scenic countryside with something akin to nostalgia and began to miss Weenie, who had romped through the grass so joyously. That made her remember Rupert and her contemplative smile inverted itself and she stalked on a little more quickly. Roger seemed to follow along with her thoughts, almost like he was tuned to her.