by Ainsley Shay
“Mr. Yves,” Chandler started, “yesterday we found out some interesting, but also devastating—”
“Your wife was turned into a statue!” I blurted out, then quickly covered my mouth and ran into the back room. I don’t know what came over me. The pressure of having to tell someone what happened to their loved one, who had been missing all these years, was more than I could stand. To ease into it was unbearable. I tried to let the scent of old books take me away, but today that trick wasn’t working. When I came out of the back room several minutes later, Mr. Yves was sitting in the club chair and Chandler was sitting across from him. Their voices were hushed when I knelt in front of Mr. Yves.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He held the article I knew he’d read a thousand times over. “I don’t think I understand. How can this be?” he muttered.
I was grateful when Chandler answered. “Carina, Adelina deBlays’ sister, has been popping up and leaving Iris certain...items of Adelina’s. One of them was her journal—”
“Yes, I know,” he said.
Chandler’s eyes slid to me. So, everyone knew but me? They said. I hurried to look away. He went on to tell him what we learned from the journal. Then, came the part I was dreading. I closed my eyes and held my breath. Would Mr. Yves want to go to Adelina’s house? Of course, he would. I was frantic to see my mom the second I found out. I felt sick to the point of wanting to throw up. I looked at Chandler as he continued, “One of Adelina’s powers is being able to turn living things into stone.” Chandler glanced at me and I knew exactly what he was asking. I nodded, turned my gaze toward the floor, and picked up a piece of loose thread. “Your wife was one of her victims.” While the blow sank in, Chandler added, “So was Iris’ mother. Yesterday, we found her in Adelina’s garden.”
Mr. Yves stood. I hadn’t seen him move with so much agility and speed in a very long time. “Please take me there, if my wife is there, I need to see her.”
I stayed kneeling on the floor. “It’s awful.” I had hoped so badly he wouldn’t want to go. “I promise you, it’s awful.”
Mr. Yves helped me to my feet. He lightly gripped my upper arms. Making sure we were looking at each other, he said, “It can’t be any worse than the thousands of horrid thoughts that have raced through my mind every day since the moment she was taken from me.” His tone was pained.
Profoundly, I understood. Chandler was right. Mr. Yves’ suffering for all of these years had been very different than mine. I don’t remember my mom. Yet, he spent years with a woman he loved and cherished, and suddenly, one day she was gone—not by the finality of death—but the unknown. I could only nod while the tears rolled down my face.
We locked up the bookshop. With the three of us piled into Chandler’s car, Mr. Yves in the passenger seat, me in the back, Chandler drove to Adelina’s house. On the way, I fought with which choice to make: stay in the car to avoid seeing my mom or race to her and wrap my arms around her. Either one would be insufferable.
When Chandler pulled off the paved road onto Adelina’s dirt drive, he slammed on the brakes. A chain had been hung across the drive with a “NO TRESPASSING” sign hanging from its center.
“Who put that there?” I asked.
Chandler put the car in park and started to pull up on his door handle. “I don’t know.”
“What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? Going to check it out.”
I grabbed hold of his collar, yanking him back. “No, you’re not! What if Adelina’s back?”
He ignored me and pulled hard against my grasp. My fingers slipped from the fabric. When he opened the door, the smell of decay wafted through the car. Gagging, I covered my mouth and nose. “Chandler! Get back here!” I yelled, but it sounded muffled.
He hadn’t even looked over his shoulder. Mr. Yves was next to get out of the car. I watched as both stepped over the low hanging chain. Without considering my next thought, I climbed over the seat and out of the car. The smell was worse in the open. Something had died very close to where we parked. Keeping my hand over my nose and mouth, I followed them. Over the chain I went, to enter a place I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to return to.
When I caught up to them, Chandler asked, “Why didn’t you stay in the car?”
“You never told me to stay in the car.”
He looked over his shoulder, his angry eyes finding mine. “You wouldn’t have listened, anyway.”
He was right.
Curiosity had drowned my fear in a very shallow puddle. Despite the cool air, I was sweating. I slid off my hoodie and tied it around my waist. If any part of my brain had been working, I would have been smart to tie it over my face. Already, things looked off when we came around the small bend that curved in front of the house. Chunks of alabaster were scattered on the ground. Broken hands and heads lay in heaps in the front yard. Chandler stepped around them and started up the steps.
Mom. There was no stopping me. I took off and ran toward the back of the house. Bursting through the side garden gate, I couldn’t have prepared myself for what I saw. It was as if a tornado had come through the yard. All of the statues had been knocked over. The gate slammed behind me. Chandler stood there, his mouth gaping open. Mr. Yves came up behind him. His breaths were short and heavy.
“What the hell happened?” asked Chandler. “I might be going out on a limb here, but someone must have been pretty pissed off to do this, or Adelina is planning to remodel.”
His words faded behind me as I walked deeper into the back yard. I needed to see how they left my mother. Doing my best, I tried not to step on the broken pieces of these once human beings. On the other side, where my mom stood, was not as bad. Statues had been knocked over, but it seemed whoever had done this was getting tired by the time they worked their way to the other side of the yard. The child still knelt at my mother’s feet. She and my mom were each still in one piece. Her hat was still in place, and her hand was still outstretched. “Thank God,” I whispered. Turning around, I saw Chandler and Mr. Yves coming in my direction.
“Is she okay?” Chandler asked, when he got close.
“Yeah,” I answered. Hints of patchouli sifted through the scent of death.
A moment later, Mr. Yves’ heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Iris, you look just like her.” Tears welled in my eyes. I pressed the tips of my fingers into the corner of my eyes to stop them from falling. “She would be very proud of the daughter you’ve become. Your strength and kindness are nothing short of valiant.” I certainly didn’t feel strong. It seemed at every corner I turned in my life, I was crying over something or someone I had lost.
A warm hand filled mine. Chandler said, “Let’s see if we can find Mrs. Yves.” I knew Chandler was most likely thinking that we should find out who did this and if the same destruction was done inside the house. But he remained respectful to Mr. Yves; we came to help him find his wife, if she was here, and that was our first mission.
Chandler knew what she looked like by the picture of her in the paper. Although vague, I remember her voice the most, which wouldn’t help me find her, but I could still hear it perfectly in my head. When I was little, it used to make me think of butterflies and hummingbirds dancing in a garden. It was high pitched and light. Mr. Yves and I walked together. With each step, we were careful where our next step would be. He held something in his hand. I reached for it and opened his fingers. It was a picture of his wife. Her hair was pinned up and she wore a floral summer dress that was belted at her tiny waist. Her smile radiated what may have been in color, but even in my gray-scaled world was beautiful.
“The day she went missing, she planned to have tea with Nancy Waters.” His voice hitched and he cleared his throat. “They had tea every Tuesday morning at ten.”
I looped my arm through his. With delicate steps, we walked around, and through the garden of broken statues. It would have been easier to kick some of the pieces out of the way but it seemed disrespectful and
cruel. The scent of decay was ripe in the garden. A thought flickered and I quickly extinguished it; not wanting to believe it was possible; could the scent be coming from all of the statues? Their final death.
I stepped over a statue’s head with a baseball hat turned backwards. My stomach clenched. Justin always wore his hat like that. “Chandler, can you please come here?” Mr. Yves un-looped his arm and placed his hand under my elbow to steady me.
“What’s up?”
I pointed to the head without trying to see what body it had disconnected from. “Will you please turn it over and see if it’s Justin?” I turned my head as he bent down to look.
“I think so, it looks like the guy in the paper.”
My stomach twisted with horror. He hadn’t deserved this. None of them had. I was rising to inconceivable rage. Adelina had to pay for what she’d done. Ruining the lives of not only the people she turned to stone, but the families, lovers, and friends they had been ripped away from without warning. I couldn’t help all the ones left behind understand what happened to the people surrounding me, except I could help Justin’s parents. I knew I could never tell or begin to explain to Justin’s parents what had really happened to their son. But, I vowed to make an effort, with help from Chandler and his excellent story-concocting skills. I would write them a letter to add closure to their son’s disappearance.
Chandler tugged me through the carnage. Mr. Yves followed behind. I kept my eyes on the ground. We came upon a heap of broken statues. Chandler and Mr. Yves bent and sorted through some of the pieces. None of them looked like Miss Rosy.
“Let’s look in the house,” Chandler suggested.
I yanked hard on his arm. “Are you crazy? Adelina or Carina, or both of them could be in there.”
“And if they are we can ask them where Mrs. Yves is.”
“You just have a smart-ass answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Kids,” Mr. Yves interjected.
“Fine!” I said, and started for the house. This had bad idea written all over it. Once I was on the porch, I reached for the door handle.
Chandler was behind me in flash and replaced my hand with his. “I’ll do it.”
The knob turned easily and the door opened. My heart was pounding so hard it made my chest hurt. All of the lights were off except a lamp on a side table. Weird. Each time we had come here, there had never been any lights on. The light behind the statues silhouetted them. The sight was eerie at best. I wanted to turn around and run.
“Good God,” whispered Mr. Yves. “She collects people.”
I understood his morbid amazement. The back yard had been different. Garden statues were common thing to see there. But, with the knowledge that they were once alive, and seeing the statues in the house, upright and in their original form, as if they were having a party, was like being gob-smacked every time. Chandler went through the house to see if anyone was there. When he came back to join us, he shook his head. “No one’s here.”
I let out a long breath in relief, but still wanted to get out of there as fast as we could in case they decided to come back. “Let’s split up, it’ll go faster.”
A few minutes later we met by the front door. None of us had seen Mrs. Yves. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m almost relieved.” He choked out a harsh humorless laugh. “It’s unfathomable to even imagine her like this, frozen in time and tr—”
He stopped himself when he looked at me. But, I knew what he was going to say. It made sense. It was as if mom’s death wasn’t complete; she was in there somewhere, trapped inside the stone that encased her.
21
Chandler’s suggestion of skipping the next journal entry, was not an option. He had been right it was sick and morbid. Adelina had once again dug deeper into her demented gift and managed to take it to the next level. It was also on that level that answered a question for me: How did she pose them in positions that were the opposite of being stabbed? They were standing and dancing, not bent over in shock and agony.
20 February 1568 ~
As I etched a carving knife into the other side of the medallion, I’ve started to regard my curse, not so much as a curse at all, but a gift. When I think of what the man who gave me the knife said, I think I now understand what he meant; “Carve for pleasure, carve for hate, carve for leisure, carve your mate, carve for beauty, carve for pain, but never carve for love, or carve in vain.” He wasn’t saying to actually ‘carve’, he was telling me to be careful when choosing my subjects. I played the riddle in my head and replaced the word carve for choose. Choose for pleasure, choose for hate, choose for leisure, choose your mate, choose for beauty, choose for pain, but never choose for love, or choose in vain.
It was time to see if I was right. I slid the carving knife into its sheath and hid it under my dress. The small village just outside Skelside wasn’t too far. I crossed over the bridge with the creatures. Instead of hurrying across as I usually did, I stopped and peered over the edge. The creatures slithered over one another. They were not as vile as when I had first seen them. Although they were still unrecognizable as individual creatures, I wasn’t frightened. Unsheathing the knife, I held the blade in my hand and whispered, “Are you one or are you three, show yourselves to me.” The jewel on the end of the hilt glowed. Three distinct black monsters showed their long snake-like bodies. Blind as ever, they sniffed the air. The one in the center gurgled and growled. Satisfied, I continued over the bridge toward the village to choose a subject to test my theory.
First, I came across the baker’s wife. She was shaking the flower off her apron. “Excuse me, ma’am,”
She looked up at me. “Yes?”
“Can you by any chance spare a slice of bread?”
“Let me see what we have.”
I followed her as she went into the small bakery. I’ve learned that stabbing someone from behind is always better. The knife slid easily through her flesh. The frail woman’s body shook before going completely still. I hurried to stand her up and shift her into a position I thought suited her well. Her body hardened as I did this and finally turned completely into stone. I was thrilled when I stood back to look at her. Clapping in delight, I turned on my heels and made my way back to Skelside. I stroked the medallion in my pocket. I was ready to ask for what I really wanted.
I imagined Adelina skipping and singing her way back to Skelside. When I closed the journal Chandler said, “See, I told you.”
“You knew I wouldn’t be able to skip it.” I thought about my mom, and Adelina posing her like a giant doll. Moving and twisting her limbs in just the right way, the way Adelina would like to look at her, forever. I cringed from the inside out.
“I know.”
“Do you know what she wanted?” Curiosity was devouring me, but I needed to go to school. I’d already missed too much; I hoped I was still on track to graduate on time. Using depression from the death of my father wasn’t going to last much longer. “Never mind, don’t tell me.” I felt like I was reading some fictional paranormal novel, as opposed to a witch’s journal. “Besides, if you told me, it’d ruin the story for me.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.”
“That’s because you don’t know.” I set the journal on the nightstand.
“In case you forgot, I was there.”
“I didn’t forget. Anyway, I want to read it myself.” I got up, slid the dress Chandler bought for me at the thrift store, and a jean jacket off the ladder. “Will you take me to school?”
“You want to go to school? It’s Friday.”
“I know what day it is. But, I haven’t been there all week. I need to at least make an appearance. Snow’s been bringing my assignments, so I think I’m pretty caught up, but I need to make sure. Even with all this crap going on, graduating is still on my to-do list. Besides, it’ll be good to have a change of scenery.” The coffee he had brewed smelled delicious.
“Yeah, graduating is a good thing. I’ll take
you,” his eyes narrowed as he continued, “and I’ll pick you up.”
I didn’t argue. My phone buzzed. I looked at the screen; it showed a number I didn’t recognize. Blacwin!? I pressed the call button. “Hello.”
“Hello, Catherine,” a smooth feminine voice said.
I froze. Chills raked across my skin. I grasped the phone with both hands to keep it from falling from my shaking hands. “Who is this?” Chandler was at my side in a three quick strides. The voice said nothing for a few breaths, but I knew she was still on the line. Chandler tried to pull the phone from my hand. I held on to it tightly and turned my back to him. “I know you’re still there. Who is this?”
“I’d like my medallion back.” The voice was as soft and delicate as down feathers.
“Adelina?” I questioned.
“Give me the phone,” Chandler commanded behind me.
I shook him off. “Is this Adelina?”
“Who else would it be?” Even though she more or less admitted as much, disbelief still echoed in my thoughts. “I want my medallion back.” It was infuriating, how calm she was. Her tone was patient and controlled. “My little sister thought it would be cute to play a game of hide and seek with it to prove how clever she can be. The girl can be quite trying at times.”
“I’d have to agree with you on that.”
She chuckled. “You have the dagger, that’s all you’ll need, trust me.”
“All I’ll need for what?” I was tired of the riddles and I wanted answers.
“Twenty six more days and you’ll finally be able to put an end to all this.”
“All what?” My body was paralyzed with frustration. “Stop with the fucking games and tell me where I fit into your game!” Fury fueled every cell in my body.
I turned around. Chandler’s face was as mad as I felt. He mouthed, “Give me the phone!” I shook my head.
Adelina continued, “I’ve waited far too many years for you to get to this point in your life, for you not to carry out what you were born to do.” She let out an audible breath of air. “I want you to leave the medallion on my porch. If you don’t—”