The Weeping Books of Blinney Lane

by Drea Damara

  “It’s not that you loaned her the book, it’s that she had the book in her possession. It’s what the book does. It’s cursed. That’s why I didn’t want you to ever touch it.”

  Ricky snorted a laugh. “Yeah, sure. The book is cursed. Does that make you feel better now?” He chewed his lower lip and raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t hold back his sarcasm any longer. “You think because you believe this 'curse,' that it somehow puts me at fault? No, ah, I get it now! You feel guilty that you didn’t do a better job of keeping the book away from me! Is that it?” He felt proud of himself for figuring it out.

  Sarah sighed and dropped her head in her hands. He laughed now for the first time since he’d gotten back to the store. He got up and patted her on the shoulder.

  “Aunt Sarah, it’s okay,” he said with true sincerity. “Look, you believe what you want. I promise I won’t tease you about it.”

  “Ricky?”

  Still chuckling, he asked, “What?”

  “Do you believe in magic? No wise cracks, just give me a yes or no answer.”

  “Uh, that’d be a no for me.”

  “What if I can prove to you that you’re wrong?”

  Ricky arched his brow and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. He wanted to laugh, but now he was starting to think his aunt was a level of freak he’d never met before. He let his exasperation out with a breath. “And how would you do that?”

  Sarah stood up, looked him in the eyes and said, “By taking you to Farwin Wood with me to rescue your little girlfriend.” Like it was nothing, she walked over to the counter and picked up the phone.

  He looked around the shop, realizing it was closed. The door was locked. He was now locked inside with his crazy aunt. Did his dad know she was this weird?

  “Aunt Sarah, maybe we should call Dad, you know? I mean, you look like you could use someone to talk to right now.”

  “Ha! That’s a good one. Your father would kill you if he knew what you’d just done,” Sarah replied, laughing as she dialed a number.

  Ricky scoffed. “It’s not like it was a car.”

  “No, it’s so much worse than that.” Sarah stared at him with a serious expression. Into the phone she said, “Yes, Franci? Yeah. I hate to do this to you, but I need to call an emergency council meeting. Ricky loaned one of the weeping books to Shelby, that girl that’s always in my shop. Yeah. Well, now she’s been taken into the book. I know. Can you have the others meet me over here as soon as possible? Okay, thanks.”

  Ricky stood flabbergasted from the phone conversation he’d just heard. He watched his aunt set the phone down and start toward the back of the store. Without sparing him a glance, she commanded, “Come with me.”

  RICKY CAUGHT up with her as she opened the door to the basement, back by the shelf where he’d taken the infamous book. She flipped on the light and started down the stairs.

  “Come on,” she called dryly.

  He wanted to protest but thought better of it from the tone of her voice. She was acting nuts, for sure, but if he could at least avoid getting yelled at maybe she’d snap out of it and come back to “Normal Land.”

  They walked past some large tables where Sarah kept bookbinding materials and tools. Ricky looked around the musty basement, but his aunt moved so quickly that he didn’t have time to dawdle. He swerved around some old furniture and wooden barrels and saw Sarah open a wooden plank door to a small closet. She flipped another light on, and he could see old clothes hanging up in the closet.

  Sarah rummaged through the clothes, pushing things to the side and inspecting them. Then she shoved another outfit out of the way and looked at something else. She held up a pair of gray wool leotard pants and shoved them at him.

  “Here.”

  Ricky grabbed the hanger without wanting to and lifted it to inspect the strange article. What the hell are we doing down here?

  Sarah held out another hanger. This one had a long brown leather vest and belt. She held it up to his chest, and he tried to back away from its musty smell.

  “Hold still, will you?” Sarah scoffed and eyed him up and down. “That’ll have to work. Here. Take it.” She shoved the hanger into his chest. Ricky dumbly grasped onto the unusual smock and tights as she went back to digging through the closet.

  “Uh. Are we going to a medieval festival or something?” he asked, watching his aunt hold a long dress with wispy bell sleeves up to herself.

  “I doubt they’ll be having any festivals where we’re going,” she muttered and shoved the dress at Ricky.

  “Wherever the hell you’re planning on taking me, I’m not wearing a dress. Or these tights.” Ricky held up the pants she’d given him.

  “The dress is for me, since you’ve dragged me into this. The tights are called chausses. They’re considered pants in Farwin Wood, and your father never complained about wearing them.”

  “Farwin Wood. Yeah, right. And I can’t ever see my dad wearing tights,” he muttered. He sighed, hoping he’d soon figure out what his aunt had planned.

  She shot him a stern look. “Ricky, just don’t talk, okay? Don’t say anything funny, anything sarcastic. Just stand there, do what I say, and remember anything you possibly can of what I told you about Farwin Wood when you were little. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Sure. And call you a doctor as soon as I get out of here! He was getting agitated serving as a human clothes rack. If she was going to continue being crazy, he could at least humor her to pass the time. “So, what’s this council meeting for?” Sarah tossed a long, cream-colored, puffy-sleeved shirt at him. It hit him in the face. He sputtered and held it up like a dead rat. “Your pile, I presume?”

  “No. Yours,” she called, head and arms still in the closet.

  “Of course.”

  “Ricky? What did I say?”

  “Okay! Fine!” He tossed the archaic shirt over his left shoulder with the tights. “So, what’s the council meeting for?”

  “Blinney Lane has a council. I’m one of the members. We meet once a month to report any strange activity that occurs on Blinney Lane.”

  “Strange activity?” Like this, he wanted to add.

  “A woman, who the original settlers of Blinney Lane believed to be a witch, was executed for witchcraft at the end of the street about three hundred years ago. Ever since then, all of the shops on Blinney Lane have been cursed. Strange things still happen here all the time. We usually know what they are, but sometimes things happen that we’ve never witnessed before, so we have meetings to document the activity.” Sarah chucked a leather sword holster over her shoulder. He caught it in his hand and held it up to the light.

  “Yeah! Now we’re talking,” he said, admiring the leatherwork.

  “You’d better pray we don’t need that,” Sarah said, grumbling. She hunkered down to the floor then and scavenged underneath the hanging items. “What size shoes do you wear?”

  “Ten,” he replied without stopping to think how odd this was. He was so lost about what his aunt was up to that he didn’t care what they were doing anymore, as long as she wasn’t scolding him. He was definitely calling his dad as soon as he got a chance though. He held the sword holster to his waist and wondered if it would fit him. Is this for her or me? “So, these meetings—well, you called this an emergency meeting. What’s the emergency?”

  “I’m glad you finally asked.” Sarah started to shove her foot into a light brown calf-high leather boot. “Shelby’s the emergency.” She huffed once she got her foot in the boot and looked up at him. “There are a few books in my shop that are very susceptible to the curse. If you fall asleep in close proximity to one of these books while they’re open, you wake up inside the book.”

  “Inside the book?”

  “Well, not inside it, inside it. You go to the land that’s in the book. And Shelby, being the book lover that she is, was probably reading it when she fell asleep. When you fall asleep and wake up in one of the books, your body stays where you fell a
sleep. It looks like you’re sleeping to anyone who sees it, but no one can wake you up. Nothing will wake you up on the outside, on Blinney Lane. You have to wake up from inside the book.”

  “Uh, what?” Ricky didn’t know what to ask. He had comments but didn’t want to say them. He didn’t know what to think, say, or feel.

  Sarah tossed the boot and its partner over on the floor by Ricky. She sat cross-legged and looked at him with a gentle smile. “Ricky, I don’t expect you to believe me. I know it sounds insane. You probably think I’m losing my mind, but you’re just going to have to trust me. We need to get some things first, but then…as much as I don’t want to, you and I are going into the book—into The Lands of Farwin Wood to rescue Shelby.”

  Ricky blinked at her with his mouth still agape. “And how do we go into this book exactly?”

  She actually sounded patient this time, as she said, “I told you already. We need to fall asleep with the book open next to us.”

  “Right… Okay, so then what happens to us? Our minds, like, dream we’re in the story? What if when we wake up we think we’re still in the story, or what if I act different when I wake up like—”

  “Like me?” Sarah shot him a look.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Look, Aunt Sarah, seriously, I really think we should call my dad. I don’t care if he knows I took one of your books. I think you should talk to him.” Ricky couldn’t keep humoring her. He was really afraid for her now. She truly appeared to believe all the things she was telling him.

  “Ricky, your dad knows all about the curse and the books. He used to love going to Farwin Wood when we were kids. Those are the clothes he used to wear there when we were teenagers.” Sarah gestured at the outfit slung over his shoulder. She turned back to the closet and pulled out another pair of boots. These were taller and bigger than the last pair. “Here, try these on.”

  Ricky, covered in clothing slung over each shoulder, looked down at the boots she’d thrown at his feet. “Seriously, my dad would never wear this shit. Is this like role-playing? Are you one of those role-players, like Dungeons and Dragons sort of stuff?”

  “Ricky, I’m going to slap the shit out of you, I swear.” Sarah grabbed her hair in tight fists and exhaled a long breath.

  Just then the floor above them creaked. Ricky jumped, dropping the dress that was slung over his shoulder. Looking at the ceiling, he asked, “I thought you locked the shop? What’s that?”

  “It’s probably Franci and the others. She has a key. Come on. Pick this stuff up and help me upstairs with it.” Sarah gathered up the boots and shut the closet.

  “Hello!” Franci’s voice cooed from the stairwell.

  “We’ll be right up!” Sarah called, starting through the basement.

  “Are they coming with us?”

  “To where?” Sarah’s voice was cocky now. She was going to make him say it.

  “To…Farwin Wood?”

  “Heavens, no. I’m not wasting a perfectly good stroomphblutel on Reggie Nurscher.”

  AS THEY emerged from the cellar door, Sarah saw Mary, Franci, Walter, and Reggie milling around the lower level of the shop. She didn’t miss the contemptuous looks they were showing her nephew, who followed behind her. She didn’t blame them. He was free game after what he’d done.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Would you all have a seat over there? I’ll be with you in a minute.” She waved them over to the couch and chairs by the drawn blinds. “You too, Ricky.”

  She went to the counter and called Alexander Rainsford. Ricky paced between her and the reading nook, looking afraid to get too close to the wolves. “Yes. Like the one you made for Richard the last time we went in, but maybe with some blood grooves and a compartment in the handle for protection powder. Okay, thank you. We’ll be here,” she said and hung up the phone.

  Sarah walked over to stand by her nephew to provide moral support and looked at her fellow council members. Reggie looked around for a place to ash his cigarette. Franci fidgeted nervously, but each time she looked at Ricky, she gave him a sympathetic smile. Mary sat with her back rigid, hands folded in her lap, head held high with a grave look cast in their direction. Walter sat with his hands folded over his large stomach, staring down at his feet, if he could see them. Occasionally, he would shake his head and sigh.

  Sarah placed a hand on Ricky’s shoulder and addressed the council. “All right, let’s get started. I believe by now you all know my nephew, Ricky.” Walter grunted, but she ignored him and continued. “And in case Franci left out any details, I’ll explain the situation. As you know, Ricky was completely ignorant of the curse of Blinney Lane when he came here. He took one of the weeping books, The Lands of Farwin Wood, without my knowledge and loaned it to a friend of his and mine, Shelby Dannovan, a sixteen-year-old whom I’m sure you’ve seen around here from time to time. When I found out the book was gone, I had Ricky go over to her house immediately to retrieve it. When Ricky arrived, Shelby was being taken away in an ambulance because, her parents had said, she’d slipped into a coma.”

  Mary gasped and shook her head. Franci wrung her hands. Walter still stared at the floor, shaking his head. Reggie glared at Ricky and looked to be cleaning his teeth with his tongue.

  Sarah continued. “I think she’s been gone most of the day and maybe as long as last night. Ricky was able to retrieve the book, so he and I will go to Farwin Wood, find her, and bring her back.”

  She was surprised Ricky didn’t say anything. He chewed on his thumbnail and avoided eye contact with anyone. At this point, he probably thought they were all crazy.

  Walter looked up and asked, “Sarah, are you sure that’s a good idea—taking Ricky in with you?”

  “I have no choice. I don’t want to leave him here for the bookshop to feed off him. I think we can all agree that, within the last few days, strange things have been happening, and it’s most likely due to more villager descendant blood being in town. If I leave him with one of you, then that could just cause more trouble at your own shop.”

  “He ain’t going anywhere near my shop,” Reggie said, harping.

  Mary shot him a look. “Regis, who asked you?”

  “I’m just saying, Mary. You want him in your place? Let him go with her. At least the blood won’t stew things up in the book.” Reggie whined and gestured with his free hand.

  Franci raised her hand like she was a schoolgirl, waiting her turn. “Yes, but Sarah—”

  “What is it, Franci?”

  “Well, forgive me, Ricky. I don’t know what you’ve told the boy about his father and—well, you know, the last time you were in Farwin Wood.”

  RICKY LOOKED from Franci to his aunt. She dropped her hand from his shoulder and toyed with the bracelet on her wrist. What about his father? And why was everyone so convinced this was some kind of magical book? They were all nuts—or this was an epic prank.

  “No, Franci. It’s all right. You make a very good point,” his aunt said, sounding humbled.

  “Yes, an excellent point, I’d say! What about the last time? And the trouble there?” Mary asked.

  “What trouble?” Ricky asked.

  “Oh, now you want to believe me?” Sarah said, putting her hands on her hips.

  “No!” He yelled, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t believe any of this nonsense. I don’t know what in the hell any of you are talking about!”

  “Has the boy been marked, Sarah?” Walter asked like he wasn’t even in the room.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Sarah answered and looked at him.

  “Marked? What do you mean marked?” He looked for an answer, but they all stared at him like he was the weird one.

  Mary stood up and stepped toward him. “Ricky. I know this all must seem very strange, but do you want to help your friend?”

  “Of course, but I don’t see how I can.”

  Mary held up a hand and smiled. “That’s all we need to know. You have a chance to help he
r if you go with your aunt. And while I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to go to Farwin Wood after what occurred last time,” she said, arching a brow at his aunt, “I still don’t like the idea of Sarah going there alone. We’re counting on you to help your aunt and save your friend. We’re all here to help you, but you have to trust us. You don’t have to try and understand it, but you do need to believe it. This curse—it’s very real. If you don’t believe, you’ll become so overwhelmed with all of it that you won’t be much help to Sarah. Can you do that for us?”

  “I…I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t see how anything is cursed. All I know is I took something I wasn’t supposed to, and it was wrong. Okay? And my friend is in a coma for some reason.” He felt like crying. Why was he going to cry? And why did his dad send him here with these weirdos?

  “Show him,” Walter said, sounding defeated. The others looked at him without a word. “All right. I’ll go first.”

  Ricky watched as Walter began to pull his pant legs up. Reggie burst into wheezy, smoke-filled laughter. Walter snapped at him. “Oh, shut your trap, Reggie! It’s not my fault I have big ankles.”

  “Yeah, kid. You see that? The curse gives you cankles!” Reggie laughed some more.

  Aunt Sarah sighed and slapped a hand to her head. What the hell was going on? All he could see were Walter’s massive calves oozing down over his puffy ankles and fat feet.

  His aunt addressed him. “Ricky, when Agatha Blinney—”

  “Don’t say that name!” Reggie demanded and pointed his cigarette at her.

  “Once isn’t going to do anymore harm,” Mary snapped and then turned to Ricky. “Saying the woman’s name whom our ancestors murdered seems to encourage the power of the curse, so we avoid it at all costs.”

  His aunt started again. “Ricky, when they dragged her from her home, they tied rope around her neck, wrists, and ankles. They threw stones at her and flogged her. The descendants of the villagers who tortured her end up with similar marks on their own bodies. It usually happens before they turn eighteen. The curse typically only claims one family member from each household. That person, after their scars form, can’t ever leave Blinney Lane. They can go about a three-block radius from here at best, but then it becomes too painful. Their scars hurt as though they are experiencing the pain she felt the day she was killed. Do you remember the day I had to find you on the street?”