Two and Twenty Dark Tales

by Georgia McBride

  A smile spread across Juliet’s face, and for the first time all day, her heart felt lighter. “Yes, tonight after she goes to bed.”

  ***

  “That is so gross.” Juliet made a face at the instructions. “How do we know this will work?”

  They sat on the floor of their room, the only light coming from the old nightlight they kept because it gave them enough light to do things without alerting Mom.

  Melody held out a pocket knife. “If it doesn’t work, what have we lost, other than a little blood?” The nightlight cast eerie shadows over her face. “I’ll go first.”

  Flicking open the knife, she grimaced as she sliced her palm. Blood dripping from the cut, she wrapped her hand around the white candle, smearing it with crimson.

  Melody held out both the knife and the bloody candle to her. “Here.”

  Juliet hesitated.

  “Are you afraid?” Melody teased, voice soft so their mom wouldn’t hear.

  “Of course not,” Juliet hissed. What did they have to lose? If nothing happened, they’d just put their pajamas back on and return to bed. She grabbed the knife, sliced her palm, and then coated the candle with her own blood, making it look as if it was red, not white.

  “Ow.” Juliet stanched the flow of blood with a tissue. “Now we light it?” Her heart thumped. What if it did work?

  “Yep.”

  Juliet held the candle while Melody struck a match and lit it. Then Melody wrapped her hand around the bloody candle. “Now, we recite the poem. Remember, we have to say it three times.”

  Juliet’s belly quivered, but Melody looked so sure, so calm—and she was the younger sister. “Let’s do it.”

  How many miles to Babylon?

  Three score miles and ten.

  Can I get there by candlelight?

  Yes, and back again.

  Three times they whispered the verse, clutching the candle. The whole time, Juliet felt sick and dizzy. As they uttered the last word for the third time, the flame went out. The floor fell away and they found themselves tumbling through darkness, both shrieking.

  Juliet hit the ground with a thud and looked around. They were in the middle of a lush garden, the sun was up, and she could hear the sounds of running water and voices. “Shit.” She sucked in a breath.

  “It worked.” Melody’s eyes widened as she tucked the candle into her hoodie pocket. “We’re in Babylon.”

  “Juliet, Melody, you came. I’m so glad.” A blonde walked into the clearing. Pamela, the girl from Candlelight Center. She offered Juliet a hand up.

  Juliet did a double-take. “Wait—you’re here?”

  “Well, yes. Babylon is my home. I go into your world to bring others here, so they can be safe and happy.” She smiled and helped up Melody, who didn’t seem nearly as hesitant as she leapt to her feet..

  Home. That meant it was possible to go back and forth between the worlds. Relief flowed through her.

  Juliet took Pamela’s offered hand and stood. “What now?”

  Brushing the dirt off her jeans, she looked around the lush paradise.

  “Why don’t I show you around?” Pamela no longer wore jeans and a t-shirt like she had at the center. Her pretty pink dress looked of an older style, but not outdated.

  Juliet looked at Melody, who nodded. “Why not?”

  Pamela led them out of the garden and to a little town of dirt roads, little buildings with painted signs, and cottages with thatched roofs.

  “Welcome to Babylon.” She gestured to the street. “This is Main Street, where you can get food or clothes from the shops, or go into a pub or restaurant for something to eat.” She pointed to a place with a dancing sheep on the sign. “Juliet, that’s the best club in all of Babylon. I thought I’ll take you to the party there tonight.”

  Juliet didn’t answer. Everywhere she looked children and teenagers were dressed in everything from modern clothes to stuff out of historical movies. A few kids played a game with a ball. Some girls walked into a building with a teacup-shaped sign. Across the street, a really hot guy disappeared into a building with a book painted on it.

  “Yeah, he’ll be at the party,” Pamela told her.

  Well then.

  “But how do you pay for things?” Melody frowned. “We didn’t bring any money.”

  Pamela laughed. “Money? You don’t need money in Babylon. People work, but it’s because they want to, not because they have to. Everything is free and plentiful. You never grow up, never grow old. Truly, this is paradise.”

  “Really?” Juliet tried to figure that out. “How?”

  A wide grin lit up Pamela’s face. “Magic.”

  “Yeah, Juliet. Magic,” Melody teased as they walked.

  Right. After all, they were here.

  They passed a candy store. Melody’s eyes widened as she practically pressed her face to the glass.

  “Go get whatever you want,” Pamela urged. “Then I’ll show you to a cottage of your very own.”

  ***

  Music pulsed around them as Pamela led Juliet through the dark club. A very European-looking guy in a two-toned coat played the pipes along with a band as teens danced with abandon. Melody waved from a table filled with girls her age as they gossiped about…something. She’d made friends almost immediately.

  “He’s been watching you ever since you walked inside,” Pamela whispered, nodding toward a tall, cute guy with brown hair and tanned skin. The same guy she’d seen earlier.

  Wow. Much hotter than Todd Wilkins.

  “Let’s have something to drink.” Pamela dragged her to the bar and ordered a drink. It was free, just like everything else. Even the dress she wore. She could get used to this.

  “Hi.” Hot, tanned guy sat down next to her. Juliet tried not to giggle. “New here?”

  “Um, yeah.” Her cheeks burned, how stupid she sounded. “I’m Juliet.”

  “Hi, Juliet. I’m Marc.” He smiled, revealing dimples. “Want to dance?”

  She looked to Pamela, who shrugged.

  “Sure.” After all, who was here to tell her no?

  No one.

  ***

  Juliet lost track of time. Every night she went out dancing until the sun rose, sometimes with Pamela, nearly always with Marc and his friends. Marc worked in the bookshop and she often helped him. He had been here since something called the Children’s Crusades. Children aged a little, but no one completely grew up—certainly, no one grew old. She could deal with that—to be young and have fun forever.

  Nearly everyone she’d met had some sort of horrible story, fleeing from forced marriage, abuse, starvation, or in the case of one girl, the lion pit. Everyone’s stories made not being allowed to go to a party feel trivial. Like she and Melody weren’t really worthy of the refuge offered by such a wonderful place. But she wasn’t ready to go.

  “Juliet, is that you?” Melody whispered as Juliet tiptoed past her door in their little two-bedroom cottage. Finally, they had bedrooms of their own.

  “Guess what? Marc held my hand as he walked me home.” She giggled, yawning. Dawn was rising. Time for bed.

  Melody, still dressed, stood in the doorway. “I…I think I’m ready to go home. We’ve been here a long time. Mom’s probably worried.”

  “But I’m not ready to go.” Juliet blinked. “Marc still hasn’t kissed me.”

  “I like it here, but I miss my friends, and well…” Melody fidgeted. “I miss Mom. Compared to some of the stories girls here have told me, our mom’s a saint.”

  “True…” She took a deep breath, not quite willing to believe she was about to admit this. “I miss Mom, too. Yeah, she’s mean sometimes, but you’re right, she could be so much worse.”

  “So can we go home? Please?” Melody pleaded. “I want my bed and my TV and my phone. And Mom.” She traced the wooden floor with her bare toe. “I want Mom.”

  As much as Juliet loved the freedom, she actually sort of missed having someone there. Sure, Mom punished them, bu
t she did a million little things Juliet had always taken for granted, and now missed.

  “How do we get home?” Juliet asked. “Should we ask Pamela?”

  Melody shook her head. “Noooo.”

  “What?” She blinked. Pamela was always so nice; like the de facto mom of Babylon.

  “I’ve talked to other girls. Pamela is great, as long as you’re happy and having fun, but the moment someone wants to go home…” Melody shuddered and a chill shot up Juliet’s spine at the thought of such a magical place having a dark side

  “Maybe we shouldn’t risk it?” Homesickness stabbed her heart, especially when Melody’s face fell. “Okay, we’ll go home. What should we do? Should I ask Marc?” Now him…him she’d miss.

  “I saved this.” Melody held up the bloody, half-used candle that had brought them here. “When Pamela asked me for it, I told her it was gone.”

  “Wait—do you think there’s something sinister about this place? Like children die to keep up the magic?” She shivered.

  Cocking her head, Melody thought for a moment. “No, nothing like that. Unless you leave—my friends say those who leave don’t return.”

  “Well of course not, because they’ve left,” Juliet teased, trying to keep the mood from being so dark and serious. Maybe Babylon was just a magic haven for children who’d led horrible lives. All the more reason to leave—so someone else who needed it could have their place.

  Melody waved the candle in her face. “So?”

  “Now?” She thought of Marc and how he could make her heart flutter with just a look.

  “Please?” Tears glinted in her eyes. “I miss home.”

  Juliet wanted to stay for one more night, but the expression on Melody’s face broke her heart. “Hey, don’t cry.” She wrapped her arms around her sister. “If you want to go home, then let’s light the candle and go. It’s been fun, but you’re right, we’ve been gone, what, weeks? Months? Mom’s probably worried sick.”

  They sat on the floor of Melody’s room.

  “What do we do?” Juliet’s belly fluttered with mixed emotions.

  “The same.” Melody had a knife and matches. “The poem says we can get there, and back again.”

  “Makes sense to me.” Juliet cut her palm, fresh blood mixing with the dried blood already on the candle stub. “Here.” She handed it to Melody. Something opened and closed in another part of the cottage. “Wait—was that a door?”

  Melody smeared her blood on it. “I didn’t hear anything. Light the match.”

  Taking a deep breath, Juliet lit the match before she lost her nerve. They both held the candle and chanted. Footsteps echoed down the hall, but she didn’t stop.

  As they started the last line of the last verse, Marc entered the room.

  His dark eyes widened. “Wait—Juliet, no!”

  They uttered the final word and like before, the floor disappeared from under them and they plunged through a pit. A scream ripped from her throat as she landed on the ground with a thump.

  “Where are we?” Juliet looked around at blue walls and bunk beds. This wasn’t their room.

  Melody stood and frowned. “We used the whole candle. Where are we?”

  They walked through the house, the layout similar to theirs, but filled with things that clearly weren’t.

  Juliet tore out the front door and stared at the house numbers. “Crap.”

  “There’s been a mistake.” Melody’s voice shook as she stared at the numbers, which were correct.

  Juliet’s heart raced. What was going on?

  Spinning on her heels, she ran to the corner, Melody following close behind. Everything looked different—the cars, the houses, like something out of a movie that took place a little bit in the future—or an alternate reality.

  She peered up at the street sign. “This is our street. This really is our house.”

  “It’s not ours.” Melody sniffed. “Where’s Mom? I want Mom.”

  “Let’s go to the center and get some answers.” They hurried down the street and Juliet just couldn’t shake the thought that something wasn’t quite right.

  When they got there, a coffee shop stood in place of the center. Her heart sank all the way to her feet.

  “It’s gone,” Melody wailed.

  Juliet hugged her sister. “Why don’t we use their phone to call Mom?”

  How long had they been gone?

  They walked into the shop and the barista eyed them curiously. So did the other customers. Dread balled in her belly.

  “Um, excuse me; can we use your phone? I lost mine and I need to call my mom. Please?” Juliet asked. Melody wrapped her arms around herself and sniffed.

  “Sure,” he wiped his hands on his apron. “Is everything okay? Should I call the police?”

  She shook her head. “Really, it’s okay.”

  He led them to the back and showed them to the phone.

  Melody slumped against the wall, nose red.

  Juliet dialed her mom’s familiar cell number. It rang and her heart skipped a beat. “Pick up, pick up,” she whispered.

  “Hello?” The voice sounded…old, but at the same time, familiar.

  “Mom?”

  Melody’s eyes widened.

  “Who’s this?” the voice demanded.

  “Mom, it’s me—Juliet—and Melody. We’re sorry, we’re so sorry.” Tears streamed from her eyes. “Where are you? We just want to come home.”

  The party, being in trouble, none of that mattered anymore.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but don’t think I won’t call the police,” she snapped.

  “But Mom, it’s me, Juliet.” Could she really be that mad?

  “No it’s not. My girls died thirty years ago. Now leave me alone.”

  The line went dead.

  Her blood turned to ice as she turned to Melody.

  Melody’s green eyes widened. “Is she mad? How long were we gone?”

  Juliet sunk to the ground as her world crashed down on her. It all made sense—the house, everything being future-like. Why should time in a magic world run the same? After all, it never did in the stories.

  She buried her face in her hands. “Thirty years.” The words barely made it past her lips. “We’ve been gone for thirty years.”

  – The End –

  One for Sorrow

  Karen Mahoney

  One for sorrow,

  Two for joy,

  Three for a girl,

  Four for a boy,

  Five for silver,

  Six for gold,

  Seven for a secret,

  Never to be told.

  – Mother Goose

  THE first night the crow raps on my window with its hard beak, I have only just climbed into bed.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Three times and then it waits, politely, staring in at me with hooded eyes.

  Blink. Tap-tap-tap.

  I don’t open the window that first night, but it returns the next. And then again the next.

  On the third night, I relent.

  I slide open the window, just enough for the crow to slip beneath, and it hops inside. The cold air freezes my breath into ghosts as I struggle to close the window again, while my visitor watches from the cracked wooden sill beside me.

  Claws click as it shuffles to the edge and scans my room with those beady eyes.

  Shivering, I jump back into bed and pull the comforter right up to my chin. The crow spreads its inky wings and flutters onto one of the carved bedposts by my feet.

  We regard each other, the crow and I.

  What does it want? If this was a dream it would be able to speak, and I could find out why it was here. We could have a conversation, and maybe it would even teach me the language of crows.

  But the crow is just a bird and it doesn’t speak. It doesn’t even squawk. It only perches at the end of my bed, blinking occasionally, watching me until I fall asleep.

  ***

  The next morning, t
he crow has disappeared.

  It was a dream, after all. The window is shut fast, and my bedroom door is closed. There is no way in or out for a creature without human hands.

  Disappointment nips at my heart. Something magical has been taken away from me. If it was just a dream, then maybe that means magic doesn’t exist—despite what my mother used to say.

  But no matter the stories of my childhood, I know the truth: you can dream about magic, but dreams themselves aren’t real magic.

  That’s when I find the black feather on the floor by the window.

  So… not a dream, then.

  My heart soars. I hold the feather reverently and twirl it between my fingers. I sniff it and it smells of licorice and the night sky. Winter sunlight from the window gleams cobalt blue along its fine edges, and I find myself wondering about the crow. Where did it come from? How could it leave my bedroom before I’d woken up? Where did it go, when it wasn’t tapping at my window or perched at the foot of my bed?

  It was a mystery.

  It was magic.

  I wait for the crow to come back the next night, but I fall asleep despite the strong coffee I forced myself to drink before going to bed. I wake suddenly in the morning, still bone tired and dying to use the bathroom. I search the window ledge outside my frosty window, hoping for signs of the crow. Clues. Another feather, perhaps, or a four-taloned footprint. Anything.

  But nothing disturbs the smooth ice outside.

  The next night I don’t go to bed at all. I pull my small chair close to the window, curl up with a blanket and a book of poems by Edgar Allan Poe, and wait. The single black feather serves as my bookmark. Or a talisman.

  Just before dawn, my vigil is rewarded. I hear the rush of wings as a silhouette passes the window, first one way and then the other. The shadow returns and settles on the narrow ledge. I can hear the scuffling clicks as the crow struggles for purchase in the thick layer of ice.

  I fling off the blanket, run to the window, and open it. I take care not to spook my guest, and I can’t help my secret smile when he hops inside.

  He? Yes, I decide. He. It looks like a boy crow to me, though I can’t say why.

  He shakes out his fine wings and then glides to my dresser, landing on top of the mirror so that he can clean his frost-damp feathers. I glance down at the carpet, hoping he might have left me another gift, but the floor remains clear of his fine plumage. I pull my blanket back around my shoulders, shivering in the frigid air that hangs like mist in the room. I’d closed the window quickly, but the early morning air still lingers.