Ha!Ha!Ha!

by Steve Beaulieu

  Slowly her anger dimmed but did not dissipate. Resolve strengthened within her. Her heart hardened. She had tried a direct request, whatever Alfreda said. She’d left her with no other choice. She would implement her plans.

  Helga guided Silvershadow into a glide that ended at the base of the waterfall, the entrance to her domain. She slid from her back and headed into her cave, with a quick sharp step that set her divided skirts swishing as she hurried along the corridor. Lights sprang to life, illuminating the way. She returned to the cavern where she had left the tiny sphere containing the soul of the unicorn. She approached the sabretooth’s cage, curious to see if it still lived. The great cat was still, jaw stretched wide in a final scream, stiff with the rigor of death. Its great white fangs curved past its slack jaw, glistening in a foam of orange saliva, colored by the dim lava flow beneath her feet. Helga’s gaze was drawn to the sphere above the cage. The magical container was a brighter blue, more intense and crowded than what she had left behind. She tapped her manicured finger against its side. It tinkled with the sound of glass. “Hello, my lovelies! Are you ready to join with me in the greatest rebirth ever experienced by intelligent life?” The two souls in the sphere swirled, agitated by her words. “Oh, come now. There is no need to fear. The worst is over with now. Soon, you will join with the other souls I have collected here, for a very special union. There is strength in unity and I intend to unite many of you into a common purpose. She stroked the sphere. “You will be invincible.” The blue mist swirled faster and faster, into a tempest desperate to escape confinement. Helga laughed.

  A rumbling sound filled the cavern and a flash of blinding light filled the cavern. Frowning, she strode over to the edge of a great pit, where the lava flowed in a molten river in its depth. The edge of a cliff, newly formed, crumbled under her feet. Chunks of rock slid down the fresh scar, tumbling onto the lava below. At the base, black shadows roamed the floor, picks in hand. They hammered at the new cracks exposed by the recent collapse, widening the rifts and working ever deeper into the abyss. They glided with an unnatural gait, one reserved for those of the underworld. They were her immortal slaves, to be worked continuously for all eternity. Their obedience was never to be questioned. These charun were created by merging the souls of the condemned to the body of a demon, but they could not exist outside of the underworld. Not an ideal use of the charun, but she thought she knew the solution, and soon she would confirm it to all.

  But first, and most important, she must know that her theories were correct, that the key to walking the world unfettered lay in the souls of those not condemned.

  The cavern grumbled bringing a smile to Helga’s red tipped lips. “Look, my pets! We are nearly there! The gods of old are awakening! Isn’t it wonderful?” Her smile faded and she sobered as the time to test her theory approached. She felt a tremor, a sliver of melancholy slide against her conscious but she crushed it ruthlessly underfoot.

  Helga swept out of the cavern and walked down a dark passage to a room carved out of the stone of the mountain. Inside, was an assortment of weapons and tools to make a smithy, dance with joy. The collection had been acquired over the years, stolen from the battlefields of the slain and hoarded against a later day, a day of her own making. She hefted a small crossbow, examining its length for any flaws or warping. Satisfied, she picked up several arrows and left the room, traversing the mix of corridors that slowly sloped to the surface, bringing her out below the Thunderfalls.

  A trail sloped away down the hillside. Helga followed the path. It wound through dense woods and then after several minutes of walking it emptied onto a grassy meadow, where several curiously shaped stones lay in the crushed grass. Artio has been at work again, she said as she skirted the field. She and that man-child of hers might even be close by, and she didn’t want to be seen. She took a second path and climbed to the base of the falls where Silvershadow grazed on tender fern sprouts growing in a mossy area.

  Helga crouched down behind a boulder and drew one of the cross bolts, laying it on her knees. She cast a spell on the arrow, passing her hand over its length. The arrow darkened and trembled, before resuming its normal color. The cursed arrow looked no different from any other cross bolt. She half smiled at the bitter irony of her thoughts. A grimace twitched the corner of her mouth. She drew a deep breath and emptied her thoughts, then placed the cursed bolt in the crossbow and drew it to her shoulder. Aiming at the only thing she loved in the world of the living, she let the bolt fly.

  The flight was true. The bolt burst into red flames as it struck the pegasus in the neck, expanding into a fireball that encompassed her friend in a stinking, searing smell of burning flesh. Silvershadow screeched, throwing her beautiful head back in agony. Her eyes widened, wild with fear, as she tried to fly and found that her wings were gone. A shrill scream echoed from Silvershadow’s lungs as the soul of the pegasus was pulled into the collapsing sphere of flame. The scream ceased and into the echoing silence, the flame steadied. With a soft grinding of bones, the body of the burnt pegasus collapsed into dust, and Silvershadow was no more.

  Helga walked over to the sphere and touched the ball. She could not sense a presence in the sphere. Alarm flashed along her veins, quickening her pulse. No, you can’t be gone! This has worked perfectly every other time! Silver where are you? Helga spoke to the unicorn as she had on her eighth birthday when she had been given the pegasus. Silver where are you? She whispered to the pegasus through the bond they had always enjoyed.

  Slowly she felt a touch. It was a soul in great pain. The pain of betrayal, the pain of loss, and the sorrow of one condemned washed over Helga. A tear slid down Helga’s cheek, falling unheeded onto the dirt below. I had to do this, I had to. You must understand. The bond was cold. The unicorn’s soul remained, but her friend was gone.

  Helga picked up the sphere and carried it back to her domain and as she did so, her heart hardened to stone. The loss of this one last, crushed what soul she had left within her breast. The loss of this most trusted of companions broke something within her. She felt her former heart shatter on the stone floor of loss. It emptied of all feeling and in its place beat a heart of stone, never to be revived.

  Helga’s eyes glowed as she entered her dominion. She was the goddess of the underworld, and she would bring all souls to kneel before her. She would not leave one alive. All would serve her, or die. Forever.

  A Word from Susan Fan

  My love of stories began before I could read or write. My earliest childhood memories are of a make believe game I played with my sister, creating and telling epic stories inspired by a picture chosen at random from a National Geographic magazine. I spent my summers reading and writing sometimes serious, sometimes humorous works of fiction, imagining the worlds beyond my walls. I am an avid reader of literature, especially science fiction and fantasy. I love to bring new worlds and fantasy adventures to young adults and inspire them to join me on my make believe journeys. You can find me at www.susanfaw.com, on twitter @susandfaw or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/SusanFaw.

  COUNTERCLOCKWISE

  BY ED GOSNEY

  COUNTERCLOCKWISE

  BY ED GOSNEY

  HE WAS ON THE MOUND, PITCHING.

  No, that was wrong. That was where it all began. This was much worse.

  He tried to stretch his arms above his head but the manacles wouldn’t go that far, not unless he lifted his feet up, too. That would make him look dumb. Dumb he couldn’t afford to look, not now, not when the jury was getting ready to convene. He had to leave a good impression so he sat up, looked serious, nodded at a couple of them who looked directly at him.

  After they were gone, the judge told the bailiff to take him back to the holding cell. He didn’t mind. At least not yet. Nothing was permanent at this point, and maybe if he went over it again, all of it, from the beginning, he would finally be able to change things.

  The iron door slid shut, clicked, locked, and in his mind he was on the mound. Pitching
.

  • • •

  “Come on, Grease Tub, get it over the plate this time.”

  Charlie Pizzetti turned the ball over in his hands, concentrating, trying to hold back the tears. He was twelve years old, not a baby, and he was disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t be crying just because kids were calling him names. It was bad enough when opposing teams did it, but now it was his team’s catcher. And that made it especially hard to concentrate. Bleary-eyed, he wasn’t quite sure what pitch Tony Sanders was calling for behind the plate. But he couldn’t wait forever and the umpire looked as if he were about to say something. Two balls and no strikes. He knew he had to get this one over the plate. Fastball down the middle.

  The crack of the bat was so loud that you could probably hear it three blocks away, Charlie thought.

  He turned around just in time to see the ball sail over the fence. Three runs scored and the game was tied.

  As he touched third base during his home run trot, the batter, Jacob Moran, a kid who lived just a few blocks away from him and always found a way to annoy Charlie, said, “Thanks, Grease Tub.”

  Something snapped in Charlie and before he could change his mind, he’d tackled the kid halfway between third and home. After some brief rolling around in the infield dirt, a couple assistant coaches quickly had them separated, and Charlie was ejected and found himself sitting at the far end of the dugout. It happened so fast it made his head spin, and for a moment he thought he might actually pass out. Just as he stretched across the bench and laid his head down, Coach Kapernek came walking back from talking with the umpire and the manager from the other team.

  “That was a stupid thing to do, Charlie. Sit up when I’m talking to you. The league can issue you a suspension over this. What a disappointment.”

  This time Charlie couldn’t hold back the tears. “I’d take it back if I could. The whole thing. The fastball, the fight. I’d just take it all back,” he cried, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as he could get them, trying to staunch the torrential downpour before he completely flooded the dugout. He stooped down, covering his head with his arms, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Take it all back,” he muttered to himself, and then squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, wishing this wasn’t happening, that he was someplace else, and feeling so dizzy that he just knew he was going to pass out now.

  Then he was back on the mound, pitching.

  Moran was batting again, and Charlie was confused. He turned and looked at the scoreboard in left field. They were winning 4-1. But what about the three-run homer he’d given up just a few minutes ago?

  “Come on, Grease Tub, get it over the plate this time.”

  This was too weird. Somehow, for some reason, Charlie had been given a second chance. He didn’t know why or how, but he wasn’t about to blow it this time. Tony Sanders was an idiot and he could care less if the catcher saw tears in his eyes. He wiped his sleeve across his face, clearing his vision enough so that he could read the signal. Fastball down the middle. At least he’d been right about the pitch last time. He shook it off. Sanders gave him a crazy look and rolled his eyes, because Charlie Pizzetti never shook off pitches. He knew his team thought he wasn’t a smart enough player, and believed he didn’t have the guts to make decisions under pressure. Finally they agreed on a curve. Charlie didn’t have a great curve, but he didn’t have as much to lose as he did with the fastball.

  This time the crack of the bat was slight, and Moran was thrown out by Billy Talbert, the second baseman, bringing the game to an end. This time the Grease Tub was a hero.

  That evening Charlie couldn’t get over what took place on the ball field. Was it a dream? A premonition of a future yet to come, like in A Christmas Carol? He wasn’t sure, but decided an experiment was in order. It would have to be something small, something that wouldn’t have much of a consequence if he couldn’t repeat this astounding feat. Of course he could try something with no consequence at all, but where was the fun in that? Then it came to him, and he raced out of his room, down the stairs, and into the living room.

  “Dad, I’m tired of you always hogging the TV, so I’m putting on what I want to watch.”

  Then he grabbed the remote from the arm of his father’s chair and started channel surfing.

  “Dang it, Charlie, give that back now.”

  That’s enough, no need to press my luck, Charlie thought as he squeezed his eyes shut tight, just like he did in the dugout, and concentrated hard. Take it back, he said quietly, take it back.

  The TV sounded distant. Charlie opened his eyes and found himself standing in his bedroom. Unbelievable! I’m freaking awesome! Now for the real test, he told himself, solemnly going down the stairs, ready, just in case, to face his father’s wrath.

  “Hey Charlie, want to watch the rest of the game with me? Johnson’s got a no-hitter going into the seventh.”

  Wow, it must have worked. It really must have worked.

  “No thanks, Dad. I’m just grabbing a snack.” He gleefully ran into the kitchen, cracked open a cola, and danced a jig all the way back up the stairs and into his room. Everything had just changed, and for Charlie “Grease Tub” Pizzetti, the fun was just beginning.

  • • •

  Charlie got up from the uncomfortable bed and walked across the cell. It didn’t take long, but walking reminded him of freedom. Sweat was trickling down his back, making his shirt sticky. The clock was ticking, and unless he could make time run counterclockwise again…well, his mind didn’t even want to go there. So he tried again, squeezing his eyes shut tight, saying “I wish I could take it back” under his breath, over and over again, afraid to open his eyes, still feeling the weight of the world crashing down on him, still seeing the blood. All that blood. He reached out blindly and his hand bumped into the cold steel of the bars. Nothing had changed, so Charlie escaped into his memories again.

  • • •

  He was a little older now, a freshman in high school, no longer the Grease Tub, instead sort of tall and skinny, with wavy black hair, but still not as popular as he wanted to be. So he told a couple of the kids he hung out with about his counterclockwise ability. They told some other kids, and before the school day was out, he was a laughing stock. There was no real way he could prove it. If he wanted to he could have predicted a few future events like who would answer a question in class or what the teacher was going to go over that day, but he decided this was not the kind of attention he wanted. The day was a waste and he had to go back seven hours to the moment just before he’d told his buddies his great secret about his special gift. It wasn’t easy. The furthest Charlie had traveled counterclockwise before this was two hours, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and concentrate really hard.

  As Charlie lived the day over again and boredom set in, he decided to live for momentary bursts of glory. Charlie would become the daredevil no one remembered.

  He’d never forget the first time he used his power at a truly daring level. It was Mrs. Bratowski’s gym class, and they were playing volleyball. Shannon Dressler, the hottest girl in the freshman class, was on his team. He was in the back row, and she was in front of him in the middle row. Charlie realized he had a lot of options. But he had made a simple rule for himself that he wouldn’t do stunts over and over on the same person, because for one thing, it just made the days too long, and for another, where was the fun in that when there were hundreds of kids in the school to play jokes on?

  Shannon was beautiful, but she was not a nice person, and Charlie decided to give the mean girl the spanking she deserved. The thought of what he was about to do made him sort of nervous, but he knew the fallout from spanking her and the reaction from his classmates would be worth it.

  Before the ball could be served from the other side, he took a few quick steps forward, swung his right arm back, and smacked Shannon so hard that the sound echoed off the walls. The gym erupted into a jungle of hoots, hollers, and whistles.

  “You’re not as
hot as you think you are, Dressler,” Charlie said as he backed away from her wildly swinging arms. Shouts of praise for Charlie rocked the gymnasium and his ego soaked in as much as he could get, because he knew it wouldn’t last long.

  "You're a jerk, Grease Tub," Shannon shouted.

  Charlie winced. It was a name he hadn't heard in over a year, but then he remembered that he was the one with the power, that he shouldn't let it bother him because this was his show, not Dressler's.

  A shrill, piercing sound filled the air, and Mrs. Bratowski came charging at Charlie. Why not, he figured? Why not give them a real show? He was the star, and he was loving his life at this moment, even though in a matter of minutes no one would remember. As Mrs. Bratowski neared him, Charlie faked one way then ran behind her and gave her a mighty swat too, even harder than the one he gave Shannon. Now the noise was a mixture of laughter and dread. Things had gone way past the prank stage, and some kids were worried for him.

  But to Charlie it was no big deal, and he ran into the boys locker room, squatted down, squeezed his eyes shut tight and wished it all away, reversing time. Now he was standing back on the court, waiting for the serve. Shannon was in front of him, Mrs. Bratowski was on the sidelines, and the boring game went on. And he was once more just plain old Charlie Pizzetti.

  • • •

  Even though he had this amazing power, Charlie was always hesitant to let things go on for too long when he needed to travel counterclockwise because he wasn’t sure just how far he could go back. But late one afternoon during his senior year he had to attempt a big jump. He’d forgotten to do his physics homework. He’d been so wrapped up in a research paper for English that it must have slipped his mind. So when Mr. Wagner told the class to pass in the assignment, Charlie decided it was time to test his limits yet again. Squeezing tight, concentrating, Mr. Wagner asking for his homework, don’t listen, concentrate, squeeze, last night, last night. And he was sitting on his desk chair at home, English paper finished. Now it was time to get down to that physics homework. Yes, Charlie loved his life.