The Shadow of Oz
by Jay Michael Wright II
This is not the Wizard of Oz from your childhood. This is not the bright-eyed innocent Dorothy Gale as portrayed by Judy Garland. This is a story of abuse, tragedy, depression, and the lengths a person will go for the ones they love. All of your favorite Oz characters are here, reimagined in new dark and horrific ways. This is the story of Dorothy’s rise to power in the fantasy world of Oz, or her descent into madness after experiencing the unimaginable. Hold onto your hats, because you’re not in Kansas anymore. You’re inside the mind of the Shadow of Oz.
The Shadow of Oz ©2018 Jay Michael Wright II
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental (unless otherwise noted).
Some characters in this work of fiction are based from characters created by the great Frank Baum in his Oz series of books. It was one of my all-time favorites as a child. I felt almost obligated to pay homage to it with this piece of work.
“Boy or A Girl” by Imperial Drag is ©1996 Eric Dover and is used by permission.
Cover by Ryn Katryn, Digital Art: www.facebook.com/LorainevanTonderDigitalArt
Special dedications: For Jessi, the first person I met in real life that wanted to be a writer too. You inspired and pushed me to be better. Without you, I would not be where I am today. R.I.P. You were taken from this world far too soon.
Thanks to Tony Magill for sprinkling a dash of class into a certain chap I know.
Much love to Lily Luchesi who was the inspiration for the character of “Lily.” May your Death Poetry always flow sweetly from your fingertips.
Last, but certainly not least, “As you wish,” my buttercup…
Foreword
Growing up, The Wizard of Oz was one of my all-time favorite movies. It was whimsical, it was scary, it was everything a young boy like myself loved. Looking back, it’s easy for me to see why I wanted to come back to this subject and add my own special twist to it.
I know some people won’t be happy that I took something so beloved as Frank Baum’s classic and turned it into something dark and frightening, but as a horror writer, it felt like the right thing to do. Within this book, you will find some very serious real-life issues addressed. Some of these issues may make you uncomfortable. For that, I apologize, but every day people of all ages deal with the subject matter within this book. I wanted to shine a light into the darkest places of the human soul and explore what happens to a mind that is pushed past its breaking point. I did this while having nothing but respect for the source material that inspired it.
Depression, abuse, suicide, alcoholism—there’s a lot of serious issues that you’re going to watch this version of Dorothy experience. More than anything, this book is an examination of a traumatized mind and a young girl’s psyche as she wanders through a land that you’ll find familiar, yet disturbingly different.
As a survivor of 20+ years of depression and multiple suicide attempts, I want to specially dedicate this version of the Wizard of Oz to anyone who’s known the shadows, to the depressed, to the abused, to the suicidal, to all of us with our demons that rest of the world will never know. This book is for all of you. I’m living proof you can survive the darkness and find some happiness in the world. May you all find your way back to the light. I love you all.
--Mikey
Jay Michael Wright II is nerd and a gamer. When not writing at a frantic pace to make deadlines, he’s usually found playing D&D or MTG with his friends. He is a friend to felines and a dreamer.
Follow me:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jmw2author
Twitter: www.twitter.com/jmw2author
Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/jmw2author
Website: https://jmw2author.wordpress.com/
"Jay Michael Wright II is an award winning, gobsmackingly original refreshing voice in horror and beyond, every book a pageturning masterpiece!" – P. Mattern (Mamma Fang)
Chapter One
Right 6, left 24, right 18, and open! Fuck! I swear to God this fucking locker hates me.
Dorothy propped her left knee on the locker beneath hers, the one with the giant Green Day sticker applied to the front and tried to get a better grip on the combination lock which was denying her access to what she referred to as “the metal contraption that holds my shit during class.” She grit her teeth and started on the combination once again.
Right 6, left 24...
Her books began to slide off her leg and her multitasking balancing act quickly went from a graceful Cirque de Soleil performance to an awkward second grader trying to win the school talent show level.
No! No! Don't fall!
She adjusted her right elbow to try and keep everything in place, but she was far too late. Her Organic Chemistry and History books slammed against the floor, echoing so loud it sounded like an atomic bomb had gone off in the building. Even worse, her bag of art supplies had fallen and landed open-side down. Her color pencils and special markers went rolling off in every direction. Out of frustration, Dorothy clenched her fists and stomped her foot.
Motherfucker! Are you fucking kidding me? There's no way I'll make it to Kansas History on time now! If she was late to Kansas History just one more time, they were going to suspend her from school. Of course, the upside of that, was that she wouldn’t have to go to Kansas History and stare at that wrinkled old bat, Mrs. Guthrie, anymore. Alas, the existential crises of being a teenage girl.
She dropped to her knees, frantically picking up the papers and art supplies that hadn't disappeared amongst the seemingly endless sea of humanity surrounding her. She stuffed everything back into her bag when she saw one last color pencil, her favorite— charcoal black, laying on the ground just to her right. She reached out to save her most precious utensil and she found herself with a size 12 Nike pressing down on the back of her hand.
Dorothy slowly looked up and saw what she feared the most—Todd Simpson, the captain of the football team, the Prom King, the most popular boy in school, and all-around general douchebag. He had been Dorothy’s antagonist since, well, since before she knew what the word “antagonist” meant. He’d had it out for her since grade school. Why? She had no idea, not that it mattered. Todd was an asshole wrapped in a piss blanket, spreading his own special brand of misery to all those who crossed his path. It was simply his lot in life, and her lot, was to be the bastard’s victim. It was all part of high school, the most sadistic creation of mankind since the Spanish Inquisition, circa 1478.
Todd smiled cruelly down at Dorothy. “Well, well,” he said, “if it isn't the little witch-bitch whore?”
Oh, how she hated those words. When she had changed high schools it was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance at a new beginning. Dorothy had walked into her new high school full of optimism, but with those three little words, Todd had placed a target on her back that she still hadn't been able to shake off after more than a year.
Dorothy's jaw tightened as she forced out the words, “Move your hand, Todd.”
“Or what?” Todd laughed. “You gonna put a curse on me, witch-bitch whore?”
That was it. She'd had enough of Todd's bullshit. Normally, she'd just let it go. She had realized long ago that he w
as nothing more than a dumb jock lashing out because high school was going to be the highlight of his entire fucking life, but she was in no mood for his shit today. Dorothy screamed at the top of her lungs, “Move your fucking foot or I'll cut that three-inch prick you call a cock off!”
Complete silence. It was like time had stood still. Everyone—students, teachers, even the janitor—they were all staring at Dorothy with their jaws agape. It was like no one had ever heard a curse word in their life before.
“No ma'am, young lady!” a raspy old voice screamed out.
Shit! That's Mrs. Henderson. I swear that bitch is always out to get me!
Before Mrs. Henderson could weave her way through the crowded hall, Todd made a point to grind his shoe as hard as he could against Dorothy's hand before he walked away smirking. Dorothy knew she was fucked. She had tried to report Todd's abuse before, but because he was the star of the football team, everyone assumed that he could do no wrong. It wasn't fair, but it was how the high school hierarchy worked. Dorothy was simply too far down the rung for her troubles to matter.
Mrs. Henderson snatched Dorothy by the arm with her withered, bony fingers and yanked her to her feet. “Ow!” Dorothy shouted. “You're hurting me!”
“I don't care, you little disrespectful wench! I have had just about enough of you and your mouth!”
Mrs. Henderson tightened her grip and dug her fingers even deeper into Dorothy's arm. She violently slammed Dorothy into her locker and started wagging a finger in her face while berating the girl quite cruelly for all to hear. Mrs. Henderson had been out to get Dorothy ever since Dorothy had corrected the English teacher by pointing out that the British spelling of “colour” was just as acceptable as the American spelling. It was only a moral victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.
Dorothy struggled against the teacher's grip and started to panic. Mrs. Henderson was invading her personal space and triggering her claustrophobia. Tight spaces sent Dorothy into a panic attack. It had been this way ever since she accidentally got locked in the hallway closet when she was four. Who puts locks on closets anyway? Some sick twisted fuck, that’s who.
Dorothy started to hyperventilate. Everything started to spin and that's when she lashed out. Before she even realized what she had done, Mrs. Henderson was lying flat of her back and people were staring at her like she had just committed murder. Hell, as feeble as the old bird was, maybe she had.
Oh shit! I've gone and done it now.
Chapter Two
“A week suspension? Are you freakin' kiddin’ me?”
Dorothy walked down the sidewalk with her head hung low. She remained silent, still slightly in shock at the news herself. Her friend, Katie, grabbed her by the arm and stopped Dorothy dead in her tracks.
“Dorothy! What in the heck are you going to do?” Katie asked with a deep concern in her voice.
Dorothy shrugged her shoulders. She whispered a reply. “I have no clue. This is the fifth time I've gotten into trouble this semester. Last time I got in trouble my parents threatened to crucify me. Now this? I am tea-totally-fucked.”
Katie wrapped her arms around Dorothy's neck and Dorothy had to fight back tears. Katie had been her best friend, her only friend in this God-forsaken town since elementary school. Without her, Dorothy had no clue how she would have survived. She would have slit her wrists years ago if it hadn’t been for Katie.
She moved Katie's brown hair to the side and placed her head on her shoulder. Dorothy let out a sigh and her hands moved to Katie’s lower back. She held on tight and tried to let the anxiety that filled her slip away. Katie was the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen and the safest arms she’d ever known.
Katie rubbed Dorothy's back and whispered in her ear, “Baby, it's gonna be okay.”
Dorothy pulled away and wiped her eyes to remove any evidence of the tears that had managed to escape despite her best efforts. Katie frowned and put her hands on Dorothy's cheeks. She leaned in and softly placed a kiss on Dorothy's forehead. “Don't you worry, Dee. Everything will work out.”
Dorothy's lip trembled, and her hands began to shake. “That's easy for you to say. You don't have to go inside and face my folks.”
Katie reached out and intertwined index fingers with Dorothy. She reached out and slowly lifted Dorothy's chin until their eyes met. “Ya know, I could go with you, for emotional support.”
Dorothy retreated and shook her head vigorously. “No, no, no. Absolutely not! I am not letting you walk into that cluster-fuck of a home of mine!”
Katie shriveled up and her green eyes, the greenest eyes Dorothy had ever seen, showed her melancholy. “Dorothy? We've been a couple for months now, but you have never once had me over to your house. Are you… are you ashamed of me?”
Dorothy couldn't believe her ears. She couldn't even fathom those words being true. “No! Absolutely not! How could you even think that?” She pulled up close to Katie and whispered in her ear. “You know you're the only thing that keeps me sane in this world. I could never, ever be ashamed of you…or us.”
With those few words, Dorothy made Katie blush and brought the sunshine back to her eyes. Suddenly, Katie stomped her foot and looked upset again. “Shit!” she whispered beneath her breath.
Dorothy was utterly confused. “Katie, what is it?”
“Our sleepover! There's no way your folks will let you come over now!”
Katie slumped down and looked defeated, but Dorothy had already schemed herself up a plan. “Oh, I'll still be coming over,” she said with a devious smile.
“But how?” Katie asked with a bewildered look on her face.
Dorothy smirked. “It's Friday. I have all weekend to tell my parents I got suspended. No need in ruining our Saturday night, right?”
Katie's face lit up like the Fourth of July. “So, I'll see you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
“Pinkie promise?”
Dorothy hooked pinkies with Katie and replied, “Pinkie promise.”
Dorothy stood there, her pinkie intertwined with Katie's, and got lost for a moment in Katie's eyes. Reluctantly, she let go and said, “Well, I better get inside before Queen Kong starts roaring.”
Katie looked sad, but she nodded that she understood. She slowly walked away and said, “Love ya, Dee.”
Dorothy blushed. “I love ya, too, Katie-bug.”
Dorothy walked up the cracked sidewalk towards her house like she was a “dead-man walking.” When she hit the steps leading up to the porch she heard that familiar scratching sound that always greeted her. She opened the door and there was her tiny Scottish Terrier, Toto. He bounced like a little black and gray ball. He wagged his tail so furiously that you’d have thought that he was trying to take flight.
Dorothy smiled and knelt. She ran her fingertips through Toto’s fur and gave him scratches behind the ears. He adored scratches behind the ears. It was his favorite thing, right behind his all time favorite—belly rubs.
“Hey, Toto. Did you miss me, boy?”
Glass shattered in the direction of the kitchen and a chill ran down Dorothy’s spine. She immediately straightened up and thought, What the fuck was that? Dorothy tossed her backpack down on the ground and rushed to investigate. She froze and covered her mouth when she saw her mother laying in middle of the floor surrounded by a minefield of broken shards of glass. On the counter was a half-empty bottle of Scotch.
Jesus Christ, mom! Again?
Dorothy rolled her eyes. “Goddamn it, mom! It’s barely three thirty! Isn’t it a wee bit early to be this shit-faced drunk?”
Her mother struggled on the ground, looking like a newborn trying to sit up for the first time. “Don't you fucking blaspheme, Dorothy!” she yelled from the floor.
Dorothy sighed and walked over to her mother. With each step, glass crunched beneath her feet and she nearly lost her footing twice. It looked like her mother had managed to break every glass in the house—a new personal record. This day was just gettin
g better by the moment.
“Come on, mom. Let me help you up.”
Dorothy got her arms around her mother and lifted her to her feet. No sooner than she was upright, her mother shoved Dorothy away and staggered backwards, nearly falling again. Luckily, her mother caught herself and propped up against the sink. “Get your stinking hands off of me, girl! I don't need your help!” she said in a slurred voice.
Dorothy raised an eyebrow and shook her head. If sarcasm was venom, Dorothy’s fangs would have been showing. “Really, mom? You were doing such a good job getting up on your own.”
Dorothy's mother brought the back of her hand down across Dorothy's face. Dorothy recoiled as the pain radiated across her face. She spit a mouthful of blood and she could feel her eye already beginning to swell. This wasn't the first time her mother had hit her, and Dorothy was pretty sure that it wouldn’t be the last. This was simply how it was. This was all Dorothy knew. To her, as sad as it is to say, this was “normal.”
Standing at the entrance of the kitchen, Toto barked very loudly his disapproval. Dorothy’s mother screamed, “Tell that fucking fur-ball to shut the fuck up! I don't even know why we keep him! All he does is piss and shit in the house.”
“Well, maybe if you weren't so wasted you could, oh, I don't know—maybe let him outside during the day?” Dorothy was absolutely furious. It was always the same shit with her mom. Nothing was every good enough. There was always something to complain about.
Her mother rolled her eyes and waved her hand, totally dismissing the notion. “Pft. Please! I have better things to do with my time than mess with that mutt.”
Toto growled, as if he knew what had been said, and Dorothy shook her head. “So, what are you going to do now, mom? You somehow managed to break every glass in the cabinet.”
The Shadow of Oz Short Page 1