Death in the Family
It was raining. Not heavily, but in that drizzly sort of way that soaks deep into the clothes and makes everything miserable. Mandy stood between her brother and sister holding onto their hands as her father's coffin was lowered into the grave.
Apart from their mother, there were no other mourners. Not even from the place where their Dad worked. Mandy wondered why nobody had come. They found out their Dad recently quit his job, but he worked in that place for over five years and not one person came to say their last respects.
The priest mumbled some rubbish Mandy couldn't be bothered to listen to. Who cared what he thought? Mum was sure they would lose the house within the month. Apparently, Dad sold it without her knowledge. They were going to be alone and penniless.
Fifteen was far too young to lose your father and Mandy was the eldest. She wondered how William was going to cope, and then poor Jenny who was only twelve. Mandy looked across at her mother and saw tears leaking down her face. Losing a husband was one thing, but her mother stood to lose everything, their home, their possessions … everything.
Mandy's teacher, Ms. Gregory, had promised her that the courts wouldn't let them take the house. That hadn't stopped the judge ruling against them. It was as though the whole world had turned against the Grange family and was intent on destroying them. Every part of the social security safety net had let them down and they faced living on the streets.
Mandy let go of her siblings and reached down to take a handful of loose earth from the ground and throw it onto the coffin.
"Bye Dad," she whispered. The wet earth stuck to her hands and she rubbed them together to try and scrape it off. She wore her best coat and her mother would be upset if she got it dirty.
William reached down and copied her actions.
"I'll get them, Dad," he muttered and threw the earth violently onto the lid of the coffin, splattering mud over the brass plate on the top. Mandy had no idea what he was talking about and made a mental note to ask him. Not that you ever got a sensible answer out of William.
Jenny leaned out so far over the grave that Mandy put a hand onto her shoulder to stop her falling in. She drizzled the soil over the coffin and particles bounced as they landed.
"Sleep tight, Daddy. I'll never forget you."
When Mandy let go of Jenny she left a muddy handprint on her sister's coat. Mandy sighed because she knew her mum would be upset. She resisted the urge to try and brush it off the sodden cloth. The attempt would surely make it worse.
The four of them turned to follow the vicar, who looked anxious to get out of the rain. The church appeared sinister to Mandy, gothic grey stone against the black clouds of the sky. She might even believe that ancient gods were mourning her father— all they needed were a few strokes of lightning. The flashes that followed her thoughts took her by surprise. The words, 'Be careful what you wish for,' echoed through her head before the thunder drowned them out. It was her father's favorite saying and he was always going on about ancient gods. William used to joke that he talked about them as though he'd known them personally.
The lightning flashes had revealed they were not alone. Three figures stood watching them from the shelter of a massive oak in the center of the graveyard. They made an odd trio, two rotund adults, male and female, the man smaller than the woman and much fatter, and a tall thin mean-looking teenage boy. The woman was smiling. To Mandy it looked as though she was taking delight in her family's pain. She pulled at her brother and sister's hands to try and hurry them along. The sooner they were gone from this place the better.
A few miles away an old man sitting in a large armchair heard the thunder and his back stiffened as though the lightning had gone through him. Ezekiel Howard gasped as the knowledge of his brother's death struck him like a blow from a sword. He put down his glass and stared across the room, his mind reeling. Ezekiel Howard was an old man, wispy white hair stuck out from his head in all directions. He had taken on this appearance because nobody questioned old men about their reclusiveness. Now it would make his ending seem all the more natural.
There was a knock at the door and Glass entered. She shimmered in the dim light; her body and clothes were a mirrored surface. A thousand distorted reflections served to disguise the form of a beautiful girl, though she was not a girl as humans understood the word.
"I sense something is wrong. Is the Source under threat?" Her voice was gentle and melodic, she was the house guardian and it didn't surprise Ezekiel in the slightest that she sensed his horror. Looking at her for the last time, he marveled still at the miracle of her creation. Though he had long since stopped talking to the Dees, tonight he would make a single exception.
"James is dead. I will follow him shortly. All is arranged. Remember your purpose. Remind the others of their role."
"How can you die? How can James be dead? The Blood protects the Source and we must protect you both." Glass spoke calmly and without passion, as if she was discussing the weather rather than two men's lives.
Ezekiel waved her out of the room without giving her an answer. He pressed against the large ruby ring on his index finger and the ruby swung on a hinge to reveal a tiny hidden compartment. He poured the powder in the compartment into his glass where it fizzed in the sherry. He sat back down in his chair and raised his glass high in salute.
"Our task is finally over, my brother. May those who take on the task we relinquish enjoy as much success as we have."
As he put the glass to his mouth, the room brightened, though there was no source of light to cause it. Ezekiel paused and put down the glass for just long enough to take off his ring and put it in the drawer in the table.
Then he drank his sherry and died.
The thunder storm raged across the city all through the night. Green-tinged fire played across the rooftops and church bells rang of their own accord. In the house that had been their home all their lives, Mandy, William and Jenny watched the storm into the early hours.
Fluffy, my pet dragon, was pacing the Bat Cave irritably. There are absolutely no bats in the Bat Cave. I simply called it that because it sounds cool. Nor was Fluffy a good name for a fifteen foot tall scaled dragon with a wingspan of at least thirty feet.
However, you have to understand that dragons are born with feathers, little white fluffy ones that fall out about the same time as their eyes open, and that I was a pretty ignorant wizard when I stole Fluffy's egg from his mother's nest.
That was over ten years ago and Fluffy had grown pretty big in the intervening years. Not, you understand, that Fluffy is not beautiful in his own right.
All dragons have colored scales and Fluffy's were iridescent as well, predominantly orange, but with patches of yellow that could be easily mistaken for gold. Perhaps that was where the legend about dragons having hoards of gold came from.
My name is Jake and I am an eighteen year old wizard. I discovered my powers when I was seven and have done a good job of keeping them a secret from my parents ever since. Fluffy is from another world, dimension, planet, whatever, that I got to by world hopping.
Hopping was the first talent I discovered as a wizard, how to move between the worlds. Of course, I didn't know I was a wizard then. All I knew was that my solitary games of hopscotch tended to a little on the weird side. If the stone I threw disappeared when it landed, my last hop onto that square would take me to wherever it had gone. It was easy to get back, provided I had chalk with me, as the stone would always return to the square it had disappeared from if I marked up another hopscotch court.
I met a wise man once, in one of those other worlds that told me that was what hopscotch had been invented for, to travel easily between the worlds. Before it had been invented, wizards had needed to draw complex mazes and then walk them carefully. The man had talked a load of bollocks though. According to him, groves of trees could be used for the same purpose, provided the
plantings had been properly spaced. How absurd is that?
The other worlds were much more interesting than ours, at least they always seemed that way to a bored child who was never supposed to leave the back garden without permission. I suppose they were safer when it comes right down to it, as I have never come across a ten-ton lorry or a tired commuter in a SUV on any of my travels away.
Hopscotch took me to the top of canyons encompassing fast running rivers, to mighty cliffs with the seas battering against them, to white sand beaches with azure oceans just beyond and to granite mountains whose pinnacles were shrouded in mists. Okay, I admit it, when you travel to other worlds you always end up at an interface point, where land meets the water or mountains break into the clouds. It is part and parcel of the magic.
I rarely saw another human in those early days. Mainly because these places were a little on the inhospitable side (except for the white beaches, and they were remote from any habitation) but also because as a shy seven and then eight year old I was prone to sit close to where I arrived and spend my time watching the sea, mists, rivers and so on.
By the age of eight, I had seen sea serpents at sea from the white beach and giant birds flapping their way across said canyons, but the mountains seemed devoid of life. It seems funny to me now, but I never questioned the existence of the sea serpents or the giant birds. They were just like the pictures in the storybooks my mother bought me, so I just assumed that they were a normal part of real life.
One day when I was eight years old, I hopped and skipped myself to the mountains and it suddenly started to rain. It was a heavy cold downpour and I ran for cover rather than hop myself home. I ran into a nearby cave entrance. It was a little smaller than I was and I had to duck my head to get inside. I considered hopping home when I had time to think, but the rain had washed away my chalk marks outside and it was too dark to draw the court in the cave.
After a while, I got tired of waiting for the rain to stop and walked a little further into the cave. When my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, I realized that there was a faint glow coming from even deeper inside. Thinking that this might lead to a bigger entrance where I could draw my hopscotch court away from the rain, I walked deeper into the cave.
Turning a blind corner in the cave, I found there was a massive natural entrance that looked right out over the canyon. I became scared when I got close to it, because the entrance ended in a sheer cliff wall. Strong winds from the outside buffeted me as I walked closer. The winds were strong enough to make me stagger from side to side, and I felt that if I opened my arms wide I might rise up into the air. I decided to turn around to walk back and that was when I saw the eggs.
Chapter One
Five years ago
Jimmie waited in the pickup truck while his parents bought party supplies at the country store. It would be the worst birthday ever if his party was here at Ore Pit Pond. Nobody would swim in the cold black water, a bottomless pit that ate children’s souls.
He hopped down from the truck, his sneakers thumping up a dust cloud that floated toward the pond. A teenage boy cannon-balled off a wooden dock, a crow cried, and a Spaniel pup howled at two girls who walked through the woods toward the water.
A warm breeze added a restless shimmer to the trees encircling the pond. When it died, the leaves came to rest. A familiar old pain ripped through his stomach. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, angry that this would happen on his birthday. All he could do was wait... and listen for the message.
After a moment, it came... a deep bell clanging in the distance, like a massive chime atop some dark and faraway tower. It was a soulful clang, a metallic moan shifting on unsettled air.
He opened his eyes and ran to the store. The screen door squealed when he pushed through it. Floorboards creaked as he weaved through narrow aisles, and his eyes adjusted slowly to the rustic gloom. Shadows filled the store’s back corners except for an angled shaft of light punching through a crack in a grimy window. The dim yellow ray landed on a high shelf, splashing wheat-colored light on a box of birthday candles.
Was this the bell’s message? Would his birthday candles start a fire?
He clutched the box, and the bell clanged again, loud as though in the next aisle. A searing pain ripped through his stomach, burning way hotter. Doubling-over, he scrambled into a broom closet so nobody would see him.
“Jimmie!” his mom called from a distant part of the store. “Is that you?”
A blade of pain twisted in his gut. He dropped the candles and fell to his knees. The box collapsed under the weight of his knee, the colorful sticks crumbling as he tried to pick them up. Bits of wax and stringy wicks slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. He gathered them into his hand and wondered: could a birthday wish work in reverse? Instead of making a good thing come true, could it make a bad thing disappear?
“Please go away,” he begged. “Please go away. Please go away.”
“Jimmie!” his mom called again, closer.
Despite the pain, he stood and dusted off his knees. As he returned to the aisle, his foot caught the leg of a beef jerky display. He stumbled into a tower of olive jars. The greenish-gray orbs stared back at him like the eyes of dead people, their pimento pupils glowing red. The olives were crammed in tight, drowning. He felt breathless looking at them.
Was this the message? Would someone choke on an olive?
He grabbed one of the jars and turned it slowly as he stared into it. An outdoor image appeared within the jar and expanded to fill his mind. As the scene shimmered into focus, a warm breeze brushed his face with the scent of lilac and honeysuckle. It was Ore Pit Pond, the swimming hole just outside. A scene began to play out in his mind. A girl his age stood on the dock at the water’s edge. Her hands covered her mouth like she was stifling a scream. Her eyes remained fixed on a younger girl in a purple bathing suit who flailed way out in the middle of the pond. A woman paddled toward the little girl. Would she make it in time?
Jimmie took a blind step forward, and his chin smacked into the metal shelf, reminding him that he was in the store, not outside by the pond. He shook his head to break the vision, but it didn’t help. The drowning girl and her burbling screams wouldn’t go away.
He had to find the exit.
He stumbled, clutching the olive jar with a sweaty hand while feeling for the end of the aisle with the other. The earthy smell of pond water filled his nostrils, and his skin chilled like he’d stepped into winter.
“Jimmie,” his mom said. “There you are. Look at the time. You’re officially twelve now.”
“Really?” he said, raising his wrist and doing his best to look in the direction of his watch, though all he could see was the outdoor scene playing in his mind.
His chest tightened, and he was sure he was feeling what the girl felt: cold skin, lungs filling with black water, and fear. The girl’s hands reached out of the bottomless pit and clutched at air before vanishing into the black water. A pink ribbon tied in long brown hair bobbed on the surface a few times before sinking, and within seconds the girl’s life was marked only by an expanding pattern of rings on the water.
“Jimmie,” his mom said, her voice crackling with panic. “What’s wrong?”
The jar slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor. Cold olive juice soaked into his canvas sneakers. The sharp smell of vinegar dissolved the vision from his mind. As the girl’s last cries faded to echoes, his eyes readjusted to the store’s darkness. The splashing was gone, and his left ear began to whine in the unnerving quiet.
His mom cupped his shoulder. “Talk to me, Jimmie. Are you alright?”
All he could think of was how clear the vision was, how real it felt and smelled. He wanted to run outside and save the drowning girl, but how could he? The water was quiet a minute ago, the air filled only with the sounds of a few teens splashing around and a barking dog.
Jimmie drew a deep breath, trying to calm his mind.
Sometimes the reverberations of past events hovered in the air like a cold spot in a warm room, and maybe he’d stepped into one.
“I broke the jar,” he said to his mom. “It was an accident.”
“You’re all sweaty.” She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I guess so.”
The screen door at the front of the store banged open. An overweight man raced to the checkout, struggling to catch his breath. “Call 911! My daughter... Melody… the ore pit!”
Daughter.... before he came into the store, the dog was barking at two girls in the woods.
Jimmie raced to the front of the store and blasted through the screen door into sunlight. The older girl stood on the dock, just like in his vision. He charged past her and dove in, swimming underwater to the middle of the pond. He surfaced near the woman who had finally reached the spot where the little girl sank.
A scream rang out from behind. Jimmie spun in the water toward the dock, where the older girl clenched her hands close to her face. “Mom!” she shouted. “Can you see her?”
Jimmie watched his dad run from the store to the water and dive in. He surfaced nearby.
“Dad, I can reach her.” Treading water, Jimmie nodded to the woman. He drew a deep breath and plunged straight down. Rays of sunlight danced all around as he swam toward the bottom, and twice he felt his dad swimming beside him.
His ears squealed under increasing pressure, and it was hard not to think about turning back for air. Instead, he kicked harder and pulled deeper. He strained to see shapes in the depths and noticed something purple twisting in the murk below.
Long ago, a mining company digging for iron ore hit a natural spring that filled the quarry. As Jimmie swam into its depths, his body cast shadows that rippled on an abandoned crane. He took hold of the machine and kicked, pulling himself hand-over-hand along its slippery, algae-covered beams toward the quarry floor.
Sunlight barely reached the water below as the crane’s metal framework plunged into darkness. Maybe his dad could pull the girl to the surface so someone could resuscitate her. Jimmie turned to give his dad a thumbs-up, only to find himself alone.
Invisible screws twisted into his ears, creaking and squealing with the slow release of pressure. His chest fried, and he had to turn back for air. Then he could take a deeper breath and pull himself along the crane with enough time to find the girl and help raise her to the surface.
He turned a half-somersault and kicked toward the light.
A blaze of heat lit up the left side of his face as his head smacked the rusted crane. A jag of steel slid into his ear and tore everything. Its barbed edge gouged his ear canal and lanced his eardrum. He screamed a muffled underwater roar as he wriggled free. Water filled his mouth and gushed down his windpipe as blood from his ear clouded the water with scarlet streamers.
He struggled, his lungs burning and his ear on fire, until every muscle tightened. His body wrenched until his arms floated limp at his sides and his legs dangled free.
He floated in silence, as though time had stopped, suspending him in the deep.
Calming waves rippled through him. He rose slowly and looked up at rays flashing gold and blue, and he knew everything would be alright. Pinpoints of light darted around like playful little fish, and the fire in his ear and chest faded.
Peace. Calm. From the first clang of the church bell, Jimmie knew someone would die—he just didn’t think it would be him. Not on his birthday. A weight lifted off his shoulders. No more worries. No more pain. No more homework!
He thought he should be sad about dying. Was it odd that he wasn’t? He was eager for the answers to his life’s questions: Why the visions? Why him? He closed his eyes and waited for his answers and angels to come.
Something tugged under his armpits and yanked him to the surface. His lungs heaved while someone—maybe his dad—ferried him to the dock. Hands reached down and hoisted him out of the water. He flopped face-down on the wooden dock and heaved up an ocean. The coughing was so violent and painful that tears poured from his eyes, rolled down his cheeks, and entered the corners of his mouth, mixing with pond water and bile on his tongue.
His mom knelt beside him and stroked his hair while tears poured from her eyes. He couldn’t hear her crying because of the pain in his left ear, now searing again. Even the footsteps vibrating up from the dock were nothing more than muffled thumps that he could only feel.
He leaned over the edge and searched the water for any sign of the girl. The shadow of a face appeared beneath the ripples. Melody? No, it was a pair of eyes glowing red like embers in a dying fire. Staring into those pimento-red eyes, Jimmie sensed gnarled fingers reaching for him, grabbing at some part of him, wanting to claw him into the deep. He rolled away from the water as the ghostly fingers reached into his chest and pulled at his ribs.
Resisting, Jimmie croaked out a syllable, choking on the words. Sounds slowly materialized in his right ear.
“Easy,” his dad said. “Don’t try to talk.” He wrapped a towel around Jimmie and hugged him. The gnarled fingers released their grip and faded, no match for his dad.
Jimmie touched his left earlobe. Wet heat spread down his forearm to his elbow, where it dripped to the dock in thick red droplets. Sickened from the sight of his own blood pooling around him, he weakened. His head clunked to the dock. His dad whipped off his shirt, wrung it out, and wrapped it around Jimmie’s bleeding head. It bathed Jimmie in the scent of aftershave and reminded him of being five years old, nestled on the couch with his face in his dad’s tee-shirt while the bat-cracks and gentle cheers of a Yankees game floated from the television. Through open windows came the hum of a distant lawnmower and the scent of freshly-cut grass and honeysuckle.
That was a warm place, a safe place. Jimmie curled now, cold. He drew his knees to his chest, feeling none of those comforts, feeling they’d been lost forever.
“That was so brave,” his dad said, his voice filled with pride and fear. “An ambulance is coming.”
“For the girl?” Jimmie rasped between breaths. He pushed away the image of the girl’s body resting at the bottom of the pond. How long had she reached up for her mom or dad or big sister? How long had she held onto the hope of rescue before realizing she would die cold and alone at the bottom of a flooded ore pit? Had she looked up and seen him struggling toward her? Had she watched him turn away?
“For the girl?” Jimmie repeated, his energy slipping away.
His dad looked away without answering. The girl’s father stood at the water’s edge. He embraced his wife and the older girl. Together they collapsed to their knees and cried.
“The … girl?” Jimmie asked again as daylight dimmed in his eyes. “Melody?”
“I’m sorry, son,” his dad said with his hand on his heart. “She’s gone.”
The ear pain sharpened, and the world turned white. Jimmie opened his mouth to speak, but words clotted in his throat.
“I’m so sorry, Melody,” he finally managed to say, determined to be heard through the gray curtain dividing this world from the next. “I could have saved you if only I had—”
His tongue slackened.
Darkness came, sudden and complete.
