Teena and Dahn sat quietly on the earth’s bench formed by a large green Brontosaurus. That was their story; he stomped it into existence. His weight bouncing stones and trees around with each step until their favorite place was formed next to the playground. Still in the teachers view, they were allowed to wander but no further than what the pupils referred to as “Dino’s Den.”

Their tiny legs dangled, not yet tall enough to reach the ground. Dahn climbed up first, using the moss covered rock to boost his height and then he turned for Teena, pulling her to his level by her delicate arms, always complimenting her pink and purple bracelets that matched the ribbons in her hair.

Care free – the other kids devoted their recess time to swinging high above the park or sliding down the hot metal into the wood chips placed to protect their rumps should a hard landing occur.

The wind blew slightly causing the American flag to clash against the tall silver pole, every school had one. The rattle caught both of the children’s attention. They stared at it’s magnificence. They were best friends and I suppose now, they would always carry that title for one another. Dahn held Teena’s hand for the first time that day. A memory they would never have.

My hand shook as I grabbed the brass knob to the door. I stood in front of the microphone, dazed. I took my guitar from its leather case, positioned myself half on, half off the stool and gave Bessie a strum.

L.T. spoke to me from behind the glass partition. “Michelle, let’s go over the hook one last time before recording.” I nodded, put my earphones on and started to play, he stopped me.

“It’s your one shot at stardom. We need the chill bump factor!”

I put my finger up to my mouth, insinuating that he hush and let me do my thing.

“Go!” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

I took a deep breath and began to saaaaang.

“Your first love painted you blue-ue-ue. She stepped on your feelings of true-ue-ue. You hid behind the darkness that took over your mind. You feared your shattered heart, no one would find. Your first love painted you blue-ue-ue. She stepped on your feelings of true-ue-ue. Little did she know she colored you appealing, you stood out from the rest, now my love I’m revealing. Your first love painted you blue-ue-ue. Baby, now you’re mine, there’s nothing I won’t doo-oo-oo. My Beautiful blue, my beautiful blue, my beautiful blue……….”

I hit the front of my guitar with the palm of my hand.

“That’s it!” L.T. sat up and called me out into the hall. He removed something from a brown envelope he was holding.

“What do you think about this for an album cover?”

I hugged him tightly around the neck. “Are you serious?”

“Indeed, it’s your time to shine!” L.T. was one proud producer.

“A blue seashell amongst dark rocks, love it!” I was giddy with excitement.

“I’m thinking we’ll go with the title: Blue Chelle!”

 

 

 

“How did we get here?” I woke up covered in sand, head pounding, and my clothing torn.

“There’s a seashell stuck to your forehead, Rog.”

I smacked Tilly’s hand away when he tried to brush it off. “Don’t touch me! You’re still covered in grease from working on old Mrs. Carver’s Impala.” He dipped them into the loch. “Clean or not, don’t ever touch me!” I reiterated, rolled over and caught it as it fell from above my brow. “This isn’t a shell, It’s a tooth!” I screamed and tossed it as far as I could into the water.

Tilly’s grin exposed he was missing a front one. “Sorry man, I think that was yours.” Unfazed, he stuck his tongue through the gap.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Tilly stumbled back across the beach and fell. He let out half a chuckle.

“Ohhhh… No…. How’d the Carver’s pay you?” My memory was slowly coming back.

He pulled an empty glass bottle from his green and black flannel shirt. “Money….??”

I sighed having heard about this place before – The pointed rock, the purple and pink skies, the mermaid twins that lived below the sea. “You convinced me to search for Millicent and Miranda?” My watch stopped but I knew I was late for my shift at the warehouse.

“It was your idea.” Tilly didn’t lie so I went with his story assuming he was still tipsy. “The best night of my life!” He gazed out over the ocean.

“So you say!” I stood up and headed towards the road.

“There!” Simultaneous splashing threw water in our direction, soaking me again. Tilly retrieved a small golden trident with something attached to the middle prong. “She returned my tooth!” He held it up. “We’re coming back next weekend, Rog! I’m in love.”

“Nooooo…! Momma, why did you blow them out? They’re helping the pumpkins!”

“Margot Sinclair, you are six years old! Why did you think it was okay to light candles next to my Halloween decorations?!?!?” I was furious! This child was always into something! I raised my hand and thought about brushing it across her tiny tail, but I had issues with spanking my daughter. 

The make-up I so carefully applied to intensify her Cinderella costume ran down her face along with those giant crocodile tears that always threw me into a frenzy of sadness. Truly, I blamed Kyle. Everyone in America stopped smoking cigarettes but not this guy, he just couldn’t let go of the habit and he never put his lighter in a secure place. 

“Mommy’s sorry, baby. You cannot play with fire – EVER!” I grabbed a Kleenex and dabbed away at her chunky little cheeks, removing the evidence of hurt. Her silky long blue dress cascaded down to the small heals I painted silver in an attempt to make glass slippers.     She was a cutie!

Her plastic orange pumpkin was overflowing with candy by the time we made it back from trick-or-treating. I checked the loot for evidence of tampering and let her have a couple of pieces of the sugar I despised. She yawned, then cried and yawned again. “To sleepy town you go!” I carried her to bed, tucked her in and kissed her forehead. 

Kyle decided to toss the pumpkins into the backyard for our pet pig-Wilbur, he would most definitely indulge. “Have these things grown?” He heaved and groaned as I laughed. Surprisingly, they did appear quite a bit larger. I was probably just tired.

The next morning, I went into the kitchen, started the coffee, and flipped on the television with the remote Kyle left on the counter along with his lighter. I threw it – in the garbage!

BREAKING NEWS ALERT ticked across the bottom of the screen. I paused to listen. “Residents of Buliver claim to have seen a small girl being carried away in a carriage that resembled a pumpkin.” I dropped the creamer and ran to Margot’s room. She was gone and there in her place was a tiny pamphlet full of pictures – titled THE PRINCESS ZONE – How to transform your Halloween pumpkin into transportation fit for royalty.

The display in front of the Hallowed Trepidation Tabernacle read non-demoninational, A production mistake I assumed, someone forgot to spell check. The church bells rang high above the structure, the pure steeple gave off an eerie vibe as it pressed against the dark storm clouds that engulfed the sky. I slid in past the minister as he shook the hands of many parishioners walking up the steps and in between the behemoth, sculpted columns covered in rare, freckled gargoyles.

I sat in the back row with my head down as if I remained steadfast in prayer. They sent around the cup, though I didn’t recognize the scripture nor the substance in the tiny plastic that resembled a shot glass. I refused it, thinking maybe later. I would most likely need a drink after this. The bread looked more like green eggs and ham than saltless crackers. I leaned back against my seat so it could pass over me. I had no money to give when the golden plate made its way around. It was a no go on all three for me. 

I slightly turned and watched the men in black suits carry the collection into a nearby room, close to the exit, an easy snatch and grab. I nodded and smiled as they walked back to their pews. I got up and headed to the restroom, dipping unnoticed into the office. I thought they would’ve had more sense than to leave the cash out in the open. I stuffed my pockets and turned to leave. I was startled by the fulfillment of the entry way with expressionless faces, women, and men alike – no kids. I ran taking the first left up a set of unlit steps. At the top, I had a choice, a white metal sliding door or a huge wooden one. I chose the one that appeared the strongest. They followed me but at a slow speed, chanting, I couldn’t interpret their words. I hid behind the massive framework, realizing I was in a loft. A woman in all white carrying a lit candle breathed upon the flame, it shot in my direction giving way to my refuge. She kneeled down beside me, exclaiming the group had been awaiting my arrival. She dipped her finger in wax, drew a crucifix on my forehead and called me a sacrificial serpent. I was sure they had the wrong person.

 

 

 

 

They called her Sally, but nothing could slow her down. Her winds and rain so powerful that she burst through those levees as if they never stood. The fierce sound of the rushing water sent me and Boudreaux fleeing up the already rickety stairs. He reached back behind me and jerked his tool belt from the coat rack. He took my wrist and pulled me to the attic entrance, sending me up first. He slid his foot through the opening just as the infested waters stopped below. It was no time before he penetrated the roof with his hammer, tearing through the shingles with the putty knife he used for work. His quick thinking saved us.

The little that we owned violently bounced off every wall in the place until an unearthly silence came over the ward. The sweltering heat made this feat the more difficult. Reaux exited, dragging me with him. We sat near to the sun, praying to heaven that the National guard would reach us soon, only entering back in at night when random gunfire would ring out. I kept my eyes closed after looking across the way and seeing Mr. LeBlanc screaming from the second floor of his dwelling, his face pressed against the glass, fogging up the window and writing help with his index finger right before the swamp took him. There was nothing we could do. This went on for three days and nights. Our own government managed to chum the waters for the many gators looting this very neighborhood.

Once we were rescued, we boarded the first charter bus out, ended up in Houston. The stench and horridness haunt my every thought. When I asked Reaux why we returned, his only answer was “I had to.” I knew then he couldn’t erase the memories either and was hoping for some kind of closure. He kicked around the remnants of our once home with his steel toed boot, finally knocking through every piece of dry wall left standing. He fell to the ground, taking his hair into both fists and screaming at the top of his lungs. That was the first day of the rest of our lives. Long live the city.

 

 

 

 

 

The backdrop was down. The set had an apocalyptic feeling, the burning buildings lining the dark gothic streets made me feel uneasy even though I knew it was make-believe. 

I loved heavy metal, and this rock band was at the top of my list, The Troubled Kitties. It was the first concert I attended. Their act was different than the videos on T.V. They behaved inappropriately, jumping around, grabbing their own body parts, throwing unbelievable things. The crowd followed their lead. I even lost my seat.

The mass left quickly, mid performance, when gunfire rang out. It was a peaceful departure, no one trampled anyone, there wasn’t much pushing or shoving. It felt awkwardly like elementary school, single file lines leading to every emergency exit. That’s the way I would have chosen it had I been able to determine the aftermath of my actions. 

I was the only one in the venue, now. 

I managed to wade through the litter and trash strewn down the aisles, making my way to the stage.

And… there he was, the reason for it all……..

“Come here little guy.” He was balled up behind one of the colossal speakers that belted out the electric guitar I liked. The way they tossed him from person to person in the audience and up to the performers made me wonder how he was still living, tiny fella; skin and bones.

I gently reached my hand out to see if he would accept my help. “Meow.” When he licked my fingers, I knew he was okay. I gently scooped him up and put him inside my coat. 

“Sir, possible active shooter!” A guy in all black with a giant shield took me by the arm and rushed me and my new friend to safety. Those big men wouldn’t know that I shot in the air to make the people stop, I stuck my gun in a lady’s open tote on her way to the door. Maybe someone would’ve noticed but they weren’t paying attention. Momma told me to watch my surroundings and protect those who cannot protect themselves. Not everyone has a good momma like me.

“Auntie June, tell us the story of the handsome man, pleassseeee.” My nieces always wanted to hear the tale but tonight, I needed to rest. I went back there only in my thoughts. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spotted his reflection in the circular mirror of the vintage vanity that had been sold at auction three weeks earlier. He wasn’t the highest bidder but was sent by her to pick it up. His greasy, out of place hair stood straight up on his head. The hoodie he wore was wrinkled and smelled of cigar smoke.

“I can see you, too.” His voice strained and raspy. He ran his fingers across his brow and moaned, suffering from a headache, I supposed. “I know who you are.” He speculated; I was sure.

My salon folded; I sold off everything to survive. I struggled to let the vanity go, it had a super-natural history, one that left me crowned winner of many pageants. With its purchase also went my beauty, a conscious choice for me.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I muttered, keeping my forehead placed against the dry-wall. A quick glance was okay but a deep look would violate the code of ownership.

He slid his feet across the dusty hardwood floor. “So, you say.” 

If he knew who I was, he should’ve refused this job, and if she knew the value of her purchase, she should’ve better instructed him. Only but one can transform by the reflector.

“Careful not to stare.” I alerted him.

“Or what?” He stepped to face me. “I knew you were her.”

He sighed and moved away, unwilling to heed my warning. 

He soaked up his own appearance and immediately transformed. He grew taller and polished. His eyes glowed a radiant hazel, his hair magnificently groomed and the manner in which he carried himself, no longer grungy. He was lovely.

“Beauty Queen!” He roared, admiring his metamorphosis. 

“The fairest of them all sold her charm just to live.” His cackle echoed through the room. 

“And…. you stole it from its new owner.” The mirror exploded, launching shards of glass out into the room, puncturing, and embedding it’s spears into his fair face. His eyes filled with blood as he fell three stories to his death. When summoned by those who cherish themselves, he returns to take their souls. If only others believed it to be more than a legend. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“MIRROR MAN…MIRROR MAN…MIRROR…..”

“Girls, NO!!!!”

The bright lights swirled around the top of the ticket booth. Carnival music filled the air. I held tight to my little one’s hands. They used all the strength a set of seven-year-old twin girls could possibly possess in order to pull me quickly to the entrance.

We settled on two weeks in the summer after the divorce, the courts agreed. I tried to make the time as memorable as possible.

I slipped my credit card out of my worn leather wallet to pay the outrageous fee for a day of thrills. The first one: declined. The second one, I swore to only use for emergencies, went through with ease.

Enticed by the blue and pink cotton candy, we made the purchase. Our next stop was the restroom, to wipe the wet, colored sugar from the edges of their mouths. Gone for too long, I preyed on the kindness of an elderly woman to go in and check on my identical beauties. She brought them out, still all smiles. I thanked her before we moved on to an age-appropriate ride.

The wind from the roller coaster alerted me to take a few steps back, a couple of inches too short for them to ride that one – I was glad.

“Daddy, the moving house!” They pointed up towards they sky. “Can we? Please!” I let my fear of heights subside and joined the other children and their parents in the hideous line.

“Welcome to our home.” The operator instructed everyone to find a seat and buckle in while he told a ridiculous story of a man who used a water mill to lift his house into the air. That must be how the Egyptians moved their stone to the top of the pyramids. My thought was sarcastic.

A red circle popped up on my texting app just in time for lift off. I opened the message. “I will be remarrying in the fall and taking the girls to Germany.” Of course, she couldn’t tell me that in person.

Sitting on a makeshift couch in between my children, I placed my arms around their tiny shoulders and laughed. “Possession is nine tenths of the law.”

“What’d you say, daddy?” Synchronized as usual. “Nothing! Weeeee doggy, this ride is fun!”

She can’t regain what she will not find.

She sturdied herself using the aged door frame and then slowly stepped onto the porch. Her hair a coarse gray, a single braid circled her noggin.

She carried a sterling holder, the flicker from the candle was the only light the night could see other than the full moon. It gave off just enough glow to show the many markers placed sporadically throughout the property. 

His long, wide feet clad in his weathered leather shoes heavily stepped behind her. He put his wrinkled hand upon her shoulder. Both blended in with the darkness, still choosing to put on the same black suit and dress that was given to them when they first took on the duties of the house. They now owned the home. 

The couple stared off into the distance but for a moment. He knew her heartache but not to the extent unto which she felt the pain. “Which one is it this time, dear?” He spoke of the cries that echoed over the hillside. “Number twenty-seven.” She whispered as she buried her head into the old man’s chest. There were thirty-eight tombstones, holding thirty-eight of her infant children that never made it past day one. She spent thirty-two of her years with child, none of whom she was able to nurture, and watch grow, or even give a proper name.

The wickedness of Vitality Manor fed off each of the newborns as they entered the world, taking their first and last breath all at once, giving the property the strength it needed to survive.

She looked up at her beloved, bags under her eyes, lines throughout her forehead, her lips tightened from the years of frowning in grief. “It was never your fault.” She spoke clearly and with authority as she pushed her husband to the ground, knowing his weakened physical state would not allow for him to regain an upright position.

She dropped the candle to the ground, igniting a fire. She kneeled down beside him, falling gently over. They held onto one another, giving the house their only asset, their lives, an old poison that would suffocate everything in its path. The already dead land would soon disintegrate.