Two to Write

The Darkest Hour - Chapter 1

2011-05-08T23:26:00.001-04:00

Ivy Mae Carter
“What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.”
- T. S. Eliot

I look down at the soiled paper in my hand. It was a torn obituary of Louisa Court at one point. Now, it’s just a smudged mess of ink and parchment. The words are barely readable and I’m glad I no longer need them. This is the right place – I am certain this time.

The destruction surrounding the room is the only clue I need. Someone – or something – has been here searching for something. I’m guessing it was a less than happy ghost looking for the item she must be holding onto. I’m just not certain what the item is or where she may be.

According to the people I interviewed (presumably for a school project), Mrs. Court had spent the past two years in a retirement home on the outskirts of town. She hadn’t been to her house but a couple of times in those two years, but it was still listed under her name anyways. She wouldn’t let anyone in the family sell it, despite their attempts.

I look around the mess and try to figure out what she had been searching for. The jewelry boxes on top of the dresser are askew and the drawers are all pulled out. I can’t tell you if anything is missing because I’m not familiar with this room.

“There’s one item missing,” the voice of the girl next to me breaks through my thoughts. I forgot that I had to use a classmate from school as a way in. I’ll have to write an article about the mysterious break in for the school paper, but that’s okay if this brings me a step closer to helping out Louisa Court.

“What item?” I ask Sarah Donovan, who is one of six granddaughters of Louisa Court.

“Her wedding band,” she says, approaching the jewelry boxes. “It was always kept in the top drawer of the third box and now it’s gone.” She looks into the now empty drawer. “My mother was going to keep it for herself. It was the only item she wanted.” I see tears welling up at the corner of Sarah’s eyes. “And now it’s gone.”

“Who would want to steal her wedding band?” I play the part of the good reporter and ask the expected questions even though I already have a hunch of my own about who the thief may be. The only thing that doesn’t make any sense to me is why – why would Louisa Court steal her own wedding ring?

“That’s what we would like to know.”

“When is the funeral?” I ask Sarah, looking down at the soiled obituary. I can no longer make out the date for the funeral. It was the one thing in the obituary that I didn’t think I would need. My original plan was to have this mystery solved before the funeral took place.

“Today at 3 o’clock,” she replies, looking at her watch. “So, in a couple of hours.” She looks around the room once more. “I actually should probably go get ready if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” I reply, trying my best to sound sympathetic. The truth is that I think this is the first time Sarah and I have talked since elementary school. “Thank you for letting me take a look around.”

“It’s not a problem,” she replies, sidestepping clothes that are strewn on the floor. “I can’t wait to see the article.”

“Neither can I,” I say with a smile before showing myself out. This hobby definitely keeps me on my toes.

* * * * *

“Ivy!” Sarah says, approaching with a smile. “I didn’t know that you were coming to the funeral.”

“I felt I should see the whole story before I write it,” I explain in a hurry. I have on thought on my mind – getting to the casket and taking a look inside. I nod politely at Sarah and head towards the casket as she greets family members. Lucky for me, the viewing is open casket.

Chills shoot through my bones as I approach the ornate wooden box. The funeral is being held in the oldest of churches in Nuitville – the one that sits atop a hill surrounded by a graveyard. It’s the perfect place to find a lingering ghost. I stare down at the face in the box. The paper hadn’t included a picture with the obituary and what I see shocks me.

Staring back at me is the made up face of an old lady. I stare for a moment envisioning the face without the layers of make-up and realize that I saw an exact duplicate on my way through the door. The ghost of Louisa Court had been standing at the entrance when I walked through the door and I hadn’t even noticed!

I turn and walk briskly back to the church entrance. Standing to the side, all alone, is a solitary woman with a bent head. I walk towards her, ready to soothe her fears and help her move onto her next place in life. She wouldn’t be the first ghost I’d helped move on.

As I approach her, she turns and stares at me. I hold her glare for a moment before walking closer. I am inches away when she rises from her chair and heads into the church. I follow behind her, watching her motions and wondering where she is headed. It is not until we pass the second stain glassed panel that I see the glint of gold in her hand. She was the burglar of her own house.

She heads straight for the casket and I follow slowly behind her, hoping I don’t appear too suspicious amongst the tears and reunions taking place. I watch silently as she reaches into the casket, ring in hand. A few seconds later, her arm is withdrawn and the ring is missing. Her purpose is clear to me now – she wished for the ring to go with her to the grave.

* * * * *

The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

The Darkest Hour - Prologue

2011-05-01T18:00:00.001-04:00

The Darkest Hour
The Prologue

Dear Benjamin,

It has been six months since you left this little town of Nuitville. Six months since I’ve seen your face or heard your voice. I don’t miss you the way I thought I would. Tears didn’t fall for long and I limited my wallowing. I have you to thank for that.

About five months ago, I pulled out this old journal of ours and went stumbling through old entries. It was the entry on hauntings that caught my attention. Do you remember it? I asked you about the old barn on the back of the Silcox land. It has always been reported as the haunted hangout of Nuitville.

I asked you, the ghost expert, whether or not the barn was truly haunted. You responded by inviting me to check it out. Turns out you had some fun with the outing and gave me a good scare. You were the ghost who occasionally haunted the old barn. You told me that you weren’t the original ghost to haunt it though. I asked you what had happened to the original ghost.

Your response stuck with me. It’s the reason behind my current hobby. You told me the same thing had happened to her that happens to all ghosts in Nuitville. You helped her move on to her next place in life. This was the part of the entry that broke me out of my reverie.

It was one question that woke me up: Who will help the ghosts move on now that you’re gone? I fear Nuitville will get overcrowded with wandering souls without a Benjamin to help them out. So, I set out to help the many lost ghosts roaming our streets. Let me tell you – it’s not easy looking for ghosts to help. And it’s even harder helping ghosts who don’t welcome the help. I don’t know how you ever did it alone.

♥ Ivy

* * * * *

The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Help Us Spread the Word

2011-01-07T20:32:00.007-05:00

The recent change in the website address brought many good things with it and one bad thing. The bad thing that it brought with it was the fact that all of our advertising pieces are now out-of-date. We have several fliers, business cards, and other artifacts that we purchased to use for advertising with the old http://twotowrite.blogspot.com address on them. While the address is out-of-date, it is not unusable. The old address will still bring you to the new site. However, we would like to get rid of our stock so that we can get new ones to use. This is where we need your help. If you would be willing to help us spread the word by passing out a few items to your family, friends, or other people you know, we would greatly appreciate it. We have listed the items we have below, so that you can see examples of the material. If you like our work and are interested in helping us spread the word, then please contact us at maclean@twotowrite.com. As usual, thank you for all of your support and dedication.

Rack Flyers

Postcards

1) Featured excerpt: Howling

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3) Logo

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Business Cards

Magnets

New Web Address, New Logo

2010-12-31T15:07:00.003-05:00

We've updated our logo to include our new web address. The old address still works, but we would like to direct people to the new one.

Use the logo below to advertise Two to Write:

If you need it, the link to use for displaying the picture is http://img831.imageshack.us/img831/1422/twotowritewhitebgnew.jpg

As always, we appreciate all of your support!

Exciting News for the Website!!!

2010-12-24T21:34:00.003-05:00

The holidays are a time for happiness and excitement. With that being said, we have some happy news to share with you.

Two to Write can now be reached at http://www.twotowrite.com The old address still works as well, but we're excited to say that we have an actual dot com address now!!

Spread the word and let us know what you love about Two to Write!

Happy holidays everyone!

- Crystal and Pamela MacLean
maclean@twotowrite.com

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 32

2010-11-23T11:28:00.000-05:00

“I know.” Katie told me quietly.

“What exactly is it that you know, Katie?”

“I know that you don’t know and we don’t know why.” She looked up at me as the sounds of leather on marble filled the air. The man known as his lordship came down the hall, approaching us. Katie stood and he looked at her before quickening his pace.

“Katie, dear, I didn’t expect to find you here.” His tone was insincere.

“Actually sir, I was just leaving. Her ladyship has found a rip in her dress. I tried to mend it, but I have no talent with sewing it seems.” From her pocket, I watch as Katie pulls out a needle and thread. It seems she was prepared for an intrusion. I wondered silently whether she would have ripped my dress if it wasn’t already. Out of everyone here, she’s been the most honest with me and I’m disappointed to see her go. A sense of déjà vu overwhelms my mind and I think of the other Katie; what have I forgotten about her already?

“Whatever are you daydreaming about?” His voice protruded and I realized that Katie is gone once again.

“Quite simply? Who I am, or rather, who I am supposed to be.” I informed him, honestly.

“In due time, I promise to tell you all I know.”

“Why in due time? Why not now? And what is due time? How long is that?” My questions become a string of run-ons, finally voicing out loud and revealing my fears.

“Due time meaning when you’ve all but forgotten the other place. Meaning I don’t know how long, it varies. And why? Because I’m not ready to lose you yet. I’m not ready to see you disappear again. I’ve done too much to get you back and I can’t see you vanish. I won’t.”

His honesty was frightening; he’d gone from a tough lord to a startled and scared child or, worse still, lover. Was it possible to forget someone who loved you? What if you didn’t remember loving them?

“Why would you lose me by being honest? That’s what I’m asking you to do. Tell me the truth, I won’t vanish.” It was the truth; I would not vanish. I would listen, think it through and make a rational decision before I decided whether to go back to where I’d been – what little I could remember of it.

“Because you always do. You can’t help it, the leaving. It’s not something you have control over. Every time I tell you what I know, which, mind you, isn’t all the answers you want or need, but every time I tell you, you disappear. That’s just how it seems to go.” He watched the floor, intent on counting its specks and avoiding eye contact with me.

“Have I ever asked you to tell me before?” It was curiosity, but became strategy.

He looked up and met my eyes. “No.”

“Have I ever said that I’ll stay before? Promised not to immediately disappear?”

“No.” A smile crept onto his face.

“So maybe this time’s different?” I had to know what he knew.

“So maybe this time’s it.” His smile grew.

“It?” I asked, confused for a new reason.

“The time when you have to decided; have to pick.”

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Updates Being Made

2010-07-10T20:18:00.003-04:00

We're currently in the process of updating the layout, navigation, and information present on Two to Write. Please bear with our mess during this process. Night's Final Hour will continue to be published every Sunday and Anthromagic will return to its weekly Tuesday appearances.

As always, thanks for reading and enjoying our fiction!

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 31

2010-06-29T22:43:00.001-04:00

Preparing for my so-called journey seemed to drag on as those the hand on the clock refused to turn, refused to let time pass as it should. I eagerly anticipated and dreaded what was going on with my life and the two worlds I’d been plummeted into; the two emotions conflicted within me. My clothier dressed me in one outfit after another, only to tell me that my attire didn’t seem appropriate and ask me to dress in something new.

“This is the one. The proper attire for your outing.” She said at last.

“Are you kidding me?” Turning to face the mirror, I realized what she had me dressed in. How was I supposed to go on a journey to explore the lands in a floor length gown?

“No miss, I would never kid you. It would be most foolish for me to treat her ladyship in any sort of childish way; you are very clearly not a kid.”

“What I meant by asking that was whether or not you were serious. Do you really think that this dress is appropriate for travelling across the lands?” I gestured toward the mirror and up and down the length of my gown, trying to make my point. “This will be impossible to walk around in. Especially if we run into any rocky patches.”

“Oh.” Her face bore an expression of confusion. “It did not occur to me, Miss, that her ladyship would actually be walking on her journey. I assumed you to be taking the carriage or perhaps some other mode of transportation.”

“It would please me more to walk and actually learn the land.” It was difficult to keep my voice even and not let it show how aggravating it was to continually be called ‘ladyship’ in a land I had never known.

“Let me see what I can do to correct my mistaken.” She turned to walk to her basket of cloth and thread amongst an array of other materials. Stopping just steps from the basket, she turned back to me and looked down. “If it pleases her ladyship.”

“Aren’t there any jeans that I can wear?” I asked her, growing weary of the formalities associated with this place.

“None that I know of, Miss, and I know this land.” She never looked up from the floor.

“Very well. This will just have to do. I’ve grown tired of putting on new outfits and would rather just proceed with the tour.” Without any hesitation, I strode from the room before she had time to insist upon yet another outfit without any improvement. I had two explicit goals in mind that I wanted to accomplish. I need to try and locate the young girl, Katie, and see what truths I could get out of her and I wanted to do so before I went out to explore the lands, which just happened to be my second major goal.

It turned out that I didn’t have to go far to find Katie. When the clothier had rudely dismissed her from my room, she had gone just beyond the door and into a small enclave. Apparently, she was awaiting my departure because she poked her head around when the door clicked shut. Seeing that it was me, she jumped out into the middle of the hall, grinning.

“I was waiting for you.” She said softly, noticing that I was looking at her.

“That much I can see.” I smiled. “In truth, I was actually on my way to find you.”

“Me? Why would you try to find me? Aren’t you leaving?” Her tone was bitter, leaving me confused.

“Honestly, Katie, I’m not sure what my plans are. The world that I know, the place that I’m from, is not this one. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.” Sighing, I slide to the floor and the side seam of my gown rips.

“But you do know. Or you will. In just a few days, you’ll remember here and you’ll want to stay and you’ll forget there and we’ll keep you this time, I promise.” She rambled on; it seemed as though she was on the verge of tears.

“None of that makes sense.” To me, it seemed as though a very confused seven year old girl stood before me, possibly searching for answers just like me.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 30

2010-06-22T19:30:00.000-04:00

Days could have passed before morning came and I would have had no way of knowing; the cave walls block out any sunlight. It is impossible to distinguish night from days within these stone walls. My mind was running too much on overdrive for me to fully appreciate the small amount of sleep that I managed to obtain; for the most part, I lie in my bed staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the next morning. I had to rely on the goodness of others to truthfully inform me about morning’s arrival. When the time came, it was not the lord of the land who told me it was day, but a small girl who woke me.

She could not have been more than seven or eight years old and she had the sweetest disposition. Standing quietly by my bed, she tapped my shoulder and whispered to me that it was morning. I nodded and smiled at her, gesturing for her to climb up because it seemed to be the right course of action at the time. I was relying on gut reactions but they were instincts created by a curse; how was I to know whether they could be trusted? My only option was to take the risk and find out.

“His lordship will be arriving soon to accompany you about the kingdom, my lady. Shall we prepare you for an outing?” Silently and some oh-so-cleverly, a young woman had slipped into my room. She was just a few years older than me in appearance, but her tone reminded me of a motherly type.

“Prepare me for an outing?” I repeated, clueless about her meaning. “You mean, should I get dressed?”

“Yes ma’am. Shall we dress you for your gallivanting?” She threw open the large oak door that hid away a wardrobe filled to the brim with clothing.

“Gallivanting?” I sighed, shaking my head slowly. “I suppose we must. Can you help me find something that is comfortable and will let me easily move around?”

“Certainly Madame. Shall we pack you several choices of attire for your journey?” Rummaging behind a section of the wardrobe, she lugged out a suitcase large enough to fit a person in.

“My journey?” Every word or phrase that escaped her mouth sent my brain into another round of questions that didn’t have answers.

“You have requested that his lordship show you the entire kingdom, have you not?” She raised an eyebrow in my direction as I wondered how that information was running rampant so quickly.

“I did, indeed. I suppose it will be a journey; thought not one that I necessarily intend to come back from.”

“What?” The young child on my bed protested. “You aren’t going to come back? But we just got you back? When will it be our turn again? Aren’t they ever going to finally solve this and figure out where you get to stay? I’m tired of sharing!”

“Katie!” My clothier interrupted suddenly. “That is quite enough. You hold your tongue child and make yourself useful. Run down to the study and inform his lordship that her ladyship will be ready for departure when the clock strikes. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am. I apologize and it won’t happen again. I give you my word.”

“That will do, Kaite, that will do. Now, off you go.”

This young girl, Katie, ran out through the door and, with her, went my best clue yet. She seemed to know, truly and completely, what kind of warped world I was stuck in. The most worrisome part was that I felt I should know a Katie, but that this young child was not the Katie I remembered.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 29

2010-06-15T14:51:00.000-04:00

“The transitory state has my lady bewildered again, does it not?” The man with the gold sash asked me as he pulled a chair across the stone floor. Placing the chair in front of me, he took a seat and one of my hands.

“It does.” I agreed simply with his statement.

“Do not fret love; it will end soon. Perhaps the next morn that you wake from slumber, you shall only posses a solitary set of memories.” He informed me. The blunt information that he shared with me was both reassuring and upsetting in one swift blow and the emotions consumed me momentarily. I tried to search his eyes for an explanation but found nothing.

“Who says that I wish to have only one set of memories?” I demanded harshly and watched as his eyes grew cold.

“In time, the only thoughts you will wish to hold within you will be those of your life here.” He told me as he wrapped his hand around mine. At first, the sensation of his hand upon mine felt unnatural and devoid of warmth, but, within seconds, I found myself thinking that it was a familiar stance for me.

“For now, it would be best if I escorted you to your bed chambers once more at this time. The paths and routes along this way are often confusing and may easily bewilder a new arrival.” The lord instructed me and began walking without letting go of my hand. I allowed myself to be led by this man down a hallway and around several corners before I resisted his light pull.

“My bed chambers, as you choose to call them,” I began, retracting my hand from his grasp, “are not in this…this cave land that you people want me to believe is my home.”

“Does her ladyship hold a preference for being in her other world? The one which she is now referring to as home?” It was as if he was frustrated with me, responding like that after a quiet sigh escaped from his lips.

“It is not a question of which I may hold a preference for; it is simply a matter of which I am familiar with. I know nothing of this world, where you and yours insist that I belong.” My temper was growing and I did not doubt that his patience was growing thin.

“In the morning.” A deep sigh escaped him again and he stared at me. It was the first time I’d truly stopped to take in his appearance. His lips were drawn, not in frustration, but sadness; his eyes, a soft and dull green, bore into mine; and his hair was tousled, not as a style, but as though hands had been wringing his hair throughout the day and he’d never bothered to straighten it. I waited, knowing he had more to say. “In the morning, we may speak frankly. In the morning, I shall show her ladyship every corridor and crevice of this world. In the morning, should she promise not to run, my lady’s mind will be cleared and she will have her freedom. All this, I promise her in the morning; for now, my body demands replenishment through rest.”

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 28

2010-06-08T14:50:00.000-04:00

The next room was fully lit. Small circular lights lined the walls along the ceilings and the floors while a large chandelier halfway down hung from the center. With the excessive lighting, there didn’t appear to be a single shadow in the entire room as I walked around, taking the sight in. Within seconds of beginning my exploration, it was interrupted as a section of the wall slid open behind me and the same man with the crooked smile walked into the room. He gestured toward a velvet chaise lounge in the corner of the room, indicating that I should take a seat and I cautiously sat down. Sitting there, the memories mixed in my mind again and I found myself wondering what this man’s connections were to Sikal while the other thoughts told me that he was the lord of this realm.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Descendant: The Directory

2010-06-03T21:30:00.003-04:00

The following will help you navigate the short story "Descendant".

~Part 1~

~Part 2~

Descendant by Crystal MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 27

2010-06-01T14:48:00.001-04:00

By the time I woke, I assumed the sun had set low in the sky and I found myself in a plush sleigh bed that you might’ve found in a Victorian home. Rubbing my eyes and sitting up, I looked around trying to establish where I was, but it was too dim to determine much beyond the shape of the bed. I could tell that the room was large and the door seemed infinitely far away. Slowly, I brought my feet over the edge of the bed and tried to feel the floor beneath my feet. The sudden chill that met my toes caused an instant reflex, causing me to jerk my feet back up into the linens. Anticipating the cold the second time, I put my feet firmly on the floor and stood up from the bedside. After ten or twelve feet, I reached the other side of the room and the door. Gently cracking the door, I peered into complete darkness cautiously before opening the door to its widest expansion and walking through. Once I’d passed through the doorway, I felt furs, cotton and blends, and polyester brushing against my face and realized I’d walked into a closet instead of a hallway.

Turning around, I tried to look back into the room where I’d awoken to locate a door, but I couldn’t see anything in the dim light. I let my feet glide across the floor, using them to test the area in front of me for any possible dangers before proceeding around the room in search of another doorway. Letting my hand flow across the wall as I followed it around the room, I searched for cold metal that might indicate a door handle. Within moments, my hand grasped a knob and I pulled the door open into the room, allowing light to cover the span of the room.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

The Afterlife

2010-05-27T15:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it’s not about living. Sometimes it’s about the discoveries you make in death.

“It’s the things you learn in death that will surprise you,” a voice said behind me. I had thought I was alone.

The funeral home stood empty and quiet in a way that was quite ominous and foreboding of the upcoming services. Nobody moved in the room, but I could hear distant voices, telling me that we were not alone.

“I thought they weren’t allowing anyone in until the viewing,” I replied. I had been hoping for privacy in the moments before the mourners spilled in.

“They don’t know I’m here,” he replied, taking a seat in the front row.

“Do you have no respect for the privacy of others?” I asked, anxious to know how he had found me. I thought I was hidden from all.

“I have the upmost respect for others. Unfortunately, privacy is no longer something you are privileged to. There’s no where you can hide now, especially from me,” the man said, looking around.

“I don’t understand,” I replied, searching for answers to the many questions that had recently piled up.

“Privacy is a right, kid. And it’s not something that is given to all, especially one such as you.” He spoke in riddles, which only seemed to anger me.

“Seriously? This is a really bad time. Perhaps you could come back at another time?” I asked, hoping he’d bite. “Maybe a time when I’m not waiting on a funeral to begin?”

“I could, but that wouldn’t be as convenient. Here, I know you’re not going to run because you really want to see this thing through.” He stands from the chair and walks over to the coffin. I had hoped they would choose a closed ceremony, but my mother had opted for the open casket. He peered down into the coffin, running his finger along the edge of it as he turned to face me. “It’s creepy, isn’t it?”

“What?” I asked, wishing he’d just leave.

“Looking at a dead body you’re so close to.”

“What would you know about it?” I asked, hoping to deter the conversation from my own mixed emotions.

“I’ve been in your spot,” he said quietly, flipping the switch on the CD player. Remembrance music filled the room. “I’ve stared down into my own coffin and seen the serene expression of a dead man. I’ve been the ghost searching for his way.”

“Did you find your way?” I asked, wishing he was wrong about the ghost part. I had actually been hoping that him seeing me meant that I wasn’t a ghost after all.

“Eventually,” he said, sitting back in the front row. “But, it took a while. There were certain things I had to discover before I was able to move on. Certain things I had to be guided through.”

“Such as?”

“Well, it’s different for everyone. Some people hold onto a loved one or a trinket, while others hold onto things more complex. There is no easy way to predict what ties each of us to this Earth. Only you will truly know,” he says, looking around. My family is starting to gather outside of the room, as the clock ticks closer to the hour. “All I can tell you is that you’re destined for great things. And I must be going.” He stood from his chair and walked to the door, pausing for a moment when he came to my family. I could hear him telling them that they could enter the room and to let him know if he needed anything. He was a human who could see me.

I watched as my family poured into the room. They were a large bunch, comprised of my parents, stepparents, three sisters, and one set of grandparents. They almost filled the room by themselves. If many more people showed up, the room would be a crowded mess. I walked to the door and peered down the hall. I could see the mystery man standing at the front counter of the funeral home, working on a computer. I looked back and forth between this man and my family for a few moments, debating whether or not to stay for the memorial. Curiosity won out and I headed down the hall, not making an ounce of sound.

If the man was surprised to see me, it didn’t show on his face. He simply looked up and nodded at me. He didn’t say a word as he walked into an office behind me. I followed, not knowing if that’s what he wanted. He sat behind the large mahogany desk and stared up at me.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Daniel Stoor?” He looked around the room as he spoke.

“I was wondering if you could answer a simple question for me,” I said, suddenly uncertain. If knowledge is power, then this man was much more powerful than me, for he certainly held all of the knowledge in this room. “At least I think it’s a simple question.”

“We’ll see after you ask it Mr. Stoor.”

“Were you once a ghost?” I asked him, trying to be straight forward.

“I told you that I once stood where you did. Don’t you suppose that made me a ghost?” His eyes were wistful, as though remembering another life.

“I think so, but I’m not certain of anything when it comes to ghosts. Until two days ago, I wouldn’t have even thought they existed.”

“And you were right to think that,” he said, glancing behind me. A couple of my friends had just passed by the counter on their way to the service. “Ghosts don’t exist for long usually; so, they don’t really have enough time to make their presence known.”

“How are you human now?” I asked, holding out hope for a remedy for my current plight.

“Some ghosts – a very select few – are chosen as guides for the other ghosts. They are known as spirit guides. Once they have passed their time as a ghost, learning all there is to know about their abilities and ways, they are granted the title of spirit guide and their humanity is restored to them. It is a lengthy process that takes a few years at least. However, the reward is well worth the wait.” He watches the desk behind me, as though waiting for someone to arrive. Or perhaps, he is just making sure no one is watching him talk to himself.

“How does one become a spirit guide?” I asked, holding out hope for myself.

“There are two things that go into a spirit guide. The first is that a spirit guide must be destined from birth to die early. The younger a spirit guide is, the longer he or she will be able to guide others when humanity is restored. He or she must also prove to be loyal, cunning, and free from earthly ties during spirithood. It does nobody any good if the spirit guide is looking for pieces of his or her old life instead of helping new ghosts move on,” he said, getting up as an elderly couple comes to the desk.

“Do you know ahead of time who is destined for spirit guide?” I asked him as he headed for the door. I watched as he turned to face me.

“I don’t know, but I do know the signs to look for.” He looked at me for a moment longer before heading for the desk to help the couple. I stared after for a few minutes, wondering if I was one of the elect few who qualified for spirit guide. I certainly fell into one of the categories and certainly I could work my way into the other category.

I allowed these thoughts to plague my mind as I headed down the hall to the memorial. I could see people spilling out into the hall as the turnout for my service was much higher than I ever could have anticipated.

* * * * *

This work by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 26

2010-05-25T14:47:00.000-04:00

With a sudden fury and a flash of light, the thing that I’d feared was standing right in front of us. Over seven feet tall, it had to hunch down in the small tunnel. Its wingspan was probably fifteen or twenty feet across as it batted its wings feverishly, forcing Mytal to slide back into me as I collided into the wall.

“Do not worry my lady.” Mytal said, looking over his shoulder at me. “You will not be harmed.”

I remained behind him, cowering in fear while the beast stood upon its three clawed feet and let out a massive screech. When the Earth-shattering noise came to a halt, I heard Mytal let out a sigh and whisper his thanks. Behind him, I gasped quietly and wondered if this person standing in front of me was actually Mytal or an acquaintance of the creature that was attacking. Peeking around the obstacle in front of me, I watched as the scaled neck of the monster lurched forward and snapped its jaws around Mytal’s forearm. Mytal grunted loudly and lunged forward, grasping the neck and allowing the beast to pull him. Drawing a small dagger, he forced it into the creature’s neck as he was tossed aside like an old, unwanted possession. The beast roared back and swung around to face the enemy he’d just discarded; in the process, his stone encrusted tail, whipped around and slashed my stomach. The pain was agonizing, but no blood poured from the gash that formed from one hipbone to the other below my ribcage. Staring down and crouching over in anguish, I haphazardly prodded and poked the gash, waiting for the red to spill out.

“You get Mytal, I will help her ladyship.” A rough voice echoed against the rock wall. As I looked up, I could see an entire army attacking the beast that had injured me while a small regiment aided Mytal. Around me, I felt hands latching onto my arms and legs, preparing to lift me from the ground. Refocusing my attention to the area immediately surrounding me, I zeroed in on a tall man dressed in black pants, white shirt, gold sash, and black cape. All around me, the other men were dressed in regimentals and trying to help me, but this one man just stood staring at me with a crooked smile playing upon his lips.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 25

2010-05-18T14:45:00.000-04:00

As I was about to ask Iphsalin how I would know if it was this Mytal guy, she ran off with the speed of a cheetah. I called after her, but she never turned around. Turning round in my place, I tried to determine which direction was best to take at this crossroads but I saw no indication of which way would lead me to Mytal. Thinking it would be easiest to retrace my steps in case I got lost, I chose to go straight and began walking. As I made my way through the open desert-like plain between the two tunnels, I heard the sound of wings flapping. I looked up and down, turning around several times trying to locate the creature that was creating the ruckus but I found no one. At the mouth of the next tunnel, there were a pile of bones with three black feathers lying beside it. The sight of the bones irked me and I picked up my walking tempo. Just moments before I had heard the sounds a bird might create and now, lying in front of me, I saw bones – in this place, I wasn’t sure if any of the conclusions jumping around in my head were too far-fetched to be possible.

Walking deeper into the darkness of the rocky tunnel, I realized that the sides and ceiling of the cave were quickly narrowing and the tunnel was shrinking with every step I took. With the ceiling just inches above my head, the tunnel leveled out again and I kept my eyes peeled for Mytal. From Isphalin’s description, I expected him to be a frightening creature whose very presence would startle me, but that wasn’t the case at all. When Mytal appeared, I thought I was imagining things; standing before me was a large creature, but he did not frighten me.

Despite Mytal’s massive horns and jagged teeth, I felt at ease around him. He told me that one of his powers was the ability to calm people; he couldn’t control emotions by any means, but he did possess the skill to make people calm even in the time of a crisis. I informed Mytal that his gift might become useful one day and then I silently questioned where that idea had come from. The mixing between my original ideas and thoughts and my new thoughts was advancing to the point where I was questioning the validity of the old and accepting the new as the solid truth. In my mind, I knew this realization frightened me, but I had no suspicions on how to stop the transition that was occurring.

“My lady, you look puzzled.” Mytal said to me, breaking the silence that we had been walking in.

“Mytal, good sir, I am puzzled.” I informed him, stopping mid-stride.

“The transitory state has her ladyship in a state of bewilderment?” It seemed to be a statement more than it was a question.

“Yes.” I nodded in agreement.

“It will soon be over.” Mytal said soothingly and offering his hand. “I will console her ladyship if she should wish me to do so.”

“Thank you Mytal, but no. I believe I will be fine without consolation.” Walking again, Mytal fell into step beside me.

We continued on in this manner for at least a half-hour before Mytal stopped suddenly beside me. From deep within his throat, I heard a growl rising up from Mytal that frightened me. Apparently, Mytal cannot work his magic to keep people calm while he is attempting to be intimidating. Frantically, I threw my head back and forth, trying to find what had startled Mytal to react in such an extreme manner, but I found nothing and began to worry. The tunnel was immensely dark, I couldn’t see anything, and I had no way to protect myself if we were attacked. Without communicating with me in any way, Mytal managed to place me between him and the wall. Behind me, I felt the rough surface and toothed edges of the wall press lightly into my back. Mytal’s growl continued to grow in volume and deepen in intensity. I knew something was coming, but, because I couldn’t see or hear it, I had no clue what it was going to be when it finally got there.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 24

2010-05-11T14:43:00.001-04:00

“If-sa-lynn.” I said slowly, hoping I had pronounced her name correctly. “May I ask you something?”

“M’am.” She said kindly, turning her head around again. “You need not ask my permission for anything you do. On the contrary, it is I who should ask permission to speak with you. May I?”

“Speak with me? Sure.” I asked, confused. Concluding that this exchange meant that we could talk now, I proceeded with my questions. “Why does his lordship want to ensure my safety?”

“He does not wish anything to happen to you miss.” She said smiling.

“But, what am I to him?” I persisted.

“You? Miss?” She asked, her eyes glazed over and a blush rose to her cheeks. “You are his everything.”

“What?” I asked with a sharp intake of breath. “Exactly what is it that you mean by his everything?”

“Surely, her ladyship knows what is meant by these words. Surely.” She repeated.

For the next fifteen minutes, Iphsalin repeated these words over and over again: “His everything. Surely.” I didn’t understand her incessant rambling but I didn’t interrupt her either. She sounded worried and upset. When she stopped her chatter, I tried to console her.

“Are you okay? I’m sure it isn’t too bad.” I told her quietly.

“Oh, her ladyship is not mad?” She smiled and sounded relieved. “I began saying things which were not meant to be said yet and I feared that you would be maddened by your confusion.”

“No.” I said, lifting my eyebrows and raising one end of my mouth. “Not mad. Perfectly content.”
“This I am glad to know.” She said, stopping at another crossroads. I assumed we were at another transit and that I would be getting another guide. “Here I stop. It is best if you keep moving. Mytal will find you as you go. He wishes you not to be frightened when you see him.”

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Night's Final Hour: A Mother's Day Special

2010-05-09T00:00:00.003-04:00

The following is a special post for Mother's Day. The next chapter of Night's Final Hour will still be published today. This is just a letter from Ivy to Benjamin giving you a glimpse into other characters of the story. Enjoy and Happy Mother's Day.

* * * * *

Dear Benjamin,

You asked me to tell you about my family. I have a feeling that you may know more about them than I do, but I’ll do my best anyways to satisfy your curiosity. You’ll have to be patient though, as it may take several letters to tell you about them all.

I’ll start with my mother since she is the most immediate family still living. As for her birth, all I can tell you is that she was born many, many years ago (she would yell at me if I shared her age) in Nashville, TN. Unlike my father, she is not a native of Nuitville and would not have come here if it weren’t for my father. Why she remains in town now is beyond me.

My earliest memory of my mother is of her in the kitchen. I couldn’t have been more than three or four at the time. I was walking and talking, but not yet in school. It was a hot, spring day and my mother was preparing a snack in the kitchen – strawberries, I believe. She was chopping the greens off and cutting the juicy parts. I was waiting at the kitchen for my snack.

The knife missed the berry and sliced her finger instead. It wasn’t a large cut, but it was deeper enough to send red oozing out. My mother started to say something, but bit her lip instead when her eyes met mine. She quietly walked to the sink and washed her finger, crinkling her nose as she did. I remember thinking that my mother must be quite a woman to withstand such a cut and not cry. I was young – any cut warranted tears.

Beyond this memory, I’m not sure what to share. My mother is a brave and caring individual who is stuck in her ways and doesn’t like change. She’ll back you in all that you do, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she approves of all that you do. She’s an individual who knows what she wants and goes after it. I’d like to think I’m a lot like my mother, but deep down, I know that I’m barely a thing like her.

Your friend,
Ivy

* * * * *

Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 23

2010-05-04T14:39:00.001-04:00

When I was awakened by Joshua, he had a tall slender woman beside him with silver hair. She smiled slowly as I blinked and tried to regain focus in my eyes. I sat up and spun my legs off of the daybed. She extended one hand before me and I shook it hesitantly.

“I am called Iphsalin.” She said. Her voice was rough and scratchy. From her looks, I had expected an elegant and silk tone to escape from her lips. “From this point until the next transit, if it should please our ladyship, I will guide you.”

“Thank you.” I told her, blushing at the title they kept using incessantly. I was neither pretty enough or graceful enough to be anyone’s ladyship, but, earlier, when I had asked Joshua to quit using the term he became frightened so I did not dare to ask Iphsalin. She bowed slightly and spread out her arm in the direction of the tunnel on the right.

“This is the way that our journey requires us to take.”

She began moving toward the tunnel and I followed. At the mouth of the tunnel, I glanced back to wave at Joshua who I expected to see shrinking with the distance, but he was not there. Joshua, the chair, and the daybed had already disappeared. When I turned back around, I was met with Iphsalin’s face smiling at me. Her body was still facing forward, but her head had turned one hundred and eighty degrees in my direction.

“He’s gone back to check on the gateway. Being newly constructed, his lordship wants the protective force tested regularly to ensure your safety.” She offered the information freely and her head slid back around to the front.

I shuddered at the flexibility of her neck and then stopped in the tracks. Wondering if Sikal’s poison had altered my molecular make-up, I twisted my head to the left in an attempt to see if I could now look directly behind me. My neck cracked sharply and I winced in pain; my face would still be looking in the same direction that my body was facing. Iphsalin had provided me with another piece to the puzzle however. Wherever I was, or wherever I was going, there was a lordship and he had the power to hand out orders. I had already began to plot different ways that I could trick him into ordering me home, when a thought came to me: I needed to know why his lordship would want to ensure my safety, someone he’d never even met.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Howling: The Directory

2010-04-30T00:03:00.000-04:00

Below you can find links to all seven parts of the short story "Howling."

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 22

2010-04-27T23:27:00.000-04:00

“Any meny miny moe, catch a tiger by,” I began the familiar riddle when the conduit at four o’clock flashed a bright red once and then lit up with various colors and a man walked out.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” The man with the black hair said.

He looked like he was going to audition to be Pony Boy or Johnny Zucko. His hair was slicked back with grease, his faded jeans cuffed at the bottom, and his white tee shirt was smeared in places with oil. Folding his arms, I heard the leather jacket rub against itself and wondered if the black hole I fell through was actually a time warp.

“If this collective ‘we’ has been waiting for me, then why didn’t you send someone sooner?” I asked him with an air of superiority. It seemed obvious to me that they should be waiting on me, but I couldn’t really determine why I felt that way. “Did you honestly expect me to be able to find my way when you people plop me down in the middle of a freaking maze?”

“It’s not a maze ma’am.” He stuttered, revealing that I had some power over him. “It’s a protection gate. We installed it recently to honor your arrival. Should your ladyship wish, we can have it removed by Wednesday.”

“Is that soon?” I asked sharply. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t even know what today is.”

He began to say that it was soon, but that it could be removed even sooner if I wished when I silenced him.

“It’s fine. Leave it. It could become useful at some point.” I said and softened my tone. “It’s actually quite ingenious. I thought I had correctly deducted that this corridor would lead away from the center, not toward it.”

“I’m glad you approve ma’am. Would you care to be taken home now?” He asked, bowing before me.

A wave of exhaustion came sweeping over me and I closed my eyes momentarily. With them closed, I saw a million images flashing through my mind and I tried to determine which ones were real and which were a result of this new curse, but I couldn’t distinguish real from fake anymore. My mind was in a constant battle over the two realities. The man who stood before me was named Joshua, but I knew that I had never been introduced to him, that I had never actually been told his name. The disparities left me feeling confused and tired. Hoping that ‘home’ was a safe place for me to be, I nodded toward Joshua and let myself be led down one of the conduits on my left. My calculations of the gateway had been completely misguided.

“Joshua?” I asked as we walked along the pebbled walkway. The corridor had three walkways; one was pebble, one was brick, and one was stone. The walkways were separated by the natural rock and it covered the ground along the two walls.

“Oh!” He said suddenly and a smile spread across his face. “Her ladyship knows what I am called already. That is very flattering to hear.”

“You didn’t think…I…” I started, stuttering and confused. I knew some things – some details – that someone felt I should know, but who was determining when I got the different pieces of this puzzle? Was it Sikal’s decision?

“I have offended you?” His voice raised into a question. “I apologize. It is not my place to say such things to upset you.”

“No.” I stopped his rambling. “I was just surprised that you didn’t think yourself worthy enough for me to know your name. Obviously you underestimate your importance if your name was one of the things that I was told.”

“Thank you misses. That is very kind of you to say.” He stammered quietly and I thought it was probably best to drop the subject. Compliments seemed to make Joshua uncomfortable and I guessed that they probably weren’t handed out so commonly in these parts of the world.

“How would you describe my home?” I asked Joshua, still curious about the quarters that I would be spending the rest of my life in.

“Your home?” He echoed, staring ahead. “Oh, her ladyship’s home is most impressive. The caves are so tall that you almost feel like you could reach the ground. And the bottom makes you think you are in the clouds. I believe it was made, special order, just for you.”

I didn’t understand how caves could be made or special ordered, but I nodded and smiled in Joshua’s direction appreciatively. It was another moment when I felt like my thoughts and actions were disconnected. The only conclusion I could form was that it was all Sikal’s fault. His flaming sword had infected my body and the part of my brain that connect thoughts and actions. His sword had severed the connections that made me function on a day to day basis.

Joshua and I walked for a good length of time before he stopped suddenly. I turned toward him and then surveyed my surroundings. We were at another, smaller crossroads. The road we were on could continue, or we could turn left or right. I looked to Joshua for answers, but he just stood there like a statue without offering explanations. On a normal roadway, we might have been at a four way stop where I could glance down each road and see which looked more inviting, but, here, all I could see were three darks tunnels and the one which I had just been walking down.

“Is this another gateway?” I asked him suddenly. I thought it had been another epiphany, but, just like the last one, he shot it down.

“No. Just a place of transit.” He said and took a seat on a wooden chair that slid out of the rock behind him.

“What does that mean? Does that mean that we rest here and then continue on later?” I wanted to know as I glanced around, searching for my own chair to rest on. We had been walking a long time. My body had not moved so much in months from what I could recollect; my feet were tired and I was parched for thirst.

“This is where our,” Joshua pointed between him and myself, “journey ends my lady. Someone will be along to accompany you further in a short span of time.”

“And until then?” I needed to know what I was supposed to be doing as I waited.

“Until then, you may want to rest.” Joshua snapped his fingers and a daybed with golden linens appeared just right of where I was standing. “We shall wake you when it is time to continue on your way.”

“Thank you.” I said graciously and climbed onto the provided bed. Within minutes after stretching out and lying down, I felt my eyelids become heavy and I tried to resist the urge to drift off in slumber. As with most of my recent battles, this fight did not end with a victory on my part.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 21

2010-04-20T21:20:00.002-04:00

Rubbing my head, I sat up and looked around. It was dark and I was straining to make out the shapes surrounding me. In the corner, I thought I saw something that looked like the surface of a rock, but I couldn’t be sure. I paused, trying to relax and let my eyes adjust to the diminished amount of light.

After a few minutes passed, I was able to start making out my surroundings. It appeared that I was in some sort of cave. There were both stalagmites and stalactites, rock columns reaching vertically from the hardened ceiling to the solid floor. The temperature was warmer than usual, but my body seemed to be adjusting to it without much difficulty or perspiration. It was clearly much darker than anywhere I’d ever been before. Surrounded by different pathways on any side of me, I seemed to have landed in the midst of a crossroads of some sort. I couldn’t even begin to select which way to go so I just remained seated. Trying to find a logical explanation for which direction I was supposed to go in, I wondered if Sikal could still communicate with me in this new location.

“Sikal!” I yelled out loud and learned that the cavern echoed loudly. Hearing my own voice bounce off the surrounding walls and ricochet down the different areas, I grew a little afraid.

From my left, I caught sight of a flickering light growing in the distance. Looking over, I saw a fire torch moving in my direction. I stood up and waited as the robed figure approached. Silently, the figure extended their torch, barely avoiding my hair as they reached behind me, and lit another torch. Pointing at the torch, I assumed they meant for me to pick it up. Lifting the torch from its holster, I realized that it was heavier than it appeared and held it with both hands. The figure flashed once as a television does when the cable signal is lost and then disappeared.

My emotions were a mixture of pleasure toward my newfound light source and despair at the disappearance of my first contact with a living being. I would not and did not assume that the figure I had seen was human. The possibility existed that it was human, a demonlord like Sikal, a demon, or something else entirely. I hoisted my torch on my hip bone and began walking down the pathway where I had originally seen the figure. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was on the wrong pathway. About nine yards into the tunnel, my body began to feel disjointed and I involuntarily squeezed my eyes shut tightly. Opening my eyes again, I found myself back in the spot where I had initially landed.

“That’s odd.” I said to the empty area and then I had a miniature epiphany. I mused aloud to myself. “They’re one way conduits from one place to another.”

Based on my reasoning and minute experience, I deducted that the paths on my left all lead to my location and the trails on my right must lead away from this area. There wasn’t any evidence to support my conclusion except my single attempt, but I was sticking with my ideas. The passageways in front of and behind me could lead either to or away from my standing position, but I assumed they went in opposite directions. From my not-so-scientific theories, I eliminated going down the channels to my left. I could either go to my right, which I believed to lead away from this position, or I could experiment further and see whether in front of me would take me somewhere else or bring me back to the same place. Ultimately, I opted for going right because I was more assured that those routes would take me somewhere new.

Slowly, I approached the corridors on the right. There were about four along my right side and I wasn’t sure how to decide which one to go with. I stood there debating about it for a few minutes and resorted to a tried-and-true method.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 20

2010-04-13T20:59:00.000-04:00

I looked around the room and my eyes settled on the bedroom door. I walked over to it with ease and placed my hand on it. With the palm flat against the door, I sighed quietly and then curled my hand into a fist. Punching the door in resentment, I quickly spun back around to face Sikal.

“No. I’m ready to go.” I told him, accepting his word and a new fate for myself.

“That’s what I like to hear.” The demonlord said, bearing his teeth.

A vortex came screaming into the room and I clapped my hands over my ears. I hadn’t seen it coming; Sikal hadn’t even lifted his finger or said a single word, but the vortex had appeared all the same. Eventually, it became hard to breathe and I had to move my hands from my ears to my throat. I was gasping for air and not finding any sources of oxygen. I tried to look around and find the demonlord, but there was too much chaos. My bedcovers had been ripped and the shredded materials were swirling around, knocking things off the walls and constantly slapping my body as they passed. The tornado in my room was collecting everything in its path but me. I began to worry about what I had just signed up for when I heard Sikal’s demonic laugh behind me.

“Scared yet?” He asked, somehow startling me in the craziness.

“I’m past scared.” I said screaming and I wondered how he could even hear me. I spun around to face him, but was met with only the same chaos that I had already seen. Sikal was not in the room and, yet, I could hear him as though he was right beside me.

“Not in your room. In your head.” I heard him say and understood. In someway, Sikal was talking to me mentally. He had left, but I could still hear him.

“What is this?” I demanded, yelling over the screaming cyclone.

“This?” He echoed in my head. “I’m not really sure. I think it’s more of a special effect than anything. The only purpose it serves is to wreck havoc and leave a mess behind for your friends to see.”

“Then why are you wasting my time?” I wanted to know.

“Because that,” He started and I unconsciously and instantaneously knew to look down at the ground. “That is going to take you to your next destination. To your new path in life.”

Below me, a black hole was growing wider. A thin silvery film covered the surface of the black hole preventing me from being swallowed. Each time the hole grew, lightning streaks flew across the film’s surface. I stood there feeling the sparks from the lightning and in awe of the disaster that had formed in my room. The dark abyss was probably five feet in diameter before the lightning streaks started leaving behind cracks in the film. As the circumference grew, so did the cracks. When the cracks started meeting up with one another, I could tell that it wouldn’t be long until I would be falling into the black hole, but I still didn’t move from my place. In my mind, I was processing what was happening around me and I was scared, but my body wasn’t reacting in the appropriate and typical ways. Logically, I assumed that this was a result of Sikal’s poisonous curse; he had said that the only part of me not infected was my brain.

“Ten…nine…eight…seven,” Sikal voice rang in my ears. I presumed he was counting down my minutes left on this course in my life. I gave a quick and silent goodbye to the ones I was leaving behind and joined him in the countdown.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

I was falling. The gravitational pull was growing stronger causing me to fall with increasing speed and I vaguely knew that I was moving closer toward the mercury center of the Earth, but I was not afraid. I did not know what awaited me at the bottom. My body began to jitter and twitch and I felt a burning sensation in an area of my skull. Another part of my brain was becoming infected and I gave thanks that there was nothing around for my body to slam into. I don’t know how long I fell for, but I landed with a quick, sharp thud on solid ground.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 19

2010-04-06T20:44:00.002-04:00

Three days later, I experienced the most severe pain I’d had yet. My muscles contracted until my body began to shake and I could feel blood vessels bursting in my arms. My body thrashed on the bed and my head slammed into the headboard, blurring my vision. I thought back to Katie’s description of the bones smashing organs until the skin was stretched so tightly that it ripped. To me, this pain was much worse than I imagined that would be. After more thrashing about on the bed and hitting my head three more times on the headboard, I fell off the bed and hit the ground hard. After that, everything got hazy and then black.

When I woke, my body felt completely fine. The slash across my stomach was still as visible as ever, but the pain was completely gone. I stretched my arms out to the side and lifted my legs one at a time, testing my tolerance limit. I didn’t know how I had gotten back in the bed, but I sat up and swung my legs over the edge, arching my back and stretching out my spine. I felt like a miracle must have occurred to make me feel so incredible so quickly. I stood up and twisted at the waist. Even direct pulling on my wound wasn’t inflicting any pain on my body anymore. As I was twisting, I noticed a dark object in the corner of the room and stopped. Turning slowly around, I saw Sikal the demonlord standing in my room.

“Hello.” He said catching my eye and grinning.

“Sikal.” I said through clenched teeth.

“Don’t act so surprised. Did you actually think I was dead?” He opened his cloak to reveal a black cast on his arm. “Not dead miss, only a little broken.”

“I never said that I thought you were dead.” I told him bitterly. To myself, I added that I had hoped he was dead.

“So this is where they locked you away, is it?” He asked, hitting a sore nerve.

“Yes. In my own room. Was it that difficult for you to find? You’ve been here before.” I reminded him.

“I have been here before.” He agreed. “But never under these circumstances.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked defensively.

“You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” Sikal asked genuinely surprised.

“No.” I admitted quietly and sliding onto my bed. Even the demonlord who wounded me knew what was going on. My friends had been okay with Sikal knowing something that they wouldn’t even tell me.

“My sword; the one that cut you there.” He began, pointing toward my stomach. “Had been dipped in a magical poison. A curse of sorts, if you will. For the past three months it has been coursing through your body, joining with your cells and changing your status in life. Although the curse hasn’t completely worked its magic – excuse my pun – it’s completed enough for me to come and pick you up.”

Nothing that Sikal had said made sense except for the initial magical poison part. The poison explained the sudden burning and shooting pains that I had felt. Seeing that I didn’t completely comprehend what he was saying, Sikal continued.

“Do you remember any of the thrashing and twitching?” He asked and I nodded. “That occurred every time the curse made a connection with a significant part of your body. This last one was so severe because no one was here to strap you down and because all of your organs except for one have been infected.”

I stared at the demonlord in disbelief. How could he stand there and so calmly tell me that my entire body – my entire life – was changing?

“You’ve been watching me?” I asked, clinging to his knowledge that the last thrashing had been the worst.

“Yes. As administer of the test, it was one of my privileges despite losing the battle.” Sikal informed me. “Would you like to know more or should I just proceed with my course of action?”

“I’d like to know more.” I said, holding my ground and trying to buy time.

“Fine. Your brain has not been completely infected. The poison has entered your brain on occasion which is why you have selective amnesia. When your brain is wholly bound with the curse, your memory of this life will be repressed into your subconscious and no amount of psychoanalysis should be able to retrieve those memories. That’s pretty much the details of how the curse works, any questions?” Sikal asked as though he was a teacher and I was his student.

“What is the curse,” I hesitated, afraid of what the answer might be. “What is the curse making me into?”

“An assistant.” The demonlord told me simply and I wondered what assistant was a codename for.

“A what?” I asked him, waiting for more explanation.

“You’ll see when we get there. He’ll explain it all to you much better than I can. Rest assured, you won’t be working with me. I know that you feared that.” Sikal guessed my apprehensions.

“When do we leave?” I asked him.

“You’re awfully accommodating.” Sikal observed and I realized that I was taking all of the news rather well.

“Is it the curse?” I ask him and he nodded.

“For a little while, you’ll be pretty accommodating to certain people. It won’t last too long though. It will hold until you’ve gotten situated in your new position.” He explained for me.

“So when do we leave?” I asked, echoing my previous question.

“Do you have anything holding you here now?” Sikal asked with a wide gesture of his arms sweeping across the room.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

We'll Be Seeing You

2010-03-23T13:46:00.006-04:00

First and foremost, Pam and I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to all of our followers. We write because we love it, but your support makes it even more worthwhile. Currently, our lives have had a run-in with chaos and disturbance. We hope you can bear with us. Our return (and Benjamin and Ivy and Drew and...are coming back too) is coming.

Night's Final Hour will continue where it left off sometime in May. Because it is a project that we write each week just for you, it stopped when the chaos erupted. As the dust falls and the pieces settles, the story will continue on.

As for Anthromagic, it will continue as soon as I get off my bum and get it posted. To a certain page, Anthromagic is already written and is posted each week. Once it reaches that magical page, we'll need to start writing again. Look for this story's return next week.

Again, thanks for your patience and understanding. We'll be seeing you soon!

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 18

2010-03-09T17:00:00.002-05:00

Timothy and Drew never came. I never got to make my inquiries about what was being done to me. I was completely alone and isolated in the bedroom. Pushing myself up and out of the bed, I made this discovery by seeing a table loaded down with food goods and drinks. My heart beat grew louder in my ears and my pulse quickened as I struggled to make my way over to the door. Grabbing the doorknob, I tried to turn the handle, but the door didn’t budge at all. I was locked in my own room. I had been isolated and quarantined away from everything else. I clutched at the wall; using it for support, I made my way slowly into the bathroom and hung my head over the toilet. My stomach felt like it was ripping on the inside as I projected my panicked thoughts into the bowl below.

After spending an hour in the bathroom screaming in pain and using the toilet as a projectile target, I crawled back into the bedroom. Sitting on the floor and leaning against the edge of the bed I sighed and tried to fight back tears. I hung my head between my knees and let the desperation consume me. I needed answers to ward off the feeling of abandonment.

“You can’t just lock me up in here!” I tried screaming, hoping someone would come in the room, but I didn’t even know if everyone else was still in the apartment; it was more likely that they had all gone home.

“Hello?” I asked the silent air around me. “Anyone? Can you hear me? Can you help me?”

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” I wanted to know, letting my pitch fall as I asked the words aloud. There was no sound – no reply – to my callings.

Giving up on any human contact, I pulled myself up onto the bed and laid on my back. I didn’t understand how isolating me was going to help; sure, it would make me do more for myself, but I was never against doing things on my own when people were still coming to see me.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 17

2010-03-02T17:00:00.000-05:00

Paula came in through the door only a few seconds after Michelle had left me with those daunting words. She brought with her a glass of water and a bowl of soup. It was the first food that I could remember eating and I began to worry about how many other things I was forgetting.

“I hope you like chicken noodle.” She said sitting the tray down next to the bed. “You’ve cleaned us out of vegetable soup.”

“That’s fine.” I told Paula and thanked her. She kissed my forehead in motherly affection and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“We need to keep food in you if we want you to get better.” She said soothingly and I ate the soup as orderly as I could.

“How long have I been like this?” I asked her and she just shook her head.

“A little while, but that’s not what’s important.” I could tell that I wasn’t going to get any information out of her, so I closed my eyes and pretended to be dozing off. Whether she believed it or not, she took the hint I was trying to give and gathered up the tray, exiting my room quietly.

That only left Timothy and Drew to come and visit me. I wasn’t prepared. I knew that I was going to try and get information from Timothy but I hadn’t even begun to figure out how I was going to do it. The night came and went and I hadn’t seen anyone else yet. The door to my room hadn’t opened or moved at all and I was beginning to wonder if I had forgotten Timothy and Drew’s visits or if they were even going to visit me at all.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 16

2010-02-23T17:00:00.000-05:00

The next person to come see me was Sandra. She came in quietly and sat down beside me in the chair, trying not to wake me but I was already awake. When I said hi, she got startled and screamed. Timothy came rushing in, followed by Drew and they demanded an explanation in unison. Sandra explained the situation and they left the room. She turned to me and apologized for causing such a ruckus. I smiled and shrugged the best that I could considering my horizontal position.

“Still in a lot of pain?” Sandra asked gently and I nodded. It was generally easier not to think about or dwell on the amount of pain I was in.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I wanted to tell you about something that I overheard the other day that I thought you should know.” She said, lowering her voice into a whisper.

“Yes?” I asked her, trying to sit up even more in the bed. I was hoping that she was going to tell me something regarding Drew’s command to shut me up in the room.

“Drew and Timothy were arguing yesterday about what was the best method to help get you better quicker – which they’ve been doing a lot lately. Arguing, I mean.” She was beginning to ramble.

“Yes?” I tried to egg her on. “Yes?”

“Well, they were in the middle of the argument.” She continued, snapping back to attention. “And Timothy asked Drew why he was being so stubborn about listening to other ideas. He wanted to know why Drew thought his plan was best. Timothy asked Drew, ‘What makes you so certain your plan will work?’ and you know what Drew said?”

“What?” I asked. The anticipation was giving me a headache and I silently wished that Sandra would just tell me.

“Drew said that it had to. He told Timothy, “It will work, I’m sure it has to. I wouldn’t be attempting it otherwise. Trust me on this Timothy, I have her very best interests at heart.’ You know how he sealed it and silenced Timothy?” Sandra asked me. I was disappointed because I hadn’t learned any additional information and I wasn’t reassured by Drew’s confidence.

“How?” I asked without any enthusiasm.

“Drew said that he wouldn’t try anything that would end badly because he loves you. ‘I love her,’ he told Timothy and when Timothy said that we all do; love you, I mean. Drew said that Timothy didn’t understand him correctly. He told Timothy that he didn’t just love you, but that he is in love with you. Isn’t that exciting?” Sandra said and I nodded, smiling. The news was a little comforting and reassuring, but I had no way to know if Drew had been telling the truth or if he was just trying to make Timothy go along with his plan.

Sandra left my room smiling and I slid back down into the middle of the bed. I attempted to roll over onto my left side, but the pain became unbearable and I rolled back. It was amazing that I hadn’t gotten any bed sores from being in the same position for such a long time. I knew that I had been laid up in bed for at least a week, but something told me it had been longer.

After Sandra, Andrew and Freddie came in. The conversation with them was centered around small talk and football. When I was awake we carried on small talk; when I was asleep, they talked about football for a while. The two boys left the room claiming that they were going to play football, but I was pretty confident that they just wanted to get out of there and couldn’t think of a better excuse. As they walked out the door, I drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake up until the next morning as Michelle came in.

“Hey.” She said timidly. Michelle and I had never really talked since our initial encounter.

“Hi.” I told her and used my left hand to indicate the chair. “Pull up a seat.”

“How’s your day been?’ She asked sitting down.

“I don’t really know.” I told her honestly. “I’m not even sure what day it is or how many times I’ve been awake today.”

“Oh. It’s Friday.” She informed me. “I don’t know how much you’ve been awake today. I think I’m the only one who you’ve actually talked to.”

“Then I guess I’m good. Did you want to talk about something certain?” I inquired, wanting to get straight to the point.

Michelle just sat there quietly for a couple minutes, picking her words carefully. She had a small sad smile on her lips and I wondered what was going through her head. She was only two years younger than me, but she had been through a lot in her life. She lost her mom six years ago and then had to be tested by Sikal. I felt like she had been dealt a harsh hand in life. Her voice broke into my thoughts and pulled my attention back.

“There wasn’t really anything certain that I wanted to talk to you about,” She told me sincerely. “I just thought I’d come hang out for a little while. I’m kind of on my own out there in the main room. Sandra and Paula are closer in age so they hang out and act like moms to Katie and the guys all just kind of sit around brooding.”

“Guys are generally odd like that.” I said to her and she smiled.

“That’s true, but aren’t girls our age supposed to just sit around and talk about them? Shouldn’t we be focused on finding boyfriends and getting married?” Michelle asked and I tried shrugging again.

“I don’t know. I guess we’re either supposed to be doing that or focusing solely on our careers claiming that we have no interest in guys until we’ve gotten settled in a decent job.” I said, quoting some of the things I’d heard.

When I first became a telemarketer phone operator, I was surprised by the number of people who will listen to the entire advertisement spiel before they just start talking about their lives because they don’t have anyone that they feel comfortable opening up to. My first call like that was pretty awkward, but I got used to it. I even gathered a couple of numbers for phone counseling that I could refer people to. At this moment, I was wishing that I could go to work; anything would have been better than lying in bed doing nothing. I was ten years old again and sick with the flue. My mother said that I couldn’t go to school for the fourth day in a row and I began praying that I’d get better just so I wouldn’t be so bored anymore.

Michelle had stood up from her chair and headed for the doorway. She had probably noticed that I was having a hard time staying focused on the conversation. At the doorway, she paused and looked back at me.

“Hey.” She said, trying to get my attention.

“Hmm?” I mused aloud.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be this bad or even this way.” She said quickly and closed the door behind her. That was the moment when I started realizing just how bad things were. I wished I had asked Michelle when the battle had taken place. Had it been weeks ago?

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 15

2010-02-16T17:00:00.000-05:00

I thought about the other magic mortals and tried to decipher who would break the easiest. If I was going to figure things out, I needed to talk to one of them that would crack under pressure or sympathy. Those were the two methods that I was going to try; if I couldn’t threaten one of them into telling me, then I would try to make them feel bad for me and offer me an explanation to console me. Either way, I needed to know what was happening to me.

I decided that Katie would be the easiest to crack, but the least likely to actually know what’s going on. I had to move on to my second choice. Timothy had looked annoyed by Drew’s plan of just closing the door, so I thought that he might let some information slip through frustration. I chose him as the one who I’d be grilling for news.

Slowly, one by one, each of the magic mortals would come to see me. I felt like I was on my death bed and they were all saying goodbye. Some of the conversations were awkward as people tried to be chipper and other ones felt genuine. It was clear that no one realized that I had heard the plan to shut me away, but I didn’t let on that I knew. I would have to save that for my discussion with Timothy.

The first person to come see me was Katie. I guess maybe they thought she should go first so that they could do damage control afterwards if need be. Just in case Katie mentioned anything she wasn’t supposed to, the people after her could cover it up.

“Tada!” Katie said, springing into the room. She was wearing a soft pink dress and some of my jewelry. She had clearly been playing with my makeup before coming into the room.

“Well, don’t you just look stunning?” I asked jokingly as she climbed up on the bed.

“I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed a few things.” She admitted, indicating a necklace, some lipstick, blush, and a hair barrette.

“And stole some.” I pointed out, gesturing toward her made up face. “You can’t borrow makeup because you can’t return it.”

“That’s true.” She said, sliding the hair barrette into my hair. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” I told her smiling. “What brings you in here?”

“Just came to hang out. Everyone else is getting boring and they’re always moody and arguing.” She said simply and I began to envy her innocence and naivety.

“So you thought you’d come see what little ‘ole me was up to?” I asked her.

“Yeah.” She gently placed her hand on my bandaged abdomen. “Does it still hurt?”

“Everyday.” I admitted sadly. “But I’ll be fine.”

“You will?” She asked and I could tell that she didn’t believe me. I wasn’t sure if I believed myself.

“Absolutely. Just a little time to heal and…” I let my voice trail off as I noticed a tear rolling down Katie’s face. The others had been right to plan for damage control; Katie obviously knew something that I wasn’t being told, but I felt wrong trying to weasel it out of her. Instead, I just asked her what the tears were for.

“I-I d-don’t know.” She said sniffling.

“You don’t know why you’re crying?” I asked her soothingly.

“I’m just sad for you, that’s all.” She told me, stroking my hair affectionately and letting her hand linger on the hair barrette she’d placed there moments ago. She quickly corrected herself. “I mean, I’m sad for you because you got cut. It wasn’t fair.”

“Oh. Yeah, that happens sometimes. Life not being fair and all.” I told her.

Katie gave me a hug and said she’d see me later before she left the room. I was alone again for a little while. I realized that I was starting to be overcome with self-pity. I felt like my friends were providing me with a death sentence instead of trying to help and there wasn’t much I could do about it because I was too weak to even get out of the bed. It took all of my strength to get up and go to the bathroom each day. I didn’t understand why they wouldn’t just take me to an emergency room. Sure it would look slightly odd that I had a giant slash across my stomach surrounded by fire burns, but it wasn’t anything that wasn’t feasible to do without magic. The doctors at the hospital would be able to help, but no one even seemed to be considering that route as an option.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 14

2010-02-09T17:00:00.000-05:00

I don’t know when Drew made it back into the bathroom; I woke up back in bed. The only light in the room was a soft amber glow from a nightlight plugged in next to the door. I slid myself up in the bed and rested against the headboard. I was confused about how I’d gotten from one location to the bed. It was like having temporary amnesia except I didn’t know how long it had lasted. Was I in the bathroom earlier today or had it been a couple of days ago? I had no way of knowing; no one was in the room to ask and I couldn’t shout loud enough to try to get anyone’s attention.

I fell back asleep and woke to the sun streaming into my room. I assumed it was only a couple hours later. Drew sat in a chair near the bedside and gave me a small smile when I looked his way.

“How are you feeling?” He asked me, pulling the chair across the floor and closer to the bed.

“I’m pretty goo-” I started to tell him I was fine as a sudden pain shot across my body. It began in my stomach and shot out in various directions like a spider stretching its legs. My body jolted and I felt myself twitch back and forth. I couldn’t communicate the pain I was feeling. It felt like a bomb had been placed inside of my body and just detonated. Or at least, it felt how I imagined a bomb might feel like going off inside my body. I wanted to scream but it hurt just to open my mouth.

“Talk to me!” Drew was screaming. I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t; that it was too painful. “Give me some sort of sign!”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Timothy rush into the room and I wondered if he’d been in the place the whole time. He saw me and his eyes went wide. Rushing over, he threw himself on top of me and tried to restrain my body.

“Andrew!” He yelled from his place. “Get in here. I need your help again.”

My mind clung to his final word. Again. I realized that he must be indicating that this had happened before. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this much pain before. I tried to convince myself that Timothy must have been wrong, but I was finding it hard to trust myself on anything anymore.

Andrew came dashing into the room, throwing the door off its hinges as he came. Timothy gestured toward my other side and Andrew grabbed a hold of my body. Using his own as leverage, he pushed me flat to the bed and then looked at me. Suddenly, his face went white and his eyes darted over to Andrew.

“She’s awake this time?” He asked. I could hear the panic in his voice.

“That’s not important right now.” Timothy replied and projected his voice in the direction of the door. “Freddie bring the straps in!”

“Ten steps ahead of you as always.” Freddie joked as he glided into the room. Stopping two feet from the bed, I saw his mouth drop momentarily. Within seconds, he was back in action and the three boys strapped me flat onto the bed.

I was thankful for the straps even though they confused me. Because I was forced to lie flat, some of the pain was gone. My body wasn’t lifting up and slamming me back down forcefully any longer. The burning pain within the confines of my body was still intense and severe but I tried to focus on the conversation that the three guys were having instead.

“It’s worse.” Freddie commented; the first one to say anything after they had strapped me down.

“She’s awake.” Andrew said again.

“I can see that.” Timothy replied harshly to both of them.

“What do we do?” Freddie asked no one in particular.

“Nothing.” Drew said quietly from his chair. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t helped them.

“You expect us to do nothing?” Andrew demanded.

“Doing nothing isn’t going to help her!” Timothy said forcefully and turned to face Drew.

“It’s what we should’ve been doing from the beginning and it’s what we’re going to do from now on.” Drew’s voice was calm and steady, but determined. Andrew, Freddie, and Timothy looked like they wanted to protest, but hung their heads in defeat instead. “We do nothing.”

“Is everything okay?’ Sandra asked from the doorway. “Katie asked and I told her it was fine, but she won’t believe me unless I check.”

“Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.” Drew said glancing at each one of them.

“Okay.” Sandra replied.

“After this attack is over, you each spend a little time with her and then we close this door.” Drew said pointing at the bedroom door which connected the room to the rest of the building. “And we don’t open it. We leave it closed, understood? If it’s easier for you, you can leave, but this door does not open again until it’s over. Sandra, tell the rest of them too. I’ll come out and talk to Katie in about five minutes.”

Andrew, Freddie, and Sandra nodded. From my place, I could see Timothy’s jaw clenching and I thought he might say something; instead, he bit his tongue and left, slamming the door behind him. When the door was closed, Drew sighed and glanced over in my direction. I didn’t understand what had just happened. I had figured out that something was going on with me that they wouldn’t tell me, but I didn’t know what it was or what would make it end.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Winter Contest Winners!

2010-02-07T09:48:00.005-05:00

Our winter contest has ended and we have some winners to announce. Congratulations to all of the winners and thanks to everyone who entered the contest. Keep an eye out for new fiction and new contests in the future!

The Wolf Pack (in honor of Howling) goes to Borostyán!!

The Ghost Pack (in honor of Night's Final Hour) goes to Claire!!

The Magic Pack (in honor of Anthromagic and The Memory Keepers) goes to Donna at Bites!!

We hope you enjoy your prizes!

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 13

2010-02-02T17:00:00.001-05:00

The rest of the battle I’ve been told in parts. Drew told everyone not to talk about it, but none of them listened. Tismen told me a couple things, Lady Anilesa wrote me a letter with some coded descriptions that I spent weeks trying to decipher. Timothy and Freddie gave me descriptions in a tag-team fashion. One would stand outside my door while the other one sat beside my bed and described events to me, and then they would literally tag each other and trade off duties. It was amusing and made my smile despite my grogginess. Eventually, the one who provided me with the most description – and the goriest details – was Katie. She came into my room one evening and crawled up in bed with me.

“Want to hear a story?” She asked, sliding under the covers.

“I don’t know Katie, I’m pretty tired.” I informed her. My body still felt like it had been put into a blender, frapped, glued back together and then dropped off the top of Mount Everest. The biggest problem was that I felt like no one put me back together after the Everest fall.

“Are you sure?” Katie pleaded. “It’s about one of my three heroes. And it’s a really good story. I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” I asked her, clenching my hand but letting the pinky finger stick straight out.

“I haven’t pinky promised in years.” Katie said, sitting up with her knees folded under and immediately wrapping her own finger around mine.

“Well, now you have. Let’s hear your story.” I said as my eyelids drooped.

“Ok. It was a dark and stormy night.” She began and then stopped, cocking her head to the left. “Actually, that’s not true. Let me start over.”

“Go for it.” I said sleepily.

“It was a cloudy, overshadowed day and the troops were all gathering. The hero of the story didn’t know it, but there was a plan and everyone was ready to carry out their duties. Even if it meant dying a horrible death where your bones crush together smashing your organs until your skin stretches so tightly that it rips and splits and your guts some squirting out and making a mess all over –”

I held up my pointer finger and indicated for Katie to be quiet for a moment. My stomach was already queasy and she was making it worse. Jumping up from the bed, I attempted to make my way to the bathroom. As soon as I was standing vertical, my head became fuzzy, my vision blurred and I felt like the room was swaying back and forth in front of me. I could feel that I was about to pass out, but I couldn’t form words to try and get help. I felt a weird since of déjà vu from the battle when I was wounded. Remembering the battle left me feeling panicked which, luckily, prevented me from fainting, but also, unluckily, left me trying to catch my breath.

Holding on to various furniture items as I made my way into the bathroom, I slid down onto the cool tile floor and leaned back against the wall. I didn’t think I was going to vomit anymore but I couldn’t just stand in the room. I probably should have just sat back down on the bed, but my mind wasn’t functioning right at the time. From my place in the bathroom, I heard Drew talking to Katie.

“What happened?” He asked her. Drew sounded worried and stressed. This whole endeavor was really starting to tire him.

“Nothing.” I could barely make Katies voice out through the plastered wall.

“Katie!” Drew snapped at her. “Tell me what happened right now or I’ll…”

“Drew!” I managed to speak up as loud as I could.

The bathroom door was open within two seconds and Drew was on the ground beside me. He put his hand to my forehead and shook his head. “Are you okay? You should be in bed.” He advised me.

“I felt like I was going to be sick.” I explained quietly.

“Do you still feel like that?” He asked me.

“No. But it’s cooler here, if it’s okay, I’m just going to sit here for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” He said standing back up and looking down at me. There was a sadness in his eyes that frightened me. “Just knock on the wall if you need me.”

I nodded and rotated so that I was positioned in a corner between the bathtub and the wall, leaning against both for support. I closed my eyes and heard Drew and Katie talking again.

“Katie,” Drew started the conversation and I could tell that he was trying to be quiet and calm but there was still an edge in his voice. “What happened?”

“I was just talking to her.” Katie said and it sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

“About the battle?” Drew asked her; his voice quivered on the final word.

“No.” Katie told him and I heard feet shuffling on the ground. From what I could gather Katie had left the room in tears. In the distance I could hear a muffled cry. I heard Drew sigh loudly and then curse quietly. I felt like there was something that I wasn’t being told. If I could get Katie to tell me the rest of the story, then maybe I’d be able to figure out what everyone else seemed to know and then maybe I’d know why they were keeping it from me. I knocked on the bathroom wall and waited for Drew to return.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 12

2010-01-26T17:00:00.000-05:00

With the final, fate deciding word, Lady Anilesa’s voice had become harsh and booming, bouncing off the bricks walls lining the alley way. I shuddered from the sheer sound of it. She smiled again in my direction and then sat down.

Sikal moved to the middle of the alleyway and rocketed off the ground, levitating in the air above me. Menacingly, he swooped down, just barely missing my head with a flaming sword that had materialized out of the air. Ducking, I flattened myself against the cold, damp pavement. Sikal landed on the ground behind me. I extended one leg straight out and pivoted around in a quick circle on my other. Landing on his back, Sikal grunted and then a low growl escaped his throat.

Sikal threw a lightning bolt at me; I swirled around behind me grabbing a mirror and swung back around to reflect the bolt back at the demonlord. During my training, Drew taught me that magical weather forces bounce off of glass surfaces. Just as the lightning bolt reaches him, Sikal levitated into the air like a rocket ship launching. It exploded on the brick wall at the back of the alley and set a couple of wooden crates on fire. From the corner of my eye, I can see Drew rush over and, materializing a bucket of water, put the flames out.

The demonlord laughs and then retaliated by shooting a fireball in my direction. As soon as I felt the heat of the fire, I threw myself on the ground and rolled over to a pile of debris. Rapidly I picked up various pieces of the garbage as the fireball went by and doused them in flames. Launching each piece at Sikal, I felt my hands get burnt a little.

After that attack, Sikal resorted to magic that wasn’t based on nature. He wasn’t using the elements of the Earth to fight this battle anymore. His eyes went black as he summoned a black hole and formed an abyss in the middle of the alleyway. A second image of Sikal appeared behind me and I realized that he’d cloned himself. Before I had a chance to react, the demonlord’s clones pushed me forward and I tried to regain my balance as I teetered back and forth over the edge of the black hole.

“Foul!” I heard behind me.

“Agreed.” Lady Anilesa’s voice sounded like an angel’s from where I was trying to keep my balance.

“Sikal, you know that it’s against the rules to bring a black hole into this dimension during daylight hours, do you not?” Tismen asked the demonlord.

“Right.” Sikal growled as the black hole disappeared from under me. “I forgot that it was daylight out.”

“Carry on.” Tismen commanded from his seat and I sent a silent thank you to both of them.

We continued exchanging attacks in this manner for two hours before I began to tire. Dodging, ducking and jumping Sikal’s flaming sword was beginning to take its toll on my body. My reaction time was declining and my precision was beginning to fail. I began to expect defeat and accept the loss of my own soul. I had given the best I could without the use of magic, I reasoned with myself. No one could blame me for not being able to defeat a powerful demonlord.

I was in the middle of a jack rabbit attack when I felt the sword slice into my skin followed by an extreme heat and the smell of burning flesh. I had been wounded right along my stomach and I felt ready to pass out. As I let out a piercing scream, Sikal released the laugh of a devil.

“What made you think that you could defeat a demonlord without magic? Was it him? Did he also tell you that he lost his soul once? Or that he isn’t mortal anymore? Why would you trust something like that?” He taunted me, pointing the sword in the direction of Drew.

A small red dot appeared in the middle of Drew’s forehead and slowly, I realeased that the flaming sword was now nothing more than a teacher’s laser pointer. Seizing the only opening I’d seen the entire battle, I lunged my entire body at Sikal, managed to grasp an arm and trip him forward onto the pavement. As crimson blood splattered the surrounding brick, the gravel pavement, and Sikal’s black trenchcoat, I stood over the demonlord’s head and pulled his arm backwards until it lay parallel with his body. The sounds of bones cracking and Sikal screaming were followed by an uproar of applause and Drew’s voice shouting, “Now!” What followed next I only know from the reports of Tismen and Lady Anilesa and from my all too hazy memories.

Of course, at first I thought I was hallucinating. My second thought was that I had died. Sadly, when I thought I was dead, I was relieved. I said to myself, “At least this way, Sikal won’t get your soul and you died fighting for the honor of all those who had fallen before you.” When I realized I wasn’t dead, I was slightly disappointed because I assumed I had lost the battle and that the demonlord was the proud new owner of my soul.

I vaguely remember seeing the people that I had met over the past two months. They started appearing out of no where. Some came down over the sides of the surrounding apartment buildings; a couple appeared out of thin air; others crawled out from around the debris; and a few just walked into the alleyway like they had been waiting out by the street for some signal. It felt weird seeing Andrew, Michelle, Sandra, Freddie, Timothy and Paula at the battle. When Katie showed up, my nausea got worse because I began to worry about her safety. I tried to scream out to the others that she was just a little girl and shouldn’t have to be subjected to this kind of violence, but no one could hear me. The only thing coming from my mouth was blood.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 11

2010-01-19T17:00:00.001-05:00

Battle day arrived and I felt nauseous. I wanted to face Sikal, but I wasn’t completely convinced that I would win. I wanted to win, but was that honestly going to be enough to carry me to victory? Drew showed up on my doorstep with breakfast and a single yellow daisy. Opening the door, I let him in and put the daisy in water.

“I guess I should be glad that you didn’t show up with a black rose,” I told him morbidly and shook my head. “There’s no way I can eat anything this morning.”

“I figured,” He admitted opening the fridge. “That’s why it’s dinner for when this is over. We’ll just pop it in the oven for a half hour and then we’ll be able to have a celebratory meal.”

“Right.” I grunted and sat down at the rickety kitchen table.

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Just trust me, I wouldn’t let you go up against him if I didn’t think you’d win. I would’ve found some other loophole and gotten you out of it.” He gave a small, sly smile. “Even if it meant giving up my own soul.”

“Why now?” I asked him. The confusion was strewn across his face.

“Why now what?” He questioned.

“Why me? Surely I’m not the only person who Sikal tricked into losing the challenge. Why didn’t you tell one of the others about the loophole? Get them to face him?” I had been thinking about this for a couple of days now.

“I tried with one person before you but they were too afraid of Sikal. Everyone else I’ve met withstood his illusions.” Drew said shrugging.

“Oh.” I told him surprised. I don’t know what I had been thinking, but I wasn’t expecting the answer to be so simple.

“Your up. Ready to do this thing?” He asked him, heading for the door.

“As ready as I guess I’m ever going to be in this lifetime.” I told him shrugging and sighing.

“You’ll do great.”

We walked out of the apartment building and around to the alley way. Sikal was already there and smirking. I could tell that he was sure he would be walking away with my soul today. In his mind, he had already won this battle.

“I’m surprised you even bothered to show up Miss.” He said to me with a cocky attitude. He didn’t know it then, but his arrogance was just fueling me. My adrenaline was coursing through my veins like a bullet train in Europe. I would be ready to take him out in no time. I just had to wait until the battle officially started.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” I assured him narrowing my eyes.

“This is Tismen; he’ll be judging the battle today.” Sikal said as a stout little man stepped out from behind him.

“And this,” I said gesturing towards Drew. “Is…”

“Lady Anilesa.” Drew jumped in. “She’ll also be judging the competition today.”

I didn’t know who Lady Anilesa was, but I could tell that she must be one of the good guys just from looking at her. She was wearing a soft blue fuzzy sweater with black slacks. Her skin was pale white and her hair was a light auburn like the autumn leaves when they first start to turn colors and fall off the trees. She gave me a supporting smile and sat down on a nearby discarded lawn chair. Tismen pulled up a broken bench piece and sat down beside her. They exchanged some words, but spoke too softly for anyone else to hear.

“Is everyone ready?” Tismen asked.” We both nodded from our respective corners.

“Then the battle officially begins…” Lady Anilesa said as Drew gave a quiet drum roll behind me. “Now!”

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 10

2010-01-12T17:00:00.000-05:00

The next two weeks, I didn’t get to meet anyone. Drew said I needed to stay completely focused on physical training and reflect on the information that the others had provided. I felt like Drew was trying to psych me up so that I would realize that Sikal could be defeated. That other people were able to stand up to him in the challenge and that I would be able to beat him in a challenge. It was nice to hear that Sikal could lose, but I already knew that because Drew hadn’t lost his soul. I didn’t have the guts to tell Drew, but hearing everyone else’s success stories just kept depressing me. I kept thinking about how I should have been able to wait out those last few minutes. With only two weeks left, Drew introduced me to another person.

Katie was seven years old and had been challenged by Sikal six months ago. Raised by two magic practicing mortals, Katie grew up with both knowledge of magic and skill in it. I asked Katie about how Sikal had tested her and at first she clamed up. Drew whispered something into her ear that brought a smile to her face. Grabbing my hand and pulling me along behind her, Katie led me to a park bench.

“My parents helped me defeat Sikal. They always told me that sometimes you need help to do things. When he came, he made me think that I had gotten lost by making everything look different. I couldn’t find my way home and I got real upset. My mommy and daddy showed up, but it wasn’t really them. It was an illusion.” She told me, starting her story in a mad dash and stumbling over a few words.

“What happened next?” Drew asked leaning down beside Katie.

“He set them on fire. My fake parents, I mean. I started screaming, ‘Momma!’ and “Daddy!’ as loud as I could. My parents are real smart though. They had used one of them location spells and found me. They used their magics to fight that bully demonlord. But that’s against the rules. I never got my soul taken away ‘cause I didn’t use my magic, but mommy and daddy both lost their souls cause of it.”

Water was streaming down Katie’s face and I felt tears forming in my own eyes. Drew signaled to me that he would be right back and he led Katie off. When he came back he handed me a tissue and sat down.

“Do you see now?” He asked. “Do you see why it’s so important that you defeat him? Sikal has done so much bad in this world and you’ve gotten the chance to set it right or at least avenge the wrong he’s done. Can you do it?”

“I can more than do it.” I told me, wiping my eyes on my sleeve and standing up. “I’m not scared anymore and I don’t pity myself either. Now I’m just mad. That little girl passed her challenge; she shouldn’t have been left an orphan because of it.”

Sitting back down quickly, I turned to Drew. “Who takes care of her? She’s not in foster care, is she?”

“Sort of.” He admitted, kicking the ground. “She stays with me. Right now, I’m her legal guardian.”

“I never knew.” I told him, reaching out to hold his hand.

“It’s no big deal.” He told me, standing up and stretching. As a grin spreads across his face, he instructs me, “Time to get back to work.”

The next two weeks were spent with more mental tests and physical strains than I’d known in my entire life, but I kept telling myself that it was going to be worth it. I was going to defeat Sikal for everyone out there who hadn’t been able to because of his tricks and for everyone else who had but still ended up shorthanded, like Katie. I ran, jogged, swam, climbed, did crunches, push-ups, and took on every exercise that Drew threw my way. There was no way I could have known it then, but I wasn’t the only person training for the battle with Sikal.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 9

2010-01-05T17:00:00.000-05:00

The following week, Drew started me on a high protein diet to build muscle. We also added in extra trips to the gym for weight training in addition to the cardio we were still doing from the previous week. Again, I met two people who had been tested by Sikal a few years ago.

Sandra was thirty two and started using magic when she was twenty five. On her twenty sixth birthday, Sikal had tested her to see her commitment to the secret of magic. The test for her was a real challenge as she tried to balance a job, family, and magic without mixing any of the three. During her test, Sikal displayed an illusion in a mirror. Sandra saw herself standing there with blood dripping from her eyes like teardrops. She was just about to cast a healing spell when her husband walked into the room and complimented her on how beautiful she looked that night; Sandra put her hand up to her eye and realized Sikal’s trick because she didn’t feel wetness. She had defeated Sikal through the grace of her husband’s love.

Freddie was thirty and Sikal tested him when he was twenty eight. Freddie lived alone and was currently unemployed when Sikal decided to test him. Sikal created an audio illusion of voices that continuously told Freddie that something horrible was going to happen. Consoling himself with junk food, Freddie told the voices to ‘bring it on’ because he couldn’t fall much from where he was. Freddie’s terrible place in life saved his soul. He had defeated Sikal through his own self-pity.

I felt bad for Freddie when he told me his story, but he assured me that a lot had changed in his life. He had joined a gym and was engaged. According to him, being able to get through Sikal’s test had given him a new perspective on life. It had made him want to live again.

We were well into week three and I still didn’t feel prepared to even talk to Sikal again. How did Drew expect me to be ready to fight him? I had grown accustomed to meeting others who had been challenged by Sikal. During my cardio, weight, and strength training, I met two more. When I say ‘during,’ I mean that it was literally during my training. I was doing advanced aerobics when I met Paula.

Paula was forty two and Drew informed me that she was one of the first people who had ever been tested by Sikal. I figured her story would be pretty relaxed because I thought maybe Sikal hadn’t been as powerful or skilled when he tested her. That was not the case; if anything, Sikal had eased up over the years. During Paula’s test, the hated demonlord made her think she was loosing her mind. Within twenty-four hours, Paula had checked into a mental institution where she would spend the next year of her life. The only reason that Paula passed the test from Sikal was because she didn’t know that she was being challenged. When Sikal came to Paula, she thought he was an illusion or trickster; she had never been told that she would have to prove her dedication to keeping magic a secret from other mortals.

As I was boxing with Drew, a shorter man with blonde hair entered the ring. After squaring off with him for about an hour, I took a water break and learned that he had encountered Sikal as well. Timothy had accidentally started using magic when he was nineteen. Goofing off with some of his friends, he checked out a spells book from the library. While most spell books from public libraries don’t actually contain magic, Timothy had found one that did. When his friends and he casted a spell, they summoned a mythical dragon from a fairy tale. Quickly, speedy Timothy thought to look up antidotes in the same spell book and had copied down a general antidote. Swiftly reading the second spell, Timothy sent the dragon back to its legendary home, but also managed to alienate all of his friends who started to think of him as ‘the freaky man-witch.’ At that point, after only two spells, Timothy swore off magic forever. The following year, Sikal showed up and tried to tempt Timothy with his challenge. To no avail, Sikal went home empty-handed; Timothy had been magic-sober for eleven months. He didn’t even consider magic again until after Sikal had left without the desired soul.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Spread the Word

2009-12-29T22:05:00.003-05:00

Post our logo on your homepage:

The image url is http://img63.imageshack.us/img63/5866/twotowrite.png if you would like to use it on your site.

Winter Contest!

2009-12-29T21:38:00.008-05:00

We are extending the contest started at the beginning of December! There are more ways to enter and bigger and better prizes than before. So, without further ado, here are the new dates, guidelines, and prizes for the contest:

Dates:
The contest will run until January 31, 2010

Ways to Enter:
First:
You must comment on this entry that you would like to be entered into the contest. If you do not comment on this post, then we will not enter you into the contest. Please leave a method of contacting you (email, livejournal, blog, twitter, etc) for if you win.

Second:
Leave a comment on our work at Livejournal, Facebook, Twitter, or Blogger.
Each comment (current or past) earns you an entry.

Third:
Refer people to follow Two to Write on Livejournal, Facebook, Twitter, or Blogger.
Make sure they comment that you referred them!
For each person you refer, you’ll earn an entry.

Fourth:
Spread the word about Two to Write or this contest.
Leave a link on this post to where you spread the word.
Each place/time (from 12/1 to 1/31) you spread the word, you’ll earn an entry.

Fifth:
Follow us on Blogger, friend us on Livejournal, follow us on Twitter, or become a fan on Facebook.
For each one that you do (current or past), you will earn and entry.

Sixth:
Post our logo on your site.
You can find the logo here: http://twotowrite.blogspot.com/2009/12/spread-word.html
Leave a comment on this post linking us to your site.

The Prizes:
We have divided the prizes up into three packs, related to the stories you've seen on Two to Write. The top winner will get his/her choice of a prize pack. The second place winner will choose from the remaining two packs and the third place winner will get the remaining pack. Additional packs may be added throughout January.

The Wolf Pack
(in honor of Howling)

This pack includes a t-shirt, stuffed wolf, custom graphic, and feedback on 3000 words of your writing.

The Ghost Pack
(in honor of Night's Final Hour)

This pack includes a bag, snow globe, custom graphic, and feedback on 3000 words of your writing.

The Magic Pack
(in honor of Anthromagic and The Memory Keepers)

This pack includes a notepad, necklace, custom graphic, and feedback on 3000 words of your writing.

Good luck!

Feel free to ask any questions!

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 8

2009-12-29T17:00:00.001-05:00

The next morning, Drew showed up at nine thirty with breakfast and a duffel bag. Curious, I tried to sneak a peak into the bag but Drew blocked my attempts and handed me a biscuit.

“You’ll see what’s in there in a little bit.” He told me, sliding the bag behind his feet. “Trust me, you probably aren’t going to find it fun anyway.”

“Fine. I’ll eat, but then you have to tell me what’s there.” I agreed and bit into my breakfast.

“We start training at 10:30 sharp. Be ready.” He told me and then took his cup of milk into the kitchen to put it in the sink.

“I’m ready whenever you are.” I informed him.

“Fine. We’ll start now.” He said, pulling the duffel bag out from under the couch. “This is what we’ll be using for training.”

Unzipping the bag, Drew pulled out a giant axe, a mace, and three small daggers. Twirling one of the daggers, he grinned and then set the rest of the contents onto the table.

“Worried yet?” He asked, smirking.

“Slightly. What are we going to do with those?” I inquired.

“Train. You’re going to be fighting Sikal without magic. It’s not going to be an easy task. You’ll need to be just as physically fit as you’ll need to be mentally.” Drew clarified.

“So I have to train with weapons?” I demanded. “I’m starting to think that I might not be up for this after all.”

“You’ll be fine.” Drew attempted to reassure me. “Starting out we won’t use the weapons, it’ll just be strength training with some cardio and things like that. Gradually, we’ll move up to using the weapons with some dodging and aiming practice.”

“I’m trusting you on this one.” I let him know. “If anything happens though, you’ll have to live with the guilt associated with my death.”

“I won’t have to worry about that.” Drew informed me. “Also, along the way, I’ll be introducing you to some other people who have gone up against Sikal. Are you alright with that?”

“That’s fine.” I started, curious. “How do you know so much about all of this though?”

“Just experience.” He said offhandedly. “That’s all.”

“Okay.” I said, unconvinced.

That morning, Drew and I began our first hardcore training session. We jogged, biked, ran, and boxed. It was rigorous, but Drew acted like he was just a daily routine for him. Every activity we did, Drew did with ease; both intimidating and impressing me. By the end of the day, I was completely worn out; every muscle in my body ached from the strenuous activity.

Coming into my apartment, I collapsed onto the couch and Drew offered to make some dinner. I told him that I wasn’t sure if I would be able to eat anything but to help himself to the sparse ingredients in the kitchen. It had been a little while since I’d been to the grocery store. He fixed dinner and I sat in the living room contemplating the idea that I had just begun a very eventful journey.

With seven weeks left before the duel, we started with serious cardio training for the first week and I met two other mortals that had been tested by Sikal. Andrew was a twenty-two year old who had been tested by Sikal two years ago. During his test, Sikal created an illusion that made the entire apartment building look like it was quickly engulfed in flames. Andrew, torn between which residents to save first, used his magic to relocate the apartment building to an abandon plot of land, leaving numerous mortals suddenly standing on the street completely baffled by the disappearance of their homes. Just as Andrew used his magic, the time limit wore off. His soul was safe.

Michelle had only been seventeen when she was tested by Sikal. A mirage of her mother appeared before her and appeared to be having a heart attack. Luckily, Michelle was able to identify that it wasn’t her mother. Her mother had died two years earlier in a car crash; one detail that Sikal clearly didn’t know. That was what had prevented Michelle from losing her soul that night.

Both of the people I met that first week of training had been incredible. Their stories had deeply touched me, but also made me feel like I was an even bigger failure for not having been able to outsmart Sikal. Drew told me not to focus on this; that Michelle or Andrew could’ve easily done the same thing, but it didn’t make me feel much better. I was sure I was going to lose this battle.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 7

2009-12-22T17:00:00.002-05:00

I had two months to figure out how I was going to defeat Sikal and absolutely no plan. Drew and I had put off the inevitable; I still had my soul intact. The entire next week, I didn’t see Drew. He wasn’t at work, he didn’t pick up his phone, and he wasn’t at his apartment (which I had found using some detective work). I was starting to worry and becoming a little freaked out. I began wondering if Drew had made me stand up to the demonlord to simply abandon me, but after that first week, Drew was back at work bright and early when I stopped in to grab my coffee.

“You’ve been gone for awhile.” I stated, stepping up to the counter.

“I have.” He said, automatically handing me a Mocha Latte and refusing my money. “Use it to get a better apartment. I’ll come by this evening and we’ll talk about the plan.”

“I guess I’ll see you then.” I told him and headed on toward a tedious day at work, calling more people about more random services that I wouldn’t even waste my money on.

That afternoon when I got home from work, I tried to straighten up the apartment some. Ever since the morning when Drew showed up there, I had been a little embarrassed about the horrid conditions. My apartment was literally in shambles and I hadn’t even stopped to notice before. I did the monstrous pile of dishes in the sink and hid the dirty clothes in the closet. Leaning with all my strength against the closet, I hoped it would stay shut. As I walked away from it, one door popped off the rusty amber hinges, letting shirts, socks, bras, pants, and other remnants file out onto the floor. Muttering about wasting my time, I gathered up the discarded items and shoved them back into the cramped closet. Pulling ribbon from a drawer in my bedroom, I rigged the closet door in its proper place and tied the two doors together so that they would stay shut. The bow I tied around the door handles looked like it might pass as a decorative display.

Drew knocked on the door as he walked in and I tossed the remaining ribbon under the sofa in the living room.

“Anyone home?” I heard his voice flow through the apartment.

“In here!” I shouted and realized that I was attempting to straighten out my shirt.

“I brought Chinese.” Drew said, sliding to the ground by the coffee table and setting out a buffet of delicious Chinese food.

“Good choices.” I observed. “Lots of options.”

“I figured we’d be here a while trying to come up with a plan. We might need the leftovers to reheat later.”

With that, we both scrounged down some food, anxious to discuss methods on how I was supposed to beat Sikal without using any magic whatsoever. I was hoping that Drew had come up with some sort of plan or ideas, because I had zilch.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked, finishing off an egg roll.

“To train. To train everyday and every night until you’re ready. Sikal is going to be expecting some sort of trick or deception, but we’re going to be straight about it. You’ll quit your job tomorrow and we’ll start training. It’s as simple as that.” Drew explained nonchalantly.

“It’s as simple as that?” I stuttered. “You mean, it’s as simple as ‘you lose.’ That plan will never work.”

“It will work if you trust me, okay?” Looking straight at me, Drew waited for a reply.

“Well,” I said conceding, “If nothing else, this plan of yours got me two more months of freedom from Sikal.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” Drew told me standing up. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving already?” I asked confused. “But you said we would be here a while and that we might have to reheat the leftovers.”

“I thought we’d fight about it a lot longer.” He said simply.

“You don’t have to go yet.” I told him not wanting to be left alone just yet.

“I really do. I have some things I need to gather and do before we start training. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.” Drew headed out my apartment door just as the other closet door burst off its hinges, swung around against the other door and let the contents spill out once again.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 6

2009-12-15T17:00:00.000-05:00

When the time came, Drew and I were standing outside in the alley beside my apartment building. We knew Sikal was going to protest and we needed somewhere half-way secluded to keep the events secret from the general population. Perched on some old broken chairs, we glanced at each other with small nervous smiles and then away again to wait. Sikal arrived in style. A huge thunderous clap exploded above our heads and a green light flashed as Sikal appeared in the darkness in front of us.

“Trying to gang up on me?” He assumed when he saw Drew sitting five feet from me. “You might as well head on home, kid. She used magic during her testing period. I’m just doing my job, coming here and collecting her soul. You know that.”

“What I know…” Drew started standing up. The inspiration hit me then. Drew couldn’t stand up to Sikal for my sake; that’s not what was supposed to happen. He would be interfering with fate if he did that and then he’d find himself in as much trouble as we hoped for Sikal to be in.

“What I know,” I echoed jumping up and silencing Drew behind me. “Is that you won’t be taking my soul. At least not tonight.”

“Well, missy, when did you get so brave while in my presence?” Sikal asked, shocked by my demeanor.

“When I realized that you’re just an old demonlord, subjected to the same laws of the universe as the rest of us.” I explained, gaining confidence with each word that left my lips and built the threat.

“What is your point?” He asked, coming closer and towering over me in an attempt to intimidate me. “Or are you just trying to further delay the inevitable?”

“My point,” I started calmly and without anger in my voice. “Is that you, in a very clever move which played on my mortal weakness of empathy, tricked me into using my magic. Neither you nor I can prove whether or not I would have used my magic if that flaming car had not materialized in this alley. With that said, you chanced altering the fate of a mortal, which goes against the order of the universe and the law that we all are bound to.”

Sikal stood there, taking in every single word that I said and probably looking for a flaw in what he thought was my logic. In reality, I had Drew to thank for my success.

“Sikal,” I said, for the first time in my life, addressing my demonlord by name. “I wonder what his majesty would think if he knew what you had done. I wonder what flaming consequences you’d have to endure.”

“What is your point?” Sikal exclaimed, displaying his fear.

“I want to make a deal.” I told him without hesitation.

“A deal? You want to make a deal with me?” He repeated.

“A bet of sorts, if that’s the terminology you prefer.” I clarified.

“I’m listening. Let’s hear this deal of yours.”

“Here’s the deal,” I said, preparing to make another deal with a devil. At least this deal was one that I had a choice in. “I want a duel. Between me and you. I bet that I can beat you without my magic. If –”

“Without your magic? You’ll automatically lose!” Sikal laughed devilishly. “You want to make a bet you’re bound to lose?”

“If,” I started again, but nervously looked at Drew. He nodded slowly in order to make sure that Sikal didn’t notice my need for encouragement. “If you win, you get my soul and no one tells the King what you’ve done. However, if you lose, I get my soul, no questions asked. Now, with my destined to lose, I see no reason why you wouldn’t agree to the deal, but, if you find yourself scared or nervous and decide not to agree with the bet or you back out at a later date, then his Majesty will find out that you chanced fate. Understood?”

“Understood and,” Sikal thought for a moment. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Drew and I said in unison and Sikal flinched with the slightest ounce of worry.

“You’ll be seeing me in two months.” Sikal said, setting the date for our duel. “And, Miss, remember that by then I’ll be stronger!”

“Oh, I’ll remember.” I reassured him as he disappeared into the darkness. He was a lot less fancy in his exit than he had been about his entrance. I took that as a good sign.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Among Monsters

2009-12-13T02:51:00.003-05:00

Among Monsters

Life used to be simple for me. I used to be able to walk with freedom, void of fear. And then he came into my life. He was the one who opened the door to all things scary. He was the one that showed me there were monsters in the night. He was the one I fell in love with.

He told me life would be simpler without him in it. I didn’t understand at the time what he meant by this. I understand now. And I wish that I could go back to the day I met him. I wish I could do it all over again and tell him no. But regrets solve nothing and time travel has yet to be invented.

* * * * *

“Have you ever thought about starring in your own fairy tale?” He asked me from across the table. I just stared at the newcomer, wondering how to respond.

“You mean like a movie?” I asked, stirring my drink.

“No, I mean like a real-life genuine love story.” His smile was perfect in the crowded room.

“I don’t think those exist,” I said, looking around for my friends. They seemed to have disappeared, leaving us all alone in the crowded restaurant.

“They can if you allow them to.” He picked up the menu in front of him, shielding his face.

“Right.” My voice dripped with hesitation, but I had no escape plan for this situation.

“So, what’s good here?” He dropped the menu and smiled at me. He didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“I don’t know. Depends on who’s paying.” I watched as his eyes lit up.

“I think you should,” he replied, laying the menu down on the table in front of him.

“I should?” I asked, surprised by his response.

“Yes,” he replied. “And I’ll cover the next check. I promise it’ll be a nicer restaurant.”

“The next check?” I asked, regretting bringing up the topic of the check.

“Yes, the next check.”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you accepting?” His smile was getting wider by the second.

“Depends on when and where.”

“Tomorrow night,” he replied, looking around. “Meet me here and we’ll venture forth from there.”

“And you’re paying?”

“And picking the location.” He stood to leave. “I’ll see you then.” He was gone before I could give him a straight answer.

* * * * *

This mysterious guy was the first thing I discussed with my friends when I returned home. They were the ones that encouraged me to meet him the following night. I wish I hadn’t listened to them.

* * * * *

He was standing outside of the restaurant when I arrived ten minutes early. I had been hoping to use those ten minutes to gather my thoughts and prepare myself for the night. Instead, I seemed to have gained ten minutes of a date.

“You’re early,” was the first thing he said when I walked up.

“So are you,” was my reply.

“You ruined the surprise.”

“What surprise?” I was curious to know what this stranger could have possibly planned for a surprise.

“I was going to be romantic and leave you a trail of something. It was going to lead you to the restaurant,” he replied, gesturing to a pile of cards in his hand.

“Where did you get the idea to do that?” I asked, wondering why this guy was so strange.

“The movies. And books. It’s really been used in quite a few places,” he replied, smiling.

“But rarely ever is it used on a first date,” I replied, thinking of the few instances I could recall from favorite books and movies.

“True. Which would have made it an even bigger surprise.” His smile was wide again and glowing white in the night.

“I suppose so,” I replied, stepping closer to him to avoid being in the walkway of the sidewalk. “Why would you want to waste so much effort on a girl you don’t even know?”

“Because you’re perfect.” His smile softened. “I can already tell that you’re right for me.”

“That’s just a tad bit creepy,” I replied, stepping away.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice even and smooth. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” I replied, looking around. “Let’s just get to dinner, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied. I watched as his hand reached for mine. I shoved mine into my pocket and hoped the night would become smoother as it progressed.

* * * * *

The night did become smoother. But, the weeks to follow only became more complex.

That was the beginning of a rocky road that led me to the world of monsters. It led me to the moment when he told me the truth.

* * * * *

“I’m a vampire.” He said it plain and simple under the glow of a full moon. I looked at him and accused him of joking. He insisted that I believe the truth.

“You can’t be a vampire. They don’t exist,” I told him, looking up at his dark eyes. “They are just a myth told to children to keep them in at night. They’re not real.”

“They are real.” His voice was even and extremely calm.

“Prove it,” I retorted, with my hands positioned carefully on my hips.

“Okay,” he said, curling his lips into a smile. His smile widened, revealing his teeth. Among them were pointy incisors, extended beyond the rest of the teeth. He looked like the perfect vampire, with his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

“You really are a…?” I let my voice trail off as I took in the sight before me. Andrew was wearing a dark tux from our formal date that night. Add a cape to his ensemble and he would have been the poster boy for Dracula. It was an eerie sight.

“I really am,” he replied, his voice huskier than before.

“I have to go.” I ran and stumbled until I found my way home. He didn’t follow me.

* * * * *

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 5

2009-12-08T17:00:00.000-05:00

The next morning I woke to the smell of blueberry waffles and the sound of a hammer. Startled, I jumped up and tumbled out of bed, tangled in my blanket. With three short dashes down my miniscule hallway, I swung into the kitchen and saw Drew hammer a nail sticking up from the floorboards.

“What are you doing?” I shouted over the thud of the hammer. Clearly, I startled Drew who brought the hammer straight down on the hand he was using to balance himself.

“Trying,” He started, clutching his hand and grimacing. “To fix your floor.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I apologized and scurried over to the kitchen to fix a cold compress for his swelling hand.

“Thanks.” He said, taking the towel and gesturing toward the apartment door. “You really ought to lock that.”

“I know.” Smelling the waffles again, I turned to the stove and found nothing.

“Other way,” Drew instructed, taking my shoulders and turning me toward the two-seater kitchen table.

I had been wrong. It wasn’t just the smell of blueberry waffles that woke me. It was the smell of waffles, muffins, French toast, eggs, and bacon all spread out in a beautiful display on my rickety little table. It looked like a juxtaposition painting done by some cynical artist. I felt like crying. Again.

“I’m going to lose, aren’t I?” I guessed.

“What?” Drew asked baffled.

“With Sikal, I’m going to lose. Why else would you fix me such a nice breakfast and try to fix my pathetic little hovel?” The tears were already flowing from my eyes and I couldn’t even try to stop them. I sank down in one of the kitchen chairs and slumped over its back. I took a large bite out of one of the muffins, causing the tears to gush out even more rapidly from the sheer delicacy of a simple muffin.

“If you were going to lose, I wouldn’t bother trying to fix your apartment because you wouldn’t be coming back to it.” Drew explained rationally.

“Oh.” I said and realized that I must look like a complete wreck, sitting there eating a muffin in my oversized shirt, crying with my disheveled hair. I swallowed hard and stood up. “I’m going to go get dressed and brush my hair and, maybe, shower and…”

“Don’t.” Drew said, pointing toward the chair with the hammer. “Sit and eat. You look adorable. Except for the tears. I could do without those seeing how they’re unnecessary, but if you insist on crying, then go ahead. Just make sure you eat too.”

“But…” I started and Drew shook his head, informing me that I had no excuse that he would accept. “Okay.” I sat down and started eating.

Drew poured us each a glass of orange juice and sat down across from me, carefully balancing himself on the broken chair.

“Sorry about that.” I apologized. “I don’t get company often.”

“I noticed.” He observed. “Why do you live like this?”

“I don’t know.” I told him, honestly. I really didn’t know. I made enough money that I could’ve afforded a better place; I had just never put in the effort to find somewhere nicer.

“You should move.” He pointed out the obvious while I munched on some French toast. “I should.” I agreed.

“But you won’t?”

“I didn’t say that.” I corrected.

“Looks like it’s something I’ll have to get you to work on.” He proposed.

“Maybe.” I grinned.

For the next few hours, Drew and I just hung out, relaxed and talked about how I was going to approach Sikal and how I would lay out the plan. Each minute brought me closer to my task at hand and made me feel that much sicker. I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started using magic three years ago.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

The Memory Keepers: Prologue

2009-12-03T23:52:00.002-05:00

Prologue
I was nine when my grandmother first told me I was special, eleven when I started to believe in magic and thirteen when I became a memory keeper. But, I didn’t realize what a special gift this was until I was sixteen and the memories and cares of another rested on my shoulders.

My grandmother was my only connection to the world of memory keepers growing up. As a child, I watched her every move to learn more about my destiny. I was by her side as often as I could be, watching and learning. She never spoke about what she was doing. Instead, she would say that experience is the greatest teacher. I wouldn’t understand this until I was much older.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t my grandmother who made me see that magic was real. It was my mother who made me believe. We were sitting on the living room floor, watching one of those movies based on fairy tales. I commented that those things don’t happen in real life. She was quick to come back that fairy tales do come true – you just have to know where to find the magic. I giggled at the mention of magic and she raised an eyebrow. Within seconds, she was sharing several different stories of her past. At the center of each story was my grandmother, portrayed as the heroine of the tale. I was in awe.

I knew I would come into my abilities at age thirteen, but I didn’t realize the impact it would have on my life. A memory keeper is able to experience the memories of any given individual with simply a touch of her hand. With enough practice, this power can also be extended to inanimate objects, which hold more memories than any human. After years of watching my grandmother in action, I was well aware of the abilities I would be gaining. However, I wasn’t aware of the sacrifices I would have to make. My grandmother had made it look so easy.

The first person I touched was my best friend at the time. We were in middle school and things were rough. Girls were catty and boys were suddenly interested in the girls. Rumors flew on a daily basis and people were betrayed weekly. I was sitting in the cafeteria beside Anna, my best friend. We were in the midst of our lunch and I asked if she had a spare napkin and she passed one my way. Our fingers grazed for only a second, but that was all it took for every one of her memories to come flooding into my mind. It was a painful experience as my brain went into overdrive.

My body shook with the emotions of each memory and the people around me seemed to jump away. I don’t remember much after that because I passed out and woke up in the nurse’s office. The school called my mother, worried that I suffered from panic attacks or something. My grandmother was the one who met me in the office. She drove me home and we didn’t speak a word. My mind was reeling with something I had discovered in my best friend’s memories: betrayal and backstabbing that had been going on for months. Needless to say, that ended our friendship.

I isolated myself for months, avoiding everyone. I would immediately jump back if someone got too near and I refused to do any contact sports in gym. As a result, I ended up failing my first class that year. My separation increased when my grandmother passed away and I withdrew further into myself. My mother tried her best to pull me from my self-imposed isolation but nothing seemed to work.

I did eventually pull through and began to find new ways of avoiding people that were not as jumpy. However, I continued to avoid contact with others as much as possible. Burdens lie hidden in the memories of others. People can suppress these burdens and bury them deep within themselves. I experience all of a person’s memories when I touch them, even the ones that have been suppressed and forgotten. Nothing is kept from me and that is something that I must live with everyday.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Memory Keepers by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 4

2009-12-01T17:00:00.000-05:00

“Honestly?” I told myself not to get my hopes up or I’d only be disappointed.

“Yes.” I heard Drew say. My mind was wondering about what the possible loopholes could be. Did this mean that I wouldn’t be losing my soul after all? After five minutes of mindless explanations, I heard Drew calling my name.

“Hey! Hey! Are you still there? What happened?”

“Nothing.” I said glumly into the receiver. “Just getting my hopes up so that I’ll be good and disappointed as usual.

“Why don’t you try listening to me first and then see how you take the news before making any judgment calls in advance?” Drew questioned my logic.

“Fine. Let me have it.” I prepared myself for his explanations. Maybe I’ll only have to lose half my soul, I mused to myself.

“Sikal tricked you into using your magic, right?”

“Yeah, so?” I asked him. Was it possible that demonlords had rules too?

“Okay. So technically, he might have altered the course of fate….” Drew trailed off.

“True.” I agreed.

“You might not have ever used your magic if he hadn’t created an illusion where you felt the need to save someone.”

“Yes, Drew. I know all of this already. Can you just make your point? I’m tired and depressed and would like to spend some time enjoying my soul before he gets here to collect it.”

“Listen to me. No one is allowed to alter the course of fate. No one. No mortal who practices magic, no demonlord, not even the King of Magic. It goes against the order of the universe. No one is even supposed to chance altering it. So, because Sikal took the chance, he could be in huge trouble with the King of Magic. The kind of trouble that ends with Sikal burning for eternity. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No.” I said straight. “I see what you’re saying, but I don’t know where that leaves me. It’s not like I can set up a meeting with the King of Magic and complain about how the demonlords are being mean to their mortal charges. The King of Magic doesn’t have time for stuff like that and you know it, Drew.”

Disappointed and angry with myself, I hung up the phone. I instantly regretted it. I shouldn’t have been taking my emotions out on Drew who was just trying to help me. His plan seemed like complete bogus to me though and my narrow mind was only focused on me at the moment. Five minutes later the phone rang again.

“What!” I bit into the receiver. “I know I shouldn’t have hung up on you but I just can’t handle this right now, okay?”

“Not okay.” Drew snapped at me. I’d never heard Drew mad before and it frightened me a little.

“You need to shut up and listen to me for a couple of more minutes.”

“Fine.” I resolved. “My life is over in a few hours, what’s a couple more minutes on the phone with you?”

“You can challenge him. Make a bet with Sikal. As a demonlord, he’s prone to being arrogant and chauvinistic. Play on those qualities. Make a bet with him that you can beat him without your magic. If he wins, he gets your soul and you won’t tell the King. If you win, you get to keep your soul. If he won’t agree to the bet, then you’ll tell the King. It will work.” Drew explained his plan while I listened and tried to find flaws in it.

“You think that will really work? Who’s to say that Sikal won’t just kill me on the spot? He has that kind of power.” I pointed out what seemed obvious to me.

“He can’t. You really know nothing about demonlords, do you?” Drew asked surprised.

“Demonlords can’t kill their mortal charges; they spontaneously combust if they do. Sikal wouldn’t risk his own life over one soul.”

“How do you know so much about demonlords?” I asked Drew. When I first found out that a demonlord would have to test me in order to see whether or not I could keep magic a secret, I tried to do all the research I could on them. I wanted to know their strengths, their weaknesses. Heck, I wanted to know where they lived and what they ate for dinner. But I only found one book on demonlords and it was less than helpful. Drew, on the other hand, seemed to know more about the demonlords than Sikal probably did. It intrigued me and made me wonder what else I didn’t know about him.

“I’ve just picked stuff up over time. Small Freudian slips from Sikal and little tidbits from other mortals about their demonlords.” Drew explained carefully. I got the feeling that he wasn’t telling me everything but decided that now was not the time to push the issue.

“So I should challenge Sikal to a bet?” I asked, returning to the issue at hand.

“You should.” Drew confirmed.

“It sounds easier and safer just to let him take my soul.” I complained.

“It would be.” Drew admitted. “If you don’t value your soul at all.”

“I guess I do. Some.”

“Do you realize what you’d be without your soul?” Drew wanted to know.

“Um,” I hesitated. In reality, I had no clue what I would become when I lost my soul. Vampire don’t have souls, but I’m pretty sure that’s a whole different story. I realized that I didn’t know if a demonlord has a soul or not. What would I become without a soul? “A vampire?”

“No.”

“I know. It was a silly answer, but I don’t know what I become.” I admitted.

“You would become a hollow shell. A demon. Servant to the demonlord who took your soul. Sikal would forever hold your soul in a vault and you would forever serve him. Is that what you want? To be stuck saying ‘yes, Sir’ to Sikal?” Drew’s speech was not raising my spirits any.

“No. I don’t want anything to do with Sikal.” I told him angrily. “Do you honestly think I want to lose my soul?”

“I don’t think you do. Which is why you need to make this bet with him. When he comes to take your soul, that’s when you throw the plan on him, got it?” He asked me.

“But what if he doesn’t listen to me and automatically steals my soul anyway?” I pointed out to Drew.

“I’ll be there with you.” He clarified and I found that I was actually reassured by the mere thought of Drew’s presence.

“Oh. Okay, I guess I’ll do it then.” I told Drew with a flicker of determination.

“Good. Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” Drew said through the phone.

I hung up the phone and headed to bed. I was emotionally worn. A mixture of fear, rage, and depression was surging through my body making it hard for me to fall off to sleep despite the late hour of the night. I had a big day ahead of me and I was scared. Silently, I cursed the day I had started using magic and the tears that were starting to fall from my eyes. I hated crying and, that day, I seemed to keep finding my face soaked in the salt water from my own eyes.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Contest Alert!

2009-11-30T20:44:00.003-05:00

Two to Write is hosting its first contest!!

There are several ways to enter to win great prizes.

Entering
First:
Leave a comment on our work at livejournal, facebook, twitter, or blogspot.
Each comment earns you an entry. (Hint: You can earn an easy entry by simply replying to this post.)

Second:
Refer people to follow Two to Write on livejournal, facebook, twitter, or blogspot.
Make sure they comment that you referred them!
For each person you refer, you’ll earn an entry.

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Spread the word about Two to Write or this contest.
Leave a link on this post to where you spread the word.
Each place/time you spread the word, you’ll earn an entry.

*Blogspot allows you to leave a comment without being a member of Blogger.

The Prizes
Grand Prize:
Bag filled with goodies (picture to come)
Feedback on 4000 words of your writing
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Prize 1:
T-Shirt
Feedback on 3000 words of your writing
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Prize 2:
Feedback on 2000 words of your writing
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Prize 3:
Feedback on 2000 words of your writing
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Additional prizes will be added for the following:
- When we reach 25 followers on Blogger.
- 25 comments posted in December
- 50 comments posted in December
- 75 comments posted in December
- 100 comments posted in December

Start Date: December 1, 2009 (12:00 am EST)
End Date: December 31, 2009 (11:59 am EST)

Winners will be announced during the first week of January.

Good luck!!

Questions? Just ask!

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 3

2009-11-24T17:00:00.000-05:00

My head was spinning, my pulse was racing, and I could hear my heart beating in my ears. In fact, it was pretty much the only thing that I could hear at all. My other senses were completely gone. And then, it occurred to me that Drew had gotten through this before. He had been there and he had survived Sikal.

I had to pick myself back up off the floor. When I had realized that he had won, I collapsed. With a goal in mind, I approached my apartment door. Fumbling, I tried to keep my hand steady and get the key into the slot. The first key was obviously the wrong one; it only fit halfway into the hole before it got jammed. I tried a second one and had no luck with it either. I cursed myself, knowing that I should be able to easily identify the key to my own apartment. That’s the trouble with keys though; most of them look exactly the same. After about only four different keys, I gave up and kicked the door in. I was too frustrated to take time for procedures.

Ignoring the clock screaming at me that it was already 3:30 in the morning, I dialed Drew’s number. It was late and I would wake him, but it was too important of an issue to just wait until morning.

“Hi.” Drew said as he picked up on his end. “He beat you, didn’t he?”

“How do you know I’m not calling to say that I beat him? That I lasted out the entire time length?” I demanded, annoyed by his assumption.

“Because you still have twelve minutes before your time would be up.” Drew explained rationally.

“Oh. Well, maybe I just needed support through the last stretch.” I suggested, but he wasn’t buying it.

“The last fifteen minutes are the easiest,” He explained. “That’s when most people start doing their victory dance because they know they’ve won. They know they’ll get to keep their soul.”

His reference to my lost soul hit home. He was pointing out what I’d lost. I felt the water droplets starting to form in the corners of my eyes. I vowed that I wasn’t going to get emotional about this again.

“Hey? You still there?” Drew asked, concerned by my unusual silence. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“Didn’t I wake you?” I inquired, trying not to sniffle and give myself away.

“Nope. I was expecting a phone call, so I was up.”

“Oh.” I said surprised. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow when I get my coffee then.”

“What?” Drew commented, laughing.

“I don’t want to tie up your line.” I tried explaining to him.

“I was expecting you to call. You are one complex woman.” He told me and I found that I was smiling despite my state of mind.

“I’m doing my best at it.” I told him and then began explaining what had happened within the last two and a half hours of my life. Drew was silent during the entire story, only making the occasional grunt to remark on a classic Sikal move or a random “mmhmm” to let me know that he was still listening. When I thought I had finished my story and was getting ready to move on and complain about having my soul taken tomorrow, he interrupted me.

“Wait a minute.” His voice seemed hopeful, but that might have just been my wishful thinking.

“What?”

“I might have found a loophole for you.” He explained as the static cracked in my receiver.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 2

2009-11-17T17:00:00.000-05:00

Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted through the night. I dashed over and threw up my window. Sticking my head out, I could see a massive ball of fire just as it exploded on a car in the alley below.

“What the hell just happened?” I mused aloud.

“Looks like a tragedy.” I heard a cynical voice behind me.

“You!” I felt my eyes widen as I spun around to face him. “You did this?”

“Things happen.” He replied shortly.

“That’s not, you can’t just, innocent people are not –” I was trying to reason with a madman; not even a madman. I was trying to reason with pure, untainted evil. “I will not let this happen.”

Throwing open my apartment door, I made a mad-dash down ten flights of stairs and then jumped over the banister for the last flight. I tore open the door to the building and ran out into the alley, prepared for the worse.

Inside the flaming car, a young boy was screaming and pulling on the door handle. Stupid child locks, I muttered to myself, recalling other horror stories I’d heard about those things when I was younger.

Raising both of my hands into the air, I drew on the forces of wind and water. I intended to use the wind to create a vortex which would suck the oxygen out of the area, thus killing the flame. Just as humans require oxygen to survive, so do some types of fire. The water would put the fire out where the vortex failed. Just as a giant vortex formed around the car, the vehicle disappeared into the night sky without leaving a single trace behind. I was mystified.

And then I was pissed. The whole thing had been an illusion; a mirage of sorts created by him. Created by the demonlord that was probably laughing as I recalled the magic I’d used to create the vortex and annihilated the approaching storm. Looking up, I saw a figure standing in the window against the white light. Contrasting with the fluorescent glow, the demonlord was a menacing blackness, but none of that mattered anymore. He had won and now he would be coming to claim my soul. I felt cheated, but what was worse, I felt disappointed in myself. I had let the enemy win.

Meeting me in the front lobby, Sikal said, “Game. Set. Match. I win. Checkmate. Whatever it is you pathetic mortals say when you defeat someone.”

“You cheated.” I protested.

“And?” He inquired.

“Nevermind.” I told him seething and headed for my apartment.

“You’ve got twelve hours and then I’ll come for your soul.” He smiled in his own sickening way like he was laughing at a private joke. “Just so you know.”

“I look forward to it.” I spit and he actually recoiled slightly, in surprise.

With that he disappeared and I was left alone with my thoughts. If only I had held out two more hours, if only I had called for help instead of trying to deal with that problem by myself, if only I had never started magic in the first place, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Of course, all of the ‘if onlys’ in the world were not going to get me out of this situation, but I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. With only twelve hours left, what was I supposed to do? My soul had a timer on it that would go off like a bomb when he came to pick up his collections.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Anthromagic ~ Chapter 1

2009-11-10T17:00:00.003-05:00

I only had to make it through the next twelve hours and thirty two minutes. If I could go that long without using my magic, I would get to keep my soul. That was the deal. He told me if I could make it through the next twenty four hours without casting a spell or using any of my natural magic, then I could keep my soul and practice magic without consequence. Twelve and a half hours had never seemed so long before.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” I told my friend Drew at the coffee counter six hours later. In reality, Drew isn’t so much a friend as an acquaintance from my stops at the Coffee Shack. Actually, he’s more just a fellow practitioner of magic. I don’t know anything about Drew aside from the fact that he too practices magic as a mere mortal. I only know that much because I witnessed him using his magic out back in the alley to save a cat that was about to be hit by the garbage truck. Afterwards, he cussed at the cat and told it to get away, but he saved it.

“There is no big deal. It’s just what he does. As the demonlord of mortal magic, he can get away with it. Just don’t use your magic.” Shrugging, Drew prepared my usual – a Mocha Latte.

“But I’ve only ever used my magic to help people.” I protested a little too loudly and Drew put his forefinger to his lips, indicating that I should be quieter.

“Do you want to expose us both?” He demanded harshly.

“I’m sorry.” I said taking my drink and placing money on the counter. “I’m just freaking out here. What will I do if –”

“You will do what you always do because nothing is going to happen.” Grabbing my hand, Drew turns it over in his and replaces my money in my fist. “Not today you don’t.”

Sighing dejectedly, I shrugged and made my way through the crowded building. Successfully avoiding any mishaps involving spilt coffee, I exited the Coffee Shack and continued down the street toward my less than mediocre job. I couldn’t even remember how I had started working as a telemarketer. I hated having to call and harass people and they explicitly displayed their hatred at receiving my calls. At least it was a job though and it paid the bills.

At work, I redirected my yearning to use magic toward making phone calls. That day, I made more phone calls than I typically make in a week. There I was, minding my own business and trying to keep myself distracted and, because of my unusual productivity, my boss thought I was sick and sent me home. I could’ve sworn I was doomed to lose my soul.

By the time I had gotten home, I only had three and a half hours left. I made a couple stops on the way home to avoid being all alone with myself and the temptation of magic. I opened my apartment door and stood face to face with Sikal.

“I haven’t used my magic at all.” I immediately began defending myself.

“Not yet.” He arrogantly retorted, “But you will.”

“In the next three hours?” I challenged. “Not likely.”

Smirking, I slid past him into my apartment and turned on the lights. Demonlords might be able to see through pitch blackness, but my mortal eyes could not. Sikal followed me around my apartment, snickering and grunting at my actions. Standing there, feeling superior he breathed down my neck as I rinsed dishes and prepared to load the dishwasher.

“Can I help you?” I asked spinning around to face him. His five inch height advantage had me looking up to meet his stare.

“I’m just waiting.” He said with a completely blank face and then flashed an instantaneous smile.

“Waiting for what?” I demanded, suspecting that he was up to no good.

“Nothing in particular.” He informed me scrunching his nose as one side of his mouth pulled up into a twisted grin.

“Fine. Then stay out of my way.” I pushed past him and into the living room.

Plopping down on my couch, I flipped one of the pillows and stuck it behind me for support. With a lumpy couch, I found it was best to use the pillows to provide padding where it originally would have been. Stabbing the remote button, I turned on the television which hissed and snapped before a small puff of smoke flew up behind it. Cursing, I crossed the cold bare floor of the room and looked behind the set. Whatever had gone wrong with the electronic was probably an internal breakdown resulting from age; there were no visible signs of ruin. Resolved to my own despair, I journeyed down the hallway into the one bedroom. I sank onto the cool bed and prayed that the books continued to prop up the bottom left corner. Lifting and kicking the blanket straight, I laid back onto the flat pillow. Pulling the remaining cotton shreds up and over my body, my legs curled in toward my heaving chest. Sobbing, I let the flood begin and knew I’d lost the battle. I would give in to temptation and I would end up selling my soul to a demonlord.

“I’m winning.” He said, feeling my weakness.

“Bite me.” I snapped.

His deep thunderous laugh echoed through my apartment and I shivered. It wasn’t just the cold air chilling my bones, I was scared now. More scared than I had been in years. Drew had warned me about all of this when I told him I had started using magic. He hadn’t told me it would be this addicting though.

Anthromagic by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Night's Final Hour: Chapter 4

2009-09-27T17:15:00.003-04:00

Ivy Carter

“To live with the conscious knowledge of the shadow of uncertainty, with the knowledge that disaster or tragedy could strike at any time; to be afraid and to know and acknowledge your fear, and still to live creatively and with unstinting love: that is to live with grace.”- Peter Henry Abrahams

The morning service ends and people trickle out to the church yard. Graves can be seen encircling the back half of the chapel yard. A few members of the congregation head over the dewy grass towards the graves of loved ones. Others mill around the front, talking and gossiping. At times, I wonder if our town uses Sunday morning service as an excuse to socialize and gossip. Some of the women seem to live for the moment when they can gossip with friends after service.

I stand at the divide between the living and the dead, waiting for my grandmother and mother to join me. We have a tradition of our own for Sunday service. My mother started it when I was just a baby and unless you’re extremely sick, you don’t miss the tradition. In just a few moments, when they join me, we’ll venture into the meadow of the dead and locate a grave I’m all too familiar with – the grave of my father. From what I’ve been told, Daniel Carter was a great man who would have made an amazing dad. I never had the opportunity to meet him.

My father died in a car accident the day I was born. He received the call that my mother was in labor and took off for the hospital to see my birth. He rushed through traffic at a safe pace, anxious to be a dad. He didn’t see the other car coming. It was sliding and swerving on the icy roads of November. The driver had lost total control of his car and as a result, my father lost his life that day. My birthday is a bittersweet occasion, as my mother remembers my father and tries to celebrate another year of my life – another year that my father has missed.

I break out of my thoughts and look around, finally spotting my mother coming towards me. In her hand are three white roses – one for each of us. My grandmother is trailing behind, pumping her legs in an effort to keep up with my mother on the uphill climb. After they reach me, we head into the graveyard until we find the simple tombstone beneath a large willow tree. My grandmother takes a seat on the stone bench beneath the tree. My grandmother had this bench set there years ago.

I take a seat on the bench as my mother approaches the grave. She kneels beside it, placing the white rose in front of the tombstone. She talks in a hushed voice, talking to my father. I don’t know what she tells him each week – that is between him and her. There are a few moments of silence before she touches the ground above his coffin. She stands and joins my grandmother on the bench.

Grandma Lillian’s turn is next. My father was her only son and some of her only family. When she married my grandfather, she estranged herself from what remained of her own kin. Her family hadn’t approved of him, but she was in love with him. She defied their every wish to spend her life with him. He died a year before my father, leaving her a widow. After my father’s death, she moved in with my mother to help care for me. I watch as she kisses the rose lightly and lays it next to my mother’s. She wipes away a tear and returns to the bench.

I’m the last one to have a turn, as usual. I like being last – it gives me the longest time to spend with my father. The two women my father loved most rise from their bench and give me a slight nod before heading back towards the church. I like being left alone with my father. It seems silly to think about, but this is the only time I really get to spend with him. I won’t say anything to him – I don’t believe in talking to the dead, especially a dead stranger. But I will spend time with him.

The graveyard surrounding the church is the only connection I have to my father. His grave seems out of place among the aged graves of history containing stories that remain a mystery to the living. The four closest graves to my father date back over one hundred years. There is no order to the graveyard, as it was started over two hundred years ago. The earliest grave I have found in the cemetery dates back to 1782.

I approach my father’s grave, still clutching the white rose my mother gave me. I bend down in the same fashion as her and place it beside the other two roses. Three white roses now sit in front of the tombstone. I know from experience that they will be gone before they wilt. I’m not sure who cleans up the flowers of the graveyard, but nothing is left wilted as a reminder of the harshness of death and it’s ever present domain in our lives.

I back away from my father’s grave, still staring at the tombstone. The bleak gray stone looks remorseful in the shade of the willow. I take a seat on the concrete bench and settle against its back. I have forgotten about the morning rain until it soaks into my clothes from the bench. I do my best to ignore my damp clothes as I pull a notebook and pen from my bag. I look around at the graves until one stands out to me.

Ashley Hendricks
1847 – 1864
“Beloved son”

I stare at the grave which is only inches from that of my father. This young man died when he was only my age. I stare at the dates for a second longer, taking in their meaning. I recall from my history classes that the Civil War occurred around this time. It’s quite likely that this boy was a victim of the brutal war. It’s even more likely that there’s no body to match this tombstone. My pen lingers for a moment as my mind contemplates the story of Ashley Hendricks.

Ashley jumped over the log and ran faster. He could hear the others running behind him. He couldn’t tell if they were northerners or southerners. He couldn’t tell if they were on his side or not. All he could tell was that they were running after him. Was this to be his end? Was he to die in battle?

The pace of the soldiers seemed to quicken. With each passing moment, they were gaining quickly on the young, naïve soldier running ahead. No matter how fast he ran, the soldier would never stand a chance in these woods – they knew them like the back of their hand. They were bound to be the victors in this scenario.

I put my pen down and read back over what I’ve written. Each time I write about one of the old graves in this cemetery, I find myself focused on war. It seems that any number of them could have been soldiers that lost their lives in war. All I know of war is what I’ve seen in movies. War has never been close to me, like it was for many of these men and women. What must it have been like growing up back then?

My mother has always accused me of being too curious. She thinks I spend too much time with my nose in a book to truly enjoy life. According to her, living life to its fullest means getting out and doing stuff. It doesn’t mean reading and writing, the two things I enjoy the most. Therefore, I find myself forced to socialize and entertain at my mother’s side. Sunday afternoons by my father’s grave is the only time I’m guaranteed to be left alone, so I take full advantage of it.

I read my passage aloud to the empty graveyard. I would like to think that my father or someone is out there listening, out there enjoying my stories. It gives more meaning to the story when I feel it’s for someone’s enjoyment other than just mine.

* * * * *

Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Night's Final Hour: Chapter 3

2009-09-21T00:05:00.002-04:00

Benjamin Delacroix

“It's no accident that the church and the graveyard stand side by side. The city of the dead sleeps encircled by the city of the living.” - Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider

The distant sun sinks into the horizon and bursts, coloring the sky in shades of molten lava. From my place, I watch as the lights in distant windows flicker off. The town slowly becomes engulfed by a dull darkness, only the moon’s radiance shimmers down on the scattered homes. Across the shadowed field, an owl sits perched on the weather vane, ready to spend his waking hours. A shrill hoot resounds through the night as the grey bird takes flight. An owl is to the night what the rooster is to day; announcer of the change in time.

I stay seated in my place, patiently waiting for the chapel bell to toll the eleventh hour. At eleven minutes past night’s final hour, the world looks a little less foreign and grey to me. Rising from my seat, I stretch my limbs out of a habit formed years ago by a very different man. With one foot solidly placed on the ground in front of the other, my legs trek across the field and begin the descent of the hill. Tonight, as per most nights of a similar nature, I’m only leaving my resting place because I have a definite destination. The library will be closed at this hour; of this I have no doubts, but it is the only time when I can retrieve my next book for reading. In my six hours and forty four minutes of nightly existence, I will peruse through multiple volumes in search of a text to hold my affections for at least a week. It would be unfortunate if I had to return to the library before this time next week; I have other places that I tend to frequent on other days of the week.

My feet barely touch the cement roadway and my mind travels back to a time of cobble roads and slower days. This town has changed so drastically over the passing decades that it becomes more difficult to visualize how it once looked. Wooden cabins were long ago replaced by small homes that gave way to elaborate houses too big for the families inside. The transportation system of today is gravely different from the ones that I remember and found reason in. Large contraptions of metals like steel and copper mixed with paint and gasoline carry people from a starting place to a destination emitting fumes that are sometimes so potent that it can be seen with the human eye. Like solid boxes, the vehicles close the people inside of them off from the rest of the world; one cannot ride by and ask their neighbor how their sick mother has been. Moving from place to place on rubber supports, a car is a portable prison that people chose to place themselves in. My thoughts are listening to the rhythmic click of horseshoes against a stone cobble road when the church bell denotes the first morning hour. Shaken from my dream, I refocus my attention on reaching the library.

***

The night following my library escapade begins much in the same manner. As I patiently wait for the chapel to ring the eleventh hour, the owl begins its ascent into the night sky in search of a small field mouse to prey upon. At eleven minutes past the hour, a change occurs and I begin my nightly trek through the town of Nuitville. Just as I do every Friday night, I am making my way through the winter bitten forest to place I used to call home. Although my home could never have withstood the weather and modernization, I still visit the land where it used to stand. Today, the land has been reduced and portioned off into several homesteads.

Where my family’s small cabin used to rest, a home stands providing shelter and memories to a new inhabitant. The newest family unit, as far as I have collected, to obtain the land is calm and subdued. A simple, two story farmhouse holds three generations including a grandmother, her daughter, and her granddaughter. I have yet to collect much detailed information about the family and will probably avoid doing so. The house actually stands partially in the same location that my cabin would be located. The farmhouse is shifted slightly forward from where my old home used to sit. If the two homes were juxtaposed, the back of my cabin would extend beyond the current farmhouse. The back of the small cabin consisted of my bed chambers and a small corner porch.

Even when I lived here, my love was for the lands surrounding my home. Venturing into the forest, I remember the days when I was just a young boy creating stories in my head about the people who lived amongst the tree trunks. An original Huck Finn, I would climb the trees and sail down the river in a makeshift raft. Telling time was a little more difficult in my day and often I’d return home, late for dinner, and find myself on the frightening side of a switch. After punishment, I would go tramping back outside to the haven of the woods. Leaving through the back door, I can still picture Momma fretting, “That boy is surely going to get himself in a tangle one of these nights.”

Many nights I’d find myself climbing the grassy hill up to the chapel, waiting for the sun to declare the start of a new day. Papa would often find me, half asleep and barely hanging on to the roof of the church. Wanting to see the sun rise from the highest point in town, I would scale the wooden siding of the chapel and hold on as tight as my small hands allowed. For the most part, my tired child’s body would demand sleep before the sun would begin to peak its head over the far horizon. Now, years later, I have seen the sun rising over the town from that very spot many mornings.

***

In time, I have developed a weekly routine which dictates when I visit certain locations within Nuitville. Many years have passed since the last time I deviated from the plan I established long ago. Saturday night has, for the majority of the passage of time, been the night when I acquire a town newspaper. My intentions tonight are not to return to the library or my lands but to travel further into town to the small general store where I’ll be able to pick up the paper for tomorrow.

The Sunday paper is promptly delivered to Hank’s store on Saturdays at eleven-thirty at night which coincides with my travel hours perfectly. The small convenience store is open around the clock on any day other than the town’s Founding Day, Fourth of July, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. Several shifts with multiple employees ensure that someone is working during the day’s twenty four hours; however, each Saturday night, at exactly midnight, Hank goes out back of his shop and smokes the last cigarette in his weekly pack. As I creep into the store, I see the smoke wafting up over the window display; Hank’s actions are right on schedule. From the display stand, I remove a single copy of the Sunday paper and walk over to the counter. Placing all of the coins I’ve collected this week on the cold wooden surface, I scratch a note onto the corner of the paper. Tearing the single right corner from the paper, I lay the words beside the coins which explain that, with my regards, I hope I’ve left enough currency to cover the expenses the shop incurred in obtaining the newspaper I’ve taken. Venturing back into the open air of the night, I can hear Hank gagging and coughing as the ash and cigarette tar settle in his lungs. The studies scientists have done on smoking were initially incredulous to my unacquainted mind; now I question why more of the men I knew didn’t die younger.

***

The remaining days of the week pass slowly like an hourglass with wet sand stuck to its glass sides. I have no prearranged adventures for the days that come. Already I have been home again, I have obtained a book for the forthcoming week, and I a paper recounting any of the prior week’s events that I may have overlooked; there is nothing more I need to do to make my simple solitude content.

Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Night's Final Hour: Chapter 2

2009-09-13T21:06:00.007-04:00

Ivy Carter

“Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” - Hans Christian Andersen

The morning rain pitter patters against the windowsill above my head. I can hear the coffee kettle sputtering in the kitchen. It should be whistling at any moment.

There’s a rustling at my feet and a golden head pops up. Sandy’s ears perk up as she listens to the morning routine. I bury my head deeper into the pillow and drift back to sleep.

The whistling of the kettle rings in my ears, jarring me awake. Someone mutters loudly as they stub their toe. My toes are cold as Sandy greets me with morning kisses. I stare out the window at the steadily beating rain and wonder what the day has in store.

In the kitchen, I find Grandma Lilly sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee mug in her hands. She is dressed in her Sunday best, waiting patiently on the rest of the house. I pretend to mirror her enthusiasm as I place two slices of bread in the toaster. I pour cold juice into a cup and watch the droplets racing down the window.

The toaster pops, interrupting my thoughts. My toast comes up browned and ready for buttering. I butter my toast and join my grandma at the table. She smiles across the top of her cup as I bite into my first piece of toast.

My mother is the last one to the kitchen as usual. She pours herself a cup of coffee and joins us at the table. We sit in silence – them with their coffee and me with my toast.

The clock ticks above the door as the minutes pass slowly. I watch the second hand inch its way around the circle. The numbers blur together as I lose my focus and drift into a daydream.

I am shaken back to reality by my mother’s clipped tone and my grandmother’s hurried feet. We are out the door and on our way to church in a matter of minutes. My mother mutters something about the seats filling up and the need to arrive early.

Sunday service is the only one we attend because it’s expected of us. I’m not a church-goer by nature, even though I’ve been attending since I was a toddler.

The seats are filling up quickly as we step into the crowded church which is too small for the needs of the town. No one is willing to part with the past, so we continue to squish our way into the room we outgrew years before I was born.

Babies cry and mothers scold children as the congregation waits for the sermon to begin. I pull a notebook and pen from my purse, ignoring the loud sighs of my mother. I turn to a blank page and let my mind drift to the window and further still to the graveyard that surrounds the back half of the church. I know that stories and adventures await my pen.

* * * * *

Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Our First Award!!

2009-09-09T22:27:00.007-04:00

We're extremely happy to announce our first blog award!! Two to Write has received The Kreative Blogger Award! Thanks, Cynde for nominating us!!

You can check out Cynde's blog here: http://cyndes-got-the-write-stuff.blogspot.com/ It's worth the trip over there to read her blog!

We now get the pleasure of passing on this award to seven bloggers. We follow so many great blogs that it was an extremely tough decision.

Here are the rules for the award:

Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting. (below)
Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate. (below)
Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

Seven Interesting Facts About Us:

One of our favorite pasttimes is attending Renaissance Faires - in costume.
We finished our first full-length, co-written novel, Dancing beneath the Moon, this past summer and are currently in the process of editing it.
We both plan to be teachers.
We both participated in gymnastics and Girl Scouts when we were younger.
Our favorite television show is Supernatural.
We IM each other when we're sitting in the same room.
We both have our own personal blogs in addition to Two to Write.

Passing on the Award to:

Keep up the great blogs everyone!!

Thanks again for nominating us Cynde!!!

Night's Final Hour: Chapter 1

2009-09-06T22:17:00.005-04:00

Benjamin Delacroix

“Live to the point of tears” – Albert Camus

Beside the chapel, an event is being held in honor of a young couple. Their friends and family have traveled across the nation to share the day with them. The bride, in white, has been down the aisle. The groom, decked in his finest, has smiled and said his vows. Mothers and sisters have dried the tears from their smiling eyes while fathers and brothers have tried to hide their childish grins. The ceremony has passed and eager children wait for the time to slice the cake. Twinkling lights race around the rose covered terrace posts surrounding the reception and the bride makes the announcement. Twenty girls gather in a crowd before the bride and she turns her back to them. In an exaggerated motion, building suspense, she pulls her arms down in front of her and slowly launches them up and over her head, allowing the bouquet of a dozen white roses to slide from her hands and into the air. A redhead peals with laughter as she catches the bouquet.

Across the fresh mown grass, an identical bouquet of a dozen white roses falls through the air and lands softly on the tilled dirt mound. The newly laid grave is littered with flowered affections. The redheaded widow tries to block out the spirited tunes that drift down from the wedding party, crashing into her mind and breaking the dam that holds back the tears. Free falling, tiny droplets splash in the dirt creating new mud. She stands alone, longing to return to the day when they began their life together. The jovial wedding does not ease her pain.

***

Somewhere in the distance the clock tower tolls, resounding through the small Virginia town. On the lonely hill, the chapel doors stand open to let the autumn air flow through. Sunday service starts and the sermon is preaching faith in the good Lord’s plan. The choir softly sings the gospel and the muffled cries of young babies can barely be heard over the congregation’s shuffling feet and musical voices. Everyone slowly rushes out as a crowd to find relief from the cramped interior. On the front steps, the sheriff thanks the preacher for another perfectly planned sermon and everyone leaves with their recent doubts erased. Last week’s horror was not without reason and tragedy always has a purpose. The preacher’s been reminding them so they go home knowing that the young man’s death is another part of God’s force, working His will on Earth.

***

The birds are singing a springtime melody, fit for the occasion on the hill. She stands on the front steps outside the weathered church, pacing back and forth as her friend tries to calm the butterflies forming in her stomach. Two steps below her, the bridesmaids hold the train of her wedding gown, trailing behind her with each treading step. She stops and they sigh in relief. One arm extended toward her maid of honor and best friend since grade school, she beckons for her friend’s hand. The brunette clasps the hand of her closest friend and they exchange words with just a smile. The bouquet is handed to the bride and she takes a step up. A hand held up to her eye, she shields the glaring sun and tells her friend with a teary smile, “This is my forever.”

The birds are singing a rainy lament, fit for the occasion on the hill. He stands outside of the weathered church on the moist grass and kneels down, letting the torrent of rain wash over him. Behind him, his brother places a hand on his shoulder and offers his sympathies. The man brushes the hand from his shoulder and slams a flat palm to the ground. Curling his hand into a fist, he gathers grass in his grasp and rips it from the Earth. He stands and glares down at his treacherous hand as the dirt sprinkles back to the ground below. His brother turns to the friend beside him and they both journey back toward the wooden church, seeking shelter from the rain and giving the man space to breathe. A lily rests atop the smooth stone. By the way of his calloused hand, a kiss travels from the man to the tombstone and he quietly whispers to the wind, “This is my forever.”

***

Beneath a tree, four shadows stand in an arc around a solitary tombstone. As the sun sets, they watch as the sky changes from fire to water and slowly each shadow fades to nothing until only one remains on the hill. The lonely figure approaches the tombstone and sits lopsidedly upon it.

***

Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Introducing: Night's Final Hour

2009-09-06T22:06:00.005-04:00

Ivy Mae Carter never thought the stories she created would ever come to life. Ghosts and spirits were just supposed to be figments of the imagination recorded on thin pages. They weren't supposed to be real. Benjamin Delacroix is certainly as real as they come though. He died on November 13, 1782, but he never left. Something kept Benjamin connected to the ground in Nuitville, Virginia. Over the years, he developed a weekly routine. He knew when he would become corporeal each night and he knew his limitations during the day. He would venture around the town, following the day-to-day events of the townspeople. He would listen to the stories that a young girl shared.
* * *

Night's Final Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

Howling (7)

2009-08-28T19:38:00.005-04:00

It took some convincing but I eventually got out of the phasing trip. I don’t think that John really bought that I am sticking behind because of an early shift at the hospital the day we return. I had used that excuse once before, but this time I could tell by John’s eyes that he wasn’t buying it.

I’m not going to bother locking myself in the cage. I know that he’ll spot me in there if I do. Instead, I travel up to the spare bedroom and await the change. If this bedroom gets messed up, it really won’t bother me. I lay down on the bed and allow myself to drift asleep. The sleep should help ease me into my wolf state.

I wake many hours later to the setting sun outside my window. I pad to the window and place my front paws on the sill, taking in the beauty of the sunset. Below me, I can see James’ car. Someone is with him – an older man. It looks like it could be his father. They are pulling a swing up to the front porch. I hear various tools working to hang the swing on the front porch. I wait until the tools stop to pad down the stairs. I stop at the screen door, wishing I had installed a doggie door years ago.

I make a low bark of frustration before sitting down and looking out the window. James is at his car, about to get in. He suddenly turns and heads up the driveway to the house. I can hear him shouting to his friend that he left the front door open. He stops in his tracks at the front door.

“You just couldn’t wait, could you?” He asks, opening the door. I walk up to him and let out a low whine. He reaches down to pet the top of my head. “Wait here.”

I watch as he runs back to his truck. He whispers something to his companion and they both start back up the drive. The other man approaches, holding his hand out in front of him. He’s allowing me to get familiar with his scent, much like you would a dog. I gingerly sniff the air and his hand. It has a scent familiar to James, suggesting that I was right about the relations between the two men. I place my head under his hand and allow him to pet me.

James heads away from me. He stops a few yards from the river and motions for me to join him and sit beside him. His arm loosely droops around my shoulders and I enjoy the feel of his human arm on my wolf back. His companion has a camera in his hand, ready to take a picture. James smiles and I give the best grin I can without baring my teeth. Wolves look vicious when their teeth are bared. The camera flashes once. His friend takes two photos – one with and one without the flash.

* * * * *

James stays with me all weekend, sleeping in the guest bed, me curled at his feet. It is too hot to sleep beside him like I want to. He keeps me fed and talks to me, trying to make out the meaning of my responses. Eventually, I nudge him out of the room, knowing that I will phase soon. I can smell food cooking downstairs as I drift to sleep.

I wake to the smell of bacon and eggs and travel down the stairs to find James standing at my stove. When I first woke, I feared it had all been a dream. Things can be a bit hazy when you recall them from your wolf memory. But here he is – standing in my kitchen making me breakfast. I look out the window and can see the swing hanging from the porch roof. I instantly recognize it as the swing from the old house.

“Why don’t you go outside and take a look at it?” James asks from behind me. “I’ll be out there in a moment.”

I make my way out to the front porch. The swing seems to fit in perfectly – as though it has been there for years. As I watch James walk through the door, I realize that he is much like the swing that I was sitting on. He’s new to my life, but he seems like he has been here for years. It is so natural for me to watch him bringing breakfast through the door. He sits down beside me and spreads the food between us.

“John, would you want to move in?” I ask him suddenly. For once in my life, I’m seizing the moment and it felt nice.

“Under one condition.” His smile spreads across his face. He has something up his sleeve.

“What?” I ask between bites.

“You marry me.” He says simply.

“When?”

“The sooner the better.” He replies, pulling me close to him. I lean in to kiss him, sealing the deal.

* * * * *

We set the date for one month later in the backyard of my house. The moon is barely visible in the sky and the stars twinkle around us. All of my friends and his family are present at the wedding. His father gives us a framed photo for a gift. It is my favorite gift of them all. The photograph shows a happy man with his arms dangled around the wolf he loves.

When I climb into bed with James, I find the perfect place for my photograph. I set in on my bedside table. That way, James and his love for me will be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night before I drift off to sleep. I’m a werewolf married to a human – that’s rarer than you would think – and for me, every moment is like a fairy tale.

<<< Previous | End

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Howling (6)

2009-08-22T01:20:00.005-04:00

He arrives at my door at the exact time we agreed upon. I’m so excited that I’ve been dressed for hours. None of my friends know where I’m going. I know that over half of them will disapprove greatly.

We ride in his car, eventually ending up at an abandoned house. I don’t think I can find my way back here if I want to. It’s hidden somewhere in the depths of winding dirt roads.

I ask him about the house the second we pull up to it. He informs me that it is just an old house that he came across during a hike. There are no signs warning against trespassing and he knows nothing about the owners. Like me, he can only guess about the terrors this house has seen.

He pushes open the front door for us and I follow him inside. The living room is small and charred. In the middle, a picnic for two is set up. Champagne is positioned in the middle surrounded by two pillar candles. James immediately lights them and the room quickly aglow.

James cooked the dinner himself. It is a lavish spread of various Italian dishes. Some I have seen before, while many are new to me. I enjoy most of them greatly. Following dinner, James suggests exploring the house.

It isn’t a loved house. It’s a house that people forgot long ago. The wood is rotten and charred in many places. There’s an eerie smoke smell that lingers in the house. Mildewed furniture is scattered and strewn about the rooms. The only thing that is still useable is the front porch swing.

We fill the rooms with stories of times gone by and eventually end up snuggling on the porch swing. It is well into the night before we find our way back to the car and head home.

* * * * *

We go on five more dates before he takes me to the old house again. When I ask him why, he tells me that tonight is going to be a very special night. We eat a lavish spread once more and retire to the porch. He asks me what I like about the old house.

“I love this swing.” I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“So, this swing.” James rocks the swing slowly. “What else do you love about this house?”

“I love that I’m sharing it with you.” I smile up at him, bringing my lips to his.

“Anything else?”

“Why are you asking?” I’m completely intrigued by the randomness of his questions until something hits me. “You’re not planning on restoring this place are you? You’re not the owner.”

“No, I’m not the owner. But I am thinking of doing something – just not remodeling a dilapidated house.” James says, pushing the swing back with his feet. “I’m thinking of surprising you.”

“Good luck with that James,” I tell him, pushing the swing back with my own feet. We find ourselves deposited on the floor soon.

“You’ll be in the mountains for the next full moon, right?” He asks, with a gleam in his eye.

“Yes. Why?”

“Because that seems like the perfect opportunity to surprise you.” James obviously has a plan. And it is a good one if it involves the full moon and me. I’m going to have to find some way out of going to the mountains. I want to watch James try to pull off a surprise.

<<< Previous | Next >>>

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Howling (5)

2009-08-16T13:46:00.005-04:00

I wake the next morning refreshed and eager to start my day. When I look out the window, the sun is rising on the river. Light shimmers in red, orange, and pink hues across the water. I open the windows of the house and start breakfast.

I eat silently at the kitchen table thinking about the night before. With the fresh light of the sun streaming through the window, last night seems to a distant memory of a dream. I still can’t wrap my brain around the way James reacted. It was as though he had no fear, no human instincts.

I know that I’m not going to be able to let this rest. The other wolves will be back tonight and I have a lot of damage control to do before then. We aren’t supposed to expose ourselves to humans under any conditions. I have done worse than exposing, I allowed him to see the transformation. I may very well have put us all in danger.

I lock the door and head for my car. I roll the windows down to make up for the lack of air conditioning. I’m headed for the hospital downtown. The one the ambulance took me to after my motorcycle incident.

I walk up to the front desk and introduce myself, explaining to the receptionist that Dr. Sinclair had seen me following an accident and that I need to talk to him about something. She politely informs me that the doctor will not be in today – it is his day off. With that avenue now closed off to me, I head back outside to my car.

I reach into my purse and pull out a folded slip of paper. Opening it, I gaze at the number in my hand. One simple phone call and I will reach him. I look around for a pay phone. Finding none, I decide that I’m going to have to wait until I get home to call James. I frown and leave the hospital.

I pull into my driveway to be met by a surprise. A figure is sitting on my porch hidden by the shadows. I’m guessing that John must have come back early from the phasing trip and is checking on me. I approach the porch quickly, ready to send him on his way.

As I reach the porch, the figure stands up. He steps from the shadows and I can see his face easily now. It’s James and he holds a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Who are the flowers for?” I ask, unlocking the front door.

“This lovely girl I met a few days ago. Have you seen her around?” His mood is light and quirky. He smiles his special smile and I realize that I haven’t seen him in a relaxed setting before. I like it.

“Depends. What does she look like?” I turn and ask him. I motion for him to follow me into the house.

“She has striking topaz eyes, long chocolate hair, and smooth skin.” He smiles and then winks. “Sometimes she even has a tail.”

“Are you always this elegant in your descriptions or have you been thinking about that one for a while?” I tease, setting a pitcher of lemonade on the table. James still holds the bouquet in his hands.

“I thought about it all night.” He says, his face motionless. I can’t read him. I can’t tell if he’s serious or joking.

“And that was the best you came up with? Seems like a lot of effort.” I comment, pouring the lemonade.

“It does. But I’m hoping it’s worth it.” He says, holding the bouquet out to me. I take it with one hand, surprised to find that the flowers are silk. They are the most realistic looking silk flowers that I had ever seen.

“These are lovely,” I say, as I search for a vase under the sink.

“I agree. That’s why I picked them out.” He’s smiling again. I’m beginning to love his smile and quick wit.

“Well, for a guy, you have great taste.” I say as I finally locate a vase and set them in the center of the table.

“I just thought of you as I was picking them out.” He says.

“And why do I deserve flowers?” I ask him, still trying to figure out why he’s here again.

“Because you’re beautiful. And because I was hoping they would soften you up.”

“For what?” I can’t help but be intrigued by his secrecy.

“Well, I was wondering if you would like to go out sometime?” He asks me, fiddling with a string on his shirt.

“I would love to, but you have to answer a question for me first.” I bargain. He has seen me phase and yet he’s still here.

“Go for it.” He looks intrigued.

“Are you sure you want to date a werewolf?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve actually done a lot of thinking on the matter.” He tells me, changing seats to be closer to me. “And I’ve come up with a theory. You don’t get a choice in who you love. They may be crazy; they may be different. But they are still the one you love. They are still the one that you keep coming back to.”

“Are you saying you love me?” I ask. Was it possible that I had found my one? John had told me that I would know it when I found him. He said it was a trait of werewolves – the ability to recognize love at first sight, even if they didn’t realize it at first.

“I guess I am.” James says, pulling at the string again. “I’m finding it impossible to do anything but think about you Molly. I want to know every inch of you – the human you and the wolf you.”

“That’s great James, but I don’t think that you know what you’re getting yourself into.” I tell him, thinking about the consequences that could come from falling for a human.

“I know that. And I don’t care. I would rather spend an eternity with you and never fully understand everything happening around me than spend an eternity wondering what might have been.”

“You’re scaring me.” I tell him, shocked by the sincerity of his words.

“That’s a switch. I would think it should be you scaring me, not the other way around.” His hand is cupping my chin now. I tilt my head back as his lips approach mine. His lips are soft against mine. He’s kissing me and I’m kissing him back.

“I don’t believe it.” I say, coming up for breath.

“Believe what?”

“I’ve found a man who can love me for who I am. Who can see my darkness and still get past it.” I tell him, cupping his chin. I whisper to him before kissing him. “I think you might be my one, James Sinclair.”

“I would like that very much.” He says, smiling back down at me.

“You would, would you?” I ask. I pull him to me for another kiss. This one is longer and deeper. We allow our bodies to take control. They seem to fit so perfectly.

I finally pull myself away and look into James eyes. They are full of love and trust, something that I haven’t seen in a long time. My father certainly never looked at my mother that way.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with you.” I tell him. We talk for several more hours and make plans for our first date. As I show him to the door, I inquire about the location and he tells me it will be a surprise.

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Howling (4)

2009-08-11T01:00:00.004-04:00

The three days of my phasing period pass slowly. James doesn’t return again until late on the eve of the third day. By this point, the wolf is beginning to take sway over me as it always does near a transformation. It is only the familiarity of his scent that stops me from reacting furiously when he approaches the cage.

I watch as he slides something on a newspaper under the gate. I sniff the air, taking in the smell of the raw meat. I approach the package, hungry and eager for the food. John left me some food, but not quite enough. He always underestimates how much the wolf in me likes to eat. After eating the meat, I stare up at James. In his hands is a brown paper bag with the logo of a nearby butcher printed on it. I can smell more meat inside and wonder if any of it was meant for me.

James takes a seat by the cage. He looks around the yard anxiously, as though he is waiting for someone. I follow the direction of his head and allow my gaze to circle the yard with him. His gaze keeps landing on the house and its emptiness. I hear him ask where “she” could be aloud to the night air.

The moon is almost overhead and I know that my transformation will be happening soon. I can’t have this human hanging around during that. I rear back on my hind legs and let out a loud growl. I continue to growl as James slowly backs away from the cage, whispering soothing phrases.

He doesn’t leave though. He simply backs away and stands staring, trying to process the sudden shift in my temperament. The moon creeps higher and higher in the sky. I can tell that there are only moments left before the shift from wolf to human will occur. There is no way that I can let James see that. I can vaguely remember from my younger years before I was able to change what the phasing process looked like.

To me, it had always looked like a fairy-tale. The body of the wolf would shake and twist as a deep magic surged through it. The animal’s eyes would go blank and no sound would be heard. Not the beating of the heart. Not the soft breathing of the lungs. It was as though time stood still as the animal lifted up on its hind legs and allowed the bones to fall in and out of place. Eventually, a human would be standing where the animal once stood. The human would be stark naked and a bit dazed from the experience. The experience was painful, but the pain was more than bearable.

The moon is quickly approaching the top of the night sky and I am all out of options for sending James away. He stands several yards from the cage still staring at me. Every time he thinks it’s safe to approach and begins crossing the yard, I let out a low growl. Each time, he backs away and waits again.

My body begins to shake uncontrollably. I sit down and allow myself to be hoisted onto my hind legs. Time stands still for a moment and I black-out for a fraction of a second. I come to and find myself staring into the eyes of James, who had now come directly up to the cage at some point. I stare at him from human eyes for a moment before the fact that I am stark naked registers with me.

I scurry to the corner of the cage and grab a blanket to wrap around myself. I am thankful to John at this very moment because he actually thought to give me a blanket. James continues to stare.

“Do you think you could advert your eyes?” I ask harshly.

“Sorry.” He places his hands over his eyes and turns away from the cage. “What just happened?”

“You saw?” I ask, astonished that he had watched me transform. I am more astonished that he stuck around.

“Yeah.” He seems to be waiting for an explanation.

“That’s who I am.” I say, fumbling to unlock the cage. Luckily, wolves can’t use keys so it’s safe to leave it in the cage for after the transformation.

“Let me help.” He cups his hands over mine and takes the key from me. From the outside of the cage, it is much easier for him to unlock it.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask while he unlocks the cage.

“Sure.”

“Why haven’t you run yet?”

“Let’s just say I’m a sucker for animals.” He says with a crooked smile.

“Have you been around a werewolf before or something?” I am thoroughly confused by his calm reaction.

“Is that what you are?” He asks, following me to the house.

“Yes. It is.” I reply, waiting for him to run. He doesn’t.

“Then, now I’ve met a werewolf.” His smile is lopsided again.

“And you’re not afraid?”

“Should I be?”

“I don’t know.” I give him the honest answer. “Why are you here anyways?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to catch you all weekend. I hope you don’t mind – I found your address in your wallet.”

“Why did you look in my wallet?” I ask confused.

“Because you left in such a hurry that you forgot it. I was trying to find a way to reach you.” He says, holding the wallet out to me. I take it carefully and finger it for a moment.

“Thank you.” I say, politely. I am standing in the open door. He seems to be waiting for an invite despite the late hour.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around?” He asks, seeming to have given up.

“Maybe.” I say before heading into the house.

I head straight for the upstairs and my bed. A phasing period always wears me out. It takes a lot of energy to shift your body from one shape to another.

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Howling (3)

2009-08-05T18:40:00.003-04:00

John drives me home. My home is a simple two story, three bedroom structure on John’s Island. A river runs directly behind it and I enjoy spending nights sitting out on the dock staring at the moon that has control over my life. John is fumbling around in the garage as I stretch my newly-healed legs. He comes out carrying a large metal pen. It looks like the ones you find at a hardware store for keeping dogs penned in. I know where this is headed and I am not going to be a happy camper. No wolf wants to spend three days caged in when she could be roaming the mountainsides.

“You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?” I ask John.

“It’s for your own safety and you know it. We could all be in danger if someone saw you wandering free.” He points out to me.

“I know, I know. It just doesn’t seem fair.” I tell him as I step through the open door. He shuts it behind me and places a small lock through the hole.

“Well, maybe this will teach you not to steal motorcycles.” He says with a laugh.

“Borrow.” I retort. “I borrowed your bike. I had every intention of returning it.”

“But you can’t now, huh?” His smile is reaching from ear to ear now. His canine teeth stand out amongst the rest. His smile could be viewed as scary at its widest point. “I have to go. Sleep tight.”

His car peels out of the driveway. I listen as it pulls into the driveway next door, where my friends are barraging him with hurried expressions. They are running late and they need to reach the mountains before midnight – before we phase. I have about four hours to wait out the night before it will be the midnight hour. I decide to take advantage of this time and sleep. Phasing is always easiest when you were asleep. I prefer going to sleep a human and waking a wolf. It cuts down on the pain you experience during transformation.

* * * * *

I wake to the changing colors of the sunrise and footsteps approaching from across the yard. I remain with my stomach against the ground and my head between my paws, allowing my eyes to follow the sound of the footsteps. What I see shocks me more than I could have thought possible.

Dr. Sinclair is walking up the driveway. He is swinging his keys in a circular motion around his pointer finger. He whistles a small tune that I can’t make out. He is no longer wearing the white lab coat of the hospital. He walks quickly to the door. I can hear the knock from my cage across the yard. There are two more knocks before he starts heading down the driveway. About halfway down the drive, he turns to look around the yard.

In a matter of moments, his eyes have found my cage. He is staring at me carefully, a puzzled expression taking over his face. He slowly begins walking toward me. I keep my head between my paws. I can’t bring myself to close my eyes, even though I know I should. I reason that he will be more likely to leave me alone if he thinks I am sleeping. His eyes take hold of mine and he continues to hold my gaze as he approaches.

He’s holding his hand out in front of him, as you would for a dog. He is probably hoping to keep me calm by approaching gently. I’m not even sure if he realizes that I am a wolf and not a dog. He is inches away from the pen now and his hand is as near to the fence as possible without going through its tiny holes.

I don’t need to sniff him in order to know that I trust him. I recognize him from the way he walks and gently says “nice doggy”. The familiar smell of his shampoo is comforting as I struggle with my inner wolf. I press my nose against the fence near his hand.

He slips two fingers through the hole and gently pets the side of my nose. His eyes are traveling towards the door of the cage. He moves his other hand towards it, fingering the lock. What was it about humans that make them ignore the warning signs? Such as a cage with a padlock?

He mumbles good-bye and pulls his hand back. I almost let out a whimper, but think better of it. No need to put this man in danger because I want him to stay. He walks to his car and I watch him go, placing my head between my paws once more.

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Descendant (2)

2009-08-02T20:10:00.006-04:00

Placing the book on the shelf, I was startled by someone coming into the room. I spun around quickly, tripping over the rug and falling onto the stone floor.

“Hi.” I said feebly from the ground.

“You okay?” The man I knew asked maintaining his distance. I nodded and stared at him.

“Sit down a minute, will you?” He indicated the chair beside me and I sat. “I need to tell you something and I’m not completely sure how you’re going to handle the news.”

“I bet I can handle it.” I challenged his doubt.

“Ok,” He started, hesitating. “I’m over five centuries old. I’ve lived this long because of a curse I put on myself. A curse where I cannot die until I re-earn my position within the Ennea. You remember the magical group of nine that is supposed to be finding a way back to Aurum?”

I nodded, indicating my comprehension of what he was relating to me.

“When I get back into the Ennea, I’ll be able to die or be killed and only a descendant of mine can replace me as a new member of the Ennea. Well, having lived that long, I’ve fallen in love a time or two and had a family, but I thought that all of my descendants were gone. Just to be sure, I did a spell that would locate any living descendants.”

“I understand what you are saying and it does not frighten me, but I don’t understand your point.” I told him slowly.

“The spell located you. You and I are family. You get your Carialle gene from a woman I loved long ago.” As the man told me this, I experienced the feeling of human eyes going wide.

“You’re my ancestor?” I clarified. I felt the urge to fly – not run – but fly far away from this place and its unexpected discoveries.

“I am. And I’m sorry that you’ve been alone for so long. Do you realize what this means though? You finally have somewhere that you belong. You have an important destiny.” He eyes glowed with enthusiasm, but the only thing I felt was fear.

Jumping up from the chair, I ran toward the open window on the far side of the room and leapt through it. As I transformed from human to bird, the clothes I wore fell in shreds from my body and fluttered to the ground below. My animalistic instincts told me to flee and that was exactly what I did. I flew straight into the forest and landed in my tree. My entire life had just changed and I hadn’t been strong enough to deal with it.

I spent the next week constantly changing my mind and my form. I couldn’t decide whether I should enjoy the freedom of being a bird and fly away from reality or if I should spend the majority of my time as a human; the way I was born. I would be walking through the trees and become angry with the fact that my life had changed; my muscles would contract, my limbs would feel like they were being grinded together, and my mouth would stretch and harden into the beak of my bird form. The rapid transformations were beginning to take a toll on my mind. It was becoming difficult to remember which form I was when and the changes left a searing pain shooting across my cerebral cortex. I realized that I had to make a decision.

Finally, one day, I took my last visit to the castle tower. I informed my only acquaintance that I had made a decision. Lying, he said that whatever decision I chose would be okay. In reality, I knew that people were relying on me to fill a vital position that could affect the future of an entire world separate from the one I’d spent my life in. The fact that he could empathize with my need to reach a decision for myself was touching. He patiently waited while I composed myself and prepared to deliver my decision.

“I’ve decided,” I started. “Should the time ever come when a replacement is needed for you in the Ennea, that I will fill that position.”

“The time will come.” The man said managing a somber tone and a smile simultaneously.

“However,” I clarified. “Until then, I don’t want to be involved in any way. You know where to find me if you ever need me and I’m sure you can come up with a way for the rest of the Ennea to contact me if anything happens to you, but, until then, I want my life to be the way it was; peaceful and free like a bird.”

“You enjoy the life you have now.” He tells me. “One day you’re going to have to take my place. Your life, your destiny lies with others like you – not in that forest, not isolated from the world. I know that this is what you’ve known and that you’re used to going from walking to flying in a matter of moments and that’s fine. You’ll still be able to become a bird anytime you want at will, but you’ll learn about your other powers and how you’re going to play a bigger role.”

I wasn’t sure if or how I would find out any news about what became of my ancestor and the Ennea, but some time later, a carrier pigeon stood on a branch in my tree squawking until I woke up. Attached by a string, the pigeon carried a rolled up parchment. I told the pigeon to follow me and I flew to the ground. Transforming into a human without any pain at all, I took the parchment from the pigeon, gave it some seeds and sent it back from where it had come.

Unrolling the paper, I read:

My dearest descendant,

It is essential that you make yourself available to the Ennea. The members will be able to feel your presence, so you need not worry about locating them. They will find you. I assume that, by receiving this letter, you understand what has happened. I wish you the very best in life and apologize again that you did not have the relations you deserved growing up. The people you are about to meet are good people but you must earn their trust. Keep that in mind as you get to know them. May magic lead you to a world of wonder and awe.

Your ancestor.

Just like that, my entire life had changed. I had a new road to follow and a journey that would lead me to a new world. Luckily for me, I possessed the capabilities to run or fly to my destiny. All that was left to do was wait for them to find me and meet my fate.

~Back to Part 1~

Descendant by Crystal MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Howling (2)

2009-07-28T16:35:00.006-04:00

I wake to find John’s face staring at me. Rails line my bed and a swivel table looms above me with an interesting array of mystery food items positioned neatly on a green tray. John’s eyes are a mix of anger and regret. Anger because I have put us all in grave danger. Regret because he did not stop me from taking his motorcycle.

“Looks like you won’t be coming to the mountains with us.” He says with a gleaming smile full of teeth. “You’ll miss our first hunt with Maria.” Maria is John’s new mate. They have set the wedding date for a month from yesterday. This will elevate John’s status among us.

“Such a pity.” I know that there is sarcasm in my voice and I don’t care. I don’t see a reason for me to like Maria. John took a trip back to the mountains of Canada several weeks ago to visit his family. He returned last week with a dark-haired beauty on his arm. I could instantly tell that she was one of us: half human and half wolf. I could tell that she was going to fit in with no problem and yet make our group different in so many ways. She was lovely and nice. She had given me no reason to hate her. No reason other than the mutual love between her and John.

Since John had found his mate first, he would be elevated to the alpha position – a position that I would have inherited if we had stayed in Canada. Since we had agreed unanimously to start our own pack and move to the city of Charleston that meant that anyone was able to attain the position of pack leader. John had done just that by finding his mate first. He would be our alpha and she would be his – forever. His children would inherit the title and it will leave my line forever. My father will be even more disappointed in his only child.

“You’re going to have to accept her, Molly. She’s going to be a part of our family.” John tells me, pushing a strand of dark hair behind my ear.

“I know that. I’m just being petty. It’ll pass.” I tell him. I realize that I am acting like a child, but I can’t help it. My feelings are running rampant and I feel like I have no control over them. “I hope anyways.”

“It will.” John says, in a soothing voice.

“But, why won’t I be joining you?” I ask, the realization of his initial words finally sinking in. I love the three day trip to the mountains to phase from human to wolf. I look forward to it each month. I don’t want to miss it.

“Because you won’t be healed enough to survive in the wild. We’ll leave you on the island.” John replies, as though it should be obvious.

“But my bones are already healing.” I argue. “In fact, they are mostly healed now.”

“The full moon’s only two days away, Molly. We leave in a couple of hours. You won’t be ready by then.” John points out. His fingers trace the dates on the calendar posted near the bed. It has been a whole day since I stole his bike and wrecked it.

“So I won’t be phasing this month?” I feel a pout coming to my lips. I try to fight it. I can’t let him see me weak.

“You’ll be healed enough by midnight to phase.” John tells me. “That’s why we have to figure a way out of here.” His hands motion around the room. I can tell by his voice that there is no conceived plan for an escape.

“The doctor.” I say in a whisper.

“What about him? He can’t help you now. Your body will finish the healing process. You know that no drugs or technology could work faster.” He wears a puzzle of confusion on his face.

“I know that.” I respond quickly. “But maybe he could help me escape.”

“He’s human, Molly. He’s not going to just let you walk out of here. It’s bad enough that your bones were almost healed when you arrived here. You’re lucky he knew to re-break them or you would be a pretzel right now.” John recounts what he knows of the emergency room for me.

“He didn’t know. I told him to re-break the bones, John.” I inform him, feeling in some of the gaps in his story. “He listened.”

“And you think he’d help?” John asks, surprised by my blatant trust in a complete stranger. I can’t explain it, even to myself, but I feel compelled to trust this human that I have barely met.

“I do. Could you be a good dog and fetch him for me?” I tease lightly. He quickly hurries away.

Moments later, a doctor appears in the room. For the first time, I am able to see my savior with my own eyes. The smell of Crest has been replaced with a husky cologne. He looks to be in his late twenties. His hair is dark and freshly showered. I’m guessing that he just arrived for duty.

“May I help you Miss Brekenridge?” He looks at me, carefully surveying my body. John has not accompanied him.

“I need to get out of here soon.” I tell him, motioning for him to come closer.

“How soon?” He asks as he crosses the room to stand next to the bed.

“By midnight.” I watch his face for a reaction and find that there is none.

“Why?” He isn’t going to make this easy.

“Because I have something important to do. Something that can’t be postponed.” I answer, trying to evade anymore questions.

“And you want me to help you?” A lopsided smile is forming on his face. I can see pearly whites between his lips. “You’re not scheduled to be released for another two days, Miss Brekenridge.”

“It’s Molly and I know that Dr. Sinclair.”

“Call me James.” His reply is short and hurried. “If I’m going to help you out of here, then we’re going to have to be on first name basis.” The smile is back as he hurries for the door. He is gone before I even have a chance to say anything.

I sit alert, listening to every little sound, while I wait for him to return. Feet are hurrying by in the hallway as doctors and nurses rush from one room to another tending to their patients. I can hear coughing several rooms down and a couple having a teary reunion. Further down, in the waiting room, I can hear my group of friends talking about their upcoming trip. Six will be going on this trip as always; except my spot in the van will be filled by Maria. Footsteps continue to hurry in every direction. I can make out one pair of feet approaching the door of my room.

His husky scent enters the room before he does. I breath it in, trying to remember every ounce of this moment. This will quite possibly be the last time I see him and I want to remember it forever. There is something remarkable about this human. Something different.

“Put this on.” He tells me, pulling a long white lab coat from behind his back. A forged name badge reads Mrs. Sinclair, RN. I slide the coat on and look him in the eyes.

“Is your wife a nurse?” I ask, curious as to why he has used his own last name for the badge.

“No. I just couldn’t think of any other last name to use. I guess you would call that a mind blank.” He replies, placing a stethoscope around my neck. “Follow me.”

I follow him out into the hallway. My bones seem to be completely healed and I have no trouble keeping up with him. He leads me to a back elevator and pushes the down arrow. He politely asks how I’m feeling and I reassure him that I am doing just fine. The elevator arrives and we ride it to the ground floor. It’s crowded so we neither one bother to speak, barely even making eye contact.

I follow him across the busy emergency room and out into the parking lot. He pauses for a second, checking behind him to make sure I’m fine. We continue until we’re about mid-way through the parking lot. My friends are waiting to take me home. They are parked in the darkest corner of the lot under a large tree. All of their eyes are staring intently and I am sure their ears are listening as well.

“Here’s your coat, Dr. Sinclair.” I say, peeling the coat from my body and reaching it across to him, making sure to keep my distance.

“Keep it.” He says, with a smile. “I have plenty.” I start to turn away but change my mind. There is still one more question that I want answered.

“So, what does your wife do?” I ask.

“I’m not married.” He says in the simplest of tones. “What does your husband do?”

“I’m not married.” I mirror his comment and tone of voice.

“In that case,” his eyes light up. “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m busy. Maybe some other time.” I let him down as gently as I can. Things could never work between us. Werewolves and humans aren’t meant to be compatible. We might live in the same city, but our lives are in two completely different worlds. Worlds that aren’t meant to merge.

I turn to leave. My friends are still waiting patiently for me. I know that they will be heading out soon. I feel a hand grasp mine from behind. It is cool and firm. An electric current shoots through my body as our skin met. A small slip of paper is nestled between his fingers and he smoothly slips it between mine. It is over in an instant. He is headed back inside and I continue to join my friends. I can feel the raised paper from where he had written his phone number for me.

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Descendant (1)

2009-07-25T19:08:00.007-04:00

I didn’t know where I came from or how I became this way. I didn’t know if I was born like this or if it had been a freak accident. In truth, I didn’t know much about myself at all. I knew that sixteen years ago, I was born, but I couldn’t have told you the month or day. I knew that for fifteen years I had been shuffled through the system from one foster family to another. I knew that one year ago something changed and my foster family had sent me away to an institution for my own health and safety. I knew that two weeks after arriving at that institution I flew out the window. The one thing in my life that I was completely sure of was that no one had ever been out there looking for me before. The one person who was had already found me. Now there were supposed to be eight people out there who needed me and that needed to locate me.

*****

Soaring swiftly through the lush green trees of springtime, descending gracefully beside the oblong man-induced lake, I landed without a sound. This area had been deserted for months – ever since I got here. Through the dense trees there was an opening, a hill above a small town. On that hill there used to be a castle, it was pretty and sometimes I would perch on the window ledge, but that castle burnt to the ground. At least the majority of the structure was engulfed and destroyed by the flames, one tower still remains standing.

I still fly over to the opening from time to time because I like to people watch. Humans are fickle creatures that bicker and argue because they cannot decide what they truly want. Birds are simple creatures that glide through the air to reach their destination. Outlining their days and nights by the rising and setting of the sun, they act for themselves and for survival. I dread the day when I have to join with the humans and fulfill my fate. A year ago, I met my very first living relative. Some time ago, my entire life changed.

*****

I was perched on the window ledge of that castle tower, when a young man came into the room, slammed the door, and threw a book upon the ground. I watched as he cursed and seethed with anger. From what I could gather, a girl had disappointed him in some vital way. He stomped around the room for half an hour before settling into an overstuffed plush chair.

“What am I supposed to do now?” He shouted at the empty room. “They’ll never realign and when they do there will be no one to replace me!”

Taking a chance, I flew into the room and landed on the arm of his chair. Startled, he jumped up. Frightened, I flew out the window and didn’t stop until I was by the lake again. Perched on the edge of a wooden bench, I spread my wings out wide and stretch my body as tall as it would reach. Five seconds later, I was standing beside the wooden bench, a naked girl exposed to the world, but with no one around to notice.

The very first time I shifted from human to bird, I scared myself and the few other people around me who then proceeded to send me to a mental clinic. The change comes naturally now as long as I focus my attention. Each time I shift, the process becomes easier. For me it’s not so much a physical experience of changing from one shape to another, but rather a magical one. For years, I thought I was a shape shifter. In a way, I am.

That was the first human interaction I’d had in a couple months and it was like the relapse of an addiction. Once I’d had the taste again, I wanted more. A couple days passed and I went again, getting a little closer to the angry man and then flying away. I repeated this process for about four weeks. The final trip I made to the castle was life altering.

Without stopping to land on the window sill, I flew straight in, landed on one of the numerous tables and twittered loudly. The young man, who had introduced himself during one of our interactions, come over and shook my claw.

“And how are you today?” He asked, sitting himself down on the desk chair.

I chirruped a response and flew over to him. Pecking him softly on the hand, I obtained his full attention. Multiple times I soared around the room, then stopped on the ground in the middle and flapped my wings in a rapid action and then disappeared behind one of the large chairs. Trying to stay focused, I concentrated all my energy on the transformation. A blinding light flashed before my eyes and I stood up behind the chair. Lucky for me, the chair had an extremely high back so the only parts of me that were exposed were my shoulders and head.

“What the…” The young man stood there, stunned, but not completely in shock.

“Hi.” The first word out of my mouth in a year was rough and foreign sounding to my ears.

“You.” Cocking his head to one side, his eyes seemed to be formulating an explanation for what they’d just witnessed. “You’re a Carialle.”

“A who?” I asked baffled by his lack of alarm.

“You don’t know what you are, do you?”

“No.” I confessed.

Shaking his head, the man said we had a long day ahead of us and went to find me some clothes to wear while we talked. When he got back, I put the clothes on, feeling awkward and wondering if I’d done the right thing in sharing my secret. He gestured toward a chair opposite from him and I sat down.

“I’m not sure where to start.” The young man admitted. “I have a few questions first if that’s okay with you.”

“Ok.”

“Where are you from and how old are you?”

“I’m sixteen but I don’t know where I’m from. I don’t know much about myself.” I said shrugging my shoulders.

“That’s fine. I’m going to tell you some things that might startle you. Are you prepared to keep these things secret forever?”

“Yes. I don’t have anyone to tell.” I informed him matter-of-factly.

“Magic exists in all different forms and ways. What you just did, I can do that too, but not for as long because I have less Carialle in me-”

“Carialle?” I interrupted him, curious about the word he kept saying.

“Yes. Carialle. This is the edited version to save time, but some of the magic in this world originated in another world – Aurum, but it accidentally made its way into this world and now those responsible can’t find a way back to Aurum. A Carialle, what you are, is kind of like the legendary shape shifter except that a Carialle can choose to be any being; they aren’t just humans who can become different things for a limited amount of time. Does that make sense? Any questions at this point?”

“What are you?” I asked him, relieved to know that I had finally found someone who wouldn’t run screaming from my deficiencies.

“I’m a mixture of things. I can shape-shift and astroproject amongst other things.” He said with complete honesty.

“Wow.” I was stunned.

“You seem to be taking the idea of magic existing without much hesitation.” The young man observed.

“I kind of figured that magic was real. Or that I had been in some freak accident.”

“So what else do you want to know?”

“Can I use some of these books for research?” I asked him pointing to a shelf behind me.

“Sure, but one at a time because other people are using them.” He offered.

Picking out a general book, titled Magic, I left the castle and returned to my home by the lake. I spent the next four days reading every book in that tower that I could get my hands on. When I was returning the last book, my newfound friend had even more that he wanted to share with me. Under no circumstances could I have foreseen what I was about to learn.

~Part 2~

Descendant by Crystal MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Howling (1)

2009-07-25T18:59:00.008-04:00

I had known that I shouldn’t take John’s motorcycle, but that hadn’t stopped me. I had been too angry to listen to the voice of reason inside my head. John had found his true love – his mate for life. This meant that my life was ruined.

Instead of rationally thinking about the consequences, I had dived right into John’s garage searching for the motorcycle that I knew was in there. I had straddled the bike and taken off in a matter of minutes. The bike had twisted and sped through town, roaring beneath me. I had been reckless and caught up in my thoughts. I had missed the headlights looming bright in front of me.

The sound of metal crushing still echoes in my head. I can feel that my body is wrapped around the bike’s twisted frame in a grotesque fashion. I can feel the breaks in the bones throughout my body. Only my right arm has come through unscathed.

I silently survey my body. A broken arm, two broken legs, a broken rib or two. I try desperately to move my neck, which is uncomfortably positioned between two tires. I barely move it when I hear a slight snapping of the bone. Seems my spine is a bit damaged too. I am going to have to stay put since I’m wedged between the tire of a semi and John’s totaled bike.

I can hear an ambulance racing down the street. Seconds later I hear footsteps on the pavement and two men talking.

“No one could have survived that crash.” A voice says.

“Is s-she O-K?” A voice stammers. The footsteps are shakily coming towards the rubble of the motorcycle. I picture how my body must look. The goal is to remain still. I can’t risk frightening anyone.

“Fred here will check you out over at the ambulance, sir.” The first voice says, trying to remain calm. “Let us take care of the rest.” More sirens are sounding in the distance – a fire truck and two police cars. I can hear the man approaching the rubble slowly. My guess is that he is checking for any fuel leakage that could put him in danger.

I hear his boots stop by the bike. He bends over its twisted frame, gasping as he gets a look at my body. It must be worse than I thought if it shocked the EMT. He reaches two fingers to my neck, checking for a pulse.

“Fred! Fred!” He shouts into the distance. The sirens are getting closer. “Come quick! I need another set of hands.”

“Why?” Fred sprints across the road, his feet sounding on the pavement.

“She has a heartbeat.” The surprise in his voice is understandable. Any normal human wouldn’t have survived a crash between a motorcycle and an eighteen-wheeler.

“She does?” Fred is incredulous as well. He reacts quicker than his counterpart though. “Let’s get this bike off of her then.” The sirens stop and more feet join the pavement, their footsteps beating rhythmically in my head.

It takes four men to lift and twist the bike off of me. My bones groan as they move with the bike. They hurt less with each second and I find myself worrying about the shape that I will be in when I come out of this disaster.

“We need to get her into the ambulance.” Fred’s voice sounds in my head once more as I hear a stretcher clanging to the ground. The wheels clatter along the cement and stop inches away from me. I am rolled onto a plastic board and feel something close around my neck. Three sets of hands lift me onto the stretcher and everything goes black as a sharp pain shoots through my back.

* * * * *

When I regain consciousness, I cannot pinpoint the time of day or the location of my body. For all I know, I have been pronounced dead and placed in a morgue somewhere. I can just make out a bright light shining beyond my eyelids and feet hurrying around me. A pair of gloved hands is going up and down my body, checking for breaks and other damage.

“It’s incredible.” A deep voice breathes. “Her bones are already starting to heal. They’re healing wrong but they’re healing.” His voice was barely audible to a human ear, but I can make it out as though he had spoken the words clearly. “She should never have survived that crash.”

“Doctor?” A female voice asks. “What do we do next?”

“I’m not sure.” He answers sincerely.

“He’s too young to be handling this. They should’ve put a more trained surgeon on the case.” A voice whispers across the room.

“He was the only one free. Sometimes you have to take what you can get.” A female voice murmurs in return.

“Her bones are already healing. I guess we’re going to have to set them as they are.” The doctor says under his breath. I can smell Crest on his lips as he speaks.

I fear for the shape I am twisted into. I can not allow my bones to set as they are. I wiggle the fingers on my right hand before reaching it up to meet his. I expect him to jump. He doesn’t. He stands perfectly still, allowing my hand to grasp his.

“Re-break them.” My voice comes out harsh and dry. He leans closer to hear what I am trying to say. I repeat myself. “Re-break them. Then set them fast.”

There had been enough broken bones among my friends in the past 22 years that I knew what had to be done. My bones would heal and they would heal quickly, no matter what shape they were in. The only way to restore my shape was to re-break the bones and set them quickly.

A pain shoots through my body as the doctor cracks my left arm. I can feel the extra strength he had to use. Adrenaline is coursing through his body, making the veins in his hands pulse as he works through all of my bones – breaking and setting them to save me. His colleagues whisper many things about the impractical practices he is using at this particular moment. No one moves to help him or to get help. They are all rooted in place.

He finishes my last bone and I lay perfectly still for a moment. My eyes are still closed and my heartbeat is still slow. I can feel the bones molding to join each other and the joints that had once held them together. My heartbeat begins to pick up and I allow myself to drift into a dream world, where everything is the way it is supposed to be.

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Howling by Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

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