Mally the Maker and the Queen in the Quilt

by Leah Day

  “It’s a spider! It’s a spider! Oh my God, it’s a SPIDER!”

  She screamed and kicked, fighting harder than she ever had in her life, but she only became more woven inside the web. Soon her entire body was wrapped up so tight she couldn’t move, she couldn’t open her eyes, she couldn’t even scream. Hot tears slid down her cheeks and her nose began to run. The fibers pressing against her face were soaked with tears and snot, making it difficult to breathe.

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  Dread pooled in Mally’s belly as the clicking sound drew closer and closer. Without warning, her body rolled forward. Blood rushed to her head as she hung upside down for several seconds. Smoothly, as if she were trapped in the middle of a massive marble, her body rolled up and over again. Mally’s head spun and her stomach churned as the rolling motion picked up speed.

  Dimly, Mally felt Ms. Bunny press her paws against her back and whisper through the fabric, “It’s okay, Mally, we’ll figure this out. It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

  That was the last thing Mally heard as her body spun into darkness.

  * * * * *

  “Mally! Time to get up!” Grandma called. There was nothing like the smell of cinnamon and cloves in the morning. Grandma must be making pumpkin pancakes.

  “Mally! Wake up!” Someone was nudging her shoulder.

  She rolled onto her stomach, reaching out to pull her pillow over her head. But the material brushing against her fingers didn’t feel right. It wiggled.

  She sat up, suddenly wide awake. She was resting on a cushion in the corner of a strange room. The walls, floor and ceiling were dark purple and the only light came from a square window. Something crawled over her arms and she shrieked, jerking back.

  “Shh… it’s okay,” Ms. Bunny whispered, holding out an orange ball. “See? It’s not a spider. It’s just a wad of thread.” In the dim light, it certainly looked like a spider. Fibers stuck out from its body and wiggled in all directions. The cushion was covered with them.

  “Was I just sleeping under that?” Mally asked, scrambling to her feet.

  Memories of the day returned and she whipped her head around. “Where are we? What brought us here?” She checked her shirt and pants for signs of the white threads that had stitched through her clothing, but they had all disappeared.

  “We’re in one of the mountains. I think the purple mountain in the center of the quilt,” Ms. Bunny said. Her voice was so soft Mally had to lean close to hear. “I have no idea what trapped you, but… whatever it is… it’s bad. I think it’s looking for your grandma.”

  “Grandma? She’s here?” Mally didn’t wait for a response as she ran to the window. Her stomach lurched. They were hundreds of feet up. The patchwork landscape of Quilst stretched out below, green grass blurring to gray in the distance. She tried to ignore the heights as her eyes skimmed the hills, searching for any sign of movement.

  The sun hadn’t moved from its spot in the middle of the blue sky. “I guess it doesn’t get dark here. That’ll make it easier to find her.”

  “I don’t know if your Grandma is here or not. I overheard the thing that took us saying, ‘Bring me that Maker’ but I don’t know...” She shook her head. “Mally, we need to get home. It’s been hours since you left.”

  “But Grandma must be here. If someone else is looking for her, that must mean something, right?”

  “Maybe… but that someone has also locked you in a room in a mountain. Unless you can sprout wings and fly, we’re going to need a plan to escape.” She nodded at the door on the opposite wall. “We’re stitched inside. I’ve tried to open it and it won’t budge.”

  “What if we cut our way out?” Mally ran to her bookbag and pulled out her scissor necklace. She looped the chain around her neck and slipped the scissors out of their case.

  Then she stopped, frowning at the tool in her hand. How can I cut the quilt? She thought. Grandma made it. If I cut it, won’t that mess it up?

  She decided to make a small cut along the edge of the door where it would be the least noticeable. She widened the hole and looked inside. There was another layer of blue fabric underneath.

  She cut again, then again. Each time she snipped, she expected to see something different, but the layers were endless. She cut the hole wider and pulled with both hands. With a loud “RIP,” four layers of cloth split from floor to ceiling, but it only revealed more fabric underneath.

  “We’re never going to get out,” Mally said. “It must be dozens of layers thick.”

  “We might be able to use this material for something else, though,” Ms. Bunny mused, pulling at the fabric to test its strength. She gave the blue cloth a sharp tug and four large pieces fluttered to the floor. Mally turned to look at the window on the opposite wall. The seed of an idea was just sprouting in her mind when she heard:

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  It was right on the other side of the door. She scooped up Ms. Bunny along with the blue fabric and stuffed her unceremoniously into the backpack. She swung the pack onto her back, so she could make a run for it if there was a chance.

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  Mally shrank into the corner, slipping her scissors into her back pocket. She gripped the bookbag straps, preparing to run.

  The door fell away suddenly. A bright, flashing light filled the room.

  “Don’t you like your room?” a high voice asked.

  Mally shook her head, trying to squint past the light. She was focusing so hard on seeing the creature, she couldn’t understand the question.

  “It’s one of the best in this mountain, possibly all of Quilst. Is it not good enough?” The voice sounded on the verge of tears.

  “N-no,” Mally stammered. “It’s fine.” The figure of a very tall woman emerged, her head nearly brushing the ceiling. Mally breathed out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a massive spider after all. She squinted, trying to see the woman clearly.

  She had high cheekbones, a small nose, and brilliant blue eyes stitched over shiny white fabric. A slash of black split one of her cheeks, as if her face had been ripped apart and badly mended. A spikey crown of silver and gold spun around her head. It shone as bright as the sun and filled the room with a strange flashing light.

  “Then why were you trying to leave?” she asked, coming closer and closer. The sound again:

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  Mally glanced down and gasped. The creature was balanced on the points of two huge pairs of scissors. They lifted her high in the air and walked for her, opening with a soft “snick” and closing with a sharp “snip.”

  Her body was voluptuous and pieced from black velvet fabrics that seemed to soak up all the light from her crown. Her hands were shaped like mittens – all the fingers fused together, except for her thumb – and she had no feet. Her legs tapered down to sharp points that dangled in the air as the scissor blades propelled her closer.

  The shape of her hands and feet reminded Mally of a set of dolls she’d seen at a quilt show with Grandma, and with a jolt she realized that’s what this creature must be. But how did she get here? she thought. How is this weird doll in Quilst?

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  Mally’s back hit the wall and Ms. Bunny gave a little squeak inside the backpack.

  “M-My name is Mally. Who are you?” Mally asked quickly to cover up the sound.

  “Mally. Mally. Mally.” The woman cocked her head unnaturally to the side and her voice took on a hard edge. “Is that short for Mallory?”

  “Um… yes. Mallory Lauren Spencer.”

  “Ah. Mally May to save the day.” The woman’s mouth split into a strange smile. “My name is Menda. I am the Queen of Quilst.”

  “The queen? But…” Mally trailed off as the scissors on the doll’s hip twitched. “Pleased to meet you, Queen Menda.”

  She crossed her legs at her
ankles and bowed slightly in her best intimation of a curtsy. She’d seen it in a movie about a princess a few years ago.

  “Are you really?” With a snip, the scissors on her hips opened wide and Menda slid down to stand on her pointy legs. She reached forward and Mally shrank back, but she was only holding out her hand to shake.

  Mally gripped the strange mitten shape and found the black fabric soft and cushy, but her grip was painfully tight. Mally gasped as Menda squeezed her hand.

  The doll reeked of lavender, so strong it made her eyes water. Mally usually liked the scent because it reminded her of the special sachets Grandma packed with her quilts in storage. But the lavender smell coming from Menda was just too strong.

  Standing so close, Mally could see the seams holding the creature together. Her stitches were sloppy and so big in places the seams gaped, allowing the stuffing from the inside to leak out. Mally’s eyes caught on a particularly wide gap at her elbow. A chunk of gray fiber bulged out from the surface like a massive pimple.

  Menda shoved her face closer, gripping Mally’s hand. The crown on her head spun faster, flashing like a strobe light through the room.

  “What are you looking at? What do you see?” With a faint snick, two pairs of scissors flipped over her shoulders, their sharp tips inches from Mally’s face.

  “N-N-Nothing,” Mally stammered.

  The scissors slid back as Menda’s face crumpled. “I’m hurt, Mally May. You were trying to leave without saying good-bye.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Mally’s head spun as Menda flipped from anger to sadness and back again in seconds.

  “Don’t lie. You cut the door. You were trying to leave!” The crazy creature buried her face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry. I really need to get home. I only meant to come here for a little while, to…” She felt Ms. Bunny shift in the bookbag and decided to leave out any mention of Grandma for now. “But it’s been hours. I need to get home.”

  Snip.

  The massive scissors on her hips slid closed with a snap, and Menda rose several feet to tower over her.

  “Why did you come here? How did you enter Quilst?”

  “I… I just wanted to see the world. I came through the door.” Mally shrank against the wall as the queen swelled with rage.

  “You lie! When you cut the fabric in this quilt, I can feel it.” Menda tapped the crown spinning on her head. “You were trying to find the Maker, weren’t you?”

  “Maker? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Menda stormed to the window. With her back turned, Mally counted twelve pairs of scissors in all shapes and sizes secured to the fabric on her back and hips. With a jolt, she recognized several from Grandma’s sewing room. The red handled pair was always kept in the cup on the cutting table, while the largest shears were exclusively for cutting dress making fabric.

  How does she have those? Mally thought. They were all much bigger than they should be. The shears stretched over four feet long, the metal handles thicker than Mally’s wrist.

  Menda caressed the side of the windowsill and trailed her thumb over the even row of stitching that held the purple fabrics in place. She sighed. “Such delicate work, when she actually tries. Yes, my lovelies, let’s take care of this.”

  One of the smaller scissors on her back swung around quickly and cut into the seam, breaking the thread. Mally gasped as the seam split. Menda ran her hand over the cut, encouraging the edges of the fabric to fray. The crown on her head spun faster. Menda hunched her shoulders, her face contorting into a grimace of pain.

  “Why are you doing that?” Mally cried.

  “Because I can,” Menda said softly, her eyes closed. She rolled her hand over the frayed mess and a ball of purple thread began to form. Mally watched, her stomach twisting, as three tiny spiders emerged. Broken fibers slid out from their bodies, braided together and became sturdy legs. They scurried up Menda’s arm to circle her wrist like a bracelet.

  Menda flicked her hand and the spiders on the floor cushion rolled together too, forming a messy ball. It was a horrible cross between a spider and the Blob monster she’d seen in an old movie. Thousands of legs stuck out in all directions and it half rolled, half oozed itself across the floor.

  “Aren’t my pets beautiful?” Menda asked happily. The crown had slowed its spinning, but her shoulders remained hunched, jutting her head forward at a freakish angle.

  The creature rolled to her, then split in half and lifted itself, a hundred thread legs wiggling madly until it found her dark fabric. Mally pressed her fist hard against her mouth as the creature slid up Menda’s leg, over the curves of her body and down her arm to rest on her open palm.

  The purple spiders on her wrist squished themselves against the thing and they were absorbed instantly. The fibers suddenly knitted themselves together into a roundish shape with eight braided yarn legs.

  “Do you not like spiders? Do they frighten you, Mally May?” Menda asked, stroking the monster.

  Mally shook her head, gripping the straps of her bookbag tighter. She glanced at the open door, judging the distance.

  “Do you ever tell the truth?” Menda shrieked. Without warning, she hurled the giant spider straight at Mally’s face.

  Mally ducked, covering her head with her arms. The ball just missed her, and she felt it ruffle her hair as it flew overhead. She knew this was her one and only chance to escape. She leapt towards the door.

  But Menda was just feet away, standing in front of the window. Two pairs of scissors on her back clicked open and waved threateningly in the air. “Bind her for me, my good pet,” she said in a sing song voice.

  Something snagged her ankle and Mally was jerked to the ground. Her hands burned as she slid several feet across the room. She glanced back to see what had tripped her. Menda’s spider monster had braided itself into a thick rope. One end was wrapped around her ankle and as she watched, tiny threads wiggled out and wove up her jeans. Just like before, Mally was being stitched in place.

  “Resourceful, isn’t it?” Menda laughed. “My little snarls know exactly what I want them to do and are wonderfully efficient about making it happen. They can become webs and spiders and even those flying things… what are they called?”

  Mally ignored her. She twisted her body around, pulling her free leg underneath so she sat in a half crouch, facing the thread monster. Her movement swung the metal case on her necklace hard against her shoulder, reminding her it was there. She pulled the scissors out of her pocket and slashed at the grasping fibers.

  She cut through several threads and they immediately stopped moving. Mally hacked at the attacking cords, but the scissor blades were so tiny, she couldn’t manage to cut through the entire rope at once. As she sliced, more threads wove into her socks or caught the hem of her jeans. Even her red sneakers were covered with stitches running in all directions in a dozen different colors of thread.

  “Stop it! Stop stitching me!” Mally yelled, cutting another bunch of threads attacking her knee.

  “Bats! That’s what they’re called. If you thought my spider web was scary, just wait until you see one of my bats flying through the air.” Menda suddenly spun around the room, flapping her black arms.

  Mally ignored her. She changed the grip on her scissors, opening the handles wide so she could saw at the rope. It worked. Mally was suddenly cutting faster than the threads could attack. She leaned back with all her weight and found she could move her foot several inches.

  “Oh, that won’t do, pets,” Menda said, twirling to a stop. “She’s getting ahead of you. Let’s go back to spiders. Itsy. Bitsy. Spiders!” At her words, the braided rope and all the threads stitched into Mally’s clothes instantly wiggled out and began rolling into tiny balls.

  Mally saw her chance. She jerked her leg free and crawled as fast as she could for the door. A low rumble sounded f
rom behind. Mally was nearly at the door frame. She caught the edge of the fabric and pulled herself up to her feet. The rumble grew into a roar and she couldn’t help herself. She glanced back into the room. What she saw made her heart stop dead.

  Spiders. The floor was a sea of moving bodies and legs. There was no place to run, and no time to scream. In seconds, the spiders covered her body from head to toe and pulled her back to the floor. The threads dug in, securing her so tight Mally fought to draw breath.

  Snip. Snip. Snip.

  Menda strutted over and slowly sank to the tips of her pointy legs, then kept sliding down until she was kneeling on the floor in front of her. She grabbed her chin roughly, forcing Mally to look her in the eye.

  “Are you ready to stop lying and tell me the truth?” She asked. “Where is the Maker?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking… uggh!” Mally grunted as the threads binding her chest squeezed tighter.

  “They will keep squeezing and squeezing and then you’ll go pop!” Menda sang, then her voice turned hard as she demanded, “Tell me the truth! Why are you here? Where is the Maker?””

  The queen’s face swam before Mally’s eyes. “I’m just looking for my Grandma!” she cried. “I don’t know anything about a Maker! Please, just let me go find my Grandma!” Tears slipped down her cheeks and into Menda’s soft velvet hand.

  “Grandma. Grandma.” Menda rolled back on her heels, her head cocked at an unnatural angle. “Who is your Grandma?”

  Mally pressed her lips closed. She hated how much she’d already let slip.

  “Well, based on your name and this lovely set of snips you carry, I can guess.” Menda plucked the scissors from her hand. “Grace Mallory Harrison Wright.”

  The blood drained from Mally’s face as the queen’s mouth split in a wide grin. “Dear old Granny Grace. My my, how times have changed.” She slid the chain off Mally’s neck and looped it around her own. “I must say, this was entertaining. Maybe even more entertaining than seeing you in my web outside.”