by Leah Day
Menda slid the scissors into their case with a little click. “Look at that, you’ve brought me a new lovely! And I get to wear it in such a fashionable way!” She adjusted the scissor holder to rest in the middle of her curvy chest. “Thank you, Mally May. Now… to business! Where is your grandma?”
“I don’t know!” Mally wheezed. “I don’t know where she is. She’s been missing for six months. I came here to find her.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“Please! Please, you must believe me! I came through the door and I’ve been searching for her.” Mally stopped to draw breath. “If you’re looking for her too, we could look together! I’m sure we can find her!”
“Find her together?” Menda barked out a laugh. “Do you know what I plan to do with Grace Wright when I find her?” All the spiders suddenly released their hold and Mally gasped in relief.
But it was short lived.
Menda’s hand lashed out and she lifted Mally by her backpack handle as if she weighed nothing. The scissor blades snicked open, lifting until she dangled several feet above the ground. The queen brought her face so close she could see the individual stitches of blue thread forming her eyes. The smell of lavender was so strong, Mally could taste it in the back of her throat.
“I plan to cut the deepest, darkest hole I can, and then I’m going to drop her in it.” She opened her hand and Mally fell into a heap at her feet.
She scrambled away, putting as much distance between herself and Menda as she could. The queen sighed, the crown on her head spinning madly.
“I’m still not quite sure you’re telling the truth,” she said. She held out her hand and three purple spiders jumped into her palm. She brought her hands together and the threads compressed into a thin sheet. “This will even things out.”
The queen walked to the far corner of the room. Mally couldn’t see what she was doing, but the air suddenly went ice cold. She wrapped her arms around her knees and curled into a ball. She wasn’t being held down by anything now, but she couldn’t move. A strange pressure built behind her eyes and across her chest. She struggled to breathe and clenched her fists, fighting back the urge to cry.
“It’s okay, Mally May.” Menda caressed her cheek. Her sad face was back. “You can tell me anything. Where is Grandma? Where can I find her? You know, I was just joking about dropping her into a hole. I just want to find her to make sure she’s okay.”
Mally’s mouth opened of its own accord. She didn’t want to speak, and the words came out in a rasp. “I… don’t… know.” She choked out the last word and lost her battle with her tears. She pressed her head to her knees and sobbed.
“Uggh.” Menda shoved her away in disgust.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
Mally faintly heard her click across the room. She started to pace, talking to herself in a low mutter, “She can’t be lying. We’re sure of that, my lovelies. But she might be useful. What if the child could draw her out? Make a show of it…”
Mally stopped listening. Flashes of her worst memories began to play in her head. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t feel anything except her heart splitting into a million pieces.
Chapter 4 - Taking Flight
“Mally! Mally, please stop crying.” Ms. Bunny was tugging on her arm. The little rabbit had climbed out of the bookbag after Menda had left the room. “We have to find a way out of here and get home.”
Mally tried to answer, but she couldn’t form the words. It felt like Ms. Bunny was miles away. She would have to shout so loud for her to hear. And she couldn’t shout right now. She couldn’t do anything except cry.
“It’s okay, Mally. She’s gone now.” The little doll patted Mally’s shoulders, trying to bring her attention back to the room. “What on earth did she do to you?”
“I… can’t…” Mally gasped between sobs.
“She must have done something to you. Please, Mally, tell me what she did.”
But Mally couldn’t speak. She wrapped her arms tight around her chest as a terrible memory filled her mind.
* * * * *
She was back in her bedroom at home, playing with her favorite stuffed animals when she heard laughter from behind. Rose had a friend over and they were standing in the doorway, giggling down at her.
Mally ignored them and turned back to the game she was playing with Ms. Bunny, Professor Piggle, and Camping Bear.
“She’s still playing with dolls? Doesn’t she know how babyish that is?” Sheila asked loudly.
“She doesn’t care,” Rose said, then raised her voice. “You won’t have any friends if they find out you’re still playing baby games!”
Mally hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller. Just go away, she thought. I’m not bugging you. Leave me alone.
But it didn’t matter. Rose sauntered into the room and plucked Professor Piggle off the floor.
He was a small rat doll with a long pointed nose and wire glasses that made him look very dignified under normal circumstances. His soft green body was stitched in the shape of a star with a long gray tail Mally liked to wrap around his waist like a belt.
“Give him back!” Mally protested. “Give him back!” She scrambled to her feet, snatching at the doll, but Rose held him high out of reach.
“Not until you say the magic word!”
“Please!” Mally begged, nearly in tears at seeing Piggle being squeezed so tightly in Rose’s fist.
“Nope, that’s not the magic word! Guess again!” Rose laughed, dancing out of reach.
Without thinking Mally grabbed the nearest object, a clown clock from her bedside table, and threw it as hard as she could. She had been aiming at her sister’s chest, but the throw went wide and the clock struck Rose hard in the mouth.
There was a moment of hushed silence as everything stopped. Mally stared at Rose, her gut twisting as her sister’s face flipped quickly from shock to outrage.
“You hit me!” Rose screamed. She caught Mally around the waist and they hit the floor in a tangle of limbs. Mally ended up on the bottom and Rose sat down hard on her chest. Mally couldn’t breathe. She slapped and kicked, trying to knock her sister off.
Rose still had Professor Piggle in her hand. She smashed the doll against Mally’s face. “Like that, baby?! Like your precious rat doll?!”
Mally struggled to get free. She shoved against Rose, managed to suck in a quick breath and screamed as loud as she could.
But no one came to help her. She struggled against her sister, but Rose just laughed and pressed the doll harder against her face until Mally dissolved in tears. After five agonizing minutes, her sister finally got bored and rose to her feet. She’d kicked Mally in the back and tossed Professor Piggle in the trash can as she walked out of the room.
Mally remembered pulling the doll into her arms and curling up on the floor in a ball. She’d felt completely weak and helpless that day. Her chest hurt where Rose had sat on her and her face was stinging. She’d wanted to fight back, but she hadn’t been able to do anything to defend herself.
Weak, pathetic baby.
Painful words chanted through her mind. She didn’t notice it was Menda’s voice at first, but soon she was saying it to herself. I’m so weak and helpless. Just like a baby, I can’t stop crying.
* * * * *
In the mountain room, Mally clutched her face and trembled. Her skin felt rubbed raw from the memory. She’d curled up into a tighter and tighter ball and was now rocking back and forth, crying silently.
Ms. Bunny watched her sadly, wishing she could help. She’d tried hugging the little girl and drying her tears with her ears, but nothing she did seemed to help.
She wandered around the room, looking for inspiration. The door had been stitched back in place and they didn’t have the scissors anymore in any case. She opened Mally’s bookbag and
peeked inside. She had books, binders, and a fabric pencil case, but none of that seemed particularly helpful right now.
Ms. Bunny opened the metal sewing box and found several wadded up scraps of fabric, a small pack of needles, and five colors of thread. She unwrapped the fabrics and found a beautiful array of colors.
Ms. Bunny had watched Grandma dye many of these fabrics. Mally had propped her up on a chair in the shade and she’d watched the older woman apply red, blue, and yellow dye to the wet fabric. She picked up two strips of bright yellow fabric and on sudden inspiration, carried them over to Mally.
“Your Grandma dyed some of these fabrics I think, Mally. I know you will feel better if you can just see them. Look at this beautiful yellow strip. It’s so cheerful. Surely that can help you stop crying.” She draped the strips over her hands and sat back hopefully to see if it would help.
But the little girl had fallen into another memory and this one made her shudder with pain.
* * * * *
She was six and running on the sidewalk with two friends while their mothers talked by their cars. Dread curdled in her stomach. She’d never been able to forget this accident.
They were running and it felt so good to be moving after a long day sitting still in class. The game was to run down the wheelchair ramp, across the sidewalk, up a short set of steps, then back down the ramp. It was kind of a game of tag, but not really. Mally loved racing down the sloping concrete and picking up speed with each lap.
Mally knew exactly what was going to happen next. She screamed at her legs to slow down. She fought to move her arms, but nothing could stop what was coming.
She rounded the bend once more with too much speed. She stumbled.
Mally shrieked in pure terror as she fell, head first down the wheelchair ramp. A flat expanse of white concrete filled her vision. Her knees broke the fall first, slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. Her hands flew forward to protect her face and her palms smacked into the rough surface. But even that wasn’t enough to break her fall.
She skidded the rest of the way down the ramp. The gritty sidewalk ripped the skin on her hands, knees, and left cheek to shreds. It’d taken a full thirty seconds for her to remember how to breathe, let alone scream as the pain hit. Every part of her body was on fire.
But this time Mama didn’t come running. No soft hands lifted her to cradle or comfort. No one helped her, handed her ice, or whispered soothing words to help her stop crying.
Weak, pathetic baby.
The words were back, but much fainter now. Mally shook her head and opened her eyes. She could just make out the bright yellow fabric covering her hands, but then her vision blurred with tears once again and she was sucked into another terrible memory.
* * * * *
Ms. Bunny noticed the change in Mally’s crying and felt a surge of hope. She had almost pulled free there for just a second. The little doll returned to the pile of scraps and rummaged around. She found a pair of simple four patch quilt blocks pieced with rather questionable stitches, but the colors were very cheerful.
“Mally, please look at this. See these blocks? Did you sew them with a friend from school?”
Mally didn’t answer.
Ms. Bunny spread the patchwork blocks on the floor and tried to pick up one of Mally’s hands. With great effort she managed to shift a few of her fingers on top of the little block. She remembered how Mally loved to touch the seams of her Grandma’s patchwork quilts and hoped it would comfort her.
But nothing changed.
Ms. Bunny made another pass around the room, feeling completely useless. What good am I moving and talking if I can’t help my friend? she thought. I might as well go back to being a stuffed doll.
She was getting more worried by the minute but felt a glimmer of hope when she looked back at Mally. The little girl had moved very slightly, both hands planted on top of the quilt blocks. Delighted, Ms. Bunny grabbed more scraps from the sewing box and draped them over her neck and arms.
* * * * *
But Mally had been pulled into another bad memory. Crystal Ford had stolen her lunch box and was rooting through the contents. Mally jumped, trying to snatch it back, but Crystal was much bigger than she was and had held it high over her head.
She’d pulled out a small bag of chocolate chip cookies and dangled them in Mally’s face. “I’ll give you the lunch box back, but I get these.”
“They’re mine! Give it back!” Mally yelled.
The scene suddenly blurred and seemed to go in and out of focus. Mally shook her head once, twice, trying to clear it.
Suddenly she found herself standing in front of Crystal with her fists clenched. She could remember exactly what had happened that day. She’d burst into tears and run to tell a teacher. She’d gotten her lunch box back, but the cookies had been destroyed.
She knew how the memory was supposed to play out, but now she felt something new. She looked into Crystal’s laughing face and had no desire to run away.
She didn’t feel sad or weak. She felt angry. Without pausing to think, she slapped Crystal as hard as she could.
* * * * *
In the mountain room, Mally slowly lifted her head off the floor. Ms. Bunny eagerly reached out to comfort her.
SMACK! Mally’s hand shot out and punched her across the room.
Ms. Bunny was used to flying through the air. She had done it thousands of times as Mally loved to toss her up and catch her while laying in bed. But this time instead of smashing against a wall or the ceiling, her body bounced lightly to a stop.
She looked around and found she was standing, suspended, several feet above the ground on a spider web woven with blue, purple, and black threads that perfectly blended with the wall behind her. She jumped up and down a few times and the strands loosened, then broke and she landed lightly on her feet. She looked up and could just make out the leftover threads clinging to the wall.
“Ms. Bunny?” Mally was sitting up, drying her eyes.
“Mally! How are you?” she asked, hurrying back to her side.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Bunny. I was just so sad.” Mally sat back and pulled at her shirt, which was so drenched with tears it was sticking to her skin. “I must have cried a lot.”
“I think if you had a competition with Wonderland’s Alice, you would’ve won,” Ms. Bunny said, patting the little girl’s face with her dry ear. “I believe you were under some sort of spell. Come look at this.”
She showed her the spider web and Mally touched the broken threads. She shuddered.
“What is it?”
“It’s like ice, and pain, and heartache rolled into one. I think you’re right, Ms. Bunny. Menda must have woven some kind of curse into the threads.” She shuddered. “I kept going back to the worst days, but it wasn’t like a dream. I could really feel what was happening. Worse, I knew what was coming, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
“But you were getting better at the end. I handed you the four patch blocks from your sewing box and you were able to move at least.”
Mally stooped down and picked up the quilt blocks from the floor. “This block is called four patch? I made these with Audrey. I guess that was yesterday now.” She stuck her fingers through Audrey’s stitches and wiggled them back and forth. “There’s something comforting about this. I can feel it just holding these blocks. I feel a bit better, stronger.”
“Definitely stronger. You have a mighty backhand,” Ms. Bunny said with a smile.
“I’m sorry about that. Everything felt a million miles away.” Mally shrugged and looked out the window at the bright blue sky. “You were right about what you said before. I shouldn’t have trusted Patch.”
“I had a bad feeling about that cat. I could tell he was up to something. I think the most important thing is to get back to the door and return home.” Ms. Bunny
climbed up the frayed windowsill and gazed down at the landscape of Quilst. “Now, how do we get home?”
“I had an idea about that,” Mally said. “Before Menda came in, I was thinking we could sew something and escape out the window.”
“What? Like a rope?”
“No, that never works in the movies. They always run out of rope and the bad guy comes in and cuts the end. I was thinking wings. If we stitch them big enough, I should be able to glide down to the ground.
“What will we make it out of?”
“Scraps,” Mally explained, holding up the little four patch blocks. “I think it’s time we stitch our way out of this mess.”
“Anything that gets us home quickly and safely has my vote, dear.”
Ms. Bunny hopped down from the window and together they spread out the contents of the sewing box over the purple floor. They had a package of sewing needles called sharps, a small thimble made of leather for Mally’s thumb, and five spools of thread. Three spools were filled with normal cotton piecing thread in white, blue, and orange. The other two spools were wound with glittery decorative thread in gold and silver. Metallic – that’s what Grandma had called it.
Unfortunately, they didn’t have very many fabric scraps. Mally counted a dozen pieces ranging in size from smaller than her hand to bigger than her pillow at home. She spread out the pieces on the floor and her heart sank.
“We don’t have nearly enough fabric,” she said, sitting back on her heels. She looked around the room and her eyes fell on the door. She dug into her bookbag and pulled out the bundle of fabrics Ms. Bunny had ripped from the door. “What do you think about using this?”
“Looks good to me,” Ms. Bunny said, her eyes traveling around the room. “She mentioned being able to feel it when you cut the quilt. What was she tapping when she said that?”
“Her crown,” Mally said with a shudder. “It kept spinning around her head. Let’s try not to rip anything else or she’ll come back.”
