by Paul Haines
“There my little doll, take it. Eat a little, drink a little, and listen to my grief.” Vasilissa takes a deep breath. “I fear my grandmother is dying.”
Shura sags, a marionette whose strings have been cut. “She cannot die, but she can become a stone. She did for almost a year after my father left.”
“What must I do, little doll? What must I do, my little mother?” To her distress, Vasilissa sees her mother shrug and shake her head. The child flares up. “We must do something! We cannot leave her like this.”
“It’s her heart that troubles her, not any physical ailment, Vasilissa.” Shura’s voice fractures. “How do you cure loneliness? How do you ease the pain of singularity? She stands alone. She stands outside.”
Vasilissa gives her mother a frustrated shake and sets her on the mantle. She settles herself on Baba Yaga’s lap, curling her child’s form around her grandmother, wrapping her arms around the thin shoulders, burying her smooth face in the corrugated skin of Baba Yaga’s neck. Her voice is soft as she makes her promises.
“Don’t leave me, Grandmother. I will not leave you. You will not stand alone any longer. Do not become stone.” Her voice strengthens. “I love you, Grandmother. I will not leave you.”
She falls asleep, her promise still on her lips, sticky and sweet like honey. Her dreams, though, are fraught: she sees a man hunting through the woods, following her grandmother’s trail, his axe sharp and his temper frayed by grief.
Vasilissa is woken by a noise in the yard. She looks out the window and sees the skulls on the gateposts, their teeth clattering a warning. Beyond them, in among the tree trunks, she can see someone moving, a man, with the late afternoon sun glittering on the edge of his blade. She grabs Shura and rushes to the kitchen, unsure how much time she may have while he stalks around the dacha, trying to learn its defences.
The little girl makes her offering to the doll and cries:
“There my little doll, take it. Eat a little, drink a little, and listen to my grief. A man comes, his axe sharp and bright. I fear for us all.” She takes Shura to the window where they can see him clearly, standing just outside the fence, angry and uncertain.
“The black rider is coming, I can feel the earth shaking beneath her tread. Tell her to cast her darkest night over us and I will deal with this man. Be brave!” Shura exhorts her daughter.
Vasilissa runs through the dacha and throws open the front door. The man is inside the gate. When he sees her, he moves faster: it seems his anger will be spread over anyone he can find. Vasilissa can hear the beat of hooves and she shouts.
“Black rider, black rider, come to my aid! Throw your darkest night upon us!”
Her last glimpse is of the man tossed about by three sets of disembodied hands, then all goes black, as black as the inside of the deepest cave. She hears Shura’s voice rising, chanting, calling upon spells of forgetfulness, of disorientation, to send the man far away, with no memory of the path to this dacha. For a long while all is silent.
Vasilissa waits and waits. She stretches forth and finds the doll lying not far from her hand, and she gathers Shura up, holding her in her lap. After a time (she does not know how long), the darkness does not seem so heavy and she hears a scratching sound and a torch flares. Baba Yaga stands at the door of the dacha and lights Vasilissa’s way inside.
Baba Yaga takes Shura from her granddaughter and rubs a drop of water on the doll’s lips, holds cake crumbs out for her.
“There my little doll, take it. Eat a little, drink a little, and listen to my joy.” She says quietly. “I will look after your daughter, Shura.”
The doll’s eyes shine, her painted mouth moving in a smile. “Thank you, mother. My Vasilissa is faithful above all things.”
“And when the time comes, Shura, I will let her go,” Baba Yaga promises. “As I release you now, daughter. Rest.”
Children’s Story
Bob Franklin
My name is Liam and this is the story of Boots the dog and the holiday I had with Mum and Dad and Boots. I am leaving spaces for the pictures like in my favourite books.
(The first picture goes here. It is a picture of me and Mum and Dad and Boots. Everyone is smiling even Boots)
We got up early because Dad said its a long drive. We are going to a place called Aireys Inlet. I said Hairys Inlet and Mum laughed. Its by the sea. We are going to live in a house there for a week. Some of Mum and Dads friends are coming there as well. It will be fun dad said we will play games of football and cricket and frisbee and swimming. We packed the car full. Boots tried to help but was just trouble.
(Here is a picture of Dad tripping over Boots and stuff going flying)
When everything was packed in the car Dad said there was no room for Boots and he would have to stay behind. No way I said but dad was just joking. Boots sat in the back with me on his rug. We played games of I-spy on the long drive and Boots slept on his rug. It was a lovely day with the sun shining and mum and Dad were happy because of the holiday.
(Here is a picture of our car packed with stuff with Boots with his head out of the window)
We got takeaway food on the drive. I had a hamburger and chips and Boots tried to eat dads hamburger and dad smacked him and mum said don’t hit him and there was quiet for a bit. But then we got to the sea and all the hills and the bendy road and dad smiled and then mum smiled. They smiled more when we got to the house because it was really great with a big lawn for cricket and everything. Boots jumped out of the car and tried to do his toilet on the lawn and dad said get off the pitch.
(Here is a picture of Dad chasing Boots with a cricket bat)
Mum said let’s explore the house and we did and saw lots of rooms and my room had bunk beds and a big box with toys in. Then we went to the beach and we all went in the sea and Boots barked because no one was with him. Dad said be quiet because dogs can’t be on the beach. I said there might be a shark and Boots was telling us but dad took Boots to the car.
(Here is a picture of Boots chasing away a shark. His tail is like legs like cartoons)
We played some more but I was sad with Boots in the car and dad got angry and said bloody dog we’re going home. So we went home and mum and dads friends called Dave and Kath were there and they said this is our friend Tim and Boots started going all funny he went down low and his teeth were showing. Dad said stop it sorry Tim but Boots didn’t stop it and dad said that’s enough and tied Boots up.
(Here is a picture of Boots looking sad)
Dad said time for a beer and everyone had one except me I had fizzy orange. I played frisbee with Tim he had a long coat and shoes on which was stupid in the sun. Dave put the barbecue on and Tim tried to be friends with Boots with dad standing there but Boots growled and dad smacked him. We played cricket and Tim went for a walk so Boots was let off but he ran away with the ball and dad got angry again.
(Here is a picture of Boots with the ball and everyone chasing him)
Then we had sausages and chops and Boots wanted some even with his own dinner. Then Tim came home and Boots ran at him and Tim got scared and dad got so angry and said that’s it he’s tied up outside for the whole night.
(Here is a picture of Boots looking sad and the moon is in the sky)
We played word games and everyone had beer except me I had more orange drink. Tim got angry about a word with Kath and then Dave got angry. Mum said time for my bedtime. I said can I say goodnight to Boots and dad said no he’s bad.
(Here is a picture of me looking at Boots outside the glass door he has the rope in his mouth)
I went to sleep and woke up and dad and Tim were angry I could hear them. Then Dave and Kath were angry with Tim then mum said time for bed. Tim went away to his room I could hear his shoes. I went to sleep and had a bad dream.
(Here is a picture of the dream it is Boots he is barking at Tim because Tim has got no eyes just blackness)
I woke up scared and Boots was barking like mad and jumping. I ran to mum and dads
room and saw Tim he was going to Dave and Kaths room. Mum and dad were messy like the kangaroos on the road. I pulled their arms but they just looked. Tim started coming I could hear his shoes.
(Here is a picture of Tim coming his eyes are black his mouth is like a sharks mouth)
I got under mum and dads bed. Tim came in I could see his shoes. Please go away I said but not loud. Tim got on his knees and I peed in my pyjamas. Then there was a smash it was Boots in the glass door. Tim stopped getting on his knees fast and went outside. Please don’t hurt Boots I said but Boots was hurt because of the glass.
(Here is a picture of Boots with glass in him)
Then there was banging at the front door and shouting. Tim went away I heard the door open. I ran outside Boots was on the floor he was making a sound like a train whistle. I went on my knees and stroked his head and he went quiet. Uncle Kev said hes with mum and dad now I wish I was with Boots and mum and dad. I am writing all this because Tim is somewhere and he looks like anyone but dogs know so watch out.
(Here is a picture of Mum and dad and Boots and Boots is barking and dad is listening)
Night Shift
Dale Elvy
I hate the night shift.
There’s a change comes over the city when the last rays of the sun finally shrink into nothing, and the shadows grow fat. A slyness that takes hold, as the city lights wink on, bathing the streets in a weak orange glow. Everything has a dreamy feel, as though nothing is really as it seems. Sometimes you even feel a presence in the streets that seems to whisper that things normally taken for granted in daylight; consequences and rules, no longer apply. People aren’t themselves at night.
I tried to give up working nights after I got stabbed the second time; twenty-six stitches, but the captain gave me a long speech about how we all need to do our part, then I was right back on the night shift again.
By the time I arrive, the crowd has grown to an impressive size. People push and jostle, their other business forgotten at the chance to glimpse a stranger’s misfortune. Gangs of women in their night finery elbow peddlers and sweepers they’d normally cross the street to avoid. Hawkers and urchins crane their necks and whisper to one another, all natural animosity forgotten in the excitement. Funny how someone else’s tragedy can bring people together for a time.
I make my way through the press of the crowd almost unnoticed, I don’t cut much of a figure in my crumpled suit. That’s just fine by me.
The plaza is ringed by tumble-down apartments. Plaster has sloughed away to reveal brick and now the weather is eating at the dry mortar dust that glues the bricks together, spreading a spider web of cracks up the walls and giving the apartments a drunken lean. Lines of washing are strung between windows up there, flapping like strings of dark flags against the night. There’re a hundred nameless places like this in the city.
“Carera, get in here.”
Sergeant Dalo has spotted me in the crowd, and gestures impatiently. People look briefly interested as I make my way past the ring of watchmen keeping the crowd at bay. Murmuring follows my passage. I probably resemble a suspect more than a watchman.
“What took you so long?”
“Had trouble finding it.”
Dalo doesn’t believe me. We’ve worked together for long enough that he has my measure. But he has a job to do, and so do I. He leads me into the middle of the plaza where a dirty blanket covers a corpse; my work for the night.
“She was found about an hour ago. “ Dalo pulls back the blanket.
The woman beneath looks like she might almost be asleep, eyes closed and face relaxed. It’s rare for death to leave so little trace. Her skin is pale, but there’s no sign of violence. Her hair is spread like a halo around her head, damp now from the seeping, cracked cobblestones that line the plaza. She is, without a doubt, strikingly beautiful.
Her clothes are plain, nondescript. A simple dark dress and jacket and sensible shoes. She was either trying to blend in, or she’s that rare breed of woman who doesn’t play on her looks. Either way is interesting, although I judge her the former, given the deft traces of makeup now visible against bloodless cheeks.
I look up to see Krimpa, the corpse-taker, across the plaza standing patiently with his hand-cart.
“Evening Carera.” He tips his hat with a happy smile. Soon enough she’ll be his to tend.
I nod to him as Dalo drones on. “Not much on her, no papers, just an amulet and a small amount of change,” he hands me a small paper bag that clinks as I take it. “As you can see, no obvious signs of foul play, she just dropped dead by the look of it.”
“Any witnesses?”
Dalo gives me a look. I should have known better than to ask. “I’ll leave a couple of men to keep the crowd back until you’re finished. She’s all yours.” He signals and the patrol departs with a clatter.
I look at the crowd, and they look right back, expectantly. The show is just beginning.
With a sigh, I bend down and mutter the words of a spell. It takes a little while to catch, but then I feel the magic take me, and focus on the corpse of the young woman. Abruptly she sits up, jerked like a marionette on invisible strings. She turns her head toward me. There are screams from the crowd and they edge back from the nervous watchmen.
Her corpse opens its eyes and light pours out. I will myself to meet its gaze. I can see her last moments of life.
She’s been running. Her legs are aching, lungs burning. She’s in a hurry to see someone. Time is running out. Across busy streets, up winding stairs, then she’s in the plaza. Still a long way to go. If only she could risk the trolley. Washing flaps above her, making her jump and in that instant, the wind tugs the scrap of paper from her hand, carrying it to the far corner of the plaza. She curses and goes to fetch it before the wind can steal it, and in that moment, something strikes. She doesn’t see it. She doesn’t hear it, but she can sense it at the last moment, a small thing that darts, lightning quick, from the shadows. A brief sting of pain in her calf and she’s falling. She’s confused, doesn’t know what has happened or how such a small sting could unbalance her. Then the cobbles come to meet her and she knows nothing else.
The corpse slumps back, as though the strings are suddenly cut. The light is gone, and there is a faint smell of sulphur in the air. The crowd hush expectantly. This is the part where an investigator usually makes an arrest; they press forward again willing me to make a grand announcement, or name one of their number. But I’ve seen no face, got no clue as to who is responsible. I disappoint them, as I turn back to the corpse and examine the leg. It takes me a moment or two to find it, but there are a series of small punctures on her left calf. They hardly look more than pin pricks.
I sigh. The crowd’s breaking up. A dissatisfied murmur fills the plaza. There’ll be no instant justice tonight.
I examine the bag of her effects. A collection of small change, of no interest, and a small amulet. That, I recognise immediately. The etched outline of a griffon against an elaborate arch, and for those who knew where to look, something more. A fine incantation to enhance the bearer’s authority, worked into the flat lines, masquerading as artistic shading.
I know where to look because I used to wear one.
An apprentice then. I look at her again, but can’t place her face. It was years ago they threw me out, so she probably hadn’t even taken her vows when I started working the night shift.
I’m a little shaken now. An apprentice killed like this, out in the open. To pull it off you’d need a good measure of skill, and nerve to match. I reach for the flask I keep in my pocket, and realise it’s empty. Damn.
Krimpa has appeared beside me, looking down at her.
“Got some leads then chief?”
“Perhaps.”
Everyone meets Krimpa eventually, although most will never know it. Street sweeper or Alderman, watchmen or merchant, if you die in the city, and they manage to find your remains, Krimpa will tend to you.
“Mind if I
take her then? It’d be a shame to leave her in the wet for too long.”
I nod, slipping the amulet into my pocket. As I step away, I remember the small piece of paper. It’ a windy night, but this plaza is ringed with buildings, trapping leaves and other debris. It’s a chance.
It takes me almost an hour to search the dark corners of the plaza, and I ruin my best pair of trousers before I finally find the clogged sewer grate. Amidst the sludge and leaves I find a small, folded piece of parchment. The last thing the dead apprentice was thinking of.
I open it slowly, savouring a momentary victory for my weary brain. There is a single line of script, written in a spidery hand:
Special Investigator Carera, 3rd Precinct.
My name. I drop the paper, and it disappears straight down into the dark open sewer I’ve just cleared. Why was she looking for me? Now things are worse. Now I’m involved in this somehow, and I don’t even know what this is.
I leave the plaza. I need a drink.
The kind of bar that will still let me run a tab isn’t the kind of place you want to go. Bleary, bloodshot eyes and faces rich with broken blood vessels crowd me. There’re loud, drunken arguments, same as every night, and someone gets a jagged bottle-end jammed in their gut. They haul him out cursing and bleeding after they settle his bill. I don’t care.
She finds me there before I’m completely insensible. Lara was a watch sergeant before an addict smashed her arm in a dozen places; that’s the night shift for you. Now she runs the investigators in the precinct. Not in charge exactly, but she makes sure we do what we’re supposed to, go where we’re supposed to, and most importantly, that we turn mysteries into cases, and cases into convictions.
She gives me a long look. I don’t like it and squirm under her gaze. There was a time when Lara used to look at me differently. Like she could change me, maybe even make me a better man. But what you see is what you get. Now she’s burning off the pleasant buzz that I’ve been carefully building.
