Juniper Berry

by M. P. Kozlowsky

  Terrified, Juniper broke free and ran from the room and downstairs, her heart beating rapidly. Kitty ran right after her.

  She found her father in his study. He was sitting at his desk, his back to her and the door. She could only see the top of his head and bits of his arms and legs, but she could tell he was trembling. His arm dropped to his side and, like his wife, blood dripped down his fingers and onto the carpet. He mumbled, “There’s not going to be much left. I’m vanishing.”

  “Dad?”

  He turned around, tugging his sleeves past his wrists. Drowsily, he glanced at her, then back at a picture on his desk. He picked up the frame, streaking the glass with blood, and studied the image. Finally, he nodded. “Juniper. That’s right.” He held it up to her. “I wrote your name on this picture so I don’t forget. I’ve been so forgetful lately.”

  “What are you doing? What’s going on?”

  “I’m working.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “I’m trying to,” he said. “I hit the wall again.”

  “Dad, you’re bleeding!”

  “No, no, no. It’s nothing.” He pointed to his script. “The words don’t mean anything to me anymore.” With the blood on his finger he drew a sad face at the bottom of the page.

  “Then why don’t you stop?” Juniper begged. “Take time off. You’ve done so many movies, everyone loves you, you don’t ever need to act again.”

  “Don’t you understand? Acting is all I have.”

  “What about me? What about Mom? Our family?” Juniper pleaded.

  Once more he glanced at the picture as he shook his head. “Juniper, come now. What am I without my characters? Take them away and there’s nothing of me left. I have to keep going. I have to keep the film running. It’s my heartbeat.”

  “Heartbeat? Dad, what about us?”

  Her father stared at her blankly. Juniper hardly recognized him anymore. And it was at this moment that she saw most clearly.

  “I thought I wanted to be like you. But I’m not. If I ever do become a writer, I won’t care if anybody picks up my books. I won’t care if no one knows who I am.”

  “Then how will you know you’re alive?”

  “The same way I know you’re not!” Anger filled her, confusion and pity and disgust, and she fled the room.

  “That’s not what the world thinks!” he screamed after her. “They love me! They love me, you silly girl! Long after I’m gone, they’ll still love me!” He paused. “They have to! Or what’s the point? Girl! Silly girl! Get me my wife! We have to talk, you silly little girl!”

  And talk her parents did, for that night Juniper watched them make their way across the lawn and to the tree, greeted by the screech of Neptune. She gathered her coat.

  This time Juniper would follow them all the way down.

  Chapter 12

  JUNIPER CREPT ACROSS THE YARD, eyes locked on her parents. She thought for a moment about calling Giles, even as she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t know if she could trust him anymore, and besides, there was no time. But this didn’t keep her from wishing he was by her side.

  Her parents descended behind the tree, Neptune joining them, sitting obediently on Mr. Berry’s shoulder, the two in the midst of a conversation, like two old friends. Then they were out of view.

  By the time she reached the tree, the opening was still there and she quickly and quietly made her way down the stairs in pursuit of her parents. The trek down felt like mere seconds.

  Juniper reached the bottom and gazed the length of the hall, but there was no sign of anyone. She knew her parents were most likely already seated at the table, eager to receive their balloons.

  Slowly, she crept closer. When her parents’ voices became clear, she crouched down, leaning against a closed door with markings of a giant tree with branches reaching out, grabbing at stars, and listened to the conversation taking place.

  “The intervals are becoming shorter,” she heard Skeksyl say. Then he let loose an absurd giggle. “I thought you said you were done.”

  “Don’t mock us. Just let us have it.” It was her mother. There was panic in her voice, desperation.

  “Of course. Of course. More of the same?”

  “You know what we want. Stop playing games,” Mr. Berry demanded.

  “You must understand, I want to stretch this out. I don’t know how much more you two have to offer. This may be our last meeting.”

  Juniper didn’t like the sound of that.

  “What are you talking about? We still have air to breathe. You’ll continue getting what you want. I don’t see what good those balloons do you anyway.”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Berry, I get just as much from my balloons as you do from yours. That’s why I’ll be so sad to see you go.” But then, oddly enough, he laughed. It didn’t make much sense to Juniper. Not much did anymore.

  “Let’s get this done with. Give me the quill,” Mr. Berry said.

  “How are your arms, my friend? I assume this ordeal is taking its toll on you, and you’re, no doubt, still fighting it. It won’t help. You know this. Just give in to it. Let your body be. Revel in your success and everything that comes with it.”

  “It doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would,” he responded.

  “But here you are.”

  “Yes, here I am. Now fill up that balloon.”

  “As you—” There was a pause. “One moment.”

  Juniper heard a chair scrape the ground. Her parents were whispering, and the torch flames whipped as if caught in a light wind. What’s going on?

  Thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . Skeksyl’s staff. A sliver of shadow reached the hall. The shuffling of his bare feet quickened. There wasn’t much time. He was coming for her.

  Fearful and trembling, Juniper pushed open the door she hid against and entered the room, shutting it quickly but softly behind her. She held her breath and heard Skeksyl’s muffled footsteps outside, the muted pounding of his staff. A full minute passed, Skeksyl pacing the hall, Juniper completely still.

  And then nothing. She exhaled, finally turning around to figure out where she was.

  In the room was a very old man chained to a table. He was dressed in a black suit, with a long gray beard ending somewhere near the middle of his chest. Framing his blue eyes were the strangest goggles Juniper had ever seen. The lenses moved on their own, whirling and spinning by several cogs and gears. Kept in place with thick leather straps, the contraption was made of brass and looked very heavy. Juniper would have loved to try them on.

  On the table to the left of the old man was a small machine that he was in the process of cranking. The machine consisted of various twists of steel and billowing steam. There was a funnel at one end and a long tray at the other, and as the crank turned, the entire machine quaked and whistled. In the old man’s right hand was a sharp metal stick of some kind, a silver needle that he used to prod inside the crevices of the contraption. It looked like tough work, and the man had taken off his jacket and hung it on the chair behind him.

  A fedora was tucked beneath the table, and every few seconds it jumped as if something was trapped beneath it. To the old man’s right, filling half of the room, was a tree with absurdly long branches stretching from wall to wall. Growing from this tree were wires, blue and red and white wires—at least they looked like wires. They each had a life of their own, the thin, stringlike cables wrapping around the branches, twisting in the air like hanging snakes, writhing in such a way they appeared to dance or blow in a breeze. Every once in a while the ends of two different wires met and ignited a spark. The spark then fell to the ground and sizzled, leaving a very small indentation in the earthen floor. Something too small for Juniper to identify crawled out, something that buzzed and glowed. From the hole, it ran to the tree, up the trunk and branches, until it reached the ceiling, where it then dug a hole into which it finally disappeared, going who knows where. It was a very strange room.

  Juniper, however, cou
ld not concentrate on all of this, only seeing it from the corners of her eyes in pieces, for the startled old man was her main focus, just as she became his.

  “Oh dear,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here. You are in great danger. He must not find you.”

  “Who . . . who are you?” Juniper asked, her back to the closed door, amazed to find such a man living in such a place.

  The old man sat back in his chair, pausing from his work. With ancient hands, he removed his goggles and rubbed his weary eyes. “I . . . I don’t remember,” he answered.

  “You forgot your name?”

  “There’s no use for it anymore.” He stroked his beard in a contemplative manner. “You can give me a name, if you’d like.”

  Instantly, the name jumped into her head. “Theodore.”

  “Theodore, then. My name’s Theodore. What is yours?”

  “Juniper. Juniper Berry.”

  “That is a lovely name.”

  “Why are you chained to that desk?” she asked, pointing to the thick shackle wrapped around his left ankle and bolted to an iron ring in the floor.

  “He keeps me here. He keeps me working.”

  “On what?”

  “His balloons. I make them.”

  “Skeksyl needs you to do that?”

  “These are very special balloons. Making them requires great care. A single balloon takes weeks to produce. But you are in luck. I am just finishing one now.”

  He slipped the goggles back on, returned his hand to the crank, and rotated it. He continued to poke the machine with the needle at random intervals, eliciting a shower of sparks, some of which settled into his beard and sizzled and smoked. Juniper took a cautious step back.

  Soon enough a red balloon emerged from within the revolving gears and onto the tray. Theodore reached into his suit jacket and removed a pair of brown leather gloves and put them on. Then he picked up the balloon, inspecting it closely, the lenses on his goggles switching out, seemingly at random.

  Finally, he tossed it on the table and grunted. “It’s flawed.”

  “Flawed?”

  “I must have made a mistake somewhere along the way. It happens. It’s a very intricate process.” He looked sad. “It’s his favorite color, too. Would have been part of his personal collection, for those most special of exchanges. But, alas, this one is nothing but a normal balloon.” He brought it close to his mouth, blew on it, and shook it. When he was done he handed it over to Juniper. “Here, it’s yours. It’s worthless to him, ordinary. To you, though . . . perhaps you can find some use for it.” Then he winked at her. Or was it his goggles?

  With a tiny smile she thanked him and placed the red balloon in her pocket. “What are they supposed to be?” she asked. “The ones that come out right, what do they actually do?”

  Theodore sat back, folding his hands. “Tell me, young Ms. Berry, what are you doing in such a place as this?”

  “I . . . I followed my parents here.”

  “Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that. Did they just discover this place? Sometimes I can hear a commotion outside my door, but what goes on out there is a mystery to me.”

  “I think they’ve been coming here a long time.”

  “I see.” He leaned forward, his eyes large. “You must listen to me closely. You must stop them. You must not let them come back here. Not ever again.”

  “Why? What will happen?”

  “I’m sure you’ve been noticing it already. They must be changing right before your very eyes, you poor child. They no longer resemble the parents you remember, do they?”

  Sadly, Juniper shook her head.

  “And do you know why? Do you know what your parents lose in their exchanges?”

  “They blow up a balloon.”

  “Remember, these are special balloons. They work quite differently from the ones you are used to. No, these balloons do not take air.”

  This scared her. “Then, what?”

  “They take their souls.”

  Juniper’s face dropped into her hands.

  “You knew this, didn’t you, deep down? You saw the signs.”

  Through her hands, she cried, “Yes.”

  “Juniper, they cannot, must not, fill any more balloons for him.”

  “Why? Why does he do this?”

  “My dear girl, he feasts on them. With his sly methods and silver tongue, he collects as many as he can, storing them so that they can ripen. Then, when he finally inhales one, he gains decades of life. He has stored dozens of them and inhaled dozens more. He is trying to live forever. This is no creature to be trifled with. He is older than you can possibly imagine, and he will be here longer than any of us will ever manage.” He paused, his body deflating to match his balloon. “Except for me, perhaps. He forces me to feed on them as well.”

  “Who is he?”

  “What is he is more like it. He is a black mirror, a dark thief, banished here a long time ago.”

  “Banished from where?”

  “From a place no girl like you belongs. A place you shouldn’t even think about lest you go mad. Trust me, Juniper, when I say there are worlds much worse than this. Now, please, you must help your parents.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Don’t let your parents return here. Stop them at all costs. Before it’s too late.”

  “But it is too late. I want my old parents back.”

  “It’s impossible, dear. You would have to get to all those balloons he has safely locked away, and even I don’t know where he keeps them. And besides, he’ll never let you pass into the hallway beyond. He’s always there. Hold on to the parents you have.”

  Juniper ran up to the table. “Please. There has to be a way.”

  “Juniper, you must be careful. He’ll want your soul most of all. A child’s soul, especially from a child like you, is worth far more than any adult’s. It’s just so rare that a child is willing to barter for it.”

  “I have to help them.”

  “No. Impossible. And now you must leave. He knows a balloon was due today. He’ll be here soon.”

  Juniper looked around the room. “I can help you leave this place.”

  “Child, I can never leave. My destiny is here.” Then he smiled. “At least I have a name again.”

  Juniper smiled, too, weakly. “Theodore.”

  “Theodore. Now go. Be wise. Be safe, young Juniper Berry. And remember, sometimes that which seems ordinary is really most extraordinary of all.”

  She opened the door and, finding the hallway empty, tiptoed out, making her way toward the entrance. She only glanced back once and, to her surprise, she saw another couple heading toward Skeksyl. Juniper didn’t stare long, though; she broke into a run, up the stairs, and back to the mansion.

  Chapter 13

  THE HOUSE WAS DARK. The house was silent. The house was still. Not a single bulb glowing, no banter of any kind, no footsteps, no rustling of papers, nothing. The house was beyond sleep, nearly dead. Juniper needed to find her parents, and yet the thought alone terrified her.

  “Mom?” Her voice cracked with fear as she entered through the back door. “Dad?” But, as expected, there was no response. Her heart began to beat rapidly; she clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking in a similar rhythm. She had to find her parents before they consumed their balloons.

  Slowly, she walked to the dining room, where she’d seen them after returning the first time. Kitty was most likely back in Juniper’s room, hiding in her bed. Juniper wished she could trade places. Sometimes being human was unbearable. But she pushed on.

  Eyes closed, she rounded the corner. The dining room was steps away. This was it.

  She didn’t want to look. Please, she said to herself, don’t let them be in here. Don’t let them be in here. Forcefully, she opened her eyes.

  Her parents weren’t there. The room was empty, not a sign of their presence. Juniper sighed in relief.

  Perhaps there was still time. Gaining confidence, sh
e searched the entire first floor, finding nothing. Her parents had to be upstairs.

  Grabbing the rail and holding tight, she made her way to the second floor and straight to her parents’ bedroom, the wood floor creaking beneath her steps. At night those noises were always loudest. At night nearly every sound was ominous.

  With a deep breath, she pushed the door slowly.

  There they were. Facing each other at a small table before an oversize window overlooking the grounds, the moon pinned to the sky and wrapped in clouds, they sat motionless. Mr. and Mrs. Berry’s heads were tilted all the way back so that their wide eyes stared at the ceiling, their mouths hanging open, bodies stretched out, arms dropped at their sides. And below their chairs, just out of reach of their open hands, were two deflated balloons.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  There was no response from her parents, but the closer she came the more she believed she could hear something. She was sure of it. The sound was faint, below even a whisper, but now, only feet away, she was positive the muffled sounds were escaping from her parents’ mouths as if something were stuffed down their throats. She took another step closer. Then one more.

  Finally, when she was no more than an arm’s length away, she saw her father’s throat twitching in the moonlight. His neck throbbed like a hyper pulse. The noise intensified. It was a slight gurgling sound and becoming something more. He was trying to say something.

  “Dad?” Slowly, she reached out her hand to touch him. His skin was cold, and when she tried to prop him up, he would not budge; his body was rigid. In his mouth, his bulbous tongue shifted and some bubbles bubbled forth and burst. “What is it, Dad?” she asked.

  She brought her head forward, turning it so that her ear was near his mouth. “What is it?”

  Then, weakly, the words trickled free and found her. “Help us.”

  Juniper’s eyes widened.

  There was a loud crash as her mother fell forward onto the table and began writhing. Her knees thrashed into the base, knocking a glass to the floor and shattering it. Her arms flailed wildly; her face slammed repeatedly onto the table, drawing blood from the bridge of her nose. She had absolutely no control of her body.