by Patti Larsen
Lifted
Kindle Edition
Patti Larsen
© 2013 Patti Larsen
Purely Paranormal Press
Find all of my books (there’s over 85 of them!) on Amazon!
***
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
***
Jenny twirls a long, brown curl between her fingers as she gazes through the dusty glass. The sign over the door reads “Curious” and makes her skin itch. In a good way. Chances are the place behind the dirty windows, with the thick curtains holding back the light and the half-peeled name sticker above eye level is the perfect place to alleviate her crushing boredom.
“I’m in here, sweetie.” Jenny turns to half-heartedly wave at her mother. The rundown indoor mall has seen better days, but Mrs. Arthur insisted they try it out. “Great deals,” she said and grinned at Jenny in the car on the way here. “Heard Penny Walsh got a knockoff Prada purse for twenty bucks.”
It was either shop with her mother or hang out in her room and pretend to study for midterms. Jenny would rather be in Aspen with her friends, but her parents refused to foot the bill for the trip. So she’s stuck here, staring through dust and grime, trying to decide if opening the door is worth the effort.
It’s the first place she’s found that could offer some sport. If only Connor was here. He’d be her wing man, just like always. But her boyfriend is gone, family trip, she guesses, like everyone else, though he didn’t bother to tell her he was going.
Jerk.
Jenny slips her pink-clad phone from her pocket and texts Amber, knowing already from three unanswered messages Connor is ignoring her. He better not have dumped her. Not this close to prom.
Heard of Curious?
Her fingers tap against the side of the phone as she bites her lower lip and waits.
Ew. Amber’s reply makes Jenny grin. What RU doing there?
Mom. It’s the only response required.
Get me something. It’s their code. Jenny slides the phone back in her jeans pocket and rounds her shoulders forward, taking a breath. Amber always says shoplifting is a mental game. Good lifters look ordinary, relaxed, almost bored. Even a hint of anxiety and you’re toast. Connor’s aces at it. Again, she wishes he was here and not being an asshole.
Jenny takes one look over her shoulder, spots her mother squealing in over-enthusiastic excitement, a giant pink bag in her hands, and makes up her mind.
Air displaces as she pulls open the door, a waft of fresh passing her, replaced swiftly by exiting stale, carrying a heavy scent of second-hand-store stink and mold. Jenny hesitates, knows she has to commit or leave as the bell over her head lets out an irritating jangle. A shiver from her phone and she’s moving inside, letting the door sigh shut behind her.
It’s dark in here, crowded. The heavy curtains are black velvet, dusty and oppressive. Jenny looks right and left at the window ledges, filled with what look like antique toys. A little wooden doll in desperate need of a paintjob stares at her as though afraid, eyes the only part of her that seem real. Too real. Jenny shivers, hand reaching for her phone.
What’s it like?
Amber. Her fingers fly over the keys as she nervously looks around. So much for calm.
Creepsville.
Something 4 Brit 2.
Jenny inhales. Two things? She’s only ever lifted one at a time before, and never alone. It feels weird not to have Connor or one of the girls at her side, watching her back. But she can’t say no. This is Amber she’s texting. If Jenny ever wants a chance to go to Aspen, or to have a social life, she has to do as she’s told.
Makes her wonder if maybe Amber is the reason Connor isn’t answering. Soft panic clutches, pulls at the air in her lungs. Has she done something to offend without knowing it? Amber hasn’t shown any indication, but she’s been gone since Thursday. And so has Connor.
She could ask, but that would look weak. Better to do what she’s told and just hope it’s enough.
Done. Once more the phone disappears. Jenny’s sneakers make no sound on the old, stained floor, peeling edges of industrial tile stopping her toe, making her trip. She catches herself in time, hands grasping the edges of a rack, jarring the contents into a musical rattle. A tiny giggle of anxiety escapes her as a round-bottomed boy clutching an anchor, on a shelf at her eye level, bobs front to back, front to back.
Jenny steps away, coughs softly at the dust she’s disturbed, the faint light of a handful of active fluorescent bulbs already giving her a headache. The smell of old and decrepit is everywhere, engulfing her. She’s half tempted to leave, no matter Amber’s request and Connor’s absence. Surely she can find something at the corner market for the two demanding girls.
Something moves, a subtle sound freezing Jenny in place. She eases sideways, peering down the aisle between a glass case and a long rack toward the back of the store. An old-fashioned cash register sits at the edge of the back counter, light reflecting from the case front, blocking her view of what hides inside.
The place is aptly named. Curious, she eases further down the aisle, eyes wandering around the shelves stacked with painted wooden plates and cases lined with old chess boards, ancient looking knives and guns and a dented collection of trumpets. Resting on the top of the counter on her left is a little violin, a tiny replica, complete with strings and a bow, sitting inside a perfectly crafted case.
Jenny’s nerves leave her the moment she sees it. Perfect. Amber is obsessed with her violin right now. She’ll love this, and it’s the ideal size for an easy lift. Jenny’s tense shoulders relax and she forces a vapid expression as she saunters to the counter and leans against it. Looks around like Amber taught her, yawns. Checks her phone with her right hand. While her left hand drifts up and sideways, fingers tenting over the tiny violin.
She screams as something sharp jabs her in the ribcage. The little instrument in its case flies from the countertop and lands on the floor, skittering under one of the racks. Jenny turns, heart in her throat, free hand clenched to her chest, to find a tiny man standing behind her.
She almost screams again. He might be small and thin, barely taller than her shoulder, but there is a look of pure evil in his icy gray eyes, in the set of his thin lips, the paleness of his ashen skin. Folds of wrinkles hang everywhere, save for the shiny, bald center of his head, only a wispy ring of white hair clinging to his white scalp.
His hand is still raised, one fingernail extended. It’s sharply filed to a point, longer than her mother’s, for shit’s sake. Did he really just assault her with it?
“Children,” he says in a soft, harsh voice. “All the same.” Before Jenny can lie in protest, his arm jerks upward, finger now pointing elsewhere. Her eyes follow without her permission to a sign hanging from the end of the shelf in front of her.
No Stealing! Guilty Parties will be Lifted!
She almost laughs, it reads so absurd. How can a person be lifted?
He glares at her. “Understood?”
Jenny nods, shrugs. His arm drops, eyes narrowing. She’s certain he’s going to speak again, but instead grunts at her and stomps past. His feet make loud clomping sounds on the floor, though he’s truly tiny, narrow shoulders hunched inside a yellowed shirt, suspenders holding up his bagging pinstriped pants over a non-existent ass. It’s tempting to taunt him and, were the girls with her, Jenny has no doubt Amber an
d the others would make it a point to make his life miserable.
When they get back from Aspen, they’ll have to come back, with Connor. If he’s still hers by then.
Jenny’s hand explores her ribs, temper flaring now he’s moved on, focusing her frustration on the old man. She watches him shuffle his way behind the counter, hoisting himself up with another grunt onto a stool. He unfolds a newspaper and promptly ignores her.
Asshole. She shifts to the right, eyes settling on the little violin. He didn’t even pick it up. Anger makes her daring, sneakers squeaking slightly as she crouches and fishes the small instrument and its case out from under the rack. It’s undamaged, at least. But now she can’t take it. Instead, she makes a big show of putting it back inside the tiny case and dusting her hands off.
So there, Mr. Jerkwad. See how you like that.
He doesn’t seem to notice. Jenny turns, determined to leave. Forget this place for now. Amber will know how to deal with this guy. Maybe a brick through his front window in the middle of the night. A couple of the other guys Amber hangs with have been known to be open to such ideas.
But her phone buzzes at her just as she turns away, and like a compulsion drives her, she looks at the screen.
Better B good, J. Ur standing depends on it.
Jenny shivers, heart skipping a beat. Amber’s giving her an ultimatum? So, this is about Connor. Has to be. Damn it, what did she do?
Missed the trip, Amber’s next text says with cold calculation. Ur out. Unless.
Unless Jenny lifts something worthy.
Coolest ever. Her nervous fingers type the words. U’ll see.
Amber doesn’t respond. But Jenny’s cold sweat doesn’t go away. She glances toward the end of the counter, at the rustling paper as the store owner turns the page, but continues to ignore her.
She has no choice, now. And he’s not even looking. This will be super simple. Child’s play, even. Her eyes go to the sign. Guilty Parties will be Lifted!
Whatever.
The violin in its case finds its way into the pocket of her jacket. She’s almost to the door when she remembers Brittany and Amber’s second request. A quick snatch and she’s the proud owner of a crystal swan with rose in its beak.
She could be brave and find something for Connor, too, but she just wants out of there. She’s expecting another poke in the back as she reaches for the door handle, the owner on the phone calling the police. Something, anything. But only silence greets her as she pauses and turns back. He’s still there, behind his paper.
The idiot.
“Thanks,” she calls out, buoyed by her victory, the rush of satisfaction she gets from stealing rising at last. Screw him. “Have a great day!”
Jenny laughs to herself, under her breath, already planning the grand reveal in her mind as she hands over the little violin to Amber and is in her good graces again.
The bell clangs its ugly song, her foot passing the threshold as a giant flash of white light flares in front of her and everything goes dark—
Jenny opens her eyes, mouth dry, throat parched, but unable to swallow. She groans, but no sound emerges from her chest, only silence, muffled and still. She sniffs. Again nothing happens, and she realizes she can’t smell anything. One hand tries to rise, fails.
Frozen.
Panic takes her, shakes her, but only on the inside, where her soul lives. Her body is immobile, rigid, out of her control. For a long moment, Jenny sobs in the silence of her head, begging someone, anyone, to help her.
A dream. It must be. That’s it. She must have passed out or something, and now she’s dreaming. If only she can make herself wake up.
Just wake up!
She squeezes her eyes shut. Opens them. Nothing. No change. Still held by whatever force contains her, Jenny breaks down and weeps in the quiet spaces of her mind.
It’s a long time before she pulls herself together enough to try to understand. Her eyes are movable, at least, if the only part of her that is. There’s glass in front of her, a thin layer of dust over it. Is she outside the store, looking in? She can see just a hint of something red under her feet, and, to her shock, another person on her right periphery. She’s not alone. Relief floods her, though she’s not sure why having someone else there makes such a difference.
A sound perks her, draws her full focus. She knows that chattering, unhappy sound. The bell at the front of the store. But it’s distant, muffled, as though coming from far away. Jenny squints into the light as the door closes and a figure approaches.
Jenny sobs again, but this time in happiness. Mom! Her mother hurries forward, toward her, but something is wrong, horribly wrong. Why is she getting bigger, so big Jenny can’t see all of her suddenly, eyes only able to reach to the top of the ugly pink bag, the fold of her mother’s coat pocket?
“I’m looking for my daughter.” Her mother’s voice sounds hollow. Where is she? Jenny strains, struggles, but is unable to break free of the prison her body has become, screaming for her mother, throwing everything she has at whatever keeps her still. And fails.
“I’m afraid there hasn’t been anyone in here all morning.” Jenny stills. His voice is kinder with her mother than it had been with her, but she is well aware who speaks. The damned shop keeper. What has he done to her?
“I thought I saw her come in here.” Mrs. Arthur sounds confused, hesitant.
“I’ll certainly keep an eye out for her,” the shop keeper says. “Do you have a number I can reach? In case she shows up?”
“No, that’s all right.” Her mother’s tone shifts to anger. “She’s probably decided her friends are more fun than I am.”
No, Mom, please. Jenny weeps as her mother turns away. Please, come back!
“Have a pleasant day,” the shop keeper says.
“You, too.” And Mrs. Arthur is gone.
Jenny pants in her head, wriggles and wiggles and fights until she has nothing left. Her ears pop as something moves above her, the feeling of vast emptiness replacing the muffling claustrophobia. A shadow falls over her as she rises, lifted into the air, turned slowly around. Toward his grinning face.
“Well now,” the shop keeper says, eyes giant, nose almost poking her as he examines her. “A violin, is it? Did you used to play?” Jenny catches her reflection in his glasses, horror choking her. She’s dressed in a frothy black gown, a violin in one hand, bow in the other. But she looks plastic, like a figurine of some kind. With a crystal swan, a rose in its beak, at her feet. “No matter,” he says, turning her around, fingers setting her back inside the case. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you, girl.” Now she understands. He’s left her on an angle, enough to see the lines of other figures, row upon row, watching her with their rigid, plastic forms and terrified human eyes. “You’re a lovely addition to my collection.”
Shock makes her mind break. Because she’s found Connor. Not on a trip after all, not ignoring her texts. He’s there next to her, where he will stand in perfection forever, a sparkling silver tiara in his hand, held out toward her in an eternal offering of adoration.
His eyes beg her to help him. But she’s already falling into her own madness.
Jenny’s mind wails its horror on and on, into despair and darkness, as her perfect doll body cradles the violin, the silent, crystal swan waiting for her to play.
***
Red
Patti Larsen
Kindle Edition
© 2015 Patti Larsen
Purely Paranormal Press
Find all of my books (there’s over 85 of them!) on Amazon!
***
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. T
hank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
***
Little Red Riding Hood cocked the hammer on her .38 special and took aim at the pretty splotch of crimson painted on Wolf’s chest.
Granny left her the perfect target.
“I didn’t do it.” Like Red believed him. Still, her ingrained sense of fair play insisted she at least listen.
“My,” she rolled her eyes at him over the polished silver sight, “what huge lies you tell.”
Wolf let out a breath in a huff of steaming air. “All the better to… damn it. Stop that!”
“What do you expect me to think?” She gestured with the snubbed nose of her revolver. His paws traced through the handprint of blood on his chest, smearing it, adding to it. The thick stuff dripped from the tips of his claws as his heavy pink tongue swiped over his quivering snout.
“I found her like this.” Gutted. Leather jeans torn open at the waist, her favorite death metal t-shirt a gory mess. Red felt a tear well at the sight of Granny’s favorite pink bra.
“So you thought you’d just have a snack, is that it?” The trigger quivered under her eager finger. Better to kill him now then let him see her cry.
“No, I…” He looked back and forth between her and Granny. “I was trying to save her.”
No blood on his muzzle. Just his paws and chest. “Say I believe you. Who did?”
His furred shoulders slumped forward and for a moment she thought he would drop to all fours. Wolf held his posture, yellow eyes locked on Granny.
“You know who.”
It couldn’t be. Not after all these years. But the closer she looked, the more obvious it was. Not claw marks. Not fangs, either. The cuts were too clean, the slices made by human hands. Red felt her grip on the revolver slip as her heart skipped.
“You saw him?” She pinned Wolf with her stare as he finally looked up and met her eyes.
“Heard him.” He shuddered, like a dog shedding water. “Whack. Whack.” Tongue met snout again. “He was laughing.”
