by Drea Damara
He nodded. He couldn’t manage anything else, listening to this ridiculousness. He watched his aunt roll up her sleeve and start to take off her bracelet.
“Oh, Sarah!” Mary gasped when his aunt revealed raw marks and blisters on her wrist. She pulled up her other sleeve, revealing the same damage there. What in the world?
“I couldn’t go after you, Ricky. I was in so much pain from what felt like rope burn, just like Agatha when she was dragged down the street. I got these when I was seventeen. Your father never got any marks. The curse only chose me. That’s why he got to leave and go to New York, and that’s why I stayed to run the bookshop.” Sarah’s voice sounded sympathetic.
He had no words. He looked from her wrists to her intent expression and then to the others who looked on somberly. Franci stood up and moved toward him.
She reached behind her neck and began to unfasten her collar. “Ricky, I too got my marks when I was seventeen. You think I wear these high-necked dresses because I like them?”
She smiled kindly and then lowered the front of her dress collar. He could see dark purple-red marks twisted all the way around her pale, slender neck.
“Yeah, but I mean those could have been accidents, or some people, you know, do that stuff…to themselves—” He couldn’t think of how else to phrase it without offending them.
Reggie burst out of his chair, eyes wild, and came right up to him; he ferociously yanked his undershirt out from his pants. Ricky stepped back as the man hoisted his shirt and sweater-vest up, revealing long burgundy scars across his chest. Spit flew out of Reggie’s mouth as he yelled: “You think I wanted to do this to myself?”
Ricky stared at the lines in horror. They went every which way, all curving at the ends like the kind of marks made by a whip. Instinctively, he brought a hand up to his shoulder. He wanted to further inspect the strange welts he’d gotten on his back over the last week.
Mary locked eyes with him and whispered, “You have them now too, don’t you?”
“No! No, I just have a scrape or rash or something.” Why did he feel like he was panicking?
“Ricky, let me see,” his aunt said, tugging at the back of his shirt. He brushed her hand away, and she added, “Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you use that stuff I gave you?”
“Yeah, but it stinks! I dumped it out,” he said, whining and wrapping his arms around his chest.
“Francis, help me, would you?” Mary turned her back to Franci and brought her hands up to the back of her own gown collar. Franci fastened the neck of her own dress back up and then came over to Mary. She started to unbutton the back of Mary’s dress.
“Oh, come on! I don’t want to see this either,” Reggie said as he walked back to the chair, stuffing his shirt back into his pants.
“Yeah, seriously. Are you all going to get naked until I believe you?” Ricky asked, fidgeting where he stood.
His aunt looked at him and pleaded, “Ricky, I don’t know how else to explain it to you. We’re not making this up. The sooner you believe us, the more of a chance we have at saving Shelby. Things have probably changed in the book since the last time I was there. I really could use your help.”
Mary held up the front of her loosened dress as she looked at him. “Ricky, I’m guessing whatever has happened to your back,” she said as she slowly turned around, “looks a lot like this.”
He fumbled backward into his aunt as he saw long red welts across Mary Millville’s back. The number of lines and their pattern looked identical to what he’d seen across his shoulder blades in the mirror. It seemed too much of a coincidence. As he stood dumbstruck, he felt his aunt’s hand against his back and pulled away.
“I can feel them, Ricky,” she said, looking like she was going to cry. “I know you have them now, too. I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to happen to you. That’s why I was so upset your father sent you here. He was convinced it wouldn’t happen to you. He thinks women are more susceptible to the curse.”
He jumped at a thunderous knock at the door. Mary gestured for Franci to help button her dress. His aunt walked over and pulled the blind back, revealing Alexander, the blacksmith. She let him in and locked the door behind him.
Alexander filled the crowded storefront with his six-foot-six stature. His wide shoulders were rounded with large muscles, probably from years of pounding out metal over the anvil in his shop. He wore a dirty, sweaty white tank top underneath his leather apron, and there was a shimmer of sweat on his sinewy arms. His dark brown hair, shaved close at the sides, appeared damp with sweat and looked to have been brushed back to keep it out of his menacing green eyes. He had to be around Ricky’s father’s age, but the brute of a man sure put his dad, and possibly even Henry, to shame. Ricky watched as he held out a long burlap-wrapped object.
Alexander handed the package to Sarah. “Here it is. I hope it works for you.”
Sarah pulled the cloth back and revealed a narrow sword about arm’s length. It had a thick grip bound by a leather cord. He watched her inspect it like she knew something about swords. “Thanks, Alex. Were you able to make a compartment?”
“It’s here,” Alexander said, pointing at the base of the hilt. He tugged the end off, revealing an opening in the grip.
Franci and Mary went to their purses and dug around in them. Ricky watched when Mary handed a small glass bottle to Sarah that was filled with white clay-like rocks. His aunt took the bottle and dumped its contents into the hollowed hilt.
Franci held up a small cellophane baggie so he could see it and said, “This will help to keep you safe.”
He watched her hand over her offering to his aunt. Alexander held the sword as Sarah dumped a fine, grainy black powder into the hilt to join Mary’s rocks. The man shoved the hilt base back in its place and then handed the sword to him.
“Here you go, kid. One of the best I’ve ever made on such short notice.”
As Ricky looked at the sword that Alexander held out to him, he felt warmth coming from the hilt. Had he really just made this for him? He noticed there were two wide leather cuffs around the man’s wrists much like blacksmiths had worn in the old days. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if they were worn to be part of the man’s costume.
He took the sword and looked up at the man. Without thinking, he asked him, “Can I…see your wrists?”
Alexander looked at the others. Mary nodded and then the man unfastened one cuff. As the fabric fell away, Ricky could see wiry jagged scars, encircling the man’s thick wrists. The skin was pale, compared to the rest of his bronzed arm, except for the color of the brownish-purple scars. Alexander started to unfasten the cuff on his other hand, but Ricky held a hand up to stop him. “It’s all right.”
As much as he wanted this all to be a joke, he worried that something horrible had happened to these people, something that may actually give their stories merit. Now that he thought about it, what worried him the most was that he’d never seen any of these shop owners leave Blinney Lane while he’d been there.
“Are you saying that I can’t leave Blinney Lane now—” Ricky sighed and set the sword down; he tugged at the top of his shirt to hike it up over his back, “—now that I have these?”
Ricky heard someone gasp from behind him. He felt the cold fingers of his aunt as she lightly touched them to the marks across his back.
“They’re still new, Ricky. Still forming. If we get you out of here, you might be safe,” Sarah said.
“Might be?” He pulled his shirt back down and turned to her.
“If you go into the book with me, you’ll be safe from the curse claiming you, in case—”
“In case what?”
“In case something that happens while we’re inside the book strengthens the curse.” Sarah said, pursing her lips.
“Well, what would happen inside of it? Are we going to get hurt doing this—whatever we’re going to have to do there?”
“Ricky, Farwin Wood is probably not the same as the last time
I was there with Richard. Your father got into some trouble there, and we’ve never gone back because of it. I don’t know how the people there will react to seeing me,” Sarah said.
“Well, screw that! If you’re afraid to go, what makes you think I want to go with you?” He tossed his arms up in his excitement.
“Because if you don’t go, kid,” Reggie said, sneering, “your little girlfriend will never wake up.”
Could that be true? He gaped at Reggie, and then he wheeled around to look at his aunt. She had her hand to her mouth.
“Is that true?” he asked her.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Well, what about us? Who will wake us up?” he asked, hearing his voice raise.
“I will from inside the book. I know how to.”
“How?” He demanded, but she said nothing. “How?”
Sarah sighed. “I’ll tell you when we get there. Come on,” she said, looking to Franci and then Mary. They nodded and helped her pick up the clothing he had discarded. Sarah started toward the stairs that led up to her flat.
“Ricky, bring the book,” she called to him.
She wasn’t telling him something and it was pissing him off. He fetched the book and stomped after the women.
“I hope you’re all just crazy,” he muttered and followed them upstairs. He heard Alexander’s deep laughter behind him and it sent a chill up his spine.
UPSTAIRS, RICKY found Mary cleaning off the kitchen table. The pants and shirts his aunt had thrown at him were hanging over one of the chairs; the high-legged boots sat on the floor.
Franci stood at the stove where she’d started a pot of water to boil. She turned to rifle through her purse and pulled out another cellophane packet. This one contained dried leaves in a grainy light green powder.
Ricky heard his aunt walk through the living room and turned to see her clad in the floor-length, light gray dress she’d recovered from the basement closet. The dress had a wide dark gray belt with shimmery stitching across it and was firmly cinched across her slender waist. Tucked underneath the belt against her stomach was a small dagger. She’d reattached her bracelet with the golden key on it. As she walked into the kitchen, he could see the toes of the light brown boots she’d tried on under the gown’s hem.
Sarah took the book from him and glanced at the clothing slung over the chair. “Ricky, you need to go change now.”
“Change?” He looked down at the clothes.
Sarah made an exasperated sound, took the sword from him, and laid it on the table. She picked up the clothes and forced them at his chest. “Do you want to help Shelby?”
“Yes, but I still don’t understand how this—”
“Run along now; you’ll see soon enough,” Franci said, stirring something in the pot on the stove.
Ricky shook his head and grasped the bundle of clothing. He started for his room wondering what would come next. As he changed, he thought about how grateful he was that none of his friends could see him right now. The puffy-sleeved shirt hung down to his knees over the scratchy man-tights. He frowned as he looked in the mirror.
“Jesus, I look like Meatloaf,” he muttered. Ricky gathered the shirt up and tucked it into the tight pants. He let enough hang out to hide the bulge that the formfitting pants revealed at his groin and where the pants clung equally close against his cheeks. “This is so stupid.”
He put the leather vest on next, happy to see that it covered his tightly clad butt. He cinched up and tied the leather laces on the front of it and then he looked around for the rest of the ensemble. He spied the wide sword holster belt and hoped it would make him look less ridiculous. He threw it around his waist, caught the end, and fastened it around the leather vest. The empty holster hung down past his knee-high boots. Costume complete, he grudgingly walked out of his room. As he approached the kitchen, insecurity got the better of him. He held his hands together over his crotch, walking slowly as the leather creaked with each movement.
The women in the kitchen saw him, and Mary held a hand to her chest. “Oh, how dear.”
Ricky spared her an icy glare and felt his cheeks grow warm. He practically waddled as he approached the table. He heard his aunt chuckle and shot her an indignant look.
“Consider that your punishment for taking the book.” She smirked, nodded at his outfit, and brought a steaming cup up to her mouth. The book sat in the middle of the table, and Ricky took the chair where his clothes had hung earlier. The sword flap bent uncomfortably beneath him, and he flipped the end of it out to hang toward the ground.
“Ha. Ha. Funny. Funny,” he grumbled and shoved the sword into its sheath.
Franci set a teacup in front of him. “Here you go.”
“I’m not thirsty but thank you.” The dark brew’s licorice smell made his lip curl.
“Well, you have to drink it, dear. It’ll help put you to sleep.” Franci smiled.
“What? Are you guys going to knock me out now?” He looked wide-eyed at his aunt, who sat sipping a cup of the foul-smelling tea.
“Ricky, it’s how we’ll get to Farwin Wood and to Shelby. Trust me. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Now chug it,” she added sternly.
Ricky picked it up and brought it halfway to his mouth with a grimace on his face. He peered up to see Mary and Franci standing next to each other; they looked at him with anxious expressions. “I swear, if you guys are drugging me and do anything weird to me,” he looked over at his aunt, “relative or not, I’m going to the police when this is over.”
Sarah winked at him. “Bottoms up.”
He grumbled and swallowed the noxious liquid until he couldn’t stand anymore. “Ugh! That’s disgusting!” He wiped his mouth and saw that his aunt was still sipping hers. “Hey, what about you? Aren’t you going to down yours?”
“This is my second cup, Robin Hood.”
Mary stepped forward and opened the book. She backed away from it like it was dangerous, retreating to lean against the counter with Franci.
Sarah finished her cup and let out a yawn. “I need to go in first so I’m there for you when you arrive. Ricky, just let yourself relax and fall asleep. Everything will be fine.”
He watched her fold her arms on the table and rest her chin on them. She peered at him over the book like she was looking for a change in him. Mary and Franci were eyeballing him too. He didn’t like feeling like he was under a microscope.
“Maybe he needs another cup, Sarah. He is younger than you,” Franci said.
“No! No, I’m fine. Really, I’ll just rest my head down,” he assured her and took a position similar to his aunt’s, even though he didn’t feel like sleeping.
As he looked across the book at his aunt, she spoke about Farwin Wood, things he remembered from the stories she told him as a child. She described the scenery, some place called Oedher Village, and a woman named Netta.
“When we get there, just outside of Oedher Village, we’ll walk to where—,” Sarah yawned, “to where our family has had a house for years, Allister Hall.”
“Allister Hall?” Ricky felt himself say lazily. He was starting to feel relaxed, but it was probably due to the boredom of humoring his aunt. Sarah went on to explain how one of their ancestors had built it. Next, she described different animals: stroomphblutels, wickrits, roomples, tierumpts, and muckas. Her speech eventually became so slurred and low that he could barely understand her.
He felt his head lowering into his arms. He jerked it back up, but it soon drooped again, feeling weightier than usual. He stared at his aunt who was now whistling quiet snores, her head buried in her arms. His vision started to blur, and he blinked to correct it. He turned his head, eyes closing, and made out the hazy image of Mary and Franci. “What…did you…do to me?” He didn’t resist when his eyes closed again and then he felt himself drift off to sleep.
There was blackness for a while. The next sensation Ricky felt was a cool breeze against his skin. He slowly sensed his weight return to him. I
t felt like he was pressed to the earth. Dampness invaded the fabric of his shirt and the back of his pants. He heard a far off, shrill noise that sounded like “Tierrrrrumpt!”
Something nudged his shoulder and he heard a warbled, “Ricky?” He forced his eyelids open and saw an unfocused darkness with dim light creeping through. “Ricky?” His aunt’s voice called to him from somewhere. “Get up. Are you there?”
“Yeah,” he croaked through the taste of licorice in his mouth. He sat up and felt his legs stretched out in front of him on the ground. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he focused on his feet. His feet, still in the peculiar boots, were resting on dried, muddy grass. He looked beyond them where the sound of water trickled. As his vision cleared, he saw trees and a stream. Something grabbed his shoulder, giving him a start.
“Are you all right?” Sarah whispered sharply.
He turned to look at her and saw towering trees, many of them dead or charred, surrounding them. A bright yellow bird with a fat body and long beak swooped down near them; its cry rang out. Ricky jerked his feet under him and staggered woozily as he stood up. “Ah! What the hell was that?”
“Shhh! It’s a tierumpt.”
“Wha… What? Where did you take me?”
Sarah grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face her. “Ricky, we’re in Farwin Wood.”
As Ricky looked around at the eerie woods surrounding them, he started to feel the sensations of his body. His back was damp, like he’d been lying on the ground for a while. He lifted a foot; the mud below it suctioned to his boot. A branch cracked in the darkness beyond the stream, and he jumped. “What was that?”
