by Gina Shafer
I cross the room, hopping over piles of jeans and tops, knowing that Grandma isn’t going to be happy when she sees the state of my room. I start to shove all of the clothes back into piles, throwing most of it into my dresser and pushing the rest of the mess under my bed. I cross the room, twisting the doorknob and pulling it toward me, opening up the pathway to the hall. Its quiet and dark… creepy, and I always hate walking down it. I get a shiver that travels its way up from my toes, and I look down like I’m able to see it. But all I see is pink glitter covering my toenails. I frown when I remember getting it out of the lines when Grandma and I were painting our toes in front of the fire last night. I make a mental note to try harder next time and not laugh so much at Grandma’s jokes. To pay attention. To…Concentrate.
The word runs through my head, but the voice is not my own. It’s my mother’s. Concentrate, she would say whenever we practiced control of my magic.
I shake off the thought and run full blast down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of my grandma standing at the sink, scrubbing the last dish from breakfast this morning.
“Grandma… didn’t you hear me?” I ask her. She drops a dish into the bubbly water and turns to face me, a smile in her eyes but a frown on her lips.
“Yes, of course I heard you, dear… but do you think it’s polite to screech for someone when you need help?” she asks me, and my face heats up with embarrassment.
“No, ma’am,” I answer her.
“It’s alright, Karina, I’m not angry. But next time, maybe you could come to me and politely ask when you need something?” She dries her hand on the powder-blue towel hanging off the stove handle and walks towards me, kneeling when she comes close. Her blue eyes shine even brighter now that she’s at my level. Her brown hair is sprinkled with grey and the wrinkles surrounding her eyes are growing deeper each day. She’s wearing her favorite red lipstick even this early in the day. We’ve only just had breakfast and my grandmother is dressed and ready for the day.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, still ashamed. My grandmother pinches my chin with her forefinger and thumb so lightly that I can barely feel her touch.
“You know how much I love you, right? There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you,” she tells me. And of course I know this, but I can’t help feeling awful. I remember my mother used to march down the hall, yelling for my grandma, not unlike the way I just did.
“Caroline!” she would yell.
“Quiet, Audrey! I just got Karina to sleep,” my grandma would whisper-yell back, thinking I could sleep through the noise. Then they would argue over things I never understood and my grandma wouldn’t explain the next day.
I never want to be like my mother.
I nod when my grandma leans in and kisses my temple.
“What is it you need, sweetie?” my grandma asks, standing and cupping my cheek with her soft hands.
“My yellow jacket, the one with the purple zipper,” I answer, my mood brightening when I think about my favorite piece of clothing. I wear it almost every day, and I love the way it feels, wrapping me in bright colors and warming me like the sun.
“Ah, I should have known… it’s in the laundry room. I finally got my hands on it and gave it a good wash, so it should be nice and clean,” she says, tapping me on the back and sending me off in the direction of the laundry room. Then, she turns back into the kitchen and finishes her chores.
I set off in search of the jacket, my heartbeat speeding up when I throw open the laundry room door and see the bright yellow fabric hanging off the rack. I slip it on without another thought and head toward the front door, pausing only to slip on my favorite sparkly purple jelly shoes and wiggling my toes before I snap the buckle. I love these shoes. When I finally make it outside, the wobbly screen door slams shut and I hear my grandma groan from inside the house. Oops!
“Sorry, Grandma!” I yell. Then, I’m off. I’m running around the house, toward the back and out to my favorite tree to check on the fairy house I made from cardboard scraps yesterday. Grandma even let me use the hot glue gun to attach the gems to the roof, and I can’t wait to see if anything has come by to nibble on the pieces of gum I left on the tiny doorstep. I kneel against the big stump of the old oak and peer into the fairy house. I want to cry when I notice all of the ants that have crowded around the cardboard. Grandma told me not to leave sugar out here… I should have listened to her! Why didn’t I listen to her? I pick up my foot, ready to stomp on the whole thing, wanting to wreck it. But I don’t. A butterfly flits by when my foot is in mid air, and lands on my jelly sandal. It’s yellow with thin and delicate wings. I smile as it tries to get nectar from the glitter on my toes.
I try to hold back a giggle threatening to escape, not wanting to scare it away, but I can’t. My laughter bursts out of my chest and the butterfly flies away, back toward the house, and I follow it with my eyes, wondering where it will land next. The smile dies on my face when I see a car pulling up the long gravel driveway, and my stomach turns when I see my mother in the front seat. She’s driving an old burgundy car with a wobbly wheel. I almost lose the biscuits Grandma baked for breakfast this morning, but instead I take a few steps back, crouching behind the old red oak fence that Grandpa built before he died. There’s a big hole in the wood near my nose, and I peek through it, wanting to see what’s going to happen.
It’s my mother. I know it is.
I want to run inside and tell Grandma. I know we weren’t expecting a visit from my mom anytime soon, and whenever she comes things always go wrong. I frown when I realize my mom isn’t alone. There’s a man sitting in the front seat and he’s got his hood pulled over his head. I can’t make out his features, but I know the instant he steps out of the car that he’s dangerous. And I’m scared. A shiver runs down my legs and the light golden hair there stands on end.
I’m all alone, and I’m sure my grandma is in danger. My mom and the man walk into the house, and I hear the same slamming sound from the screen door. There’s arguing, loud arguing…. shouting now. I crouch down even lower, peeking over my shoulder when I get the strange feeling that someone is coming up behind me. There’s no one though, only grass. A field butts up against the fence behind my grandma’s house, one I’m not aloud to go in. Grandma says it’s not safe.
I hear more shouting from the house, and it sounds like my mom is looking for me. I freeze. I know my grandma would never let my mom take me, but I’m still afraid that she will find me. I haven’t moved, and my ankles are stinging from where red ants are biting their way up my legs. Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let them fall down my cheeks. If I start crying now, I’ll make too much noise. And I have to be quiet.
Just then, the back door comes swinging open and my grandma falls to the cement patch where our patio furniture sits. Her hip bangs into the chair there and she cries out in pain. The strange man and my mother follow her, and both of them are screaming in her face. When I see the blood streaking down into her eyes, I let out a tiny whimper and then I clamp my hands over my mouth, not wanting to let any more sound escape. She’s in danger. I have to do something!
I shift my feet, looking for something… some kind of weapon, but I quickly turn back to the hole when my grandma wails. The man is holding a knife and it’s coated in sticky red liquid.
My grandma tilts her head in my direction, locking eyes with me through the hole in the fence. She lies there, pleading without words, silently begging me to look away. It’s like I can hear her thoughts, and maybe I can. Maybe it’s her magic… I look down at my hands and notice the glowing. Instantly I’m even more afraid. Grandma always taught me to be careful of my magic, try to resist the pull of the flame. She said when kids grow up, our magic can turn against us, and hurt us… kill us. I don’t want to die.
My mom calls for me and her voice sounds nothing like it did just a moment ago. Now it’s filled with sweetness, and I remember for a moment what it used to be like when her voice was always that way. Another sob
breaks free when I look to my grandma again and notice that all of the light… every bit of her fire… it’s gone. Burnt out.
My sobs must have been too loud because they’re both walking toward the hole in the fence. I freeze, terrified, and I’m embarrassed when I look down and see the dark, growing wet spot on my jeans.
“There you are, Karina!” my mom says as she grabs my arm so hard that it makes me squeal. I don’t want to go anywhere with her!
“Leave me alone!” I yell, kicking and flailing every body part that I can, trying to break free from her grasp. Her red nails pierce my skin and blood trickles over the color. From this moment on I swear to hate the color red… forever.
She twists her face towards mine and kneels down in the grass, and my fear paralyzes me. She doesn’t look like the mother I’ve always known; she doesn’t even look human. I glance at my grandma, wishing she could just get up and help me, take me away from this bad woman.
“Listen here, little girl, Javier and I are going to take something from you. And you aren’t going to fight us. Just sit still and this will all be over,” she says, lying me down on the grass. The man steps closer, wiping the blood from his knife, and I lie still. I don’t want him to hurt me with that blade, and I fear that if I move, he will.
In the next second, he leans down closer to me and I feel his hot breath hit my cheek. I squint my eyes shut, not wanting to look at his face. I don’t want to see him. In my mind he looks like a monster.
I feel something sharp hit me in the stomach and I exhale on a groan. That hurts! Stop it please! It hurts! I want to yell, but the man’s hand is covering my mouth.
Suddenly, I feel a surge of heat spreading over my body. My skin feels like it’s burning, and I am covered in sweat.
“Javier, she’s tapping into her power… hurry up!” my mom says. Is that what’s happening? No… it can’t. My magic is dangerous.
“Shut it, Audrey, I’m going as fast as I can. Harvesting the flame is harder than it looks. It’s never in the same place on everyone,” the man snaps at my mom. Then, I do something I know I will regret. I peek open my eyes and look at the man’s face and see nothing but shining steel eyes peering down at me.
Just as I’m about to scream, a beam of light stretches across the yard, knocking down the man and my mother. It takes me a minute to realize the light came from me, and that the source of it was my chest. Was that my magic? I peek down at my body, lifting my head only a little bit. There is blood on my stomach, but nowhere else, and my body isn’t black like the shadow-walkers. I notice that demon man’s fingers flinch and I jump up, feeling a little light headed when my feet get upright. I hunch over, clutching my stomach and then I look forward… into the field.
And I run.
I run so hard that my jelly sandals slip off my feet. I’m too afraid to go back and get them, so I keep running. Thorns prick the bottom of my feet and imbed themselves in between my toes. My face is streaked with mud and tears, and still I run. When I peek behind me, there’s no one following me, but still I run. I’m tired, and I slip, falling into dirt, my tears and snot turning the dry earth into mud. I huddle into a ball, shivering though the hot sun is beating down on me, burning my skin. I’m so afraid. I want my grandma.
Just then I hear a noise. Crunching, like footsteps in front of me. I have no energy left to run, so I stay still, barely breathing, hoping that it’s not my mother and that horrible man. The footsteps are getting closer now, but I stay still, staring at the sparkly nail polish on my toes, half caked in dirt and blood. My grandma died with glitter polish on her toes too… I think.
“Holy shit! Soren, go get some blankets out of the car!” I peek my head up through the blades of tall grass when I hear the unfamiliar voice. A tall, red-headed man crouches down beside me, asking me all sorts of questions, but I don’t answer. I focus my eyes on the kid behind him, probably running back towards the way they came.
“Can you hear me? What happened to you, little girl?” the man says softly, and I sob at the kindness in his voice.
“My mom…” I say, finally finding my voice. “My mommy did this to me,” I whisper.
“You’re okay… you’re gonna be okay now,” the man says as he lifts me into his arms and carries me through the field. And even though I’m terrified and so numb that my fingers and toes don’t feel like they’re attached to me anymore, I feel like this man is telling the truth. So, I let him take me. I don’t fight it. Because if my own mom could do what she did, what could this stranger do that would be any worse?
