Supernatural Fairy Tales

by Vann, Dorlana

  “What? No…” I wondered how it had happened. How had I become the bad guy? “I know it’s hard to believe. I didn’t believe you when you told me, either. But I gave you a chance.” My body had begun to shake. “Just think about it for a minute. I know the memory of meeting him fades for a reason or everyone would be at his door. But there has to be something there. Think Jana, think!”

  “You need help, Trevor. Are you willing to get help?”

  “What I need is for you to believe me. How many times have you said it yourself ‘Your luck sucks’? How many times has everyone said it? I traded it for you, for Ethan, and that’s why the car keeps breaking down, the lights turns red at intersections, the reason I have lost so many jobs.”

  “What? You’ve lost jobs? More than one? You don’t work for Laurence anymore?”

  “It’s been six months.”

  She stood with her mouth open as tears streamed down her face. I took a step to comfort her, but she held up her hand and said, “Tell me his name and where I can find him.”

  I closed my eyes trying to think again, trying to recall.

  “What is it Trevor? Give me something. Is it John? Peter? Frank? Larry?”

  But his name had left my memory months before. “I can’t. I don’t know,” I said without opening my eyes. The soft breeze told me she had left the room.

  I sat on the couch, waiting for her to go to sleep, thinking we could talk it through in the morning. Maybe as she slept some of the memories would return. But a few minutes later, she walked past. When I looked up, expecting another confrontation, she stood at the open front door, her back to me, Ethan asleep in her arms. And then she said, “Good luck.”

  The End

  Quiet on the Nightingale

  Before climbing aboard the Nightingale, a 60-foot yacht, Jake listened for a second to make sure its owner, Richard King, slept. From the cockpit, Jake climbed the stairs to the upper aft deck, and with little effort, he opened the glass door to the enclosed bridge. He had been tailing the millionaire for months and knew this was the necklace’s location.

  Jake had never talked to Mr. King but had heard his thoughts about purchasing the diamond and blood-red ruby necklace for his wife. Jake had followed him to restaurants, golf courses and parties, patiently waiting until King’s mind revealed all the details, down to the code on the safe.

  He pulled the ski-mask off his face before punching in the numbers. Opening the safe without incident, he reached in and brought out his prize. He didn’t stop to examine it—plenty of time for that later—but stuck it in his pocket, ready for his quick exit. He stopped again to listen and to make sure all was clear.

  “Now that wasn’t very nice,” a female voice said.

  Startled to a slight stumble, he twisted around to see who had caught him. The silhouette of a woman sitting at the small table, her arms and long legs crossed, came into focus. Why didn’t I hear her? He wondered.

  Her voice moved gently, “That’s my necklace.”

  Shit. Mrs. King. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he said, buying some time as he weighed his options; running seemed a very good choice at the moment. She might scream, but he already had the loot in his pocket. By the time Mr. King got his wits about him, he would be long gone.

  Her thoughts finally sounded in his head: I wish he were here to pinch more than that ruby.

  Well, there it was. It wouldn’t be the first time he had used his pretty-boy looks to get out of a situation. But when she stood up—the moonlight shining full-force on her smart face—he doubted she was the type of woman who could easily be swayed by his devilish charms. She reminded him of an elegant movie star from the 1940s like Ingrid Bergman or Lauren Bacall.

  She languidly walked over to him, her heels softly echoing on the wood floor. “May I have my necklace back?” She extended her hand gracefully.

  Taking a step back, he wondered why he suddenly felt so intimidated. He had known plenty of rich, beautiful women. He needed to take control of the moment and his nerves. In the darkness, the burglar and the wealthy woman stared at each other for a mere second before Jake grabbed her bare shoulders and kissed her hard on the lips. Unexpected fire exploded between them, and he pulled her closer until he embraced her fully. He could feel her hands on his waist, moving slowly down the front of his pants until—

  Jake gently pushed her away and had to smile, but he didn’t let go of her arm. He brought her hand up, revealing the necklace.

  She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  He licked his lips tasting the memory of her kiss, her thoughts letting him know she wished she could see all of him. “The Country Club tomorrow night,” he said as he snatched the necklace, gave her a slight nod and left, before he couldn’t pull himself away.

  Two Weeks Later

  Like some bad movie cliché, he found the note she had left on her pillow:

  Dear Jake,

  I’m afraid my husband has decided to leave this morning. I couldn’t bear to tell you. Please forgive me. In another lifetime perhaps.

  Love,

  Jezze

  Jake crumbled up the letter wondering how in the hell he’d missed it. Maybe she just pushed it out of her mind because it was too painful.

  Love Jezze, she had written.

  “Shit,” he said. “I do.” He suddenly found himself playing what if: What if I would have told her I loved her? Would she have stayed? Would she leave her rich husband for a crook? Would she come back with me now if I caught the yacht before it hit open water?

  Regret swept over him as he put on his pants, because he had known for a week that she had feelings for him, yet he had said nothing. Let on nothing. Just another stolen treasure. At least that was what he had told himself before that morning. Now the only thing he thought was that he had to get her back.

  His Jag hit the highway at sixty-five miles an hour, the windows down, and the air thick with morning. Their hotel/love nest was only a few miles away from the bay, but he couldn’t be sure what time she had actually left his bed. He had fallen asleep some time after midnight. He looked down to see the time, realizing his watch wasn’t in its usual place on his wrist. Must have left it on the nightstand.

  As Jake jumped out of the car, he knew he had no idea what he would do if King tried to stop him. He listened as he ran, listened to see if he heard Jezze saying, I’ll miss him so much!

  Jake ran up the steps that lead to the ramp and then to the spot where the yacht had been docked. When he realized he was too late, that it was gone, he cursed himself and stomped the pier. Searching his mind for conversations and memories of her thoughts, he plopped down on the steps. Did she say where she lived?

  Soon, he decided to leave, promising himself that he would not rest until he found her. He would rummage minds for the slight mention of Mrs. Jezze King. As he stood, someone else’s thoughts blurted inside his head. At first he tried to ignore them, not wanting to listen to another person’s problems. But then, he heard something he just couldn’t ignore…

  ***

  Jezze sat at her vanity brushing her hair as she looked at the newly acquired necklace. She sighed. It entranced her as it sparkled in the glistening sun that streamed in through the porthole. Knowing how difficult it would be to part with, it certainly hadn’t been easy to obtain, she had considered keeping it. So exquisite.

  She wiped new tears from her swollen eyes. No, the necklace would only remind her of him. Her buyer had already offered a beautiful price, so she would go on as planned. Maybe she would set sail after the transaction and take a much-needed trip.

  She had lived on her yacht for over a year, loving the open water, the smell of the sea and the freedom to travel whenever she became restless. If Richard King had not docked his yacht in the same water as hers, her life would be so less complicated. If she had gone on home that night when she heard Jake coming after her necklace, things would have been so less complicated. If she would
have just let him take the necklace without trying to seduce it out of him...

  She doubted Jake even knew others like him existed, others who had superior control over their gift. She had learned to listen for other mind-readers years before and trained herself to stop her own thoughts at the first sign.

  She had been getting ready to go home that night, when she had heard him. Mistaking her for Mrs. King had just been a crazy break; there was a real Mrs. King, somewhere, but it wasn’t her. It had been kind of fun pretending to be the adulteress, instead of the other woman.

  Jezze unlatched the necklace from around her neck and put it back in its black box. Stop crying Jezze. This is just how it has to be. She never expected to fall in love with Jake for real. Over the past two weeks she had searched for signs of mutual admiration but found nothing.

  “I think you have something that belongs to me.”

  She held her breath and swung her attention to the familiar voice. Richard King stood at her door. Lost in her own thoughts Jezze must have missed his. “Sweetheart,” she sang. “I thought you left.” She stood up cautiously. She could certainly read his thoughts now...

  Mr. King was a fairly tall man, but the way he stood there, his chest heaving in and out and his teeth clenched, he appeared monstrous as he growled, “Did I not treat you well? Did I not give you enough money for your services? You were good, but not fifty-thousand dollars good.”

  She put her hair behind her ears, feeling the tremor of her hands. “Why are you so upset, handsome? What happened?”

  “Don’t play games with me. Give back my necklace, and I’ll be on my way. I don’t want the publicity for being with a woman like you any more than you want jail time.”

  “I didn’t steal your necklace. Just leave before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing.”

  “You bitch!” He raced toward her.

  Before Jezze knew what had happened, she was staring up at the ceiling, King’s handprint-sting across her face. He stood over her and drew back his fist.

  She tightened her body for the blow, when King suddenly flew across the room and landed on her vanity with a crash. She sat up, tears blurring her view. Jake stood over Richard, daring him to move. They all noticed the necklace at the same time, out of the box and on the floor.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jake told King. “By the looks of you, I don’t think fifty grand is payment enough.”

  King sat up, still eyeing his necklace.

  Jake continued, “Just collect your insurance, lick your wounded ego, and you’ll be fine. Now get the hell out of here.”

  Jezze chose to ignore King’s thoughts of justice and revenge as he walked out the door. She also decided not to focus on what Jake must have thought of her. “Thank you,” she said to him, unable to look him in the eyes. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “After I found the Dear John, I came looking for you. I heard King coming after you, and then I heard you thinking. I heard everything... I know everything.”

  “Just take it; I don’t want it.”

  “I’d rather have you,” he said. “The only thing I heard that matters to me is that you love me.”

  She found his sincere stare and listened to the thoughts he fed her. That’s why I was looking for you. To tell you, I love you.

  She smiled and jumped into his arms, giving him tiny kisses all over his face until their lips met. After a silent conversation, they separated and began removing their clothes.

  “Hey,” Jake said, looking on the floor at the mess from the vanity. “Is that my watch?”

  The End

  His Soul Inspiration

  “Have you read this?” My husband, Philip, held the book of fairy tales I had bought from a used bookstore for my niece’s ninth birthday.

  “Well, not that one, but I’ve read fairy tales before,” I said as I shut the door and stepped out of my heels.

  He shook the hardback of nearly 500 pages. “Not like these.”

  “Yeah, sure I have. ‘The Ugly duckling,’ ‘The Emperor’s New Suit,’ ‘The Little Mermaid’…”

  “Right-right-right. These are them, but not like the ones I’m sure you’re thinking of. They’re not all fairy princesses and happy endings. They’re darker, full of hardship and pain and broken hearts.”

  “All right,” I said. His excitement confused me because it didn’t match what I thought he was saying. “Do you think I should take it back and get Emily something else?”

  “No. I mean, yes, you should get Emily something else. But no, don’t take this back.”

  I scratched my head. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m more than okay—I’m terrific!” He set the book down on the couch, wrapped his arms around me, and twirled us around. As he put me down, an amused smirk transformed into a wide smile and huge eyes. “The Little Mermaid!” he exclaimed.

  Philip had been having a rough year, trying to find his inspiration to paint. This sudden strangeness made me queasy, and I was a little surprised that he had cracked before I had. Not that I didn’t respect his work, goals, and dreams, it’s just that I had some of my own. And working two jobs to support a starving artist had never been my plan.

  He had picked up the book again and was flipping through it when I decided to go run a bubble bath.

  “Syrena, here it is. I want to read this to you right fast.”

  “I’m really tired. I just want to go soak in the tub.”

  “Please…. This is it. This is what I need to get me out of this slump. Please, just listen and see.”

  I sighed as softly as I could manage and took my place beside him on the couch. He began to read: “The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson… Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep…”

  ***

  “Well, it’s definitely different than the Disney version,” I said after he had finished reading the tale. “I didn’t realize it was so sad.”

  “Anything else?” He asked slowly.

  I shook my head and shrugged.

  “Her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose-leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea,” he quoted. “And she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair.”

  “I’m sorry, Philip. I’m tired. I’m not getting what you’re getting at. Just tell me.”

  “It’s you! You have to be my model.” His eyes sparkled, and he looked so happy, happier than I had seen him in a long time. I even felt a tinge of exhilaration myself. It had been awhile since he had asked me to model for him.

  “Okay.” I smiled. “Mermaids are topless, right?”

  He danced his eyebrows up and down. “You betcha.”

  “It sounds like fun. Saturday morning, I’m all yours.”

  “No, no, no. Now.” He stood up and held his hand out to me.

  “Now?” I whined.

  “I can’t take the chance of losing this, this feeling.”

  After a few seconds of staring into his imploring but loving eyes, I agreed by taking his hand and letting him lead me to the studio/guest room/home office. A few of his paintings hung on the walls: abstracts from his college years, pencil drawings sketched when we were on vacation at the beach, and one of me when we first met. The evening really made me think of that time, when he was so vigorous and full of dreams. When his passion oozed from his fingertips, and he saw the world differently than anybody I had ever met before; he noticed colors before shapes and talked in hues and aura, like others talked current events.

  It didn’t take him long to put me in position: on the floor leaning on my elbow, legs out beside me, and my hair down and draped over the front of me like a mermaid’s. I knew he was in his zone, no longer seeing me, but seeing through me and to my spirit.

  “Beautiful.” He took his place behind the easel and white canvas.

  Unable to see his face, only his arm as it gently followed the hand holding the paint brush, I knew not to
talk, not to disturb him as he created the new, improved me. However, after what felt like hours, my mouth began to dry. I needed water. Surely he would understand that I needed a little break—I opened my mouth to tell him, but my tongue was completely limp, and I couldn’t even swallow. The silly words from the story came to mind: “Then she cut off the mermaid’s tongue, so that she became dumb, and would never again speak or sing.”

  Trying to laugh at the thought, I felt a strange pinch in the middle of my stomach. An involuntary grunt finally came from my throat, and when I realized I could make this sound, I tried to get Philip’s attention, but he didn’t hear me—too focused in his work.

  I squeezed my eyes open and shut, trying to clear the buzzing that had begun in my head. And then I saw it…. waves of color beamed from me to Philip’s swooping arm. At first I thought it was the result of the light bulbs and my blinking, but it didn’t go away. It was dark outside, so there was no sun playing with the window’s glass. These streams of gold and red and blue were coming from me.

  Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain run up my arm, and it couldn’t hold me up any longer. I collapsed. “…and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body: she fell into a swoon, and lay like one dead…” I thought Philip would soon look at me and tell me to sit up—but minutes passed, and he never glanced away from the canvas. The pain moved down to my legs and so did the beams of colorful light. “…she felt as if treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives.”

  As I grew weaker, my confusion faded. It became clear that if I didn’t get Philip’s attention, I would die, which promptly turned into: if I don’t stop Philip, I will die. “Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise.”

  I pushed my torso up with wobbly arms, every muscle burning. I couldn’t feel my legs at all. “She has given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet… return to us to live.” I remembered the scissors on my desk behind me. I loudly grunted as I reached and grabbed them, dropping immediately back down. I lay there, time passing until I was able to pull myself by plunging the scissors into the carpet and using them as a means to move across the floor.