Celestial
Anya Allyn
Marijon Braden
Jamie Campbell
Zoe Cannon
Sarah Dalton
Susan Fodor
Katie Hayoz
Sutton Shields
Ariele Sieling
H.S. Stone
“Shadow” © 2014 by Sarah Dalton
“The Sleeping Goddess” © 2014 by Zoe Cannon
“Before the Pageant” © 2014 by Susan Fodor
“Comet Cotillion” © 2014 by Sutton Shields
“The Shadow Keepers” © 2014 by Anya Allyn
“Tragic Magic” © 2014 by Jamie Campbell
“The Greenhouse Gas” © 2014 by Ariele Sieling
“Project #45” © 2014 by Marijon Braden
“Moon Warrior” © 2014 by H.S. Stone
“Love Me or Love Me Not” © 2014 by Katie Hayoz
Cover Design by Sarah Dalton
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Shadow by Sarah Dalton
The Sleeping Goddess by Zoe Cannon
Before the Pageant by Susan Fodor
Comet Cotillion by Sutton Shields
The Shadow Keepers by Anya Allyn
Tragic Magic by Jamie Campbell
The Greenhouse Gas by Ariele Sieling
Project Number 45 by Marijon Braden
Moon Warrior by H.S. Stone
Love Me or Love Me Not by Katie Hayoz
Shadow
A Mary Hades story
Sarah Dalton
I was born five months after Lila. The second grandchild. In my psychology class, theorists teach us that the order in which children are born affects our psychological health. As the second grandchild I should always be seeking approval, made self-conscious by the fact that my older cousin gets all the attention. It’s true that Lila was more outgoing as a child. She was chattier and funnier. At Christmas she would sing songs in front of the television and make my Grandma giggle. But as the first, second, and last grandchildren amongst the Quirkes, and the only children in our respective families, we were able to seal an almost sisterly bond that could never be broken by petty rivalries or pseudo-psychology.
It was a prickly beginning to a beautiful friendship. One blue truck in a pile of red and we both wanted it. Lila won, and that set the precedent for us both. After the loss of the blue truck, followed by an afternoon tantrum, Lila brought me her last gummy bear, and all was forgiven.
The blue truck is my earliest memory. A few years ago I asked Lila if it was her earliest memory, too, but she said hers was us playing on Scarborough beach with a bucket and spade. This was after the truck incident. I remember it because our mothers had a row and I cried when Lila had to go home early. Lila told me not to be sad and hugged me, our chubby, childish arms grasping each other.
Mum is always arguing with Aunt Izzy. That’s why I visit her alone now. They would make up for a few months each year, and Lila and I would spend blissful weekends on the beach, exploring coves and squealing at the sight of a jellyfish washed up by the sea.
I loved those weekends, but for some reason, when I think back to them, there is the itch of a memory, like a half-formed scab. I feel as though if I scratch the scab and let the memory pour out like blood, there will be something unpleasant lurking beneath. I shake the thought away.
It hardly ever rains when I am with Lila, as though the force of her personality can hold the weather at bay.
It’s sunny now as I pack my belongings into the car. I don’t need many; I’ll only be staying the one night. Aunt Izzy will have most of the things I need.
I suppose I’ll be staying in the guest room again, the one that’s so much colder than the rest of the house. The one with the old fireplace that whistles when the wind runs through it. I never have liked that room.
Mum’s face has hardly moved from the kitchen window. Her long black hair, as unruly as my own, is even more tousled than usual, and the circles under her eyes give her a slightly unhinged look. Seeing me leave for Izzy’s, even for a night, is painful for her. She wrings the tea towel in her hands and looks away every time I glance in her direction. Each time a weight pulls down on my heart, but I lack the means to comfort her. We’ve never been good at comforting each other.
In frustration at our mutual stubbornness, and the same between Mum and Izzy, I slam the boot of the car harder than I intended. That has Mum rushing out from the kitchen.
“Do you have the maps Dad bought from the service station?” she asks. She is barefoot, and the bottoms of her jeans are torn. It’s odd to see Mum like this. She’s usually so pristine.
“And the sandwiches, and my mobile is charged, and I have that baseball bat hidden under the seat, although I still think it’s ridiculous to take it,” I reply.
“People these days,” she says between tight, straight lips. “They’ll kill for a packet of crisps.” She pauses to look at me and her eyes become glassy. “I keep forgetting how tall you are. Look, you’re as tall as me now.”
I fold my arms and try to give her a reassuring smile. “I’m going to be fine, Mum. It’s only a couple of hours and I’ve been on the motorway with Dad tons of times.”
“You have packed your pills, haven’t you?” she asks.
It takes willpower to stop myself rolling my eyes. “Of course.”
“What are you going there to do, anyway?”
“We’re going to watch the comet,” I reply. “There should be clear skies over Scarborough tonight. It’ll be lovely.”
“You could watch it here,” Mum says. Her eyes are so wide and pleading that those weights pull down on my heart again.
“No, Mum, you know why I’m going.”
She drops her gaze and I think I hear her sniff, but I’m not sure. “Well, all right. You should get going to miss the traffic.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Say hi to Dad when he gets back. Tell him I said bye.”
“I will,” she says.
I turn around to open the car door, and Mum catches my arm. “Mary, you are still taking your pills, aren’t you?”
I swallow, preparing myself to answer. “Yes, of course I am.”
Her eyes narrow just a fraction as she tries to suss me out. All her seventeen years of knowledge about me seem to be at work in that one glance. For a second I feel like we both know I’m lying, and we both know the other one knows it. But then I catch her off guard with a hug.
She squeezes me tight, and this time I do hear her sniff loudly. “Take care, sweetheart. Drive safe. Don’t go over the speed limit.”
“I won’t,” I say.
She lets me go and she backs away as I open the car door. The engine starts smoothly. It’s a good little car, reliable and unfussy. What my dad calls a “good starter”.
We wave to each other one more time as I put the vehicle in first gear. The pressure builds to not stall the car, and as I find the biting point with the clutch, there’s a moment where I think I might. But I overcome it, and release the handbrake.
Mum stands and waves as I pull out of the driveway and onto the road, most likely watching the green L plates disappear into the distance. When I’m out of sight of the house, I let out a long sigh of relief. In some ways, saying goodbye to Mum is the hardest part of the journey. In other ways, what comes next will be much, much harder.
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