Two and Twenty Dark Tales (25 page)

“What’s the matter with you?” I said. “Are you nuts? You would attack your own mother?”

Mom must have thought so. She jumped to a higher branch.

“Once I’m rid of both of you, everything will be perfect. No one will bother Dad and me, and I won’t have to spend my time being a loser, looking for bugs and birds to eat. Look at what you’ve turned me into! Now Evan Sugarback thinks I’m a freak like the two of you!”

Mom used to think Kristen wouldn’t go through the change. And she didn’t, until she turned seventeen. She had only lived like this for a few months. I’ve been this way since I was five, so I’ve had some time to get used to it. Still, I don’t recall going ape-shit nuts over it.

“Kristen, you’ve gotta calm down,” I said, finally free of Mom’s protective web. I grabbed her hand, still around my neck. “You haven’t thought this through. Killing me or Mom won’t make you any different than you are. And it certainly won’t protect Dad. How will it look when his daughter goes missing a few years after his wife did? He’s never really gotten over the suspicion, you know.”

“I can’t live like this. I won’t.” Kristen grabbed feverishly at the branch where Mom sat, eyes wide.

“Kristen, please.”

Then Kristen did something totally unexpected. She opened her mouth, grabbed Mom off the branch, and shoved the spider into her mouth. The entire track team probably heard my screams. Kristen fell to the ground and began frothing at the mouth, her body convulsing. Then it stopped. I fell on top of her and slapped her face.

“Kristen, Mom, please. Kristen, wake up. Kristen.”

I opened my sister’s mouth and moved her tongue aside. My poor, dead mother lay limp at the back of Kristen’s throat.

Sobs overtook me. After a while, a tap on the shoulder brought me out of my stupor.

I looked around, but saw no one. I pulled Mom out of Kristen’s mouth, then closed it. Poor Mom had lost three legs to Kristen’s venom. I slumped in defeat, just as another tap touched my right shoulder.

I turned to find Taylor, his eyes still accusing, only now they had proof.

“I… I didn’t do it. I swear!”

Stumbling away from the spider and my sister, I noticed something strange about him. Something I’d never noticed before. He looked kind of like a… bug.

“Run. If you run now, no one will know you were even here. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything. Just go.”

Just then Taylor’s right arm extended so that it touched the ground. Then his left did the same. I screamed as I watched six more shoot out from his back. Hairy, hairy arms that now touched the floor as legs. His eyes bulged out from his head, which became dome-shaped. His nose was almost invisible by the time his body dropped to the ground, looking less like a boy and very much like a spider of the same size as his former, human self.

I struggled to my feet and did as Taylor advised. As I started running, I heard the wet, crunchy sounds of a large spider devouring its prey, and I knew he had done it for me.

– The End –

Sea of Dew

C. Lee McKenzie

Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe;

Sailed off on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew.

“Where are you going and what do you wish?” the old moon asked the three.

“We’ve come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful sea.

Nets of silver and gold have we,” said Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song as they rocked in the wooden shoe.

And the wind that sped them all night long ruffled the waves of dew.

Now the little stars are the herring fish that live in that beautiful sea;

“Cast your nets wherever you wish never afraid are we!”

So cried the stars to the fishermen three—Winkin’, and Blinkin’, and Nod.

So all night long their nets they threw to the stars in the twinkling foam.

‘Til down from the skies came the wooden shoe bringing the fisherman home.

‘Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed as if it could not be.

Some folks say ‘twas a dream they dreamed of sailing that misty sea.

But I shall name you the fisherman three—Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.

Now Winkin’ and Blinkin’ are two little eyes and Nod is a little head.

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee one’s trundle bed.

So close your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sights that be.

And you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea,

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three—Winkin’, Blinkin’, and Nod.

– Mother Goose

I
N
the week before the moon found them beneath the bloated bellies of storm clouds, they drifted in the lifeboat without sight of land. The boys, the stowaways, the survivors.

And Miranda.

She hunkered under the tarp and a soggy blanket, peering out at them with worry and a sizable dose of fear. She was adrift in a foreign sea among strangers. Yet one of those three had hauled her from the water and saved her life.

Which one? Maybe Winker. He was skinny and had some kind of tic in his cheek that made his left eye twitch, especially when he looked in her direction. Or was it the guy whose name started with B? What was it? Blandy? Blakie? He had a vacant look and his lips were always moving, like he was telling himself secrets.

Or could it have been Nodfarker? That guy had one creepy name. He was always telling them when to eat, if they could have water, or how much. Miranda had fantasized about tying his leg to an anchor while he slept, then pushing him over the side of the dinky lifeboat.

Only there was no anchor. Besides, he was the one who netted the fish that they ate raw to stay alive now that the supplies were almost gone, so offing him wasn’t her best idea.

The worst one, however, was easy to pinpoint. She kept asking herself why she had let that tour guide talk her and her friends into joining the cheap cruise from the mainland to the tropical island of Milaou. His tiny-toothed grin flashed through her mind. She wondered if he was still smiling in that death trap of a ferry.

Miranda sat up as Nodfarker leaned over the side of the boat and dragged the net through the water. Soon he had two lively, silver herring. He dropped them on top of the supply box and slit them open before their tails stopped flipping.

She turned her head. Whoever mentions sashimi to me when this is over, dies.

“Here. Your share.” Nodfarker held out a chunk of grayish fish.

The smell churned her stomach, but she took the piece between her thumb and forefinger. She held her breath, and swallowed it whole.

He nibbled at the edges of his portion, taking his time as if he had a juicy Big Mac.

Her stomach growled, demanding more food, at the same time bile rose into her throat. Lurching over the side, she cast the chunk of herring back into the sea.

When she turned around, no one seemed to have noticed she’d hurled precious food. Winker averted his gaze. The guy whose name began with a B had his eyes rolled to Heaven, mumbling. Nodfarker was chewing with his eyes closed.

“Where did the name Nodfarker come from?” she asked.

“Say what?” He opened his eyes and fixed them on her.

“Nodfarker. Your name.”

Winker doubled over in laughter, and the other one stopped mumbling long enough to manage a pale smile.

“It’s Ned Parker,” he said, slicing the second herring into fours. “Your ears must’ve been plugged with saltwater when I pulled you into the boat and said ‘hi.’”

Miranda flinched, remembering her plunge into the sea. She’d felt queasy and left her friends below to go on deck. As she’d stood looking over the railing, the ferry had suddenly rolled, pitching her headfirst into the water. She’d kicked frantically, but it was as though thousands of fingers clutched at her, dragging her deeper. That’s when a single hand descended from above, grasped hers, and pulled her out of the water. Ned had saved her life.

He passed her another sliver of fish.

She took it, but this time she didn’t put it in her mouth. She studied him, doling out the herring to the others, making the portions equal.

He wasn’t really that creepy. He was about her age, maybe a couple of years older. Nineteen? His dark hair had a boyish way of curling across his forehead and his chestnut-colored eyes were steady when he looked at her. Maybe it had been that wretched name that had made him seem so disagreeable.

“So how’d you get on that ferry?” Miranda asked.

“We wanted to see Milaou before heading home.” Ned shrugged. “We were down to our last few bucks, so we stowed away in this lifeboat.”

“Bad decision.” Miranda bit off a small bite of fish. She’d try nibbling and hope she could keep it down this time.

“No,” Ned said, tossing fish entrails overboard. “We got away. I don’t think anybody else escaped being sucked under when the ferry capsized.”

He held out the bottle of water and the cap. “Three capfuls each, okay? That gives us four more days, and then we do a rain dance.”

For almost a week they’d huddled under the tarp, wishing the rain would stop, bailing fresh water into the salty sea to stay afloat, and drinking from the sky. They’d filled their one container, and now they already needed to ration every drop.

She sipped her last capful, handed it to Winker, and closed her eyes. It was too hard to stare over the endless water knowing only four days’ supply was between them and thirsty death.

“We’ll head south.” Ned held up the compass. “Try to find a shipping lane.”

“Why south?” Miranda asked, opening her eyes and focusing on his face.

“Warmer weather. More chance for a cruise ship.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing.” He reached for the oars and dug them into the choppy sea. “Time to work out.”

Miranda slowly gnawed at the herring and distracted herself by admiring the way his biceps rippled under his skin. After about twenty minutes, he stood, unzipped his fly, and sent an arc of pee over the side before he zipped up and leaned back against the side of the boat, resting.

Until now, she’d managed bathroom privacy at night when the others were asleep. But now she couldn’t wait that long.

When the other two turned their backs and followed Ned’s example, she clenched her jaw, then asked. “How do I pee on this pleasure cruise?”

Ned grinned. “Guess it’s over the side for you.” He faced away. “Yell when you want us to pull you in.”

They kept their backs to her as she stripped from the waist down and slipped into the water. She clung to the side, peeing and feeling lonely on the outside of the boat while they sat inside waiting, smug in their maleness.

“I’m finished,” she yelled, and Ned and Winker hauled her in. They went to their places, still keeping their eyes averted as she dried and dressed.

Once she’d sat in her usual spot, Ned nudged Blakie. “Hey, entertain us.” He looked at Miranda. “Give him any math problem and he’ll solve it in his head. He does it all day.”

“And Blakie?” She cocked her head so he’d know how dumb the name was to her.

“That’s how his mom called him for dinner when we were kids.”

“What about Winker? That’s unusual, as names go.” She hadn’t meant to say that.

They stared at her, and she had no way to cover her embarrassment at being so rude. She shifted her gaze, but Winker broke the tension and pointed to his jumpy cheek. “Obvious, right?”

Ned smiled and Miranda felt grateful for being forgiven so easily. “Winker’s my word guy,” he said. “So I got things covered. One solves my math problems; the other one gets me through English.”

It became the routine, then, that each morning Ned portioned out the fish and the remaining rations from the wretched box of stale supplies. Blakie amazed them by doing high-level math problems. They’d spend hours trying to prove him wrong, but he never was. He gave answers to problems like ten to the square root of 675.444 the way Miranda solved “two plus two.”

“Blakie does it again,” Ned said, returning their pencil to the supply box for safekeeping. “Damned kid was always a genius.”

A genius maybe, Miranda thought, but as remarkable as the inside of his head had to be, he was one hundred percent unremarkable on the outside. His brown hair hung limp to his shoulders and matched his eyes in color and texture. Miranda pictured him as he would look in clothes other than the Santa Cruz Slugs tee he’d chosen to wear the day of the ferry disaster. She imagined him with a wrinkled shirt, not quite white, with a flip phone in one pocket and pens in the other. One pen would, of course, have leaked blue, but he wouldn’t have noticed.

He had a gentleness to him. Some girl might want to save him from that not-quite-white and wrinkled shirt. She might find his exterior appealing because she loved his genius and wanted to free him from common concerns like fashion. She hoped Blakie would find a companion, but he had to get rid of that nickname.

On the fourth day, when Ned passed the bottle to her, she said she’d wait. They all voted to wait. Without saying so, they’d agreed to give the heavens more time to send fresh water. But that night, thirst overcame them, and they drank their portions under the clear sky and full moon. There was no rain the next day either, and the moon flooded the ocean with brightness, taunting them day and night with water they couldn’t drink.

“Eskimos wish on the moon to bring them back to life.” Winker, who never said much, sat and stared up, his cheek still for a change.

Miranda drew in her knees. “Eskimos make wishes like that?”

“Prayers maybe,” Winker said. “I can’t remember. I read about it when I did a report on Alaska in eighth grade.”

“What happens when it’s dark of the moon? How do they… wish for it to bring them back then?”

Winker’s tic kicked into high gear. “Uh… don’t… know. But when it’s not up there,” he pointed skyward, “it’s… supposed to be… gathering souls… taking them to earth again.”

She pulled the blanket over her head, shutting out the moon and trying not to listen to the ruffling waves against the boat. When she felt a tug on her blanket, she stuck her head out and stared at Winker.