Search the Community

Opening Scene: Introduces protagonist, protagonist's wound, hidden magical world, and an important secondary character; plus ends with inciting incident. A burst of magic hung in limbo. No more than a bolt of spellbound energy, it had more in common with the wind than anything of substance; however, it vibrated with the urgency of a message needing to be delivered. Imbued with a tiny bit of magic, the missive was protected. Only the intended recipient could accept it. Yet, it still attracted attention. The wrong kind. The dark kind. Success required swift delivery. The magic hummed, zeroing in on the Veil’s opaque wall. It focused on one spot. Zizzing and buzzing, the barrier lightened to reveal a bookshelf on the other side. The message concentrated on a red leather-bound book intent on pushing it off the shelf. The Veil buckled. Pulsed. Energy transferred from one side to the other… … and the red-covered novel fell off the bookshelf in Baxter Creek’s old Carnegie library. The THUNK sounded behind Evangeline. She jumped, jerking around, causing long hair to swish around her shoulders. “Oh!” she said, scaring far too easily for a woman of twenty-two. She stared at the book on the floor. It’s nothing, she thought, walking down the stack to pick it up. A bit of cardboard stuck out. It marked a spot halfway through. She glanced at the red cover, noticing it was a book of limericks. Uninterested, she set it back on the shelf. As soon as she turned away—THUNK. Evangeline’s nose tilted upward, along with an eyebrow. She looked back. The limerick book was on the floor again. “What the—? You, my friend, are naughty and will have to wait.” She turned her back to the book, completely missing a glowing spot on the wall—the outer wall behind the shelving. It pulsed softly. The barrier was thin but still intact, allowing a glimpse of the waiting message. It blinked for attention once, twice, its magic fading. Darkness tugged around it, muting the glow. Yet, the magic persisted, called out with no voice. Its dying signal, unfortunately, offered an opportunity for others to penetrate a weak spot between realms. Tormented specters converged, ramming into the fragile stain. The silent feeding frenzy had to be ear-piercing on the other side. Hunger twisted wicked teeth. Screaming mouths shouted. They attacked, putting everything into breaking out. The barrier held, but the sickening rage seeped through, quivering from the transference into an intangible residue. It reformed into a wicked wave, rising, building, disturbing air particles as it crashed across the library. Only a heartbeat away, the wave washed over Evangeline. She shuddered, shoulders instinctively curling forward, as a jolt of static electricity sparked between her cleaning rag and the wooden shelf. “Aw!” Evangeline stopped dusting, wiggling her fingers. The wave ebbed into the dusty air, losing any force. It’s power evaporated along with the missive’s magic. The barrier strengthened. Nothing else would have a chance to escape as the wall abruptly turned solid again. A calmness settled back over the library. Evangeline glanced one way and then the other, sensing too late that something was off. Her eyes darted to the stacks. Vintage books waited to be catalogued while other shelves were empty. Nothing seemed out of place, so she wasn’t sure about the warning sensation. Not that she could trust her feelings. Like a constant, worrisome companion, Evangeline had a massive blindspot in her memory. It tainted her instincts, because it masked big swatches of her life. She remembered the inane stuff, like why she only had one red shoe—the high heel broke off when she tried to run across a grass lawn. Not that she recalled the actual party. Just an urge to escape. She didn’t even know when she’d lost her memory. And no one will know it’s gone, she vowed, until I get some answers.But she couldn’t blame her condition for the tension clutching at the library. She reached to touch the opposite shelf. A faint, cell phone kind of vibration buzzed her fingertips, growing fainter. “Oh… shit.” The shelf was original to the library, sturdy oak and usually non-buzzing. “Do you hear an alarm?” Evangeline spoke to the library, but no one answered. She patiently waited, as if it would. The main floor of Baxter Creek’s Carnegie library was divided into three parts: the entry, including a librarian’s desk, a lecture room on one side and a reading room on the other. Since Evangeline intended to convert the library into a coffee house with a bed & breakfast, she’d turned the lecture room into a sitting area. It contained the book stacks—including her dusting spot—one original long oak table with straight-backed chairs and space for cozy reading. Sadly, its two loveseats were on backorder. The opposite side of the library had been cleared out to prep for a coffee shop. It needed a lot of work, although three round cafe tables and chairs hinted at its future. The space mostly showed signs of construction with drop cloths protecting what needed to be preserved from what needed to be fixed. Shoved into every corner stood boxes. Most of them were filled with the library’s original book collection. Eventually, they’d all be in the stacks or lining the walls, as Evangeline intended to make good use of the library’s original design. Practically every wall was fitted with shelves. They went from the floor up ten feet, stopping well below the fifteen-foot-high ceilings. Between the top of the shelving to the roof were the windows. They were placed high to offer plenty of light during the day, without impacting the needed wall space. “I’m talking to you,” Evangeline called again, “not myself.” A closet door slowly creaked open. “Huh?” Danna asked. She leaned partway out, striking a pose as she stifled a sneeze. Dust floated around her stylish African head wrap, protecting her long raven braids. The bold purple silk covered her head and tied at the back. She pushed the oak door wider. “I thought you were talking to yourself. Again. You do that. In a totally cute way, of course.” “Of course,” Evangeline said, “because little signs of insanity are so cute.” She tried to hide the pang in her heart. No one needs to know I’m broken. “It’s original. Talking to books,” Danna said. “Just let me know when they talk back.” Evangeline could have hugged her only employee for downplaying a bad habit. She often spoke out loud to no one in particular. “Not this time,” she said. “It wasn’t the books talking back, I heard something.” Danna paused to listen. “Probably just the dust invading your brain. Ignore it and come get a closer look at what we will be calling the Closet of Forgotten Awesomeness.” She opened the door wider. It was too far away for Evangeline to see inside, and she had no intention of being distracted. The renovations were dragging. She needed the business up and running, sooner than later which meant no time for the closet. She ran over a mental to-do list: call the contractor to report the vibration, pick up the fallen book and more dusting. She might even drive to the city and get one of those HEPA air purifiers for the dust. She’d eventually get to the closet. She wanted to experience every new find, since the library held so many secrets. Its secrets can wait, she thought. Just like mine. If she’d been closer to the closet, however, Evangeline would have made a different list. And the closet would have zoomed to the top. The intricately carved interior with nooks full of scrolls and bound leather boxes promised amazing discoveries. “Later,” Evangeline said, retrieving the red covered book from the floor. She gave it a swipe of her dust rag. “I need to find a home for my new friend.” “Huh?” Danna's voice sounded muffled, having moved deeper into the storage closet. “Don’t tease me, I know I just called a book a friend,” Evangeline admitted, “but I bought a library. If it’s okay to talk to the books, why not treat them like long lost friends?” Danna briefly poked her head out of the closet, making a face. “The friendship should extend to this closet.” Evangeline was torn. She didn’t want to dissuade her only employee—and the only person close to her age in the whole town. Well, it wasn’t that bad. Baxter Creek had plenty of residents in their twenties, it just skewed older. The small town’s average age was over forty, favored jazz music and liked their coffee with tall tales. As an interesting town quirk, the residents embraced superstition. The fact intrigued and worried Evangeline. Of course, she understood. The town had history—the kind that didn’t always end in neat, logical answers; but would that translate into physical change? Would they embrace the library’s facelift and new purpose? “We shall see,” Evangeline whispered to the room, not wanting to admit she was a little superstitious, too. “What did you find in the closet?” Danna took another step into the main library. She brushed at her clothes. The movement sent glittering particles dancing in the air. For the briefest of moments they formed a halo over her head. She coughed. “Uh, I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You gotta see it for yourself.” “More secrets?” “The best kind,” Danna promised, sensing Evangeline’s deeper meaning. “Don’t worry, I didn’t find a ghost or anything that cool.” “Don’t say the ‘G’ word,” Evangeline gasped. A rumor like that could stall renovations and the clock was ticking. She could almost hear it. Tick. Tock. Tockity Ting. Tonk. Tung. Pausing, Evangeline listened. She could actually hear a clock. It sounded broken. Looking around, she didn’t see the source and knew that she hadn’t brought anything into the library that ticked. Since the building kept revealing hidden treasures, she was sure the clock would turn out to be another one. “Trust me, you have time for the closet,” Danna said, checking her phone. “And I’ll be leaving you to it, but I should point out a couple of things before I go.” Evangeline waved the dust rag in the air. “I just need a minute,” she said, taking the red covered book over to a special section of the library. “Only if it’s really a minute,” Danna said, disappearing back into the closet. Evangeline crossed the foyer of the historical building. It had served the community for over eleven decades, but the digital streaming age—plus a bigger library attached to a nearby college—made the little library obsolete. The town council put it up for sale, along with all the contents. Unfortunately, few people wanted to deal with a historical property—enter Evangeline. It was a lifeline. She’d grabbed onto it, feeling lucky the opportunity had appeared. It filled a void… one where some of her memories should have been, but she didn’t like to think about what she’d lost, only restoring the gaps. Standing back to admire the special reading corner, Evangeline had to admit it would always be her favorite spot. She hoped her guests liked it, too. She imagined an avid reader snuggling up with a good book in the winged burgundy chair. Its leather was seasoned to a buttery softness with a faint scent of woodsy tobacco. Once owned by a little old professor from Oxford—at least that’s the story she told herself. She’d actually found the chair at a swap meet. Behind it, Evangeline admired a walnut bookcase she’d discovered in the basement. It was a Danner Revolving bookcase, with four levels, 23-inches square with a rolling base like a desk chair. She spun it to reveal space on a lower shelf, perfect for the fallen book. As she stretched to add it, something heavy dropped out. The trinket clattered on the parquet floor. Evangeline picked up a 2-inch by 3-inch photograph—a ferrotype or tintype—common in the 19th century. It must have slipped out of a cardboard mount: the bookmark she’d noticed earlier. Who are you? she wondered, knowing the couple posing in a tight embrace were long gone. Shifting the iron-backed image toward the light, her heart lurched. The quality of the dark gray image was poor. Rusted in spots, it also had blistering where the enamel lifted away from the thin sheet of iron. Still, one face stood out, unsmiling—Evangeline’s.

I had to try one time. Even though Dad was about to turn the car into my aunt and uncle’s driveway. Even though he and Mom had said “no” the hundred other times I’d already asked them. This was my last chance so I crossed my fingers on both hands and went for it. “Please please can I go to New York City with you guys?” I asked. “We could see the Statue of Liberty. I read all about it online. It’s 305 feet tall if you count the pedestal it stands on.” I knew they would like that I threw in the exact measurement. They always approved when I used my laptop for educational things instead of just playing video games. “I promise we’ll take you to see it another time, buddy. This is a business trip for us and we’re going to be busy the whole time we’re there,” Dad said, stopping the car in front of my aunt’s herb garden. “Aww, look how excited they are to have you stay with them.” Mom pointed to the porch. Great Uncle Theo held up a WELCOME JAKE! sign and Great Aunt Ducky took a handkerchief out of the pocket of her plaid dress to wave back and forth, her silver hair pinned in its usual neat bun. “Then can I at least have eight hours of screen time every day?" I asked. “And then two more after dinner? There isn’t anything else to do out here. I’m going to be so bored!” “You can have three hours a day,” Dad said. “That’ll leave you plenty of time to do other fun stuff out here in the country, like going fishing with your uncle. Or peach picking with your aunt.” “Except none of those things are as fun as playing Battle of the Zombie Dragons,” I muttered as Uncle Theo pulled open the car door. Right away I got a whiff of the just-blown-out birthday candle smoky smell that always blew around my aunt and uncle’s little brown house with its crooked green shutters. Uncle Theo ran his hand through my curly hair. “Well, I’m surprised you didn’t feel that crawling around your noggin!” He held up a plastic spider and grinned. “Good one, Uncle Theo,” I said politely like I did every time he played one of his practical jokes. When I was six, I couldn’t stop giggling at his endless pranks. Now that I was almost eleven, I thought they were more annoying than funny. “Wait until I show my new batch of fake dog poop. It fools your Aunt Ducky every time and we don’t even have a dog!” Uncle Theo burst out laughing. After they kissed me goodbye and reminded me to “be a good boy” and “don’t play your games all day, be outside in this nice fresh air!” Mom and Dad got back in the car. I stayed out on the porch for a few extra seconds in case they changed their mind and turned around to come back for me. But Dad tooted the horn a few times and Mom stuck her arm out the window for one last wave before they turned onto the road. I couldn’t help letting out a little groan and Uncle Theo nodded. “Yes, today is a scorcher,” he said. “Let’s take your things up to your room and we’ll head over to Dairy Queen after lunch. Nothing better in this heat than a strawberry sundae.” He picked up my duffel and took it inside. I leaned down to pick up my backpack. Two bright purple eyes peered at me from below the porch railing. “Whoa!” I said, leaping back so fast I knocked over one of the rocking chairs. Whoever or whatever it was took off towards to the woods that edged the back of the yard. It was galloping so fast all I could see was a dark blur. Maybe it was a bear? Not that I knew a lot about bears. Back home in Chicago I mostly saw pigeons and a few squirrels and once I saw two rats fighting over a piece of bread in the alley behind our apartment building. I ran into the house and up the stairs to the little guest room at the end of the hall. “Look at this Jake,” Uncle Theo said from the doorway. He held up a small spoon. He touched it and the whole spoon collapsed. “Isn’t that a hoot? I can’t wait to see the look on Aunt Ducky’s face when she tries to eat her banana split with it and the ice cream keeps falling right to the ground.” “Good one, Uncle Theo,” I said without even thinking. He leaned in and whispered. “You won’t believe what I’ve got up my sleeve for my next stunt. It’ll be the biggest one I’ve ever pulled off. You’ve never seen anything like it!” I followed him down to the kitchen for lunch, trying to figure out what his big practical joke could be. Probably something he read in his favorite book, THE 100 BEST PRANKS TO PLAY ON YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY. I’d looked through it once and Uncle Theo had drawn little stars next to Number 39: Fill the cookie jar with ketchup and Number 67: Stuffing the whole freezer with ping pong balls. So that’s what I’d be doing the next ten days: Playing ZombieDragons, staying away from weird bears and watching out for Uncle Theo’s next big joke. Page Break Chapter 2 “I saw something weird today,” I said when we sat down at the table. “There was something looking me from the side of the porch.” “Probably our neighbor’s cat, Henry coming over for a visit,” Aunt Duckie said. “Don’t worry, he’s very friendly.” I shook my head. “No, this definitely wasn’t a cat. It ran to the back woods so fast it was hard to see anything. I even thought it could be a bear. But bears don’t have super bright purple eyes, do they?” Uncle Theo put down his egg salad sandwich. “You’re sure it had bright purple eyes?” I nodded. “That was not a bear.” He stood up. “Excuse me. I’m going to run downstairs to get some, uh, pickles from the pantry.” “There’s some right here, Uncle Theo.” I pointed to the plate in the middle of the table but he’d already hurried through the basement door. “What’s going on?” I asked Aunt Ducky. “He seemed really freaked out all of a sudden.” “Oh, uh, maybe he’s worried that we’re out of pickles,” Aunt Ducky untied her apron. “I’ll go help him find some. You stay here and finish your lunch.” She went down the stairs quickly too. I was gulping down the rest of my sandwich so I could get upstairs to start a new round of Zombie Dragons when a loud thump! on the back porch made the kitchen windows shake. I looked through the yellow curtains to see a box. At least I thought it was a box. I’d never seen one like this and it was my job on Saturdays to unpack all the cartons delivered to my family’s shoe store. This one looked like it was made of heavy black rubber. Bulging out on one side, it caved in on the other. I opened the door to read the writing etched into the rubber: 5 POUNDS OF CHUNKY BAT VOMIT FOR SPELLS NEEDING CHUNKY BAT VOMIT 5 POUNDS LIQUIDY BAT VOMIT FOR SPELLS REQURING LIQUIDY BAT VOMIT. DO NOT LEAVE OUTSIDE OR VOMIT WILL MELT. PUT IN COOL DARK PLACE RIGHT AWAY. This must be stuff for Uncle Theo’s prank. He probably ordered it from the same place as the fake dog poop. Despite the loud thump like someone had dropped a boulder on the porch, it was pretty light when I picked it up. The kitchen was sunny and warm so I carried the box down to the basement. My aunt and uncle weren’t in the little pantry stocked with Aunt Ducky’s jars of homemade jam and pickles, and they weren’t in the laundry room either. “Where are you guys?” I called. “You got a package delivered.” “I’m very sorry we sold you a jar of ant snot when you asked for worm snot,” Uncle Theo said. “Huh?” I said. “My spell was ruined by your stupid mistake. If things don’t improve around here, you will suffer my rage,” a raspy voice answered him. “This place will suffer the rage of all the witches!” another voice screeched. “We are tired of the way this store conducts business and we won’t put up with it much longer.” “I’m so sorry, I assure you it won’t happen again. Beltrane, please bring me a jar of our finest worm snot for Witch Hensel right away,” Uncle Theo said. The voices were coming from the far left side of the basement, always the shadiest, coolest part of it because of the big maple tree that grew in the yard above. “Uncle Theo, are you okay?” I leaned into the wall to press my ear against it when something pressed against my arm. It was a glass doorknob on a slim door tucked into the corner. How had I never noticed this door before? I used to spend hours down here playing with my train set, the tracks covering every inch of the floor. I twisted the knob and the door opened easily. I poked my head out before I went through the doorway. A few uneven steps dropped to a narrow tunnel lit by small torches flickering along a crumbling brick wall. I leaned forward to read something scratched into one of the bricks: NO WITCHES ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT My shoulders relaxed. I’d just found Uncle Theo’s next prank. He must be getting all of this ready for Halloween. It was only August, but this one was definitely going to take a lot more work than putting fake dog poop down. Of course he had to start working on it early. This was like something in a movie. I started down the tunnel. It probably led to a room decorated with fake cobwebs and ghosts made out of old bedsheets. I’d find it, let Aunt Ducky and Uncle Theo yell “Boo!” at me and then get back to Dragons and hopefully we’d go to Dairy Queen for that strawberry sundae soon too. The sharp twists and turns of the tunnel reminded me of the cornfield maze my fourth-grade class visited last fall. After a few seconds, though, I couldn’t tell if I was going forwards or backwards, right or left. The torches gave off such little light that I kept stumbling into dark dead ends, scraping my nose against the bricks. Stairs led down one passageway only to go back up another a few seconds later. I felt like I was walking in circles. Scary, dark circles. I didn’t know what direction I was headed in and I certainly didn’t know how to get back to the basement. Hot tears filled my eyes and now I really couldn’t see where I was going. “Uncle Theo?” I called. “Aunt Ducky?” No one answered. I slumped against the wall to figure out what to do next.

Opening Scene - Introduces the protagonist and setting, establishes core wounds Sooner or Later You can run on for a long time, Run on, duckin’ and dodgin’, Run on for a long time, Sooner or later God Almighty’s gonna cut you down. — Traditional American Gospel Mrs. Evelyn Doherty had a standing appointment with Madame Theresa every Wednesday at one-thirty PM. She was a faithful client and never missed a scheduled reading, unless she was on vacation or unwell, which rarely happened. “Are you ready, Evelyn?” Madame Theresa asked in a tentative, encouraging voice, one finger resting patiently on the back of the final card. The Tarot were laid out in the familiar ten card Celtic Cross spread. A silk cloth lay draped across the table, a tangle of purple and yellow wildflowers dancing across an azure background. The Tarot cards, tawny with age, seemed to drift and stir as if floating in a pool of silken flowers. Mrs. Doherty leaned forward and pressed her eyes closed in concentration, her lips turned downward with anxious trepidation. In her right hand she palmed a smooth calcite stone that she favored for her weekly readings, pale blue like a robin’s egg. She was a devoted spiritualist and in the hierarchy of her small, comfortable life, Madame Theresa held a position just below President Nixon. The answer to her troubles, she knew, depended on this last card. She need not have been concerned. Although the hidden card remained a mystery to her, Madame Theresa was quite confident in the outcome. Her parents christened her Thérèse, after Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, The Little Flower. Madame Theresa was her professional name. After her mother died, her father favored his nickname for her. At night, holding her close, watching the rhythm of her small body rise and fall with each breath, he might lean over and whisper in her ear “ti flè an mwen” in his native Creole — little flower of mine — but Tess was the name she grew up with. Thérèse was as foreign to her as the Saint of Lisieux herself. She studied her client from across the table. Tess recognized the familiar cropped navy blue jacket with white trim, the same prim, light-blue ruffled blouse underneath. The jacket’s elbows were shiny from wear. Mrs. Doherty wore her hair in a tall beehive hairdo. A thick braid wrapped around the middle held it in place. She was an ardent devotee of L’Oreal’s Smoky Pearl hair color and under the soft pendant lamp her hair shimmered with a blue-gray glow. The column of hair was leaning to one side and several stray wisps were trying to escape. Tess suspected Mrs. Doherty wrapped her head in a scarf while she slept. Staring into the top of the glowing bouffant, she resisted the urge to reach across and part the nest of hair and peer within. She imagined revealing a tiny, hidden universe; milky-white clusters of secret thoughts and emotions tangled in a quick, chaotic rotating dance. She was as familiar with Evelyn Doherty as a therapist is with a patient, tending to her needs, acting as her emotional advisor. She knew how to interpret her expressions and quiet mannerisms, and, if she was honest, to manipulate her naive, uncomplicated fears and desires. Growing up an only child, her father taught her how to wield her empathy with precision. Working alongside him in the sideshows and small-town carnies, dressed in her adorable sailor suit, spotting and luring the marks. An innocent compliment, a sympathetic look, calculated to arouse a desired response. Pay attention. Listen carefully. Two bits for a reading. Two bits for a glimpse into the supernatural. A good night’s work rewarded with Italian ice, her favorite flavor cherry red. He trained her to go after women mostly, preying on their superstitions and maternal instincts. Draw them in. People are fragile, they yearn to tell their secrets. Find their weakness. Reaching out with her slender fingers, taking hold of their hand, she led them to her father’s tent. She would wait outside, listening for the signal, a metallic tap followed by a low harmonic pitch, the ringing sound that meant the mark had handed over their money. Don’t be hasty. Never argue. Even the dullest mark can turn on you. Watching her client’s expression, her patience turning to irritation, Tess suspected that even inside the demure, well-mannered Mrs. Evelyn Doherty there was a secret buried inside her that even Tess herself was unaware. Mrs. Doherty opened her eyes at last and nodded. Tess revealed the final card. “Ah, the Seven of Cups.” “Is that good?” Evelyn asked, eyes opening wide, an uncertain smile on her lips. “Oh very good. Cups, as you know, represent emotion, and the Seven of Cups here symbolizes confidence. Confidence in your emotional life.” Tess pointed to the individual symbols on the Tarot card. “Look inside the cups. You see the snake, that’s passion and desire. The tower here, that’s strength. And the treasure, that’s abundance.” She traced her finger over the card in the sixth position. “Now, the Four of Wands, that’s the spiritual stability we discussed, combined here with the Queen of Swords.” Tess closed her eyes and lifted her chin in quiet meditation. “Yes. Yes, I’m quite sure. Patience and confidence.” She tilted her head to one side, as if listening to a distant voice. “Lester’s not having an affair. It’s clear from the cards chosen for you. Be patient, give things time to resolve themselves. You say he’s been tired lately, uninterested?” Evelyn nodded, the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes squinting in concern. “You know, it’s not unusual for older men to lose interest from time to time. Perhaps he’s working too hard? Too much on his mind?” Tess had seen pictures of Mr. Doherty. If he was stepping out, he was paying for it. And he was too tightfisted for that.