Cinco de Monsters

I was going to do the Primal Scream Blogfest hosted by the FABULOUS Raquel Byrnes [http://nitewriter6.blogspot.com/], then I forgot and didn't get my post edited, then the FOMS kicked in, so I'm doing it anyway. In my world the monsters aren't... monsters exactly. They are adults who do horrible thing that have implications for this children. This chapter is my first draft, first chapter of Legacy, so please only judge it as that—a first draft. Chapter 2 is scarier, but it is definitely rated R instead of PG-13, so I felt this was more appropriate.



With only a little more ado *snort* (I just like saying that, though there IS other business...)



ADO: I will be at a CONFERENCE Thursday through Saturday. I have blogs scheduled, but will NOT really be able to read or comment, and will only be able to check in HERE a little. I apologize and will MISS you. I still hold it your SACRED duty however, to practice Hooray, Hooray, the 8th of May in just 3 days time. (will tell you all about it Friday.)



ADO: OVER



*******************



Chapter 1



When the wood splintered, Kade grabbed Peter's arm, tension visible in his stature. “I'm getting Tasha. If she makes a noise, we're all in trouble, but we need to know what's happening. You know what to do.”



Peter nodded resolutely and went in his closet, deftly climbing the shelves to the side, and pushing his way into the attic. He was careful to put the hatch back in place so it wouldn't give them away.



This was the hard part. He had to edge along the cross beams in the dark, without stepping down into the insulation, or he risked falling through the ceiling. He knew he was less likely to than Kade. He was only nine, after all, and weighed sixty-two pounds last they checked, but it still wasn't a chance he could take. If this was really what their father had been warning them about, it was too dangerous.



He only had to go about thirty feet before he came to what appeared to be the end of the attic, appear, being the critical word. He slid a piece of paneling along a runner that was buried in the insulation. It was silent. His father had seen to that as soon as his mother had lost touch with her family. He tucked through the opening and closed it again.



There, where they'd been left, were flashlights and soft slippers. The slippers were a redundant precaution, because the entire area was carpeted. Effectively, it was a small apartment, equipped with a kitchenette, bathroom, and two double beds. Shelves were stocked with food to last months.



Peter didn't know anything about why it was there. In fact if someone had asked him, he would have expressed that everyone had a hiding room and it was normal. He did know though, that needing to come live in here meant things were really, really bad. What he had to find out was if things were that bad now.



At the edge of the room was the top of a strong wooden ladder that was built onto the wall. Around the hole was a rail, but near the ladder it was easy to climb under. He climbed down it, and below, came to another, much smaller room. The root cellar of the house opened to the room, the main house, and to the outside, something left from when the lot was seriously farmed. It also had his current destination—access to the home's ventilation ducts on the side of the house with his parents' room.



He knew Kade felt very uncomfortable crawling in them, but Kade was fourteen and tall. Peter was small enough that he could crawl comfortably. He only had to be careful not to bang anything, as the metal echoed, and he might be heard from anywhere in the house.



He reached his destination, his parents' bedroom, quickly. Two intruders were turning everything over.

“He has to be here!” The man talked funny—the same kind of funny as his dad talked, only more. He knew his dad talked that way because his dad grew up in Romania.



“His car is here. Keep looking. Balto will make sure he doesn't leave through either door. We just need to search!” The other man didn't have the same funny accent.



The accented man opened the closet, “Demitri, my friend! This is no welcome!”



He was punched in the head, but the accented man was able to recover and pull Peter's father out of the closet.



“Why is the house empty?”



“You should know!”



His father was hit again and Peter had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering. He thought his father had only hidden to give him time to get there. He had to see and hear everything.



“Where are your children?”



“Madeline took them to her sister's before she left.” Peter hated that his father sounded hurt.



“Liar!” He was punched again.



“What the hell are you talking about?”



Peter thought his father was fairly convincing, considering he knew they weren't at Aunt Sarah's.



“What the hell do you want with my kids, anyway?” Demitri sounded outraged.



“They would have been nice... as leverage... but mostly we need to make sure there are no witnesses.” The man with no accent flipped Demitri onto his stomach and pointed a gun at the back of his head. Time stood still as Peter watched his father's head fly apart, his ears left near deaf from the crack of the gun.



He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it not to be true, and then he opened them again. He could barely see through the tears that filled his eyes, but his father had trained him well... not a sound.



The intruders looked around some more, behind pictures, in drawers—like they were looking for treasures, or a safe. Peter buried his head between his arms. He let his eyes and nose run, managing not to sob or sniff for what seemed an eternity as the men finished their business. Then he backed slowly out of the vent, into the cubby with the root cellar. There he sat in a ball and whimpered quietly.



#



When he finally felt he could manage it, Peter climbed the ladder. Kade looked at him grimly; a small lantern sat on the table casting their faces in dark shadows and yellow light.



“Was that what it sounded like?”



Peter finally let out a sniff and broke into tears.



Kade was already on a bed, holding his arms around Tasha. Her face was hidden in her older brother's chest, her arms over her ears. Kade held his other arm out to Peter and Peter gladly curled up on Kade's other side.

Kade held his siblings, his chest heaving occasionally. Peter recognized it as a trick to try not to cry.



He'd never been so scared in his life.



#



The lantern sputtered and instead of turning the wick up, Kade turned it down, so the trio settled into darkness.



“Kade? Tell me how momma and daddy met.” Tasha was two years older than Peter, but she seemed younger in a lot of ways. Peter didn't really understand it. She knew a lot of stuff, but she was really uncomfortable around people, and got scared really easily. Their dad called her his genius because she was so good with numbers, even in her head, but she could only go to a special school with tiny classrooms. That's why their parents taught them a lot at home. She loved stories though. Even though she didn't like real life interactions outside her family, she loved to hear about them. And stories about their parents were her favorite.



“Grandpa was an ambassador,” Kade began. “Mom went to Stanford and majored in art history and languages. She speaks Russian, Czechoslovakian, Romanian, and Greek. When she finished college she went to Romania to live with grandpa because grandma had died and she thought he was lonely. She worked at the University of Bucharest in the library. That was where she met dad. He was a professor. She helped grandpa though, too, because of the languages, she knew she could change the wording to suit culture, so the person wouldn't offend other people. When grandpa had a stroke, she stepped in to help him, and when grandpa died, they made her ambassador.”



Tasha let out a contented purr and laid back on a pillow to hear some more.



“Father taught literature, and was an expert in all the books Romanians were allowed to read. He was instantly smitten with mom. Smitten means he thought she was really smart and very pretty. She learned really soon though, that he was also extremely interested in western literature.”



“So they started seeing each other, but because mom was American, some old geezer Romanian guy always had to go with. I guess it was because dad wasn't trusted on their list or something. But finally dad proposed. It was a big shock to all those Romanians when after the wedding he declared they were coming to America to live.”



Peter grinned. He liked the story, too, even if it was sort of romantic. He liked that his parents were smart and had pulled something over on a government of some faraway place.



He heard Tasha's soft snore and in a way he felt relieved to have her asleep. Now he could relay what he'd seen and heard to Kade and not have to carry the burden alone anymore.



Kade put a big book on it's side, open, so that he could shield Tasha from the lantern he lit. Then he sat with a note pad and had Peter go over everything he saw and heard three times. Peter was patient, even though it was terrible. Their father had said some details you don't remember until you get to the third repetition, and it was true. Peter hadn't remembered noticing that the men had different accents—that one was Romanian like their dad and the other was probably American, until the third telling.



“You did good, Peter. I'm sure that was awful.” Peter frowned. He wasn't used to his brother being so calm and nice to him, but he supposed until their mom got home, maybe Kade felt like he had to act like a parent. He just blinked and nodded. He didn't want to talk about it any more.



“What are we gunna do, Kade?”



“For now, wait. Remember dad said people might be watching. They don't know we're in here, but they might think we got out and are coming back. Until somebody comes to get dad at least, we just have to hide.

Peter sighed. He knew the words. He'd just never thought about what they all meant before. “We can't go outside at all?”



“Not until we're sure nobody is coming.”



“What if someone's here now?”



“In the morning, before we use any water or anything, I'll need you to crawl all the vents and make sure. I'm pretty sure they left, and we get that ding up there if the door's open. The alarm will go if the windows open.

“The front door is broken.”.



“Oh, right. Well at least that means they'll probably find dad sooner. Nobody who drives up and sees that will think we just aren't home and leave. He gets company every couple of days.”



That was true, but Peter didn't like having to crawl in the tunnels each time they needed water.



As if reading his mind Kade said, “You'll check in the morning, we'll pour a huge bucket, then you'll check at night so we can flush and stuff. It's just for a few days.”



“But Kade?”



“Yeah?”



“Dad's gone.”



“I know.” Kade looked deeply sad. “It's my job though, to make sure you and Tasha and I stay safe until mom gets home, so we just have to be tough for now, okay?”



Peter nodded, resigned.



*******



I should note that SINCE this was written, I've had several conversations with a friend who lived in Romania around this time (the story is in the 80s) and it wasn't as closed as I'd thought when this was written, so there is some editing to the back-story that is told, in addition to the NORMAL cleaning... just wanted you to know the research was progressing *winks*

The Missing 24 Hours

I have a really swamped work day and a stack of typing at home a mile high, so I thought I'd share a piece of my 'roots' with all of you... Harry Potter Fan Fiction... you should easily be able to follow if you've read even the first book--that is the only one this one is dependent on.



This is part of my Epilogue for Awakening, which is an extremely long story about the redemption of James Potter—you see, I feel like the James we see in the books is sort of a jerk, but I would like to believe he doesn't stay that way. This piece stands alone as a short story, though. In the Wizard War, we used to talk about the 'Missing 24 Hours'--that day between Harry's parents dying and Harry turning up on the Dursley's doorstep when all the wizarding world seemed to already know what happened. This short is what Dumbledore was up to.



There are a couple details from the long story a person needs to follow, but only a few...



1) Dorcas Meadows in my story is an Unspeakable who Lily studied under for a time (before the war got bad enough she decided to delay her studies)--Dorcas left Lily her professional papers when she died.



2) DD's watch works very much like Mrs. Weasley's clock. He added hairs of Harry, Lily and James when they went into hiding.



3) Dudley's life was at risk the summer prior and DD and Lily save him. In exchange, DD extracts a promise from Petunia that if Harry's life is ever in peril, she will protect him.



4) Peter stuns Harry briefly while he retrieves LVs wand and



5) Even though the Potters only cast the Fidelius Charm a week ago, there was a Confundus spell that protected them in Godric's Hollow prior to that, so they've been there since August--it was a family summer home of the Potters.



Without further ado



The Missing 24 Hours







Albus Dumbledore, first as Professor, then as Headmaster, had had his life entangled with others for more years than he cared to count. Yet not since Grindelwald had he felt so completely subsumed by the fact of someone else, so completely responsible, and yet so helpless.



The Potters were lovely. Mischievous, loyal James had become a respectable, loving man. And Lily had always been extraordinary. But Harry… this really had everything to do with Harry, not even born when his own role became the central feature in Albus’ existence. He supposed, truth be told, it boiled down to the prophecy.



Two couples had defied Voldemort three times. Two couples who both gave birth to baby boys at the end of July. Somehow Albus had known, no matter that the Longbottoms were spectacular, well-loved, pure-blood aurors, that Voldemort… no, that Tom Riddle, half blood himself, would find Harry Potter the threat.



Lily Potter had won the respect and loyalty of Dorcas Meadows. Dorcas had a kind nature, but she did not effuse lightly. Yet she had believed Lily had amazing gifts. And then James had descended from the same Peverells who were connected with immortality… and the unbeatable wand. Yes, Riddle had probably done his homework.



And there, from the very beginning, things got complicated. The prophecy had been heard by one of Voldemort’s minions. A minion, it later turned out, who had a soft spot for Lily Potter… a minion who, when he realized the result of his own role, had been willing to spy.



There was confirmation of a spy in the Order, and insight into the workings of Voldemort’s army, neither of which were as fascinating to Albus as the generous, open mind of Lily Potter.



As Albus met with her, tutored her, he confirmed not only her intelligence, but his own failings. Lily loved not in the abstract, but in very tangible terms, saw people compassionately and pointed out how their flaws led to their strengths. Her read of Dorcas Meadows’ papers gave him insight because he had never once before considered that love had to be quite so… personal. It made him sad not to have it in his life, yet she had it, even for her casual friends… a deep, loyal, profound love.



When the Potters had gone on the run in earnest was the first time Albus had considered the Peverell myth might be true. His discussions with first Lily, then James, on the Invisibility Cloak had been quite intriguing. He knew he personally held the ’unbeatable wand,’ but the idea that the whole story might be true opened old wounds that began to fester. The cloak, fascinating in its own right, might prove the possibility… the resurrection stone…Ariana… his guilt ate at him. He wanted to see her badly, yet he feared her. If anyone in his life had a right to judge him, it was she.



And so as Albus worked with Lily so she could learn the Fidelius Charm, he debated with himself whether or not he wanted to know… did the resurrection stone exist? The answer was as easy as proving the cloak was the cloak… but would he then waste his remaining years searching for the stone, neglecting his other obligations?



And then he remembered how he had stumbled across Death’s other Hallows. It had been quite accidental. He could convince himself to wait… but only if he knew.



And so the moment approached. Lily had learned the Charm. The couple had chosen their Secret Keeper. Albus was sure it was Sirius Black. It could hardly not be.



The watch had been a last minute inspiration. He hadn’t kept track of anybody for many years, but this entanglement had grown very personal. And so he had added the hairs of the Potter family members for peace of mind… if only it had worked that way.



*



The Fidelius Charm was performed on October 25 and the following day intelligence was received regarding the personal threat to Millicent Bagnold and her expected guest, Russian Minister Fyodor Tolstoy. Albus, knowing the local Ministry would believe no such intelligence, had gone himself to Saint Petersberg (Leningrad would never exist in his mind) and gave the warning to the Russian Ministry. He assured them the Order of the Phoenix took the threat seriously and would be guarding, but suggested they also take precautions. They appeared grateful.



He returned to Hogwarts on Halloween morning and found Hagrid dragging his giant pumpkins into the Great Hall.



“Went to the Potters for dinner while you were gone.”



“Did you? I’m glad both that they had the pleasure of your company, and that you can get there if needed.”



“I could take you there.”



“No, it wouldn’t work. You’d arrive happily, and I’d be slammed into a wall of protection,” he smiled, “but I do appreciate the offer. I’ll let James know in the morning though, that he can bring me the secret.”



“Tha’s good. I think ‘e could use that cloak.”



“Did he mention it?”



“Lily said she planned to go see old Bathilda, but couldn’t cross the street.”



“Oh, yes… tomorrow, first thing.”



That conversation would give him nightmares for several months. He’d known staying in was safest for the Potters, but of course there were a dozen times a week they could have found use for the cloak without undue risk, yet here it sat in his own office. Its study had been fascinating, actually. He thought he may have even discovered from it a spell for personal invisibility, temporary of course, but far better than being dependent on a cloak. He would teach it to Lily. He was sure she could master it. She was, after all, a very gifted witch.



*



And it was with those thoughts that the Great Hall began to fill for the Halloween feast. He had always enjoyed Halloween, but tonight the Minister was under threat and his mind was elsewhere; he really felt he could be more useful elsewhere. His speech was rather rambling and even he had trouble paying attention.



When he invited everyone to eat and sat himself, Minerva McGonagall leaned over to him. “Are you alright Headmaster? You don’t seem quite yourself.”



“And that might be a good thing,” he joked, but it didn’t fool her. He glanced at his watch.



Danger.



Three Potters in danger. He wasn’t sure if it had said that before and he cursed himself for not paying better attention.



He scooped food onto his plate, ate a few bites, made polite conversation and looked again.



Danger.



It hadn’t changed. Surely he was imagining things. Dinner plates disappeared. He scooped up his dessert.



And then something happened that had the entire hall rapt and time stood still. A large silvery doe charged into the room and Lily’s voice rang in his ear. He’s here. Help! He looked at his watch as all three Potter hands moved to mortal peril, and then within seconds James’ hand disappeared entirely. Albus stood for a moment, stunned, and then began to make his way quickly out of the Great Hall, eyes on his watch, when Lily’s hand also vanished. He stopped, disbelieving, watching the ‘Harry’ hand, frozen, for some seconds before he shouted, “Hagrid! I need you!” And then oddly, Harry’s hand slid calmly away from ‘mortal peril’ to ‘home’.



*



Hagrid followed Dumbledore into the small chamber off the Great Hall. As soon as the door was shut Albus turned, “James and Lily are dead. Hagrid… Harry is not. He needs us. He needs you!” He willed his gamekeeper to hold himself together.



Hagrid gave a large snuffle.



“Hagrid, I need you to fetch Harry. Take him, invisibly if possible, to Bathilda Bagshot’s house across the street. Wait for me there. I’ll be there in two hours time.”



Hagrid nodded and left, blowing his nose on a blanket-sized handkerchief.



Albus had to alert the Order and find out if their warnings for the evening had amounted to anything. He also needed to ask some people to have some information ready for him for later.



*



It was as he thought; the Minister attack had been a ruse, a decoy. News of it had come on the 26th, only one day after the Potters had performed the Fidelius Charm. Sirius Black had wasted no time.



He arrived at Bathilda’s just after midnight.



“Albus,” her face was sad and Albus just nodded, confirming James and Lily were dead. “They’re in the back room,” she said sadly.



“I’ll need a little time alone with Harry,” he warned.



Bathilda frowned, “what, to ask secrets?”



“In a manner of speaking…”



Bathilda rolled her eyes, annoyed now.



Albus thought she perhaps blamed him for this. It wouldn‘t be the first time, and it would also not be the first time he partially shared her opinion.



“I’ll set tea for Hagrid.”



“Thank you,” Albus went back and asked Hagrid to leave he and Harry momentarily.



Hagrid also frowned, but only shrugged and left.



“So Harry…” Albus picked up the child and sat with him. “I hate to do this when you really aren’t old enough to give permission…” It was true. It seemed horribly invasive. And to do it, he had to bring the thought to the front of Harry’s mind. “Harry, can you show me mumma?” He looked in Harry’s eyes and then put his wand to Harry’s temple.



A long silvery strand came out and Albus put it in the pensieve he had recently freed from his cloak, then he took Harry to Hagrid for Harry’s comfort.



*



Albus entered the memory as James handed Harry off to Lily. He followed Lily and Harry up the stairs as Lily asked Harry what daddy taught him. “No poopa. Siy daddy!”



Lily laughed. She then gave Harry Eskimo kisses, butterfly kisses, and kitty kisses as she changed him. He giggled and tried to give some back, pressing his eye to Lily’s cheek.



Then there was a crash downstairs. Lily turned to look, nearly starting for the stairs, returning and setting Harry in his cot, and then starting again before she heard James yell.



“Lily!” He shouted, “take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”



‘Him’ could only be Voldemort. There was a pause as Lily paced just three or four steps. Albus watched as Lily’s jaw set. She came to Harry and looked him in the eye, “Harry, mummy and daddy love you more than anything in the world. Please, always know that.” And she kissed his brow, wet tears marking his forehead. She went to the window then, threw it open and sent her Patronus, Albus knew it was to him. Then, there was the flash of green light; Lily began to scream, recognizing the curse for what it was, knowing James was now dead. She tried to move a chair, then several boxes in front of a door to barricade she and Harry in.

But as it became clear she couldn’t hold him out she picked up Harry protectively and turned to face the creature entering. When he easily cast aside the blockade her eyes grew wide, as if the sight of Voldemort was too much. She changed her mind and turned to replace Harry in the cot; he was protesting, tugging at the back of her robes. She spread her arms in front of her child and her words were tortured.



“Not Harry, not Harry. Please, not Harry.”



“Stand aside you silly girl… stand aside, now!”



“Not Harry, please no, take me. Kill me instead--”



“This is my last warning--” Voldemort raised his wand.



“Not Harry. Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-- I’ll do anything!”



“Stand aside--stand aside, girl--”



Albus watched, transfixed, as Lily bargained for her son’s life. It was remarkable that Voldemort had offered to let her live. He wondered if she had Severus Snape to thank for that.



And then the curse on Lily… and she fell.



Harry, more curious than upset, pulled himself up on the bars of his cot and looked at Voldemort, wondering if this were a game. But when Voldemort drew closer and pointed his wand at Harry’s forehead, the boy began to cry, recognizing the danger.



What happened next was confusing. Voldemort said the words, “Avada Kedavra’, just like he had with Lily, and there was green light, but rather more diffuse than Albus had seen and it caused a massive explosion around them. Within it, Voldemort seemed to evaporate, robes and wand falling to the floor, part of the roof crashing, Harry crying. The child was partially covered in debris and he cried and cried. Albus didn’t know how long the child’s distress lasted, it seemed hours, though it was probably fewer than fifteen minutes.



Then there was brief muttering and all went black. Albus stood for a time in nothingness, and then he heard, “Harry!” In Hagrid’s booming voice. Things came into focus again. Harry began to cry again and Hagrid came up the stairs. Albus looked around. Things were subtly different. Voldemort’s robes still lay on the floor, but his wand was gone. Someone had come to retrieve it… had taken the time to make sure Harry didn’t see them, so it had to be somebody Harry would recognize.



*



Albus debated not returning the memory to the child. It was a truly awful memory, yet… it was perhaps the most loving act Albus had ever witnessed, and he felt perhaps having the memory in there would help Harry know how loved he was.



Albus looked at the child again. The lightning-shaped scar that marked the curse was on the exact spot his mother’s tears and kiss had marked him earlier that night. He wondered what sort of conduit of protection Lily Potter had managed to create, her love, her tears…her life…



He pulled himself out of the memory.



He went back out, “Hagrid, stay with the child. I’ll send word where and when to bring him.”



“Shouldn’t he go to Sirius Black? He’s the boy’s…”



“No!” Albus didn’t elaborate for a moment, then calmly said, “I believe I have a protection that will be the most safe.”



“Can I take ‘im to Hogwarts?”



Albus looked at his watch, “yes, perhaps that’s best, but come back by dark tonight. It will be easiest to travel from here… and… don’t the Potters have a cat?”



“Yeh.”



“Perhaps fetch her, too. She will need a home. Bathilda, do you mind watching her in the short term?”



“Not at all.”





Albus left, looking at the destroyed house across the way. Such heroism and the town wouldn’t even remember them.. or would it? The Confundus Charm should have worn off. All they needed was a reminder. He walked the few blocks to the town square and stared at the war memorial. He concentrated hard and then raised his wand.



The white hot light shot forward, reforming the marble into man, woman and child. A perfect likeness. It would only be visible to wizards, but then, only wizards would understand their unique heroics.



Albus then set to work consulting the texts he’d seen regarding blood protection, researching the surviving family of Lily Potter, and reaching the sad conclusion that the strange oath extracted in August would be necessary. Petunia Dursley and her son were Lily’s only remaining relatives aside from Harry. At the very least however, the promise had been given. Harry would be taken in.



Albus set to establishing additional protections on the physical location of the house, and then set about searching who might be of assistance in the area who might go unnoticed by Lord Voldemort‘s allies.



He finally stumbled across the answer in a rather arbitrary way. He’d been desperately thumbing through old correspondence for something to trigger an idea when he found a thank you note sent by the daughter of an old friend. The daughter was a Squibb and had sent it after her father died, as Albus had helped with several of the Wizarding World details she could not manage. This Squibb happened to live in Surrey.



He sent an owl. Thankfully the woman was both home and gracious. He explained the situation to her as he scratched one of her dozen cats, and begged for assistance.



“Professor, my father always spoke highly of you. And you were very helpful to me when he passed. I’m pleased to have a way I can be of assistance. And I’m honored to keep an eye on the boy.”



“Thank you, Arabella. It’s important though… these relatives of Harry’s are difficult… you cannot be direct with them or they will shun you, as they do anything connected with the magical world. I’d advise, for the first few years, to just be a friendly but distant neighbor. Get a feel for them. And please, keep me informed.”



“Of course.”



“And Arabella… the Potters had a cat… you wouldn’t have room…”



“To take in a kitty who’s lost her family? Of course I have room!”



Watchperson established, Albus sent a return Patronus to Remus. He felt very bad for the man. Albus had received word earlier that morning that Sirius Black was in custody and that Peter Pettigrew was dead. Remus Lupin had effectively lost all three of his close friends in the last twelve hours, four if he counted Lily, and he felt sure Remus did.



Once that was done, he stopped by the Ministry to make a formal statement regarding the Potters and their Secret Keeper, and then began final preparations that would protect Harry Potter at his aunt’s house for the next sixteen years.



It was old magic, based in blood, and he was very glad he’d done the preliminary magic months earlier in hope Petunia might protect the whole Potter family. It might be too late for that now, but at least she would protect the child. She had sworn, after all.





When Albus arrived at Privet Drive to meet Hagrid that night, he had been awake forty-two hours, but he was sure it had been time well spent. The only thing left was the evasive explanation to an impatient Professor McGonagall, the arrival of Hagrid and the child, and the explanation left next to the bundle.



Petunia, remember your oath. Harry’s parents, your sister Lily and her husband were killed this night. Harry needs you to protect him as you swore you would.



Harry Potter was safe.



~Finite~

His Perspective

[Author's note:  I wrote this originally four years ago for a Christmas story project we did at Steinbeck Cafe, a now defunct Literary Cafe at HPANA which is where the core of my writing group first became acquainted with each others' non-Potter writing.  It was true then, and still true today.]

“Why does Marc have his lights up already?”

“He probably just wanted to get them up before it was too cold.”

“Well I’m against that.”

“What does it matter?”

“It’s not even Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving is tomorrow, it really doesn’t matter.”

“He shouldn’t have them up yet. It bugs me.”



“What are you doing?”

“Writing a Christmas card letter.”

“Oh God, not one of those tacky things that annoy everyone.”

“They don’t annoy everyone, just you.”

“Well they should annoy everyone, if they knew anything.”



“Who are you sending cards to?”

“A bunch of people.”

“Let me see that list. Who’s Daphne?”

“From graduate school, you remember?”

“No.”

“They came over for dinner that time…”

“Oh, she’s blonde? Why does she need a card?”

“It’s nice to catch up.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

“She's one of my Facebook friends.”

“So, you don’t really care.”

“Yes I do. I just don’t have time to keep in touch one on one.”



“Do you really need lights up?”

“It would be nice.”

“Who’s going to do it?”

“Well…I can.”

“No, you’d fall off the ladder.”

“I would not.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Hey, you can’t put anything about me in there!”

“It would be weird if I didn’t. You’re my husband.”

“They don’t care about me.”

“Yes they do.”

“No they don’t.”

“They care about me and by extension they care about you.”

“Well it’s none of their business.”

“It would be weird for me to send something with stuff about me and the kids and nothing about you.”

“I don’t care, I’ll throw them all out if you put anything about me.”



“What do you want a family picture for?”

“To put in with the Christmas cards.”

“Well I’m not going to be in it.”

“Why not?”

“It makes me tired.”



“Hey, do you mind if the kids stay up to watch ‘Santa Clause is Coming to Town’ Tonight?”

“Of course I don’t.”

Well, it’s a school night.”

“I know, but it’s part of Christmas.”



“I took a picture of the kids today, you can put that in your silly letter.”

“Thank you.”



“Australia! Who do you know in Australia?”

“A friend of mine from online.”

“Oh god. Another of those geeks. They don’t know where we live do they?”

“It’s only that women’s group. I know them.”

“No you don’t. It could be anybody.”

“Well I know enough about them that I trust them. She’s not coming here from Australia anyway.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Will you stop?”



“What’s all that?”

“Presents for my family. We need to ship them.”

“They don’t need presents. Just send them a card with that picture.”

“This is my family.”

“But why do they need presents?”

“They just do.”

“I don’t think they need anything.”



“Hey, I told you not to write anything about me in these. You have to print all these over.”

“I’m not taking it out. I told you I was putting it in there.”

“Hey, if you’re done I can take those to the post office tomorrow.”

“We’re not getting a tree until all this clutter is picked up.”

“That’s fine, I’ll pick it up.”

“You know there wouldn’t be all these piles if you’d just put stuff away.”

“I’ll pick it up.”

“You know it would be easier if you just put things where they go in the first place.”

“I heard you. I will pick it up.”

“I don’t think we’ll get a tree.”

“I’d like you to go away now.”



“You need to pick up all that stuff in our room too.”

“Oh stop it. You can’t change the rules when I’m almost done. I’m picking up the living room.

“No, I don’t think we’ll get a tree.”

“I am almost done.”

“No you’re not, what about that pile over there.”



“Have you finished shopping for the kids?”

“Mostly.”

“Well you don’t have much time.”

“I know.”

“When do you plan on going?”

“I was hoping Sunday.”

“Oh no. You had the car all last weekend. We’re not getting a tree then.”

“Who are these people?”

“It’s my dad’s sister and her husband.”

“And what do they want?”

“It’s a Christmas card.”

“Oh god, not one of those things.”

“It lets everyone know what they’ve been doing.”

“Why do we care?”

“It’s nice to catch up.”

“Why don’t they just call people?”



“Kids! The Grinch is on!”



“Okay, so everyone get your shoes on, I thought we’d go get a tree. I want a Noble Fir.”

“They don’t grow Noble Firs in Michigan.”

“Well that’s what I want. Next year we’re buying a fake tree.”



“How long are you going to be in here?”

“I’m just making candy. It’s faster than cookies.”

“Well you better be done soon. I need to make dinner.”

“I know, it only takes 20 minutes or so.”

“You need to clean up too.”

“I know.”



“You know you need to check all those lights.”

“I already did.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”



“Hey, those big ornaments can’t go up that high. Little ones go up high, the bigger ones go lower.”

“Will you stop, what does it matter?”

“It’s not how its done.”

“Look Martha, nobody is grading our tree.”

“Don’t put those together, they're the same. Spread them out a little.”

“You missed a spot. There are no ornaments back here.”

“There are too.”

“And you can’t use that one, it’s tacky.”



“That card for your cousin came back. Don’t you know where he lives?”

“He just moved. I found out yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you just address it to ‘Butterball’ in Idaho. It would have gotten there.”

“Will you not pick on him? He’s a nice man. I don’t care if you pick on the family that is rude to you--there are plenty to choose from, but I wish you would be nice to the nice people.”

“Who says I have to be nice?”

“The world would be a better place if everyone tried to be nice.”

“Oh geez.”



“I miss dad.”

“I know honey, I wish we lived closer.”



“Merry Christmas, honey. I’m sorry I get so stressed out.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[on another note:  The Australian friend DID in fact show up at our house two summers ago--invited, of course.  This year Marc across the street died, and my husband actually put up his own lights before Thanksgiving.  I think it may have been a tribute.]

Perennial Pumpkin Party

This is my last blog of October and I can proudly say I managed to meet the mission of NaBloWriMo and post a blog every day in October.  Tomorrow I change modes and become a frenzied writer for NoNoWriMo and will probably fall back to my 5 days a week pattern that I had carried before October.  As Insanity descends fully, blogs will probably cease to make sense and I will babble incoherently.  Never mind about that though, the Typical Tart will return in December (soon if the novel gets finished, which... I have an odd history of meeting my deadlines early because I hate it when things loom...)

For those of you who don't know, I've decided to go legit with NanoWriMo and start a completely original story, one that came to me recently after a conversation with my friend Courtney.  This is the gist:



All secret service workers are paranoid. Everybody knows that. What they don't know, is they don't start that way. They are made that way--made that way because it saves lives. Liza Dahlmer has worked for a super secret agency for the last fifteen years instilling that paranoia through any means necessary, but what happens when the tables are turned?



In the meantime, I am leaving you with a Halloween excerpt from CONFLUENCE.  It is a fun one...



****************

Jessie had been happy to help Hannah with her costume, and it had been fairly easy. After all her years working with plays, she’d be a poor specimen if she couldn’t put together a pair of wings. She’d even already had the royal blue netting from a skirt she had worn for a strange fantasy production where she played a pixie.





On Saturday though, she passed on the pumpkin patch with Trish and her siblings. It didn’t sound like her kind of thing. Instead, she’d accepted Brian’s offer to go to a haunted barn. After some discussion they decided it was a group activity. Jessie invited Coqui and Lainey, and Brian invited Axe and Dave.



At seven Brian, Axe and Dave picked up Jessie and she guided them to Coqui’s where Lainey was also waiting.



Ms. Dexter was excited for them and had to snap a picture once Axe, Coqui, Lainey and Dave were arranged in the back of Axe’s truck. She winked at Jessie as they all drove off.



A skeleton waited at a gate, counted people and charged them their entry fee, handing Brian the receipt.



“This worth it?” Brian asked the skeleton.



“Scared the flesh off my bones,” the skeleton answered dryly.



They drove into a field of mud that was, fortunately, fairly frosted so they didn’t sink into it. As they parked, Jessie heard Lainey shriek and looked back to see a death mask fall below the tailgate.



“Nice. Started already,” Brian grinned.



There was a bang on Jessie’s window at which she started and said, “I’m coming out your side.”



Brian opened the door and hopped out, extending his hand to Jessie. Jessie could hear Lainey swearing and Coqui and Axe laughing. Dave just wore a smirk.



Lighting cast the parking lot in long shadows. Looking back they could see a few figures bobbing and lurching among the cars.



“Excellent!” Axe said as they walked, and then swore when somebody jumped out next to him then disappeared.



As they approached the line outside the door of the barn, they could hear screams and shrieks from inside, as well as the sounds that would accompany nearly any frightening situation they could imagine.



Suddenly a seven foot tall monster lurched out of the barn with a screaming girl on his shoulder. She appeared to be a normal visitor fighting to free herself. The Frankenstein looked at all the people and began to run away around the far side of the barn. A young man ran breathlessly after them. “Marie!”  He chased them.



“Wicked,” Coqui said.



“That wasn’t real was it?” Lainey asked.



“Earth to Lainey… Frankenstein…”



“No!  I mean the kidnapping. Did they really kidnap someone?”



“They’ve been doing this haunted barn for like… twenty years. If it was real, this place would have been shut down.”



Lainey didn’t look convinced and Dave draped an arm charitably around her shoulder which seemed to calm her. Jessie smirked at Dave.



It took almost twenty minutes to reach the front of the line and then a kindly, mystic looking woman carefully asked them whether their wills were in order and were they carrying an appropriate selection of poison antidotes. She checked their receipts, a light flashed, and she waved them through a door. Behind the door was a set of stairs, vaguely lit, which led to another door.



Through this door there appeared to be a stack of lightly lit coffins, though as soon as Axe and Coqui had cleared the door, it slammed shut behind them and all went black.



“Shit!”  Lainey complained.



There was a dot of red light, but nothing else. “I guess we go to that light?” Jessie suggested.



Suddenly a coffin next to her burst open and someone reached out to grab at them, a faint light emanated from the coffin so all else looked even blacker and only the corpse could be seen.



The whole building was like that, shadowed vision, blackness, something jumping out… chain saws, car engines, human grasping arms. Jessie had never been in a scarier haunted house, yet, she was able to maintain her rational ‘this isn’t real’ in the back of her mind… until the moment she was actually grabbed.



“Holy crap!  Brian!”  And she was pulled off to a room where she was blindfolded.



“Trust us,” she heard. “We picked you because you can handle it. We need a customer a few times a night to keep it real.”



As she was shuttled down some sort of corridor she felt her hand scrape on something. “Crap!  Ouch!"



“What happened?”



“I think I cut myself.”



She felt herself seated, “here, use this.”  A tissue was put in her hand and she wrapped it around the back of her hand. She felt her face being painted, her hair was ratted, a ragged, ripped coat was thrown on her. Her hand seemed better and the girl doing her make-up confirmed that it looked fine. Then she was scuttled down a corridor, un-blindfolded. A hot vampire winking hat her, took her tissue, and put her into what looked like an open grave. “Your friends are the next ones through, beg for help,” he instructed.



Jessie appreciated the brilliant theatrics at work. The people who’d taken her disappeared and another door opened.



“Brian!”  She called.



“What the… Jessie, what happened?”



“Down here!”  And then a light glowed by her foot.



Lainey screamed, “Oh my god, they killed her!”



“Help me out!”  Jessie pleaded.



Brian and Dave pulled her out and then a cackling man rushed through the next door. Brian and Dave both clung tight to Jessie as he grabbed her arm, so he kept running.



There was one last scare as the floor seemed to crumble, but they only fell about six inches and then they saw the last red dot of light and burst out into the exit area.



“Holy shit that was scary!  Oh my f***ing gawd!”  Lainey was beside herself and even Coqui and Brian looked shaken. Axe looked confused, as if he thought he’d been tricked. Only Dave and Jessie seemed to be adjusted.



“Photo of your petrified selves?”  A voice offered from behind a counter.



They stepped over. The man looked at them and pulled up a shot on a computer screen. “You,” he pointed at Jessie. “For being a good sport, you get one on the house. Everyone else, five bucks a print.”



“Good sport?”



“I’ll explain later,” Jessie said.



Brian and both girls bought a photograph of the six of them looking horrified. It was a funny picture.

Back in town at a diner Jessie explained over desserts.



“Well I’d be jealous except everyone here keeps staring at you like you’re insane,” Coqui offered.







**************

It hasn't gone through my final polish, but I thought it was fun an Halloweenish... so there you go...







Have a great Halloween!

Owesome Opportunity *shifty*

Ember in Wrilogonzia

Introduction: Late last week I saw an aye aye, possibly the cutest little creature in existence on Facebook, so I followed the link and saw what is effectively a round robin opportunity... one story teller at a time, the next person claims a spot, and together we are writing a fun little tale. Before you read my little addition today, please check out the introduction, and 2nd and 3rd posts of the story, all linked here:



Ember Explainer, Story Start and Links



Though in summary, Ember has fallen asleep at her computer and is “Jumping” through the blogosphere, so order is only necessary for the links between to make sense after the first.



****************



Ember felt a persistent poking. Three small fingers in the small of her back. She wanted it to stop; she was having such a comfortable sleep.



“Psst. Wake up!” The whisper was urgent.



Poke, poke, poke.



“If you don't wake up you're...”



And it was gone, but that made her lift her drowsy head. The plank table she'd fallen asleep on was being moved. It was Della.



“I'm so sorry Ember, but the Master was rejected this afternoon. Third time this week. When I mentioned you were here, he said he'd rather eat you than meet you.”



Ember spotted the open oven edging closer. “Surely that was a figure of speech!”



“I'm sorry. He's very cruel when we disobey.”



Ember tried to move her legs but they were frozen, petrified, like every nightmare she had ever had. “No! This can't be happening!” Computer. Computer. If only she could reach her computer. She closed her eyes. Screen saver. That's why she couldn't move, her computer had fallen asleep.



She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, envisioning her hands on the keyboard. If only she could...



S-T-A-R-T



It was only as she hit enter that she saw she hadn't pressed the S. Tart. She was going to be baked into a tart!



But suddenly she found herself immersed in water. Where was Misty when she needed a save? She was a bad swimmer! And who ever heard of a Watery Tart? That made no sense. Finally her legs propelled her through the top of the water.

“There you are!” A llama exclaimed with obvious relief! “I worried you wouldn't get out of that one, but there you pop like Mr. Happy! Though I would have recommended another location.”



“Who are you?”



“Hello! Perhluna? Remember? I spent almost an hour on top of you!”



“But you're a llama.”



Perhluna rolled his eyes, for some reason she was sure the llama was male. “She has rules. The Komosny who visit can only take certain forms. Badgers, otters, squirrels, chipmunks, and innuendo llamas.”



“So why would you choose to be an innuendo llama?” she raised an eyebrow incredulously.



“As luck would have it, it is the only one with the gift of speech.”



Ember was sure now that she was being subject to a grand joke, when suddenly Jack Sparrow approached. “Ember, love! So good to see you again!”

He took her hand and began to suckle each finger.



“Again? I think I'd remember...”



“I'm hurt! You've forgotten! Jerome? We barely escaped...”



“But you used to look like Jude Law?”



“Like the llama said, love. Her rules.” Jack... erm... Jerome, led her to a lounge chair and Aragorn son of Arathorn brought over a tropical looking pitcher and an iced glass. It was only then she realized how warm it was.

“This is sort of nice... tropical... handsome men... drinks...”



“Oh, you'll love it here, love,” Jerome assured her, seating himself on the ground near her chair. She'll make you lose these though.” He tugged at the knee of her pajama bottoms.



She frowned.



“It's part of her trap,” the annoying llama warned. “She makes you comfortable and then it is play, play, play. No work gets done at all!”



“That's a lie!” Aragorn of Arathorn pulled out a very sexy sword from somewhere, though for the life of her, she couldn't see where. He just wasn't wearing enough to have hidden it.



“Just look at all the men waggling their swords around. No decency at all,” the innuendo llama added.



“Llama, I've had enough of you disrespecting the Empress's Ways,” Aragorn had drawn up to the llama and had his sword to its neck.



“Erm...” the llama said meekly, “We'd probably best pay our respects.” He sounded terrified, which in turn terrified Ember.



She shook as Jerome led her to an odd garden, with a waterfall and a mass of scantily clad Cabana boys on one side and books on shelves as high as she could see on the other. In the middle, surrounded by a circle of desks, three with computers, and one with a note pad, was a woman. She appeared to be wearing nothing at all, though the monitors from this distance made that hard to confirm. Aragorn stepped behind her and nibbled her ear, “We've got visitors, love.”



“Ralph! You've come back! And you brought a friend!”



“It's Perhluna,” the llama said irritably.



She waved her hand and said, “Why don't you dance like I like?”



Perhluna began dancing.



“So Ember, how did you find yourself here?”



“You know my name?”



The woman pointed at a computer screen with a cartoon of herself on it. “I do read.”



“But I don't know who you are.”



“Nonsense. You specifically requested to come here. I'm the Tart... the Watery Tart. And I don't let just anybody enter through the pond portal--it's my seat of power, so to speak, but as it was an emergency...”



Ember was disconcerted, but figured she needed some answers. “You don't plan to eat me?”



“Oh honey, I'm straight, but I could probably round you up somebody if that's what you're after.”



Ember blushed so her face matched her hair. “But... what is this place?”



“My little haven, where I rule the world. Eventually I will rule all of it, but for now, this is my little domain.”



“But you're not mad I'm here?”



“Hey, I can share my toys, as long as you play nice, but... you are breaking my primary rule.”



“What's that?”



“No pants. If you're the uptight sort, we can probably find a fern for you to stand behind.”



“But...”



“There is a trunk with bikini's,” Jerome added quietly, “if you're a real prude.”



The llama had moved so he was dancing behind her, grunting quietly, “all part of the trap. You will get comfortable and be stuck here forever.”



“Ralph, if you ever want my help winning Ramona from Xavier, I'd stop with your side comments.”



“You know where Ramona is?”



“Jerome, lead her to her chambers while Ralph and I have a chat.”



Jerome was now kissing up the inside of Ember's arm as he walked her into an airy palace. “Much better than being chased by Gattaca Security, ne?”



“Ne? What's that?”



“Erm... another rule... picking up odd vocabulary here and there. It all adds to the charm though!”



“Jerome, answer me honestly. Is this like the Hotel California?”



“NOTHING like the Hotel California... erm... except the can't leave part...”



“So paradise forever... but... what about my life?”



The Tart was suddenly behind her. “Is your life really so fabulous?”



“It is!” Ember cried defensively.



“I'm not sure I'm buying it. But I'm willing to offer a trade. Do you know a man who could use some... reform?”



“Reform?”



“Someone insufferable. The kind who try to rule you. It's sort of my hobby... reforming bad boys.”



“Well there's my brother Wyndel.”



“Wyndel? I knew a Wendell once. He was rather bendy. Probably not the same guy?”



Ember shuddered and shook her head. She really doubted it.

“You give me this Wyndel's email address so I can haul him in for a month of reform—lingerie training, cabaret dancing—that kind of thing, with them, and I will let you go.” She pointed to a troop that Ember didn't know how she could have missed. They all wore lady's lingerie, high heels and were practicing a complicated line dance. Teaching them, was unmistakably, Lucius Malfoy. (Unmistakably, based on the flashing sign over his head). The Tart saw that Ember was grinning and smiled, “They perform every evening and on my whim. Would you like to see?”



She shuddered, knowing her brother would soon be one of them. She didn't really want that visual dancing around in her head, but he could sure use the lesson. THAT was a deal she could live with. She shook her head and wrote down Wyndel's email. The second she handed it over things started to go fuzzy.



And the continuation is here! Written by Tundiel (aka: my buddy Tara)

A Word from the Drama Queen

I decided to interview Jessie today. She is my fifteen-year-old heroine from CONFLUENCE, and I’ve kept her stashed away for too long. Jessie was the last brainchild to join the CONFLUENCE cast, but she was the one who took it from a vague idea about a family with a five-year-old who makes friends with a homeless man, to a concrete, writable story. From the first Jessie scenes I wrote, I knew I could really write the book. The plot came together, with her always having the strongest voice. I tried to upload images as to what I imagine Jessie to be. Amber Tamblyn (from her Emily Quartermaine days) is a favorite as a teen that is alternately tough, vulnerable, or pissed off. The image loader though, keeps failing…









So Jessie, tell me about yourself.



What is this, therapy?







Not at all. My readers would just like to get to know you a little better.



*snort* Right.





Okay, maybe I should try a different approach. What brought you to Clear Springs?



The forces of evil? Seriously, my dad, who I haven’t lived with since I was five, got this job offer, professor or something. See, he was gone for five years, went to Los Angeles to get his PhD, so when he said he was leaving, my mom said no way, but then there was this job for HER, in flipping Hong Kong, and she wants to take it for a few years, so she made me go with my dad. Totally sucks.





So you don’t like Clear Springs?



What’s to like? It’s a stupid little college town with nothing to do.





Have you made any friends?



Yeah, Brian’s cool. He’s part of a band, so I guess I know all of them, though Reg is a real prick. But Dave is nice, and Axe is funny. He’s stoned a lot, but mellow stoned, so that’s okay.





You don’t do any of that do you?



Get stoned? Naw. I saw a girl a couple years ago get really messed up and pull some stupid shit. I don’t need that. Anyway, so friends… I’ve also met a girl named Coqui who’s cool. I like her and her friends. So I guess on friends it’s okay here. There’s just nothing to do.





And what do you like to do?



I like acting. I was in a performing arts school in Seattle, but Clear Springs doesn’t have anything like that. Stupid high school did South Pacific last spring—so cliché!





I like South Pacific.



*snort* You would. You’re making my point.





And what about your family?



What, my dad that’s never home because of his stupid job? Trish is okay. I give her a bad time though, mostly because she’s there and dad’s not.





She’s your step-mom?



Yeah. And then there’s my sister and brother.





How old are they?



Hannah’s five, and she’s pretty adorable.





Not hard to live with siblings after all this time?



No—they’re actually the good part. I love that little Squirt. And Snotmeister is pretty cute too, though he’s just a baby.





So all in all, it doesn’t sound so bad.



Says you!







This interview was completed before the real action of CONFLUENCE starts, when Jessie is first getting acclimated, but hopefully it will give you a little bit of an idea about her personality. She is in many ways a typical teen, but somehow more grounded, and definitely an Aquarius—meaning very comfortable being her own person, rather than following.

CONFLUENCE Excerpt

I added labels yesterday and it occurred to me an had only a single post that included content, and a DIFFERENT post that included a writing sample, so I decided to pull a piece in that was sort of exciting but didn't give much away. This is from Chapter 8.


“Pledge, we have business with you!”

Kurt yawned and said, “sir, yes sir.” It had taken a lot of pounding on his dormitory door to wake him. The pounding had entered his dreams and played a role until now. He had squinted at the clock, 5:30 a.m. They led him through his hall, clad only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt. Doors opened as his hall mates peeked out to see what the racket was about.

He descended the stairs between four masked men, though he recognized it for hazing, so he wasn’t actually afraid. Outside, the cold cement nipped his bare feet and the hairs on his legs bristled, erect.

He was pushed into a covered pick-up bed between three other bodies. They all lay face down as they’d been pushed in. The pick-up bed closed and the engine rumbled as somebody drove. “Who else is here?” He whispered.

“Quiet Pledge!” Kurt cursed himself for his mistake. Apparently a senior member was riding in the back with them. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. They drove on for a long time. The road wound slowly down a long hill then flattened as they drove in the winding darkness. As they climbed out, they were blindfolded.

With difficulty, they were marched up a steep path. There was the unmistakable sound of a generator, masking the sound of water. Then they were corralled into something metal that didn’t feel particularly stable, but once inside, there were benches.

Kurt kept bumping people as he found his place along the bench, the ground below him swayed uncomfortably and then there was a lurch. Movement in one direction was added to the swaying. Kurt decided they were in some sort of gondola. He thought of the ski lifts near his home, but this wasn’t rising quite that sharply and felt too rickety; it was definitely older.

Then the gondola jerked to a stop and they were slowly herded out. The water sound here was louder away from the generator. Where he stood though, felt rocky. They followed a sandy path and then they were told to stop and stay still. What followed was a sweet, smoky smell that Kurt was relieved wasn’t marijuana. He’d hate to be a blind prisoner of a bunch of high people when they were apparently on rocks by a river.

After a short while he felt himself herded into a stark coolness that allowed no light at all to filter under his blindfold.

“Hold out your right arm and move until you feel the wall.” Kurt did as commanded. “Now walk until you are told to stop.”

The wall was rock, unfinished rock. Kurt knew this was a cave. He liked caves, but he hoped his captors were familiar. Caves could hold undesirable surprises, and he didn’t want to meet one while he was blindfolded.

They were told to stop about forty steps in and Kurt heard a scraping, like the sliding of wood against rock. They were then made to crawl through an area with a low ceiling, and finally they were told they could stand and take off their blindfold. Not that it helped. They were in pitch blackness.

“Hold perfectly still.”

There was a very faint whistle and then a rustling. It felt as if they were in the midst of an autumn storm, leaves whipping their faces. One of his fellow pledges screamed and thrashed at his head, an activity that apparently made things worse, as his screeching grew more frantic, but then it stopped and they walked again. They followed a complex system of turns and finally arrived at a dimly lit room with a cage. They heard another mechanical noise, so loud it nearly overwhelmed him. When a rudimentary lift arrived, Kurt understood. They all climbed on and descended the equivalent of several floors.

Once they were off the lift, Kurt observed the white dripping walls. They walked down a tunnel and were forced into boats which crossed the strange, white lake that radiated cold much stronger than the cold of the cave. They got out of boats and went down a long, winding tunnel, until they came to a large open ‘room’. Masked faces stood about in a small circle and the pledges were moved inside the ring.

Kurt had to admit the effects were pretty wicked. Candles gave a flickering light that caused leaping shadows. The pledges were on their knees in a circle and in the center was a small urn of some sort with aromatic smoke seeping from small holes in the sides.

A figure stepped forward in a horned mask. He seemed to glow. He asked each of them in turn, “why do you wish to pledge Kappa Upsilon?” He then began in a different place and asked each “what do you value most?” And finally he asked, “What is your greatest weakness?” This last was asked with a menacing voice and Kurt, transfixed but unbelieving, said, ‘Cynicism.”

Another figure then stepped forward with a small ceramic bowl full of some paste. He smeared some under each of their noses and Kurt felt immediately light headed.

The figure who had stood at the front of the room, completely still, began to speak in another language. Kurt thought it might be Greek, but he wasn’t sure. Then another figure stepped forward and put a card face down in front of each of them.

He told them all to turn their cards over. Kurt saw it was a tarot card, the hanged man. He was still questioning the meaning when all went black.

The Candy Dish

Those of you who have known me may have seen this before, but it is a favorite piece of mine and I thought I'd share it here.



A toddling tart circa 1967... (with the world's best-ever grandma)

The Candy Dish

There's not a time in my memory before my awareness of the dish, yet I feel certain that the first time I dared to ask, it was filled with lemon drops. I asked if I could have one, and of course my grandmother said yes. In forty years with her, I don't remember her ever telling me no. I spent a lot of time with her when I was a child, so Im sure she must have. I also wanted a lot, maximizing the potential for no-worthy occasions, but I can't think of a time when she did.

Every visit to her house the dish had a treat, butterscotches in their yellow papers, powdery pink mints, mixed tootsie rolls. The most special ones were the big chocolates with bright, sweet fillings. They weren't there very often. I remember asking why at one point and my grandmother whispered back conspiratorially, "Clay eats too many when we have them." Clay was my grandpa.

At family events the dish always felt a bit forbidding. I didn't like to be seen as too greedy, even though I was. My cousins would get scolded by their mom or my grandpa. Grandpa never scolded me because I was the only girl, but his scolding them made me feel guilty.

So the candy dish became sort of an intimate symbol. It represented time I had alone with my grandma and the little indulgences we shared. She and I would spend an afternoon playing Blew It (a dice game), or she would iron my coloring projects between two pieces of paper so the wax would melt and be smooth to the touch. When I turned 15 she allowed me to have a glass of wine at family get-togethers; it was always pink. She preferred pretty wine.

As I grew up, the indulgences changed in flavor, but never in feel. I always entered a haven in her home where no trouble could touch me. When my parents became embarrassing necessities, I still adored my grandma. When I needed an escape with no questions asked, I could flee to her house, climb her willow tree, dig in the trunks of old fashioned clothes, talk or be quiet as I needed. But I was always safe and loved.

My grandmother had a very special gift of making people just feel good. It was nice to be in my own skin when I was near her. She told me I was the prettiest, or the smartest, or the nicest. Whatever the insecurity, grandma could convince me it was unfounded.

My grandfather was extremely handsome as a young man, yet I learned at his funeral that it was my cute, perky, somewhat feisty grandmother who had had half a dozen suitors as World War 2 was ending. She was an optimist about everything. It always drove my mother, the pragmatist, crazy. Yet I can't think of a person I'd rather be like. I want to see the world through eyes in which my loved ones can do no wrong. I want to believe in the good things and show resilience when it doesn't quite work out that way. I want to be funny and charming and fiercely loyal.

I moved across the country several years ago for mostly educational reasons, though I still havent gotten back to school. The biggest price was leaving family behind. My mother and I can stay caught up by phone ands email, but I miss family gatherings. I miss a glass of wine with my grandma and a piece of candy from the dish. My grandmother remarried after my grandpa died and traveled for a few years, but by the time I had settled into a house, her husband had Alzheimers. They only got out to see us once.

Last summer, a year after Grandma lost Ray, my mom began to talk about grandma not doing so well. She had a few falls; she spent a lot of time in hospitals and physical therapy. I didnt know what to believe. To my mother the sky is always falling, or so it seems to the more optimistic members of our family. I wanted to believe she was wrong.

Yet I scheduled a trip home for Christmas and as it approached I feared my family might not get there in time. My mom talked of confusion and failing this and failing that. She told me clearly that the doctors had said grandma wouldnt recover. Her liver was failing. Two days after Christmas my kids and I boarded the plane. We de-boarded in Spokane and were picked up by my parents.

The next day my cousin and his family came to my moms. My cousin and his own mom had been feuding, but hed gotten the same message I had, grandma doesn't have much longer.

My kids and his stayed with my mom and his wife. My two cousins and I drove to Troy where my grandma was staying with my aunt, the estranged mother of the one cousin. We said our hellos and went back in the back bedroom where a makeshift hospital room had been set up.

My grandma was thin and frail, but her eyes lit up and she smiled so big. She was sitting up and wearing a lavender sweat suit and it was so hard to believe she was so sick. We all hugged her and visited. We each got some time alone with her. The last thing she said was that she wanted for my cousin and his mom to make peace. She said it only to me. She still believed I could do anything. When they cool off I will make sure they know. We all owe her that.

That day was my grandmother's last day of consciousness. I will believe forever that she waited to say good-bye to me. She hung on for three days after that, technically. We sat with her and talked and held her hands, but her last big effort was to see my cousins and I when she was fully alert.

A few days later my mom was insistent that we go to grandmas apartment and that I put my name on a few things to remember grandma by. I am the only one so far away that I would not be back later. I felt funny about it; my mom has three siblings and all four of them I felt should have first dibs. But I wrote a note saying that they were all welcome to bump me if they also felt attached to anything I put notes on. I got a table cloth, a picture book of the Pacific Northwest, a crystal bowl, and several tea cups. And I also got the candy dish.

It arrived this week. I put it on a set of shelves in our main room. I put fancy hard toffees in it because they are an indulgent candy to me. I might even buy a bottle of pink wine this weekend. Every time I see the dish I will think of my grandma.