Two and Twenty Dark Tales (32 page)

A glint of light catches my eyes, and I look away to see the sun on the horizon. “It’s morning,” I whisper. Peter doesn’t answer, and instead, wraps his arms around me as he turns toward it, kissing the top of my head. As he runs his hand down my arm, I notice the bracelet again. I guess I have been distracting.

“Peter,” I say, tugging on his hand. “What did you have to do tonight? Did you forget?”

He stills, glancing down at me with an expression so sorrowful, it’s like the earth drops out from under my feet. “No,” he whispers. “I didn’t forget, Lauren.”

I’m alarmed at how brokenhearted he looks, how his eyes turn glassy as he watches me.

“What?” I ask. “What do you have to do?”

Peter smiles sadly. “Your wish,” he says. “You made that stupid wish on the star.”

For a moment, I don’t even remember what he’s talking about. I back away and he lets me, his features pulled down with the weight of his despair.

“But I…” I stop, not wanting to say the words. Peter nods and all at once, I’m so regretful that I can’t even cry. I can’t even scream. “Who are you?” I ask, still sure that I’m in love with him. That he’s in love with me.

“We could have been so good together,” Peter murmurs, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, they are no longer green. He’s still beautiful, but the mischievous green is swapped out for an ominous black. I gasp and cover my mouth, backing up until I’m against the stone wall of the mausoleum.

The bracelet on Peter’s wrist begins to dissolve, falling away as ash. He apologizes, his voice low and dark as he reaches a shaky hand in my direction.

And tells me that he is Death.

– The End –

A Ribbon of Blue

Michelle Zink

A Bunch of Blue Ribbons

Oh, dear, what can the matter be?

Johnny’s so long at the fair.

He promised he’d buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,

To tie up my bonny brown hair.

– Mother Goose

R
UBY
Monahan looked at the clock, willing the minute hand forward. College Trig had never been her favorite subject, but today the thirty-nine minute class was almost unbearable. It wasn’t that Mr. Cohen spoke in a monotone, his words running together like one big, run-on sentence. It wasn’t even Trevor and Brad, sitting in the back, guffawing quietly like the jackasses they were.

It was because today, the carnival flyers would be posted.

She knew today was the day because it was the first Monday in June, and the flyers always went up the first Monday in June. The carnival wouldn’t start until Thursday night, but the posters were a milestone, proof that the fair was coming, that for a few short days, Ruby’s gray world would be full of color and life and sound.

She was so busy imagining it—the striped tents and canopies, the smell of sugar spun in the cotton candy machines, the flashing lights of the Ferris wheel and tilt-a-whirl—that she jumped when the bell finally rang.

She stayed in her seat while everyone filed past, even though she wanted to run for the door like everyone else. She’d learned the hard way that it was better to let everyone go ahead so she could take her time without their eyes on her back, the shuffling of their impatient feet behind her.

She put her notebook in her backpack. Then, when everyone had reached the door, she maneuvered her way out of the chair, got her balance, and moved slowly forward.

“Goodbye, Ruby,” Mr. Cohen said on her way out the door.

“Bye, Mr. Cohen.”

She continued forward, grateful it was the last class of the day. Sometimes she moved so slowly that the next class would already be entering the room while she was still making her way through the doorway. In the best of cases, it resulted in an awkward dance, the nicer kids moving aside, trying not to seem annoyed while they waited for her to move out of the way.

But that was only if someone like Trevor or Brad wasn’t around to make fun of her. Only if someone like Melanie Curtis wasn’t there, smirking and flipping her curly black hair like some kind of beauty queen, rolling her eyes like Ruby was keeping her from a date with Channing Tatum or something.

Then it was excruciating, and Ruby would try to hurry out the door, keeping her head up on principle but avoiding their eyes, hoping they’d just let her pass, leave her alone.

The end of the day was always better, and she made her way through the halls, already clear, the majority of students gone right after the bell, anxious to be free.

She didn’t bother to stop at her locker. She’d made a point to get her books together at lunch, knowing she’d want to hurry to the light post on the corner right after school. Her left foot was bothering her more than usual. The cerebral palsy had twisted it at an odd angle, forcing her to drag it behind her a little as she walked. Most of the time, she didn’t think about it. She’d been born with CP. She didn’t know anything else.

But every now and then her bones hurt, a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to spring from the core of her body. Sometimes it came from her foot. Other times it came from her wrist, bent slightly backward, or the curled fingers of her left hand.

Still, today was one of her favorite days of the year, and she was determined not to let anything spoil it. She made her way laboriously through the big metal doors and out into the sunshine.

It was warm, the kind of day just before summer, when the heat is gentle, the breeze a soft embrace. Ruby waited at the corner, looking both ways and making sure there weren’t any cars coming before she crossed the street. When she was safely on the sidewalk, she stopped, looking at the piece of paper stapled to the light post.

20TH ANNUAL BUCKLAND BROTHERS TRAVELING CARNIVAL

There was other information, too. A list of acts and rides, dates and starting times, fine print that absolved the carnival organizers of responsibility in case of injury or death.

But the important thing was that they were coming.

In just three days, Ruby would be walking the grounds, listening to the beautiful, clunky mix of accordion and organ that was piped through the speakers, hearing the carnies call out to people passing by, trying to get them to play the games that were always slanted to give the carnival an advantage.

None of which was the reason for her excitement.

As she turned around and started for home, avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk that might cause a fall, she only had one thing on her mind, the same thing she thought about every year when the carnival came to town; here was another chance to look for the old woman and the boy.

***

It had started when she was thirteen. Grandma had taken her to the carnival as a reward for a particularly grueling few weeks in which Ruby had been forced to endure a fresh round of tests and blood work, not to mention an MRI that had given her such awful claustrophobia that they’d had to pull Ruby out of the machine, forcing the doctors to start all over again three separate times.

Ruby had never seen anything like the carnival. She was captivated by the sights (the tall man in the striped hat on stilts, the cymbal-clanging monkey), smells (peanuts and dirt and copper and the faint scent of manure), and sounds (bells ringing as people won the games, shrieking from kids on the rides). There were things Grandma wouldn’t let her do. There always were. But it was still the most exciting thing Ruby had ever seen, and she’d dragged her bad foot through the dirt, stopping at every single booth and not feeling an ounce of pain.

But the highlight had been the fortune-teller. Ruby had to beg—her grandmother wasn’t one for “malarkey”—but in the end, Grandma had taken a big drag on her cigarette and handed Ruby a dollar. Then she’d sat on a picnic bench outside the tent, making it clear that she had no intention of accompanying Ruby inside.

Ruby had only hesitated a second before parting the curtains and stepped into the tent, fear and excitement mixing in her blood until she felt dizzy with them both.

The old woman sat at a table draped with rich, purple velvet, an array of mismatched candles flickering at its center. Ruby had been momentarily disappointed. The tent was sparse, the mystical decor—other than the table and candles—nonexistent. Nothing at all like on TV.

The woman had waved her forward. “Come, child! Sit, and let me tell tales of your future.”

Ruby had moved forward, feeling self-conscious about her halting gait. But the woman had only smiled, her eyes moist and warm. Silver hair escaped from a scarf around her head, and her rings reflected off the ceiling of the tent, a kaleidoscope of color.

“Take that chair there, child.” The woman gestured to the chair across from her. “It’s been waiting just for you, as have I.”

Ruby sat and placed the dollar on the table.

The woman shoved it aside. “Your hands?” she asked.

Ruby lifted her hands, looking at them in question, and a second later, the old woman took them in her own. Ruby was surprised to find the woman’s flesh warm and dry, comforting, like her grandmother’s.

She turned Ruby’s hands over so that her palms faced the ceiling. Then she peered at them, her forehead wrinkled, her brow knit together in concentration.

“Hmmm… I see,” she murmured. “Just as I thought.”

Ruby sat up straighter, staring at her own hands. “What? What do you see?”

“You’re imprisoned,” the woman said softly. “A beautiful bird with clipped wings.”

Ruby felt her face flush, tried to pull her hands away. But the woman wouldn’t let them go.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, child. No fault of your own. You have a purpose here, just like anyone else.” She clucked her tongue. “Besides, better times are ahead.”

“Better times?” Ruby repeated.

“Freedom… light… love,” the woman said, meeting her eyes. “They will all come with the boy.”

“The boy? What boy?” It wasn’t at all what she’d expected the old woman to say.

“Why, the boy from the carnival, of course.”

Ruby looked around, as if the boy would step from the shadows. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Never you mind.” She set Ruby’s hands on the table and patted them gently. “You’ll know him when he comes. He’ll come bearing a whistle, a ticket, and a ribbon of blue. And everything will be just fine.” She patted Ruby’s hands again. “You’ll see.”

Ruby had sat there a minute more, wondering if the woman would say anything else. When she didn’t, Ruby had thanked her and left.

When her grandmother had asked what the fortune-teller said, Ruby just told her that she would have freedom, light, and love. Those were the important things in the message anyway. The things she wanted most.

But her grandmother had snorted, her unspoken cynicism hanging heavy in the air as they made their way home.

***

That was four years ago. Ruby had never spoken to her grandmother about it again, but every year she went to the carnival, hoping against all rational thought to meet the boy. Hoping, even, for another chance to talk to the old woman, to see if “freedom, light, and love” was just a line she fed everyone willing to part with a dollar.

But the woman had never been there again. In fact, the carnival had never had another fortune-teller. Ruby knew it was irrational to keep hoping, but she couldn’t help it.

Hope was in short supply. She’d take it where she could get it.

***

That night, Ruby made dinner and did the dishes. Her grandmother tried to help, but the emphysema had gotten worse in recent years, the oxygen tank she was forced to drag around at least as cumbersome as Ruby’s twisted limbs.

Ruby tried not to think about what would happen if her grandmother passed on. Ruby’s mother had died giving birth, her father gone long before that. Ruby was somewhat functional, more functional than a lot of people with CP, but it still scared her, the thought of being all alone in the world. What would she do for work? How would she support herself? Babysitting Conner, the seven-year-old next door, wouldn’t even cover her medications. Besides, he’d grow up eventually. Then what?

She put water on for the peppermint tea that settled her stomach. Almost constant nausea was one of the things she hated most about the new anti-seizure medication the doctor was trying her on. Even when she was hungry, she could rarely eat, and she’d shrunk from 120 pounds to 105 in the six months she’d been taking it, proof that while there might not be such a thing as being too rich, you could definitely be too thin.

“Take it you’re going to that fair again,” her grandmother rasped from the kitchen table.

Ruby took a deep breath, bracing herself for the criticism she knew would come. “Probably.”

Her grandma put out the cigarette she was holding in her hand. “Waste of money, if you ask me.”

Ruby had to bite back the words she really wanted to say:
I didn’t.

She shrugged instead. She had her own money. Not much of it, but enough for an occasional movie, a coveted book she couldn’t get at the library. She would have taken more babysitting jobs if she could get them, but looking after infants and toddlers was out of the question with her useless hand and even parents of older children sometimes looked skeptically at her when she inquired about babysitting, like her mind was as messed up and twisted as her limbs.

Her grandmother broke into a fit of coughing. Ruby limped over, adjusting the controls on her tank so that it would deliver a little more oxygen to her lungs. Ruby hated that she still smoked—especially so close to the oxygen that could ignite, blowing them all to kingdom come—but she knew her grandmother was suffering, too. She carried it differently than Ruby, a chip on her shoulder instead of a pail of water balanced carefully atop her head, but Ruby was certain they weren’t very different underneath it all.

Her grandmother took a deep breath, sucking in the oxygen, her eyes losing the spark of panic Ruby had come to recognize when she had trouble breathing. Ruby squeezed her shoulder gently. Her grandmother looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

***

School was excruciating on Thursday. When the bell finally rang, Ruby didn’t wait for everyone else to leave before she got out of her desk. Her eagerness earned her a few muttered remarks from Trevor as she blocked the aisle, but she was too excited to care.