Don't Be Scared

The darkness seemed overwhelming, as if the sun had set too quickly and dived to deep into the depths of night. But as it fell, the owl swooped down to land on Penny Rose's little shoulder. And there it sat, calm as daylight is in the afternoon, looking out into the daunting blackness. It cocked its head at her distress, evident upon her face, as she forlornly looked into the darkness of the trees around her, waiting for some noise to frighten her again. "Don't you want to see the loveliness of the light?" it asked her cryptically, and ruffled its wings, resettling them, contentedly, "It is most beautiful at night." Something Lucif-like flashed in its big eyes, but Penny Rose was too distracted to notice.
As he finished his question, however, the box in Penny Rose's hands began to glow with a light all of its own, warming and shining, as if it was full of lovely joy. And then it seemed very strong, and as if it was growing, it broke free from her loosening fingers, winging up slightly, smoothly, to hover very stably in the air above her head and in front of her, quite as if it was sitting on something. However, then it began to turn. It turned quite slowly at first, and then as Penny Rose watched, it turned faster, until it broke open with the happiest of little clicks, and spilled out letters which seemed to hum melodiously, busily, like very beneficent bees, or birds that were busy making nests. Except, of course, they were not making making nests. Instead the letters, which were physical things, tactile, and shining, like blocks carved of bone, whirled and changed, all a whirlwind of energy, and started to capably arrange themselves into words. The words caught Penny Rose's attention immediately. "Don't be scared," they said, comfortingly vibrating in the air in front of her. "You are the Reader," that last word seemed to frisson with excitement. "So it is written, and so it is." The letters flew away quickly, to be replaced by more. "Read us and you will find your way," said the letters, "but first, you must open the box."
And with that they all ushered silently back in, the box closed, the light faded, a little, but even so, still glowed with a sort of impermiable joy. And it found her hand again and nestled in.
The owl gazed at her, as if expecting some sort of reaction. But Penny Rose's eyes were only excited and filled with radiance as she looked at the box. Then they fell slightly and she looked up at the owl. "This can't possibly be for me," she said, quietly, looking wonderingly at the box.
The owl hooted. "It doesn't do that for anyone else!" it exclaimed, and stepped closer to her ear. "And it's not all light and bright for the Reader, love. There's a long road ahead." With those words the very road seemed to start crumbling in front of her, and Penny Rose began to float, then fall, terrifyingly, into the darkness. Emotions rushed through her, but still the box hummed to itself, to her, a little tune.
The darkness spread out in front of her, then she saw the rushing ground. She tried to scream, could not, then closed her eyes and in a blinding instant, woke up upon the ground outside the deep forest rim, near the side of a silvery brook. She knew at once she was through the dreams, and the graceful form of Lucif, silent as a ghost, but very real next to her confirmed it.

Just a Dream

Penny Rose awoke in a curled ball, under a big, spreading tree. The grass was dark around her, the wind blowing smoothly, and there was a bright moon in the sky. Had she made it through the dream? Had she come to the other side? Where was Lucif? The box was still warm at her heart, though she was cold. She put her hand over it, then pulled it out to watch the way it glowed, like a little hearth, in her hand. She sat against the tree and waited. Where else was she to go? But the scene quickly changed around her. There was a storm coming, and with absolute certainty, she realized she had to go home.
She got up, and began to quickly hurry, over stile, and through small woods, fleeing the storm very fast. But it was faster. It caught up with her, and overtook her, dark and roiling clouds, thunder, lightning. She began to run. Soon she saw the schoolhouse, oddly lit up as if for a party. Perhaps her parents were there? She felt she should stop, but kept running, anyways. The flat paper-doll-house look of the windows, even golden and lit as they were, frightened her. She hurried as fast as she could. It was as if her feet had the wind in their heels, but even so the storm came upon her house before she did. She couldn't go in, though she wanted to be there, even though she saw the lightning hit it from a distance of a quarter mile. It hit it, and in a moment, it was ablaze as if it had been burning for hours. When she got to it, it was entirely burnt, cold, and out. She was in a welter of complete despair. Tears again began to course, so easily accessible here, in this world.
And then she felt the box by her heart. All this running time, she hadn't noticed it. But it's warm pulse kept her heart from freezing with the cold of sadness. And she took it out once again, though it only illuminated that she had been mistaken. Only her room had been burnt. The rest of the house was simply abandoned. She clutched it. That couldn't be right. Her room did not face that way. And suddenly she remembered, it was a dream. A dark and horrible one, but a dream, and therefore not real. She looked closer at the room, but it seemed to fade on closer inspection. She felt the pull and the horror of it, but taking a step back, she resolutely held the box and set off down the road. Only a dream. Only a dream! A deep struggle to stare at the ruins of it all came over her, but with great fortitude and grit, she turned slowly on her heel, and marched around her house and out into the North Moors.
The sun began to rise, and birds to sing. She found herself transported to an arbor-land of trees. And she saw an owl ahead, sitting awkwardly right on the ground. A dream still, but this was at least a friendly mirage. She greeted it politely, wondering what it might do, and saw the happiness in a dark pair of eyes. "I'm glad I've found you," it said, bewilderingly. "You've been gone some time in this place." Owl gaze held hers reassuringly for a moment. "Yes," said Penny Rose, unsure, "I'm not certain how to get out."
"Ahh," said the owl softly, and swished it's wings to come to rest on her shoulder. Penny Rose was delighted by the lightly prickling weight on her shoulder. "It is not difficult, once you know the way." Penny Rose was relieved to hear it. "But I think that you have not yet finished with this place." A deep sinking feeling came upon her at that.
"No?" she asked, warily, thinking perhaps she could get the secret way from him and simply do it very quickly, thus escaping any more of this trauma.
"No," it said, seeming quite happy. Then it looked at her, and cocked it's head lovingly. "You've seen the outside of you, and your inside world, but what about that box? Have you dreamed about the box?"
Penny Rose shook her head. "Ahh, well, that is a very important part of all of this my dear. And all I can do is set the stage." The owl flew up to the top of the tall wall that was now along Penny Rose's right side. The evening came fast, and a mist arose. Penny Rose felt cold and afraid, once again. "No!" she said, even though quietly, it was clear. "No more, please," she pled. The owl didn't stop, but like a symphony, directed the elements to continue their work. "Oh box," she said, forlornly, "why must it be dark again?"

The Scarlet Lady

Penny Rose watched as Lucif walked forward into the tree branches, the tip of it's long cat-tail disappearing into the fir branches. She felt a sense of angry loneliness and betrayal. Did it not know she was just a child? Then she realized, looking behind her, how alone she truly was, and with a great intake of breath, she parted the branches behind it, hoping she might somehow go with it at least as far as the mist. It was nowhere to be seen. She was utterly, utterly alone.
She walked into the dark trees, hands trembling. Only the little box was warmly shining near her heart, and she felt it as she walked. Golden light, she imagined, there inside her jacket. Unlike this dull gray and shadow through which she was moving. She expected, as she brushed through branches and spied trunks, that she would soon arrive at the mist. But it never seemed to come. Instead, the trees opened slightly to a strange scene. It was her town, but much smaller. And more gray, and dull. The details seemed odd. She was walking down the road. There, there was the chemist's, and there the grocery. She new Mr. Mooney at the grocery. He was a very odd man. She passed it, but the windows were all dark, though the light was midday. It was as if it was abandoned, desolate. The ringing of silence surrounded her, and seemed thick and muddy.
Then, there, in the middle of the road ahead of her, there stood a woman. The woman was not walking or doing business, but waiting for her. Waiting for her. And the woman was dressed in a costume entirely of scarlet. She was beautiful, tall, raven-haired, red-lipped, with great eyes of green and gray, and sometimes blue when Penny Rose looked harder. Her clinging gown seemed to undulate around her, but everything was still other than that, like a painting.
She was not watching Penny Rose, but waiting, and watching something else. Penny Rose approached her, timid, unsure, and though knowing this was a dream, terrified of what powers such a woman might have. The wild hair stood around the woman's face like a curling pile of snakes and fire, and the woman was directing her attention towards Penny Rose, though there was something strangely introspective about her eyes, as if Penny Rose was looking in a mirror at herself.
"What did you do?" said the voice of the woman accusingly. It was the voice of her aunt, the voice, long ago, like her mother's. "What did you do to it all?" And the woman stormed away. Penny Rose reached for her, wanting more of the voice, whatever it said, and took a piece of the woman's gown in her hand. But the gown simply started to unravel, and though Penny Rose dropped it immediately, it was as if it was stuck to her or the ground, or once started couldn't stop. The dress unraveled, and with it, the woman beneath it, as if they were one. Soon all that was left, as she walked away, was the hair that Penny Rose could see, and then that too was gone. A great feeling of bereavement hit her. It was like losing her only friend in the world. She began to cry helplessly, the sobs that only dreams can bring. She knew it was a dream but the sense of guilt and culpability was deep inside her. She couldn't move. She sat down, grasped her knees, and wept. She could go no further.

What Dreams May Come

The darkness suffused paw and foot alike, and there was a deep cold with it, like the breath from the lungs of a high mountain pass on a black winter night. But although Penny Rose expected the squelch of wetness beneath her sole, none came. It wasn't wet at all. Lucif trode on deeper into it, and Penny Rose followed suit. Soon the darkness came to her nose, and Lucif's eyes. A calm in the mirror-silver, and the reassuring grip she had on its ruff, kept Penny Rose from turning about, though her heart had sank deep into fear. Was the land they traveled to under all of this?
The darkness encompassed her, like the thickest of smokes.
Only her grasp on Lucif's fur and the soft yet reassuring ground beneath her feet oriented her, as the slope continued downwards for some time. They must have passed on for fifteen minutes before the deep of black seemed to lessen to the smoke of a dour gray, and then thinned to a haze and finally opened up clear, if still dark. There was a great cavern in which they stood, looking as if it sloped away to nothing before them, like there was some deep hole into which it fell, some hundreds of yards ahead. Great pointed rocks surrounded them, jagged, torn, and dark gray, some black, fallen, or rising, throughout the earth on which they stood. It was lit dully by an other-worldly light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, but it was a chill light, unearthly, gray. The world was without shadow, and seemed flat, two-dimensional, and very dim. The ground continued down beneath her feet, and Lucif turned to her.
"You must follow me carefully here, my dear," it said calmly, and started to pick its way through the thick, tired, silent light and jagged boulders. Penny Rose followed behind, hand out to keep her fingers to the fur of Lucif's back. It's tail twitched here and there, sometimes hitting Penny Rose in the nose, or swishing her ear, but Lucif seemed undisturbed and Penny Rose found it oddly reassuring. They continued to slope down. They sloped until it seemed as if they could not possibly slope more... The perfectly round edge of the cliff, shaped like the curve of a hill, seemed to spread right before their feet. "Close your eyes," said Lucif with great sureness and aplomb. Penny Rose bit her lip, took a firmer grip into Lucif's fur - she felt it flinch slightly under her fingers - and closed them resolutely.
They walked forward.
It was like walking up a very smooth hill.
They continued to walk.
The hill continued to climb under them.
Penny Rose dared not open her eyes for fear of something going terribly, terribly wrong.

After some long, blind minutes, the ground was flat again, and her toes hit the small pebbles of a more uneven earth. Lucif seemed to breathe more easily beside her. It stopped. "You may open your eyes, child," it said briefly. Penny Rose opened them and carefully turned to look behind her, frightened everything could reverse and she would fall down, up... Fall to her death. Sloping down to a great hole was the soft, smooth grassy side of a rounded hill. They had walked not through, or over, but AROUND it, as if it was the side of a perfect ball. Her head swam, and she blinked as her stomach revolted at such a thought. Lucif stared limpidly at her. "This is not the gate, my dear, only the path to it. Come with me to that far stone there." Penny Rose sighted what it indicated: a great stone placed at the side of the cavern wall. Except here it was not a cavern wall. It was the dark branches of dark, dark, trees. Trees crowded with branches and fir needles.
They walked together to the huge, whitish stone, shaped roughly like some sort of obelisk. Lucif turned to her slowly. It looked long into her wondering eyes. "And here I must leave you, my dearest," it said, particularly kindly. "No one can enter through the gate together; for you are not in my dreams-not as you are anyways-and I am not in yours." Penny Rose's heart seemed to sink to her feet.
"What do you mean?" she queried, forlorn. "Dreams?"
"You must walk through the dreams you dream to get to the other land," replied Lucif simply. "These great arbors guard the way. Beyond them lies... for me, a cloudy mist, and then the annals of my mind." Lucif paused momentarily, as if thinking back upon the thousand thoughts before. It seemed to recall itself quickly, though, and turning back to her said, "and we cannot tarry. Remember, always remember," it brought its head close to hers, its gaze almost unbearably deep and cloudy, "it is only a dream."
Penny Rose shuddered. Dreams were especially cruel to her.

Moor Deep

Lucif sprang to attention, paws up on the bed. "There is no time," it said urgently. "We must leave now. Now!" Penny Rose jumped from the bed. "Will my aunt be all right?" Lucif made a sympathetic motion with its large head, "Oh my dear, it is you who are in danger." Penny Rose frowned, but nodded, put on her stoutest boots, a heavy dress over her nightgown, and surreptitiously picked up her favorite doll. Lucif looked at her, and shook its head. Sadly, Penny Rose sat Sarah back on the bed, tucking her under the blankets lovingly, and hoped fervently to be back soon.

She walked to the bedroom door. "Not that way," said Lucif, quietly. "My jacket," replied Penny Rose, "and my scarf and hat."

Lucif frowned, but silently followed, small claw-taps the only sign that it was lurking behind Penny's small form.

The house was dark and very still. The embers of the fireplace were banked in the parlor, and the kitchen was cold and empty, a very odd state for it indeed. But despite its eeriness, there was an angular normalcy to it. Lucif's very presence clashed mightily with such a scene. Penny Rose walked softly out, followed by this almost mythical creature, into the darkened space of everyday.

The anteroom of the house was colder still, all cobbled onto the edge of the house as it was. The darkened form of Lucif watched with its strange reflective gaze as Penny Rose went through the routine of coat and hat, scarf and gloves. The last vestiges of anything that was normal, except of course, it very much wasn't. There wasn't any time. The moment she had clumsily buttoned her last hole, Lucif was behind her, and with jaws very strong, had tossed her upon its back. Penny Rose shrieked ever so softly, and promptly made to tumble off. But Lucif went still and she soon found her balance. "Take a hold of my ruff, now, child," said the creature, and a few slow steps forward, Penny Rose reached to unlatch the door, they were out in the much colder night, and leaping along. Penny Rose cried, "we have not latched the door behind..." but they were already very far away, much farther than she could have imagined.

The stars were brighter. So bright in fact that they seemed to sear into Penny Rose's eyes. Or perhaps it was the tears that were swimming there: her stomach wrenched toward home, even as her heart beat in fear.

Lucif didn't notice, or if it did, it was quiet. It veritably flew over ground, running far, far toward the North, out of the village, far past farmland, into the wild of the dark green moors, clear and cold, misted in the black of night.

They didn't stop until Penny Rose, stiff and cold, could hold no longer and began to sway over Lucif's rippling back. The speed abated ever so little, until fixed points began to come back into focus besides the points of stars above. So tired she forgot to be unsure, Penny Rose asked calmly, "Where are we going?"

Lucif turned and blew hot breath over her hands. "We are going to the gates, my dear. We must find the Scribe and see what we can see."

"And how can we get there?"

"We must go through the moor-deep, and quickly before more sentinels arrive. You will need to be brave, child. The deep is no place for one so young."

Penny Rose wrankled slightly at that, but accepted that it might indeed be too much for her, wondering if she could be brave enough to not be left behind.

As the sun rose across the deep green of the endless, undulating harsh of plains that ran until what seemed infinity, Lucif and Penny Rose crested one last hill and came upon what seemed to be a deep, dark lake covered in mist. Lucif paused, as if steeling itself, and Penny Rose could feel the rigidity and stiffness of discomfort in its back. It didn't like this place, and it was exhausted. She slipped off to stand beside it, contemplating the oddly flat-looking water that seemed to drop into nothing. This was the Deep then, and she frowned in anxiety. The box was still glowing quietly in her hand, and gripping it a little harder, she reached out and nestled her fingers into Lucif's fur as well. The mirror eyes turned to her, and a soft smile, half happy, half sad, rested on its face. "This is not an easy journey, my little one," it remarked, "it is much longer than it would first appear... the way between two different lands."

"And... how do we do it?"

Lucif raised a brow, and cocked its head. "Why we simply walk, of course."

It started slowly toward the edge of the lake, Penny Rose hurrying to keep up with it. The sun was golden, but the moors still the bone-chill cold of predawn, belying the warmth of the light. Her eyes big, she followed Lucif toward the apparent shore. "It will be alright," she whispered nonsensically to the little box, and tucked it into the pocket of her dress over her heart.

Lucif paused at the edge of the dark pool. "Are you ready?" it asked her, solemnly. Penny Rose didn't nod or say a word, she simply put her hand in its ruff and looked straight forward, biting her lip. Lucif nodded in understanding, and began to wade in. The darkness covered paw and paw, and Penny Rose stepped after it.

The Sentinels

When she was very young, too young to remember how old she was, Penny Rose had dreamt strange things. Night after night large winged creatures wheeled in the sky, and fire made points of light in odd shapes upon the moors. These things she dreamed over and over, and then, as quickly as they had come, they went. And with them went her parents.

Penny Rose awoke with a start. The room was dark, and her heart was beating. As difficult as it was for her to fall asleep in the first place, it was yet more so fall asleep in the middle of the night after awaking. She didn't move in bed, but her skin prickled tensely, as if every hair was a sensor tuned to the frissions of the night. She felt sweat at the top of her brow, and everything beneath the covers felt close and clammy. The room was dark; with no moon in the sky it was as if a deep mist suffused everything out of the closest range. But it wasn't mist, in this case. It was the heavy black of shadows heaped all around her. Then she heard it. A clicking of claws on wood floor. It was what had woken her, and now they were nearing her bed. Her heart beat as if to run from her and escape. She saw movement at the side of her little bed, and wished fervently she was dreaming. Was she dreaming? She must be dreaming.

The little box with the strange writing nestled warmly in her hand, a dull glow lighting her skin. She clung to it, her head still and motionless on the pillow as the dark figure neared her. She peeked at its approach through lids only slitted open. If thought to be still asleep, surely she would be safer. Movement only made matters worse, made violence worse, made others more angry. She tried to calm her breathing, but her heart pounded as if it wanted to be heard. She gripped the little box harder and it glowed stronger in her hand, its warmth growing a little more. The clicking stopped at her bedside, and a pair of eyes turned on her, silver and bright in the night. She closed her eyes against its sharp gaze. She would die, no doubt.

There was a crash through the window, and suddenly the beast at her side hurtled through the air, leaping at whatever it was that had come in. The other thing struggled and thudded, huge gusts of wind seemed to come from it, even as the night air was quiet beyond the broken glass. There was scrabbling of claws on wood, a crack as they fell into one of her small dressers, and then silence. Penny Rose had shot out of bed at the first distraction, and run to the door. But like all bad dreams, the door would not open, and she stood there, white nightgown gone gray and short dressing her goosepimpled form, little box glowing calmly in hand. As suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped. Everything stopped. There was a low, sad whistle, and another gust of wind. Then tap, tap, tap. The claws on wood again.

"Don't fear," said a kind voice. It was the silver-eyed thing, walking toward her, limping slightly, it sighed, and she heard a small thud as it sat down near her. "It has gone where it came, little the wiser."

Penny Rose tentatively lifted the little box, shining now ever more brightly, to see the supine form of what had woken her. It had brindled fur, soft and thick, a rather canine set of ears, like a shephard dog, and the whiskers of a cat. Its eyes were the strangest of all; like mirrors without pupils, looking at her with a calm and curious expression. "You are very young to hold the book," said the thing in a gentle voice, and turned its head to the side. "But these days we are rushed to the end without preamble..." The strange eyes turned to the distance. "Are you mute?" It asked, very nicely indeed, rising and putting its nose in her hand for a small sniff.

"No," replied Penny Rose. She had been told not to pester people with questions, and searched for one suitable to such an elegant creature. She couldn't find one, so she stayed silent.

"You are an odd creature," it said without malice, "most I know ask a great many questions. They are the key to life, you know... questions."

Penny Rose nodded, frightened and intimidated. Her tongue was tied in a knot of nerves. "My name is Penny Rose," she informed the beast, trying for politeness if nothing else was possible for her. "It's... nice to meet you."

The thing chortled. "How nice to meet you too, my dear. I am Lucif, and that was a terrible thing they call a Badona; horrible winged things with bad tempers and no morals to speak of. They generally have terrible breath as well." Lucif began to lick its paw delicately.

"Why was it here?" queried Penny Rose softly after a moment or two of watching Lucif cleansing itself.

Lucif raised its head, "why don't you know, my little girl, that it it is you and that thing you hold? It brings them." Penny Rose looked at the box in alarm.

"Well, then I do not want it," she said sadly, though she had grown to like the bright gold warmth it exuded. "The old man must not have liked me very much."

Lucif's eyes snapped wide at that. "He came to you himself? He must have thought you exceedingly special."

Penny Rose stepped a little back, and looked at her toes. "Well... he did not come to me so much as... I was there with him while he was in my schoolroom, by accident you see?"

Lucif's eyebrows arched slightly more. "No, I don't my dear."

"Well... when I looked at him he seemed less stiff, and so when he took my hand it just dropped from his cloak, like a forgotten key or something," she said very quietly indeed.

Lucif's tall and pointed ears pointed towards her even more, and easily caught the words that stumbled from Penny Rose's lips. "I see..." it said, pensively.

"I didn't mean any harm," said Penny Rose, afraid perhaps she had done something wrong. "Oh no, my dear, you didn't do anything at all," said Lucif, absentminded. It had risen and was slowly pacing up and down, shaking its head. "This is much more complicated than I had thought before."

It was some hours before Penny Rose went back to bed, and Lucif lay there beside her, dark and large, brindled creature of strange dreaming eyes that it was.

The morning dawned cloudless. And Lucif was gone.

Come the evening, and bedtime, Penny Rose knelt beside her bed for prayers, and was startled to open her eyes to the mirrored ones of Lucif once again.

She fell asleep to the soft sound of a deep, beast breath beside her. And woke to the sound of her own panting. The dream was back again.

Penny Rose didn't know what to do. But the box in her hand was not glowing. She debated. She wondered. Should she wake the thing beside her? Should she bother it with her odd fancies? She looked at the darkened box. She thought about the beast last night. She mulled Lucif's words that questions were the key to life. The key to it!

She whispered ever so slightly. "Lucif?" The breathing stopped and mirror eyes swam up toward her. "Yes, my dear," it said, urbanely. "I'm dreaming of the winged things and fire again," she gulped, "does that mean anything?" Lucif's eyes became a whiter silver. "Fire?" "Yes, fire in spots all over the hills. Strange shapes, like when I was little...er." "Yes, little one, it means a great deal!"

The Priest's Stone

Penny Rose woke up one blustery morning and timidly pulled the blankets above her head. The day was dark already, and it was only 8 O'clock. She was afraid of the day yet getting worse, and admonishing herself for it, she unwillingly climbed out of bed, and made it behind her.

Penny Rose's days often started thusly, and often ended with a trembling entrance into her bed once more in the dark of a night peopled with all sorts of awful things. Her aunt built monsters in her head, you see, and those monsters were terrible and hateful things, entering unannounced and powerful beyond any reasonable strength. Penny Rose was not one to question her aunt's greater knowledge of things. She was, after all, only eight. This was a fault she found it hard to forgive in herself, and others tended to overlook in favor of expecting much more of her than she could strive to fulfill. Yet often, oddly, she did manage to carry out these requests, rendering them yet more common in her life.

Penny Rose carried her little lunch pail, old and tin, in her hand and crept out of the house with trepidation. The wind was a powerful thing there near the great dark green plains, hills and valleys of grass that stretched far to the North and East. The wind that came down them seemed of a much more brutal variety than normally. Penny Rose watched it hurtle into the trees, sweep the grasses as if it were full of snakes, and push dark clouds more closely overhead. She began to run, a little running hop, to school.

School was darker on this dark of days. And inside, as she opened the door, she found noone about. She shuddered slightly. Had they perhaps adjourned and not let her know? She hadn't been present yesterday, kept at home by her aunt's bad cold, and her uncle's need for a hot meal. She walked inside slowly, telling herself not to be silly, she was much to ordinary for anything bad to happen to. She kept herself straight and walked towards the teacher's desk. Was there no one about?

The door slammed open behind her, and she whirled around with a little shriek. There stood a tall figure, dark, hunched, cloaked, and with a battered tricorn in his hand. The room seemed colder with his presence. He didn't say anything, but swept past her, walked to the desk as if in a trance, and did something most odd. He upturned it. He upturned it, and with great assurity, pulled up the stone that lay underneath it. From there he pulled out something dark, put it into his coat pocket under his cloak, and rose. Penny Rose, frozen and unsure of what to do, shrank back into the wall near her, and as his eyes swept over the place, they blankly missed her. She didn't breathe. She should tell someone that this strange man had been here. If only he didn't spot her first!

He didn't seem to see her. He didn't seem to, and yet something about him changed under her gaze. He seemed to awaken slightly. As he rose to his feet, he shook his head a little, and seemed to glance around him. A little rivet of concern etched between his brows. She looked down, in the poor hope that if she didn't see him, he couldn't see her. He stiffened, and when she glanced back under her eyelashes, his gaze was as blank as before, and his face as cold and set. He began to stride toward the door. She frowned and stared at him again. His face softened. She took a breath and glared as hard as she could. He straightened and put his hand to his face. She quickly looked away, afraid at her own temerity. Just as suddenly, the imperceptible warmth that had crept into the room fell away into a deep cold once more. The man, his white hair writhing and crazy on his head, started to joltingly stride to the door, just as he had come in.

As if drawn by a magnet, sweet, meek Penny Rose reached out her hand and touched his cloak. She couldn't believe her own temerity. Her touch was like an electric current, running up the garment and prompting the man to turn. He looked at her for the first time that time, with all the depth of a thousand stars running through time to hit her eyes. "Oh my dear," he said, gently. And he reached his hand out to her. She took it, ever most polite. It was cold and white, but the contact ran a glowing golden hue up his fingers. "Oh my dear child," he said again, and in great fear, glanced around. "You are so very young," and with a flash of awareness of something Penny Rose could not understand, he glanced far out in front of him. He came back to her in a moment, and smiled a wonderful, gentle smile. "Yes, there are monsters," he told her, touching her cheek, "but they are not in your house."

He seemed loathe to turn away from her touch, and with a quiet sigh of urgency, he made to take his hand away. "The way is hidden in the heart," he said simply before removed his hand. And something tumbled out of his cloak. His eyes darkened, and as they faded, his smile became pained and sad, blending to stiffness. His final words were "Thank you," a deep and heartfelt sigh that touched Penny Rose deep. He rushed from the room.

Penny Rose picked up the thing that had tumbled from his cloak. It was a little box, wrought all over with a winding script she did not understand. It was not cold as she expected, but warm. Hidden in the heart? She did not know, but the shadows had grown yet darker. She rushed out of the room, and then stood outside the door, breathing very hard. Had this happened? Had it indeed occurred? She began to walk quickly away, back toward home. And then, suddenly, realized she had forgotten her lunch pail. Oh heavens. She turned around slowly, little forboding shivers running up her spine. She did not want to return there. The schoolhouse stood behind her, forlorn and looking slightly threatening and haunted in its little clearing. She ran back to it, and opening the door, found to her great startlement, that the desk and floor were exactly as they had been. Her heart was in her mouth, but she scampered on tiptoe to her pail, lying forgotten by the wall, picked it up, and fled.

She returned home to find her aunt in the kitchen. "Penny Rose, where have you been?" She stood looking up at her aunt, who stared at her, eyes hard with fear. "I was sure the dark ones had taken you!!" Penny Rose looked at her aunt for a moment, and then walking forward took her hand. "There are monsters, aunt, but not in this house."

Danger

The day dawned sunny and bright, and Mitley, the girl with the golden curls, ventured out early to see what adventure she could find. There was one area where she was not to go - it was called Danger, and Danger was always out of bounds. But chasing a butterfly, beautiful and hypnotizingly blue, she crossed the dark line on the forest floor and never knew it.

The wolf could smell the minute she crossed. His big nose twitched hungrily, and his eyes keened on the details of the undergrowth. It smelled like a juicy mouse, but much, much, bigger. And a little like a sparrow too. How wonderful. It had been days since his last sufficient meal.

Mitley laughed at a big spider hanging from a tree. All the spiders outside Danger were harmless. And she went walking on her merry way.

The wolf smiled in delight, hearing the tinkling laugh of something small and innocent. This was going to be so much easier than anticipated. He sat low and began to creep toward the toddling intruder.

He was close and about to pounce, when a distracting rat ran across Mitley's path and led her eyes to the dark ones shining in the bushes beside her. She screamed lightly and put her hands over her mouth. The dark eyes continued to stare at her, menacing. "Who-who are you?" she finally stammered.

The wolf sighed and twisted sinuously out of the underbrush, coming to stand beside her. He was longer than she was tall, and his dark fur matted and wild-looking. His shanks were lean, too lean. And she noticed he had a vicious scar on his cheek beside his muzzle. His teeth seemed too big for his mouth. And his mouth opened wide to reveal just how many he had as he licked his chops and yawned simultaneously. "I am the wolf," he replied, nonchalantly.

She was in Danger. That came to her very quickly. But just how it had happened didn't make so much sense. Alright then, she held herself up, she would find a way to escape. Maybe. Meanwhile the wolf was sniffing around her, his very black nose, wet and cold, touching here and there on her flesh. She shivered inadvertently. "Are you going to eat me?" she asked, querilously.

"Why yes, I believe I am," said the wolf contentedly. And smiled at her benignly. She stooped down and picked up a rock, a big one. She took one look at him, narrowed her eyes, and bashed him squarely across the nose. It hit home and he yelped, falling down on his haunches and holding the offended article in his paws. "What was that for?!?" he shouted, patting it gingerly. "You won't eat me without a fight!" she replied.
"Well, your fight won't go very far," he spat back, and was upon her in instant.
"Wait! wait!" she cried, craning her head as far away from his slavering jaws as she could. "My father can give you something much more delicious - and bigger - than me!"
He paused momentarily. "How much bigger," he asked, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Much bigger. A deer! A roe deer!"
"Hmmm..." The wolf stepped over her and paced.
"Just follow me home, and he will give it to you."
The wolf considered further. He bowed his head. "Very well then," he said in bad temper.

He followed her home, all the way complaining. "Can't you just give me a little bite of your hand? - A finger perhaps? You smell so delicious!"
She learned to ignore it.

They arrived at the castle gate, and Mitley dawdled happily through. The dark wolf snuck after her, trying to look as small as possible against the groomed hedgerows and perfectly round, white paving stones. Everything smelt of strawberries, and he sneezed.

Entering the court, Mitley pulled open the big door with much effort. The wolf slunk behind her, not sure if he should enter or run away now, while still safe. The King was pacing madly, obviously worried about his daughter. He saw her, his face lit, and then he saw the wolf, and it darkened with fear and disgust. "Get that thing!" he commanded, his voice ringing with all the righteousness of a churchbell "Kill it!!"

Two guards came at a run, and tackled the wolf. "No!" cried Mitley, her golden curls ruffling in the wind from all the activity. "Don't touch him!" Her father came and picked her up, carrying her away. "Father, father, father! Don't hurt him! He promised he wouldn't hurt me, so I told him you would give him a reward!" Even then, she knew an exact truth might do more harm than good.

Her father looked her in the eye, "That is a dangerous beast, little girl. You shall not touch it nor shall we give it anything at all. He is to be killed, and that is all we are to do with him."

She began to cry, angry and outraged. "No!" she replied, and getting down to the ground, went to stand as close to the wolf as possible. "I promised him."

Her father looked at his precious daughter, and he looked at the hulking, panting, toothy mass that was the wolf. He sighed. "You shall be the death of me," he muttered. And with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the guards. "Let him go, but that is all we will do for him."

The wolf wheeled about, and flew from the court, Mitley looking after him, his long body running down the white of the drive, like a shadow flying from the sign. He was, no doubt, running back to Danger.

It was some years later when Mitley reentered the woods. She was off early from her lessons, and her sleepy tutor had left her to her own devices. Her hair was golden no more, her curls more waves, and her eyes darkened to a grayish blue. She was nearing a height more suitable to an adult than a child, but her step was still not sure.

The line this time was dark on her eyes, and she knew the moment she passed it. She stepped over deliberately, and waited. Took two steps and waited more. Dark eyes watched her from the woods further on. She took a deep breath, and began to walk in. In two moments, the wolf was upon her.

"You again!" he said, standing over her prone form, his jaws inches from her nose. "You lying little... girl!" he snarled.
"I'm sorry," she replied. "I came to apologize. I haven't forgotten, you see."
He snorted. "You'll be dangerous soon, you know. I can't let you leave here alive."
"What do you mean, dangerous?"
"All of you - people. You are all the same. Helpless as children, vicious when grown." He spat out the last words and stepped off her.
She struggled up to her elbows. "I'm really very sorry. I wanted to offer you the deer - but I could do nothing. When I am grown up I shall bring one here. You'll see. I'll lay a full deer right here for you to eat on my 19th birthday. In a way, you'll celebrate with me. It will be a happy birthday."
The wolf looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "And why should I not kill you now?"
She smiled a little, secret smile. "Because if you do, you know my father will never stop hunting you." She stood up. "Goodbye wolf," she said, and patted his head. He twisted around, offended and outraged. She was already walking away. He growled at her, but watched as she stepped over the dark line onto the golden green moss of her territory.

Danger was darker than ever on that day. She had a horse this time, and behind it, she was dragging a full deer, which she herself had hunted that very day. It was big, a beautiful animal, and she had killed it quickly, not wanting it to suffer. The wolf had been right. She was indeed a dangerous person. Her hair was almost dark now, and she was almost her father's full height. The seamstress complained she was too tall for the fabrics, and struggled to fit her long arms and legs in the reams from the fabrickers.

Her horse balked at the line, and she dismounted quickly, calming it, and forcing to to tow its bounty across the line. She towed it in as far as she could force her mount to go, and then, holding the tethers, cut the leather straps quickly with the small, sharp knife at her waist. Her horse shied right before she heard the sinuous, grizzled tones, "Happy birthday."

She turned around. He was walking straight toward her, his lean, long body seeming even leaner than usual. She noted his muzzle was grayer than she remembered - but his eyes just as glistening and sharp. "I kept my promise," she said, a little defiantly.

"Oh yes," he replied, "but how do I really know it's your birthday?"
She looked shocked, until she heard a husky, growling, rasping laugh.
"You're foolish to come here, though. Now go away, girl."
She gave him a nervous smile. "Well... I hope, I hope you enjoy..." she said, not really sure of herself.
He licked his chops, his mouth watering. "I will," he said. He sniffed around the large buck, and sighed in contentment. "Fresh," he smiled.
She nodded, and then turned, not wanting to see the mess as he ripped into it. "Girl," he called, low and even raspier than usual.
"Yes?" she inquired. Her horse was breathing more heavily, nervously. "May I ask one favor?"
She was looking at him full now. "Yes," she said, unsure whether to be suspicious or not.
"Give me a pat once more," he said, and bowed his head.
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she reached out her hand and stroked the fur, softer and more silky than she would have expected, between his ears. He seemed to growl low, lower than even she could hear, but there were shivers down her spine. As she moved to take her hand away, quicker than she could see, he caught it in his jaws. But he did not bite, only stared straight into her eyes as he set the hand carefully back by her side. "I will not forget," he said. And turned back to the deer.

It was always said the castle had another guard during the Queen's reign. That there was a dark shadow that came when things were most dire. Some didn't believe, but others told the tale of the enormous teeth, the deep wells of eyes, glistening with bloodthirst. When the Queen heard of the tales, she smiled a secret smile, and in thanks to the gods of Danger, offered a sacrifice across the dark line.

Star Reader

There was once a star reader. That is, someone who read the stars. And she read the stars without needing a primer on how to do so - it was natural to her, like breathing. When others said they couldn't read the stars for tomorrow's weather, or the way to best get from point a to b, or a prediction about tomorrow's day, she was rather surprised.

Some came to her to read the stars, and she did so. The line became longer and longer - some evenings she could hardly do her chores. She had to turn a few away. But it was her life; she had spent her childhood in the stars, and now her adulthood continued on that way.

One who was turned away was a great cardinal. He had come to see her wonder, and he sniffed and held up his robes at the grime of her humble walkway, the stench of the dirty old woman in front of him. He was turned away just like the rest. He stalked away that day, a backward glance full of venom cast at the house.

That autumn a group of strange men came to her house. She claimed she could read the stars, and this was heresy. She was dragged away to the jail, and left there for many weeks. She was bereft, aghast, and abandoned. Those she had read them to before ran from her - she was the devil's servant - they went to church to cleanse themselves of her polluting presence.

The day of her trial came, and she went before the tribunal. They asked her question after question - what could she say? She did her best to answer them, but she had no answer. They wanted to condemn her, to see her burn. But that same cardinal, in seeing the dirty, hungry, humble woman before him, could not stand for her to be burned. He forbad her to do it any longer, and pled her ignorance to the circle. They were eager to finish, to go home and fondle their lovers, and they agreed.

And so she stood the next day, reading the stars regarding tomorrow's weather, and the fates of the cardinals whom she had so hated just this day, and found solace in the vagaries of the planets. A cat ran near her, and made for the street. She saw an oncoming vehicle and without thinking scooped up the cat. He struggled and scratched and she let him go as soon as it had passed. Poor thing, if not for her it would be dead. Head in the stars, head on the ground. The world had given her a secret - it was hers and she would keep it, a secret, a beautiful thing. But she would keep her head about her too.

Dark is the Night, Hot the City

Dark is the night, hot the city.
Armpits sweating beads of population,
Running down in rivulets, unlit,
Glinting in the passing rays of nighttime car lights.
Tall buildings, tall hairs. Sprouting from the streetskin.

Passing through the breath of the lungs,
Hot and moist, deep breaths, hot panting ones
Marked skin with the scratches of unseen nails
Bites, refuse, hot city tableau, families of them.

The dancing discordance of jazz that isn't heard
And all around me the odd, the absurd movement
Of life, unlived like life. Lived like desperate moves,
Fun found in the blood underneath the city.

Dark is the night, and pressing down like a muffle
On the city's exuberance, its trouble;
The citizens are a part of the darkness, they know it -
Old friends, yellow streetlights, cigarette butts burning.

Dark is the night, hot the city.

Deep Anxiety

Being pulled under again
By a dark sea monster,
Unhinged from the helm
Of any ship.

It's mine, I suppose, like a sickness
Or a soul, and I'm a buoy with some breath
I need to breathe.

It's diving again, down deep,
Down under,
And into the dark, I see we go
Through the veil of my eyelids.

Roped to the madness of an angry beast
Running from,
Running from me,
And I, helpless, jerked along
What mad world united us?

Me, and a hurt,
Me, and a heart,
A blue whale schism
In me.

Back and forth,
Past and present,
Who am I, anymore,
In the dark I'm someone else,
And here, on the surface, I forget them.

Calm the beast,
Calm! Calm!
Take aim at a distant horizon,
Make peace with the depths below.

Calm the heart,
Calm! Calm!
Take aim at another life,
And go.