Story: The Ties That Bind

If somebody had told me two years ago that I’d end up in this crumbling Louisiana graveyard, digging up graves for a smoke demon, I probably would’ve tried slugging them in the gut.

Not because of the cemetery or the demon, but because back then, I’d been dying.

“Could you dig any slower?” Shadow asked now, craning over my shoulder to peer into the grave. He wasn’t exactly a demon, not really—but an old witch in Memphis had been able to sense him and had called him as much, like she’d been able to sense his personality, too.

“No,” I said brightly, swinging the blade of the shovel at him, “but you could.”

The shovel didn’t exactly pose much threat to him, since he was immaterial—just the languid, 3-D silhouette of a guy, made of ink and shadows. He ducked out of the way, though, maybe an instinct left over from when he’d been alive, and it bought me a few minutes of shoveling in peace.

“Whose grave is this, anyways?” I asked after a while, pausing. He waved impatiently for me to keep going, but the fledgling calluses on my hands were screaming, and I ignored him.

This was the third cemetery he’d had me visit this month, and it was just as wretchedly old as the others, all the gravestones tipped at disjointed angles, overtaken by dead grass. The spot he’d pointed me to, out on the edge of the yard, didn’t even have any kind of marker. “I mean, I’m guessing there’d be a stone if it were anybody important, but—”

“Are we sure it wouldn’t kill you to dig a little faster?” he interrupted, coming to crouch at the opposite end of the grave. “Or to maybe show some respect?”

That last part seemed pretty rich, especially coming from him. But before I could say so, he whipped around to face the cemetery entrance.

It took me a few seconds to catch what he’d heard: brittle twigs snapping underfoot, voices approaching.

I swore and dropped the shovel, sprinting for the fence. The woods were maybe twenty feet beyond; they’d make decent cover.

Shadow caught up with me, reaching out at my wrist like he could stop me. “Look, Ivy, we don’t have time for this. You’ve got to finish the job. If those people—”

Just then, a tall woman with long white hair winked into existence, right in front of us. I stumbled back, but it was already too late.

She snapped her fingers. Shadow cussed her out, even though I was the only one who could hear him.

And then the whole world bottomed out around me.

***

At first, when I woke up, I thought I was locked in some kind of dark room.

Then I realized I was in some kind of room, but it was only dark because of Shadow, leaning over me. When I stirred, he sighed and flopped back against the wall. “I hope you’re happy.”

We seemed to be in some kind of dusty linen closet, lined with shelves full of blankets and towels. I tried the door: locked. “Thrilled.”

Since his face was just a smoky mask, he couldn’t actually scowl—which probably really annoyed him. Instead, he slumped against the wall, shoulders hunched, back turned to me. He muttered under his breath, but I was too busy ignoring him to make it out.

***

Eventually, the white-haired lady came and brought me to a parlor, lit by a hissing fireplace. That made the room seem even darker, tiny and claustrophobic, crammed with mismatched furniture. She pointed to a threadbare armchair, and I sat.

“You’ve got a serious problem, young lady,” she said. “You’re aware that a smoke demon has fixed itself to your soul?”

Suddenly, Shadow materialized in front of the fireplace. “It was my grave, okay?”

I froze. “Come again?”

The lady said, “A smoke demon. It’s latched onto your soul, and if you don’t get rid of it soon, it’s going to start changing you. Probably already has.”

Shadow said nothing.

“I’m guessing it’s that influence that led you to try to get at that grave,” the lady went on. “But there’s a reason I’ve guarded it all these years. The boy buried there was a real nasty piece of work, and it’s better some things stay buried. Take it from someone who knew him.”

Over at the fireplace, Shadow turned to face her, but wouldn’t look at me.

When I’d found Shadow, or he’d found me—we’d both been dying. I'd been sick and needed something to latch onto, to keep me alive. He'd needed a life force to anchor himself to before he faded out completely.

Sometimes I still wasn’t sure who was using the other more.

“I can help you break the ties.” The lady watched me closely. “If that’s what you want.”

“Sounds nice,” I admitted. “But they’re what’s keeping me alive.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a bad deal,” she said. “I can fix that too, for a price.”

For a price. "That sounds familiar."

“Come on, Ivy,” Shadow said. “She’s trying to use you to get my bones and come after me, and that could hurt both of us—”

I didn’t even look at him. The lady shrugged. “Cheaper than half your soul. And your part will be easy.”

“Please,” Shadow said, crouching in front of the fire, outline of his hair flopping back. It was weird, seeing him shake it out of his eyes, like on some level he still remembered how to be human. Like he'd changed me, but like maybe it went both ways. “I need your help.”

I snorted, stared at the witch. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Knock her out,” Shadow said quickly. “I'll go check for guards.”

The lady reached to help me up. “Tell me who you’re bound with, for starters."

I hesitated, then took her hand.

And then I yanked her down and bashed her head against a side table.




Author's Note: This week, my story was inspired by The Fetish Of Chilunga, a story about a supernatural being (referred to as a "charm" or a "fetish" in Congo) who, "by his representative in the flesh, a princess, rules the country with a rod of iron." The idea of some kind of supernatural creature being tied to a human, and both of them being stronger for it, interested me. In the story, the creature mostly punishes disrespectful subjects, while the princess accepts offerings and makes rulings on its behalf. More than that, I was interested in their dynamic: what had brought them together, who was actually using whom, what strengths and weaknesses that partnership brought to the table. I didn't have time to explore all of that here, but this was some of it.

Bibliography: Notes on the Folklore of the Fjort by R. E. Dennett. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Shadow Photography." Source: Wikimedia Commons.

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Reading Notes: Stories from Congo, Part B

The Antelope and the Leopard

The idea from the beginning of this, where the Leopard and Antelope bet something as huge as their lives on something as trivial as a game of hide-and-go-seek, was the first thing that caught my attention. For some reason, it made me imagine a couple of immortal frenemies—with sort of a "can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em" dynamic, sort of like a hero and his arch nemesis, but with harmless bickering in place of actual malice—who bet stupid things like nickels or their lives (since they can't die) on petty bets. If I were to use that for my inspiration, I'd probably wind up with a story exploring that dynamic, what it means for that and the characters themselves to always stay the same in a world that's constantly changing around them, and immortality itself.

How The Spider Won And Lost Nzambi's Daughter

When I first reached the part where the spider and his team infiltrated the heavens with spider webbing, I got a distinct heist vibe from the story, and I guess I could always take my version in that direction. But as I read on, the aspect of the story that really caught my interest was the idea of this little delegation of mortals—and not just that, but animals, more mortal than even humans—venturing into a land of gods. I think that could quickly lead to trouble, and it could be fun to watch them try to scrape their way out of it, with mixed results.

The Turtle and the Man

Though it's probably fair to say the turtle shouldn't be a likable character in this one, there's no denying he has style—the idea of him setting a trap and then tricking his enemies into that same trap again and again is ridiculously fun. If I were to do a story based off of this, that's definitely the element that I would want to incorporate, but I'm not yet sure how I would go about it; all I know is that it calls for a main character with Kid Loki-like flair.

The Gazelle and the Leopard

At one point in this tale, the Leopard catches the Antelope in a trap, and the Antelope begs for his life. The Leopard considers, then insists, "No, I must kill you." To me, that's the most interesting part of this story—that moment where the Leopard genuinely gave the matter some thought, then decided he really did have to go through with it. If I were to use this one as my inspiration, it would revolve around a protagonist who catches some kind of dangerous monster in a trap, determined to kill it. But when she actually does catch the creature and gets to know it, that determination is eroded to weary resolve, then full-blown uncertainty. I'd like to look at the dynamic between the monster and the protagonist, and what it is that would make her hesitate instead of following through. Maybe more than anything else, I'm curious what kind of person would set the trap in the first place, but also come around to the monster's level in the end.

The Fetish Sunga

On one level, one of the most compelling parts of this story was just the image where the fisherman followed Sunga's servant after he's been summoned: the child leading him to the river, the river drying up completely once he steps into it, surrounding trees disappearing to help clear the path. And then, once he finally arrives, an empty seat at a waiting feast. It's got this eerie, held-breath atmosphere to it, and I love it. But on a storytelling level, a character cursed so he's lost the ability to speak is great (and kind of classic) material, so that's worth looking into, too.

The Rabbit And The Antelope

The general character of the Rabbit cracked me up in this story, and that's probably what I'd take with me into my own adaptation: the idea of a short character with a little bit of a Napoleon complex, big on protecting his honor even though he doesn't have any, quick to throw a punch even when there's no need to. Not sure yet what kind of story would best complement that, but I'm sure it would be a fun one to tell.

The Fight Between The Two Fetishes

The idea of the rulers of two opposed countries seemed interesting to me, just because the ones here both owned fetishes/charms they could send to do their bidding, and that meant those charms were also opposed. It makes me wonder what a war would look like from the point of view from a couple of war avatars or something, built/born for war and sent for war, but maybe kind of tired of it.

The Fetish of Chilunga 

With this one, the bit that snatched at my attention was the first line about the fetish/charm, "who, 

who by his representative in the flesh, a princess, rules the country with a rod of iron." The idea of a powerful entity of magic like that being linked to a human, "a representative in the flesh," especially a powerful human at that—it's very interesting, and I think a connection like that would be interesting to explore. I would keep that element at the heart of my story, surround it with a different setting and genre and characters, and focus on that dynamic between the avatar and the human: try to figure out who is using whom, and see if their life forces themselves are actually tied together, and look at how they're influencing and impacting each other, for better or for worse.

The Leopard and the Crocodile

If I were to base my piece this week off this story, I would probably wind up writing a story in which either the protagonist tries to pit his/her enemies against each other (and doesn't quite succeed, which becomes clear when the villains end up teaming up against the protagonist), or a story in which the villain tries to pit the protagonist against another character who eventually becomes his/her ally. It's a fun trope either way, and I'd want to give it a rough but playful mood to reflect that—rough-and-tumble and boisterous.

Why The Crocodile Does Not Eat The Hen

I found it interesting that the hard-hearted crocodile of this piece gets all vulnerable and uncertain just because the weak chicken calls him "brother," and he wonders if they might really be family. It makes me want to write a villain or antihero inspired by that same vulnerability: either just at the chance of family, or by his less morally flexible family members instead. I think a story exploring his relationship with those less morally flexible family members could be a lot of fun, especially if they're all forced to team up for some reason, letting the good times and the bad bubble back up to the surface for all of them again.

The Three Brothers

In this story, when the poor mother abandons her newborn triplets because she can't afford to feed them all, a nearby river spirit calls out to the boys and helps guide them to food. Later, when they've grown up strong thanks to its guidance, it provides them with beautiful wives, too. I love the idea of some kind of lower-level deity adopting some orphans and raising them indirectly, so that's what I'd end up writing about if I used this story as my inspiration for the week. I especially think it'd be interesting to look at the conflicts that arise from the fact that they're mortal and she's not, and also to see what it would be like to be raised (kind of at a distance, either literally or metaphorically) by a god.

Bibliography: Notes on the Folklore of the Fjort by R. E. Dennett. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "A Crow Trap at Whitchesters Farm," by Walter Baxter. Source: Geograph.

Reading Notes: Stories from Congo, Part A

How the Wives Restored Their Husband to Life

In this story, the man has three wives, and each of them has a special ability: one is the Dreamer (able to see in a vision-like dream how her husband died); one is the Guide (able to track down her husband's corpse); and the Raiser of the Dead (able to—bet you didn't see this one coming—bring her husband's corpse back to life). I like the idea of a trio with these supernatural abilities that combine into such a powerful united front, like three more proactive Fates. But since I've already done a story this semester about someone able to raise the dead, I'd probably either stick with a story about a Dreamer or a Guide.


How Gazelle Got Married

This time around, I was interested in the way the prince's dog was able to go around, completely underestimated because he was an animal, and gather useful information for his master. In a similar way, I think a story involving a very un-childlike kid instead of a dog could be worth telling; I'd probably use the kid as a central character but not a protagonist, and see what kind of trouble he could get into and out of in a crime story.


The Vanishing Wife

With this one, I was inspired by the way the protagonist experienced such a vivid dream, then woke up and followed the same steps that he did in the dream to make it come true. If I were to do a story sparked by this one, I think it would feature a protagonist who does the same thing with his or her dreams—but in a resigned, weary way, because this happens all the time, and they aren't exactly pleasant dreams.


Another Vanishing Wife

The bit that I found compelling in this story was the way the protagonist found himself drawn back to and wanting to please his family members again and again, even though he realized they weren't any good for him. That's the character seed I would narrow in on if I were to base my assignment this week off of this story, because I think it could lead to some meaty character conflict.


The Jealous Wife

Though there was plenty of family drama to draw from in this story, the thing that really grabbed my attention was the use of poison to put the mother to death after she killed her child. I think I'd carry the idea of poison over into my own story, though I'd probably take a loosely interpreted variation on it—maybe a character being literally poisoned, but also metaphorically, because the potion poisons them against someone. Maybe the protagonist even ends up poisoning this person, who she/he was once really close to, against herself/himself, kind of regretfully. It's a possibility, anyways.


Ngomba's Balloon

The fact that the murderer was (initially) so fond of the protagonist and careful with her feelings was intriguing to me, so that's what I'd like to incorporate into my story. It would probably feature a soft-hearted hitman and his ice-hearted girlfriend, just because that seems like a fun dynamic to play around with.

The Twin Brothers

There were a few different inspiring elements to this story: the room full of mirrors to different places, the place no one had ever returned from, the old lady at that place who apparently welcomes visitors and then proceeds to strike them dead at the first chance. A short little horror story involving some of those elements could actually be a lot of fun, though I'm not sure if I'd have room to tell it for this assignment. But I also really loved the idea of a couple of twins being born with these natural abilities called charms, like they themselves are magic objects to be used. As usual, that's a pretty flexible interpretation of the charms in the source story, but I think it could be fun to experiment with.

The Younger Brother Who Knew More Than The Elder

In the shock of the century, the thing I found most interesting about this story was the dynamic between the two brothers; I loved the bit at the end where the older brother decreed that the neighbor was right and should go into the pit and kill the younger brother's wife ASAP, and the younger brother protested and tried to fight him, but the older brother only said, "Can you not yet trust your brother's superior wisdom? See, now, that male is in your trap; he is yours by agreement, even as your wife is his. Spare his life, and perhaps he will give you back your wife." And then the brothers and the wife went back to their own town. I like the idea of a cold, cunning older brother and a younger brother who can never quite bring himself to trust him, even when he wants to; I think it could lead to some interesting storytelling opportunities.

Bibliography: Notes on the Folklore of the Fjort by R. E. Dennett. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: Illustration demonstrating the use of casca poison, by R. E. Dennett. Source: Haithi Trust Digital Library.

Story: Conviction

The girl’s probably only six, but with her pupils and irises eaten away like that—leaving behind just the whites and a map of red veins—she looks ancient.

Once I rip the demon out of somebody, their eyes usually go back to normal. But not hers. I wait on the family’s floral couch, her mom tensed forward beside me.

And then the girl takes a shuddering breath, props herself up on the carpet. She blinks rapidly, but her eyes are still ruined.

Her mom turns to me, forehead creased. “What’s wrong with her eyes, Calloway?”

I stand and shrug, suddenly glad she paid me in advance. “Parting gift from the demon. They might heal over time; might not.”

Some scars are more permanent than others, after all.

She frowns, but then a little boy barrels into the room. He stares at his sister, the relief coming off him in waves, choking the air. When he hugs her, it’s like he’s got some piece of himself back, too.

I look away, then let myself out.

***

When I was sixteen, I killed my twin sister.

I didn’t mean to, which I sometimes pretend is the same thing as meaning it wasn’t my fault. My parents do the same.

But we all know the truth, and sometimes, I feel like that’s all there is to me. Like everything that should be me died with Lindsay, and I’ll never get it back. Like this is all that’s left.

***

When I finally make it back to my cheap motel room, Roswell materializes, wringing his blurry hands. Looking at a ghost is like looking at an optical illusion—easier to see from a distance, at an angle—but after two weeks, I’m starting to get used to it.

“Well?” he says. “How’s the kid?”

I kick off my shoes, but leave my coat on. “She’s fine.”

It’s kind of bizarre—how some spirits end up gnarled and nasty and vengeful, nothing like their live selves, but a few wind up like Roswell: more human than most people.

“Thank God,” he says, hands going to his throat. The bruise there is dark and livid, the only distinct thing about his hazy form.

“Something like that,” I agree. “Anyways, I’ll put together a knock for you this evening. Then we’ll head out, see who answers.”

He wavers at that, like he doubts me. Probably fair. I found him terrorizing an old lady two weeks ago, but when I tried to send him packing, he couldn’t be put to rest. Even after all the usual tricks—torching his bones, breaking all his emotional tethers—he’s still around.

The guy was desperate enough to kill himself to get out of here, and now he’s more stuck than ever.

“Don’t give me that,” I say, sinking onto a bed. “I said I’ll figure it out, didn’t I?”

In the end, all you really need to banish a spirit is conviction. You have to want them gone, really mean it. That’s why I’m good at the job.

“You took forever coming back,” he says after awhile, once I’ve almost tricked myself into falling asleep. “I thought you bailed. How does a drifter like you not own a car?”

In my head, brakes squeal. The rain smears all the lights into chaos, an abstract painting.

“I don’t like driving,” I say eventually.

When I close my eyes, I only see moonlight glinting off glass and endless, stretching asphalt.

***

I lie there for hours, curled on my side till it’s dark out. Then I get up and put together a knock box.

First I take a little wooden box, rough and rectangular. Like a miniature casket. I tip a jar of soul-black dirt into it, burying the bones of a kid’s pinkie finger and some snipped-up baseball cards of Roswell’s. Actually bargaining with a demon isn’t the goal, just getting answers about Roswell’s soul—but we still have to summon one.

I’m weighing the knock box in my hand, trying to decide if a strong enough demon would answer it, when the room freezes over.

I drop the box. Dirt and bones and Babe Ruth’s face spill across the floor. It’s stupid—I know what this is, it’s nothing new—but my stomach drops anyway.

Lindsay surges up from nowhere, eyes huge and black, hair writhing around her hollow face like snakes or secrets. There’s nothing indistinct about her when she lunges across the room at me.

“I hate you,” she hisses, and I don’t know if this is actually Lindsay talking or just all that’s left of her, but I know I believe her.

I was the one driving, and she was the one who paid for it.

She lashes out at me, and her hands are more like claws now, gnarled and ice-cold, slashing through my chest. When I look down, there’s no wound—but it aches, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

“This is your fault,” she says, eyes burning. “Everything is all your fault.”

And when I meet her gaze, I know it is.

But then Roswell appears, nebulous and unsure. Maybe he’s feeling brave, maybe he just hopes this is a way out—but he blurs forward and strikes out at my sister.

It only buys me a second, but that’s all I need.

I reach into my coat pocket, yank out a gas-station snuff box. Inside is a handful of iron filings mixed with salt and holy oil; I shield my eyes and fling the stuff at her. There’s a soft crackling noise, like a campfire going up, and it's like Lindsay was never there at all.

I drop down onto the floor, take a shaky breath. My chest still aches.

“Is it over?” Roswell asks, rematerializing.

“Yeah,” I say tiredly.

But it isn’t. Not really. She’ll be back like she always is, and I’ll try to send her away, but it won’t stick.

To banish a spirit, all you really need is to want it gone.

Author's Note: This week, my story was (very loosely) inspired by The Imp of the Well, a story involving a man who saves an imp out of a well and gets a favor in return: the imp will possess the sultan's daughter, only leaving her body when the man comes to heal her, making him look like a hero. From that, I wound up with this piece about a guy who goes around exorcising demons from people and solving their supernatural problems, but who doesn't deal with his own issues nearly as well.

Bibliography:  Forty-Four Turkish Fairy Tales by Ignacz Kunos. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Straight Shot Through Windshield with Wipers on Fast" by Wonderlane. Source: Flickr.

Reading Notes: Turkish Fairy Tales, Part B

Patience-Stone and Patience-Knife

The first thing that struck me about this story was what the bird kept flying in and telling the maiden: "Your fate is with a dead person." I'd love to do a short piece about a protagonist who's been told this since they were little and it was prophesied for them, who's grown up with that hanging over their head--and who's about to find out just what that means.

Then again, the bit at the end where the maiden finds the guy laying down with a note resting across his chest ("Whoever for forty days shall fan me and pray by me shall find their kismet") seems pretty fun to experiment with, too. At first glance, it gives off genderbent Sleeping Beauty vibes--but I think it could be more interesting if she manages to wake him up quickly and then they both have to work together to escape and find their way home.

The Imp of the Well

This time around, I was intrigued by the deal the imp proposed to the woodcutter: the imp would "creep into" the Sultan's daughter, and the woodcutter would touch her face with a certain kind of leaf to signal for the imp to leave her, making it seem like the woodcutter had expelled him. It makes me want to write a story about a protagonist who has a similar deal with a minor demon, running cons and schemes together for money. I assume the protagonist would eventually make quite a name for himself in certain circles, in a John Constantine sort of way, and that would eventually draw the wrong kind of attention.

The Imp of the Well (Part II)

In this half of the story, it was the "most famous astrologers of the land" who caught my interest: the king called upon all of them to find a cure for his daughter, and they came in and "consulted the stars, and prescribed each a different medicine..." I think a story about a group of astronomers or magicians or wizards could be interesting, as a sort of convention/unofficial competition, probably from the perspective of the apprentice to one of them.

The Soothsayer

The only thing that really grabbed me in this story was the bit where the man protests that he doesn't have any time to study to become a soothsayer. The idea that you can learn to predict the future--that it's some skill that can just be picked up--is an interesting one, so if I were to use this story as inspiration, I would probably use that concept and have a protagonist who's trying to learn that kind of thing, but isn't very good at it. So when she sees a glimpse of some total, personal catastrophe in the future, she doesn't think much of it. Until she sees it again. And then the game quickly becomes about preventing that specific future and saving her dad, or whoever it is.

The Wizard and His Pupil

This was one of my favorite stories of the unit; I love the idea of a wizard and his apprentice transforming themselves into objects, selling each other at market, and then returning to human form and escaping once they've got the money from the sale. It makes me want to write a story about a roguish wizard who isn't much good at proper spellwork, but goes around conning people with his apprentice and some petty magic.

Bibliography: Forty-Four Turkish Fairy Tales by Ignacz Kunos. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: Illustration from "Patience-Stone and Patience-Knife," by Willy Pogany. Source: Forty-Four Turkish Fairy Tales by Ignacz Kunos.

Reading Notes: Turkish Fairy Tales, Part A

Fear

Because the main character in this story is curious when his mother is afraid, sets out to find fear, and just doesn't get scared of anything, my first thought was of that lady who can't experience fear. A character with that kind of condition would get into all kinds of interesting situations, I think, though I might also use a different narrator to view that person as a secondary character.

That said, my favorite part of the story was actually the end, when it's revealed that the three different individuals who tested and completely failed to scare him--the graveyard hand that reached out to him, the little girl who almost strangled him, and the Daughter of the Sea--were actually three shape-shifting maidens in disguise, who reconvene and then drink to the youth's health, admiring his fearlessness. The idea of living embodiments of fear who go around trying to terrify people is a fun one, and I'd be curious to see it from their point of view, in a sort of Fates or Gorgons kind of way.


Fear (Part II)

In probably the shock of the century, it was (again) the dynamic between the youth and the fear maidens that I found most interesting in this story. Besides the fact that it was mildly hilarious when he heard them toasting him and announced, "Yeah, that's me. You're toasting me," I thought the way the maidens received him was really interesting: they rushed up to hug him, and then led him to their cave of treasures and begged him to stay with them. I could get behind the idea that they were all like him once, and that this is how creatures like them are found and made--that he would come stay with them and eventually become one of them.


The Wizard-Dervish

Whenever parents bargain away some part of their future kids in exchange just for having those children, I always wonder what it's like from the kid's point of view. I might take that element from this story, place it in a different context, and look at what ends up happening to the kid once s/he's bargained away, and why s/he was wanted by the person who proposed the bargain in the first place.

Also, though, I found the dynamic between the dervish's daughter and the protagonist interesting; I think it could translate well to a story with a Beauty and the Beast or Secret Garden flair, in which he's brought to a place and she gives him pointers on how to survive in the hopes that he can help her escape, too.


The Wizard-Dervish (Part II)

In this story, I took inspiration from the part where the youth and the maiden were hiding from the maiden's mother, and the maiden used her abilities (daughter of a wizard and a witch, after all) to transform and disguise them every time they were in danger of being caught. I think a story about a couple of runaways, with a similar ability to disguise themselves, could be fun; I'd probably give it an urban fantasy or light sci-fi setting.


The Fish-Peri

The shape-shifter in this story--a fish who can transform into a maiden by shedding her coat of scales, and vice versa--reminded me quite a bit of a selkie, another kind of mythological creature I've always found interesting. But one striking twist this story made on that idea was the maiden's reaction: in most stories, when the selkie gets stuck as a human because her seal coat was destroyed, she's devastated. The fish-peri, though, basically just shakes her head at the guy who destroyed her fish skin, then says, "Well, you shouldn't have done that, but what's done is done." It makes me wonder if she wasn't always a fish in the first place, and if he's called down some kind of trouble on himself for helping her break a curse or something. Either way, it could be an interesting story to retool.


The Crow-Peri

The idea of this wise counselor appearing in times of trouble and advising the protagonist, like the crow does for the protagonist in this story, does catch my eye. If I were to do a piece inspired by this story, I think the advisor would either be an imaginary friend, or someone only the protagonist can see, who's hoping to gain the protagonist's trust so the protagonist can help take the steps to set the person free.


The Crow-Peri (Part II)

I love the idea that the crow really was using the bird-catcher this entire time, even while she was helping him--it makes me want to do a story about a trickster figure under a curse, with just a few redeeming qualities (like some form of limited loyalty, at least as far as the protagonist is concerned).






Bibliography: Forty-Four Turkish Fairy Tales by Ignacz Kunos. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.
Image Source: Illustration from the story "Fear," by Willy Pogany. Source: Forty-Four Turkish Fairy Tales by Ignacz Kunos.

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Reading Out Loud

I’ve always found that reading my own work out loud helps me catch mistakes and monitor the rhythm of my writing, so it makes sense that doing the same thing with other stories would be just as helpful. More than anything else, though, I find it distracting, which is kind of a shame. I think my main issue is that I’m a very visual person, and part of how I keep the events of a story in mind is by picturing what’s happened. But when I read out loud, I tend to get caught up in that and fail to see the story unfold, so it all kind of goes in one ear and out the other.

Copy-and-Delete

I found quite a bit more success with this technique, possibly because I use a variation of it every week for my reading notes posts. When I do that, though, I only copy and paste the lines or paragraphs that catch my interest—this was the first time I tried the process with each paragraph, and I ended up with more notes because of it.

Using a Timer

I doubt I would’ve thought to use this technique on my own, but I’m glad it’s been pointed out to me, because I did find it helpful. Looking at the timer and seeing plenty of time left over encouraged me to go back and look for specific elements (in this case, descriptions and character voice) that I might’ve just lumped together with the rest of the story otherwise.

Final Thoughts

Overall, I'd say the copy-and-delete technique was the most useful to me, because it applies well to my reading process. But the "using a timer" tip was definitely the breakout star of this little exercise for me—it was a new concept, but it helped steer me towards giving feedback with specific levels and objectives instead of just a generalized reaction with a few specific examples. As a reader, it made me more proactive instead of reactive, which I can only imagine would lead to more pointed, helpful feedback.

Image Credit: Hand with Stopwatch. Source: Pexels.

Tech Tip: Google Site Website

By now, I've got the basic site for my storybook project set up here. I'm still working on finding a layout I like and then adjusting that to reflect the intended mood of my storybook—a sort of post-apocalyptic reimagining of Beowulf—but that work's just going to remain in-progress for now.

Story: Smoke and Mirrors

After the main show—the sleight of hand and the misdirection and the card gimmicks—that was when the real show started.

That was when he went from scruffy street-rat magician to something I wasn’t sure I had words for.

It was starting to get dark out, sky edging to dusky grey, street lights buzzing to life around us. But one complicated little card trick later, the lights started flickering erratically.

And then they all went out at once.

Misdirection.

Because in the seconds it took the audience to glance up at the streetlights and then back at him, he was gone.

*** 

He had a different name in every area we passed through.

In California, it was Malachai. Orion in New York City. Santiago in Vegas. In Florida, where I’d found him, his name had been Crispin—but after I’d followed all his shows for weeks and weeks and he’d finally caved and said I could be his assistant, he’d told me to call him Kohl.

I had been for three months now, but for all I knew, it was as fake as all the others.

After he’d pulled his streetlight trick and disappeared, I hung around to wait out the rest of the audience, zipping up my jacket against the chill. Even once everybody realized his disappearance hadn’t been just another trick and that the show really was over, they milled around for a while, discussing their favorite tricks, trying to figure out what had or hadn’t been real. Wondering who this guy was and where he came from.

In a way, wondering who he was seemed a lot like another version of asking what what had or hadn’t been real, but I never said so.

Once everyone else had left, it was just me and a lady in her mid-thirties. She kept glancing around and adjusting the sleeves of her sweater, the straps of her purse, running her hands through her red hair. After a few minutes, she hesitated, then approached me.

“Excuse me,” she said, gripping her purse strap tighter. “Are you...Nicole?”

“Nico,” I said reflexively, because no matter how long she’d been gone, Nicole would always be my mom, not me. “Anyway, who’s asking?”

She almost answered, then pursed her lips instead. “I’d rather not say,” she admitted. “But I was told you could take me to see Killian.”

Killian. So that was what he called himself here.

“You just saw him,” I said.

“I mean the real Killian,” she said, which was kind of a joke in itself. I started to say as much, but then she reached into her purse and took out a wad of cash. “Please. I need his help.”

I stared at her for a minute. Kohl didn’t need an assistant, not in the traditional sense—so this was what I was for. Weeding out the good from the bad. But she just stood there quietly, even though she couldn’t have appreciated answering to an eighteen-year-old girl who looked almost fifteen, and she seemed decent enough.

“Okay, then,” I said, rising. “Come on.”

I led her around a Chinese restaurant and a tiny used bookstore, to a narrow alley out back. Kohl was leaned against a building a few feet away, watching moths flutter around the single streetlight.

“Hey,” I called. “Killian.”

He turned. Away from the lights, away from the crowds and his tricks and the applause, his smirking charm was gone. It left him looking hollowed-out, wasted. Like the Grim Reaper had pulled back his hood to reveal a nineteen-year-old kid. His brown curls looked black, his skin so pale it was almost blue-tinted, like skim milk.

“Someone here to see you,” I said.

He glanced over at me, dark eyes impossible to read, and then at the lady. After a second, he cast one last look at the moths and stood, brushing himself off.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

*** 

Kohl went around to the front of the tiny bookstore and did something—God knew what—to take out the security system. Then, when he’d texted me the okay, I broke us in through the back of the store, and we met him in the tall, narrow storeroom that led to the exit.

There weren’t any windows here, so I used the flash on my phone to find the overhead light. It was flickery and anemic, and in it, Kohl looked halfway dead.

The lady, maybe because she’d noticed it too, hesitated in the doorway. But Kohl sat and pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, waving her forward. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

She took a few steps towards him. “Melissa.”

“And how’d she die?”

This was the hard part. The part that decided whether a person was going to go through with this or practically trip over themselves backing out. But Melissa’s mom lifted a hand to her trembling chin and whispered, “Drowned.”

He gave her a long, level look. “Then this won’t be pretty.”

“I don’t care,” she said, coming to kneel across from him. “I just need to say goodbye.”

He held out one pale hand, and she took it.

In the back-alleys of Brooklyn, they said that once upon a time, Orion had died too. San Diego said Malachai had gotten sick as a little boy; Los Angeles whispered that he’d been killed. Vegas was sure Santiago had made everything up and never died at all.

I guess none of that really mattered. In Florida, where I was from, the stories called him the moth prince, said he could bring back the dead. A street-level necromancer, half-dead himself.

“She’ll only be back for a few minutes,” Kohl warned. “Then I have to send her back.”

The mother nodded, mouth set but eyes terrified, like she wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but it wasn’t a boy.

But whenever Kohl dropped the cons and the showmanship and brought our dead back to us, I always understood all over again.

This was who he was.

Author's Note: This week, my story was based on an Egyptian myth called "The King of the Dead," about the god Osiris, who was wrongfully killed by his evil brother. Eventually, some of the other gods succeeded in finding his body and bringing him back to life, and he became Judge and King of the Dead. I liked the idea of someone being raised from the dead and then having power over the other dead after that, though I didn't have room to really get into the raised-from-the-dead backstory here. Instead, I took the necromancy powers and gave them to a street-rat magician to see what he'd do with them.

Bibliography: "King of the Dead," from Egyptian Myth and Legend by Donald Mackenzie. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "The flickr of the moth" by Steve Jurvetson. Source: Flickr.

Reading Notes: Ancient Egyptian Myths and Stories, Part B

The Two Brothers: Part One

One of the first things said about the younger brother, Bata, snatched up my attention: "he was imbued with the spirit of a god." To be fair, this could be interpreted and played out in a story several different ways, which is part of what draws me to it. If I ended up using it as the core of a story, though, I think I would wind up writing about someone stuck as a god's vessel.


The Two Brothers: Part Two

From this section, I ended up coming around to the situation with Bata's soul. He explains to his wife that he wouldn't be able to rescue her from a sea spirit, because his soul is concealed somewhere else and he would be weak against the sea. "If another should find my soul," he warns, "I must needs fight for it." I like the idea of someone separated from his soul and dealing with the effects of that, plus having to guard it and wanting to reclaim it at the same time. My first thought is of a Beauty and the Beast type situation, where the Beast had the rose hidden away and had to protect it and try to nurture it, though I'd have to see how the story would actually play out.


The Two Brothers: Part Three

In this story, I was interested in Anpu's quest to find and restore his brother's soul, but I think it would've been more compelling if the brothers had been searching for it together. If I were to create a story around that, it would focus around the protagonist and his/her sibling, cousin, or best friend, who's soulless and effectively heartless till they find that person's soul. It would be a fun way to look at their dynamic, what's changed and what remains the same, and I figure the soulless person could easily get into some kind of trouble that the main character has to find a way out of.


The Two Brothers: Part Four

This time around, I was intrigued by the way that Bata was constantly reincarnating himself through other objects each time his ex-wife tried to kill him—from bull to trees, tree to baby, always Bata and always returning to Bata. I feel like a monster or just an adversary with this ability would make a pretty good antagonist, so I would set my story around that kind of conflict, with that character's nemesis as my protagonist.


The Book of Thoth: Part One

Even though it was a small, throwaway line, I was drawn to the priest's promise that the main character could someday understand what "the creeping things of earth are saying." A story about monsters and sages and the creeping things of earth leaking into the world somewhere would be fun, though it might not necessarily be suited for a story this short. So the other bit that interested me was the promise of the ability to use the book to always be able to return to the world in his original form, even from that meant coming back from "the world of ghosts." If I were to write something inspired by that, it would probably be a piece about a protagonist whose best friend/next door neighbor's family just paid to have their oldest son dredged back from the dead. The only trouble would be that he either didn't come back quite right, that somebody pretending to be him came back in his place, or that his passage back also cracked open a window that all sorts of other nastiness is now taking advantage of—and the main character and her best friend (and the brother, if it's that last option) have to find a way to right it or at least deal with it.


The Book of Thoth: Part Two

Initially, the first thing I was drawn to in this story were the men that worked for the protagonist and the priest—made of magic and made to do magic. Someone with that kind of relationship to magic would be interesting to write about, I think, plus I wonder exactly how much of a person they might or might not actually be.

But as it turned out, this ended up being probably my favorite story of the unit; I loved the protagonist's panache with magic and the things he could get it to do, and most of all, his trick at the end, where he wrote down the magic spells from the book on a sheet of papyrus, washed beer over it so the ink bled right off again, and proceeded to drink the beer—all so that he could have knowledge of the magic spells inside him, a trick all the great magicians use. Little details like that make me feel like a story about a magician with his style and similar methods could be fun to write about, probably from the perspective of someone just getting to know him or work with him.


The Book of Thoth: Part Three

In this story, I loved the idea that Nefer-ka-ptah was able to use the spells from the book to grant his son and wife the power to speak after they died—they were still very much dead, and needed to be buried and laid to rest, but were still able to talk to him after their deaths about how they'd died and that Thoth wasn't through with him yet. I would either write a story about someone with the ability to temporarily made the dead talk again, and goes around from town to town freelancing (until complications arise—occupational hazard), or someone being "haunted" by a dead friend or relative who is very much and very unpleasantly a corpse now, but still insists on sticking around with the protagonist.


The Tale of King Rhampsinitus

In this story a father is hired to help build a high-security stone chamber for the king to keep his treasures in, and the father makes sure to lay one of the stones of the chamber in such a way that it can be removed from the outside, granting access into the place. When he's old and about to die, he tells his sons about what he's done, so they can go in and steal some of the king's treasure for themselves. This sounds like the makings of a fun inside job story to me, and I'd love to do something like that with it, focusing on two or three siblings in a different type of setting who work together to rob something and fulfill their dad's legacy in the process.

Bibliography: Egyptian Myth and Legend by Donald Mackenzie. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.
Image Credit: "Cursive hieroglyphs from the Papyrus of Ani." Source: Wikimedia Commons.

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