THE SPELL.

THE SPELL....... EPISODE TWO.

That little adventure happened a long time ago. About twenty years ago. Nearly my entire lifetime, and at the ripe old age of twentyfour I found myself thinking about what to do with my life. I was about finishing my university education without knowing what to do next or a job in sight, I didn't have a boyfriend, and my roommates were too fixated on theirs to be of much company. So what was a lonely girl like me to do with her life?Maybe she’d go home, and that’s exactly what I did. Home to that little cottage nestled against the woods with all its wonderful memories. Maybe the scent of the summer trees and the green grass would strengthen my tired soul.

I tried calling, but was given a quick response by their answering machine, and headed off for the far reaches of Colmouth, a city of bright lights, hot concrete, and a cute little cottage with my room waiting for me like a shrine waiting for its god. Seriously, my grandma had reserved it since my leaving four years before. For that I was grateful and amused, mostly because my grandpa had plans to enlarge his library by using my former bedroom.

The main road into the city passed through the fields and forests that made up the hinterlands of the large hamlet. The sun was starting to set as I reached the thick patch that abutted that little cottage. I rolled down window and breathed in the fresh scent of leaves and morning dew that survived in the darkest shadows of the woods. As I rolled to a stop along the wide shoulder of the road and took in the sights. It was a surreal moment. A part of me was curious to know what lay in those shadows. A flock of birds flew out of the trees. Their screeching broke the misty spell of the silence and made me start back. In that short moment something inside the shadows moved.

I leaned forward and squinted at the growing darkness, but only caught the dark trunks of trees and bushes. The black forms of the birds disappeared in the distance, leaving nothing but the silence once more.

Still, something inside me warned me that something wasn’t right. I put on my blinker and eagerly rejoined the traffic. My childhood home was only three miles from the road, but the roads weren’t straightforward. Twenty minutes later found me pulling into the driveway. A beat-up old pickup, a rustic relic my grandfather refused to get rid of, sat in the left-hand spot while my usual spot was open to me.

I stepped out and looked up at the quaint, two-floor cottage. The firehouse-red shutters smiled down at me like heavy mascara against the tan walls of the rest of the house. The door was a brilliant violet purple courtesy of my grandmother’s zany fondness for colors that didn’t match. I remember them receiving a lot of complaints from the home owner’s association, and one letter was especially strongly worded. It had demanded my grandmother remove from the lawn a herd of stuffed beavers she had acquired from a taxidermist friend. That had been a prickly situation I tugged my two suitcases out of the passenger seat of my small car and hefted them up to the stoop. A small sign on the left of the door made me

pause and smile. It read Cave Canem, Latin for ‘Beware of Dog.’ The funny thing was we’d never owned a dog, but my grandfather was so fond of the old saying, dusted off from one of his many books, that he’d put up the sign, anyway.

I opened the door which was not locked and walked into the small hall. The stairs to the second floor stood against the wall to my left, and on either side of me were doorways to the rest of the ground floor, along with a narrow hall to the back rooms of the house. I dropped my suitcases in a pile at my feet and took a deep breath.

“Grandma! Grandpa! I’m home!” I shouted. My grandmother ran out of the dining room on my left and held one of my hands tightly in hers. Her large blue hair comb, an ever-present fixture was on her head, nearly wedged itself up my nose. She looked up into my eyes with such a pleading look that I almost laughed. “You’ve lost something again, haven’t you?” My grandfather followed after her and ran a hand through his wispy, thinning white hair. “And very well, too. We’ve looked everywhere for the phone, but we can’t find it.”

“So you guys didn’t get my message?” I asked him. He snorted. “We haven’t been able to find the blasted thing for a week.” “Did you try calling it?” I suggested. He shook his head. “We would but we’ve only got the one, and its battery is dead.” I snorted. “I wondered why I got sent to your answering machine without a ring.”

Grandma squeezed my hand and her lower lip trembled. “You’ll find the poor thing for us, won’t you? It’s lost somewhere in this large house.”I smiled and patted the top of her hands. “It’s all right, Grandma. I’ve got this.”

I got my hands out of her clutches and walked into the living room. My fingers danced over the side table on my right as I look through the room. The phone wasn’t in places where it can be easily found. Maybe it wasn’t obvious. I tapped the cover of a book that lay near the lamp on the table. Maybe it was something caught my attention. I squinted at the bookcase against the wall to my right. A smile slipped onto my lips. “I think I may have found it.”

I walked over to the bookcase as my grandparents stepped into to the doorway. Three of the large volumes were pushed out from the wall. The usual habit of my grandparents was to have the books pushed against the wall so they could put small curiosities in front of the books. I reached behind the books and a moment later drew out my hand, and the missing phone.

Grandma was so excited. “So wonderful!” I shrugged as Grandpa took the phone. He stared at the object. “So much trouble. . .” Grandma scolded him. He scoffed. His gaze fell on me and he noticed I was staring hard at the bookshelf. “Something the matter, pumpkin?”

I swept my eyes over the bookcase. “No, but it’s just-well-” I snorted and shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing is something,” he said as he took the phone from my gleeful grandmother.

“It’s just that I always thought there was something behind this wall,” I admitted as my eyes fell on the space where the phone had been hidden. Near the three books sat a dry tome about the inner workings of a sexton.

“You know, like a secret passage or something like that.” I reached out of the book. “Shouldn’t you get to unpacking before reading?” Grandpa told me. I dropped my hand and turned to him with a teasing smile. “You guys don’t mind me moving back for a little while and cramping your style? “We’ll manage somehow,” he quipped with a devilish glint in his eyes.

Grandma stepped up and grasped my hands in hers as she smiled at me. “Welcome home, Ann.”And what a welcoming party awaited us that night. trotted upstairs and to my intact bedroom. Even the fluffy kitten sheets were unchanged, though cleaned by my thorough grandmother I dropped my suitcases onto the floor and plopped my butt on the foot of the bed. Introspection was never pleasant, and I didn’t find it so then. University, a job, life. None of it sounded appealing. I looked down at my hands that lay in my lap. Surely there was something more that those pale hands could do with themselves.

“Ann!” Grandpa called from downstairs. “Dinner is ready!”

"Give me some minutes!” I replied. I stood and let life-choices drop to the background of my mind. Dinner was ready, and I needed to prepare my stomach.

My grandfather was an adequate cook, but my grandmother was insane. Boiled beets in jello was a staple of the table. Another favorite of hers was chicken drumsticks served cooked in a roast. How she got a dozen of those drumsticks into a single ten-pound roast was beyond either of us. I girded my iron-clad stomach and proceeded downstairs. A hint of chicken gave me a hint, but it turned out I was on the wrong scent. I reached the dining room doorway and paused There, spread out on the table, was a sane meal. The drumsticks were on a plate that didn’t include a roast. Nothing floated in the jello. Even the orange juice was without its usual pulp the size of Alaska. My grandmother sat proudly on the right side of my grandfather with him at the table, and there-on his left-was my seat, pulled out and ready for me. “I thought that after such a long time with that bland college food you might take some time to get used to normal food,” my grandmother told me.I smiled, It was good to be home.

We supped on the delicious food and dined on a white wine dredged up from the rough-stone and dirt-floor basement. The conversation was more intelligent than most of my college lectures and wandered over such topics as gardening, Cicero, and deep-sea diving. My grandfather was a fountainwell of knowledge equal to the legendary Well of Urd from Norse myth.

I considered him Smart, nickname he took as high praise, especially since he hadn’t even needed to trade an eye for his knowledge.We finished dinner and after the dishes were cleared we all went to the living room. A more appropriate name for the room was a library extension.

About half of the walls were covered with bookshelves. A television at a corner, used only by my grandmother to watch the cooking channel. A large window looked out on the backyard and a smaller one on the front lawn. The shadows of the trees loomed over the tiny house like a giant over David, but in the warm light of the living room we settled into our usual chairs. Well, except for my grandma. She sat in front of the television with her legs crossed and watched a chef roast a duck. I shuddered to think what evil ideas entered my grandmother’s mind.

A clock hung over the unused fireplace that was the centerpiece of the room. It stood opposite the doorway, an imposing piece of architecture made of rock taken from the local area and smoothed to near-perfection.

My seat of choice, a well-cushioned armchair, sat near the chimney As I read one of my grandfather’s many books on medieval farm equipment a dry smell hit my nose. It was the scent of ash. I glanced at the fire. We hadn’t used it in a decade after the last fire nearly consumed the house. A few bits of ash floated down to the empty tray. My first thought was a stuck bird, so I closed my book and kept my eyes on the ash as it grew more pronounced.

“Guys, I think there’s a-” A huge deposit of ash dropped from the chimney and splashed over the tray. The gray dust spread over the room, causing us all to jump up and cover our mouths. The ash invaded my mouth and I could hear my grandparents cough, but only their dim outlines were visible to me.

Another outline caught my attention. This one came from the chimney. The dark figure crawled on all fours out of the hearth and stood. As the ash cleared I could get a good look, and what I saw got me so surprised. This was not Santa Claus. The creature was as big as the jolly elf, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Its face was that of a man, but with a piggish nose and tusks that protruded from either side of its mouth. The thing wore a dirty shirt of the roughest wool over which hung a vest of equal cleanliness. Its feet were covered in leather shoes and the billowing pants were made of the same rough material as the vest. At the thing’s waist tucked between its bulk and its belt hung a saber.

The thing removed its weapon and pointed the blade at us. Its voice reminded me of gravel with a hint of a shoe squishing into mud. “Against the wall!” My grandfather narrowed his eyes at the intruder. “Who are you?” “I said against the wall!” the thing barked. We apparently didn’t move fast enough because the creature charged Grandpa with the saber as its battering ram.

Grandpa sidestepped the fiend and drew out his leg. The piggish man tripped and skidded snout-first across the hardwood floor. He hit the carpet in the entrance hall and flipped over. His nostrils flared and he fumbled for his sword that lay by his side.

“You’ll pay for-” “That’s enough,” a new voice spoke up.

The intruder looked up. Another pig towered above him, but this new intruder wore a clean but old cloak. His spiny hair was neatly combed back and he smiled as he bowed his head to us.

“Good evening, Benny. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Sage.” The figure looked them up and down, and shook his head. “Time hasn’t been kind to you, has it?”

“Who are you and what do you want?” Grandpa snapped.

“Who I am is shankco, leader of the Black Pirates,” he introduced himself. “As for what I want-” his eyes flickered to my grandmother, “-I’d like Benny to accompany me on a little adventure.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not. I don’t like ham.”

“And we’re retired,” Grandpa added. “So just return from where you came from and never come back here.”

Shankco chuckled. “I’m afraid I went through a lot of trouble to find you, so

I can't leave without some compensation.”

My grandfather grabbed the lamp closest to him. “I won’t let you take her without a fight.”

Shankco leaned his head back and let out a great, belly-jiggling laugh.

“You? Fight me? Have you looked at yourself?”

My grandfather darted up to the pig and jabbed the sharp top of the lamp into Shankco's gut. The man gave a wheezing breath and staggered back. He doubled over, giving my grandpa ample angle to crack the lamp over the back of his head.

Shankco went down hard to the floor. His bloodshot eyes looked up at my grandfather with anger. “Men!” More pigs stampeded out of the dining room and from the hall. They jumped on my grandfather and tore the stumped remains of the lamp from his hand. Another socked him in the gut.

“Leave him alone!” my grandma screemed as she hurried forward. A pig grabbed her and pinned her hands behind her back, but she still thrashed and tried to pull away to go to her husband. “Sage!”

“Let her go!” I growled as I grabbed my heavy book and flung it at the beast that held my grandma. The spine hit the thing in the forehead. The thing flinched and whipped its head to me.

Two of the pigs marched toward me and yanked my arms behind my back so hard I felt my sockets pop. They shoved me to my knees and kept me down as my grandma was led to the front door.

Shankco climbed to his feet and brushed the creases from his old cloak. The pigs pushed my grandpa kneeling before their leader and Shankco scowled down at him. “You stupid human!” He knocked the back side of his hand against my grandfather’s head. My grandpa’s head whipped to one side and blood slipped out from the corner of his mouth where shankco had struck him.

Grandpa’s eyes flickered back to Shankco, and there was a look in their depths that I’d never seen: anger. Pure, unrestrained anger. My grandfather twisted out of the pig’s grip and lunged at Shankco. Shankco removed a dagger from beneath his cloak and slammed the handle into the side of Grandpa’s head. He flew to the side and slid a short distance across the floor until he crashed into the wall separating the dining room from the hall.

“No!” I shouted, I tried to break the grip of my own captors, but they held fast.

Shankco sneered at Grandpa as he sheathed his weapon. “Let’s leave here.’ He turned toward the door. “The smell of humans disgusts me.”

“What about this one?” one of my handlers called out more pigs stampeded out of the dining room and from the hall. They jumped my grandfather and tore the stumped remains of the lamp from his hand. Another socked him in the gut.

“Leave him alone!” my grandma shouted as she hurried forward. A pig grabbed her and pinned her hands behind her back, but she still thrashed and tried to pull away to go to her husband. “Sage!”

“Let her go!” I growled as I grabbed my heavy book and flung it at the beast that held my grandma. The spine hit the thing in the forehead. The thing flinched and whipped its head to me

Two of the pigs marched toward me and yanked my arms behind my back so hard I felt my sockets pop. They shoved me to my knees and kept me down as my grandma was led to the front door.

Shankco climbed to his feet and brushed the creases from his old cloak. The pigs pushed my grandpa to his knees before their leader and Shankco scowled down at him. “You stupid human!” He knocked the back side of his hand against my grandfather’s head. My grandpa’s head whipped to one side and blood slipped out from the corner of his mouth where Gargan had struck him. There was a sharp pain on the side of my head and then I knew nothing.