Chapter 4: Secrets

            I woke to the smell of freshly cooked pancakes.  I sat up in bed, and looked around the room. A lump in Sylvia’s bed proved that she was still asleep. Looking down, I realized I still wore the clothes from yesterday: dirt-stained jeans and a blue t-shirt. I groaned.

            I jumped out of bed and walked over to my suitcase, only to remember that I did not pack any clothes. Sighing, I opened the huge closet in the room.

            I gasped. Inside, there were multiple racks of clothing, most of which were red. The racks went from the left side of the closet to the right, but if you walked past the clothes in the first rack, you would find more racks and more clothes behind.

            Silently, I shuffled through the clothes and managed to find faded blue jeans, a red t-shirt, and a white sweatshirt.

Changing quickly, I shook Sylvia awake and briefly explain the mega-sized closet. She squealed with glee at the thought of a never-ending closet of clothes. Jumping excitedly out of bed, she dived into the closet and came out with handfuls of clothing.

“Sylvia, you can’t wear all that,” I said, pointing to her massive pile of clothes. “Hurry up and choose an appropriate amount, or else the breakfast will get cold!”

Frowning, she dived back into the racks. Five minutes later, she came out wearing white skinny jeans and a puffy red sweater. Smiling, she ran out the door and led the way downstairs and into the kitchen.

When I entered the kitchen, there were no happy pancakes sitting on the table. Instead, there was Aunt Helena slapping the insides of a cabinet.

“You beast! You foul creature! Get out of my house this instant!” Aunt Helena continued to slap around the cabinet until she noticed us staring. She slammed the cabinet shut.

“Aunt?” I frowned.

“Oh? Yes, that. It was a…” her faced scrunched up a bit, as if she was thinking hard, “A fly, yes, a fly, that’s all.” her faced straightened out as her eyes narrowed. “Did you leave the window open?”

“N-No,” I stammered. This woman was creepy. Something was up with her. “No.”

A quick smile lit her face as she scrambled for duck tape and taped the cabinet shut.  Letting out a breath of relief, she said, “Come in and sit down.”

We did so. And as we sat and watched, our Aunt Helena bustled around the room and hastily made some pancakes. Flipping them onto a plate, she shoved them into the center of the table and whipped around the room again, handing each of us a plate, a knife, and a fork. Immediately after, butter and syrup was placed on the table. It was then that our aunt finally sat down and we started eating.

Eating in front of Aunt Helena was nerve wracking. Don’t you just hate it when people watch you eat? And that nervous jumpy feeling you get? Well, I was getting that feeling, but worse. Aunt Helena was staring at us like she was trying to bore holes in our foreheads. She wasn’t quite glaring, but she had this concentrated look. As if she was trying to figure something out.

“Aunt Helena, staring at us isn’t going to help you solve your problem,” I said, sighing. The staring/glaring was starting to bug me.

“Hmm…” she responded, straitening up and making eye contact. “Do you even know what I’m trying to figure out?” she smiled, as if she was thinking of an inside joke.

“Actually, no,” I said, defeated.

She smiled again. “Do you believe in the supernatural, child?”

“No way,” Sylvia burst out, just as I was opening my mouth, “Oh, oops! Was that question only for Evelyn?” She tilted her head and waited for an answer.

“No, dear; I’m open to hear what you think too,” Aunt Helena said, patting her shoulder.

“Well,” Sylvia pondered, “I don’t believe in like wizards and stuff, but I think it would be cool if fairies were for real.”

Aunt Helena nodded, and a hint of a smile pulled at the side of her mouth. “And what about you, Evelyn?”

“Me? Well, I don’t believe, but I do think it would be cool,” I said.

“Interesting,” Aunt Helena said, and then she stood up and stretched, “Today’s Saturday, so you may do whatever you like around the house. Just make sure that when you go outside, you wear red.”

I watched as she walked out of the kitchen, frowning.

***

“What do you want to do?” Sylvia asked me as we sat in our room.

“Well,” I said, “I’m gonna take a look at that thick journal I found at our house, and then explore this place.”

Sylvia nodded, “I’m going to look for a library,” she said, walking out the door.

I shrugged and got the fat journal, opening it on the bed and beginning to flip through it, looking for something interesting.

There were no page numbers, just pages full of slanted script. I flipped through the book five times, but found nothing that caught my eyes. Just words. I decided to start fresh. Turning to the first page, I began to read the words.

They’re real, they are. I touched one. It was sitting on my window one day, with wings of brown and dull gray clothes. I tried to slap it away. It bit me. My finger began to swell as I watched the creature fly away. No one believed me when I told them. I saw the creature again as I was about to sleep, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

I closed my eyes and thought. Strange… I did not know whom the journal belonged to…yet. Frowning, I slammed the book shut.

Stuffing it back into my faded crimson suitcase, I walked out the door and went to look for Sylvia.

            I wandered around the second floor, looking for any sign of a bright red sweater which was my sister. “Sylvia?” I called quietly. Even so, my voice echoed all around the empty spaces.

            “Evelyn?” a familiar voice called back.

            I followed the voice down the hallway and into a large room filled with 30 foot tall shelves. “Wow…”

            “I know, right?” the voice called out, and I looked near the right side of the room to see Sylvia’s head poking out the side of one of the shelves.

            “Sylvia!” I said, jogging over. “What’cha looking at?”

            “Books,” she snorted, “Duh!”

            I sighed, “What book are you reading?”  

            “This,” she shoved the book in my face.

            “The Guide for Fairy-Seekers,” I read, frowning. “Why are you reading that?”

            “Well,” her voice started to shake, as if she was afraid of what I would think. “Aunt’s question got me thinking, and I decided that I really do wanna see if fairies are real…”

            “That’s stupid,” I said, “Completely stupid. Have you gone out of your mind?”

            “No…” she mumbled. I could see that she was close to crying.

            “Whatever,” I said, determined not to start feeling guilty for raining on her parade. “You can do whatever you want.”

            She smiled brightly, and I groaned for letting myself fall for her act. “Yaay!” she jumped, “I can go see the fairy rings, then? Yes?”

            “Sure,” I mumbled, “Only if you wear red when you go out like Aunt Helena said.”

            “B-but,” she answered, her voice shaking, “The book says I can’t play with the fairies if I wear red!”

            “You just want to see them, right? Wear red!” I was close to shouting.

            “But-“

            “No ‘buts,’ Aunt Helena may be crazy, but for some reason it’s important we wear red, and I think we should listen to her!” I yelled.

            Sylvia dropped the book and ran out of the library and down the hall, sniffling. I stood there and stared down at the book. Slowly, I picked it up.

            Turning to the table of contents, I looked for the words ‘fairy rings.’ Finally, I found the words under a chapter called: Where you can see them.

            Frowning, I opened up to the correct page: page 204. I scanned the pages, looking for anything I should know.

FAIRY RINGS

       A great way to see these beautiful creatures called fairies is to stand in a circle of toadstools. This is also known as a fairy ring. When night falls, fairies come out and dance in these rings, playing all kinds of wonderful music that is pleasing to the ears and will make you want to dance. Fairies love it when you dance and frolic with them. They also cannot see the color red. If you wish to play with the fairies, do not wear any hint of red.

       I froze. And I reread the second to last sentence. They also cannot see the color red. I reread it again and again, wanting the words to disappear and for it to be all a bad dream. Was our Aunt Helena really protecting us from fairies? Impossible, fairies didn’t exist! Shaking my head, I closed the book and carried it with me to my room. Sylvia wasn’t there. I shrugged, not really caring or minding. She had probably gone somewhere else to cry.

Chapter 3: Aunt Helena's

            “So, what did you pack?” Sylvia asked me quietly as we drove out.

            “Photos, a few toys and books, and this big fat volume,” I whispered back, holding up the big brown book that I had tripped on earlier.

            “Wow!” she mumbled in quiet admiration. “Can I see that?” she asked, holding out her hand to reach for the book.

            “Sure,” I said, handing it gently over to her.

            Very carefully, as if afraid it was going to fall apart in her hands, Sylvia opened the book. But it wasn’t quite a book; it was a journal filled with pages of handwriting about…fairies.

            “What?” I whispered in surprise. “Who would write a book about fairies? They don’t exist, so why bother?”

            “I have no idea…” Sylvia gently closed the book and handed back to me. Glancing at Mrs. Anne’s face in the mirror, she leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “I think we should keep this a secret…”

            I nodded. And we entwined pinkies. Pinky promise.

***

            Mrs. Anne pulled up onto a dirt driveway. It was almost dark as I stepped sleepily out of car, lugging my suitcase. Mrs. Anne carried a snoring Sylvia and handed me my sister’s bright red suitcase. My own suitcase was now a faded crimson. I dragged it up the steps to the house.

 I looked up to see that it wasn’t really a house, but a mansion. A glorious mansion. It was a bright red with a brick red roof. The house was entirely submerged in red. A red fence surrounded red boxes of crimson flowers. Our suitcases fit right in.

“Well,” Mrs. Anne said, giving a sigh, “Your aunt is certainly a very odd person.”

I nodded. I could already understand what mother had told us. Crazy. I rang the red doorbell and listened as a friendly ding dong! sounded around the mansion. Silence followed.

I shivered a cold breeze blew me a few inches forward. I hit my nose on the door with a thunk! And the door opened. Before I could fall over the threshold and into the freaky place, a white haired woman caught me. Like her house, she was dressed in red. I picked myself up and frowned.

The woman before me had bright blue eyes. Her hair looked shiny, and it rested on her shoulders. “Welcome,” she said, and I saw that her teeth were pearly white. “Sorry for not coming sooner. Come in, please.”

Mrs. Anne carried Sylvia over to the nearest couch. The inside had a color theme of blues and purples. I smiled, happy to rest my eyes from the bright reds.

“Thank you,” Aunt Helena said to Mrs. Anne, grinning.

Mrs. Anne returned the smile and walked out the door. I heard the sound of tires on dirt and I knew she had gone.

***

“You two can share a room,” Aunt Helena said, pointing to a huge open room with two beds, “If you insist, though, we can give you separate-“

“No!” I said, a little bit too loudly, “We’ll share,” I whispered, grimacing at my outburst.

Aunt Helena didn’t seem to notice, if see did, she acted like she didn’t care. “Great, anyhow, I’ll be off to bed now. My bed room is that one at the end of the hallway. Call me if anything seems a bit…off. Oh, and don’t open your window! We wouldn’t want bugs coming in, would we?”

I nodded halfheartedly and crawled into the bed next to Sylvia’s. She continued to snore as I lay awake, staring at the window. So much had happened today. I sighed.

 Aunt Helena seemed okay. Sure, she was a little strange, but it looked like she could be a fun person. I sighed again, and after taking one last look around the room, I dozed off.

"Good-Bye, Mom"

~3 YEARS LATER~

 Evelyn
[NOTE:*Evelyn is now 15 and Sylvia is 13 (years old)*]

            I walked down to the bus stop with Sylvia. Together, we stood to watch for the bus. Sylvia sighed and paced back and forth as I watched her with careful eyes.

            Soon, the bus rolled down the street and we hurried onboard.

 ***

            “Class, pop quiz! Please take out your pencils!” the teacher walked around the classroom, passing out papers.

            There was a sudden beep! on the intercom, followed by: *Evelyn and Sylvia Shaw, please come to the office, I repeat, Evelyn and Sylvia, please come to the office.*

            I stood up. Whispers flew around the classroom.

            “Oooh, she’s in trou-ble!”

            “I wonder why…”

            “Haha, there she goes!”

            “Class, quiet down!” The teacher yelled. And to me, she said, “You may be excused.”

            And with no response, I went out the door.

            I walked down the silent hallway, only to be joined by Sylvia; who chatted freely about her thoughts as we made our way down to the office.

            I kept a straight face as I walked in and sat down. Sylvia jumped in the seat next to me.

            Mrs. Anne, the secretary looked over at us and put a finger up. Hold on one second… she was saying. She continued to talk on the phone.

            “Yes, I understand…No, yes, sure! Bye!” She placed the phone down and scooted to the front of her desk.

            “Hi! So glad you could come,” Mrs. Anne smiled. “Evelyn, Sylvia,” she addressed both of us and nodded. Then her face turned serious. “Your mother is in the asylum.” 

            “A Silo?” Sylvia asked, confused.

            “Asylum, A-S-Y-L-U-M,” I corrected. “A place where people rendered psycho go,” my face remained straight.

            “Asylum?” Sylvia repeated. “B-but our mother, she isn’t-“

            Mrs. Anne cut her off. “She went mad. Probably from overdose. But don’t worry, she has sense. It’s- they way other people see her: unfit to raise children. She’s been put in extra care.”

            Sylvia went silent.

            “Where will we go?” I asked.

            “You’ll still go to school here, but one of your relatives notified me. You’ll be staying with your Aunt Helena,” Mrs. Anne smiled as the phone rang again. “Excuse me,” she said, swiveling around to answer it.

            Aunt Helena… I pondered this, absorbed in my thoughts. Mom had once said that her only sister, Helena, was a crazy and childish woman. I frowned. My mind was so concentrated on Aunt Helena that I didn’t even hear Mrs. Anne when she called my name.

            “Evelyn? Evie? Hello? Can you hear me?”

            “Ugh!” I said, shuddering. “I’m here.”

            “Right. Like I said, you’ll be moving in with your Aunt Helena. She lives a little far out, but she says that she’ll be driving you to school…”

            “A car!” Sylvia yelped. “I haven’t been in a car, since, well, since dad-“

            Mrs. Anne gulped. “I’m sorry you two, I know you’ve both had a hard life, and that this is just another problem. But, maybe thing will get better, okay?”

            I nodded, but I had no hope in me.

            “Oh! I almost forgot. You guys are moving in today. But, before that…” she smiled faintly. “You’re going to see your mother one last time.”

            I frowned. One last time… One. Last. Time. We would never see our mom again after today. Next to me, Sylvia burst into tears.

***

            Sylvia continued to sniffle in the seat next to me as we drove to the asylum where our mother would be. Mrs. Anne was driving us, a smile frozen on her face. She turned left, right, and pulled into the parking lot of a giant white building.

            I got out and stood, staring at building as Mrs. Anne helped a red-eyed Sylvia out of the car. Together, we all walked up to the doors.

            Inside, it smelled strongly of bleach and rubber.

            Mrs. Anne walked up to the front desk, holding Sylvia’s hand as she trailed behind, frowning openly.

            The lady at the counter looked up, and I stepped closer to see that her face was plastered with makeup. She had bright blue eyeliner with a hot pink lipstick that was smeared all over her big fat lips. Groaning, I walked over to stand next to Sylvia. She looked up at me with her big brown eyes and let out a whimper.

            “Everything’s going to be okay,” I whispered, patting her back. But I didn’t sound so sure myself.

            Mrs. Anne shared a few words with the makeup lady, and then pulled us down the hallways. My nose burned with the smell of antiseptics and I sneezed.

            “Cover your mouth next time, sweetie,” a lady said as we passed.

            I nodded absently in response. Some small part of me knew that the lady was already long gone and would not wait for an answer.

            Mrs. Anne muttered to herself as she slowed down, looking more closely at room numbers. “135…136…137…almost there…138! Here it is!” Looking down at Sylvia, she gave another shaky smile and opened the door.

            Sitting on a pure white bed with cream colored sheets was our mother, just as I remembered her. She sat there, a small smile lighting her face as she took us in.

            “Mother!” Sylvia cried out and ran to hug her.

            “I’ll leave you alone, then,” Mrs. Anne whispered, and quietly walked out.

            “Mother,” I saidushing to her side. She seemed perfectly normal. I grimaced as Sylvia sobbed into her shoulder.

            “30 minutes,” mother whispered, “That’s all the time they’ll allow for visitors.”

            “I love you mom,” I whispered, snuggling closer to her. She gave a faint smile.

            For 15 minutes, we cried and sighed and told each other “I love you,” multiple times.

            “So, Aunt Helena, huh?” mother said, changing the subject. We both nodded our heads. “Promise me that you’ll always watch your back. There’s something strange about her…seeing things, if you know what I mean. Things no one else can see. Strange things.”

            I frowned. What kind of things? I opened my mouth to ask the question that rang in my mind, but mother held up her hand.

            “They keep me here for no reason, girls. And time’s almost up. 3 minutes left. Promise that you’ll visit your mother every now and then.”

            “Promise you’ll never leave, mom,” Sylvia whispered.

            “Of course!” mom patted her head, and Sylvia smiled, “Where would I go anyway? Pinky promise! I won’t move!” She and Sylvia entwined pinkies as an attendant came in to shuffle us out.

            “Bye, mom!” I said, hugging her one last time. We probably would never get the chance to visit again.

            Sylvia started to sniffle again as she hugged mom and mumbled “I love you, mom.”

            The attendant pushed us out the door of room 138 as I looked back to see mom smiling and waving at us. I froze that image in my mind and whispered as we went out to the lobby: “Good-bye, mother. Bye.”

           ***

           Mrs. Anne drove us back to our house and we were allowed to pack as much as we could into 2 suitcases, one for each of us. I didn’t pack much. A few toys and all the pictures of our family I could find. Even then, my suitcase wasn’t full. I ran to the library and picked out a few of the books mom and dad used to read us at bedtime.

            “Girls? We need to leave soon!” Mrs. Anne called from the living room.

            “Right!” I yelled, stumbling out of the room with my now heavy suitcase. But as I hurried out the door, I tripped over a thick book lying on the floor. “What the-?” I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. I was going to open it when Mrs. Anne beeped the car horn. Stuffing the book into my suitcase without a second glance, I ran out the door.

Silent Tears

HEY GUYS, NOTE, NEW STORY HERE. SRRY...BUT THIS ONE IS GONNA FINISH, PROMISE. ENJOY!

     It was a snowy night. 12-year-old Evelyn and 10-year-old Sylvia trudged home through the snow.  Heads down, they moved onwards. They breathed heavily, their breaths forming clouds in front of their face. Dragging their feet into their neighborhood and onto their driveway, they looked up to see the comforting lights of home. Sharing a smile, they delightfully ran inside.

     It was Evelyn who opened the door and first saw mom crying in the living room.

     And it was Sylvia who went to comfort her first.

     “Mommy, why are you crying?” Sylvia patted her mom on the back with her little hand.

     The mom didn't answer.

      “Mom, where’s dad?” Evelyn said, looking around. She dropped her bag by the door, and slammed it shut.

      “Mommy, where’s daddy?” Sylvia asked.

      “Gone,” The mom finally answered. She wiped her tears away and walked to the kitchen. “Gone,” she repeated.

     Sylvia followed her, “When’s he coming back, mommy?”

     The mom didn’t answer at first. She walked to the stove and began to chop vegetables, throwing them into a soup. When it was done, she set the pot on the table, told the girls to sit down, and served them.

       “Girls, I need to talk to you. And you need to be brave,” The mom pleaded. “Your dad…” she paused and swallowed. “He’s not coming back. Ever.”

       Sylvia burst into tears and cried out, “HE DIED! HE DIED! MY DADDY DIED!”

        “Shhh, hush now, he just left…” the mom whispered, “And he’s not coming back.”

        Not. Coming. Back. The words rolled around in Evelyn’s head as Sylvia bawled on and on. Never was she going to see her dad again. Never. But Evelyn would not cry, she would be brave, for her mom. Still, inside, she cried her silent tears.