Category: Kiley’s Stories

“Welcome, Ms. Hwang. Can I get you something to drink?” Principal Miller’s soft voice sounds kind as Jessica takes her seat in the principal’s office.

“I wouldn’t mind a glass of water,” Jessica admits, slouching back in her chair.

Miller gestures to her secretary, who bustles out of the room toward the main part of the front office. Miller then turns back to Jessica, her face slightly harder than before.

“Jessica, we’re here to discuss something very serious,” she begins sternly.

“What’s that?” Jessica asks, nonplussed.

“Well, last week during the attendance assembly you may have noticed a certain . . . disruption.”

“Do you mean when Mrs. Scott fell flat on her face as she walked up to the stage?”

Miller sighed, then conceded, “Yes, that’s what I’m referring to.”

“That was so–” Jessica starts to giggle, then immediately sobers up. “Tragic. I felt so bad for her.”

Miller raises a skeptical eyebrow and begins to retort, but her secretary interrupts by returning with Jessica’s water.

“Thank you so much!” Jessica says to the secretary, who nods and slips back out the office door.

“Ms. Hwang,” Miller moves on, “A brief investigation concluded that someone had placed a tripwire exactly where Mrs. Scott ascended the stairs to the stage. Do you know anything about that?”

Jessica pauses for a moment, apparently thinking hard. Then, she shakes her head. “Nope. Although, I could probably figure out who did it.”

“Oh, could you?” Miller asks, once again skeptical. Her conferences with Mrs. Scott and several other third grade teachers point to Jessica’s guilt in the matter, especially considering the girl’s pranking history. Miller shudders, remembering the Kindergarten bathroom incident of ‘17.

“Oh yeah, I’ve got a list of suspects already in mind.”

“Do you now?”

“Number one, Sally Mayfield. She’s the Kindergartener who sat right next to the spot where Mrs. Scott tripped.” Jessica explains. “Our moms are friends, and let’s just say that girl has an attitude problem, if you know what I mean.” Ignoring the confusion on Miller’s face, Jessica continues.

“Number two is Mr. Thomas. He was up on stage at the time, meaning he had to arrive at the auditorium earlier than everyone else. Believe it or not, the second grade-third grade teacher rivalry is boiling over right now, so he would have the perfect motive and opportunity.”

“Okay,” Miller replies slowly, making a mental note to look into the so-called rivalry.

“Number three would be Alexander Hayden. He has a terrible track record when it comes to Mrs. Scott, and just the other day he confessed to the class that she’s his least favorite teacher.”

“This is all true, Ms. Hwang. However, it doesn’t explain why Mrs. Scott named you as the class’s designated prankster.” Miller replies, analyzing the suspect’s reaction to her statement.

Jessica doesn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been known to joke around, yes. However, I didn’t have the opportunity or means to plant the tripwire. I came into the auditorium with everybody else. Just check the security cameras.”

Miller shifts uncomfortably. “Um, well, we tried to do that, but . . .”

“What’s wrong with the cameras?”

“Nothing’s wrong per say,” Miller continues. “Nevertheless, the camera shows an inconsistent narrative.”

“What does that mean?” Jessica asks, taking up her own skeptical tone.

Miller sighs and relents. “In the footage we have, the tripwire isn’t there one second and it’s there the next. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Jessica’s face shrivels up in confusion. “That’s very strange.” She sits for a minute, pondering the new layer to the mystery. “Is it possible that a group of kindergarteners worked together to lift the tripwire right as Mrs. Scott walked up there?”

“That seems highly unlikely.” Miller deadpans, unamused by Jessica’s speculations.

“Well if it wasn’t them it was probably a malfunctioning camera. Or,” Jessica adds suddenly, “Someone in the main office edited the security footage to cover up their crime!”

Miller sighs again. “You know what, I think we’ve got it covered. If you say you didn’t do it, I believe you. Thank you for coming in, Ms. Hwang.”

“No problem,” Jessica replies with a charming smile. She stands and exits the office without a backwards glance. 

Principal Miller watches the young girl leave, then closes her office door. The video footage seems so bewildering that she almost believes someone did edit it. Could one of Jessica’s wild speculations actually be close to the truth?

Out in the hallway, Jessica heads toward the front doors. Since her parents both work, she usually walks home with her older brother James. However, the school day ended half an hour ago, so James is nowhere in sight. In fact, Jessica can’t see anyone lingering about. She gets off the school grounds, then pulls out her phone to call her brother.

“Hey, Jess. What’s up?” 

“James, can you go out to the porch?”

“Sure. Are you gonna race home?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s no one around.” Jessica explains. “Get your timer ready.”

“Okay, it’s ready. Three, two, one, go!”

With her backpack bouncing wildly behind her, Jessica takes off. Her legs propel her faster than a motor boat, and soon enough she arrives on the front step. Panting slightly, Jessica drops her bag and looks up at her older brother.

“What was my time?”

“Half a mile in 2.3 seconds. Way to go, Jess, that’s a personal best!”

Jessica grins. “Thanks, dude. Hey, did you ever perfect that fireball you’ve been practicing?” she asks as they make their way inside.

“Yeah, I did. Although I burned a hand towel in the process, so Mom’s gonna be pissed.” The two siblings laugh for a minute, then James suddenly stops.

“I almost forgot! Did you get away with it?” he asks.

Jessica smirks up at him with mischief alight in her eyes. “Don’t be stupid, James. Of course I did.”

Police sirens fill the cold evening air with their spine-tingling wail. Men and women clad in blue mill about the prim front lawn framed by a white picket fence. As heavy footsteps mingle with a child’s cries, a body bag emerges from the picturesque little cottage . . .

Six hours earlier

Beep! Kai’s ancient car honks noisily as she checks that it is locked. After pulling three times on the handle, she finally moves up the gravel driveway toward the house.

It appears to be an adorable little thing, almost like a scene from a movie. The picket fence and square green lawn invite Kai into their midst. She smiles, admiring the colorful array of flowers in the garden; it has to be Mr. Marshall’s handiwork, seeing as he works at a garden center. Kai knocks on the sky blue door three times, then stands back in wait. Soon enough, a familiar bearded face appears in the doorway. Behind Mr. Marshall’s unshaven but kind countenance, Mrs. Marshall’s face swims in shadows. 

“Kai!” Mr. Marshall exclaims. “Thank you so much for babysitting. Come in, come in, please.” Mr. Marshall opens the door all the way, beckoning the young lady inside.

“Yes, thank you Kai.” Mrs. Marshall echoes in a hushed tone. Kai enters and smiles graciously, steering clear of the petite but intimidating woman.

“I’m happy to help. Where is your daughter?”

“Oh she’s in her playroom.” Mr. Marshall replies with a wave of his hand. “Here, let’s give you a tour and a rundown before you meet her.”

As the couple guides Kai through the small house, they explain all their expectations.

“We’ll be home around 10:00, so you’ll have about two hours alone after she’s asleep.”

“She’s already had lunch so you’ll just have to feed her some snacks and dinner around 6:00.”

“Also, don’t forget to feed the cat. Ally usually does it, but just be sure to remind her.”

“She’s not allergic to anything—well, I mean Ally isn’t but I guess the cat isn’t either—so don’t worry about that.”

“Oh, Ally’s had a bit of cold lately so we’d prefer it if you keep her inside.”

“Most of her toys are in the playroom, but here’s all the art supplies; she’s a very good artist.”

“Oh yes, wait until you see those drawings she did.”

“They’re hung up on the fridge so you can glance over them at snack time.”

Mr. Marshall’s cheerful voice bounces back and forth with Mrs. Marshall’s solemn one to sing the strangest duet Kai has ever heard. Nevertheless, she listens carefully as the couple describes their rules and recommendations. After several minutes of strolling around the quaint house, the tour arrives at its final destination: the playroom.

Inside, the pastel yellow walls display a variety of mini portraits, including a rainbow with its pot of gold, an enormous cloud, and a palm tree holding several coconuts. Kai’s eyes flit about the room, admiring the art and wincing at the messy shelves. Her eyes eventually land on the drawing table in the center of the room, where Mr. Marshall crouches close to the floor, speaking softly to the girl of the hour.

Despite the cringeworthy messiness of her playroom, Kai immediately falls in love with Ally. Her frizzy blonde hair and big blue eyes yield an intelligence deeper than most adults display. Kai grins as she watches Ally, whose eyes remain attached to the coloring page in front of her.

“Ally, why don’t you pause your coloring for a second and say hello to our friend Kai?” Mr. Marshall’s coaxing voice entices the young girl to look up for the first time since the party entered the room.

Kai makes eye contact with the girl and smiles broadly, raising her hand in a little wave.

Ally pauses, inspecting every detail of the newcomer with the blatantly judgemental eyes only found on a child and an extremely old woman. Then the little girl sets down her magenta crayon and speaks.

“What kind of a name is Kai?”

“Ally, don’t be rude.” Mrs. Marshall chastises. However, Kai understands that no rudeness lies behind the child’s question. The babysitter kneels down, moving a little closer to the drawing table so she can converse with Ally.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” Ally adds under the heat of her mother’s glare.

“It’s okay, Ally. I don’t mind.” Kai flashes the girl another small smile before continuing. “My name has been passed on to women in my family and my tribe for as long as we can remember. It means ‘willow tree.’” Seeing confusion flashing across Ally’s face, Kai adds, “Those are the pretty trees with long green leaves that hang down.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ally exclaims. “The trees with the green braids!”

“Yes, exactly!” Kai replies with a laugh.

“Okay, I get it now. Kai is a cool name. You can stay.”

Mr. Marshall, Mrs. Marshall, and Kai all laugh—much to Ally’s confusion—at the child’s verdict. Kai stands up and turns to the couple, who both appear satisfied with the interaction.

“I think we’ll be just fine, Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Marshall replies.

After saying goodbye to their daughter, the couple leads Kai toward the front door. 

“Thank you again for coming over so last minute, Kai. We really appreciate it.” Mr. Marshall grins as he grabs his jacket from the coat hanger and throws it over his arm.

“Call us if you need anything at all.”

“We’ll see you in about six hours.”

“Try to remember about the cat.”

“And if Ally misbehaves just tell her she’ll lose bedtime story privileges.”

“She reads at a pretty high level, just so you know.”

“Okay, we’re leaving now, thanks again Kai!”

The strange duo hurries out the door and down the driveway. They pass Kai’s rusty old truck and wave as they hop into their Tesla. Kai chuckles slightly; the expensive car doesn’t exactly fit the cottage’s simplistic atmosphere. Nevertheless, Kai waves back, closes and locks the door, and returns to the playroom where her young charge awaits.

. . .

“So you just spread the jelly across the bread nice and even,” Kai explains, demonstrating with the knife in her hands. “Then you put the two slices together and you have your sandwich.”

“Oh, that’s much easier than I expected.” Ally says cheerfully

“That’s usually what happens when you try new things.”

Ally takes the plate in front of her—complete with pretzels, carrots, and, of course, her sandwich—and quickly begins her feast. As Ally eats, Kai feeds the cat and washes up the few dishes perched next to the sink. When the little girl finishes devouring her dinner, the pair starts the trek back to the playroom. When they pass the art cabinet, however, Kai stops. 

“Is there anything in the art cabinet that we could play with?” the babysitter asks, opening the large oak doors.

“No, most of my coloring supplies are in my playroom.”

“What if we make some bracelets? Or make a card for your parents? Or make something out of Play-Doh?”

Ally shakes her head furiously until she hears the word “Play-Doh.” Intrigue seeps across her face as she follows Kai’s gaze to the ten containers of Play Doh on the top shelf. After a moment, Ally gives in.

“Okay, Play-Doh sounds fun.”

Kai collects the containers and carries them down the hall to the playroom. She sets the Play-Doh onto the table, organizing it by color. 

“Which color do you want to use first?” Kai asks as Ally analyzes all her Play-Doh options.

“How about . . . all of them!” Ally hurriedly rips the caps off the containers and dumps out every tub of Play-Doh. Kai watches anxiously as Ally begins to smush the colorful cylinders together.

Three deep breaths. It’s okay. She’s just a kid, Kai reminds herself, practicing her favorite breathing exercise. After relaxing her brain and body, Kai joins Ally by selecting a cylinder of teal Play-Doh. She pushes the Play-Doh into the table so she can begin to mold it into some fantastic shape.

Thunk. Something hard inside the glob of Play-Doh hits the table, nearly breaking Kai’s finger in the process. As she shakes her right hand, trying to move past the pain, she pulls apart the Play-Doh to see what rock-hard item hides inside. Please don’t be a tooth, Kai thinks.

It’s not a tooth. Instead, the teal mass of Play-Doh yields a shimmery, sparkling, 400-karat diamond.

“What the–”

“Kai, look what I made!” Ally proclaims as she displays her multi-colored Play Doh castle. However, when her small blue eyes fall on the shiny diamond, the little girl’s mouth drops into a comical “O” shape. Kai immediately drops the diamond into the pile of Play-Doh. 

“Oh, that looks great!” Kai exclaims, trying to move past the awkward moment. 

“What was that?” Ally inquires.

“What do you mean?”

“The shiny thing you were holding. What was it?” 

“It’s nothing Ally. Let me see your castle–”

“No, tell me what it is!” Ally roars, her face turning pink.

“Okay, okay.” Kai concedes, fishing the diamond out of the Play-Doh pile. “This is a 400-karat diamond.”
“Ooh. It’s so pretty. Why is it 400 carrots? Is it orange inside?”

“No, karats are how diamonds are measured.” Kai stares intensely at the diamond in her hand. She sighs deeply, lifting her gaze to meet Ally’s. “And unless I’m mistaken, this 400-karat diamond is the one that was stolen from my tribe by jewel thieves.”

“What’s that mean?” Ally asks quizzically, her head tilting like a lost puppy. Speaking more to herself than to her charge, Kai launches into the story.

“Long ago, when white people stole our land, they gave my tribe this diamond as a gift. They wanted to pacify us. About a year ago a band of jewel thieves, who had already been stealing our handmade jewelry, got their hands on this diamond.”

“How do you know it’s the same one?”

“Do you see that little hint of teal on this side?” Kai asks, pointing with her pinky toward the distinctive mark. Ally nods, and Kai continues. “That’s how I know. I only saw the diamond our tribe received once, but I would recognize that mark anywhere.”

“So how did the diamond get here?” Ally’s innocence radiates through her voice as she questions her babysitter’s implications.

“Ally,” a third voice interrupts, “Go to your room right now.” There in the doorway, with flames dancing in her eyes, stands Mrs. Marshall.

Kai’s heart sinks to her stomach and she drops the diamond back into the Play-Doh. 

“Hi Mrs. Marshall, what are you doing home?” Kai asks nervously.

“Yeah mommy, you’re early!” Ally jumps up to greet her mother with arms outstretched.

“Ally, I said go to your room, sweetheart.”

“Okay! Just wait until Kai tells you her diamond story. I got a story and it’s not even bedtime yet!” Ally relays excitedly. Kai winces as the little girl exits the room, skipping. Ally seems blissfully unaware of the showdown about to occur between the two women.

“Mrs. Marshall, now that you’re home, I’d better be on my way.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” The older woman spits at Kai as the babysitter tries to escape.

“Look, I don’t want to do this, but you’re a thief. I’ll call the police right now if I have to.”

“Or maybe I should call the police, Kai. Maybe I should call and inform them that some Indian girl came over to babysit, but when I came home alone because I forgot to buy my opera ticket I found her trying to drown my baby girl in the bathtub.”

“What?” Kai shouts, outraged. “You’re crazy, lady.”

“Maybe I am.” Mrs. Marshall seethes. “But you’ll never make it long enough to tell anyone– hey!” Mrs. Marshall finally notices the cellphone squeezed tightly in Kai’s hand as she tries to dial 9-1-1. Panicstricken, Kai locks eyes with Mrs. Marshall and spots a fury that scares her worse than anything has before. With that, Mrs. Marshall lunges, tackling the babysitter to the ground.

“Give me the phone!”

“Give my people back their diamond!”

The two women wrestle violently across the playroom floor. Play-Doh, markers, and an assortment of toys fly across the room and hit the brightly colored walls. Flailing limbs catch on the drawing table and the rocking chair as the two women battle it out. Soon enough, Mrs. Marshall hovers over Kai, pinning the girl down. The older woman’s hand gets tangled up in one of Kai’s long black braids as the two continue to struggle.

“Why are you doing this? You have a husband! You have a daughter!” Kai gasps for air with her face contorted in anger. She manages to free her hands and push back against Mrs. Marshall’s petite but strong frame.

“And I also have a crew. I need to support and protect them as much as I do Ally and my husband.” Mrs. Marshall pants, trying to force Kai’s hands back on to the ground. “That means I can’t have any nosy Indians interfering in our business.”

Kai cries out in pain as Mrs. Marshall pins her wrists to the fuzzy blue carpet beneath them. From Kai’s peculiar angle, the sun painted on the playroom ceiling looks like a halo around Mrs. Marshall’s head. Distracted for a moment by this unsettling visual, Kai pauses in her resistance. Mrs. Marshall takes the opportunity to clasp her hands around Kai’s throat and start to squeeze. Kai chokes out half a scream and tries to pry away the old woman’s hands; nevertheless, Kai’s attempts are useless. Mrs. Marshall bares her teeth and squeezes increasingly harder.

The older woman watches with bitter satisfaction as Kai kicks, resists, and struggles for breath. Despite the joy Mrs. Marshall feels surging through her powerful hands as Kai’s eyes bulge, she also feels slightly guilty. Somewhere within this girl, this necessary sacrifice, there remains a little girl, much like her Ally. Killing was so satisfying before she gave birth, but nowadays Mrs. Marshall feels a twinge of regret every time a face purples or a bone breaks. Nevertheless, Kai’s lack of resistance alerts Mrs. Marshall that her task is complete, and she relaxes. She gets up and flexes her hands, which are sore from the choking. 

Deciding to wash away the guilt with a glass of wine, Mrs. Marshall heads toward the kitchen. She still has plenty of time to have a drink and bury the body before her drunken husband stumbles inside.

“Mommy, can I come out of my room yet?” A small voice calls from down the hall. 

“Not yet, sweetheart!” Mrs. Marshall replies coolly. “How about you take a quick nap and then you and mommy can watch a movie?” 

“Okay!” the voice answers eagerly.

“A movie sounds great!”

Mrs. Marshall whips around to see Kai, panting heavily, with a wooden stake pointed right at her enemy’s chest. 

“Hold on Kai, let’s talk about–” Mrs. Marshall interrupts her own plea with an agonizing scream as Kai stabs her one . . . two . . . three times. Kai’s wooden stake, made from the playroom rocking chair, now protrudes horribly from Mrs. Marshall’s stomach. Kai watches with mingled horror and relief as Mrs. Marshall collapses, blood gushing from her wound. Gasping for air much like Kai had only minutes ago, Mrs. Marshall glares up at the babysitter.

“I can’t believe you would do this to Ally.” The older woman sputters, with blood now pouring from her lips.

Kai leans down, her eyes brimming with tearful rage.

“No. You did this to Ally.”

Kai rises, moving away from the dying woman and toward the house phone laying on the counter. Mrs. Marshall’s cries fill the kitchen, and Kai dials 9-1-1. As the phone rings, she grabs some hand towels from a linen closet and brings them to her victim. Pressing the towel to the feeble woman’s wounds, Kai wonders whether this one choice will be the end of her. If only Kai had simply left the quaint little house and never looked back . . . 

“9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”

With a menacing click, the wooden front door swung open and exposed the quaint living room inside. The small figure outlined in the doorway looked around, wary of traps or alarms. However, the house appeared completely unprotected. The young woman, clad all in black, laughed. They were fools. 

She crept inside, nudging the door shut behind her. Her black ski mask failed to hide her abundance of blonde curls. As the young woman began her search, she made sure her gloves left no part of her pale hands exposed; if she wanted to succeed, she could leave no prints—and no scent—behind. 

The thief yanked open drawer after drawer in the kitchen, raiding the pantry for any sign of the loot. She even stirred a spoon in each bowl of soup, for the residents might have hidden something in their lunch. After clearing the kitchen and checking the most obvious cabinets and shelves in the living room, she paused for breath. 

“Think, Goldy. Lil Red said the bears like to keep their loot close by, in case of emergency.” Looking upon the cottage with fresh eyes, Goldy narrowed in on the living room’s focal point—three chairs. 

The largest one, comfy and maroon-colored, revealed nothing hidden beneath its cushions. She searched every nook of the chair and massaged the fabric to check for newer stitching. Nothing. She moved on to the oak rocking chair, a skeleton compared to its plump neighbor. With no place to hide anything there and nothing taped underneath, Goldy moved on to the final chair. The small blue bean bag had a zipper on the side that opened up to expose the chair’s soft intestines.

“Bingo.” Goldy whispered as she began digging through the small white balls of styrofoam. However, after five minutes of sifting, she still found nothing hidden inside the youngest bear’s chair. Frustrated, the thief glared around the small cottage. 

“Damn it. Where the hell are the drugs?” Goldy muttered, her mouth drawn into a tight snarl.

Ding dong, ding dong. Goldy jumped as a clock on the wall reminded her what little time remained. The three residents would be back from their walk any minute. Concluding that the bean bag was empty, Goldy returned the chair to its original position and pushed onward. She ascended the sturdy staircase to the second floor. As she climbed, Goldy began to pray. With so much riding on this mission, she wanted all the help she could get.

Upstairs consisted of a single bedroom. Goldy felt slightly disturbed by the lack of a bathroom until she remembered that these were bears—she hoped she wouldn’t have to inspect the backyard. Each of the three beds fit its occupant perfectly, so Goldy started with the largest bed. Papa Bear’s heavy blankets and cotton linens yielded nothing. After running her hands behind the headboard, along the mattress, and underneath the frame, Goldy moved on to Mama Bear’s bed. However, before she could crawl underneath the bed to check its underside, a loud noise made her stomach lurch; the front door had just creaked open. 

After quickly tidying up Mama Bear’s bed, Goldy moved on to check the smallest bed while listening carefully to the gruff voices downstairs. 

“I told you I didn’t want to go on that damn walk anyway. I knew something like this would happen.” Papa Bear’s snarl echoed throughout the house as Goldy frantically ran her hands along the final bed’s underside.

“Quit your complaining and help me get the splinter out of his paw.” Mama Bear said in a frustrated but heartfelt tone. Goldy sighed with relief; they didn’t yet know that she had broken in. She continued to comb through Baby Bear’s sheets and blankets, until…

Crunch. As she searched between the headboard and mattress, her hand found a small but heavy bag wedged there. She yanked the bag out and gave a silent cheer.

“You really thought you could hide the crushed peppermint from us?” Goldy sneered, careful to keep her voice low.  She quickly remade Baby Bear’s bed and gave the room one last, sweeping look. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mama Bear’s voice carried upstairs from the living room.

“Jesus, calm down, would ya?  I’m getting the kid a bandage.”

Goldy’s heart dropped so quickly that her feet felt like cinder blocks. Papa Bear’s voice suddenly sounded ten times louder and clearly came from just outside the bedroom. 

Clutching the bag of drugs to her chest, Goldy darted toward the window. She made quick work of unlocking it, but getting up and out proved much more difficult. Goldy had managed to get one leg out the small, circular window when a brusque voice rang out behind her.

“Somebody has broken into our house, and here she is still!” Papa bear roared, his muzzle dripping wet and his teeth bared. Goldy looked into the bear’s ferocious red eyes, trying to mask her fear. It didn’t work.

“I hate to miss all the fun, but I gotta go.” Goldy’s trembling voice wrecked her attempt at sangfroid. Papa Bear responded with a growl that made the house shake, and he charged forward. Goldy moved quicker than ever before, swinging her other leg over the window ledge and slipping out altogether. She fell like a ninja, landing in a bush far below.

“Motherf–” Goldy screamed, then silenced herself immediately—Mama and Baby Bear would be looking for her any second. As Goldy tried to escape she rebuked her own reconnaissance for not noticing that the bush below the window was a rose bush. Prying herself from the thorny brambles and cursing quietly, Goldy heard Papa Bear barking orders at his family.

“She’s gone out the window. Go after her!” 

In mere moments, Goldy could hear the pounding of Mama and Baby Bears’ paws. She tucked the drugs safely in her pocket, then sprinted into the woods behind the house. 

“Get back here, thief!” Mama Bear roared. Nevertheless, the thief looked like a black blur as she darted between trees, careful not to get tripped up over any roots or stumps. She trained for this. This was her mission, her plan, and her execution of that plan. She would not fail, could not fail now.

Despite the weeks of training and conditioning she had endured, Goldy knew that she could not outrun three bears. Luckily she planned for this too, and after several minutes of sprinting she came across her trusty sidekick: a horse, “borrowed” from one of the villagers.. Goldy untied the mare and mounted the saddle with haste.

“Hyah!” Goldy cried, taking hold of the reins. The horse neighed and shot off, putting even more distance between Goldy and the pursuing bears. As they rode, Goldy glanced repeatedly over her shoulder, but the bears were long gone. It seemed that the enormous forest and the horse’s speed disposed of Goldy’s victims for her. 

Soon enough, the thick forest began to thin, and a sparkling lake appeared before the thief and her ride. Desperate for a drink but anxious to return to headquarters, Goldy did not stop. She steered the horse around the lake and up a slanted green field toward the main road. Once there, Goldy removed her mask and tried to act natural. 

“Hello there, Madam Goose.” Goldy called out as she rode by the little old lady, out for her midday walk. The feeble woman barely had time to lift her hand in acknowledgement before Goldy and her stolen horse sped by. Further down the road, just outside of town, Goldy got down from her horse and tied him to a nearby fence. Any town gossip passing by would know who the mare belonged to and could return it.

“Thanks, brute.” Goldy whispered before patting the horse goodbye. The horse, furious with its kidnapping, gave a haughty neigh and turned away from the young blonde. Goldy ignored this rude gesture and proceeded into town. 

The bar she searched for stood far away from the hustle and bustle of the town square; nevertheless, Goldy kept her head low as she walked, periodically checking that the drugs were still in her pocket. At long last, Goldy reached the run-down bar called The Rabbit Hole. She entered, moving silently past the midday drunks and heartbroken wives to the counter. A tall young woman with a curly black afro stood wiping down the bar. The faded nametag pinned to her shirt read “Alice.”

Goldy leaned in toward the woman and lowered her voice. “How much for a red hood?”

Alice paused her wipe down and gave Goldy a knowing look. “It’s not cheap.” 

“I’m willing to pay anything.” 

Alice nodded and gestured toward a rotting wood door behind the counter. Checking to make sure that no one saw, Alice pushed Goldy through and pulled the door shut.

On the other side of the door, Goldy scaled the rickety wooden staircase, following the sound of faint voices coming from upstairs. She pulled out the small bag of drugs and held it tightly.  As she moved slowly up the staircase—she still felt sore from the rose bush—Goldy practiced what she would say upon entry. When she finally reached the top of the steps, she strolled through the open doorway with an air of dignity.

The room was large, with one grimy window and a dozen lamps scattered throughout. Bookcases home to dusty inhabitants lined the walls, and a large group of women sat scattered about on various poufs and couches. The women continued to babble, unaware that a newcomer had arrived. Slightly disappointed in this lackluster welcome, Goldy cleared her throat. Half a dozen heads turned instantly, their faces delighted but anxious. 

“I got them. I got the drugs.”

Everyone began to speak at once.

“No you didn’t.”

“There’s no way.”

“The bag’s right there in her hands!”

“How did she survive?”

Although the voices swirled about the room as ferociously as Papa Bear could roar, Goldy focused on only one face. Directly across the room, Lil Red leaned against a bookcase casually. The hood of her scarlet cape hid her eyes from Goldy’s intense gaze. Goldy anxiously awaited the woman’s verdict.

“Where were they hidden?” Ella asked from her spot on the floor, oblivious to where Goldy’s attention lay. Ella’s blonde bun balanced precariously atop her head, and Goldy noticed a large bandage on her foot.

“They were in Baby Bear’s bed. What happened to your foot?”

“Broken glass. I’ll explain more if–” Ella cut off, sneaking a glance over at Lil Red. Ella lowered her voice and finished, “–if you’re in.”

“Is that little bag all they had?” Gretel interjected in a whiny tone.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you’re getting a cut.” Goldy spat at the little girl. Even though Goldy wasn’t an official member, she knew Gretel had been suspended from the group.

“I was just asking, Goldy. Jesus.”

“Yeah, Goldy, give the kid a break. She barely escaped arrest for Hansel’s murder and has to lay low until the charges dissapear. She’s had a hard few weeks.” Rapunzel retorted while rubbing Gretel on the arm. This statement sparked a lively debate on the consequences of Gretel’s actions, and every woman’s voice began to rise in protest.

“Will you lot shut up?” roared a commanding voice. The group ceased their bickering and all eyes turned to the hooded figure in the corner. Slowly and quietly, their leader lowered her hood and glared around at each of them.

“This can’t be good.” Wendy declared, not bothering to whisper. Everyone, including Lil red, ignored her, knowing that Wendy was high on pixie dust per usual. Suddenly, Lil Red strode across the room right up to Goldy. Although Goldy felt the sweat dripping down her neck, she refused to shrink or back away. 

After a moment of intense eye contact and held breath, Lil Red’s face split into a grin. She stretched out her hand, and the warmth of Lil Red’s touch took Goldy by surprise. As they shook, Lil Red spoke once more in her booming voice.

“Welcome to the gang, Goldilocks.”

The street bustles with life despite the hour, like most places in New York City. Lamp posts decked with fake wreaths illuminate the line of cars stuck in traffic. The one way road leads up to a busy intersection, and several people honk for no apparent reason. Office buildings rise up on one side of the alley, looming like Redwoods. A Walgreens on the corner floods the area with a lurid, fluorescent glow. The curvy red lettering above the second floor reads “Wareens” thanks to the blacked out ‘l’ and ‘g.’

Across the way from the office buildings, an enormous hotel stretches the length of the short alley. A semicircle driveway lined with valets marks the front entrance. Evergreens adorned with various ornaments stand on either side of the glass sliding doors, and shiny silver tinsel glitters through the clouds of smoke coming from a valet on break.

Now, a tall man hastens toward the hotel. Long, ungainly arms swing at his sides, and in one hand he clutches a brown leather briefcase. His disheveled black hair matches his black winter coat, which whips around him as he walks. Underneath the coat his attire is all business, from his ironed blue shirt to his shiny black loafers. The only thing that looks out of place is his tie, which depicts Santa Claus and eight reindeer. 

The man quickens his pace as the hand holding his briefcase goes numb. 

“Jesus, it’s cold.,” his breath steams from his mouth.

He strides through the front doors, giving a quick nod to the doorman as he goes. Inside, the atmosphere seems much calmer. The man flashes a charming smile at the woman behind the front desk, then heads out of the lobby and toward the elevators.

Around the corner there are six elevators, three on each side of the short hall. To the man’s surprise, a young woman stands in the middle of the hall. She looks petite but strong, and her violently red hair frames her pale, freckled face. She’s looking for something, rifling through her purse like a raccoon through the trash.

“Where is it? Oh my god, please tell me it’s here.” 

At the sound of the man’s footsteps the woman looks up, just as her hands stop their frantic movement. She grins abashedly, pulling out a small blue wallet.

“I thought I had lost this for a second. That was a close call.” She closes her purse and pushes strands of hair out of her face.

The man raises his eyebrows but smiles. “Are you going up?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting. These things are taking forever tonight.”

The man chuckles slightly before reaching out and pushing the up button. It glows yellow and a nearby elevator dings, the doors opening. The woman smacks her forehead, blushing furiously.

“Well that might’ve helped,.” she whimpers.

“It usually does,” he responds, still chuckling. “I’m Johnathan Yang. Everyone calls me John.”  He offers up a handshake and she takes it, her small pale hand fitting awkwardly in his large tan one.

“Alyssa Shelton.” She breaks the handshake as they move into the spacious elevator and jabs the button for the thirtieth floor. John pushes twenty-eight, then turns back to face Alyssa.

“How long are you staying in the city?” he asks, looking over at her with interest.

“A couple more days and then I head back to Denver. My friend is getting married in Central Park.”

Surprise creeps across John’s face. “You live in Denver? So do I.”

“Really?” Alyssa asks with an incredulous laugh. “What are the odds of that?” There’s a beat of silence as the elevator climbs even higher. Then, Alyssa speaks again. 

“I like your tie by the way.” She gestures toward the cartoon Santa Claus.

“Thanks,” he snickers, “I just had drinks with some guys from the conference I’m attending and they didn’t seem to like it as much.”

Alyssa grins and takes a covert glance at the rising numbers above her. Tenth floor. Now eleventh. She has to hurry.

“I can’t imagine why,” she jokes, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Where do you work in Denver?” Her pulse speeds up. She tries to stop the color from rushing to her cheeks. Hopefully John can’t see right through her.

“I work at Fennel & Jinh Law Firm. You probably haven’t heard of it; we do mostly corporate lawsuits.” There’s a hint of disdain hidden behind the word “corporate.”

Alyssa’s eyes widen and a smile crosses her face. “Actually, I have heard of it; you guys are some of our biggest competition. I’m an executive assistant at Smith, Bernstein, and Jordan.”

“Wow, small world.”

As they pass the twenty-first floor, Alyssa gathers all her courage and blurts out, “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee before we both go back to Colorado?”

John looks over at her in surprise, rubbing the back of his neck in slight discomfort. After a moment of despairingly awkward silence, John beams. 

“You know, I would love to get coffee with you.”

Alyssa sighs in relief and shoots him a toothy smile. “Okay, cool. Here, I’ll get your number.”

They exchange numbers just as the elevator dings, opening up on John’s floor. He stretches a long arm in front of the door to stop it from closing.

“I guess it’s a good thing you asked me out before I got off.”

Alyssa laughs and nods as John moves his arm. 

“See you around, Alyssa.” He gives her a dazzling grin, waiting until the elevator door closes to turn away. Striding around the corner to his room, John closes his hand into a fist, giving himself a silent cheer. 

It’s about time for John to get over his last girlfriend, Lauryn. Dating the same girl all through college, then getting dumped so she can travel and “find herself,”  has left him a little off his game. Now, he’s working at a law firm he hates with a bunch of women who only know him as “Lauryn’s ex.” But who cares? He has a date with a beautiful woman, and nobody needs to know that it wasn’t him who did the asking.

Back on the elevator, Alyssa rides the next two floors in contemplation. 

“Easy enough,” she whispers to herself. She also says a silent prayer of thanks for whoever helped her remember the name of the law firm.

On the thirtieth floor, Alyssa exits and heads toward her room. The do not disturb sign still dangles from the doorknob. Carefully, she looks both ways down the hall. It’s empty. She enters her room, breathing in the putrid smell of a hotel room that hasn’t been cleaned in over a week. The heavy metal door closes behind her, and she turns the deadbolt until she hears that decisive click. After pulling the chain across and checking that the door handle won’t budge, she turns around.

The bathroom trash can overflows with takeout food and empty shampoo bottles. She moves past the bathroom to her bed, where she drops her purse and phone. The tightly drawn curtains block out any light from the busy city outside. A single lamp, suspended above the nightstand, brings light to the room.

Alyssa shifts her gaze to the chestnut set of drawers beneath the TV. In one swift motion, she opens up the top dresser drawer and stares down into its depths. Piles of paper, organized in neat stacks, fill the drawer to the brim. She pulls out the stack on the far left, opening a thin manilla folder on the very top.

Inside the folder lies a single picture, printed on full-size card stock. It’s a picture of a man, standing outside a brick building with his cellphone to his ear. Next to his face sits a bright pink sticky note that reads, “John Yang. Corporate lawyer. Denver, Colorado.”

Alyssa walks back over to her purse and empties its contents on the bed. She pulls out a pen and a pad of yellow sticky notes. The top note reads “Smith, Bernstein, & Jordan” in messy black lettering. Alyssa rips off  the top Post-It so she can start a new one. She clicks the pen and writes, in rushed, slanting handwriting. 

“Seems like an easy lure. Method: poison coffee??”

With that, Alyssa puts the folder and stack of papers back in the drawer, making sure it’s shut. She perches on the edge of the bed, chuckling at the satire of it all.

Johnathan just met his rebound.

Alyssa just met her next victim.

Here is another small section from my work-in-progress novella, 21 Minutes. I’m so happy you all liked the first part of my story! This chapter begins directly after the end of the last section.

Ashley

The steam from the shower rises around me as water washes me clean of my sweat. I hate morning volleyball practices. I keep my shower short, only two Shawn Mendes songs instead of my usual five. Then I turn off the water, shivering as I wrap my towel firmly around myself. I step out onto the yellow bath mat, avoiding the blue stain in the corner. My heart squeezes as I look at the stain.

“En garde!” I shout, holding my toothbrush out like a sword. My brother giggles, whips his Lightning McQueen toothbrush from his mouth, and turns to face me. Our toothbrushes clash as we battle. Toothpaste foams around his mouth and I laugh.
       Then, I whack his toothbrush out of his hands and it lands on the ground. More specifically, I it lands on the bath mat. He rushes to pick it up, but a sticky blue glob has stained the pale yellow. We look at each other, trying not to laugh.
       “Oops.” I say quietly, and that sets us both off. We laugh until our eyes water. Then, once we’ve both calmed down, we yell out a single word.
       “Moo-oooo-m!”

I change into my clothes quickly, eager to get downstairs and eat breakfast. Mom always makes something delicious on the weekends. As I comb my long, brown hair, I check my outfit in the mirror. I’m going mini golfing today with Hope and Thomas, my two best friends.

Hope’s freckled face swims in the mirror, her blue eyes flashing with excitement. “Thomas is finally gonna ask you out!” she shrieks. I close my eyes. That was over four months ago, and Thomas hasn’t made a single move.

All guys are idiots, but especially football players. I always warn my younger sister Natalie to stay away from the football players at Deep Creek High. They are nothing but trouble. Luckily for her, her crush plays basketball or baseball or something like that. Thomas on the other hand…

The crowd is cheering louder than ever, and the whole student section bouncing up and down like we’re on a trampoline. “Let’s GOOOO THOMAS!”I scream, cupping my hands together. It doesn’t matter; there’s no way he can hear me over the noise of the crowd. It’s 24-20 with less than a minute left. I have a particular investment in this game. Thomas said he’d take me to homecoming tomorrow if we win. He thinks we’d just be going as friends. He also thinks Fantasy Football is the greatest thing on the planet, so what does he know?
       The announcer rambles on in a foreign language, so I just watch the team intensely when…
       “TOUCHDOWN!” The one word I understand roars through the microphone as the bleaches shudder from the weight of jumping fans. I look over at Hope, both of us still screaming. She gives a smile bigger than the entire stadium and I hug her. This is going to be a good Homecoming.

 I sigh. Thomas ended up going with a group of football friends. They acted as a barricade around him, blocking anyone not cool enough from getting to him. I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him.

I give my hair and makeup one last glance, and then I open the door. Cold air hits me as I exit the sauna of a bathroom. I hear fast-paced news anchor talk floating up from the living room. My dad’s concerned voice calls out over the noise of the TV.

“Hey, honey? You should come see this.” I head down the staircase just outside the bathroom door. The whole house smells like Mom’s cooking, and after such a hard practice I’m starved.

I stop just at the bottom of the stairs and crane my neck to see the TV screen. I freeze. The words send a shock through my body, terrorizing my thoughts and stopping my heart. I sit on the step beneath my feet and stare blankly at the ceiling.

Just this morning I was at volleyball practice with my team, who are all my closest friends, running sprints and joking about stupid things. Less than an hour ago I was talking to my best friend about our plans to go mini golfing and whether this year would be the one that Thomas finally asked me out. Just this morning I was a normal teenager.

And now, the world is ending.

Earlier this school year, I wrote a novella entitled 21 Minutes. The novella is a fictional take on one family’s rush to escape impending nuclear war. The family has 21 minutes to get to their safe destination. This story is told from the alternating perspectives of the family’s three children. As the clock ticks down, the story alternates between the present and flashbacks. The family’s history slowly unravels as their time quickly evaporates.

This is a small section from the first chapter. It’s nowhere closed to being fully edited, but I thought I’d shared just a taste to see how it reads to some other brains. 🙂

Mom pulls the bacon from the stove and throws it onto a plate sitting on the counter. A stack of golden brown waffles balances unevenly next to it.

“Hey, honey? You should come see this.” My dad’s gruff voice calls out from the living room. Mom strides over to the door. I stay put for a second, staring at the pile of food. The clock on the microwave above the stove blinks furiously. It’s 8:54. Then, I hear my mother’s voice. “Oh, no.” she says softly. I jump up and walk swiftly into the living room.

Dad is watching ABC 7 News, his arms stretched across the scarlet red couch. The remote dangles from his left hand. His back is to me, but I can tell that he is watching the television in deep concentration. I walk to the left, around the end of the couch, and I collapse next to my dad. His strong arms pull me into a hug, and I can almost go back to sleep. Almost. Instead I turn to face the TV, and I read the bold headline scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

“NORTH KOREAN NUCLEAR MISSLES HAVE BEEN SPOTTED. COULD LAUNCH AT ANY SECOND. DESTINATION UNKNOWN.”

I look in horror upon the flashing screen, not believing what I’m reading. The news anchors are babbling on furiously but my ears are ringing. I screw up my face in concentration and listen.
“Well of course we don’t know where they’re going or when they’re going to be launched but for now let’s assume that these nukes are headed for Washington, D.C.” a tall, dark-haired man with a chiseled face is talking loudly and moving his hands an awful lot. “It will take approximately forty one minutes for the missiles to reach the capital. Now we can’t say for sure what will happen, but we know that the whole city will be affected by the blast, and the wreckage and radiation may creep into Maryland and Virginia.”

The word Maryland stings me like a bee. McHenry, Maryland is on the western edge of the state, close to West Virginia. McHenry, Maryland is on the tip of Deep Creek Lake and home to the Wisp Ski Resort. McHenry, Maryland is my home. And now I may have to leave it.

“Could we get blown up?” Dylan asks from the other couch, as if he was asking what’s for lunch in the cafeteria.

Mom hesitates. She bites her nails nervously like she always does. Dylan and Ashley do it too, but not me. I’ve always hated nail biting. It grosses me out.

“Could we Mom?” echoes Ashley from the staircase behind Dylan. I jump. I didn’t even know she was down here. She looks much more awake than the last time I saw her.

“I don’t know babies.” Mom says slowly. “But maybe we shouldn’t stick around to find out.” She finishes, looking over at her husband. I turn to Dad, expecting him to freak out. But instead he nods solemnly and says, “We need to start packing.”

My jaw drops. This can’t be happening. As my dad jumps to his feet, I look at the grandfather clock hanging above the mantle to my left. It is 8:56.

The house creaked and moaned from the gusts of wind. The hinges squeaked rapidly as the door rocked back an forth. In the dark and disturbing shadows there was a figure. We had heard of a recluse in these parts and hoped he or she could help us. Carefully, we called out to the figure, begging for shelter from the stormy heavens. The sky was black except for the shining silver moon directly above us. We shivered, pleading for the figure to come into the light. And so it did. With a roar like a lion, the figure raced toward us. The moon shone upon the hideous face of an old woman. her eyes were alight with rage as the wolves howled in the distance. We turned and ran, up the steepening hill and toward the horizon. We ran crying and screaming, praying that the woman would leave us be. Then we stopped. The woods around us were unfamiliar. Pine trees loomed over us and shadows danced across our eyeballs. We shivered as the temperature plummeted. Thunder cracked in our ears and lightning lit up the midnight sky. It had been hours since we had last seen civilization, and now we would forever be swallowed by the trees and the storm.

The old woman sat in her wooden shack and laughed. She laughed as the sun rose and the rain stopped. She laughed for years and years, for no one would ever know about the children lost in the deep dark woods, and no one would ever know what–or who– had really killed them.

Ivory’s day began not with a bang, but with a click. A single, satisfying click that announced the arrival of food, a marker, and a new day.

The click was the sound of the tray that arrived in the slot in the wall. Each morning Ivory rolled out of bed and raced over to the white panel in the wall, which opened at her touch. There sat her breakfast on a pristine white platter (egg whites, powdered donuts, and milk) and a thick, fat, beautiful black marker.

The marker. A new one arrived every single morning, always black. The first morning, the very first morning, Ivory only used the marker for one thing– to write her name.

The first morning was very bright and cold. Ivory opened her eyes and was blinded. She tried to figure out what was so blinding. It wasn’t the sun, for there was no window. It wasn’t a light bulb, for there were no lights and no doors.

It must have been the walls. It must have been the shining, reflecting, bright white walls. They were so white. Or maybe it was the bed. White sheets, white quilt, and white pillow–it was all white. Ivory (who, at that point, did not know her name was Ivory) jumped up and followed the sound of the click to the panel in the wall. She ate her first breakfast, opened her first marker, and wrote her first word.

It came to her as she uncapped the marker. A single word popped into her head– “Ivory”. She wrote it on the wall next to the panel in thick, loopy, beautiful handwriting. And then, Ivory sat in the white room, with the white walls and white bed. She sat on the floor for one day and one night, only getting up at the sound of the effortlessly compelling click.

But that was seven years ago. And Ivory is no longer in a white room. Every day she used her new marker to draw and write all over the white. The walls held swirls and shapes, the bed held letters and number, the floor held paragraphs upon paragraphs. Ivory’s own skin was covered is thick, swirling ink designs.

The silent stream of water trickles down the window. I pull my legs close to my chest as I watch the cars fly by. Down below, I see the faint outline of crowds of people headed to work.

I stand up and stretch. With a flick of my hand a SILC comes zooming up to me. SILC of course stands for “Super Intelligent Levitating Computer”. I clear my throat and say, “Blinds, please.” A quick shutter behind me says that the SILC has closed my blinds without leaving my sight. As I leave the room I glance back at the thing. It hangs patiently in the air, like a dog that’s been told to stay. I snap my fingers and the SILC whips to my side.

The living room is just outside my bedroom, and as I exit I give the space a quick glance. The navy blue couch stands in the center, facing our television. The TV is tiny, only taking up one wall. Most of my friends have a two-wall spread at least. A small bookshelf sits directly behind the couch, holding pictures of my family.

I roll my eyes as I look at the kitchen. It’s not a bad kitchen; it’s just bad that I can see it. I don’t know why my mom went with an open floor plan. A mirror is shoved in a corner to my right, looking lonely and sad. I walk up to it, hoping to give it something to live for.

I’m tall, with long, straight black hair. I’ve dyed it ever since I was young. My natural hair color is a disgusting sky blue. My skin is smooth, and a nice royal blue. My friends from Green are envious of my skin. Meanwhile I despise my classmates from Red for their gorgeous skin tones. My eyes are a bright, light blue.

I look out of the window to the left of the pathetic mirror. Here on the 15^th floor, the view is fantastic, although sometimes traffic blocks the view of the walks below.

I read once in history class that walks used to be called streets, and that cars drove on them. The idea seems strange and rather funny. Cars have been flying for as long as anyone around here can remember.

Red dust swirls through the air and I cough. I’m covered in a thick layer of dirt, like an extra layer of skin I could peel off. But I can’t peel it off, I will never peel off this layer of thick, disgusting, filth. The grass makes me sneeze and fills my lungs with unwanted pollen. The lights are bright and blinding, burning into the back of my eye bulbs. The lights are engraved into my brain, pounding my skull. The cold surrounds me, engulfs, swallows me, strangles me. It grabs with its icy hands and squeezes my heart. 

I love baseball games, don’t you?