Young Writers Society

As I walked the autumn streets I couldn’t help but recall the words Mary had yelled at me only weeks before: “How can you love me when you have no heart, Johnny! I’m convinced there is only dust where your soul should be.”

I called it love, at least, it felt like love. Now that Mary is gone, my life has lost all it’s meaning. This intrinsic feeling of wanting her back enraged me. She had estranged me from the whole school after she spread that rumor around. School girls gave me dirty looks and boys acted contemptuous towards me. I was utterly and completely alone. I was alone in streets that were rife with magnificent colors of red, orange, and yellow; yet they felt dull. I was alone in this lugubrious town and vengeful life.

I went to the place where we always used to meet, The Cherry Shack. This is where everyone goes to get fries, shakes, and dates. Only the most cosmopolitan teens go here to hang out; she loves this place. I walked in with the secret desire that she would be there as well, and out of pure serendipity, we would reunite.

I walked into the smell of grease and milky chocolate. An anomaly appeared where I expected Mary to be, there was something better: an angel. She wore her dark hair parted down the middle which made her green eyes sparkle. Her propitious skin shined like the moonlight and her hair was dark as the night sky. Mary was no longer on my mind; she was a lamp and this mystery woman was the stars. Mary was wrong, this ineffable feeling was my heart, I did have one. I had a soul that burned my chest and it warmed the blood from my head to my toes. This otherwise mournful day changed into the most idyllic one I could experience.

She seemed to be abandoned by her date. Her loneliness was much more graceful compared to my pathetic one. Those piercing eyes met mine and, like a magnet, I walked right to the booth she sat in. I sat down and her red lips met a mint chocolate milkshake. As I revered in her presence she seemed to manipulate time and completely get rid of it. These few seconds of silence seemed to be what my past 16 years had all led up to.

“And what is your name?” She asked with her voice like soft caramel.

I took in a big gulp and all I could stutter was, “Johnny.”

“Wonderful to meet you, Johnny.” She smiled, “you seem to be quite infatuated with this milkshake. You can take a sip, if you dare.”

She knew it was not the milkshake that had changed the course of my day but I liked that game, “ah yes, the milkshake looks delightful today.” I smiled as I felt I had reached the acme of my love life and I continuously refused to let this moment dissipate.

She laughed and slid the shake to me with her red fingers. “What brings you here today?”

“I-” I couldn’t finish my sentence because I instantly felt sick. My insides were screaming at me. “Sorry,” I gagged, “could you excuse me for a quick second?” Before she could reply I was in the bathroom.

The bathroom was filled by deep shadows and the putrid smell of sewage. The walls got distorted with one being taller than the other. My eyes spinned and wheeled around in my head. I ran to the mirror and the moment I saw myself I puked cold, black sludge in the sink. My moldy green skin melted off my face like candle wax, revealing my bare skeleton. I had metamorphosed into a corpse. I hopelessly screamed for help, hoping this pain would soon truncate. Through my stentorian wails I wished I could call for her name. But I had never asked of it! I cried at the endless torure I would face if I never got to learn the sweet sound of her name. On my hands and knees, I weakly crawled to the door for help. But before my hand could reach the handle the room turned black and I collapsed.

I woke up the sound of a dulcet harp playing and felt a velvet couch beneath me. Astonished to still be alive, I blinked my attached eyes and felt my solid skin. I laughed in pure joy of my health, but where was I? The shelves were stocked with jars containing things I could not identify. There were strange objects on the coffee table, shelves, and ceiling. It included rabbit’s feet, crystals, and hair; they seemed to be acting as a talisman. There was a sign on the wall naming some sort of foerign nomenclature, I was never one for science. I was surrounded by a floral wallpaper and beneath me was a golden and brown striped rug. To my astonishment, the harp by the fireplace had no player, but plucked the music itself. My eyes fixated on it trying to calculate what was happening in front of my eyes.

“Ezra! Youth! The tin boy is awake!” I heard a whisper from an unknown room. The mystery woman walked in quietly accompanied with a blonde version of herself and a black cat. Her beauty had been preserved in the time I was passed out. “Am I the tin boy?” I asked with my words slurred.

“Oh forget about that, darling. How do you feel?” Her soft hands touched my forehead. I pointed to the harp with a confused expression and she laughed, “it’s just some trick on the eye, all electronics. Now drink this, it will make you feel a mile better.”

She handed me a glass filled with the same black sludge from my hallucination and the old fear rushed back inside me. I quickly stood up, still feeling dizzy but freaked out enough to want to leave. “Tell me why I’m here.” I demanded, trying to keep my composure.

“Oh, Ethel, you’re too kind to him. Can we please get this over with? I have a reading at seven!” The blonde lady said.

Ethel.

Ethel was her name. It was familiar yet new at the same time. I still felt drawn to her although she terrified me in the moment. She had casted a spell on me. The puzzle put itself together right before my eyes. Ethel, the love of my life, was indeed a witch! A rotten, green faced, mole covered witch was hiding beneath an angelic and enticing woman. I frowned at the thought of her aprcraphal gaze.

With my fuzzy eyes, I darted to the mustard door. I did not want to stay any longer to find out what they wanted to do with me. My shaky hands clasped onto the golden doorknob to freedom. I could almost smell the fresh blue sky as I saw it through the window. I opened the door but there was no blue sky or florid trees, no kids laughing or riding their bike. I had opened the door to an archaic looking dungeon. My door to freedom was nothing but an entrance to death.

Ethel greeted me with the same equanimity as in The Cherry Shack. “Johnny, please don’t be afraid. Come over here.” She held my hand and brought me to a wooden table with straps and buckles. In horror, I subserviently followed her. Her grace and charm seemed to outrule all other logical solutions. I laid down on the table and she strapped me in. She told me I was going to be okay and I trusted her.

Behind us, the blonde woman was murmuring an incantation, I could not comprehend, over an old book. The words got faster and faster; Ethel combed through my hair and tucked the longer bits behind my ear. “You know, it is a shame. You are the most pleasing boy I think we’ve had.”

The woman walked over to us with the book in one hand and the other waving in the air. The murmuring got louder until we were face to face. It looked as if her hand went through me and I blacked out for the second time that day…

I woke up in the same dungeon inundated with comfort. The sickness had dissipated into the air for their next victim. The straps were unbuckled and I was free. The dungeon was accompanied with the same yellow front door the sitting room had. I simply walked to it and I was back into the real world. The children were playing and leaves were falling. All vestige of my paranormal catharsis had gone with the wind. As I breathed in the cool air I felt it rush through me.

Right through me.

I looked down to see a bloody hole on my left side.

Ethel has stolen my heart.