The Ringbearers - Chapter 2

Emily froze like a deer caught in headlights. Time slowed down and the click, click, click of heels seemed to echo as they drew nearer. Mrs. Creevey appeared in the doorway holding a shaking, purple Twinkles. Every line in her face was turned down in a scowl.

“What did you do to this dog?” she asked, voice higher than usual. She hugged Twinkles to her chest protectively while glaring down at Emily, who was at least a foot shorter than her.

As time regained itself Emily said, “I-I… no-nothing. I mean, I’m not sure…. I mean….” Mrs. Creevey’s intimidating form continued to stare at Emily, waiting for an acceptable answer. “I don’t know,” Emily said quietly, looking down.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’?” Mrs. Creevey asked incredulously. “How can you not know?”

“I mean, I don’t know how… I didn’t do it on purpose--”

“How can you not do this on purpose?” Mrs. Creevey yelled so loudly she spat. Her face turned a horrible red. “You shaved and dyed my dog! You’re trying to tell me you did this on accident?”

“Um… yes?” Emily looked up with sheepish false hope written on her face.

“Go to your room,” Mrs. Creevey said in a voice that would send shivers up the Grim Reaper’s spine.

“But--”

“Just go!”

Emily thought it best not to press. Being sent to her room was not the worst punishment she could receive, though she doubted it would be her only one.

She had made it up but a few steps when she heard a voice.

“Wait,” Mrs. Creevey called after her. Emily turned. “Take a shower. You’re disgusting.”

Because of your stupid pets, Emily thought as she ascended onto the landing at the top.

Once she got a change of clothes and was standing in front of the bathroom she saw that Mrs. Creevey was right, however. Her hair was still half wet, and where it was dry it was matted. Little bits stuck up every which way and the soap residue from the mop water had crusted onto her hair, leaving her with an even more unruly mess than usual. And that was saying something.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged from the steaming shower, towel dried, and stepped into fresh clothing. She didn’t look much better though. Her dark, usually untamable, curly hair hung limp in sopping, strangled ringlets. That, with her large, almost black, baby doll eyes, gave her a pathetic air, as well as making her look several years younger.

Emily stared at her face in the mirror, and the drained, worn look she had seen so many times before. She looked hard and saw the same scared child she had been, back before she even realized what was happening, but had gotten yelled at about it anyways.

She reflected on her childhood, the inconsistency of it. Moving around month after month, rarely staying longer, but often shorter. Never having time to make a true friend, never getting settled. Being constantly uprooted, experiencing culture shock after culture shock. She suddenly had the urge to cry.

Emily ran into her room, her dirty clothes left in a forgotten pile on the bathroom floor. She plopped down onto her bed, her face down onto her pillow, where tears we collecting. She couldn’t keep going on like that; sadness was dangerous in and of itself, being such a strong emotion. She needed an outlet of some sort. And then a light bulb went off in her head; the journal!

Emily snatched it off the nightstand and pulled the latch. It stuck. She tried again. And again. And again. It didn’t give.

She shouldn’t have been surprised, really. She had the journal since before her memories began. She thought that her parents gave it to her when she was really little, but she had no actual memory of that. It had just always been there. It was one of the few things that she took with her once her parents died. Why, she had absolutely no idea.

Because something was broken with it. For years, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get it open. Until last night. Emily was feeling sad, so she tried again, with no actual hope that she would succeed. She was amazed when she did.

How ignorant she had been to think that it would open again just because it had the night before. Frustrated, she threw the journal against the wall.

Anger equaled an emotion, a strong one at that. Emotions equaled just another inexplicable incident. What else was new? Hmm…. How about a picture of the Energizer Bunny melted onto the wall where the journal hit it?

“Well that’s a first,” Emily said dryly. Just another thing she was going to get yelled at for.

Tears leaked down her face as she wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them closer. Peering over he knees she saw the glint of her ring on her finger. Suddenly all of the love, any sort of connection she had with it, it all vanished and in it’s place stood rage, pure, unadulterated rage.

Emily yanked off the ring and hurled it as hard as she could at the journal. She could hear the tiny clink when it hit the journal’s metal lock. Then it fell over. Not the ring, the lock. It opened.

For a minute Emily stared at the flopped-over lock, not quite believing what she had just seen. Then she got up. She walked over to it, picked it up in two unsure fingers, and examined it.

It was open.

Why? What made that different? Later Emily realized that it was obvious, though at the time she was dumbfounded.

She thought about the night before, racking her memories for the tiny little change that made all the difference. It took her a while, I’ll just leave it at that.

Then she remembered; the night before, when she was fumbling with the lock, her hand moved unexpectedly and her ring caught on the lock, pulling it loose.

Emily latched the journal again, then pulled with her bare fingers. Nothing. She took her ring and used the band to pull the lock. It opened. She was amazed. She tried it again, just to make sure. It worked with each test.

“Emily!” Mr. Creevey yelled from downstairs. “Come here. Now!”

Emily quickly opened the diary.

I’m about to get the grounding of a lifetime. Wish me luck.

And then she slammed it shut and went downstairs heavy hearted. Somehow she had the feeling that being grounded was not going to be the worst of her punishment.