Something to Stand Behind

Truer words....

Fae

            When I was just a baby my mother had a meeting. I was far too young to understand such things. There was trouble, mostly I was the trouble. I gave my mother some awfully big problems. I, of course, never really understood this as a child, but who does when they're young. But as I was saying, my mother had a meeting. She walked out our back door and into the woods of the darkest night of the year. There was no moon, and a chill so biting that no wildlife would emerge from their hidey-holes. She walked calmly and without hesitation, even though she had no shoes. There was no sound but the soft tapping of her feet against the leaf carpeted ground. If she felt the rough earth hurting her feet she sure didn’t show it. It was as if she hovered just above the ground as she moved, though her feet moved distinctly. She was gorgeous and mysterious, an angelic figure.

            She strode proudly and with purpose. The wood was dead as the night, but her journey had definite direction in the seemingly limitless forest. She walked into a small grove of naked trees, all withered from the early winter. The grove formed almost a perfect circle. She came to the very center of the grove and stood waiting. There was complete silence all around her, not even the air dared to move. My mother stood with her head bowed and hands clasped firmly in front of her waiting. There was no sound as the elders walked from the shadows. The leafs would not crunch, the hollows refused to moan, the wind fell silent in fear of their presence. My mother showed no change at the Gray Lords’ appearance, as though it were of little consequence. She had that way about her, even before I realized exactly what it was, power and fearlessness. The elders stood around her in a nearly impenetrable circle. They were old like the rocks and the trees and the earth itself, old but unchanging. They resented my mother for embracing the new world, and for that they called the meeting.

            “I was summoned,” my mother said as the silence only dragged on, “To what purpose have I been called here?”

            There was no change, the Gray Lords had no sense of time or its passing. My mother did not have such luxuries. She had a husband, a child, a mortal life to live. If left to their own wiles they would simply stand around her, judging indefinitely.

            “We do not approve,” came The Elder Spiderling, a most impressive and terrifying combination of arachnid and man.

            “The humans cannot be trusted,” continued The Fariad.

            “I will not leave my family,” she replied. This was not the least bit shocking to my mother. She had in fact been expecting this exact conversation. It did not faze her in the least, she would not be bullied into giving up her life.

            “We cannot insure your safety,” spoke Nomina, the wisest of the elders, “Nor will we declare protection over your child.”

            My mother raged at the mention of me, “My daughter is none of your concern.”

            “The child carries fae blood in her veins, which makes her our concern.”

            “She is more human than fae. She will bring you no harm.”

            “If she can see us, we will see her, you know this,” said Elder Oakman.

            “She will have no knowledge of this world. Your secrets will be safe.”

            “She will have powers.”

            “No power so great it cannot be explained by some human means.”

            The Elders deliberated silently. My mother stood in tense agony of their decision. She feared the worst, even as she had walked so calmly to this meeting. She feared that the Gray Lords might call for my death, or for my mother to return to the fae lands. She would not leave my father and I. She knew there were risks out in the human world, but she was willing to face them. I was worth the suffering, and hardship. She stood watching the slight shimmer of movement all around her. The Gray Lords could be indescribably cruel, but they could also be miraculously charitable. My mother’s heart begged the earth to let the Elders leave her be.

            “Lords, all I ask is that you leave my family be, and in return I shall keep your secrets safe,” she pleaded.

            The deliberation fell quiet as Nomina stepped forward to deliver the verdict.

            “We lay no claim to the child. We offer no protection to you or your family, but nor shall we interfere in your decision. Our council is spoken.”

            The Elders melted into the blackness of the night as though they were mere shadows upon the trees, and my mother stood again alone in the grove as the night air grew ever more frigid. There was nothing left, so my mother walked home.

Flying Freaks

Amy scaled the big top as the cheers became ever more ruckus beneath her. She could hear the ohhs and ahhs that accompanied the trapeze act. They must have been at the extreme extends of the stacks. She knew she could never sit amongst the crowd to watch the daring spectacle, but from the shadowy heights of the center rings main column she could see without being seen. Jack didn’t mind so much if she watched the shows, but it drove Imperial crazy when she wasn’t playing the part of oddity with the pseudo freaks. The vents that helped to circulate the stale tent air allowed her access into the big top’s summit. Her long clawed digits clung to the rigging as she dangled watching the flight of her acrobatic co-workers.

Susan flipped through the air a mere twenty feet beneath her, and Amy clutched to the center column to avoid being seen. She could see John swinging back and forth trying to maintain his momentum as a relay catcher. Byron was stepping up to the edge of the platform. They had already reached the part of the show without a net. Amy’s breath caught in her throat as he took hold of the bar. She could feel the tension in his body and smell the fear on his skin. He hadn’t had enough practice yet. He was too young. If he didn’t have full faith that he could do it he would fall, and he faltered even now. She braced herself for what was coming without knowing what she could possibly do. She could see it all so clearly in her mind. It was as though he were already falling through the air.

Byron rolled back on his heels and pushed off the edge of the platform. For an instant he seemed to hang in the air suspended like a particle of dust lit up by the sun. Then the harsh reality of gravity’s pull reestablished itself and he began to descend until the bar pulled tight. There was the sickening snap of the wires as they suddenly came under tension. He was being pulled along the terrifying arch. Forward he swung, until gravity again too hold and pulled him back. He forced the arch ever higher. Back and forth, back and forth, higher and higher he went. But still his doubt remained. She could smell it. She could see it in his posture. Every flexing of his muscles told of his inexperience and fear.

Amy leaned forward and her grip on the rigging loosened. Byron sailed through his final arch. His hands slipped free of the bar and his form clenched as he knew he had released too soon. Amy’s wings spread slowly as her toes loosed their hold and she began to tumble freely through the air. As the tents slop widened so too did the thin membrane. Bryon’s hands reached out uselessly to his partner who could not reach him. The horror in his eyes was only matched by the fear in Byron’s. As their fingers brushed tantalizingly close the young flyer began to drop. The stunned silence of that had overtaken the crowd began to intermingle with shrieks of terror as the realization the young boy’s plummet became apparent.

Still Amy fell trying as hard as she could to reach him, yet he never seemed to get closer. Even as she passed by John, still reaching for the boy, she could not catch him. She drew close the wings and began to shoot forward. The wind rushed deafeningly passed her ears. It was the most incredible thing she had ever felt, it was more natural then breathing. She inclined her head and the distance between her and Byron dissolved. With a whip of her toes she had hold of his shoulders. The wings snapped open and the ground that once was driving towards them slowed to the merest crawl and with a single great flap they held still entirely. She continued her flapping lifting them slightly and then drifting them slowly towards the ground.

Byron touched down on the ground and with a single flap more Amy joined him. She pulled high on her hunches stretching her wings wide. It felt good, having the wind in the folds of her wings. She reveled in the memory of the feeling cherishing every touch of sensation. On the edge of her euphoria she realized what had just transpired. She swung around to see Bryon bent over hands on knees catching his breath.

“Are you alright?” she asked her one claw hovering over his shoulder.

“I would have made it!” he said swatting the digit away.

She pulled in her winged arms. The clowns ran in trying to distract and assess, making Amy acutely aware of the publicity of her endeavor. The crowd roared with approval, but all she could feel was the eyes and the sharp sting of Byron’s rebuke. All the flurry of color and motion started blending together to form a sickening collage of suffering and pain. She couldn’t take it anymore. She ran the best she could. Under the bleachers and through the maze of bars and feet she slipped under the side flap and into the trailer city. Everything seemed turned around and her head kept spinning. The world had turned upside down. Her wings had use, suddenly she had moved from the realm of human oddity to something entirely new. What was she?

She bounced into the Jack’s trailer she kept hitting things. It was like she could hardly see. She tried to make it to her closet, but it was too difficult to find. Her knees hit against something rigid and she toppled like redwood onto the soft expanse of bed. Her vision fading completely as her face made contact with the silky sheets.

Beneath, part 7

It wasn’t long before the grand mother emerged from the hovel and took the ratty old clothes she left in their stead a cloth for drying and a dress, mentioning that it was a gift from one of her daughters.  Sasha thanked the old woman and let the warmth of the water boil her a while longer. She could feel the eyes watching her from around the corner, but she didn’t look to see to which boy they might belong. After she had been thoroughly transformed she emerged from the bath, with nothing but her scares to remind her of the life she suffered before. She rolled her fingers, then her toes, her ankles, her shoulders all with a new refreshed life, relieved of pain. She slipped into the dress quickly, taking only a moment to reflect on its appearance. It was long and an earthy red with a belt to fit the waist. She cinched the belt and quickly moved into the home to help old Demy.

Sasha had no idea how she might look until she entered the little kitchen and Demy, who had been working diligently, stopped and eyed her. The old matron’s reaction startled the girl so much that she looked down at herself trying to see what had disturbed the old woman. A brilliant scar showed over the low neckline of the dress, and without thought as to why she pulled her hands over the vibrant mark that spanned over her breast.

She felt terribly embarrassed until the grandmother spoke, “I couldn’t have begun to imagine how beautiful you were in those old rags.”

Sasha looked down at herself again and found the form of her womanly curves. Lines that she could have sworn flat and straight at one time were now round and full. Suddenly she was a woman, and she had not noticed its coming for she had been in the dark. At realizing this she was embarrassed a new. She had been so young when she was locked away it was easy to forget that she had changed in body as much as in mind.

“Come here my darling and help me with the meal.”

Sasha obeyed, but it was quickly apparent that she was useless in the kitchen. The young men came in to find that old Demy was trying to maintain a level of calm as poor Sasha struggled with even the simplest kitchen tasks.

“Didn’t your mother ever learn you to cook sorceress?” said Daniel jokingly.

It took Sasha a moment to realize that the boy was speaking to her as she fought with a bread mixture for their dinner. Her panic made her rather oblivious.

“I haven’t seen my mother in more than 15 years,” she said as she beat at the doughy mass.

“But you made such a lovely porridge the other morning Deary?”

“That’s porridge, it’s easy. Every soldier learned to make it during the war.”

There was a pause, the magnitude of which eluded Sasha. It took a long moment before she realized that all in the room waited for further explanation. She continued to half consciously knead the bread as she tried to recall her life’s story.

“I was about 4 years old when it was found that I had ‘The Gift’. That was when they took me away to the Wizard house. By rights I should have gone to a Witch’s Convent, but our town was too small to have one, so I was taken to the Wizards’ instead. My mother and father left me there and I have not seen them all these years since. In truth I cannot even be sure they are still alive, though it wouldn’t surprise me if they were and had more children to replace me for they were still very young. It was at the Wizard house that I learned to use magics, and how to spar, and many other things. I never learned to cook though. There was always a servant that cooked for us, so it was never necessary for me to know the skill.”

“Was the sparring where you got all those scars?” asked Nathan before he could think to stop himself.

While the question should have offended her greatly, she showed no signs of bother and answered without delay, “Some, but others I got in the war… or after.”

“It’s impossible,” Daniel said, “You would have still been a child during the war.”

“I was about eight years, and already far superior to my masters in the Wizard house. That was why I was conscripted under Lord Byron’s colors, along with all the superior magicians in the region.”

“You fought for the revolution?!” Nathan gawked, leaning forward on his arms.

“Yes. Not that I knew what that meant at the time. I fought for my house, and that was all. Byron had heard of my impressive magic and hired the entire group of us on the spot. My masters were proud of me, and Bryon’s Generals made it clear right away what was expected of me. I was not to be treated as a child. One, General Gunther, gave me this,” she said as she gestured to the long scar across her bosom, “on my first day with the army.”

“How monstrous,” said old Demy, listening closely from the fireplace.

“If you find this cruel you should see the mark I left on him,” Sasha smiled, “He made it clear to me that no one would treat me as any less of a solider than any other man in his army. He made me see that I had to be strong, and so I was. He is what helped make me what I am. He taught me sword play, defense, offense, strategy, just about anything worth learning, really. I became the greatest warrior that had ever been seen because of him. No one stood to defy me, no one would dare.”

“Then why did the Revolution fail?” asked James, finally speaking.

“There was… an attack. By my sixteenth birthday I had been moved up to the highest councils with the most powerful wizards and witches in the empire. By that time it had become our war rather than the lords’. They became little more than pawns supplying funds and men. We thought that we were all invincible, and that left us vulnerable. One night while we rested after a brutal day in the campaign there was a terrible attack. It wasn’t just soldiers, but magicians of terrible power. There was just too many of them and we were overwhelmed. I watched as so many were slaughtered, my friends and family. We had no choice but to surrender. I didn’t know that I had chosen the worse fate. That was when they locked me away from the world in dungeons so deep that the sun cannot find them.

“They shaved my head until it shined,” which stunned her audience since her hair now flowed past her shoulders, “They beat me, tortured me, and when they lost all use of me I was left alone in that dark place in chains garnished with powerful spells so I could not escape.”

“What kind of enchantment could block your magic from aiding you?” asked James.

“It was nefarious really, the spell on the maniacal converted magic into pain,” she said as she felt her wrists, “I suffered a great deal before I accepted my fate. I had even given into the thought of dying when suddenly they came and released me. In all honesty I didn’t think they would set me free. It seemed as though they had every intention of keeping me locked up in the darkness until I died.”

Sasha gingerly pushed around the dough feeling the consolatory glances of all those who surrounded her. She felt old Demy’s hand on her shoulder. She met the old woman’s eye for a moment and saw all the pity in this world in a single woman.

Sasha would have been crushed by their pity if old Demy had not then said, “You’re going to over work that dough deary,” and she shouldered the girl away and began to work the bread with her own hands, “Go grab the pot off the fire and bring it to the table, if you please.”

And with that simple gesture all the pain was forgotten into the past and life continued forward rather than back. They ate their meal with great fervor, and Daniel picked up again with his future bride and her loveliness. It didn’t take long before there were stories flying on every subject. Soon even Sasha found stories of her life with the Wizards being shared evenly with the simple country life of this family.

“One family is more or less like the next really, even one that is found rather than had into,” old Demy said after the boys had gone back to their work preparing the roof.

“I didn’t know what a real family was like,” she said dreamily, “But I never felt I was missing anything. It’s good to know that I didn’t.”

After the dishes were finished the two women went to watch the hard working boys. They all worked to gather the thatching for the new roof. They worked quickly, but never missed opportunity for conversation. They were all so very close, real blood brothers. It warmed her soul that there was a place that families could exist without hate, away from the ravages of war and destruction.

They talked the entire afternoon until dinner, and then into the evening after the meal. She was welcomed into their intimate lives as though she had always belonged. When the time for bed came they begrudgingly parted for the night. The young men set up diligently in the room Sasha had used her first night, and Sasha moved in with Demy.

She slipped off the belt that cinched her dress and fell onto the blanket mattress that was hers. She felt very tired but knew she would not be able to sleep. Instead she remembered the faces of those long gone. Their voices echoed off the endless walls of her mind. It seemed that the images faded the harder she tried to find them. Taya and Alan were the only faces she could recall with any clarity, and they looked always disappointed.

Sasha ran her hands over her face. No matter what she did she could not escape those pained faces. She tried to force the thoughts away, but they only got brighter and more vivid. Taya and Alan went from disappointed to hurt to suffering. She could see Taya’s eyes. They screamed, ‘help me.’ Sasha could hear Taya’s voice echoing through her mind, “Please, we need you.” Sasha’s eyes shot open and she sat up. She could still hear the echoing as she walked out of the little cottage into the night. Old Demy called after her, but she was too distracted to hear or answer, the suffering was still too fresh in her mind.

She could feel the withering pain of torture. She tried to push it away but it was still real in her mind. She sat down on the grass outside the little hovel in the cold night. The wind chilled her, but she did not fight it. She wanted to be made numb once more. She didn’t want any more of the suffering of sensation. Her eyes watered with the effort to keep them open. She feared that if she closed them she would see the faces again. She wanted to believe that it was only a feeling that told her that her lieutenants were in danger, but she knew it was more. She watched out over the field all through the night trying not to blink.

Beneath, part 6

The morning arrived without pity for the late night behind the weary travelers, nor did it shed any sympathy on them for the tasks ahead. The three young men, Nathan, James, and Bryan’s oldest son Daniel, carried the thatching tools as they tread behind the two women, and the sky threatened rain. The young men talked candidly with each other and their grandmother. Daniel was one of the grandchildren due to be married in the fall. All he could seem to talk about was his bride-to-be. She was by all accounts, perfect, and he was not shy about saying so. Sasha listened to him go on about the girl’s beauty, her wisdom, all her various endowments, and could not help but smile at the joy it brought him. His brothers had terrible sport at his expense, but it did not lessen his admiration for the girl. As they walked the sky only grew more and more angry. Sasha paid it no mind, but her companions became ever more agitated. It was merely tolerable before it started pouring rain, and thunder boomed above the wood.

Sasha’s fellow travelers stood looking up at the clouds. She looked back to see them all huddled closer together. She looked up into the broad face of the sky trying to see what they saw.

Daniel shouted up to her as she scanned the heavens, “If you were a real witch you would stop this blasted rain!”

The rain never bothered soldiers on the march. If anything it made the work safer, for it hide their marks from the enemy, it threw off unskilled archers that aimed for you, and it broke the spirits of the King’s conscripts. Sasha loved the rain. But seeing the displeasure it wrought upon her companions she waved her hand against the sky without a second thought, and the rain ceased immediately. She looked back at the young men that stared up in disbelief as they towered over their grandmother. Sasha turned away unable to meet their eyes. She was not supposed to be this way anymore. She was supposed to be an ordinary girl. She felt Old Demy’s hand upon her arm as the old matron continued past towards her hovel. Demy looked back at the young men as they returned to their masculine strides. She took up behind them as they passed. James trailed behind next to Sasha.

“That was incredible,” he said. She nodded, but said nothing. “Were you taught such magic, or were you born with it?”

Sasha thought about the question. No one had ever asked such a thing before. It was always assumed that she was born with the gift, which might have been true, but she remembered being taught how to use it.

“I am not sure.”

“You must teach me,” he said emphatically.

Sasha shook her head, “You don’t know what the gift means. You would be forced to give up too much.”

“I think I should be the one to decide that…”

“I will not give you the choice,” her declaration was punctuated by a loud crack of thunder.

She marched up towards Demy as James was left looking up at the sky, bewildered.

Old Demy watched as Sasha strode past almost entirely forgetting her limp and applied peasant demeanor. When she wasn’t trying to hide it she regained much of her regal persona, it had been driven into her for too long that she was above everyone, and it could not be easily given up. It wasn’t until she was significantly ahead that she remembered the reality of her position. The pain, realizing it once more had control, seized her body and took all of her wind. She tried to struggle a few more steps before it completely over took her and she stumbled. She stopped and fought back a cry at the stabbing of pains throughout her body. Nathan ran up to her side. She tried to hide her suffering, thinking it impolite to inconvenience her hosts, but some pain is too evident to try and conceal.

“What’s wrong?” he asked cautiously watching as her eyes fixed onto the distance.

She struggled to find words. It had been so long since she had lost so completely the control of her pain, “Nothing,” she offered up through the fog that clouded her mind.

By that time the others had caught up. They all wanted to know what had happened, but at once Old Demy recognized pain. Demy knew much about pain, having suffered from rheumatism for more than a decade. She shooed the boys along, urging them to hurry if they were going to finish her roof.

“What’s ailing you child?” she asked in her kind warm voice.

Sasha simply shook her head and again said, “Nothing.”

Demy looked the girl over and noticed her hand clutching at her left leg. She could remember the slight limp the young woman sported. “Were you injured deary?”

Since Sasha had so little control of herself she could not help but nod because it was true.

“Is it an old injury or current?”

Sasha couldn’t think to remember. So she just shook her head slightly. Demy took a gentle but firm hold on the girl’s arm and led her down the path.

“We’ll try to heat up a nice bath for you,” she said as they walked.

In the fog that Sasha traveled the remainder of the journey time seemed completely meaningless. It could have been minutes of walking or days, she wasn’t sure. All she could seem to fathom was that eventually the walking stopped. The next conscious realization she had was sitting in old Demy’s little shack. The boys had set to work on preparing to thatch the roof. Demy herself had already begun heating water.

“The tub is out the door around the back,” Demy told her, “So I have to make sure the water is boiling hot before I take it around, otherwise it gets ice cold before I can fill it.”

Sasha just nodded as she sat nearly comfortably in the kitchen. It was taking so long to recover because she had to rebuild a mental tolerance that had taken nearly a decade to develop. She carefully cultivated the layers of protection, protections not only from the severe physical pain, but also the crippling mental devastation. The darkness still haunted her, and she had fallen back into that familiar prison cell, if only for a moment. She pushed her way from that darkness with a strength the likes of which none of her armies had ever seen. It took more force of will to conquer the dark hopeless place than even the most fearsome of enemies. She opened her eyes to see there was light in this place. There was no darkness at all, only the bright, shinning day that looked so new it could not be the same thing she left behind when she was put in the terrible dungeon.

Old Demy smiled at the poor girl as she made her way once more to the large bath. Sasha limped after not feeling the same crushing blackness that had nearly consumed her moments before. The bath stood barely half full and already grew cool. Sasha looked at it and thought of the last bath she had taken. It was after they had exhumed her from the earth and again brought her back to the land of the living. That experience as pitiful as it had been had not made her feel any cleaner.

Sasha put her hand to the water and its level began to rise. Demy watched in astonishment as the tub reached the point of nearly over flowing in a matter of seconds and the water let off a satisfying steam from heat. Sasha looked at the water as it rippled and reflected the shining light of midday. She ran her fingers slowly through its pristine depths.

“You’ll have to fill one for me when you’re done Deary,” old Demy told her as she walked back into the house to fetch a drying cloth.

Sasha smiled as she watched the old matron disappear through the door. She quickly stripped away the now ratty thin shirt and trousers that had been her only clothes. It left her bare to the nearly imperceptible cold that clung to the air. It also left her scared body visible for all to see. She had been raised as a warrior, so scars were common to her, but there was something fantastic to the criss-cross of elaborate and brutal marks that covered her body. She had scars from blade and arrow point, whip and cudgel, but also burns from magical bursts and bolts. Some were old from simple sparring, others from actual battle and imprisonment. There was the brand of her order upon her left arm and the prison brand upon her right. She slipped her battered body into the warm water and let the relaxation fill her veins. It had been so long since she had felt fully warm. The cold could not bite because there was no warmth to bite at, but now there was warmth in every pore and crevice. It was as thought she had been clad in ice for years and only now had begun to truly thaw.

Beneath, part five

The young girl looked out across the darkness as a primal terror roused within her. It was too dark here. She slid from under the covers and crawled along the floor to the small bedroom’s door. Ma Demy had already fallen asleep so it was no bother for Sasha to slip out towards the hearth. She carefully made her way to the diminished fire, and quickly called it back to life.  She curled into a ball in front of the dim light it cast. She let the warmth wash over her in a wave of soothing calm. Her panic flowed from her like water in a stream as the fire warmed her body.

She could hear the footsteps coming across the floor but was unwilling to turn away from the comforting light of the flame. Bryan’s son James sat down next to her on the floor. He crossed his legs in front of him as he too looked into the fire.

“You don’t like the dark do you,” he stated more than asked.

Sasha looked on into the fire. The flames wrapped themselves around the logs in a thick blanket of lapping light. It was beautiful, and terrifying all at the same time. The soldiers had written a ballad comparing her to a flame when she led them into battle, but she felt it had always been a lie for she was not nearly as beautiful as the golden light of the fire. She was terrifying to be sure, but never beautiful.

“I knew you were special from the first moment I saw you,” he continued, “You probably left the north because people always demanded to see you perform like they did today, didn’t you.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you really want to know?” she whispered from behind her knees. He nodded vigorously. She turned her gaze back to the flames as they continued to lick away the logs. “I left because I couldn’t give them what they wanted. I left because I was broken, and couldn’t go back to being what I had been during the war. I wasn’t strong enough anymore to be the person they needed, so I left to find a place where I could be the person I have become.”

She glanced back out of the corner of her eye to see his reaction. He was looking at her. He didn’t seem so young in the light of the fire. She could see a beauty there that deep inside she pined for but could never have. No man would want her, no matter how foolish they might be. Not if they knew the truth.

“It was unfair of them to expect too much from you,” he told her, “It was unfair of them to put such heavy expectations on your shoulders. You’re just one woman.”

Sasha turned her gaze once more to the fire. It was unfair to force a child to grow up as fast as she had been made to, but she did not feel cheated, not anymore. She felt sad to have missed out on so many experiences that were supposedly her right. She felt grief that she couldn’t help those that had counted on her. But more than anything she felt tired. She felt wrung like an old dish rag, and wanted only to be left to her own devices. Her years of service had at least earned her that much, hadn’t they?

Sasha rested her head against her knees. She didn’t feel pushed here with James beside her, and a house full of sleeping family around her. She felt calm, calmer then she had felt in a very long time.

Beneath, part 4

They all sat down in Bryan’s home, for Bryan was the man’s name. They discussed family matters and happenings. Demy’s youngest daughter was having another child, and soon from the look of her. Three grandchildren were due to be married in the fall. The ‘Actor’, as he was referred to, was playing in the cities of the north. The fields were yielding a steady crop, the livestock bore many strong offspring, and all was in a general state of good health. Sasha sat and listened to them talk to one another as a family. She watched the children play in front of the fire. They were so happy together. She watched the fire burn steadily. As it got low she put more logs on before being asked and watched as the flames climbed higher and let them settle at a gentle roar. She liked a good fire.

She sat on the floor near the fire letting it warm her chilled body. She was starting to feel again, which gave the approaching night a stronger bite. She continued to watch the many families intermingle to the point of becoming one large mass of kinship. She lean her back against the stone of the hearth. There was warmth in the room from more than just the fire. It was beautiful to see.

She didn’t notice how quiet the room was until she saw the children staring. She cocked her head to the side mimicking their awe. Bryan looked across his table his expression unreadable. “How do you make the fire do that?”

Sasha turned her head towards the flames to find it leaping around her arm as she sat too close. She lifted her arm further into the lapping yellow tongues only to watch it pull away from her bare skin. She turned her hand over and over in front of the flames pushing them further into the fireplace. “I don’t know,” she lied. She closed her hand into a tight fist and the fire disappeared into embers. She stood up and quickly walked from the house.

She stood in the cool air of the deepening night. She had stopped feeling again so the cold no longer bothered her. She began walking towards the woods when Ma Demy came tottering out of the cottage. Sasha didn’t turn around to face the old woman, but she stopped. She could feel the old matron thinking of what to say.

Finally, she decided and said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Sasha turned at this and looked the old woman straight in the eyes. Ma Demy looked right back and she could see some terrible past coming up to find the girl. She felt sorry for the child who was too afraid to be found false that she didn’t bother trying to defend herself.

“You’ve got to help me with the boys when they come to work on the roof.”

“I thought that I might no longer be welcome,” the girl replied hollowly after a pause.

Old Ma Demy shook her head as she laughed, “Well then you’re a fool, as much as you’re a wonder.”

The old woman beckoned Sasha back into the house. The girl looked over her shoulder at the darkening sky beyond and resigned herself to returning. As she stepped through the door it became apparent that there had been words of warning given to all not to pry. But it is hard to tell a curious child not to gawk and stare and probe.

“Are you witch?” had escaped one of the younger children’s lips before her mother had even a moment’s thought to contain her.

Sasha looked down at the young girl as her mother began admonishing her and answered as truthfully as she could, “Not anymore.”

The questions could just have easily ended there, but at that the flood gates opened and all the children wanted to see more “magic”. By the time everyone had turned in, she had done every mundane trick she could muster, and endeared herself to the entire house hold. It had been too dark by then for Sasha and Ma Demy to return back to the hovel, so they were both invited to spend the night. Several of the boys offered to give up their beds to the travelers.

Sasha could hear there was much commotion trying to get the younger children to their various cottages and into bed. She was exhausted by the time they had all been put out for the night. She pulled herself into bed as Ma Demy went through a meticulous night time ritual.

“You made quite an impression, I think,” she said as she climbed under the covers. Sasha just smiled as the old woman blew out the candle beside the cot.

Stull, Kansas: Sometimes Fiction is Simply Fiction

I realize that I normally write fiction, but sometimes a topic comes along that moved me. Stull, Kansas Cemetery is one of those topics. A cemetery is hallowed ground and therefore should be respected, and not trod upon lightly. So when fanatical stories are told that make a holy place an oddity to the masses I feel slightly sick inside.

Stull, Kansas has become known as one of the most
 haunted cemeteries in the country. It is even said that Stull Cemetery is one of the two places on Earth that Satan himself rises from Hell. In my experience this seems outrageous. I have to admit that not only did I not see the devil, I also did not see or feel any ghostly specters. Above is a picture of Anna A Andrews Wittich, whom has a story around her. She has been accused of being a witch in league with the devil. I realize that witches were extremely common in eastern Kansas in the early 1900's, but I think this might be one of those little fictions that mocks this hallowed ground, along with the idea that Satanic cults practiced in the church.

It is said that Stull is one of the "Seven Gates to Hell" also there are stairs that lead to Hell behind the church. I didn't see them, but of course they're suppose to be covered and hidden by the tall grass. I did however see a stone marker was placed inside the church foundation. Which means that the foundation of the church has been used as a plot for the last 75 years. The church walls were standing until last year when it was demolished under mysterious and unfortunate circumstances, apparently.

 While I visited the cemetery I really didn't notice anything strange. No devil, no ghosts, no Hell mouth. I was almost disappointed after all the build up. I fear that a bunch of bored college students have brought the Devil to Stull, Kansas at the expense of the people that live there.

 The Old Glory stands over Stull's dead just as much as anywhere else. It is not a big cemetery probably fewer then two hundred plots lay on the land, most of them are over grown and lost under the dirt. They aren't stones that say Devil and Witch, but rather it is where Mother and Father are laid to rest. 

In some cases the whole damn family is buried there. And the whole Damm family is actually buried there.

 

Our boys are buried there. More then a hundred years of Wulfkuhle rest in the Stull Cemetery grounds.

Yet, some see fit to come a rile the dead with their living nonsense. They cause damage, and make parts of the past disappear altogether. And tourists wonder why the people of Stull hate kids going into their Cemetery? This isn't an oddity for the world to spy on, this is where their families lie.

Cemeteries are creepy. That's a given, but Stull is such a quiet and calm place that is seems hard to believe that anyone would want to stir up a little Hell there.

My suggestion? Let the dead lie and find your thrills elsewhere, unless you come to show your proper respect to the century and a half of intimate family history that can be found there.

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