Fantasy

Flynn

  Flynn Cadara looked up at the sky. It was getting dark. He knew that he needed to head back to the cabin. It would be dinnertime undeniably, and he didn’t want to miss it. “Tam!” Flynn called out. A large, wolf-like dog appeared, heading toward Flynn at a slow trot. “It’s time to head home,” Flynn said. “Did you find anything interesting?” “There’s a large herd of elk not far from here,” Tam said to him, looking up at Flynn’s face as they headed up a low hill. “You should tell your father. Winter is coming, and he hasn’t been able to get much meat.” “I’ll tell him.” “Also, bear tracks,” said the burly dog. “Agh, blast and confound it all! Why bears!” “Just tell the bear to stay away from the sheep and the horses,” Tam said, unconcerned. *          *          * Tallinn Cadara, Flynn’s father, peered into the darkness from the porch of a small cabin. He saw Flynn come out of the dark and into the warm glow that the oil lantern was casting. The boy was tall for his age, ten, and was skinny and lanky. He was wearing tough britches cut just below the kneecaps, and a short-sleeved shirt, and no shoes. His hair was a gray-brown color, and his face’s details were sharp. It was getting dark. He knew that he needed to head back to the cabin “What took you so long, son! And what have I told you about those, those… pants! Winter’s not a month away! And you don’t even have your boots on!” Tallinn called out in frustration. “My boots are too small, and these pants are more comfortable!” “Oh, well, we’ll go into town tomorrow to get you some more boots, but if you wear those, those… shorts anymore before winter is over, I’ll burn them. Come inside, we’re having supper. Your mother is worried sick about you.” Tallinn was a strong man, a kind but firm father. Flynn understood that he didn’t want him to get pneumonia or anything, but his “shorts,” as Tallinn had called them, were much more comfortable, and his legs didn’t get hot or stuffy. Flynn came inside and approached his mother, Selenia. She was setting the table with stew and bread and pale cider. When she saw Flynn come in, she crossed her arms and gave him a large scowl. “I have a mind to not let you eat, young man,” she said in a voice shaking with concern. She hugged Flynn and sat him down at the table. Tallinn came in and sat down. Selenia said the grace, and they all began to eat. Flynn had worked up an appetite, and he ate large portions of food. Tam, who had found his bowl, was tearing at the slab of meat ravenously. “Did you see anything interesting or important today?” asked Selenia, to see if Flynn had an excuse for being so late. “Yes. There’s a large herd of elk, not far from here,” he said, slurping up a spoonful of the stew. That seemed to redeem Flynn to his father, who was grinning widely. “Get the bows ready, and we’ll head out tonight!” A spark shot through Flynn. They were going to go hunting! This meant that they could go farther than he was normally allowed, so he would be able to explore more. What’s more, they were going at night. He felt bad, though, for the elk, as they would be killed. “No, you won’t leave tonight,” Selenia broke in, “at least not until my son has had some sleep.” “Selenia! I don’t nee- ” protested Flynn. “Don’t you argue with me, young man. You’re not going hunting until morning, and that’s that.” Flynn knew that he had lost the argument, short as it was. He went to his small bed in one of the corners of the two-room cabin. He pulled off his clothes and crawled under the warm blankets. He thought about all of the familiar territory he had crept through that day, all of the birds and squirrels he had chatted with. He thought about his strange ability to talk with animals, something that he had not shared with Tallinn or Selenia. He pondered this subject for a long while before he fell asleep. *          *          * Flynn jerked up in the middle of the night. He hadn’t told Tallinn about the bear, and he hadn’t yet had a chance to talk to him. The sheep! He dashed up, pulled on his clothes, and dashed to Tallinn’s bed, which was across the room from his. Selenia was slumbering fitfully, but… Tallinn wasn’t in the bed. Flynn looked over at Tam’s small bed. Empty too. “Come on, are you coming or not!” whispered a voice below him, making him jump. It was Tam. “What?” Flynn whispered back. “We have to get to the elk as soon as possible. We won’t have this chance every day. C’mon!” “Selenia said…” Flynn began. “Don’t pretend that you don’t want to go hunting, Flynn. I’m sure Selenia will understand when she has meat for the winter. Convinced, Flynn hurriedly put on several layers of clothes and rummaged under his bed for his old, small pair of boots. He grabbed his wool cap and then followed Tam outside, where his father was waiting. “Ready to go?” asked Tallinn, rubbing wax along the string of his long hunting bow. “Yes.” “Good.” They headed out into the thick woods as silently as possible, Tam trotting ahead, showing Flynn the way to the elk. They made good progress, speeding through the woods. Flynn couldn’t bring himself to tell Tallinn about the bear, for his father would undoubtedly kill it when he most certainly did not need to. All Flynn could do was hope that they came across the bear before it killed any sheep. “Flynn! Up ahead!” Tam barked. “This is where the elk were,” Flynn told Tallinn, pointing ahead. “Now we must go slowly and

Mr. Larson’s Library

  Twelve-year-old Emily hobbled down the stairs, rubbing her tired hazel eyes. She collapsed onto a chair in the breakfast room, clutching a book in her hand. “How was The Lake?” an old man asked, nodding toward the book. Wispy gray hair adorned the sides and back of his head like a garland, but the top was smooth and shiny as a crystal ball. Holding back a yawn, Emily swept a lock of reddish-brown hair out of her face and replied, “It was really good, Grandpa. It doesn’t have a lot of suspense or action in it, but it was really descriptive. I could picture myself right on the lake in the story.” “I can tell you liked it, Emily, or else you would not have stayed up all night to finish it,” Emily’s grandfather, Mr. Larson, said, chuckling. Mr. Larson owned a little library on Main Street, and his granddaughter enjoyed previewing books before he placed them on his shelves. Mr. Larson called this job a “book tester.” “Is it really good for Emily’s health to stay up so late reading these books?” questioned Emily’s mother, her pretty brownish-green eyes the exact image of Emily’s. “Of course it’s good for her!” Mr. Larson exclaimed. “Reading is very good for your soul.” Frowning, Emily’s mother poured a bowl of cereal for her daughter and handed it to her. “I got a new shipment of books yesterday, Emily,” Mr. Larson said excitedly. Emily suddenly perked up and her eyes sparkled like diamonds. Her cheeks, dusted with freckles like cinnamon sprinkles, glowed with excitement. Wiry, leafy vines began to grow from the pages, coiling around each other like a snake “Really?” she asked excitedly. “May I test them out?” “Of course,” Mr. Larson promised. “The box of books is at the library. We’ll go right after you finish your breakfast.” Cramming large spoonfuls of Cheerios into her mouth, Emily said through her bites, “I’ll be done in five minutes.” *          *          * Emily and her grandfather were walking hand in hand down the sidewalk. Orange, red, and yellow leaves twirled in the chilly November breeze like beautiful ballerinas. Emily’s mittened hand covered her icy nose as they briskly traipsed through the streets until they reached Mr. Larson’s Library. Unlocking the glass door, Mr. Larson swung it open and ushered Emily into the building. The cozy, one-room library was filled with hundreds of books on beautiful, smooth oak shelves. Behind the counter sat a large cardboard box. Emily imagined herself riffling through the pages of each one, smelling the crisp scent of brand-new books. “Pull out the scissors from the desk drawer, Emily, so we can open this,” Mr. Larson said, kneeling down beside the box. Pulling open the drawer, Emily’s hands closed around the scissors. Then she saw it. It was a stunning, maroon leather-bound book with gold lettering on the cover. The pages did not look new, for they were torn in some spots, yellowed, and smelled musty. The title was simply The Story. Emily thought she had never seen a more beautiful book. “I’ve never seen this book in your library before. May I preview it?” she asked her grandfather hopefully. His faint eyebrows frowned in worry. “Pay no mind to it,” Mr. Larson said. “It’s just an old magic book.” “It’s a magic book?” breathed Emily. “Oh, Grandpa! Please let me read it!” “Magic books can be very dangerous,” cautioned Mr. Larson. “I cannot allow any harm to come upon my only grandchild.” There was a slight warmness in his voice, but at the same time Emily heard an authoritative strictness in it, too, so she didn’t say another word about The Story. *          *          * That night, Emily settled down in her bed to read the pile of books she had chosen from the box at her grandfather’s library. The small tower included novels from her favorite author, chapter books from budding writers, and so on. But none of those interested her, for underneath the heap of books sat The Story. It had taken some careful maneuvering to sneak it into her selection of books, but she had succeeded, and as she opened up The Story, the trouble she had gone to seemed worth it. The Story was the most amazing book she had ever read. Somehow, it combined all styles of writing: fiction, drama, comedy, and more, into one pleasing paragraph after another. She devoured the thick book, and soon forgot where she was. The way the words were woven together and the way the author described settings and characters were magical, but the true magic of the book was not yet revealed to her. *          *          * Her lamp glowed softly like a firefly, penetrating the pitch-black night outside. Rain pelted down on the roof and the harsh wind whipped the tree limbs around, the boughs making a scraping noise against the window. Eerie shadows from the gnarled, clawing arms of trees cast menacing silhouettes on the walls. It was midnight, and Emily had fallen asleep on her bed, her auburn hair spread out on the soft pillow. The Story sat beside her, the light shining on its pages. This is where the magic began. Wiry, leafy vines began to grow from the pages, coiling around each other like a snake. They climbed up the walls, cloaking the white paint in dark green masses. More plants, including exotic flowers and tiny saplings, began to sprout from the pages, crowding to move out of The Story and into the real world. But plants were only the beginning of the problem. The array of botany was followed by various species of animals, including lions, tigers, and even a few monkeys. By this point, Emily could not have stayed asleep with the grunts, roars, and other noises that filled the air. When she awoke, her mouth dropped open and her face went pale as she saw what was before her. Her eyes swept the room, looking for the

Time

“My name is Charlotte, and yes, I do know a ‘magical way to time travel’ ” CHAPTER ONE Thomas was ten years old and on a plane, a plane going to his grandparents’ house on the shore of Lake Michigan. He hadn’t seen his grandparents since his father’s funeral three years ago. All he could remember was his grandpa smelled like apples and his grandma made delicious chocolate-chip cookies. Thomas got off his plane at the airport. He took a taxi to his grandparents’ address and had the driver drop him off at the beginning of the long winding driveway. He slowly dragged his suitcase up the driveway and found… nothing. It was as if there had never been a house there. Thomas did recognize the old dead oak, but for some reason, it was alive. Strange, but he was sure he was in the right place. Grabbing his suitcase, he ran back down the driveway, which was now nothing but dirt, rocks, and dead leaves. Thomas tripped and skinned his knee but got up and kept on running until he reached the road. It was now dirt with wagon ruts on either side. He saw the beginning of another driveway a little ways down the road to his left. It took Thomas a short time to reach it and he walked up the flower-bordered drive. A stately white Victorian house appeared, enclosed within a wrought-iron fence. It looked very out of place. Thomas stepped through the gate, walked onto the porch and knocked. The door was answered by a redheaded girl about six years old wearing a white dress and a sash that matched her sea-green eyes. “Um, e- excuse me, but could you tell me the date?” Thomas asked, somewhat afraid of the answer and unnerved by the way the girl was staring at him. “It is June 15, 1908, of course!” she laughed. This is not happening, Thomas thought. This only happens in movies or comic books! I’m dreaming. Yes, that must be it. Wake up! He pinched himself. It hurt. But wait a minute… this doesn’t seem to be a dream because I can feel and smell and hear everything. It isn’t fuzzy like my other dreams… so maybe this isn’t a dream? He pinched himself again just to make sure. “You’re from the future, aren’t you, Thomas. 2004 to be exact,” the girl said quietly. “And all you want right now is to get back to your grandparents’ house.” “Yeah, but I don’t see how that’s possible,” Thomas said. “Unless you know some magical way to time travel,” he added sarcastically. “My name is Charlotte, and yes, I do know a ‘magical way to time travel.’” Charlotte shut the door and skipped around the back of the house to the lakeshore. Thomas stood there, stunned, not sure if she was joking or if she actually could time travel. He decided it was worth a shot because he somehow trusted her. Thomas dropped his suitcase on the porch and followed her. Down by the lake, the mid-afternoon sun was glinting blindingly off the water. Charlotte handed Thomas three pebbles she had picked up from the shore. How were pebbles going to get him back to 2004? “Skip them while wishing as hard as you can to get back,” she said cheerfully. “But what happens if they don’t work?” Thomas asked. “Oh, don’t you worry, Thomas. My pebbles will work, I guarantee it, just as long as you believe,” she said confidently. Slightly unsettled by Charlotte’s certainty, Thomas skipped the first pebble. Nothing happened. He glanced at Charlotte, who smiled innocently at him, then skipped the second one. Again, nothing. Thomas was starting to wonder if he was going to be stuck in 1908 forever. Gloomily, he picked up the last pebble. He threw with all his might, but the third stone came skipping back. It was shining with all the colors of the rainbow, flying back towards him. There was a flash of bright blue-green light and Thomas found himself standing on his grandparents’ front porch with his suitcase. *          *          * CHAPTER TWO Thomas’s grandparents were, of course, happy to see him. They fussed over how much he had grown and asked what had taken him so long. Thomas mumbled something about delayed flights. His grandma, sensing that something was wrong, immediately fed him a plateful of warm chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk. Soon feeling better, Thomas put a Band-Aid on his skinned knee and helped his grandma with the dishes. In his bed that night Thomas replayed his conversations with Charlotte in his head and noticed something that he hadn’t before. She had known his name, the year he came from, and exactly what he wanted. How? Who was Charlotte? I’ll bike down the road tomorrow and see if I can find her house, he promised himself as he drifted off to sleep. At seven o’clock the next morning, Thomas wrote a note for his grandparents and dug the old bike out from beneath all the other junk in the garage. Coasting down the driveway, he turned left and pedaled hard up the hill until he found the spot where Charlotte’s driveway had been. Now, it could not even be called an animal trail. Hopping off the bike, he walked up the trail until he found the fence, and beyond it, the house, still standing, if a bit overgrown and falling apart. Leaning the bike against the fence, Thomas walked cautiously onto the wobbly porch and knocked on the door, half expecting Charlotte to answer it. “Hello? Is anybody here?” he called, slowly forcing open the rusted hinges of the door and peeking inside. “Um… Charlotte?” he whispered. “Hello, Thomas.” Charlotte’s voice sounded whispery and seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I told you my pebbles work.” *          *          * CHAPTER THREE Thomas’s mouth fell open. He was stunned. What was happening? “Follow my ribbon, Thomas,” Charlotte said. Thomas noticed