| | | | | “Muahahahaha.....” A chilling laugh interrupts the silence in the area. Clouds loom above the landscape, cloaking the night in a blanket of darkness. The only thing lighting the darkened world is a single golden lamp in the middle of a circle of odd trees and a mixture of buildings, right in front of a gigantic, old tree. Slowly, leisurely, a hooded figure makes his way across the area in a direct path toward the golden lamp, a smile creeping across his pale, scarred face. His eyes cannot be seen beneath the dark shadow of the hood he wears, but the cloaked man’s smirking lips begin to form harsh sounding words in a language known to few others than him, almost as if he were saying a spell.
Strangely, as the cloaked figure nears the golden lamp and stands before it, the shadow cast over his features by the dark hood does not disperse as most others would. Instead, the shadow, almost as if it were alive, begins to grow. It creeps along his skin, a dark cloud of betrayal and deception, and begins to seep towards the golden lantern. Spooky whispers seem to emanate from the blot of what could only be described as pure, undiluted fear in a gaseous form, growing louder and more animated with each passing second.
The chant being sung by the man in the dark hood faded, as his job was done; the shadow would do the rest. “Goodnight, Wizard City,” he says mockingly, and then he grins in a way that many would portray as unreservedly evil and crosses his arms over his chest as the shadow slowly spreads along the surface of the lamp.
Normally, light seems to triumph over darkness, illuminating the night with its comforting glow. But this was no ordinary splotch of blackness. This was pure evil, ready to destroy what the man called “Wizard City.”
As the shadow slithers over the lantern, the city is plunged into darkness, and the scream of an old, and once magical, dying tree rips through the air.
I wake instantly to find myself shrieking with fear, and covered in a layer of shiny sweat. Grimacing at the yucky feel of wetness on my arms, I place a cool hand to my forehead, trying to calm myself down. The nightmares are only getting worse and worse as time passes. Each night, I find myself afraid to crawl into bed and close my eyes, because as soon as I do, the disturbing images return, haunting me.
Oh, wait. I forgot—I’m sixteen-year-old Alexandria Martindale. You can just call me Alex. But before you read, there’s something you ought to know about me. For some reason, strange things have happened around me sometimes...like when I was seven, this kid made me really mad. I wished he’d just die, because he’d pulled a really mean prank on me. And then this ghoul thing appeared and dragged the kid down into the earth. It scared me to death! I never saw that kid again, though. Then there was this time when my mom and dad got in a fight when I was ten. I got so upset about it that the flowers my mom had placed in the kitchen where I was sitting, crying, all wilted and died. Plus, I’d never been able to keep a pet for long, because it usually got scared of me as if I were some sort of plague. Then they ran away. This usually happened with cats, but sometimes dogs and once, a fish. Creepy, right? Eh, it was just an everyday thing for me. Anyway, back to the story.
It’s still early in the morning, about four o’ clock, but I can’t sleep, not if those nightmares will return, so I slide my legs, still trembling from the nightmare, out from under the sheets tangled around my frame and stand shakily. But before I leave my bedroom, I remember something and pull a notebook and a pencil out from the drawer in the small table beside my bed.
Plopping back down on the edge of my bed, I open the plain notepad up to a clean page and scribble the date down on the edge of the paper, the time I woke, and then for some reason, my first and last name—just out of habit, from school, I guess. Then, in my messy, but somewhat readable, handwriting, I scribble down some notes of what the dream had been about. I’m not sure why I bother writing my dreams down like that. My mom had done that, before she’d gotten a divorce with dad. She kinda got me into doing that, too.
After gently tucking the notebook and pencil away in their drawer, I jump up from my bed and then pad down the hallway in my favorite orange socks towards the kitchen, thinking that maybe some coffee would keep me awake. I would have school today, and I didn’t want to fall asleep in class...again. Dad would not be happy if I came home with yet another detention slip.
I begin the process of making some instant coffee by grabbing a glass from the cabinet beside the fridge and running some hot water into it, then I pop it into the microwave for a minute. As I watch the cup spin around and around, the only sounds being the hum of the microwave as it did its work and the buzzing of the refrigerator, all of a sudden a shrill ring cuts through the air.
“Hello?” I say groggily into the mouthpiece of the telephone while grabbing my glass of hot water out from the microwave.
“May I please speak with Daniel Iceshade?” questions a voice that sounded as if it belonged to an old woman. One that was slightly senile and lived with twelve cats. I pour a small amount of Instant Coffee Mix into my cup as I begin to respond.
“You must have the wrong number,” I reply, stirring the drink quickly. “There isn’t any Daniel Iceshade here. Sorry.”
“Er...to whom am I speaking, please?” she asks.
“Alexandria Dea—Martindale.” For a second, I think I was about to say Deathwhisper, though I can’t think of any reason as to why. Weird.
“Oh!” exclaimed the old woman’s voice, “I’m sorry, dear. You call yourselves by that human name, Martindale, correct?” This old lady seems like a whack job. Human name? She speaks as if he isn’t a human. Creepy.
“Um...yeah, I guess,” I respond, unsure. Perhaps I should just hang up.
“Could I please speak with your father?”
“He’s kind of asleep. You do realize it’s four in the morning, right?” I ask rhetorically. I’m growing more and more agitated by the second. Coffee sloshes from the cup, splashing across the surface of the counter as I increase the speed of my stirring. Realizing my mistake, I quickly remove the spoon, tossing it in the sink, and wipe up the mess. Then I sit down at the table and take a sip of my coffee.
“It’s quite urgent, dear.” Yeah. So is the coffee that I would really like to drink sometime soon.
Heaving a sigh, I answer, “Yeah, whatever.” I quietly make my way toward Dad’s room and shake his shoulder. Groggily, he opens his eyes, mumbling a “Whadd’ya want?” and peers at me tiredly. His short dark hair is an unruly mess on his pillow, and his eyes are slightly unfocused, since he’s not wearing his glasses.
“Phone,” I reply shortly, and he pulls his hand out from the swath of blankets that surround him to reach for the telephone in my hand. I place it in his, and then leave the room to go drink my coffee.
Once I’m back in the kitchen, I take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes for a second. Ah, that hits the spot. I like coffee. Then I realize that the canister—which I had forgotten to put away, so it was in front of me at the table—read “Instant Decaf.” Well. I guess I’ll just have to stay up without the help of my coffee. Darn Dad and his sudden health craze. Before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep in my chair.
For once, my slumber is dreamless...but I doubt it’ll last. I wake around seven in the morning and rub my eyes sleepily. Apparently, Dad didn’t bother waking me up to tell me to go to my own bed, but I don’t mind, even though I’ve got a pain in my back now from sitting in that chair all night.
Placing my coffee, now cold and unappealing, in the sink, I head down the hall, still wearing my bright, fuzzy orange socks, and gently push my bedroom door open. Suddenly, my cherry red cell phone, lying atop my dresser, begins to sing my ringtone loudly. I rush to pick it up, wondering who would possibly be calling so early in the morning, and open it to reveal a quick note reading NEW TXT MESSAGE. Curious, I press the ‘OK’ button and begin to read the text message. It’s from my best friend, Emalia Hale.
hey Alex can u come over aftr skool? I need to talk 2 u. ~Emma
Suddenly, I’m worried. Emalia—or Emma as she’s often called—usually just tells me at school, or sometimes even over the phone, when she’s got something on her mind. It usually isn’t even that drastic. Something must be wrong.
y? can’t u just tell me at skool? ~Alex I text in reply. Soon after, Emma sends me another text message.
no. its importnt. i don’t want any1 else 2 hear. can u? ~Emma
My eyebrows pull together as my lips turn down to form a frown. I had no idea what could be wrong, but it really must be important.
sure. c u @ skool, i guess. ~Alex
thx ~Emma
Emma and I had been friends for years, since kindergarten. There was this really mean bully who had been picking on Emma during recess, and then I went up to him and was like, “Leave her alone!” He didn’t leave, of course, and then suddenly a small fissure, about a yard across, opened up and a two-foot tall skeleton climbed out! It chased the bully away, and then Emma, who barely knew me was like, “Oh my gosh, thank you!” It was funny, because she didn’t seem the least bit scared of me. Since then, we’d stuck together throughout everything, and consoled each other when weird stuff happened that we couldn’t really explain, like when this big Cyclops thing appeared and almost destroyed our school, when that kid was dragged by that ghoul thing, whatever it was, and all kinds of stuff. We were best friends.
I flip the phone closed and check the time on my clock. It’s a quarter past seven. I’d better get dressed and grab something to eat.
“Alex?” My dad suddenly appears in the doorway, leaning against its frame. His glasses are reflecting the light from my lamp, so I can’t see his eyes, but he looks as if he’s bothered by something.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you were up. Get ready. I’ll drive you to school,” he replied. Something is wrong. Dad never drives me to school.
“Don’t you have work?” I ask suspiciously. I really hope he hasn’t gotten fired or anything. That would be bad.
“No, I’m...t-taking a day off.” There it is. The stutter. He is most definitely lying.
“You didn’t get fired, did you?” I blurt without really thinking. Dad looks at me, seemingly surprised I’d come to that conclusion.
“No, I didn’t get fired! Gosh, Alex. Why in the world would I have gotten fired?” Before I had time to answer, Dad continues, “Hurry up. I’ll explain on the way there.” And at that note, he leaves the room.
I pull on a plain black t-shirt and a dark blue sweater, a pair of jeans, and then I’m ready to go. After gobbling down a bowl of generic cereal, I yell to Dad, wherever in the house he is, “Okay, I’m done! I’ll meet you in the car!” A few minutes later, I’m sitting in the car as Dad guides the car down the road.
“You know, you’ll be learning to drive soon,” he says conversationally after a while. I nod uncomfortably and then decide to ask what’s been bothering me since about a quarter after seven o’ clock.
“Yeah. So what was it you wanted to talk about?” I query, cutting straight to the point.
“Um...well, I-I know school just started last week...so I figured, ‘H-hey, if we’re going to move, we might as well do it now, right?’” What?! I sit there, dumbstruck. Not again. Please, please, not again! We’ve moved pretty often throughout my life. This time, I thought that maybe, maybe, it would be permanent. That perhaps, if I was lucky, we’d stay here forever. All those hopes were just crushed as dad said going to move. Again.
Gradually, the dazedness wore off. “Dad! You—you—please! Not again!”
“Alex—” Dad begins to scold. I don’t let him finish.
“No! I’m not going!” I exclaim. “I refuse to go!” Dad glances at me with a reproachful look in his eye.
“Now, Alex—” Once more, I interrupt him.
“You can’t make me,” I growl, narrowing my eyes angrily, my eyes blazing with rebellion.
“Alex, please—” Dad begins to say pleadingly.
“No!” I yell. My temper is getting the better of me, and now I’m totally ticked off. I know I’m being kind of unreasonable, but I don’t care. “That’s it. Stop the car.” Of course, he doesn’t listen to me. “Fine, then. I’ll jump. I will!” I know I’m being pretty stupid, but I won’t move away from here. I won’t leave the one friend I have. I may not be much of an extrovert, but me and Ema are like sisters.
“Alexandria Deathwhisper! That’s enough!” Dad shouts, losing his temper, too. I’m about to shoot back a sharp retort when I freeze as I realize what he’d just said: Deathwhisper.
“What?” I say, confused, my voice now barely above a whisper. Dad has obviously realized his mistake, and scrambles to fix it. But it’s too late. I’ve already heard. “What did you just say?”
“Hey, look—there’s the school. I’ll see you later, honey,” he says, obviously trying to change the subject. I refuse to drop the subject and begin to say, “But—”
“You don’t want to be late, do you? Go on,” he urges as the car screeches to a stop. Reluctantly, I open the door, but not before telling him that I’d be going to Ema’s house right after school, and then I step out of the car and head inside the school.
After the final bell, I begin the walk toward Emma’s house. She doesn’t live very far from the school, so it wasn’t that long of a walk. Emma had ridden the school bus home, but I’m not really a school bus kinda person. I hate the big things. They look like gigantic Twinkies™ with windows, plus there are a lot of people on them. I’m more of a solitary person.
Eventually, Emma’s warm yellow house comes into view. I step onto the old covered porch and walk up to the door. Almost instantly after I ring the doorbell, Emma opens it.
“Hey, Alex. Come on up to my room. There’s something I need to show you,” she says without letting me get a word in edgewise. Something is definitely wrong here. Emma looks...frightened, for some reason. She almost looks worse than I do. And I’ve barely gotten a few hours uninterrupted of sleep all week.
Emma leads me up the stairwell and through the thick ebony door to her room, and then gestures for me to sit in one of the plush chairs that reside in the bedroom. She does the same and pulls an old-looking scroll off her desk.
“What’s that?” I question, suddenly curious.
“It’s...a letter. To me. Do you want to know what it says?” I nod. “Okay. It says:
Emalia Legendspear;
You are cordially invited to attend
Ravenwood School for the Magical Arts!
If you are able to enroll,
tell your parent/guardian and
please sign your name at the bottom of this page.
We shall send someone to retrieve you within a day.
Please reply before September 24th
or we shall not be able to accept your enrollment!
Regards,
Headmaster Merle Ambrose
“I know it’s got to be a prank, but...,” Emma trails off, leaving her sentence to be a fragment. I knew what she meant: wouldn’t it be awesome if it were true?
“Legendspear? Isn’t your last name Hale?” I ask.
“Yeah. But still, what if it isn’t a prank?” I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just shrug.
“You should tell your mom and dad that you got this weird letter. They’ll want to know,” I advise, and Emma gives me a nod.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’d better go. My dad wants me home around five, and if I’m not going to be late, I’ve got a pretty long walk.”
“See ya later, then.”
“Yeah. Bye, Em.”
~*~Later~*~
As soon as I reach the gravel driveway at the front of our property, I halt, confused, worried, and most of all, scared. Dad isn’t stupid enough to leave the front door unclosed like that. And yet, there it is, open for anyone to go inside. What the heck is going on?
I race up to the door, my book bag swinging wildly on my shoulder, and call into the house, “Dad?” No answer. I try again. “Dad!” Silence.
Shakily, I push my hand toward the door and give it a little shove. The door swings open to reveal the kitchen...completely trashed. The chairs are all knocked over, the salt and pepper shakers shattered upon the floor, and all the drawers and cabinets are open. Someone had been here that didn’t belong. I frantically search for Dad, dropping my bag on the kitchen floor, but he’s no where to be found. Luckily, nothing valuable seems to be gone.
But that’s what bothers me. Apparently we aren’t the victims of some random break-in, because I had left my expensive cell phone right on the kitchen table before I left, and it’s still there. No, we were purposely targeted. But by who? And why? What did they want?
And why isn’t Dad here?
I pick up my cell phone and dial the renown numbers 9-1-1 and report the break-in and the fact that I have no idea where my dad is, and then head to my room. The plush hallway carpets l that I love are stained with dirt now, so someone had most definitely been through there. With dirty shoes. I’m not sure why I’m picking up on that, but for some weird reason, I noticed that.
As soon as I enter my room, I know something weird is going on. Not that it isn’t weird already, but it just got even weirder. Because lounging atop the comfy, but quite messy, quilts of my bed is a scroll that looks exactly like the one Emalia had gotten.
A sense of dread and uncertainty fills me and a knot forms in my stomach, but I brush those feelings aside and unfurl the parchment.
Alexandria Deathwhisper;
You are cordially invited to attend
Ravenwood School for the Magical Arts!
If you are able to enroll,
tell your parent/guardian and
please sign your name at the bottom of this page.
We shall send someone to retrieve you within a day.
Please reply before September 24th
or we shall not be able to accept your enrollment!
Regards,
Headmaster Merle Ambrose
“Dad?” I ask again. Not because I’m actually considering this...whatever it is...but because I’m beginning to feel scared. First Emma gets one of these, then I do. And neither of our names are right. Wait a second...didn’t Dad call me Alexandria Deathwhisper in the car this morning? And while I’m thinking of these weird names, didn’t that old lady on the phone last night call my dad, Daniel Martindale, Daniel Iceshade? Something creepy is happening, and I don’t like being alone in this mess.
I pluck my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans that I’d slipped it in after calling the police and dial Emma’s number. I would text her, but I’m so shaky right now that I would just make a mess of the message.
“Emma?” I say warily.
“Yeah, what’s up?” her voice replies from the mobile phone.
“Someone broke into our house. And then I found a letter that’s just like yours...except it says Alexandria Deathwhisper. Something crazy is going on here, Em,” I state.
“Alex, I think I know what’s going on. Well, about the letters, anyway.”
“You do? Tell me!” I exclaim, anticipation building up inside me.
“I took your advice and told my parents,” she began. “They were all happy and excited and stuff. When I asked why, they said, ‘Oh, Emalia, you’re a wizard!’” I stiffened. It was true? Impossible! ...Right? “Then I asked them why they hadn’t told me before, and then they got kinda...Harry Potter-ish and said that they weren’t wizards, but my mom’s mother and father had been. They didn’t want to tell me because they couldn’t be sure if all the weird stuff that happened to me at school was because I was a wizard, or if it was someone else’s doing. I know it’s kinda insane, but...I believe them.”
“Emma, are you feeling—”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But really, it makes sense, Alex! There was the Cyclops, and the troll, and that bat! And then for you—well, if your last name is Deathwhisper, there were the skeletons, and that—”
“Are you saying that I’m some kind of Death wizard?” I ask incredulously.
“Well, I don’t know for sure. I’m pretty sure that if you are, you’d be called a necromancer.” No. I’m not a wizard, and I’m definitely not a necromancer. That would make me evil! I’m not evil!
“And Emma, there’s something else,” I say, changing the subject and pushing my previous thought from my mind. “I can’t find my dad.”
“Oh my gosh, maybe your dad is a wizard, too! Wouldn’t that be so cool?” says Emma excitedly.
“Emma, this is serious! My dad’s missing! Get your head out of the clouds, Emma!” I exclaim angrily. And then I whisper with a sad tone that’s probably too low for Emma to hear, “This is important.”
“You think I’m crazy?” she asks in reply, obviously angry with me. “Fine! Go harass someone else, Alexandria. Don’t come crying to me with your problems.” Emma hangs up, and I can easily imagine her slamming her phone shut and plopping into a chair with a huff. That’s almost exactly the same thing I do.
“Fine!” I yell aloud. But, though I’m still totally livid, I can’t prevent a couple of tears falling from my eyes. Emma was my only friend. The only person who wasn’t afraid of me, because she was just as odd as I am. And then I’m also afraid, obviously.
I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to sign the paper. Because if wizards really are real, then my dad probably is one, judging by his last name. And if Dad’s a wizard, then there must be someone at this Ravenwood School who knows what’s happened to him. After all, if he’s a wizard, how could a normal robber, a human one, possibly abduct him? So it must be something to do with the magical world.
So at that note, I collect the few things I’m going to take with me—my dream notebook, my cell phone, and a pair of comfy pajamas—and then sign in my spidery scrawl;
Alexandria Deathwhisper
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