Fabled Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  FABLED

  Vanessa K. Eccles

  Bound and Brewed Books

  P.O. Box 324

  Georgetown, GA 39854

  http://www.boundandbrewed.com

  Copyright © 2015 Vanessa K. Eccles

  http://www.vanessakeccles.com

  All rights reserved.

  No reproductions of this book may be made without the permission of the author and publisher. For interviews, live events, subsidiary rights, or purchases, please contact Bound and Brewed Books at [email protected] or see http://www.boundandbrewed.com.

  This book is fiction. All events, characters, names, and places are a product of the author’s imagination.

  Cover Design by Carrie Butler from Forward Authority.

  ISBN (kindle): 978-0-9861345-3-1

  ISBN (ebook): 978-0-9861345-2-4

  ISBN (paperback): 978-0-9861345-1-7

  ISBN (hardback): 978-0-9861345-0-0

  To My Prince Charming

  For making me believe in fairy tales

  Chapter 1

  “Heads or tails?” Lil asked as she opened the door and stood in front of me.

  “Tales.”

  “When are you going to learn that heads always wins?” She snickered and rolled her eyes in amazement of my apparent naivety.

  “Not always. Besides, tales are more interesting.”

  Not understanding my word play, she shrugged and searched her pockets for a coin.

  I leaned into the porch swing, coffee and book in hand, and watched as autumn's first leaves sunsetted the deadening grass. I rested the mug on my knee and let the cool breeze sway me back and forth while I waited.

  Trying to ignore my little sister's attempts to aggravate me, I looked down at the fantastical book in my hands and realized how beloved, yet unrealistic it seemed. Most of us lead relatively dull lives and are content but never satisfied. The “happily ever afters” they crammed in our minds as children were merely lies, but I couldn’t help dreaming of an adventure like the one I was holding. I wanted my life to be epic. Who was I kidding? Only characters in our favorite stories experienced magical lives. Mine had already been planned out for me − go to college, land a mediocre job, get married, and have 1.8 perfectly groomed, smiling children. That was it. The end.

  I hugged the book close.

  She flicked the coin with her thumb. As it reflected the last bit of sunshine, I knew I was going to be beat yet again.

  “Heads.” She grinned. “That means I get to go upstairs and get ready for the party, and you get to clean the kitchen.” She bumped the swing with her foot, sending hot coffee in my lap, and waltzed inside trailed by obnoxious laughter.

  I wiped myself down and reluctantly washed the dishes. “Who needs a dishwasher when you have two daughters?” I mumbled Mom’s words.

  Since I graduated in May, I’d been doing more of the chores. My parents were hoping I’d follow most of my classmates to junior college, but I decided to take a semester off to study for my SATs and hopefully get a scholarship to the University of Georgia. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to be, but I knew being a “Dawg” would make my dad proud.

  Just as I dried the last plate, a knock at the door made my heart leap.

  “Coming,” I yelled with an excited grin.

  “Take your time. It’s not like I’m anyone special,” he spoke from outside.

  When I opened the door, the cool breeze hit me and so did his embrace. I wrapped my arms around him and nestled my face into his neck until I could smell him — with his perfect mix of aftershave and AXE body wash. He looked handsome in his rolled up trousers suspended over a sloppily tucked in linen shirt with matching plaid socks.

  “I missed you,” I told him while squeezing tighter.

  “I’m here, love,” Dashielle whispered.

  “Come on in,” I said while closing the door behind us. “I still have to get ready, obviously.” I motioned to my wet clothes.

  “I’ll wait down here. I’m sure your mom would not like catching me in your room again,” he said.

  “Probably not.” I shuddered at the thought. “You’d think that an eighteen-year-old is old enough to have a boy in her room.”

  “My house; my rules. Especially with someone two years older than you,” he mocked in his poor rendition of my mother’s voice. “Like I thought two years ago with less hormones than I do today.” He grinned suggestively.

  We laughed. I fetched him a pumpkin muffin from the kitchen and then rushed upstairs.

  I grabbed the peasant costume from my closet door. A puffy, burgundy chiffon skirt nestled over white frilly bloomers. I tucked my peasant top into the skirt, but I was at a loss on how I was going to get the corset tied by myself.

  “Lil!” I yelled.

  “What?” she asked, peeping into my room from the hall.

  “Will you tie this thing?”

  “Sure.”

  As she approached, I saw her one painted black eye and t-shirt with a big letter “P” on it.

  “What are you supposed to be?”

  “A black-eyed-pea, silly.”

  She is going to have a good time explaining that to everyone at the party, I thought.

  I stood in front of the body mirror and watched. She began tightening the corset violently, which caught me off guard.

  “Do you have to pull so hard?” I asked, trying to catch my breath and force the corset loose by expanding my chest.

  She wickedly cackled. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  Our eyes met in the mirror, and I gave her a mad glare.

  “You know, Scarlett O’Hara-like.” Her eyes fell, and her grip loosened. Her hands then worked the ribbons to a more reasonable, breathable fitting.

  “Thanks,” I said sarcastically as she finished.

  “You’re going to be uncomfortable, you know?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you excited? Dashielle and you are going to look great together. Remember to grab your camera,” she said while heading back to her room.

  I fluffed the lace ruffle on my shirt around my chest and arms, and tied my coffee ringlets back in a loose, high bun. To complete the outfit, I put on some antique crocheted gloves with the fingers cut out that I picked up at a thrift store.

  As I walked downstairs, I saw Lil sitting next to Dashielle. Her fleeting eyes danced across his face. My little sister’s flirtation didn’t bother me though because she lacked that old-world charm that Dashielle was so fond of. On the other hand, her loud, lively, and spirited personality often made up for her unrestrained nature.

  “Are y’all ready to go?” I asked, standing on the edge of the stair landing.

  “When y
ou are,” Lil answered with a smile.

  Dashielle’s eyes stared at me with admiration, and I could feel myself blush despite the many other times he’d given me that same look.

  When we arrived at the party, I realized immediately that my introverted-self had made a bad decision in coming, but I knew Dashielle really wanted to meet Toby, a guy who worked at the radio station where he’d been dreaming of getting a job. Toby was the DJ at the party, so there we were.

  Lil came because of her insatiable appetite for social attention. She’d never been one to hide from a party, and her bouncy blonde hair and tall, slender shape made the boys glad she didn’t. At only sixteen, she already knew how to charm a crowd and leave people full of herself.

  Standing there next to her in that moment, realizing how perfectly gorgeous she was, made me feel self-conscious and a bit agitated. She, wearing her locks carelessly in a ponytail and dressed casually, still outshined me. I clung tighter to Dashielle, the only one who appreciated my untamed brown curls and didn’t mind me being a little shorter and fuller in shape.

  A large man guarded the door in a zombie/Frankenstein outfit that made him look even more intimidating than his size already allowed.

  “Invitation?” he asked in the most badass voice he could muster.

  “We’re special guests of Toby a.k.a. D.J. Bones. We don’t have invitations, but we followed the request to dress-up,” Dashielle’s voice, so confident and nonchalant that Zomenstein actually believed him.

  As we entered the house, I realized this was the haunted house I’d reluctantly visited with Lil as a kid − Jacey’s Haunted House − I think it was. It was a mix of terrifying darkness, creaky wooden floors, special effects (or however special effects can be on an obviously tight budget), and sadists’ dressed in bad horror film costumes jumping out of inconspicuous corners at the paying customers. Nothing made less sense to me. Don’t people usually try to avoid the scary things in life? I mean, why do we pay to be threatened with blood, murder, and death? Isn’t walking the streets dangerous enough? Yet another mystery written on a file in my brain.

  The Victorian house now looked more run-down with its whitewashed siding and periodically boarded up windows. I have no idea why they would have this party here. I tried to shrug the uncomfortable feeling that raged within me. After we walked through the door, though, I felt better seeing that the once black, peeling walls were now painted an antique white and the bare floors were now covered with layers of area rugs. An old chandelier hung in the entryway, and a velvet rope blocked the ornate stairway. Like that would keep anyone out.

  To the left and right, there were masses of people bouncing and swaying to the creepy Goth music being played on the speakers placed randomly throughout the rooms. Confronted with the gobs of people, I felt that all-too-common anxious feeling rise up in the back of my throat and flutter in the pit of my stomach. I stood there seemingly glued to the floor.

  “I’m going to scope out the place and look for Toby, so we don’t have to stay long,” Dashielle yelled over the pounding music. He must have seen the stress on my face. “You can stay here, if you like.”

  “I’ll wait. Just hurry back.”

  Before I could even speak to Lil, she had merged with the crowd of people dancing in the narrow galleries lining the foyer. I stood anxiously at the edge of the stairs and imagined myself blending into the wall. For a while, it worked.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” a scruffy guy dressed as a horribly unattractive vampire asked.

  “A peasant girl circa 1800’s.” His eyes stared at me in obvious confusion. “Poor girl,” I clarified.

  “Oh, I get it. Working girl,” he said with a carnal grin, reeking of alcohol.

  I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore his insolence, and envisioned him growing wings and taking flight, or even better, that someone would drive a silver stake through his pathetic, cold heart. My mind sometimes plays a murderer. My apologies. When he realized my disinterest, he rejoined the fluid mob.

  “I found Toby,” Dashielle said, reappearing by my side, “He’s agreed to give me a few minutes when he takes his break. He told me to meet him out back. Apparently, they have the backyard decorated just for VIP guests. How crazy is that?”

  “Real crazy,” I sarcastically admitted as I thought about how many VIPs would actually attend this party. I hadn’t seen anyone of importance yet.

  “Follow me,” he said walking towards the left mob. “Grab my shirt.”

  Mild panic ensued, but as instructed, I held the tail of his shirt and allowed him to guide me through the mosh pit. The fog and strobe lights only offered occasional glimpses of the terrors that danced before me. I closed my eyes in an effort to keep my head from spinning until some jerk slammed into me, causing an immediate jolt of fear to fill me.

  At the rear of the house, there were French doors leading into the backyard. Another large man stood beside them. He was a lot less frighteningly dressed in his Superman outfit whose tights made him look more obese than life saving.

  “Guest VIPs only,” he muttered to us.

  “We’re meeting D.J. Bones in about five minutes while he’s on break.” Once again, Dashielle used his confident, calm voice. It didn’t work as well with this guy, though. His brows furrowed with suspicion.

  “He hasn’t told me any such thing.”

  “I just spoke with him. Really. Go ask him for yourself,” Dashielle retorted.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t even think about crossing that threshold. I will break your pathetic neck, do you hear me?”

  Superman’s macho-arrogance made me snort. He shot me a look-to-kill, and I immediately put my hand over my mouth and apologized. He soon disappeared. Dashielle and I stood obediently by the doors.

  “I really hope he’ll put in a good word for me at the station. I have an interview Monday, and his recommendation could very well seal the deal,” Dashielle spoke into my ear, so I could hear over the loud music.

  “You have an interview? Why haven’t you told me?”

  “I’ve been debating telling you because what if I don’t get it? And if I did get it, I wanted to surprise you. Then I found out about the party. Anyway, I probably couldn’t have kept my mouth shut all weekend.” He bounced nervously. It was sweet that he didn’t want to disappoint me, like he ever could. Other people? Yes. But not Dashielle. I was his moon, and I planned to orbit his planet forever.

  He’d been trying to get hired at this radio station forever. It was his dream. He’d been taking classes online and hoped after graduating in a few years he’d land a job and live happily-ever-after, so to speak, but instead, he still worked at the same music store since high school.

  “No matter what, Dashielle, I’m really proud of you.” I put his unusually vulnerable face in my hands and kissed him. I meant it. I had been his admirer and greatest fan since I first laid eyes on him in seventh grade. I had reluctantly attended a high-school football game, and while aimlessly circling the field with my fellow band nerds, there he was, propped up against the fence, alone, actually watching the game. That’s all it took. When we passed, our eyes met, but no words were spoken between us. A couple of years later, I applied for a job at the music store where he worked. I didn’t land the job, but I did land him. We’ve been dating for two years since.

  I kissed him again and laced my fingers in his.

  “Okay. You’re cleared,” Mr. Superman growled in defeat.

  I couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

  “Thanks,” Dashielle said in a genuinely grateful voice.

  We walked onto the back porch and down the fake spider-webbed steps onto the plush, slightly overgrown grass in the yard. The Spanish-moss-ridden trees lay low over us with white Christmas lights strewn amongst the limbs. Pumpkins graced the strangely out of place hay bales along the edges of the yard. Mismatched lawn furniture filled with people smoking, drinking, and getting frisky were scattered about.

  “There are a few ch
airs over there. Let’s just sit and wait, if that’s okay with you,” Dashielle suggested.

  “Sure.”

  With displeasure, we watched the couples exhibiting their public affections and the other teens filling themselves with controlled (possibly illegal) substances, feeling more and more uncomfortable amongst these juvenile delinquents. Dashielle squeezed my hand. I could tell he was anxious, and that made me anxious for him. I really hoped he’d get the job. It would mean so much for his, and possibly our, future. I tried not to plan too much, though, since I still had college ahead of me. Since a bachelor’s degree is the new high school diploma, I had little choice but attend, even though I hadn’t the slightest clue where my interests lay (besides with Dashielle, of course).

  “Toby, thanks again for taking a moment to speak with me,” Dashielle said while standing to greet him. I was temporarily lost in my thoughts, but when I stood, I got my first look at the infamous D.J. Bones.

  The name was befitting with his lanky, tall figure. His black hair was slicked back in a fifties style. The blending of designer cologne and sweat caused me to take a step back, but it didn’t matter how D.J. Bones smelled because he was the city’s most beloved radio personality. How a guy in his early twenties became so successful was beyond me.

  “Nice to meet you,” he nodded at me.

  “You too.” I forced a smile.

  We all sat, and just as Dashielle started his obviously planned speech, Toby pulled out his iPhone and went to waving his finger like a wand across its screen. Dashielle stopped talking, realizing that Toby had checked out.

  “Sorry, man. I just have to listen to this podcast real quick. You guys are welcome to also. I never miss it. I love these guys.” Toby turned the volume as high as he could, and we listened as a means to an end. All our ears hovered over the phone in attempt to hear the voices over the thumping recorded music playing in the house.

  “Happy Halloween, friends. Tonight is a special podcast, of course. Jacob and I are planning to tell you all a story that has never been told. One that no book could ever hold…” the voice said.

  I immediately knew who the people were. I’d heard of them. They were Wilhelm and Jacob, they told stories similar to the ones my mom read to me as a child, but they insisted that the stories were real and not just written illusions from two hundred years ago. They warned readers that another world existed, one with terrors. Nonsense, if you asked me. But Lil listened to them religiously, and I’d caught some of their tales in passing. My mom had once related them to some show that she watched as a teen Tales from the Crypt, or something like that.