Pandora’s Cabin
My neighbor’s terror-filled screams rip me from my cupcake- and candy-laced dream. Three weeks of healthy diet and exercise have begun to induce vivid dreams for most of us campers; some handle it better than others.
I lie awake listening to her muffled sobs, knowing the humane thing to do would be to wake her and save her from whatever phantoms are haunting her night terrors, but I can’t find the energy to care. Instead I choose to think back to my own dream: a giant cupcake beckoned me to come and enjoy even the smallest taste of its sugary goodness.
The renewed intensity of my hunger hits me hard and my stomach is growling, drowning out my neighbor’s cries. Forcing myself up, I glance around the large bunkhouse and see that at least three-quarters of the twenty residents are tossing and turning, lost in some far off place; hopefully none of them are trapped in the same inescapable place as my neighbor.
My eyes settle on the girl directly across from me. Throughout this whole ordeal she has been the only one to seem immune to the hunger pangs that rock the rest of us. This, in itself, could be attributed to having more willpower than the average twelve-year old, but my suspicions have done nothing but grown as her weight remains the same despite being put through the ringer the same way as the rest of us.
Somehow I find the energy to roll myself out of bed. A plus of this camp has been I can actually get out of bed when I want to, instead of needing to take my time due to sore muscles and joints. The old wooden floor creaks as I carefully move from beside my bed to the footlocker at the end of the girl’s bed. My stomach rumbles as I think about what she must be hiding in there.
Contraband is a huge rule in the camp. Before our parents shipped us off they had to sign a commitment that said if we were caught with any contraband we would be sent home and no part of the two-thousand dollar cost would be refunded; needless to say only a desperate person would risk that much of their parents’ money.
A sharp pain forces me to leap back, and my eyes go to the floor. Just in front of her locker, a nail protrudes about half an inch from the board it holds. I kneel down to examine it closer and see that the culprit is an extra nail that doesn’t belong. It pulls free easily, and the board slides up once it’s removed.
I retrieve my book-light from under my pillow and shine it into the darkness under the board. I can see the outline of what looks like an ornately decorated jewelry box. It takes some doing but I pry the board high enough to pull the box out.
I gaze in awe at the small box sitting in front of me. There are symbols carved into each side of the box, but they’re nothing I recognize. The box nearly clatters to the ground when I feel the first pulse from within. There is something inside that vibrates at random intervals.
“A cell phone!” I chirp out loud, silently cursing myself for the outburst. One of the girls had hidden this from the counselors, and other campers, so she can make secret calls. It only seems fitting that I share the joy, even if the culprit knows nothing about it.
I sit just outside the screen door and hold the box tightly. There is no way of knowing just how long I’ll have until the owner wakes up to answer the myriad texts she seems to be receiving. The lock latch on the box is stiff but easily gives way as I apply a little pressure. It seems strange that it should be so stiff, but the thought of texting my friends is too much of a draw to worry.
Lifting the lid carefully, my heart drops. Inside the box is nothing but felt lining. I brush my hand inside just in case there is a fake bottom or secret compartment, but again nothing.
“You should be careful playing with others’ possessions. Especially when you don’t know what you’re playing with, child.” The voice hisses from behind me, jerking me to my feet. Standing behind me is a man, at least six-feet tall, wearing a black cloak. He towers over me, looming as though preparing to pounce.
“Who…” I can’t seem to form any words as I back away. Though I can’t see his face, I can feel his eyes piercing my soul.
“It matters not who I am, little one; what matters is you opened a very special box. I should thank you for freeing me, but I was enjoying my rest ever so much.” A bony hand protrudes from his cloak and reaches slowly for me. I struggle to move, but can’t.
His icy hand grasps my wrist, and the world around me begins to fade. I realize just who the hooded man is, but it doesn’t matter now. Camp was horrible, but it wasn’t anything compared to what was about to come.
The Gypsy’s Coin
“Can you believe that old woman?” Tara snorted as she struggled to talk through the laughter.
“I don’t know what you’re cackling about; it was your idea to pay her to read our fortunes.” Sara could never resist goading Tara into a fight, no matter how much her parents begged her not to.
“Well, it may have been my idea, but you should have seen your face when her ball rose into the air. You were shaking like a baby.” Tara stuck her tongue out as she spoke, with a snap of her hand she slapped her sister on the shoulder, screaming, “tag!” as she ran away.
The two spent the next few minutes chasing one another through the forest, darting from tree to tree, neither wanting to be the last tagged. Tara was the first to realize something wasn’t right. By now they should have been out of the woods.
Stopping short, she had no time to brace herself before Sara slammed into her, sending both of the girls tumbling into the leaves. Sara rose first, brushing the twigs, leaves, and dirt from her frilled dress.
“What the heck, why would you do that? Now mom is going to kill…what is wrong with you?”
Tara, still on the ground, had her eyes fixated on a large maple tree. In its desperate attempt to find even the smallest taste of the sun’s nourishing rays, the trunk had become twisted and gnarled.
“Wow!” Ignoring her sister, Sara ran towards the tree. She pictured a secret clubhouse where the two girls could escape the world; even create one of their very own.
As the girl slowly circled the tree a skeletal hand burst from the base, shredding a corner of her dress as it grasped desperately for her. With a scream Sara ran back to the other side of the tree and straight to her sister, who had finally risen to her feet.
“Tara, run! There’s a monster!”
She stopped for a moment and turned toward the tree. She tried to tug on Tara, but the girl was frozen in both awe and fear as a man stepped from behind the tree. He was taller than their father, but much, much older. He wore a dark hood, with only a few strands of white hair falling across his face.
“You girls have been very naughty.” His eyes seemed to glow with mischief as he spoke.
Tara began to fidget; Sara immediately recognized it as her guilty tell. She could see her hand rubbing the pocket of her dress.
“Which one of you has the witch’s coin?” His ember eyes moved between the girls, one shaking because she had the coin, the other because she knew her sister had committed the trespass. He pondered the many ways he could make them confess, or how easy it would be to just take them both and then possess the coin for himself.
“I know one of you has it; I can feel it calling to me. It has been over one-hundred years since I have held it, but I know one of you girls has it.” The old man began to approach them slowly, his eyes burning with an increased intensity as he neared them.
“I’m so excited, I feel like making a deal. If the one that has the coin confesses, I will let her live. If the one that doesn’t turns in her sister, I will let her live.” His taught skin revealed nearly all of his skull as he grinned, his morbid proposal apparently giving him endless amusement.
Tara could feel the coin in her pocket growing warmer and warmer as the strange man drew closer. She fought the urge to produce the coin, but her hand kept rubbing the trinket through her dress. It was only that small bit of material that kept her from giving in to the man’s sick offer.
Sara watched her sister. Tara would know there was no way she would give the man what
he wanted, but Sara wasn’t so sure she could trust her sister. The thought of this man taking either one of them away to whatever scary place he had in mind was unbearable. Though he was frail looking, she knew there would be no escaping him if he decided to give chase.
“I should specify: if either of you fails to produce my prize, you both die. I’ll give you to the count of ten to—”
Before he could finish, a booming voice startled all three of them: “Leave those girls alone, you giant bag of bones!”
The man’s eyes grew wide as he looked past the two girls.
Sara turned and saw the last person she expected. The old woman who told their fortune at the gypsy caravan stood tall behind them. She strode forward like a woman half her age, confident and strong. Pausing for a moment, she held her hand out to Tara. Quickly complying, Tara placed the coin into the woman’s hand without looking up.
Approaching the man, the old witch mumbled something, and in a flash the man vanished.
“Who was that, ma’am?” Tara somehow found the nerve to ask, though her guilt kept her from looking at the woman.
“That, my young thief, was Death himself. He made a bet with me one-hundred and twenty years ago. For winning I was given this coin that gives me control over the bag of bones.” She flipped the coin into the air deftly. “The only way to live as long as me, girls, is to keep Death in your back pocket.” Catching the coin, she slipped it into her back pocket and strode slowly into the woods.
About the Author
Author Zach Tyo lives in the Ohio Valley with his wife and son. He spends his days trying to find those extra hidden hours to extract some of the ideas swarming his head and put them down on paper. The Reaper's Opus is Zach's first book, but will not be his last.
Contact the Author
Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for taking your time to read my book. Please feel free to contact me via email,
[email protected], with any comments, concerns, or suggestions.
If you would like to read more about me, or updates on any upcoming releases (Including a second volume of The Reaper's Opus), visit my site at https://ztyoauthor.com
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