Jippā
by KM Zafari
Jippā
by KM Zafari
Copyright 2013
KM Zafari
https://thebatinthehat.com
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Published by
Zwoodle Books
Phoenix, AZ
https://zwoodlebooks.com
Cover art designed by KM Zafari, who gratefully acknowledges contributions from
https://www.texturemate.com/
https://kassandra00.deviantart.com/
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
a note from the author
I do not impose an expiry date on my work for schools or libraries, nor do I believe in charging more to such institutions for my work. Although I understand the thought process behind such actions, the financial motives are, to me, insufficient to justify them – particularly when weighed against the benefits of education to society.
Whenever possible, I am happy to provide low-income or at-risk schools copies of my work, free of charge. Please contact me with any questions or requests.
I also believe in the free sharing of thoughts, information, and ideas. As such, I encourage derivative works (especially from young people). For example, readers could turn this story into a cartoon, write another piece of fiction that takes place in this world, or perform it as a play, etc. In fact, I would be honored if anyone were to do so. (Share them with me? Maybe I’ll put them on my site!)
All I ask is that you credit me, KM Zafari, as the source – and that these works do not involve ANY expression of hate or discrimination (as determined by me), such as hate speech, political agendas, or the espousing of any group, race, disability, nationality, sexuality, or religion, etc., as being superior to another. I have a zero-tolerance policy on this.
I can be reached at https://thebatinthehat.com
I write for you, dear reader. None of this would exist without you.
Jippā
No one believed him that the monsters were real. His uncle grew frustrated and impatient with the nighttime fears the boy should long have outgrown. His aunt was more sympathetic and well-intentioned, but she dismissed them as being merely nightmares.
Only he knew that, at night, the truths always revealed themselves.
After the lights went out and all was dark, the silence of his room was broken by quiet scratching and moans. He covered his ears against the screeches, but they grew louder and louder until they filled the air, and he could feel them even in his lungs.
Then, when a scream threatened to burst forth from his throat, and he could bear it no longer, there was silence. Not one sound. It was the same disquieting nothingness as in a forest filled with animals that sensed a new predator.
The monsters were still, but he knew they were there.
He uncapped his ears and glanced at his little sister, asleep in the bed next to his. Quiet and undisturbed, she’d slept through it all. He envied her peaceful slumber; she always looked like an angel.
Then, there was another noise. Whispers. “She’s coming,” they said. “She’s coming. She’s coming.”
There was a sudden scurrying of claws, a mass exodus of creatures retreating beneath his bed and back into the world from whence they came.
There was but a moment of silence before a delicate fissure appeared in his wall, dividing it evenly down the middle. The wall began to split but did not break.
It unzipped.
A soft mist escaped the seam, illumined by the pale light that leaked into his room. Then, the crack parted, and a stunning woman stepped through.
She was draped, head to toe, in long, ebony robes, and her tall, sculpted headdress cascaded in a waterfall of fabric down her back. Her skin was powdered geisha white, and the narrow folds of her dark eyes were accentuated with black, feathered lashes. Her lips were painted with the darkest rouge, her teeth a shiny and stylish black.
She was beautiful.
He sat up in bed as she began to glide across the room. “My boy,” she said. “My boy. Did I frighten you?”
He froze in place, neither speaking nor giving any indication of thought, his only movements from his eyes.
“Yes, I can sense it. You are a fearful child. That is why the creatures come,” she said, smiling. “I followed them to you. Now, they are gone, but, still, you are afraid.”
He nodded softly.
“Are you afraid of me, boy?”
Her intoxicating loveliness drew him in, transfixed him. “Yes,” he said, quietly.
“Yes,” she said.
Then, suddenly, he wasn’t.
She rose into the air and began to float towards him, pausing to hover above his sister’s bed. There flashed upon her face, for a moment, what could just have easily been a snarl as a smile.
He could not tell.
She returned her attention to him, descending in a graceful sweep until she stood at the foot of his bed. “Tell me your fears, boy,” she said. “Tell them to me, and I shall take them from you.”
“I-” he began. “I am afraid of the monsters.”
“Good,” she cooed. The scratches began again from under the bed, along with quiet whimpers of pain. “As well you should be. Those creatures are dangerous things.”
But he was suddenly unafraid.
“Tell me more, boy.”
“I am afraid of being nothing,” he said. There was a sharp pang as his fear was briefly replaced by pain. And then it was gone.
The woman began to glow like a fine paper lantern. She became more and more beautiful, and his trust in her grew.
“More.”
“I am afraid of losing my sister.”
The girl began to sleep fitfully, small moans and twitches escaping her tiny frame. She awoke with a scream, her angelic face contorted in fear. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” she cried.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. She disappeared as the door burst open, and the children’s aunt and uncle rushed in.
“What’s happened?” asked the aunt.
The little girl was shaking. “A witch! I saw her standing by his bed.”
The aunt clutched the girl to her chest and rocked her back and forth. “It was just a dream, my love. It was only a dream.”
“No, it was real,” the girl said, crying into the woman’s chest. “It was real.”
“Are you behind this?” the uncle asked the boy.
“You think I invited a witch into our room?”
The man raised the back of his hand to strike him.
“Don’t you dare!” the aunt yelled. “They’ve been through enough.”
“No child of mine would dare talk to me like that.”
“Which is precisely why we never had any.”
The boy turned away so no one could see the tear that ran defiantly down his cheek. His uncle left, and, somehow, amidst the soft murmurs of his aunt and his sister’s quiet sobs, he fell asleep.
It seemed like only moments had passed when he was awakened by the sounds of the zipper running down his wall. His room again filled with the misty glow, and the beautiful enchantress stepped back through.
The boy glanced at his sister’s bed, where she lay cradled in their aunt’s protective embrace, both of them fast asleep.
The woman sprinkled a translucent dust that swirled in a vapor around the sleeping figures and seeped in between the cracks of their eyes. Their breathing slowed, and their bodies
stilled. “I only help them sleep, boy,” the woman said. “Tell me more of your fears.”
“I am afraid of my uncle.”
A small groan escaped from the room down the hall.
“Yes,” she said. “I can feel that.”
But he no longer did.
“Shall I make him sleep deeply? I can make him go away, just like your fear.”
“No!” the boy whispered loudly. “No. I am afraid that he will be taken from me, like my parents were.” He paused for a moment. “I am afraid to be alone.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, inhaling deeply. “That is your deepest fear.”
“Yes.”
“But do you feel it anymore?”
He thought for a moment, waiting for the panic to overtake him. “No, I don’t,” he said with surprise.
“And do you fear the monsters?”
“No.”
“Of being nothing?”
“No.”
“Of losing your sister?”
His chest tightened for a moment as he stared at the girl’s angelic form. “I love her, and I do not wish to lose her, but I am not afraid.”
“Good. That is good, boy. So, do you feel at peace?”
“Yes.”
“Fear causes pain. I can remove all of your fears, boy, and you will never feel pain again.”
“How?”
“Do you want it?”
He swallowed. “Yes,”
“Then it does not matter how. Turn around.”
He did.
“Remove your shirt, boy.”
He shifted uncomfortably but did as he was told.
“Yes,” she said, stroking a long, talon down his spine. “You shall do nicely. Tell me, are you afraid, boy?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice cracking.
She breathed in deeply. “Yes, I can feel it.”
Then, he did not.
She pulled a long, metallic zipper from the folds of her robes and held it out for him to see.
“And now?”
“Yes,” he said,