The Great and Terrible: No Monsters Like Hers

Moaning, I cracked open my eyes. Sunlight greeted me with a too bright hello, searing my irises. I squeezed my lids shut. An excess of aches registered, and I winced. What…why…?

The answers came in a rush. The tornado. The chapel. Spinning and spinning. Frantic to view the damage, I blinked rapidly. As soon as I adjusted to the brightness, I clambered to an upright position. My aches intensified, but I didn’t care. I rallied the stamina to remain upright without vomiting and examined my surroundings.

Oh, sweet goodness. Utter destruction. Everything was in shambles. Pews were upturned and in pieces. Shards of broken glass littered a floor with dozens of missing wood planks. Pipes were exposed, busted, and leaking. The front door had been ripped off its hinges and now lay in two pieces on the other side of the room. Branches of various sizes were scattered about. The door of my truck wedged inside an empty refrigerator.

Streaks of something wet and red marred the space around me. I frowned. Blood?

I looked myself over and jolted. Oh yeah. Blood smeared my skin and dampened my clothing, courtesy of a multitude of stinging gashes. Nothing appeared too serious, except my poor, mangled left wrist. No bone protruded, but it must be broken. My hand hung at an odd angle.

I tried to move the appendage and hissed. Flashing stars consumed my vision, dizziness took over my head, and nausea filled my stomach. Okay, so, my wrist was definitely broken. No wonder the injury throbbed so intently.

Ugh. I wouldn’t be drawing, my only source of solace, anytime soon. But whatever. I’d deal. I could still use a phone, and that was all I needed to do right now. Speak with my dad and make sure he was all right.

Except. My phone. It wasn’t in my coat pocket. Dang it! The device must have fallen out while the tornado beat me to oblivion.

Guess my best bet was to start walking. Surely I’d come upon a disaster relief team, searching for survivors. If not a team, a good samaritan. Someone would let me use their phone and give me a ride.

The sooner I got started, the better. I wasn’t sure how much energy remained in my battery.

Ignoring my worsening sickness, I clutched my injured wrist to my chest, lumbered to unsteady feet, and tripped toward the exit. Along the way, I passed a broken mirror. Enough glass remained to reveal my condition. Tendrils of dark hair had pulled from the confines of my pigtails, showcasing an angry cut on my brow. Hazel eyes glazed with discomfort. Crimson spots stained my ripped dress. Even the silver slippers had taken a beating, many of the sequins missing.

I stumbled outside. Sunlight glowed, and a warm breeze wafted, reminding me of a perfect summer morning.

Summer? I skidded to a halt, frowned. What had happened to the bite of winter?

Confusion hammered me as I looked around. This wasn’t the chapel’s parking lot. Or any place I recognized. A vibrant field of colorful hydrangeas, peonies, and tulips encircled me. Their sweet scents saturated my shallow inhalations. Behind the exquisite garden, a row of cherry blossoms and wisteria formed arching walkways that led to rolling hills covered in creeping red thyme. Bees and butterflies danced in the air.

I gasped when multiple flowers straightened by the stem, opened their petals, revealing teeth-like edges, and chomped on the insects.

Okay, I must be hallucinating. Guess I needed medical assistance for a concussion as well as a broken wrist. I cringed. Considering I had no insurance, I might be better off doctoring myself at the farm.

Which direction should I go? I examined the rest of the scenery. A beaten dirt path stretched and curved, cutting through the flower field, breaking up the sea of macabre beauty. But… Where was the paved road? The billboards? The mile markers? The lights and intersections? They weren’t just decimated by the storm; they were missing all together, no sign of them remaining. It was as if the wild winds had transported me somewhere outside of the small, wintry Kansas town.

Impossible! So where was I? I stumbled forward and turned to scrutinize the area behind the chapel. My eyes widened. An eerie forest stretched, shadows dancing with light, highlighting twirling dust motes. Misshapen trees produced gnarled roots that grew upward and curled at the end, resembling wooden lollipops. Small birds with the most exquisite rainbow feathers perched atop the swirls, each watching me with beady eyes.

In unison, every bird opened a third eye. Chills skittered down the ridges of my spine. Just another hallucination. Afraid to look away from my audience, I slowly backed up. A bright glint drew my attention to the chapel’s foundation. The reflection of sunlight off my phone?

Forget the unsettling three-eyed birds. I hurried over, only to deflate with disappointment. Not a smart device, after all, but a pair of boots with metal toes.

Wait. Those boots were attached to a pair of feet, which were attached to a pair of legs which were attached to hips attached to a torso buried under the house. Thick rivers of crimson flowed, coating the grass.

Realization stole my breath. The chapel had landed on top of a human being. Had killed a human being. A man. Almost like Dor—no! Not going there. A manic laugh burst from me anyway, the thought refusing to dissipate. Fantastical land…

No, no, no. If not concussed and seeing things, I probably laid in a coma on life support, the synapses in my brain misfiring.

This is real, part of me whispered. My pain and emotions certainly were. Did the poor man have a family waiting for his safe return?

I stumbled backward, shaking my head. I couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t deal with this development right now.

Leaving the chapel, the birds, and the body behind, I hurried to the dirt path. If nothing else, the road led to a different location. The flowers seemed to clock my every motion, moving with me. I ignored them, continuing forward. Seeing things. Only seeing things.

Hours passed, one bleeding into another, yet I saw no cars, buildings, or people. I could only motor on, and on, and on as mounting heat zapped what little of my strength remained. My legs began to shake, and my pain worsened. Muscles protested. Never had my feet felt heavier.

Maybe I had made the wrong decision, but it didn’t matter now. Turning around and heading back would do no good. I’d come too far.

I smacked chapped lips. If I didn’t find water soon, I might collapse or—My ears twitched. A noise. Familiar. Voices! Hope bubbled from a well of relief, and I whimpered. With my good hand, I rubbed the grit from my eyes. Blurry sight cleared, revealing a cluster of log cabins and a multitude of people.

A burst of energy propelled me onward, quickening my pace. My tongue moistened as various scents registered, giving me a much-appreciated respite from the dryness. I detected savory spices, sweet herbs, citrus fruit, and sugary treats.

When I reached the masses, however, a greater tide of confusion rushed in. The log cabins were actually pergolas and cabanas, with a maze of tables weaved around them, where vendors hawked their wares. Everything from food, to fabric, to glassware. Declarations rang out.

“Get your next substitute here! My prices aren’t the worst!”

“Hurt? My healing elixir is almost as good as serpens-rosa!”

“Eat my meat pies on the go. Only two people have gotten sick so far!”

My brow wrinkled. I’d stumbled across some sort of old-world marketplace where everyone spoke with an English accent. Or maybe a movie set. Every woman wore a dress, though most were plain frocks. A handful stunned in elaborate ballgowns that boasted fine fabrics and hand sewn jewels. The men were similarly categorized. Most sported modest shirts and loose trousers, but some paraded around in bright velvet suits with all the bells and whistles. While the simply attired citizens remained quiet, the wealthier ones chatted happily with their companions and waited near horse-drawn carts.

I did a double take. Those horses. Their owners must have dyed their fur. There wasn’t a white, brown, or black one in the bunch. Nope. They were blue, green, and pink. Whoa! Two dirt-streaked men gripped the bars on the back of a cart, peering out. Were the other carts filled with people as well?

Distracted, I inadvertently bumped into someone. “Apologies,” I rushed out, even as a fresh lance of pain left my head swimming.

An older gentleman with weathered skin and thinning gray hair muttered, “No crime,” and hurried on his way.

No, this wasn’t a movie set. Otherwise a director would have shouted obscenities at me for daring to interfere with his shot.

Though I was streaked with blood, no one paid me any heed. Not knowing what else to do, I jumped in front of a girl dressed in one of the basic frocks. “May I borrow your phone?”

“I don’t want any trouble.” She darted around me, rushing on.

Oookay. I approached the next person only to receive a similar refusal and hasty retreat.

I skirted my gaze over the multitude, on the hunt for anyone who might be willing to help. Him. The guy in the bright purple suit, with a top hat and a handlebar mustache. He was smiling and waving at one and all.

Rushing over to keep pace at Mr. Velvet’s side, I said, “Sir, I could use your help.”

“I have enough substitutes,” he replied, dismissing me without a glance.

Substitute? I set my pride aside. “Please. I’m injured, confused, and lost. I just want to go home. If you could point me in the right direction⁠—”

“Who are you?” Scowling, he grabbed me. “Did you run from your titleholder?” Even though he clasped my uninjured arm, my pain magnified. “There’s no crimen, so there’s still time.”

What in the world? “Let go!”

He didn’t. “Who owns your life? Tell me.”

Powered by a surge of adrenaline, I wrenched free and dashed off. Who were these weirdos, and what would it take to locate a normal person?

I turned a corner and glanced over my shoulder. Realizing the man hadn’t given chase, I slowed. As relief washed in, my burst of energy fizzled. Weakness returned, pouring through me as if I guzzled it unfiltered and industrial strength.

“Hurt? My healing elixir is almost as good as serpens-rosa!”

The call came again, and this time, I heeded it. A healing elixir sounded perfect, yes, please and thank you. At this point, I’d settle for any kind of painkiller, even something off market.

I trudged over, doing my best to dodge those in my path. “How much for the elixir, information, and the use of your phone?”

A middle-aged man stood behind a long, rectangular table loaded with small opaque vials. He blinked at me, as if stupefied, then scanned me from top to bottom and made a funny face. “I’ll let you have an elixir for only three silvers.”

“You mean silver dollars?” I withdrew a crumpled bill from the pocket of my dress. “How about a five dollar bill?”

He wrinkled his nose at the cash. “Parchment? No deal. Two silvers, or nothing.”

I glanced down at my shoes. Surely not. But I extended my leg and motioned to the footwear. “They’re all yours.”

He grimaced. Okay, so, not the shoes, either.

“What about seven dollars?” I collected the rest of my tip money.

He ignored me. “Hurt?” he called, raising a vial in the air. “My healing elixir is almost as good as serpens-rosa!”

“Forget the elixir, then. Just let me make a call, and you can keep the money.”

“Go on. Get out of here.” With a scowl as fierce as Mr. Velvet’s, he waved me off and turned his back to shout his spiel yet again.

Frustrated, angry, and growing more desperate by the minute, I looked left, right. Left again. Right again. No one paid me any attention, not even the seller. Should I? Shouldn’t I? As my pain hit a new level, I swiped a vial from the table and sprinted off. Once I found my father, I would return with the required “silvers,” whatever they were.

As I uncorked the top, a woman squealed, “He’s here! The royal guard is here!”

Sighs of delight blended with moans of dread. Wait. Did she say “royal guard?” In seconds, shop vendors abandoned their stations, as if they trusted shoppers not to steal. But then, the shoppers changed course, too. They all headed in the same direction as me.

A man bumped my shoulder hard, and mumbled “No crime,” as I stumbled. I barely caught myself before a fall. In the process, I lost my grip on the vial.

Nooo! I could only watch, dejected, as the glass shattered on the ground, its contents spilling across the dirt. Someone else bumped into me, shoving me onward, and mumbled the same phrase. I had no choice but to keep walking or get trampled. How many disasters could a girl endure before she admitted defeat?

A crack of thunder boomed, and I groaned. Not another storm.

The entire marketplace must have entertained an identical thought. Everyone stilled, every conversation ceasing. Dead quiet fell over the throng. I skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision with the guy in front of me. I glanced around.

Everyone stared up at the sky, as if afraid to peer anywhere else. Then, suddenly, everyone but me jolted back into motion, moving at a much faster clip. Pushed again, I tripped forward and struggled to keep up. Agitation laced the air. Thankfully, the group stopped for good in front of a raised stage where more of those three-eyed birds with rainbow feathers perched along an upper railing, peering down upon three males.

One was older than my dad. He knelt before a wooden bench, fat tears pouring down his wrinkled face. Rags covered his too thin body. The second man probably rang in at forty-something. In a pristine suit of neon green, he appeared bored.

I did a double-take. A thin, shadowy cloud formed a dark halo just above his head. Yet another hallucination. I shifted my study to the last member of the trio and jolted, my brain shutting down and rebooting in the span of a heartbeat.

Beautiful. He looked to be a little older than me. Well over six feet, he sported a body packed with powerful muscle. Thick black hair framed high cheekbones and an aquiline nose both at odds with and perfect for his soft lips. Dark scruff dusted a strong jaw. From here, I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but maybe that was for the best. He peered at the world around him with icy disdain. I’d never come across a better, harsher picture of menacing ruthlessness.

He wore a long-sleeve white shirt and scuffed black leather pants, and he held an ax. But his shoes… They were combat boots with metal plates.

Blood froze in my veins. The victim beneath the chapel had worn a matching pair.

Settling the weapon on his shoulder with ease, Muscles moved behind Rags.

“P-please,” the old man cried. “Don’t do this. I did nothing wrong.”

The ax wielder ignored him. Voice as icy as his disdain, he called, “A sacred law has been broken, and a price must be paid.”

Gray clouds swooped across the sky, obscuring the sun. A firebolt of lightning split the darkness. New tremors invaded my limbs.

“Kill him!” came an eager shout from the crowd. “Take his head!”

They couldn’t be serious. But I looked around, my attention jumping from one eager face to another, and I knew. They were very serious.

“A substitute has been selected and accepted,” Muscles continued. A handful of cold droplets fell. His pitiless expression never altered. “Will anyone show mercy and become his substitute?”

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed as Mr. Green held out a hand wet with rain. “The storm comes. Get on with it.” Thunder rumbled in rolls and waves, as if to emphasize his demand.

“Anyone?” Muscles called, not intimidated in the least. Amid a flicker of lightning, he became the most terrifying sight I’d ever beheld. Like the characters in my mother’s mural, he changed, a thousand layers of hatred revealed for less than a second. Long enough to know.

Dangerous. Knees knocking, I searched for anyone else who might be confounded or dismayed by the proceedings. All were impatient.

“Do it,” a woman called, a near desperate plea. “End this before it’s too late.”

The agitation among the masses amplified until I feared an eager beaver might brave the stage and meet Muscles’s ax. A price must be paid.

“Very well.” Muscles readied the ax, as if he truly intended to use it against Rags. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. No one was so heartless.

But he did, and he was. He swung the heavy blade in a downward arc. Rags lost his head, and a tide of relief swept through the throng. Cheers rang out.

I covered my mouth to muffle a scream. Muscles decapitated an old man. Without pause. Without flinching.

Smiles and hugs abounded, as if a great feat had been accomplished. The sense of desperation and fear ebbed, laughter replacing the cheers.

But a new crack of thunder rumbled from the sky, and the celebration died as swiftly as Rags. Everyone froze and looked around. Each gaze landed on me—and narrowed.

Dread joined my deluge of emotions. This couldn’t be good.