Jory's Plagues (<- tidypub url; also I lied about staying under the word count. I'm at 2288)
A gentle chime echoed through the narrow halls of her modest house. Fairy Tuttle-Mose looked up from the pile of opened envelopes in front of her and cocked an ear in the direction of the sound. The morning sun was pouring in through the east-facing floor-to-ceiling windows in large beams. As the sun rose behind the wall of fir trees, the lances of light rotated and danced as if on turrets. The shafts of light passed through a large aquarium that held a playground of artificial coral, three-stripe damselfish and starfish. The sunlight was diffracted into a kaleidoscope of blue hues. Beyond the aquarium, the sunbeams illuminated thousands of otherwise invisible insects as they busily buzzed above the tall, unkempt grass.
Another chime pulsed through the walls and broke Fairy from her spell. She removed her reading glasses, placing them on top of the pile of letters, and stared down the hallway towards the front door. To the left of the hallway, a white wall, now bathed in a soft blue, held a scattering of narrow shelves, each propping up framed photographs.
She rose from her chair and shuffled towards the hallway, lingering at the edge of the wall to glance at the array of photos: a tall, young man in an ill-fitting tux with corsage in hand; an older, balding man in striped shorts flexing at the beach; the profile of a lanky, wrinkled man kissing a woman on the cheek – the woman with a huge grin, from ear to ear, baring perfect, white teeth. Fairy smiled broadly unawares.
A third chime rang through the corridor. She continued shuffling to the door and, finally reaching it, opened it. She looked out over the cul-de-sac and saw nothing of note. It was a bright, blue, beautiful day; not a cloud in the sky. Her car sat idly on her driveway just to her left, right in front of her garage, and filthy, as usual. A billowy chestnut tree stood guard as usual near the edge of the lawn to her right.
Fairy started to close the door when she heard a sniffle. She looked down and found a tiny, delicate, girl in a brown girls scout outfit and holding onto a handkerchief and a pamphlet. She wore pigtails and her soft blue eyes were slightly bloodshot. She blew her nose loudly, like an alto trumpet. She was no more than nine-years of age. Fairy instinctively looked for a parent nearby but found none.
“Good morning, child. Where is your mother?” Fairy asked.
“Hi! I’m selling girl scout cookies,” the little girl broke right into her sales pitch.
An enormous smile played across her face revealing two missing teeth on her lower jaw. Her voice had a high pitch whistle to it, which she did not try to conceal.
“My name is Jory. All of your neighbors have aready signed up for at lease one box.”
The little girl proffered a brochure adorned with mouthwatering images of cookies as she sniffled and wiped the kerchief across her nose.
“If I get this whole street to sign, I get a special prize. Can I sign you up for a box?”
Fairy waved off the brochure but gave Jory a broad smile.
“I’m so sorry, child. You’re so precious! But I don’t eat cookies anymore. Good luck, though.”
Jory looked up at the old woman with wide, pleading eyes. Her smile slowly morphed into a frown.
“You don’t want me to get the prize?”
“Oh, no. It’s not that, child. I simply won’t eat them. No sense in buying them. And my friends are all –,“
Fairy stopped herself before saying the dreaded word.
Jory twisted in place, blew her nose, and thought for a moment.
“I’ll buy a box for you! I have some money in my hippo-bank!”
“No, no. Please do no such thing. I really hope you sell a lot of cookies. Have a nice day, dear.”
Fairy closed the door but found some resistance. She looked at the crack of light that remained and was startled by Jory’s face, narrow-eyed and furious, staring up at her.
The door creaked open, against Fairy’s own strength.
“I will bring a Sears of plagues to your house. Every day I will unleech a new unholy wonder until you decided to change your mind.”
Jory sniffled once more, wiped, and took a step back. The door slammed shut immediately. Fairy realized that she was still pushing hard on the door and breathing heavily. She pulled aside a sliver of curtain from the nearby window and peeked outside: Jory had disappeared.
Fairy locked the door, shuffled up the stairs immediately adjacent to the door and lay down in her bed.
Day 2.
The next day Fairy awoke, washed her face at the sink as usual before heading downstairs. She took the steps one by one, with great deliberation, reaching halfway before noticing that the front door was slightly ajar. She scrambled down the rest of the steps and threw the door open wide. She took a step outside and tried to peer through the morning mist. Nothing.
She stepped in and shut the door quickly. It took her a while to notice that she was breathing heavily. She tried to calm herself by turning around an resting her back against the door. She noticed a strange red hue playing along the far wall of the corridor leading to the dining room. She made her way warily down the hall and towards stabbing beams of blood red.
Fairy worked up the nerve to turn the corner: the aquarium was filled with a dense, inky red liquid. She approached, horrorstruck. There was a flash of black and white stripes near the glass – her damselfish! The fish were still alive, swimming.
She stuck a finger into the aquarium and withdrew it, bringing it close to her eyes: food coloring.
A chime echoed from the corridor behind her. She shuffled briskly to the front door and placed her eye at the peephole. Nobody was there. Another chime rang through the corridor. She opened the door to find Jory patiently waiting at her doorstep.
“Morning! Would you like to buy the cookies now?” She proffered the order form once more.
“Did you do that to my fish?” demanded Fairy.
“Yes.” Jory sniffled and wiped her nose. “Do you want the plagues to stop?”
“Don’t come here again, little girl,” spat Fairy, and she slammed the door shut.
Day 3.
The next morning, Fairy woke up and walked into the bathroom to wash her face, as usual. She started running the hot water and then looked up in the mirror. Startled, she stepped backwards and almost fell over. On her mirror, the crude shape of a frog was traced in red lipstick.
A chime softly made its way upstairs and into the bathroom. In a few moments, Fairy was downstairs and at the door. She flung it open.
Jory was there, as expected, arm already extended, holding out the order form.
“Morning! Cookies?”
She blew her nose into her handkerchief.
“Did you do that to my bathroom mirror?”
“Yes.”
“Next time you sneak into my house, I’m going to call the police. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Fairy slammed the door shut.
Day 4.
A rattling sound awoke Fairy that morning. She searched her house top to bottom and found nothing. She started to go back upstairs when she noticed that the sound was louder near the front door. She opened it and looked outside. In the cul-de-sac, Jory was riding a bicycle in circles. Her pigtails were dangling loosely behind her head, from underneath her pink helmet and a baseball card was bobby pinned to her rear tire, which caused the rattling sound.
“Had enough?” Jory called out.
She almost fell over while calling out but caught herself and resumed her circling.
Fairy slammed the door shut.
Day 5.
A morning chime sent Fairy to her front door once more. She swung it open to find Jory, eyes big and bloodshot, waiting patiently.
Fairy spoke up first.
“I didn’t find a plague today. What do you have planned?”
“I want to applegize. The special prize was making me do crazy things. Can we forget it all? I’m really sorry.”
Fairy wasn’t completely convinced about the girl’s sincerity but she was anxious to end this bizarre situation.
“Of course, child. Forgive and forget.”
Jory held out a hand and looked down as her foot played at a crack near the door. Fairy reached out and gently shook it. When she let the little hand go, it fell limply to her side. Jory looked up, sniffled and wiped her nose with her bare hands.
“I’m contagious,” she said, and a smirk played across her lips.
Jory, turned and skipped away, completely carefree. Fairy looked at her hand and found a film of mucus. Disgusted, she slammed the door shut and hurried upstairs to wash.
Day 6.
The next morning, Fairy woke up to the chills, a slight cough and a nagging rash on her arm. She was huddled beneath blankets and nursing hot tea when a chime bounced off the walls, up the stairs and into her bedroom. She let the chiming go on for hours, content to let the little monster wear out her arm. Not once did she fulfill the urge to go downstairs and confront the child.
Day 10.
Fairy was starting to feel a lot better, and the rash had cleared up. More importantly, she had not heard the door chime in days. She felt her sanity slowly returning. She was reading a book at the dining table when she heard a faint rat-tat-tat sound. It was percussive and it waxed and waned as if it was moving back and forth. Fairy rose up and followed the sound. As she approached the front door the sound resolved into a distinct pelting sound. She looked through the peephole and found her vision blurred. She opened the door and was immediately sprayed in the face by water.
A burst of children’s laughter came from her driveway. Jory had a hose and was spraying the front of her house as well as the car, and the old chestnut tree. The car gleamed in the morning sunlight, looking brand new.
When Jory’s laughter had finally died down she called out to Fairy.
“Cookies?”
Fairy slammed the door shut.
Day 11.
The next morning, Fairy made her way down to the dining room, and prepared tea and an English muffin, as usual. She sat down at her dining table and bathed in the once more dancing blue hues of sunlight passing through her aquarium. Her eyes passed over the wall of framed photos again, recalling nuggets of whimsy with her late husband, when she realized something was off. All of the photos were fine. The tea tasted fine. The fish were swimming. But beyond the fish – there was something odd about her backyard. It had been mowed, she realized! She could see clear to the base of the fir trees that lined her property. She could even make out the fire pit, she and her husband had crowded around those late autumn nights.
A chime summoned her to the front door. A small, innocent looking girl was once again the summoner.
“Cookies?” She asked.
“Did you mow my backyard, Jory?”
“No.”
“Then who-,” began Fairy.
“A plague of locus ate your grass. Do you want it to stop?”
“Why are you doing all this? Where are your parents?”
Jory said nothing for while and just stared at Fairy.
“It’s just me,” she finally said. Jory sniffled and turned to walk away.
“Please, don’t go. I can help you.”
Jory continued walking and eventually broke into a run, disappearing in a neighbor’s backyard.
Day 12.
The next morning, Fairy walked downstairs, made her tea and muffin and sat down to read a couple of letters she had received the day before. She reached for her reading glasses and put them on. It was as if darkness had consumed the inside of her house. She took the glasses off and the dancing sunbeams were restored. She looked at the glasses and saw that a dark filter had been plated over the lenses.
A chime once again summoned her to the front door.
“Jory!” said Fairy. “What did you tell you about breaking into my house?”
“It’s okay. I only have one plague left. And I don’t want to do it,” Jory said. “Please don’t make me do it.”
Tears were streaming down her little face. She sniffled and blew her nose.
“Come inside, child. Let’s figure out how to find your folks.”
“It’s too late,” Jory cried. She turned and ran off once more.
Day 13.
The next day Fairy waited at the door all morning. She repeated this ritual for the next three days. Not once did she catch sight of little Jory.
Day 16.
Fairy walked into the post office with a bundle of envelopes and a box. She set the items down on the counter and perused the new stamp books while waiting for the attendant to figure out the shipping charges. She glanced over the attendants shoulder and froze. There on the wall behind the counter, Jory’s unmistakable face was printed on a poster alongside handful of other children.
Fairy flipped the counter door over and pressed her way towards the poster against strong objections from the attendant. She grabbed her reading glasses from her purse and took in every detail:
Jory Fallon, aged 8. Eldest child of Richard and Christina. Missing since August 14th, 1972. Last seen playing in the woods in her Girl Scout uniform.
