Introduction
Some Kind of Fairy Tale as described by Stephen King, "Here is a keenly observed tale of a family in crisis, one that mixes fantasy and psychiatry in a potent cocktail." —Stephen King, "The Best Books I Read in 2012", Entertainment Weekly
First, let me mention that you need not have read Some Kind of Fairy Tale (Winner of the British Fantasy Award for Best Novel) to venture into this work of fan fiction. This novella was written to honor the late Graham Joyce and entice new readers to seek out his book. Those who have read his story will recognize many of the characters as they interact with my two created protagonists. And for those who have not read the book, you need not worry about spoilers.
Thank you for visiting this story, my tribute to a beautiful writer and gifted storyteller.
RIP Graham Joyce
1954-2014
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01 Spirits
They have always been a mischief bunch, those spirits of a different sort who like to appear when you least expect it. In a time when North America had no name, these spirits rose up from active faults that once crisscrossed the landscape. In one particular area in the far north, they roamed freely during the birth of forests and formations of lakes, and through the arrival of the first people, in the land currently known as Minnesota.
This woodland paradise did not simply begin its existence from beneath mountains of ice, but from volcanoes. Like forged steel, the land developed over centuries, first molded by fire, followed by ice, lifted by volcanic activity and later shaped by miles of glacier ice, all of which gave Minnesota its topography of forests, prairies, and fresh water lakes.
The untainted water of the first lakes and rivers enchanted these playful spirits, the water purity being such that the lakes shone like diamonds when the sunlight reflected off the surface. During this period, the once mighty elm trees thrived and gave Minnesota a rich greenness, so charming, that this land became a home away from home for these merry folk, becoming one of their many places to which to visit and play.
When the first native people appeared, the spirits welcomed the change in habitat, for they found these native people more akin to themselves, living off the land, though sometimes violent to one another, but ultimately these new inhabitants lived in harmony with nature. The native people named the spirits Canoti, but these spirited forest dwellers did not openly mingle with the native people, for they preferred teasing their new friends, encounters that became ancient Indian folklore still told today.
Tragically, when a new set of people migrated from over the ocean with mindsets that crushed nature under foot, the land became poisoned. Patches of forests fell from the landscape, and the native people were forced to travel west, for the disruption to the habitat made living off the land impossible. The sacred waters began to lose their shine, and the narrow mindedness of the new settlers tainted the air, dampening the magic of the land.
Though many of the playful spirits would decide to stop visiting this part of the world, a few continued to frolic among us, personally bounded to the land of fresh water and forests. This tale is about one of those spirits and a human that caught her attention.
My name is Frederick Clarkson, and I am that human who caught the eye of a restless spirit. Unbeknownst to me, I had become that spirit's special interest many years prior, well before she decided to introduce herself to me on one fateful day: the day I nearly died.
At the time, I worked at a large hospital in southern Minnesota, processing the medical billing before sending it to the insurance companies. A mundane job like many, I only stirred with life with the approach of lunch—not to eat mind you—but to climb the 20 flights of stairs for exercise. Every day with a cell phone in hand and a pair of ear buds, I climbed the 20 flights, touched the door to the roof, and descended rapidly to the bottom in double succession. This tedious climb of 40 levels burned off the morning stress and left me with a runner's high that helped me through the afternoon.
On my fateful day, I began ascending the stairs the second time, but with clouded thoughts. As the music in my ear buds seemed to fade, my thoughts focused on the locked door at the top. Every day I climbed to that door and saw the tiny red light on the security card reader, and I always wondered if my name badge would allow me onto the roof. Prior, my badge had never failed to open a door at this vast hospital complex, but I never waved my card before this particular reader since it would register with security, and I had no valid reason to be on the roof. This day, I wanted to know.
Reaching the top of the steps in seven minutes, I stared at the red light as sweat poured down the side of my face to bead below my chin. Without hesitation, I pulled my photo identification card from my shirt and waved the I.D. in front of the reader to hear the lock click, the red light switching to green. Surprised that my card had worked, I almost hesitated too long to pass through to the roof before the door relocked.
Catching my breath upon the roof, I heard the door immediately lock behind me with a loud click as the gusty summer winds kissed my sweaty skin. Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and focused on the air brushing against my cheeks with my face lifted to the sunlight. My pulse quelled somewhat, and slowly, my focus moved to the edge of the building.
Approaching the solid wall railing, I pulled out my ear buds and tucked them into a pocket along with my cell phone. I rested my elbows upon the stone ledge and peered down at the sidewalk. Directly below me, people passed as they traveled between the various hospital campus buildings, many heading to and from the cafeteria across the street. The roar of the city surprised me as the cacophony of the traffic seemed to be amplified, reverberating upward between buildings, but this too quickly faded like the music that had been playing on my cell phone.
A woman's voice unexpectedly cut through the din of wind and traffic when she asked, "What are you waiting for? Go ahead and jump."
Startled, I turned to find a woman next to me, dressed in shorts and a frilly blouse, casually gazing over the roof's ledge. Her glistening long black hair floated about her face as the various updrafts of wind lifted her hair about her shoulders. Without turning her head, she brushed her hair aside as her eye drifted to me. "But if I were you, I'd wait for a gap in the crowd below. You don't want to ruin some innocent person's day; do ya?"
Already flush from climbing the stairs, my face burned as my emotions surged—leaving me speechless. Seeing how the woman's lips curled up into a smile beneath her furled brow, I felt even more angered by her intrusion.
The woman returned her full gaze to the sidewalk below. "Even if you wait for a gap in the crowd, I'm afraid that someone's summer dress is going to get splattered; you're basically a giant blood-filled water balloon." Turning to face me, the woman straightened as she leaned against the railing. "I wish you luck though; let's hope you land on your head. Sure, you're guaranteed to die no matter how you land, but who would want to suffer those few seconds of suffocating, not to mention all those protruding broken bones. That brief agony would not be something I would wish on my worst enemies. And trust me when I say this, I have a lot of enemies."
Paralyzed by her frankness, I watched the woman pull a fresh pack of cigarettes from her blouse pocket. As she broke the seal, her tan skin and facial structure reminded me of the Native American women I more frequently saw in the northern Minnesota.
The woman pulled a stick from a matchbook as she stepped closer to the protruding stairwell door in search of shelter from the wind. After a couple bursts of profanity, she lit her cigarette on a third try and took a long drag. She exhaled slowly as she stared with disdain at the cigarette between her fingers. As she took another long drag, she returned to the railing, appearing disgusted. She held up the cigarette and said, "Stupid bastards. They even ruined something as simple and as pleasurable as this. I can taste the added chemicals."
I continued to stare at her.
"Do you want a drag?" she asked, smiling. "Not like it's going to kill ya." When I shook my head, she flicked the unfinished cigarette over the side. "Wise choice. It's not as enjoyable as it once was."
Turning my head away, I found my hands hot and sweaty. I spread my arms far apart to brace myself against the wall railing.
"Looks as if the herd is thinning," she said. "You should now be able to make the leap without landing on anyone." She leaned over the railing, scanning below. "I wonder if anyone will vomit. I'm sure many will look at your mangled corpse, if just for a brief second."
I gazed down to see that the lunch crowd had thinned with many people having returned to their offices, but all I could focus on was the stranger beside me. I thought her to be of my age, with a build of an athlete or laborer, shoulders tanned and shapely like a farmer's daughter. Her face only had minor wrinkles, but when she turned to look at me, I found her eyes to be a rich brown, almost sparkling like gold in the reflecting sunlight.
She turned her head slightly. "You shouldn't wait. The longer you wait, the harder it will be to jump."
Feeling as if this woman could read my mind, my eyes began to well. I turned away as my breathing deepened.
"What? Afraid of what awaits you on the other side?" The woman smiled as she continued to look down. "We all must find out at some point. Odds are that only a peaceful blackness awaits us, if you believe the trending thought. Whether heaven or an eternity of darkness, you cannot lose."
I swallowed hard as a hot tears roll down my cheeks, the wet streaks chilled by the brisk winds.
"Tell you what," continued the woman as she coolly eyed me. "You climb on top of the railing, and I'll push you. I'll stand quietly behind you and won't announce when I'm going to push."
"Stop it," I replied, choking on the words. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"What?" The woman took a step closer, allowing me to smell the woodsy scent of her skin and clothes. With a peculiar smile, she whispered, "I'm trying to help."
"No you're not."
"Yes I am. We both want your suffering to end; don't we?"
"Stop it." I swallowed hard in search of my voice. "You know nothing about me."
"I don't have to read your mind to know what's happening." The woman lifted her chin tersely, her finger gently tapping the railing. "Are you afraid that someone might miss you?" The woman took a slow step backwards, her hand drifting atop the railing. "We both know the answer to that; don't we?"
Tears burst from my eyes as I openly began to wail. Inhaling deeply, I tightly gripped the stone slab railing with the sole desire of a long deep sleep. Sobbing, my body shook as my hands pawed aimlessly at the slab. Already exhausted from life, I struggled to stay on my feet as the wind bristled against my burning face. Closing my eyes, I focused on my breathing, listening fixedly to the wind rustling in my ears. There I stood immobilized for some time, numb to everything when a man shouted at me to step away from the railing. Turning slowly, I discovered two hospital security guards staring intently at me.
The senior of the two guards stood with empty hands at his sides and said in a nonthreatening manner, "Sir, for our peace of mind, could you please step away from the railing."
Staring at the man, the recent events with the woman flashed through my mind. When I realized that she was no longer at my side, I began gazing about the rooftop in search of her.
"Sir, please step away from the railing," said the same guard.
When the man repeated his words a third time, I turned to him. "Where did the woman go?"
"We were told nothing about a woman. Sir, please step away from the railing."
A chill ran through me as I glanced at the empty spot next to me. Looking back at the guards, I realized their unease and stepped towards them. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to check out the view."
Without touching me, the senior guard directed me towards the protruding stairwell door. "No one is allowed up here. How did you get access to the roof?"
"I used my key card." Pulling my I.D. badge from my pocket, I passed it to the guard.
The guard flipped the badge between his fingers. "Only maintenance and security should be able to gain access to the roof. Where do you work?"
"Billing."
The man gave me a look. "We'll have to review your security clearances."
Turning slowly, I again sought out the woman. "There was a woman standing next to me at the railing."
The second guard shared a look with this cohort before circling around the protruding stairwell. When he emerged from the other side, he shrugged.
"Is there a second door to the roof?" I asked.
The guard passed my badge back to me. "No. And we encountered no woman when we came up here."
I glanced back at the railing before turning back to the guards. "She was about my age, possible Native American, physically fit, wearing a loose fitting blouse with large pockets, and shorts?"
"We saw no woman." The man proceeded to radio the surveillance room as he pointed out to me the security camera atop of the protruding stairwell. The person on the other end of the radio promptly confirmed that only I had been seen through the camera.
Stunned further by this revelation, I leaned against the doorframe and began rubbing my puffy eyes. My emotional state evident to the guards, I simply nodded when the senior guard suggested that we return to my office to meet with my manager. Upon entering her office, my manager knew immediately that I needed help, us having shared a strong rapport for years. I agreed when she suggested that I go to the emergency room for a psyche consultation, "just to be safe" as she put it.
Hospitalized once prior, I knew it better to volunteer than to resist, so I accepted the guards' offer and allowed them to escort me to the emergency room, and later, when the doctor asked how I felt, I simply said, "Sad." When the doctor asked if I intended to harm myself, I choose not to answer. When the doctor asked if anything unusual had happened recently, I confessed to my hallucination of a woman trying to convince me to jump off the roof.
I conceded to security's account that neither they nor their security camera witnessed a woman on the roof; however, I had to look the doctor in the eye and confess that I thought the woman to be real, for if anything, I would be lying to myself
When the doctor suggested a hospital stay for a full evaluation, I accepted, knowing well enough that I would have been admitted under a 72-hour hold if I had refused.
As I waited for an escort to bring a wheelchair to transport me to mental health, my thoughts remained focused on the woman and her golden eyes. I could still recall her woodsy scent, and cruel smile. If she was a hallucination, was she my subconscious? I pondered, staring down at my twiddling thumbs. I proceeded to wonder if I had climbed up onto that railing, would I have felt a ghostly hand push me.
I stared at the various patient pamphlets protruding from a brochure wall display. The hospital's name, St. Mary, topped each pamphlet, and the name led me to think of an angel. I huffed at the preposterousness. What kind of angel would be so honestly cruel, I thought. Why waste saintly time on me? Why now, after the fact?
When my escort arrived, I soon found myself pushed through the underground tunnels of hospital, forced to listen to the guards' weekend plans of fishing and drinking beer—sadly realizing that I would not be mountain biking anytime soon. We arrived to mental health, and I remained in my wheelchair as instructed until wheeled to my room, where I discovered that I had the room to myself—the 72-hour hold in effect after all.
The nurse introduced herself and attached my identification bracelet around my wrist before spewing out the various rules of the floor. Finding that the rules had not changed since my last visit, I proceeded to unlace my shoes without instruction and confessed to my prior admission, promising to be more cooperative—unlike last time. The sympathetic nurse stowed my shoelaces and other possessions in the room's lockbox before leaving for her rounds.
Left to lie on my bed, I propped up my pillow and waited for the first round of constipation inducing antidepressants to arrive. With the room free of television, I was left with only my thoughts, all of which recalling the encounter with the woman on the roof, contemplating if another hallucination awaited me.
When the nurse returned later that evening, I swallowed the standard cocktail of bedtime pills: an antidepressant, a stool softener, and a sleep aid. However, sleep did not come—despite my emotional exhaustion. With only the nurses' rounds interrupting my peace, I found the darkened room and the solitude relaxing. Once the doctor on call ended the frequent blood pressure checks, the interruptions became even fewer. This being my second visit to this ward, I more quickly accepted the tranquility that came from being isolated from the outside world.
However, once all traffic in the hallway had completely ceased and the lights outside my room dimmed, did I realize that I was not alone.