The bookstore on Elm Street was as charming as it was mysterious. It seemed that no one could quite remember when it opened up, or even what store, if any, had held the lease before. Certainly Toby, who was all of twelve and less than interested in details in general, couldn't tell Sarah where it had come from. All he could say-over and over again in one unceasing and frankly adorable loop-was that he was so excited she was here to visit for one whole month, and she was just going to love this bookshop and he'd definitely pay her back for any books she just might want to buy for him.
Kid brothers. They were the absolute best, Sarah mused to herself with a fond smile as she dutifully strolled along behind her golden-haired sibling. These days, she didn't even bother tacking on the half when it came to their blood connection. He was her brother. She was his sister. These were facts that she embraced whole-heartedly.
It had been an awfully long time since she'd felt anything even near resentment for said brother. That was the beauty of experiencing self-righteous, selfish, and potentially catastrophic resentment for one's baby brother while still a teenager. Once you grew out of such things, at least you could blame it all on youth.
Well, youth and trauma, of course. Sarah would always be the first to admit that she didn't handle her mother's abandonment swiftly followed by her father's remarriage very well. Now that her father and Karen were older and wiser themselves, they could also agree that they hadn't really understood teenage Sarah's pain as she grappled with those unforeseen changes no child ever expected to go through, which hadn't exactly helped either.
In the end, all was well that ended well, or so Sarah thought. Her relationship with her family couldn't be better, she'd abandoned childish dramatics for the healthier drama of the theatrical world, and most important of all, nothing had ever come of the almost certainly hallucination-based experience of almost losing her baby brother to a being that was as inscrutable as he was dangerous.
"Almost there. See it? The one with the red door?" After crossing the two-lane street that made up the town's charming little city center, Toby's favorite store did indeed catch Sarah's eye. There was the red door with a big rectangle of crystal clear glass in the center, the sign hanging upon it declaring the store open. Beside it was a big window with a display that would have made any large department store proud.
"Oh, wow," Sarah breathed, easily as charmed as her brother was. Green eyes gleaming with the sort of innate, whimsical wonder a woman like Sarah would never fully grow out of, she looked over the little fairytale figurines on the other side of the glass. Hand-in-hand with Toby, who had thankfully not quite reached the age where the very idea of touching his sister would turn him red with embarrassment, Sarah lightly pressed her free hand to the glass.
There were little cottages crafted with loving detail, and winding paths of fine little pebbles stretching between each one. In the window of one she saw the figurine of an old woman resting in bed, her nightcap pulled far over her brow and the bedcover held all the way up to her chin. The figurine of a girl in a tell-tale cape of red was in the act of skipping up to the door, clearly unaware of the danger hiding inside her grandmother's cottage.
To the right of another cottage was the figure of a beautiful maiden with hair dark as sable and skin white as snow. Clasped loosely between her hands was an apple so juicy red, even Sarah had to admit she would have been tempted to take a bite. Further to the right were two children with their backs to the window, their hands linked together tightly as they dared to approach a cottage that looked far too welcoming-and delicious-to be trusted.
Whoever was in charge of the display window here deserved a raise, obviously. How could anyone with even a passing love of old stories resist taking a look inside the bookstore? "I love this place already," Sarah said with a grin as she looked down at Toby. He grinned right back at her, nodding so enthusiastically his curls bounced. Sarah laughed under her breath as he tugged on her hand, dragging her behind him as he excitedly entered the store.
It was cool and quiet inside the bookshop, featuring, predictably, several rows of neat, orderly shelves full to bursting with books of every size, color, and even age. The fantasy themes of the display window didn't spill into the bookshop itself, but that didn't mean the result was any less charming. Here was a place a bibliophile could really lose themselves in.
Sarah's gaze fell on the two cozy green reading chairs set just beside the window, a shelf between them filled with books of folklore and fairytales, naturally. She was drawn almost irresistibly forward, as though a golden thread somewhere in the vicinity of her ribcage was linked to that pretty little shelf just there.
"You mind if I have a look here, Tobes?" she asked without even looking at her brother. He, lamentably, was no longer very interested in fairytales and fantasy. Or maybe that was a good thing. Sarah couldn't quite decide. He tossed her an unseen nod, looking away to another part of the bookstore that no doubt held the science and natural world section. Even before they'd stepped foot into the shop, Sarah had known she'd probably be handing over fistfuls of money for some big, glossy book with full-colored diagrams of volcanoes and planet cores.
Sarah's fingers drew lightly across the gold-embossed spine of a small book, then across the weathered green spine of a much larger tome. Inanimate though they were, it almost seemed as though they lovingly caressed her fingertips right back. The comfortable chairs called to her, and soon she was settled in one of them, reaching for first this book, then that, then that one too.
Time had no meaning then. How long had it been since Sarah had felt so excited, so intrigued by fairy tales? The old book she'd clung to like a lifeline as a teenager, filled as it was with overly dramatic and therefore irresistible tales of brave princesses and tyrant kings, had been packed away for years, buried in a box somewhere in her father's attic. Maybe it was high time she dug it out again.
Maybe she could even add a few more similar books to create a collection, books she could then arrange prettily in her front room. Then, on cold, dark nights, she could light a cozy fire, settle in with her favorite oversized blanket and lose herself in stories of wonder and magic and delight. She'd unplug the phone, lock the door, and sink right into the old tales, never to surface again.
"Sarah. Sarah?"
She blinked, looking hazily at her brother. Just how long had Toby been standing there? Sarah blinked again, looking down at the four books she was literally clutching to her chest. When had she done that? There were so many books on the shelf to choose from, she couldn't have possibly already chosen a few favorites.
"Are those the books you're getting?"
"Yes," Sarah answered, immediately and with quiet conviction. Toby had oh so innocently carried not one, not two, but three enormous hardcover books with him. Shaking her head clear of the dreamy cobwebs that had gathered there, Sarah took a deep breath as she pushed free from the chair. "You're lucky I love you so much," she said as she ruffled Toby's hair, already on her way to the register. "So much, in fact, that I'm only going to make you put one of those books back."
By the time Toby had made his painful decision and their five new treasures were handed back to them by the non-descript woman manning the counter, Sarah had pretty well convinced herself that she'd been jet-lagged enough to doze right there in the chair by the window. That had to be why she couldn't even remember most of the thirty minutes that had passed since she and Toby had walked into the store. Toby, beaming and victorious, dragged her right back out through the door again, a man on a mission now that he had new books to devour back at home.
They made it back safely to the stately home their father had owned since before either one of them was born, their books momentarily forgotten as the aroma of rich bolognese and buttery garlic bread reminded them both they were starving. It was only after a lively family dinner followed by an even more lively game of Monopoly that Sarah, dressed in cozy silk pajamas and brushing her long dark hair, even remembered she had quite a few new books to read.
When had she found the time to stack the books so neatly on her nightstand? Shrugging to herself, Sarah pulled back the thick comforter on the four-poster bed. She was still arranging the covers around her with one hand while the other cracked the first book open, opening rather neatly to the first page of chapter one. "Little Red Riding Hood?" she wondered aloud to no one in particular, a bit perplexed by her own choice of reading. Fairy tales were lovely, yes, but this particular story had always been so...predictable. Childish, even.
The old-fashioned print drew her eye. The letters were arranged in perfectly neat rows that seemed to be growing wider, then wider, then wider still. Sarah wasn't reading so much as she was sinking, the bed-and ground and house and world-slipping away from beneath her as she fell and fell and fell…
And landed with a gasp on the loamy soil beside a footpath between thick, towering pines that went on and on without end. The sun was setting in the distance, transforming the forest around her as shadows swallowed up the remaining light and a cool mist rose to hover eerily above the forest floor.
"What…?" Half reclined on her bent arms, Sarah pushed herself to her feet as quickly as she could. So quickly, in fact, that she half stumbled, one hand flying out to help her keep her balance. The other hand, however, didn't answer her bidding. It was stuck, caught up in thick, scratchy material of some sort. With a yank, Sarah pulled her arm free of the cloth.
The red cloth. Of her red cloak.
With a redhood.
"Oh," Sarah said, words almost totally failing her as she was forced to grapple with everything around her that should not have been but which most certainly was.
"Oh...fuck."
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. Needing absolutely no more convincing, Sarah began to walk forward. When a second howl answered, this time from somewhere behind her, Sarah ran.
And ran, and ran, and ran.
She ran until her legs were like jelly beneath the skirt of her long dress, and a cold sweat made the fabric of her cloak cling uncomfortably to the back of her neck. She ran until a cottage suddenly loomed out of the mists, looking warm and inviting and safe.
Sarah had wits enough to realize that it was probably anything but safe. There had been no true need to buy the book version of Little Red Riding Hood. She knew perfectly well what was waiting in grandmother's cottage. But as the wolves howled again, closer than ever now and almost definitely herding her to exactly this location, Sarah couldn't see any other choice.
The cottage door opened readily at her hand, and she was all but falling inside before she slammed the door shut again behind her. Wide-eyed and trembling, the displaced woman took in the figure of a man she'd wanted desperately to believe wasn't real.
"Why, Sarah," the Goblin King purred with the sinuous menace she remembered only too well. He strutted closer, menace rolling off of him in waves despite the nonchalant smoothness of his gait. His eyes, otherworldly and knowing and cruelly delighted, fixed her in place. He smiled before he spoke again, and Sarah knew true fear.
"What big eyes you have, Precious."