Chapter 7 - Grandma Curses at Trash Bags

Chapter 7 Grandma Curses at Trash Bags

“CURSE YOU, TRASH BAG!” Her grandma’s voice rang loud in her ears. Sydney groaned, crawling out of her bedsheets and up to her window to see what the commotion was about. She peeked out of her curtains and flinched. The sight before her immediately snapped her out of her trance, and Sydney clutched her bed head, eyes darting here and there, panicked.

“Oh no no no no no,” she muttered, quickly throwing the curtains aside, flashing everyone with sudden light.

“Ughh, what is that light?” Krale complained.

“Am I dead? Thank the Gods!” said Ruthantasis. When he opened his eyes and realised where he was, Ruth groaned. “Nevermind. I am very very much alive.”

“Guys…” Sydney called them both to the window. “We have a slight problem.” When both Ruthantasis and Krale made it to the window, their eyes widened. Everyone gasped.

You know the place people usually put their trash so the truck can come pick it up the next morning? Yeah, that small sidewalk in front of your house? Well, Sydney’s tiny sidewalk was completely charred, ash black to the core. It was as if some crazy kid had found black chalk and attempted to draw a grizzly bear on the ground. On it, three disintegrated trash bags sat, its stinky contents exploded all over, and Grandma continued to curse at the spilled junk.

“Talk about crying over spilled milk…” Krale commented.

“To be fair, the old lady’s not crying, she’s cussing,” said Ruth.

Another string of curse words sailed over their heads. Everyone winced. Sydney shot up from her bed, quickly slipped a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt on, and darted downstairs. Before she forgot, she swung herself back in the room and pointed at Ruth and Krale.

“You guys stay put, okay? I’ll be right back,” she said, then slammed the door shut and ran downstairs.

“So…do you want to meet Yek the Yak?” Ruthantasis asked Krale.

“Yek the Yak?” Krale asked, incredulous.

“He’s under that pile of books,” Ruthantasis answered. He pointed to Yek the Yak, who was flipped upside down, soundly asleep. Krale squinted his eyes.

“He doesn’t look so impressive,” he said.

“At least he’s more impressive than you,” said Ruth.

Krale bonked him on the head with his fork.

Sydney shoved her feet into her sneakers. She didn’t even have time to pick out matching socks before she bursted out the door, dashing towards her grandma and the disintegrated trash bags. Sydney immediately crouched down beside one of the bags and started looking through it. When she couldn’t see anything deeper, she groaned and started to dig through it with her hands. Gingerly, of course. She wasn’t a racoon. She didn’t enjoy dumpster diving one bit.

“Sydney! What are you doing?” her grandma asked, aghast.

“I accidentally threw something away last night that I shouldn’t have. It was really important,” she said. Grandma didn’t have to question her. Because if Sydney was desperate enough to rummage through trash for that object…well, doesn’t that say it all?

“Wash your hands after this, and don’t touch anything! I just wiped down the house.”

“Alright,” Sydney absentmindedly said. She squinted her eyes. Where is the maraca…where is the maraca? You’d think a deadly instrument with powers of arson would be easy to find, but no. For some reason, every single piece of plastic and box of Lucky Charms looked the same in a trash bag, even ones that had already disintegrated. Sydney shook her head impatiently.

Suddenly, she heard a soft, sizzling noise, as if someone had poured water on a searing hot pan. She flinched. That could only mean one thing. Fire. Sydney closed her eyes and focused on the noise. The moment she concentrated, the sound pierced through her ears abnormally loudly. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though.

The second trash bag. Sydney immediately darted towards it (or what was left of it), and started searching through there. When her hands finally clasped around the familiar, rocky handle of the black instrument, Sydney whispered a silent “Yes!” to herself and quickly stood up. Just as she was going to run back into the house, her grandma called.

“Since you’re already out here, sweetheart, could you go to our neighbour’s and get Kitty? I think she wandered in there last night. Mrs Lan rang me this morning about Kitty running around with a knife in her mouth,” said Grandma. Sydney froze, unsure of what to do. Krale and Ruth were waiting for her upstairs, but she couldn’t not do this for her grandma, either. She wanted her to not have anything to worry about, and Kitty running around with a knife in her mouth sounded like a very worrisome thing.

“Okay, I’ll go get Kitty. Don’t worry,” Sydney said. As her grandma thanked her, Sydney looked up at the right window on the second floor of the townhouse. A curious Ruthantasis peered out the window, and Sydney narrowed her eyes. She pointed at him, then down at her feet, telling him to stay in place. She mouthed “I will be right back” and could only hope Ruthantasis got her message as she headed to Mrs Lan’s house.

Getting Kitty out of Mrs Lan’s house wasn’t hard, but separating Kitty from that knife was a whole other thing. Sydney had to jump around, trying to avoid stabbing herself as Kitty chased her around the yard. By the time she had come to an agreement with her little black kitten, Sydney was heaving and puffing. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Getting a knife from a kitten should not have been that tiring. Or stressful. Sydney had to threaten to put Kitty into a shirt. Kitty had scowled at the mention of it and immediately dropped the knife. Pets really don’t like being dressed up. Something about being restricted, probably.

Kitty walked ahead, grumpy as Sydney followed. The kitten shot her one last look of distaste and quickly slipped through the cat flap. Sydney rolled her eyes, then went in through the door. She took off her shoes and placed them in the cupboard. Kitty stared at her with a look of betrayal on her face. Sydney stepped into the kitchen and gave Kitty a pat on the head. Kitty scowled.

“Alright you feisty little kitten, I’m sorry,” she said, bringing a pot out from the cupboard. She took the jug of milk out from the fridge and waved it in front of Kitty. “I’ll make you some warm milk, okay?”

Kitty’s eyes immediately lit up. Sydney took that as a yes.

She went to the gas stove and placed her hand on the knob. Before she turned on the gas, she looked around the house. Everything was quiet and still except for Kitty’s soft purrs. Grandpa should be down in the living room by now, but maybe he’s still asleep. It was a Saturday, anyway. Grandma probably went to get something from the store. Her mum couldn’t come down without help, obviously, so of course she was still upstairs. Sydney breathed in a deep breath. She looked out the window, and the bright, spring sunlight lit up the kitchen. A sense of calm fell upon her as she looked back at Kitty, smiling.

“Guess it’s just you and me today, Kitty Bitty,” she said. She hadn’t been alone like this in ages, and honestly she felt quite at peace with herself. Sydney turned on the gas.

Nothing lit up. Sydney scrunched up her nose. She turned the knob and tried again. A few tick-tick-ticks resounded, but other than that, no fire. Sydney cocked her head to one side, confused. When a tiny little flame started to flicker, Sydney exhaled, relieved.

BOOOM!

The fire exploded. Sydney tumbled backwards. Her pulse ratcheted through the sky. Swirls of angry reds and oranges grew before her eyes, and now it was searing the edge of her kitchen hood. That hood was not doing its job properly. Blazing blues and purples flickered here and there in the flames, and suddenly, a contorted face appeared within it. Sydney screamed. She couldn’t make out who or what it was. The face kept changing. From a beautiful woman to a peacock, then to a man with a beak and then to a kitten. Kitty jumped at the last image, but it disappeared just as quickly as it appeared, warping into a hundred other different beings at the same time.

Sydney tried to breathe, but it was like flames had completely engulfed her insides. That same small part of her soul ignited once more, and she almost forgot she was still holding onto the maraca. Sydney dropped it on the ground. This time, the flames didn’t die down. The face kept twisting and bending, and Sydney couldn’t even turn it off. It was as if the flames had a brain, because it had covered the knob with fire. Sweat started trickling down her face and her arms. Nothing could’ve prepared Sydney for what happened next.

The flames spoke.

“SYDNEY COHEN, RETURN MY GODLY WEAPON WITHIN SEVEN DAYS OR YOUR REALM ALONG WITH MINE SHALL MELT…”

Sydney’s heart pounded. It banged around in her chest, as if trying to escape. It ended up hurting her instead. She tried to breathe but it was like she was stuck in a fiery building. All the air around her turned to smoke and she could barely register what the fire had said. Her head was faint and her vision swam around her.

It was the voice from last night. There was no mistaking it. It was the same, eerie, shifting voice that had chilled her to the bones. The same voice that had called her a thief, over and over and over again, like a promise of death.

“YOUR FAMILY’S LIVES LIE WITHIN MY HANDS. BRING THE GODLY WEAPON TO ME, AND WE’LL TALK EXCHANGES AND PUNISHMENTS, MY NAUGHTY, LITTLE THIEF.”

A sudden whoosh! sailed through the air and the fire died.

Author's Note

written: Dec 2024