Their father was murdered. They don’t know one of their closest friends is really their enemy… And he’ll stop at nothing to get the key to the black door. The other keys have the power to save them. This is where they’ll make their stand.
All our land was enriched with my treasures buried in it, thickly inhabited just below the surface with my marbles and my teeth and my colored stones, all perhaps turned to jewels by now, held together under the ground in a powerful taut web which never loosened, but held fast to guard us.
Stories have a way of changing faces. They are unruly things, undisciplined, given to delinquency and the throwing of erasers. This is why we must close them up into thick, solid books, so they cannot get out and cause trouble.
Kids always think they’re coming into a story at the beginning, when usually they’re coming in at the end.
Their memories crowd the edges of my mind, the weight of them almost too much to bear. I want everything they want. I feel their aches and am made timid by their fears. I’m no longer a man, I’m a chorus.
My insane love for anthologies can be easily explained by the fact that I love the short story form, and by the fact that I love various accounts on a certain topic, in this case fairies.
Ethel took her hand. ‘You’re a good friend Alvie. Even without all the magic.’ Alvie squeezed back. ’You are too, Ethel. Even without the arm.’ The older woman’s eyes watered just a bit. ‘I think that, today that’s something I needed to hear’.