Grim anthology. Christine Johnson

inside Liv went cold. She opened Harley’s door and barged into her room. It was empty. The bed was rumpled, and a pile of dirty clothes lay on the floor by the dresser. Liv ran to the bed and pushed it, but it wouldn’t move. She knelt down to look beneath it, and all she saw was dust.

      Casey came into Harley’s room and went to the dresser, where she began to look through the drawers. She pulled out her sister’s shirts one by one, holding them up and then tossing them onto the laundry pile.

      “What are you doing?” Liv asked.

      “Looking for something to wear,” Casey replied in her odd, emotionless voice. “Harley always has the best stuff.”

      Liv stared at her in shock. She had wanted Casey to come back, but she hadn’t expected she would be like this. Casey might be standing in her sister’s room, but she wasn’t all there.

      Casey found a shirt she liked and laid it on top of the dresser, then took off the one she was wearing. The bones of her spine jutted out like teeth beneath her skin. In the mirror, Liv glimpsed a tattoo of a blackbird on Casey’s chest before she pulled on her sister’s shirt. She turned to face Liv, crossing her arms, and Liv noticed the ring Casey was wearing. It was a black stone set in a gold band.

      “My sister told me about you,” Casey said.

      Liv swallowed the rising panic inside her and met Casey’s feverish gaze. “Where is she?” Liv demanded.

      “Someplace a lot more fun than this.” A cold grin crossed Casey’s face, and for one second she came alive—potent, forceful, just like Harley. An instant later she shriveled, once again more specter than girl. “We’re going there tonight,” Casey said to Liv. “You wanna come? Harley might be there.”

      * * * * *

      THE RAVEN PRINCESS

      by Jon Skovron

      The princess wouldn’t stop crying. The queen had fed her and changed her diaper. She didn’t know what else to do.

      “I can host a banquet for a hundred lords and ladies. But what do I know about babies?” The nanny had asked for the day off and now the queen regretted letting her have it.

      The princess stood at the edge of the crib, howling at the top of her lungs. Tears and snot ran down her plump face as she reached out with wet slobbery fingers.

      “What do you want?!” The queen gripped the edge of the crib hard. She wanted to shake the ungrateful little creature until she stopped.

      No, she would never do that. But she felt trapped by the tiny, impossible thing who shrieked mindlessly at her. She moved to the other side of the room, turned her back on the princess and took a slow breath.

      The coarse call of birds cut through the princess’s cries. The queen looked out the window and spied a flock of ravens. She had always found the raven’s caw grating and distasteful, but right now, it seemed preferable to the endless wail of the little brat. As she watched them wheel slowly up into the sky, she said out loud:

      “I wish you would just fly away with those ravens.”

      The crying stopped and silence fell suddenly in the room. The queen turned around, half expecting to find the child passed out from exhaustion. But the princess stood in her crib, her eyes wide. Her little bow mouth was quirked in the corners, as if she had just taken a bite of something and its flavor surprised her. She sat down hard and let out a cough that sounded strangely like the caw of a raven.

      “My darling.” Fear crept into the queen’s chest. “What’s wrong?”

      The princess looked up and her bright blue eyes slowly filled with blackness until even the whites were gone.

      “Oh, God,” whimpered the queen.

      Thick black hairs began to sprout on the princess’s arms, legs and face. No, not hairs. Feathers.

      “Please,” whispered the queen. “I didn’t mean...”

      The princess opened her mouth wide and made a gagging sound until a black, curved beak emerged and her lips peeled back into nothing. Her legs grew thinner, then, with a loud crack, suddenly bent in the wrong direction, as her feet curled in like claws. Her body shrank into her white dress until the queen could no longer see her.

      “My darling?”

      A raven’s head poked out from the dress. The bird shook herself as she untangled her wings from the dress. She hopped up onto the edge of the crib, black claws digging into the wood. She regarded the queen for a moment, her head cocked to one side. Then she let out a harsh caw and flew past the queen and out the open window.

      The queen never spoke of what happened that day. It was thought that the princess had been abducted by mercenaries or brigands. The king searched everywhere, but didn’t find her. As the years went on, the queen’s secret shame aged her into a crone before her time. Finally one night she could no longer bear it, and left the castle without a word. The king did not search for her.

      * * *

      The young man was not a good hunter. He had some skill with a bow when the target was a bull’s-eye, but he simply could not bring himself to shoot a living thing. His parents had sent him away in disgust, and none of the village girls showed any interest in him. So he lived alone in a small cottage in the forest, where he ate berries and the vegetables he grew in his small garden.

      The young man would have been content to live this way, except he was lonely. He hoped that if he conquered his fear of hunting, he might finally catch a girl’s eye. So one morning he set out into the forest, resolving not to return until he had made a kill.

      First he came across a deer. But he was so petrified, he could not move until it was out of sight. Later, he spied a badger waddling along. But his hands shook so badly that by the time he was able to nock an arrow, the badger had slipped down into its hole. He cursed himself, wondering how he could be so cowardly.

      Finally, near sunset, he spied a lone raven standing on an outcropping of rock in a small clearing. Ravens were loathsome animals, eaters of the dead and dying, and harbingers of bad luck. The world would be a better place with one less raven. He quietly set an arrow and drew back on the bowstring. This time, he would claim his place as a man.

      But the instant before he released the arrow, the raven turned to look at him and cocked its head in such a curious, intelligent way that the young man flinched and the arrow flew wide, embedding itself in a tree five feet away.

      “That,” remarked the raven, “was a terrible shot.”

      “Luckily for you,” said the young man. Then his eyes grew wide. “You speak!”

      “Truly,” said the raven. “I have seen boys of ten and old men shaky with weariness who had better aim.”

      “Amazing! I nearly kill a magic talking raven and he criticizes me for not piercing his breast with a wooden shaft.”

      “I am not a ‘he,’” said the raven, feathers ruffling. “And I’ll thank you not to talk so casually about my breasts.”

      “My apologies, Lady Raven,” said the young man with a slight bow. He slowly walked out into the clearing. “But I must know, how is it you talk?”

      “Because I am not really a raven, but a maiden princess under a curse. Now I must know, how is it you are such a terrible marksman?”

      “I happen to be an excellent marksman!”

      “Oh?” The raven turned toward where the arrow was still embedded deep in the bark. “Were you hunting trees today, then?”

      The young man sighed and shook his head. “My aim fails me the moment I target a living thing.”

      “And