Ch. 1: a bit about grace

         

ONE

               

a bit about grace

                Not so long ago in a small Kansas house in a small Kansas town there lived a young girl by the name of Alexis Grace Sullers.  Now most little girls, at least among those which I have known, are called by their first names.  It so happens, however, that in the instance of the particular young lady with whom this tale has to do, that such was not the case - and with good reason, as I am sure you will agree.

         You see, it seems that within the town in which she lived there were a number of girls who shared the name Alexis - and indeed, not only in the town but in her school as well, and as though this were not enough, the greatest lot of those at her school who shared the name also shared the very classroom in which our Alexis happened to receive her lessons.  There were, in fact, three other girls in her class who had been dubbed that apparently popular name at birth, and while they chose the rather standard method of remedying the problem (attaching their last initials to their names like short little tails, thus creating an Alexis E., an Alexis M., and an Alexis R.), Alexis Grace Sullers chose instead to drop the repetitive "A" word altogether and to adopt her middle name instead.

         Seeing then that not only she, but all those around her - classmates, teachers, and even her grandparents - both knew and called her by this name, so shall we.

         I suppose you may have noticed that I mentioned young Grace's grandparents, and perhaps if you are a very thoughtful reader you wondered to yourself why I should make mention of them and yet remain silent about her parents themselves.  If however you noticed no such thing that is quite alright for I will tell you about it nevertheless (it is, I think, both an interesting and mysterious topic and I for one enjoy things of an interesting and mysterious nature).

         Grace, unlike most children in her town, lived with her grandparents and had done so for all but the very first few months of her life.  This in itself is no great oddity, but the fact that her parents suddenly vanished from the face of the earth one night and that her grandfather found her hidden in a hollowed out oak tree, is.

         She was approximately four months old at the time, the strange golden streak in her otherwise red hair just beginning to show itself, and thus she had no true memory of what occurred that night - nothing more than the occasional, fleeting feeling that there was something she remembered, something that hid itself just beyond her reach in the darkest shadows of her mind.

         History remembers the night well, however, though for very different reasons, for it was the same night in which the great flood swept through not only the town in which Grace lived but also through the streets of Kansas City itself, accompanied by several small earthquakes and a handful of tornadoes. Hundreds of people were killed that night and the event was so terrible that even the national news could talk of little else for the next month - not to mention the tabloids, which were all too willing to publish stories of a giant clad in black wandering the streets and the "eyewitness" accounts that he was some kind of demon.

         The night was horrific enough without such grim tales however, and it was due to these events that Grace's grandfather, Jim Sullers, had rushed to his son's house at the first opportunity afforded him by the weather.  He had arrived at the small house in the pouring rain to find the front door open and swinging wildly in the wind.  Flames had licked from several windows, sending smoke pouring into the night sky.  Fearing the worst, he had rushed into the house, risking his life to search the burning wreck for his son, his daughter-in-law, and his granddaughter, but instead found the house empty.  He had then left and dashed around the outside, calling their names, but he received no answer.  He had felt sure that they must be dead and resigned himself to looking for their bodies, but found nothing - not at first, for as luck (or God Himself, which I think to be more likely) would have it, the cry of his infant granddaughter soon met his ears, leading him to a hollowed oak tree in the back yard, where he found her soaking wet and terrified, but otherwise unharmed.

         Such is the way in which Grace found her way into the custody of her grandparents that fateful night, and search as they might neither they nor the police ever turned up so much as a stray hair from either of the seemingly orphaned girl's parents.  It was at first thought that they, along with so many others, had lost their lives in the monstrous storms, but as every other missing body eventually turned up, the disappearance of Mr. and Mrs. Luke Sullers became a mystery which no one in the nation was able to answer for.

         And this terrible event was by no means the end of young Grace's relationship with strange and unexplained happenings.  Indeed, it was but the first (though, as yet, the greatest) in a long line of strange and unexplained happenings which came to characterize her life as the years rolled on ahead of that tragic night.

         Grace led a lonely childhood in those years after coming to stay with her grandparents, for there were no other children in the neighborhood in which she lived.  Lonely does not necessarily mean unhappy, however, for unhappy is the last word which one would choose to describe Grace's life.  She was, it must be said, often uncertain about herself (a fact which almost certainly came from the inexplicable loss of her parents), not to mention a bit frightened of being abandoned at times - but unhappy she was not.

         Between her Grandpa Jim, who had very nearly devoted his entire existence to making her smile, and her Grandma Fran, who remained always her best friend, Grace was never in want when it came to happiness, all of which relates in no way to anything strange or unexplained, the happenings of which I spoke of but a moment ago (though the proper upbringing of a child, I'm afraid, is ever nearing the label of 'strange,' and has long ago earned that of 'rare').

         The strange occurrences which followed Grace were more of the supernatural variety, however, and were often so unbelievable that her grandparents eventually found it easier to pretend that they didn't happen rather than attempt an explanation for them.

         There was for instance the time when at three years of age Grace had darted out into the street to save a small box turtle that was ambling slowly toward its doom and a large delivery truck had come careening toward her.  Her grandmother, who had happened to glance up from where she was busy working in her garden, could do nothing but watch helplessly as the huge metal grill with the Ford emblem upon it raced toward the tiny little girl with the golden streak in her hair, the little girl who was so focused upon the turtle's danger that she was completely unaware of her own.  Her grandmother had held her breath only to exhale it in disbelief a moment later as she watched the truck suddenly leap from the ground, turn a corkscrew in midair, then land - still moving - twenty yards from where it had taken flight.  If anyone was more astonished than Grandma Sullers it could only have been the driver of the truck himself who was blinking so furiously in shock that he barely managed to swerve out of the path of an oncoming Lincoln Town car.

         In the meantime, Grace had remained unaware that anything at all had happened and was running, turtle in hand, back toward the house.

         This was not the only time that her blind love for all things living had put her in danger's way, nor was it the only time a seeming miracle had saved her from it either.

         Shortly after her fifth birthday, it being the middle of winter, Grace had accompanied her Grandfather to a nearby park for an afternoon stroll.  Shortly after arriving his pager had began screaming its nerve-wracking song however, and he'd had to step inside a nearby office building to use the phone (the page was undoubtedly from Grace’s grandmother, who worried easily and had therefore developed a quick trigger finger when it came to the telephone - a fact which had nearly landed a certain grandfather's pager in the trashcan any number of times).

         At any rate, on this occasion, as he stepped away to use the telephone Grace was left to wait patiently outside.  She could have followed him in of course, but she much preferred the outdoors, even in the winter, and it was for this reason that she was there to notice the small baby deer walking delicately upon the frozen pond some yards away from where she stood.

         Grace's heart was immediately filled to overflowing with love for the small creature and she smiled warmly as she watched it.

         Unfortunately, her smile was not the only thing which was warm that day, for the pond itself had felt the thawing effects of the mild temperatures which had settled in the area that past week and as the poor helpless fawn wandered farther out along its surface the ice, which was much thinner toward the center, suddenly cracked, then broke, and in an instant the tiny animal had plunged into the frozen depths beneath.  Grace, her tender little heart already shattering like the ice upon the pond, had raced toward the hole and without a second's thought had dived in after the drowning creature.

         This was, I must say, a very foolish thing to do.  Many grown and powerful men have died attempting similar acts of bravery.  The icy water has stopped the hearts of some, and others, once beneath the ice, have been unable to find their way back out again.

         These facts, even had she known them (which she didn't), would have likely had no effect on her actions that day, for Grace - though a very bright and logical girl in most instances - was ruled above all else by her care, compassion, and seemingly inexhaustible love for all things and whenever these things were set against concern for her own welfare, it was always her own welfare which was to leave the battle in defeat.

         So it was that Grace had risked her life that day for the sake of an infant deer, swimming beneath the icy surface and pulling it alive, with strength impossible for a girl of barely five years, from the depths.  Aside from this most bizarre feat was the fact that she emerged from the pond perfectly dry, without so much as a wet hair upon her foolish little head that might contribute to her falling ill.                    After hugging the fawn, which gazed lovingly (not to mention gratefully) at her, she'd returned to the office building just as her grandfather was coming out.  She had made no mention of her adventure and thus for years he knew nothing of it, though later in life she filled him in on many of the incredible adventures which she'd had, things no one had witnessed, such as this particular incident with the deer.

         These are but two of many such events and I would tell you of others but as they play little part in the rest of this story I think it unnecessary.  Indeed, I share these two only to make clear to you the nature of the miracles which were a part of her young life.  You can make of them what you will.

         Aside from such fantastic goings-on there was also the matter of the small creature Grace believed herself to have seen no less than a dozen times in her short life.  She never actually saw  it, not directly that is.  It was always out of the corner of her eye, or in a distant shadow that she glimpsed it (if indeed she was glimpsing anything at all, for the creature was so odd that even Grace, who had what some might call an `overactive imagination,' found it hard to believe that it could possibly exist in real life.

         Barely two feet tall and covered in spotless white hair from the crown of its head to just above its large, leathery black feet, it was like something out of a movie.  Its ears, which were nearly half as long as the creature itself, hung to the sides of its head like two large, meaty steaks.  It had no nose, or so it appeared, and its small, button-like eyes, which were pressed deep beneath its brow and crowded about with white hair, stared out curiously at everything around it.  Its mouth was little more than a furry slit below the mound where one would expect to find a nose and above the white mane which flowed to the middle of its chest like a beard.

         Grace did not notice all of this at once.  In fact, it was only after many sightings that she developed any true idea of what it looked like, though the picture of it which you now have in your head is likely a much more accurate representation of its appearance than Grace's at the time (it is much harder than you might think to develop a picture in your mind of something that you're not really sure that you believe in).

         You would think (or maybe you wouldn’t, since I guess it all depends upon how you view things) that one would find it a bit frightening to see the same impossible creature watching you time and again over the years, but Grace never found it so.  Indeed, as she had most frequently seen it on occasions such as the one at the park when, after climbing from the pond she had fancied she’d seen it gazing at her from the shadows of the nearby woods, she had come to believe it to be a friend of some sort.  Or even if it was not a friend, she had reasoned with herself, it certainly felt like no enemy.

         She had reported the sightings to her grandparents at first, both of whom had laughed good naturedly and then set about recounting the tales of their imaginary childhood friends.  Needless to say, Grace – whom I have already described as a bright girl – saw quickly that it would bring her to no good if she pursued the issue.  Good nature and stories of the past would become admonitions to tell the truth and then outright accusations that she was lying.  Not that she could blame her grandparents if they reacted that way, as I’m sure that very few of you know any grownups who would believe such things.

         At any rate Grace left off speaking to anyone about the creature – or about the mysterious and magical things that took place around her – and the years passed with most of those around her in complete ignorance as to what was truly going on in her life.

         This, in a nutshell, is a view to the young lady whose adventures fill the following pages, though it is in truth not even one tiny piece of the tiniest piece of the puzzle that is Alexis Grace Sullers.  The rest you must learn in her story, a story which is, in a way, completely true and one which I hope will not only entertain you, but teach you things much deeper than you would ever think possible in such a tale.

*          *          *          *          *

         Grace was not one to waste the day.  It was, in fact, not at all an uncommon occurrence for her to beat the sun itself in rising with enough time remaining for her to wash her face, brush her teeth, and consume a good-sized bowl of some corn based, flake cereal before the light of dawn ever so much as caressed the highest leaf in the big oak tree out front.

         Grace was a lover of life and even at her young age had the wisdom to know that while sleep was important, every moment one spent engaged in it, beyond what was necessary of course, was a terrible waste.

         Her grandfather shared in this knowledge with her and it was indeed a rare morning that he did not follow on her heels in beginning his day and thus the two of them had quite by accident formed a beloved tradition, sharing together the pre-dawn silence. 

         Grace would scurry outside in her nightgown to retrieve the newspaper and after eating breakfast the two of them would read the day’s comic pages.

         “Today’s the day, then,” he said to her on one such morning.  She beamed at him over her recently poured bowl of cereal but said nothing.  This probably had more to do with the fact that her mouth was stuffed full of sugar-covered chocolate flakes than it did any actual reluctance to speak, for words were one thing she was rarely in short supply of.  After a moment’s silence her grandfather, a smile on his face, said, “Well, if you don’t want to talk about it…”  He began restacking the newspaper he’d been reading and made as though he meant to rise from the table.

         “Waith!  I wudda tuk!” Grace exclaimed and milk dribbled from her mouth and down her chin.  “My moufs duh.”

         Her grandfather’s eyes gleamed though his smile disappeared and his tone became grave.  “Grace, something’s wrong.”

         Her eyes widened as the sincerity and seriousness of his voice began a worried ticking in her stomach.  “Wuh?” she said and more milked spilled down her chin.  “Wuh’s wrong?”

         “I… I can’t understand a word you’re saying.  There must be something wrong with my ears.”

         “No!” she exclaimed, a few soggy flakes spewing from her mouth.  “Iss jus mah mouf is fuh...”  She grunted in frustration (he looked so worried) and managed to swallow most of the cereal in her mouth.  “No, Grandpa,” she said at last, “your ears are fine.  It’s just that my mouth was full.”

         He sank back into his chair, his face softening in relief.  “Well,” he said, “you gave me quite a scare.”

         “Are you okay now?”

         “I think so,” he said seriously.  “Imagine, being silly enough to believe there was something wrong with my ears!”  He flashed a wry smile at her and she knew at once that she’d been had.

         “Grandpa!”  Though a bit upset her face now mirrored his smile.  “That’s not funny.”

         “Matter of opinion,” he told her as he stood and headed toward the kitchen sink to rinse his empty bowl.  The golden light of dawn was finally creeping in through the windows.

*          *          *          *          *

         “Today’s the day,” Grace’s grandfather had said at the breakfast table, and as I suppose there may be a few who wonder at what he meant (seeing as he turned quite silly before he said anymore on the subject), I will tell you.  It was the first day of school – not for her grandfather, who had finished his schooling many years before, but for Grace.

         The first day of a new school year was very exciting for Grace, as it is for nearly every boy and girl at that age, and as her grandfather drove her away from their modest home and toward the school she found it hard to contain her joy.

         She stared out the window, watched the morning activities of the neighborhood roll past her though in truth she barely saw them for all of the thoughts of the day before her which crowded themselves loudly into her anxious mind.  She watched a man in a bathrobe chasing after a dog which clutched a newspaper in its mouth, saw a large moving van parked at the old Hanley place (it had been empty for months and even the now yellowed “FOR SALE” sign out front had begun to look rather dubious about the chances of it ever being sold), saw a jogger pass by on the other side of the road, raising his hand in a polite wave as he did so.  She saw these things, but payed them little attention, and before she knew it she found herself kissing her grandfather on the cheek and skipping into the familiar building which seemed to welcome her with its open doors, promising her an exciting new year of school.

         Grace tried to control her skipping in the hallways, as it was against the rules, but so great was her joy that she found it all but impossible, her legs seeming to pulse with a need to express her mind’s gladness.  She was thrilled to have the summer at an end – not that she disliked summer break (far from it!) but as it the habit of most children she found that she longed all the school year for summer then longed all summer for the school year.  Inexplicable, perhaps, but common nevertheless.

         “Hello, Mrs. Wiley!” she exclaimed as she rounded a corner and found herself face to waist with her teacher from the previous year.

         “Well, look who it is,” responded Mrs. Wiley, smiling down at her warmly.  “Grace Sullers!  How was your vacation, dear?”  The gentle wrinkles at the corners of her eyes huddled together as she spoke.

         “I got a frog and I named her Mrs. Wiley, after you, cause you’re my favorite teacher ever.  I wasn’t really sure if it was a boy or a girl, but I figured it doesn’t matter much with frogs.” 

         The teacher’s eyes widened in momentary surprise.  “Oh,” she managed to say.

         “It was run over by my grandpa’s lawnmower, though.  We had a funeral and everything, and I wanted to invite you since she was named after you and all, but my grandma said you were probably already there in spirit so it wasn’t really necessary.”

         “Yes, well,” said Mrs. Wiley.  “I see the break hasn’t slowed your tongue at any rate.”  Her eyes flicked down the hallway in a manner that, had she been a bit older, Grace would have recognized as a clear sign she was seeking some manner of escape.  “Thank you for thinking of me though, dear.  As relates to the funeral invitation, that is.”  She looked down at her watch.  “I’d better be going.”

         “Goodbye,” Grace chirped.

         “Yes, goodbye,” said Mrs. Wiley and they headed in separate directions down the hallway.

         The familiar faces of many of her old classmates greeted her as she pulled open the large, wooden door leading to her new classroom.  There was Lilly Mills, the freckle-faced girl who had thrown up all over the gym floor the year before; Sarah Winn, nicknamed Sarah Wind (a rather large girl who, on more than a few occasions, had let go very loud bursts of gas in the middle of a lesson and seemed not the least ashamed after having done so); Tyler Adams, the shortest kid in the class, and the most defiant (he had his ear pierced already and a slicked-back, greasy hairstyle like a tough from the 50’s); Brandon Styles, the irritating little boy who had stood behind Grace whenever they were forced to walk single-file and yank at her ponytail when Mrs. Wiley had her attention elsewhere.  There were a few missing as well.  Cindy Wateres she could account for as she’d learned over the summer that Cindy’s parents were moving to Montana and, as it goes with children, they would be taking Cindy along with them.  Travis McMahan was missing as well, though Grace was filled in on the matter soon after taking her seat.  It seemed Travis’ mother had requested that he be placed in Mr. Small’s class, who taught the alternate class and was widely held to be quite cool.  The request was granted without hesitation, of course.  Mrs. McMahan was head of the PTA or some such thing.  Lastly, as she looked about the room, Grace was unable to find Logan Finnigan, the small, red headed boy who always acted so shy around her.  She had sat next to him for the entire year in Mrs. Wiley’s class and had grown to like him – as much as it was possible to like a boy, anyway.  She asked around but no one else seemed to know anymore about his absence than she did.

         The door opened and in walked a tall, sour-faced woman in a loose fitting grey dress.  Her hair was pulled so tightly into a bun that the skin upon her face seemed as though it was trying with all its might to wrap all the way around to the back of her head.  A pair of thick, black glasses were perched low on her bony nose.

         Several students groaned as she entered.

         “Enough of that,” she said curtly, throwing a cold stare around the room.  “You will have an entire year to complain, children.  I trust most of you know who I am.  I believe I’ve had the opportunity for playing hostess for one or two of you in your visits to detention.”  This, it seemed to Grace, was spoken with emphasis as her gaze passed over Brandon Styles (who, for his part, appeared to be trying very hard to sink low enough in his chair as to escape her attention).  “For those of you who are not familiar with me, however, my name is Miss Scraggs, which you can see I have printed here clearly on the blackboard.”  Grace looked at the name “Miss Scraggs” written on the board and decided that “nearly illegible” would have been a much better description of it than “clearly.”          

         “You will have a pop-quiz in a few minutes,” Miss Scraggs continued, a comment which met with a series of surprised gasps, guffaws, groans, and general grunts of disapproval.  She payed these sounds no heed and simply spoke over them.  “However, I’m afraid I have a grim bit of news to deliver to you first.”  At this statement she had the nearest thing to a look of satisfaction upon her face that she had thus far displayed.  “You may all remember Mr. Logan Finnegan, your classmate from last year.”  She tossed a glare to each of them in the room in turn, as though daring them to not remember.  “It seems that two days ago he met with a most unfortunate spill down the steps of his house and will most likely not be with us this year.  He is currently in the hospital and, I’m sorry to say” (was that a smirk Grace saw twisting the woman’s lips ever so slightly?) “in a great deal of pain.”

         Grace, along with the rest of the class, sat stunned at the news and the casual way in which it had been delivered.  Logan was a bit of a runt and far from popular but stutter and often clumsy manner he managed to make people like him, if only in a sympathetic sort of way.

         Grace had little trouble believing that it was that very clumsiness which had cost him his tumble down the stairs.  She imagined him falling, then saw him laying alone in a hospital bed, the sterile surroundings and the beeps and whirs of the machines and monitors only increasing his misery.  “Poor Logan,” she mumbled to herself.

         “However,” Miss Scraggs went on, “young Mr. Finnigan’s absence has opened up a seat in this quite full class and has allowed a new student to join us.  I’d like to introduce you all to Belladonna Simeon.”  She gestured toward the back of the classroom where there sat a girl that Grace had somehow managed to overlook when she entered the room.  The girl was tall, her hair as black as a starless night sky.  Her skin was a drained, pale white, like porcelain, and her eyes, a bright, emerald green, seemed to nearly glow in comparison. 

         The girl smiled a nervous smile at the many faces suddenly turned upon her and said in a somewhat musical voice, “People call me Bell.”  Her speech, to everyone’s surprise, contained a very clear, unmasked English accent.

         “Yes, well, Belladonna,” – Miss Scraggs said the name pointedly, as though to make clear to all present her utter contempt at the very concept of nicknames – “has just recently arrived here from England and I am sure you will all do your best to make her feel welcome.”  Her tone said she really cared very little for her own admonition, though, and only as she moved on to her next topic did she finally manage to sound even mildly interested in her own words.  “Now if you will all empty your desks of everything save paper and pencil, it is time for your first quiz.”  Her eyes gleamed joyfully behind her glasses.  “And for those of you who may be wondering, yes, this grade will count against you.”  The corner of her mouth twitched in what appeared to be a faulty attempt at a smile.

         And so began the new year.

.