Dear Alan,
Thank you for letting us read “The Tomb of Ashcroft Manor”. After careful consideration, we’ve decided we won’t be able to use it in The First Line.
...
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Fun story, Alan, and the writing was tight. We just had a lot of uncovered keys in the submissions. Try us again.
Like I said, definitely the nicest rejection letter I ever expected to get and it's probably for that reason that it took me so long to post the story (since they ask everyone to wait until the magazine is printed before using your submitted stories). If you're curious about the winners or even feel like entering yourself, check out
The First Line. But, as promised, here is my rejected work and hopefully I'll get started on something else, eventually.
The Tomb of
Ashcroft Manor
Carlos discovered a key under a
pile of shoes in the back of his grandmother’s closet. It didn’t look
impressive or special but Carlos knew it was. After all, in certain magic clans
keys were just as significant as wands or pointy hats. And, he thought, if this
was The Key, it may be the second
most valuable item in all of Ashcroft Manor.
“Did you find anything else?”
Behind him, Sarah meticulously ransacked their late grandmother’s belongings
with all the grace and tact of a rampaging bull, tossing shelves and
overturning dressers with simple flicks of her wand. Their grandmother managed
to amass quite a collection in the nearly two centuries before she passed.
Quickly, Carlos pocketed the key.
“Just another spell-cutter,” he said as he instead flashed his own enchanted
knife, hoping she wouldn’t recognize it. Grandmother, or Lady Ashcroft as she
was formally known to the rest of the families under the House of Ash name, was
known to always carry a spell-cutter similar to the one he held. He hoped it
would pass as just another trinket.
Without warning, Sarah swung her
wand like a fisherman casting a line as the air between the siblings heated up.
A green ball of light appeared and raced across the room toward Carlos.
Reacting, he forced some of his own magic into the spell-cutter and swept it through
the air. The blade collided with the green orb and, with a flash, it vanished
and returned the room to its original, crisp wintery climate.
Sarah already turned her back to
Carlos by the time he cut through her spell. “Add it to the collection,” she
said, motioning to the bed where they put the rest of their mutually acquired
magic tools, “but remember we’re here for the Grimrose.”
Instead, Carlos tucked the knife back
into his belt and headed toward the rear of the closet. Ever since they were
small, Sarah liked to be the one in charge even if he was the older one. He
figured it was because grandmother gave her a wand and laughed at the idea of
giving one to him, someone who shared their name but not their blood. She liked
to say he was only an Ashcroft in name and would never be a true Ashcroft. This
was probably the reason he didn’t have a problem raiding her things before the
family even put her body in the ground. After all, Lady Ashcroft’s will, in
just two words, specified exactly how she wanted all her magic tools divided –
Finder’s Keepers.
The closet, like the house
itself, was much bigger than it seemed from the outside. A simple spell made
the closet the size of a small room much as it turned grandmother’s ranch-style
home into a three-story mansion. Ducking behind several old dressers in the
back of the dusty closet, Carlos pulled the key from his pocket. Holding it
carefully in his palm, he began to channel magic into the key.
Everyone knew that Lady Ashcroft
never locked her doors, claiming that anyone who broke into her house did so of
their own free will and she would punish that poor soul accordingly. However,
only a handful knew the truth – that she never locked her doors because she
lost the key within a week of moving into Ashcroft Manor.
Carlos unleashed the energy he
poured into the key, hoping it would guide him to the lock it opened. Instead,
the magic rebounded from every direction and tossed him into the wall. He smiled.
It rebounded from everywhere. The key
literally told him that it went with every lock in the house. Carlos
practically skipped out of the closet as an elated voice called to him. “You’re
a true Ashcroft now. You’re just like us,” it said, the voice old and familiar.
But it didn’t matter to him. He now controlled Ashcroft Manor!
Sarah gave Carlos just enough
time to close the closet door before she slammed him into it. With ropes of
pure magic, she lifted him to his feet. Extending a hand, she said just four
words. “Give me the key.”
Before he could even sneer in
Sarah’s direction, the ropes shoved him into the door again. And again. And
again. Magic filled the air. It was literally crackling with it as Carlos’ hair
rose and tugged at their roots. It buzzed and hummed at such deafening decibels
that he could barely form a thought. It burned his lungs just to breathe. It
was more energy than Sarah ever released before. In his confusion, Carlos
caught a glimpse of Sarah’s wand … still tucked in the belt around her waist.
In her hand she held another wand. The Grimrose wand.
Eleven and seven-sixteenths
inches from end to pointed tip with an ever-so-slight bend where the leather-wrapped
grip finished. Thirteen thorns scattered themselves along the Grimrose, each
barely visible to the naked eye yet sharp enough to poke out said eye if it
ever got too close. Lady Ashcroft forced a prophet to carve the final fourteen
days of humanity into the shaft with only the finest of diamond-tipped needles
before allowing him to fall into the madness from what he saw. He couldn’t
mistake it for anything other than The Grimrose wand. In his dreams, he’d hold
it, make it his own. But Sarah found it first.
“One more time.” Sarah’s voice
jolted him back to reality. “Give me the key, Carlos.” The energy in the room
crackled as she pronounced each syllable. The ropes tightened just enough to
let him know that at anytime they could sever a limb or three.
The key in his pocket took on a
subconscious weight, a pressure to remind Carlos that he just needed to give it
to Sarah to make it all stop. Still, he tried to struggle free, his body
straining against the ropes, his spirit against her newfound magic. He just got
the key. Just got power and he wasn’t ready to give it up yet. Their eyes met
and Carlos hoped the anger on his face gave Sarah her answer. And, just to make
it clear, he launched a spit wad at her face, only to watch his saliva salvo
splat harmlessly on Sarah’s magical barrier, six inches from its target.
She didn’t say anything. She
didn’t recoil from his tiny act of rebellion. She didn’t even make one of her
famous mocking retorts. Any of these would’ve given Carlos the split second he
needed to brace himself. Instead, she responded only with a flick of the wand.
Simultaneously, the ropes lifted Carlos high into the vaulted ceiling. Then
slammed him hard to the stone floor. Then back to the ceiling. Then the floor.
Ceiling. Floor. Ceiling. Floor. Something broke, Carlos knew. Probably a rib.
He would’ve heard it snap had it not been for the buzzing noise still emitting
from all the magic Sarah was releasing.
The ropes disappeared and Carlos
felt the pressure in the air build as Sarah stooped over him, picking the key
from his pocket. “I am the new head of the House of Ash,” she said, taking a
seat on the bed as Carlos struggled to his knees. She held both the wand and
the key in her hands like trophies, admiring them as she spoke. “You know, they
never saw me as a threat for the throne. Always just as the youngest of the grandchildren.”
She went on about her newly acquired power and respect but Carlos wasn’t listening.
She’d taken from him. He could stand;
he just needed the right moment. Physically, he was still stronger. Plus, he
still possessed a lot of his own magic. Sarah, however, had been expelling hers
like a leaky faucet, magical energy dripping from her even while she sat idle.
He could take it all back, and more.
Sarah stood and moved to the
door. “Now to give the family a glimpse of their new leader.”
Carlos lunged forward. Sarah
froze, startled. Carlos surprised even himself at how quickly he moved. He
pushed Sarah onto the bed and pulled the spell-cutter from his belt. Sarah
raised Grimrose. This was his only chance. The air between them sizzled as
Sarah started to summon a barrier between them. Carlos fueled the spell-cutter
with as much magic as he could quickly find and forced the blade through the
barrier and into Sarah’s chest, burying it to the hilt.
Leaving the knife, he gathered
his original prize – the key to Ashcroft Manor. Just by touching it he saw and
felt every square inch of the house: the location of every magic tool, the
breeze as it circulated from room to room, which floorboards creaked. He was
everywhere. Most important, he could hear doors open and close as his relatives
poured into the house, searching for the power that was already his. Power
they’d never take.
A whisper caught his ear and as
he focused, it grew louder. Like a warm embrace, it welcomed him into the
house, into the family. Repeating, over and over, “You’re a true Ashcroft now.
You’re just like us.” Carlos smiled. “You’re a true Ashcroft now.” The head of
the House of Ash, he thought, correcting the voice. “You’re just like us,” it
whispered back.
That’s when he remembered the
wand. It lay right where he left it, in Sarah’s now cold, stiff hand. He knew
her body lay still yet he couldn’t help but imagine a stirring on the bed.
Moving closer, he saw he was wrong – the body was moving. Half the knife blade
now stood visible as if Sarah’s body collapsed in on itself. Even the blood
flowed in unnatural streams along the bed, making its way toward the wand.
The wand! Grimrose fed to grow
stronger and it would take all it wanted from Sarah until only a husk remained.
Carlos looked at Sarah’s sunken face and her expression was clear – she wanted
power, but she’d never murder her own brother for it. “You’re a true Ashcroft
now,” the voice repeated, stronger than before. It was whimsical, laughing,
familiar. It was Grandmother Ashcroft’s voice.
And now he saw what his
grandmother had seen in him. Saw what he would do for power. He was just like them.
Before the blood touched the
wand, Carlos picked it out of Sarah’s withered grip. The thorns dug into his
skin with just the slightest touch. He felt a coldness from the wand as he
raised it into the air, hatred as if the wand knew exactly what he was about to
do. A roar filled the room as Carlos pushed his physically-exerted muscles to
their limits to snap the piece of wood in half.
He heard his grandmother’s voice
one last time as he tossed the two pieces to opposite ends of the room.
Faintly, it whispered, “You’re just like us.” Us. The word echoed through
Carlos’ mind. Us. He’d forgotten about his relatives, now swarming Ashcroft
Manor like ants, all looking to claim power in any way and form they could find
it.
“Perhaps this is the true
Ashcroft legacy,” Carlos said to himself as he channeled all his remaining
magical energies into the key. As it glowed brighter than anything he’d ever
laid eyes on before, Carlos turned the key. Grandmother Ashcroft’s bedroom door
slammed shut, as did the other fifty-two doors in Ashcroft Manor, with
deadbolts and magical wards locking them tight. Then he took a seat on the bed
next to Sarah. He was a true Ashcroft now, trapped in this living tomb like the
rest of them.
