A great flash of light lit the small, empty room; casting an eerie green glow on the two boy’s faces; huddled in a dark stone-walled room devoid of any other light. They marveled at the wondrous sight before them. A small ballerina crafted of ice dancing in the shorter boy’s open palm. Its’ smooth crystalline figure twirled and slid across his hand silently among their giggles.
The taller boy smiled at the figurine and held his hand out. The other boy passed it on; the figure didn’t slow at all, and watched as his friend gazed at its surface.
“It’s cold,” He laughed, his young voice chirping. The shorter boy chuckled and stared down at the source of the wonder.
“What do you think it is?” He asked his friend as the ballerina was laid on the stone floor to dance around them in a great, sweeping figure-eight.
The boys leaned closer to the empty barrel that sat alone in the center of the abandoned classroom. Its surface was ordinary wood like any other, stamped with “Tramp’s Trash” on its side; but instead of finding blankets, rugs or quills, it was a small golden ring engraved in swirly writings and shimmery like the noon sun in its bowels. But it was the magnificent stone embedded in its face that caught their eye.
A great gem of the deepest emerald stared up at them, dancing in the light it emanated; not a single flaw or scratch to be found on its perfect surface. The stone was perfectly round and bowed up from the ring like a bubble on water’s surface. The shorter boy bit his lip and tried to grab the ring but couldn’t reach.
“Could you—“He began, but the other boy was already half hidden within the barrel, scrounging for it.
“Got it!” He exclaimed and held the ring close. His eyes grew wide as he surveyed it up close. “It’s surprisingly heavy, Dalton.”
The shorter boy shrugged and smiled, standing on his tip toes to see it better.
“Lemme’ see it, Raymon, come on,” Dalton whined in his nasally voice. He threw his arms out and collapsed to the ground and began stomping his heels against the floor. “I found it.” He added, growing louder with every word.
“Shh!”
Raymon dropped low and leaned against the wall nearest him, listening for footsteps. He peaked through the heavy oak door and into the dark halls. Several tense moments passed in silence aside from the pounding of his heart in his ears. He closed it again and peered up through the window, nose on the windowsill and sighed a breath of relief.
“Here,” He tossed the ring to Dalton and sat back down. “Just be quiet alright? I don’t wanna’ get caught again.”
Dalton nodded and began to study the ring closely. His eyes absorbed the ring’s every detail, raking in its’ curves and illuminescent glow. He held it close to his chest just below his chin to look at it without interference from the outside being in the view. His fingers rubbed around the smooth gold like water and he too noticed the weight behind it.
“Well?” Raymon asked him.
“Well what?” Dalton replied several moments later.
Raymon rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Give it back.”
Instantly Dalton jumped to his feet and held the ring behind his back. His fingers clutched to it desperately like something he needed to protect.
“No, it’s..it’s special to me!”
“Special? We just found it.” Raymon stood and held his arm out expectantly.
“I won’t give it to you, I won’t.” Dalton refused stubbornly and jutted out his bottom lip. He spread his feet in a defensive posture and made small, fat fists in the air in front of him. Raymon took a step forward and Dalton swung, much too far away, and the ring fell from his sweaty grip.
It rolled across the floor to Raymon who as he bent to pick it up was bowled over by a diving Dalton. They fell in a heap and scrambled about wildly. Dalton used his weight to hold down the lighter boy and struggled to get the ring out from under him. Raymon however didn’t have the ring anymore and saw it sitting just a few feet away beside the barrel.
“Get off me, you brat!” He hissed and squirmed beneath Dalton’s backside.
“Gimme’ the ring first!” Dalton retorted.
“I can’t get to it with you on me,” Raymon whispered, afraid someone would hear them. He gasped as Dalton rolled off him and rubbed the sore spot on his knee where he had fallen. Then in the blink of an eye, he sprang for the ring.
“What’re you—“ Dalton began then caught on and went after him in a flurry of clawing and grasping at his hair.
Raymon was inches from the ring, his fingertips clawed at it like a spider but could reach no further. He held his breath and stretched as far as he could as Dalton wildly attacked him as young children do, and ignored the boy’s pleading. All he wanted was the ring.
The ballerina skated by and in perhaps the most unlucky occurrence in history, hit the ring and tripped, sliding over it and casting the ring several feet away near the barrel. Dalton leaped up and dived once again for the ring and caught it in his pudgy hands, laughing loudly as he collided into the barrel and knocked it over with a loud, reverberating clunk.
“Ooh, now you’ve done it,” Whispered Raymon as he jumped to his feet.
“Whadda’ we do?” Dalton panicked and shrieked, being the younger of the two. His great round eyes like saucers shook as he darted to and fro for somewhere to hide. He tripped over the rolling barrel and sniffled as the door opened, hitting Raymon as he tried to hide behind it.
A tall figure stepped in slowly, great long, flowing robes of cerulean waving without breeze. Two pointed moccasins were inches from Raymon’s face and smelled strongly of licorice. He looked up to see an elderly man with a short-trimmed beard of salt and pepper, graying around the edges mostly, and bright purple eyes. His face was weathered and wrinkled beyond reason and his hair or lack thereof was hidden beneath a cone-shaped sleeping cap lying lazily on his shoulder.
His raspy voice was deep and echoed easily like a river or waterfall, words easily flowing and taking control of the current of the conversation.
“What have we here? One, no two--” He noticed Dalton lying half beneath the barrel with hands covering his eyes. “--students out of bed. Well now, I’m sure there is an explanation?”
Raymon and Dalton cast sidelong glances at each other and gulped in unison.
“We..we were..uhh..” Dalton began but was cut short by Raymon.
“We had to go and thought this was another bathroom.” He said quickly.
The old man smiled a crooked smile.
“Now, what would you give you that idea my dear boy?”
Raymon swallowed hard and looked back to Dalton who was beginning to shake. Raymon shrugged and realizing he was still on the floor stood, the other boy following suit.
“I suppose I shall have to inform your teachers—“
“Oh no!” Dalton interrupted and began to cry.
“—That we should better mark our doors to make them more legible to younger students.” He finished.
The boys stared at him, Dalton’s tears already dried up, and smiled sheepishly.
“Thank you mister..mister..?” Raymon asked shyly.
“Professor Bouregard, of Alchemy,” He grinned. “Now how about you two get off to bed hm? Go on, now, there’s a good lad.”
The boys left immediately and took off as quickly and quietly as they could down the dark halls, turning left then right, then up a staircase past a statue of a griffin and into their bedroom.
They each lay down and breathing fast, gulped down as much air as their lungs could take.
“That was close,” Piped up Raymon from his bed across from Dalton’s. “Hope we don’t have to go through that again. Night.”
But Dalton wasn’t listening; his back was turned to the others beneath his blankets. His mind drifted as he stared solely at the ring in his hand. Its’ green glow muffled by his chest, he slept soundly and dreamed of great wealth and fortune flowing into his kingdom as he shook the skies with great bolts of lightning from his right fist. An emerald glow lit his vision suddenly and a great burning past through him, shaking from his sleep.
He sat up to find the sun just beginning to rise through his window, the room full of snoring and even breaths. Dalton shook his head and laid his head back down on his pillow atop his hands and froze.
“I don’t remember..” He said as he stared down at the ring upon his right ring finger. But the morning was young and he soon drifted back to sleep, not noticing the ice ballerina skate to his bedside then melt as he closed his fist beneath his pillow.
* * *
Professor Bouregard lifted the barrel right ways up and turned to leave when a thought struck him. He spun on his heel and stared down into the barrel.
“It couldn’t have been.” He mouthed silently, horror struck. He gasped for words but found none. None worthy of the insurmountable fear that gripped his heart.
“The ring..no no no..my ring. It’s…gone.” He clutched at his chest and fell sideways to the wall to support himself which gave way beneath his weight. His arms passed through the wall like sand and began to pull him deeper into the stone. He cried out frantic, and waved his other arm sporadically and pulled against it as his head passed into the rock. He struggled down to his last finger extruding from the wall but was fully consumed, no sign or evidence he had ever been there nor the wall’s actions.
Lucas Black of Down the Lane
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