This was not Jane and Catie's first experience with baking. As toddlers, they trained with their toy ovens, making plastic cookies and cakes-always adding gummy worms and chocolate bugs to their sweets of course- then in helping their mom make muffins in their real oven in their real kitchen. But this was slightly different from what they had made back home. The basic accouterments of pie baking was there (crust, dough, sugar) but with a little bit of magic thrown in. A few dashes of banshee powder here, a teaspoon of goblin honey there and presto! Black apple pie was ready to be served!
"But, Mrs. Macabre," Catie asked before digging in, "if these are from nightmare trees, won't they, you know. . . . give us nightmares?"
"Oh, goodness no!" Mrs. Macabre said as she cut through her own slice, juicy blackness oozed out of it. "Magic is not inherently good or bad, Catherine. Magic is just magic. It's how you use it that makes it light or dark. Case in point, this pie was made with certain magical ingredients with the purpose of making it delicious. Therefore, it shall be delicious."
"Or we hope it will," Elvira said, sniffing her slice in her bowl.
"Hush," the witch shot back, but they all laughed.
The pie was indeed delicious. To the Gracey twins, it had tasted sweeter than any pie that they had ever eaten. Instead of filling their heads with fear, it filled them with delight and joy. Mrs. Macabre ate hers with great precision and grace, as if she had been taught to eat that way by a fancy tutor. Elvira ate hers gingerly, but very clearly enjoyed it, while Jack wasn't able to move his mouth, but shoved it through the carving that formed his smile. The candle inside would burn the food away with every serving and he made mmmm sounds all throughout their meal.
"I'm stuffed," Catie sighed, pushing her empty plate away and leaning on the back of her chair.
"Same," Jane repeated her sister's actions. "I wish Mom and Dad would make pie like that."
"You don't have black apple pie in your world?" Jack asked, he was still having difficulty understanding that they had never seen a talking scarecrow before, either.
"No," Catie answered, "our parents make blueberry or lemon pie. They're so boring. So. . . "
"Normal," Jane sighed.
"One person's normal is another person's strange," Mrs. Macabre said.
"But they don't understand us," Catie groaned and her sister nodded.
"Do they make fun of you like the other children at school?"
"No," Jane had to think about it for a second. "They just let us be ourselves without asking about it or wanting to be a part of it."
"So they do not try to make you more like them?"
They both shook their heads.
"Then, if they allow you to be yourselves and don't make you feel terrible for being yourselves, then what is the problem? Parents who do not share their children's differences but don't interfere with them are far better than those who try to force their normalness onto them. Normal isn't defined for you, it is defined by you," Mrs. Macabre took one final bite of her pie, as if it were an exclamation mark.
Both Jane and Catie looked at each other, surprised. They had never really considered that perhaps the reason why their parents were so uninterested in what they were interested in was not because they didn't care about them, but because those interests weren't all that interesting to them. In fact, if the shoe was on the other foot, Jane and Catie would surely find whatever their parents were interested in (whether it be cars, fishing, sports, etc) equally as uninteresting. As if a curtain had been lifted from their eyes, the Gracey girls suddenly felt for their parents like they had never before.
"Oh, girls," Elvira said behind them and they both turned. "Do you like libraries?"
Jane gasped, a rush of excitement went through her and she looked at her sister with wide eyes.
"You're going to give her a heart attack," Catie rolled her eyes.
"Then we should hurry!" The cat's tail popped up as did her ears. "Follow me!" She went bounding out of the kitchen.
"Can I come too?" Jack asked, sheepishly.
"Of course you can!" Jane said and offered him a hand. Jack took it and she felt the softness of the straw inside his glove. They both hurried out of the kitchen, the scarecrow flailing about, as if he was caught in a gust of wind.
"Hope you don't get lost!" Mrs. Macabre cried after them.
"We won't!" Jane's voice echoed as they all ran through the foyer. They all stopped at a door underneath the stairs.
"Are you ready?" Elvira asked, building the suspense.
Jane nodded her head vigorously. Elvira jumped up and clung to the door handle with her paw. It swung open with a loud creak. Jane and Catie's mouths dropped opened with amazement at what they saw. Jack's candle grew brighter.
In the room, was not a library at all, but a cathedral of books. Rows upon rows, upon rows of books stood like huge columns in the room. The walls were lined with books, the floors had stacks of books placed here and there, even the ceiling was covered in books as it made a triangular shape upwards. The amount of volumes in the library was overwhelming. There was a sense of awe that you might have upon seeing something as mighty as the coliseum in Rome or the Taj Mahal in India. They stood before the Eighth Wonder of the world.
"What. . . what are all these books?" Jane managed to get out, finally.
"Books of the Hallowland," Elvira said, guiding them through. "We like to read too, you know."
"Has anyone read all of these?" Catie asked.
"Mrs. Macabre's wife did, once," Elvira said in a sad voice and chuckled. "Took her ten of your years to finish them."
"What's this?" Jack asked, picking up a book from the floor. The cover read: The Book of Boos.
"Don't-!" Elvira cried out, but it was too late. Jack had already opened it and an enormous BOOOOOO, roared through the library, echoing on for eternity. Jack immediately shut the book and dropped it on the floor with a bang, making him jump.
"Maybe I should read something lighter," Jack said, shivering.
"Come on, old sport," Elvira cocked her head towards an enormous fire place nearby. "Let them explore," she hopped onto a velvet chair next to the hearth. Jack sat in another, but scooted an inch or two away from the fire.
The two girls went in opposite directions. Jane scanned the nearest shelf to her eye level, not sure which novel to choose. A History of Giant Insects was one, A Vampire's Guide To Cleaning Your Coffin was another. Then, something stuck out to her, a strange book, possibly the strangest that she had ever seen. She pulled it out of the shelf and was stunned to find that the cover of the book was made of a rough almost rock like texture. Upon further inspection she realized that the cover of the book was made out of coral reef. Hard barnacles bulbed out of the spine and traces of seaweed could be found on the edges. The front read: The Encyclopedia Of Sea Monsters and the author's name was Captain Oliver Shagnasty. She opened the book and felt dampness on the tips of her fingers as she looked through the pages. The strong scent of salt water filled the air and she could've sworn that she could hear the faint sound of crashing waves as she flipped through portraits of creatures from A-Z that had gills and all manner of briny biology. She wondered if the monster from the Swamp Room was in the book, then octopus tentacles grew from the sides of the encyclopedia. The slimy appendages twisted and turned towards her, suckers popped on the inside of them.
"Ugh!" She cried with disgust and dropped the book. She wiped her hands on her shirt as she watched the book slither across the floor and into the darkness.
"Jane!" Catie, said rushing up to her, "I think you'd like this one!" She was carrying several books under one arm, but held out another to her. It was a large, dark gray tome called Ghosts Of The Hallowland Vol.19 by Harold Haunt.
Jane took the book from Catie and carefully opened it, she breathed out a sigh of relief once it was evident that the book held no sentience to its sentences. As she turned each page, she smiled at the gallery of ghosts that Mr. Haunt had painted. Some were comical, like a ghost of a burnt up man smoking a cigarette called The Man Who Couldn't Quit, others were strangely beautiful like the one of two ghosts kissing in a sinking boat on a lake titled The Drowning Lovers. But, as soon as she flipped to the next page, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
The painting that was looking back at her was of the bride. She had appeared just as she had in her nightmare and the other moments she had seen her outside: clad in a jet black wedding dress with a veil covering her face, oil dark skeleton hands holding her shoulders as if she were trying to comfort herself. She did not stand, but seemed to float in mid-air, her dress covering her feet in jagged shapes like bat wings. Above her was the title: The Weeping Widow.
"What's wrong?" Catie asked, concerned.
"Elvira," Jane said, moving past Catie, "who's this?" She held up the book to the cat.
Elvira stared at it for a moment, then her eyes grew wide. "That's nothing," she said quickly, "just another ghost."
"Who. Is this?" She repeated, more sternly.
"Very well," Elvira sighed. "I'm going to get in so much trouble for this," she looked behind her then back to the twins. "There are many ghosts in the Hallowland, as you can see. Some are friendly, some are dangerous. But none are as dark as the Weeping Widow. No one knows who she truly was, but legend has it that in life, she was the most kind woman with the most beautiful soul in all the land. Together, her and her partner shared their love for one another with the Hallowland. A love that could move mountains and turn the tides of the sea. A love that could last for all eternity. But then, one day, she lost her beloved. Overcome with loss and grief, the woman grew wild with rage, spreading her anger, committing horrible acts where ever she went. Her anguish consumed her and she became the Widow, a specter of sorrow and despair. Those who have seen her, like the author of that book," she gestured her head towards it, " are lucky to be alive. She is a black hole to all who meet her, sucking them in to her dark pit of self-loathing."
Jane felt a chill go up her spine, she had felt a sense of unease and sadness when the Widow had appeared to her, but it was deep within her, like an itch in the back of her mind. "What-" she cleared her throat, "what did she do?"
"I'm sorry?" Elvira asked.
"You said she did terrible things. Like what?"
"I believe the children have heard enough ghost stories for tonight," Mrs. Macabre said from behind them, they all turned in surprise. She was standing several feet away from them, how she was able to get so close without making a sound was beyond them. She was lit half way between the firelight and the shadows of the library, making her bone-white skin glow red-orange.
"I agree," Jack said, immediately standing up from his chair. "This is becoming far too frightening for me. I hope I don't have nightmares."
"I'm sure you won't, my dear Mr. Lantern," Mrs. Macabre gave a small smile. "Come along girls, we have an important day ahead of us tomorrow," she turned and walked away.
Elvira got down from her chair and followed the witch. As she walked, she gave a glance to Jane as if to say that this was their secret to keep. She nodded back.
"Come on, you," Catie said, covering a yawn with one of her books, "I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to read these!"
Jane went back to the book shelf, and not knowing where to put it, placed it on top of some stacked books quickly, as if it was going to bite her. She hoped that she would never see that book or the Widow again.