MYTHICAL MAGICAL MYSTERIOUS
5 Short Stories
by Nicole Sheldrake
Published by Nicole Sheldrake at
Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Nicole Sheldrake
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Little Red of the Riding 'Hood
The most famous Gorgon was Medusa. Any human who looked upon Medusa's face or either of her sisters' would be turned to stone.
Not many people know about the fourth Gorgon sister. Their mother, Ceto the sea monster, had dallied with an alluring stranger while Phorcys her sea god husband was away in the Pacific Ocean. When Phorcys saw the blue-veined, red-haired product of the dalliance, he screamed with rage and forced Ceto to swear that upon reaching her sixteenth birthday, the bastard would leave Greece forever.
***
The day before Zola's sixteenth birthday, her sisters, Medusa, Stheno, and Euryale, surrounded her as she read a book in the garden outside their home in Vlorë.
“You're going away tomorrow. No one's going to notice,” Medusa taunted. “No one cares about a girl who can turn people to...”
“Cheese!” Stheno and Euryale shouted, pinching Zola's shoulders.
Zola sighed and focused on the pages.
“Where are you going to go, little half-sister?” Medusa's snakes hissed and spat at Zola.
“What do you care?” Zola asked.
“Maybe we'll visit. You'll miss us,” Medusa said and glanced at the other two, who cackled along with her.
Zola banged her book shut. In one lithe movement, she rose from the grass and glared at her sisters. “What I am going to find, none of you will ever possess.” She strolled back to the house, their scornful laughter fading behind her.
***
Zola was gone before most of her family awoke. Her blue travelling headdress, made to prevent humans from turning to stone when they saw her face, had been ready for weeks.
Ceto gave her a ride across the Adriatic Sea to Italy. On Italy's shore, Zola threw her arms around her mother's terrifying, fanged head in a farewell embrace.
She was finally free to start her new life here: get a job like mortals, make friends, have a home with a garden; her dreams carried her feet over miles of shoreline. Rounding a peninsula, she saw a city blazing with activity and people: Brindisi. Her heart leapt.
As Zola explored the city, many people stared, gaping at her headdress and whispering behind their hands. She tramped through markets, past cafés, up streets selling beautiful jewellery, down avenues filled with performers. She stuck out from these city folk like an exotic dancer in a monastery. When she approached a stall or shop, the owners and customers backed away, pretending not to understand her Italian. She felt alone and despondent. How would she get a job or make friends if no one would talk to her?
To hide from unfriendly eyes, she darted into a forested park. On a bench sat an old man, both hands and his chin piled on the end of a cane sticking straight up from the ground. Both eyes were closed. She crept past him and sat herself down at the other end of the bench.
“Good afternoon,” said the old man.
Zola started. How had he heard her? He smiled, eyes still closed, as though he could feel her gaze.
“My ears are very keen. What brings such a young woman out to the forest?”
Someone to talk to! Stories gushed from her mouth until she was blue in the face: her sisters, her solitary life in Vlorë, her mother and father, her exile, her dreams, and finally, the disappointment she had felt in Brandisi.
“I never would've guessed the Gorgons had another sister. Not that it matters to me.” He turned his face towards her and opened his eyelids. Instead of eyeballs, the old man had gaping black holes. “You're obviously different from your sisters. Meet me here tomorrow and I'll see what I can do to help you.”
***
When Zola returned the next day, the old man was sitting next to a policeman. For a moment, her heart stopped. Maybe he had brought the policeman to throw her out of the city. But he had listened to her so sympathetically and compassionately that she decided to trust him. The old man heard her first and waved.