Thief Lane

(Photo: 19th century illustration depicting the hanging of Anne Hibbins, 1656. Inspiration: a silver cup, a family heirloom.)   “Thief!” “Rascal!” “You’re a disgrace!” The words kept hitting me, like a hailstorm as the cart drove slowly up the main street. “You devil!” “Rogue!” “Wretch! What did your parents ever teach you?” The cart jerked into a halt. I looked up, squinting. The platform was only a few feet ahead. The noose was dangling from a wooden frame above it, a lazy serpent basking in the sun. I closed my eyes. Felt another rotten egg hit my shoulder, the soft shell breaking, the filthy, thick, stinking liquid running down my arm. A strong grip closed around my forearm. “Come on you. Last stop before hell”. A raucous laugh. I can’t help the tears running down my cheeks. And suddenly she is in front of me again. The stifling crowd fades into the background. The insults, the cheers are muffled by the wind, her voice.   “Dear, Dear Anne, I c...

The two people walked down the long, dark tunnel connecting the underworld of the dead to the land of the living up above. The man led the way several steps in front, while the woman followed slowly behind, out of sight. "Don't look back," Hades had told him. "No matter what happens, don't turn around to look at her." So he didn't. He walked on, carefully placing one foot after another with gritted teeth, each step like agony as he only heard the sound of his own footfalls, and nothing of her. An oppressive silence was the only response to the loudness of his footsteps, seeming more and more like a taunt as he walked. His mind turned paranoid and began to play tricks on him. Had he been fooled, and was simply walking in solitude, further and further away from his one true love? It was so, so tempting to turn and look. Or just take a little peek, out of the corner of his eye. Hades hadn't said he couldn't do that , right? How long had it been alre...

  A is for Aconite, B for Belladonna, C for Cyanide and D for Datura she recited, her brows furrowed as she pressed the pestle rhythmically, grinding the leaves harder. The air was saturated with the essence of cloves and cinnamon and saffron. Hiding the taste and smell of poison from her concoctions was the first lesson she was ever taught. A slight smile tugged at her lips as the memory hit her. O is for Opium, P is for Phosphorus. She could still see Morgan and her workshop, crowded with books, bottles and alembics. As rainbow liquids bubbled and stirred, she had sat quietly, her lanky legs dangling from a high stool in the corner of the room. ‘Never let them suspect it. Spices are your friends. They will conceal all that you cannot’, Morgan had said to her. She had been so young then, she had only looked down, avoiding the piercing green gaze of her teacher. S is for Strychnine, T is for Thallium. She sighs an ancient sigh. How many years ago was this? One thousand? ...

The Beast was breaching the entrance to the kingdom. By the time the kingdom’s Guardian detected the intrusion, it was too late to barricade the way and prevent the Beast’s advance. The Beast had been stealthy, sneaky, and cunning – slipping past all the scouts and rangers and guards, slipping right through the very gateway that led straight to the heart of the kingdom. The threat had suddenly become too real, too close. The Guardian was shocked at how easily it had happened. Doubtless, there was magic at play here. We didn’t anticipate this , he lamented to himself, and now we’ve been caught unawares. We failed to prepare for this. Nevertheless, the Guardian regained his composure quickly and readied himself to meet the Beast. A grim determination stole over him, replacing all the panic and the worry. This was his duty, his calling. It was what he’d been training for his whole life. He would stand fast and would not abandon his post. Would not allow the Beast to advance any further an...