Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Fairy Tale / Folk Tale
- Published: 04/24/2021
The Raven Brothers
Born 2003, F, from Pennsylvania, United StatesIt was raining the night she found us, the kind of rain that sends shivers down your spine and makes your fingers shake so badly that you can barely stir a bowl of steaming soup when you come inside to get warm.
I was the first to see her; though her pale face blended in with the swirling silver storm, her vivid, shockingly blue eyes seemed to glow.
I tried to scream, to run, but the sound stuck in my throat, and my feet refused to move.
I remembered my dress washed in sugar water so bees would swarm after me, my oldest brother falling down the stairs for no apparent reason when she walked by, my younger brother breaking his tooth on a rock baked into his bread.
My father’s white face, his bloodshot eyes staring at nothing as we lowered him into the ground.
And she, our stepmother, was responsible for it all, even if our father had been too enchanted by her beauty—her deadly grace—to notice.
The sight of a ball of yarn in her hands, such a pure white the snow would have been jealous, finally freed me from the paralyzing fear. I dropped the pail of milk I’d been carrying, the rain quickly washing away any trace of the white cream, and I ran towards the tiny gray cottage, away from her.
I threw the door open and stood in the doorway for a moment, swaying slightly as I tried to catch my breath.
My three older brothers all paused their game of cards to look at me with furrowed brows and concerned squinting gazes. The light from the fireplace behind them made their bright orange hair shine. The smell of smoke and warm bread attempted to soothe my fraying nerves, but the panic was too great, too near, and I was far past the point of calming down.
“Emmaline’s found us,” I said finally, panting as I leaned against the heavy oak table. I shook, partly from the frigid rain I’d just come out of, but mostly from my fear of seeing her.
“How?” Jenson— the oldest of my brothers—demanded, abandoning the cards as he stood and grabbed a gleaming knife off the kitchen counter. “I thought nobody knew this place even existed but us!?”
We’d been hiding in our mother’s old house for the past year, hiding from Emmaline.
“She’s got Mother’s yarn,” I explained, and all three boys blanched, Jenson’s knife quivering slightly in his grip. Our mother’s yarn was magic, an heirloom passed from mother to daughter for centuries. It should have been mine, but we hadn’t had time to take it when we fled from Emmaline. It could track anyone down, and nobody really knew what kind of powers it had when you knitted something out of it.
And Emmaline had it.
“Avery,” Jenson said, pointing at me, stubborn steel reflecting in his pale green eyes. “Go get the younger boys and bring them out to the stables. We’ll get the horses saddled.”
They all left, running through the back door, into the rain. I didn’t bother telling them that Emmaline was already there, that—as long as she had the yarn—she’d be able to find us, no matter where we hid. They knew it just as well as I did, but we couldn’t do nothing, just waiting here for her to kill us.
I dashed through the rain, the sensation of icy daggers stabbing at my back eventually becoming numb in the cold; until I came to the red barn my three younger brothers were playing in.
“Bennett!” I called once I got inside. I climbed the rickety ladder to the loft as fast as I dared, afraid my soaked shoes might slip. “Carter, Gabriel! Get down here, now!”
Three ginger heads peered down at me, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity. “Hurry,” I said as they climbed down after me, almost slipping on the hay that lined the floor as they hopped off the bottom rung. “Emmaline’s found us.”
Before true horror could register on their faces, the barn doors crashed open, a flash of lightning silhouetting the lone figure who stood in the doorway. Behind her, three large black birds circled, and I swore their cawing sounded like my brothers calling my name:
“Avery, Avery, Avery.”
“Avery.” It was Emmaline, and her smug smile, with lips just a shade too red to be natural, made dread sink in my stomach, my breath struggling to find its way to my lungs.
“I always hated you the worst,” she continued, taking a step forward, her hands clutching something white. “You were the only thing your father seemed to love more than me. It’ll be nice to see you helpless, unable to save your brothers, won’t it?”
I barely had time to notice her hands moving when something soft hit me, and I flinched, my lips growing heavy as I frantically felt around my throat for what she had thrown at me. It was soft, like a cat’s tail wrapped around my neck, and thick enough to make me feel small, like it could crush my throat if it wanted.
Another fluffy thing wrapped itself around my wrists, quickly tightening and making my arms and legs clench until I could barely move. My heart beat wildly as I realized I could hardly make my hands wiggle, and not a sound would come out of my mouth other than my soft, struggling breath. I was mute.
Emmaline then tossed the rest of the white things—scarves, I realized with horror, made from Mother’s yarn—at my little brothers, and as they landed on the boys, they began to glow a bright blue, just like Emmaline’s eyes.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the blinding light, but I felt tears escape, mixing with the raindrops still on my face and filling my mouth—which was opening and closing repeatedly, trying to force a sound out—with salt. When the light finally faded, three glossy ravens stood in my brothers’ places, flapping their wings frantically.
I tried to scream, but the scarf around my throat had tightened until it was like a hot, itchy collar leashing me to Emmaline’s spell forever. Maybe it would crush me after all. But it didn’t, and I wasn’t sure if I had gotten the better end of the bargain or not. My throat didn’t hurt, strangely enough, but it felt empty without a voice, like a book without words.
The second scarf around my wrists was tightening as well, but it was slower than the first one, and I had just enough room to shake it off of me as boiling rage replaced the dread, searing my throat.
Lunging at Emmaline, I bared my teeth in a soundless scream, and she blinked in shock, so surprised that she was unable to defend herself as I knocked her to the ground and snatched the ball of yarn from her hands.
I gave a feral grin as I tied her up with the yarn, which I knew would never break or release her, not if she somehow lived for a thousand years.
I left her in that barn, and never entered it again, abandoning our mother’s house. I cocked my head as I looked at the ball of white yarn sitting in my palm—smaller than I remembered it—and wondered if I could knit more scarves to reverse our enchantments.
But probably not.
My raven brothers followed me away, still calling my name, the name I’d very well never be able to speak for myself again.
The Raven Brothers(Sheridan Greer)
It was raining the night she found us, the kind of rain that sends shivers down your spine and makes your fingers shake so badly that you can barely stir a bowl of steaming soup when you come inside to get warm.
I was the first to see her; though her pale face blended in with the swirling silver storm, her vivid, shockingly blue eyes seemed to glow.
I tried to scream, to run, but the sound stuck in my throat, and my feet refused to move.
I remembered my dress washed in sugar water so bees would swarm after me, my oldest brother falling down the stairs for no apparent reason when she walked by, my younger brother breaking his tooth on a rock baked into his bread.
My father’s white face, his bloodshot eyes staring at nothing as we lowered him into the ground.
And she, our stepmother, was responsible for it all, even if our father had been too enchanted by her beauty—her deadly grace—to notice.
The sight of a ball of yarn in her hands, such a pure white the snow would have been jealous, finally freed me from the paralyzing fear. I dropped the pail of milk I’d been carrying, the rain quickly washing away any trace of the white cream, and I ran towards the tiny gray cottage, away from her.
I threw the door open and stood in the doorway for a moment, swaying slightly as I tried to catch my breath.
My three older brothers all paused their game of cards to look at me with furrowed brows and concerned squinting gazes. The light from the fireplace behind them made their bright orange hair shine. The smell of smoke and warm bread attempted to soothe my fraying nerves, but the panic was too great, too near, and I was far past the point of calming down.
“Emmaline’s found us,” I said finally, panting as I leaned against the heavy oak table. I shook, partly from the frigid rain I’d just come out of, but mostly from my fear of seeing her.
“How?” Jenson— the oldest of my brothers—demanded, abandoning the cards as he stood and grabbed a gleaming knife off the kitchen counter. “I thought nobody knew this place even existed but us!?”
We’d been hiding in our mother’s old house for the past year, hiding from Emmaline.
“She’s got Mother’s yarn,” I explained, and all three boys blanched, Jenson’s knife quivering slightly in his grip. Our mother’s yarn was magic, an heirloom passed from mother to daughter for centuries. It should have been mine, but we hadn’t had time to take it when we fled from Emmaline. It could track anyone down, and nobody really knew what kind of powers it had when you knitted something out of it.
And Emmaline had it.
“Avery,” Jenson said, pointing at me, stubborn steel reflecting in his pale green eyes. “Go get the younger boys and bring them out to the stables. We’ll get the horses saddled.”
They all left, running through the back door, into the rain. I didn’t bother telling them that Emmaline was already there, that—as long as she had the yarn—she’d be able to find us, no matter where we hid. They knew it just as well as I did, but we couldn’t do nothing, just waiting here for her to kill us.
I dashed through the rain, the sensation of icy daggers stabbing at my back eventually becoming numb in the cold; until I came to the red barn my three younger brothers were playing in.
“Bennett!” I called once I got inside. I climbed the rickety ladder to the loft as fast as I dared, afraid my soaked shoes might slip. “Carter, Gabriel! Get down here, now!”
Three ginger heads peered down at me, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity. “Hurry,” I said as they climbed down after me, almost slipping on the hay that lined the floor as they hopped off the bottom rung. “Emmaline’s found us.”
Before true horror could register on their faces, the barn doors crashed open, a flash of lightning silhouetting the lone figure who stood in the doorway. Behind her, three large black birds circled, and I swore their cawing sounded like my brothers calling my name:
“Avery, Avery, Avery.”
“Avery.” It was Emmaline, and her smug smile, with lips just a shade too red to be natural, made dread sink in my stomach, my breath struggling to find its way to my lungs.
“I always hated you the worst,” she continued, taking a step forward, her hands clutching something white. “You were the only thing your father seemed to love more than me. It’ll be nice to see you helpless, unable to save your brothers, won’t it?”
I barely had time to notice her hands moving when something soft hit me, and I flinched, my lips growing heavy as I frantically felt around my throat for what she had thrown at me. It was soft, like a cat’s tail wrapped around my neck, and thick enough to make me feel small, like it could crush my throat if it wanted.
Another fluffy thing wrapped itself around my wrists, quickly tightening and making my arms and legs clench until I could barely move. My heart beat wildly as I realized I could hardly make my hands wiggle, and not a sound would come out of my mouth other than my soft, struggling breath. I was mute.
Emmaline then tossed the rest of the white things—scarves, I realized with horror, made from Mother’s yarn—at my little brothers, and as they landed on the boys, they began to glow a bright blue, just like Emmaline’s eyes.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the blinding light, but I felt tears escape, mixing with the raindrops still on my face and filling my mouth—which was opening and closing repeatedly, trying to force a sound out—with salt. When the light finally faded, three glossy ravens stood in my brothers’ places, flapping their wings frantically.
I tried to scream, but the scarf around my throat had tightened until it was like a hot, itchy collar leashing me to Emmaline’s spell forever. Maybe it would crush me after all. But it didn’t, and I wasn’t sure if I had gotten the better end of the bargain or not. My throat didn’t hurt, strangely enough, but it felt empty without a voice, like a book without words.
The second scarf around my wrists was tightening as well, but it was slower than the first one, and I had just enough room to shake it off of me as boiling rage replaced the dread, searing my throat.
Lunging at Emmaline, I bared my teeth in a soundless scream, and she blinked in shock, so surprised that she was unable to defend herself as I knocked her to the ground and snatched the ball of yarn from her hands.
I gave a feral grin as I tied her up with the yarn, which I knew would never break or release her, not if she somehow lived for a thousand years.
I left her in that barn, and never entered it again, abandoning our mother’s house. I cocked my head as I looked at the ball of white yarn sitting in my palm—smaller than I remembered it—and wondered if I could knit more scarves to reverse our enchantments.
But probably not.
My raven brothers followed me away, still calling my name, the name I’d very well never be able to speak for myself again.
- Share this story on
- 14
COMMENTS (1)