Goblin Fruit: Gobbled, #1

By S.E. Burr

You think a fairy tale is just a story.

What if it hides a message?

All Clarity's mom ever gave her is the fairy tale storybook, Goblin Market.

Her whole life, Clarity has helped care for her mother, a mindless, shuffling shell of a person.

At sixteen, Clarity meets Audrey, a girl filled with grief and guilt overher brother who has been struck with the same affliction.

With nothing but a cryptic clue from Goblin Market, Clarity and Audrey risk their lives to cure the people they love.

Goblin Fruit is a YA paranormal novel featuring fast-paced action, heartbreaking decisions, and two unstoppable heroines.
"Stayed up all night to finish reading this." --Brianna, Amazon Customer
"An interesting twist on fairy tale creatures. You get hooked on the characters..." --James, Amazon Customer
"Combines compelling characters, dire situations, science and magic...A very enjoyable read." --Kindle Customer

Buy it now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.E. Burr
• Release date: Dec 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781310510533

Book preview

1

MY BREAKFAST—WATERMELON chunks, apple slices, green grapes, blueberries, and a dollop of bright orange yogurt—sat forgotten beside my sketchbook as I watched my mother eat. Looking down at my sketch, I drew in her hair, the long, flowing tresses of my imagination, not the short, drab, buzz cut she wore now. Her hair was cut that way because it was easy to maintain and keep clean, but it wasn’t attractive. It didn’t look very good on the male patients; on women it was awful. I drew her the way Dad said she had looked that one night, sixteen years ago, her face peaceful in sleep, her shining, golden hair forming a halo around her on the pillow.

My mom and dad, Sara and Frank, met when they were twelve years old when they lived together in a group home. Overcrowded, under-managed, drab, and lonely, to Dad it was a home in nothing but name. His parents had been killed in a car accident, and his only other relative was a grandmother who had dementia and was living in a home herself. Mom’s parents were probably alive but didn’t want to be bothered with raising her. She’d never known her father, and her mother had gone on a South American vacation, met a man there, and never come back.

Mom was Dad’s only friend in the group home. He said her golden hair and bright, hazel eyes were his only lights in that dark place. She was friends with all the kids there, always smiling, always ready for the next adventure, and always getting in trouble with the adults who ran the place. After Dad was adopted—rescued—he thought about Mom all the time. He wondered what had happened to her, but he never knew, never saw her again, for over fifteen years.

I drew what Mom looked like the moment she and Dad were reunited, when he looked through an open hospital room door and saw her there sleeping. In that first startled moment of recognition, when he gasped and said her name, he didn’t notice that there was someone else in the room, a child in a plastic bassinet. I was three hours old.

2

AUDREY WALKED ALONG the sidewalk, feeling exposed despite the constant stream of traffic. It was too open—flat sidewalks, flat streets. Even the buildings were flat—single story stucco houses made to look like adobe, flat roofs and all. The landscaping consisted mostly of gravel and cacti; the only trees were spindly, twisted, and small, like stooping old men.

A chilly wind sent strands of hair blowing into her face and whipped dust into the air, but the sun shone brightly, adding to her feeling of exposure, as though the wide open sky were watching her.

Pushing the hair from her eyes, she wondered when she’d last had a haircut. It had been a while. Her roots were showing; her hair was brown at the top and dull orange at the bottom. When she'd dyed it, it had been a surprising, vibrant orange, but it had since faded.

She'd gained weight, too. Always having considered herself a bit chubby, now the word fat seemed like a more apt description.

As the sidewalk led her past a schoolyard, she stopped and looked in at the children playing. The school was one-story faux adobe like everything else in Organo, and so seemed alien to her, but the playground equipment was familiar—swings, monkey bars, a slide—the same things she’d played on in elementary school. She closed her eyes and listened to the children's shouts and laughter, and then something else. With a start, her eyelids popped back open.

Supposing themselves unobserved, a group of children chanted, Red rover, red rover... but before they could call someone over, a teacher came running toward them.

Stop it! she said with alarm. Don't you know how dangerous that is?

Audrey turned and walked away, not wanting to see the children scolded further. One of them must have seen the game on an old TV program but she couldn't believe they'd tried to get away with holding hands at school. The teacher would likely be calling their parents.

On the corner, just beyond the school and looking utterly out of place in the stucco and cement neighborhood, stood a large, two-story brick house surrounded by a high brick wall. Reaching the gate, Audrey peered in at the house. It had a new-looking metal roof and an old-looking front porch with a white porch swing. The yard was occupied by two massive trees, and beneath them were actual patches of grass. Signs on the gate and the house identified it as Harman Catatonia Center.

Carefully pushing open the gate—it didn't squeak—she walked up a narrow stone walk, climbed the porch steps and stood before the door, wondering if she should knock or just go in. Before she could decide, it swung open, and a tall, Hispanic woman in scrubs came out, nearly bumping into her.

The woman looked her up and down, seeming entirely unsurprised about their near accident.

Sorry, Audrey muttered nervously. She wasn't sure if the woman would recognize her since they hadn't seen each other in a long time, and she felt a little embarrassed about her bad hair and weight gain.

Audrey, the woman said, smiling and wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. After a moment, she pulled back, but she kept her fisted hands on Audrey's shoulders, looking into her face. I haven't seen you since you were eight years old.

Hi, Maria.

Maria's smile grew, but then faded, and she sighed. I have to go. I'm sorry. I wish I...

It's OK, said Audrey.

I’m sorry, Maria said again, and Audrey wasn’t sure if she was talking about having to go or something more.

Maria turned and called through the open door, Hannah, we have a visitor! She turned back to Audrey. Hannah will help you. She'll take you to your brother's room. With a final sigh and a look back, Maria hurried away.

Audrey turned back to the door, but before she could step through the doorway, another woman in scrubs appeared, this one a redhead in her early forties.

She smiled. Hi. She raised her hand and gave a small wave. I'm Hannah.

Audrey returned the gesture, noticing the unusually large, gold wedding ring on Hannah's finger. Hi. I'm Audrey. She cleared her throat. Her anxiousness made it difficult to speak. Um, I'm Andrew's sister.

Hannah nodded, still smiling but with a hint of sadness in her eyes. Of course you are, dear. I see the resemblance.

Audrey had never thought that she and Andrew looked that much alike. He had always been so good looking, so self-assured. He had been those things. She didn't know what she would find now.

Hannah led Audrey through the door and into a large living room, its walls a pale yellow except for the molding around the doors, which was white and intricately carved. The floor was a light-colored hardwood, with one carefully placed area rug. To the left of them a staircase led up to the second floor. Couches and chairs were arranged in the center of the room in front of a small television.

In the midst of this, Audrey was startled to see a man in very simple patient-like garb, hands covered by surgeon’s gloves, lurching like Frankenstein's monster as he walked in place.

That's Kevin, said Hannah, our early riser, getting his morning exercise in.

Audrey stared. He can move?

Hannah nodded serenely. They all move if you guide them. All our patients get some daily exercise.

But he's doing it on his own.

Mmm-hmm, said Hannah. I had to get him started, get him moving in a rhythm. Then he'll keep at it for a while.

Audrey watched, eyes wide, as Kevin continued to lurch in place. They all can do that?

Hannah nodded. More or less. Kevin used to be an athlete, and he likes to move. He's the most active.

After watching Kevin a moment more, Audrey turned and faced her. Swallowing, she said, How does Andrew do?

All right, Hannah answered. She smiled sadly. He can be hard to get going in the mornings. He likes to sleep in.

Audrey laughed, bringing a little unexpected cheer to the somber atmosphere. He always did.

This way, Hannah said with a chuckle. She led her across the room, toward a hallway, but before they reached it, she stopped at an open doorway and peered in.

A pretty teenage girl about Audrey’s age with long, curly, dark hair sat at a dining room table. Beside her was a woman dressed as a patient, her hands, like Kevin’s, in surgical gloves. The girl wore a black T-shirt from a rock concert and pink pajama pants with strawberries on them. She had a sketchpad before her on the table and seemed to be drawing the patient, who was eating oatmeal in a mindless, repetitive way, the spoon held in a closed fist.

Clarity, Hannah called through the doorway. Go get dressed, and wake your father up.

Looking up, the girl smiled toward Audrey and then rolled her eyes. OK. I'm going.

The patient finished her oatmeal, and, not noticing, continued shoveling the empty plastic spoon into her mouth.

It's all gone, Mom, Clarity said, grabbing the woman's gloved hand and taking the spoon from her.

Hannah walked on, but Audrey hesitated in the doorway, staring at Clarity and her catatonic mother. As she watched, Clarity gathered up her mother’s empty bowl, and dropped it and the spoon into a trash can marked biohazard. Clarity turned back, and her eyes met Audrey’s. Audrey flushed and looked away, then quickly followed after Hannah, who led her down a hall and into Andrew's room.

The room was simple and bright with a large window, hospital bed, armchair and nightstand. On top of the nightstand was a picture of the family—Andrew, Audrey, their parents—all smiling, standing in front of the dolphin tank at the aquarium. It was an old picture. Their dad had died several years ago. On the wall was taped a poster of Andrew's band, Benjamy. Andrew had been the front man and lead guitarist, and Audrey had played bass.

Dr. Harman thinks it's important for the patients to have familiar things to look at, said Hannah, things to remind them of their lives.

Audrey nodded mutely, taking it all in, looking everywhere but at the patient in the bed. The room was nice enough, better than what she’d expected, homey, not like a hospital. It smelled clean and lemony without the harsh tang of antiseptic chemicals, but it was strange for Andrew, a perpetually messy person, to be in a place so neat and tidy. She sighed. He wasn’t capable of messiness anymore.

Stealing herself, she looked down at her brother. Seeing him felt like a punch to the gut. In some ways he looked the way she remembered him, with the same large chocolate brown eyes and dark messy hair, but his expression was vacant. His mouth hung open and a stream of drool ran down his chin. He had her brother's face, but Andrew had always charmed people with his quick smile and infectious laugh. With those things gone he didn't seem like the same person. Audrey blinked rapidly, trying not to cry, trying to keep herself together.

Good, said Hannah, looking down at him. You're awake. Your sister's here to see you. Oh no, you've lost a glove.

Audrey's gaze flicked to Andrew's hands, laid out on top of a handmade quilt, one of their mother's creations. One hand wore a surgical glove; the other was naked and pale. It was a small thing, but oddly, Audrey found it a little encouraging. Her brother could still be messy.

Hannah turned to a glove dispenser on the wall. Oops, she said. Empty. I'll get some more. I'll be right back.

Turning to leave, she hesitated, and then turned back to Audrey. Don't touch his hand.

Audrey scoffed.

I know, said Hannah. I'm sorry, but I'd feel terrible if I didn't say anything and something happened.

Audrey shook her head. I know better than to let something happen.

The nurse sighed. Everyone knows better, but no one is perfect. We can all make a mistake.

Audrey nodded.

Hannah launched into a lecture, speaking in a practiced rhythm that made Audrey think the nurse had said these words many times before. None of us knows how susceptible we are to goblin fruit. Some people use it continually and never become catatonic. Others fall into catatonia the first time they try it. You share the genes of a cataleptic, so you may be more vulnerable than most people. You can’t ever forget.

As Hannah continued speaking, Audrey began to picture the things she was saying. She imagined Hannah leaving the room to get the gloves and imagined herself moving up close to her brother, staring down at his uncovered hand.

Traces of goblin fruit leach out through the pores of their hands.

Large drops of bright orange moisture appeared on Andrew’s palm.

You touch him and become contaminated.

She saw herself touch her brother’s hand and then stare at the orange liquid running down her own fingers until it was absorbed into her skin.

You crave the drug.

Now she was pacing back and forth in her apartment, beating her fists in agitation.

You try it.

She approached a dealer on the street and bought the goblin fruit, a large clear capsule filled with the orange liquid. It burst when she shoved it in