Adventures of Beatrice: The Lost Starling

By H. C. Herman

Beatrice is only half human, but she doesn't know it. As far as she's concerned, she's just another orphan stuck in the foster system, constantly getting into trouble with her evil Foster Monster. Beatrice is in the middle of escaping captivity when she accidentally finds a burnt letter in the fireplace. Only a few words survived the flames, but they're just enough for Beatrice to realize she might not know herself as well as she thought.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543963021

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© 2019 Heather Weyers. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-54396-301-4 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-54396-302-1 (ebook)

Table of Contents

A BUMP IN THE NIGHT

THE MYSTERY NOTE

THE LEGEND

THE LOCKET

THE STARLING

THE WALL

SHRIKE COTTAGE

THE ALLURES

NORTH BROOK PASS

SIR WINSTON

GRIBBS

THE COOKOUT

THE SURPRISE VISITOR

THE GRAVEYARD

THE LOST SOULS

THE GREEN MUSTANG

THE WINDOW

THE BROWNS

THE CHEST

THE KEY

THE BEGINNING

INTO THE FIRE

ALMOST PERFECT

PROLOGUE

A BUMP IN THE NIGHT

Skinny branches blocked the yellow reflective DEAD END sign that stood broken and dangling at the top of Blacksmith Drive. A thicket of trees overgrew the space beyond the boundary line and their ghostly arms reached aimlessly over the guardrail into the night.

No one ever made it through the swampy mess beyond the guardrail; neighborhood kids weren’t allowed. Not even parents were sure of what lay within the forest on the other side.

A rustle began in the dark, growing louder with the approaching offender. The trees moaned and creaked in resistance as a young girl stumbled through the forbidden area. The chorus of spring peepers and crickets hushed as she stumbled into their territory.

She struggled to keep ahold of the heavy load she clenched against her chest. She shuffled through the swampy ground with weak, tired steps. She finally reached the guardrail and climbed over with trembling legs.

The stars and moon overhead cast her only light tonight in North Brook; the full moon’s glow reflected off her tangled, dirt-filled hair as it blew in the cool breeze. She clutched a glowing necklace in one hand while she readjusted the bundle in her arms. She squinted down Blacksmith Drive trying to make out something, anything in the night.

Her stomach growled noisily; she hadn’t eaten since before the attack. It was her first time outside of her world. Every jerky, uneven step took more energy than the last. Her legs finally gave out and she landed hard on her bony knees. A terrified wail erupted from the blankets.

Rocking back and forth, she tried to comfort the infant.

Shhh, sniffle, shhh... It’s okay. We’re okay.

The young girl, no more than sixteen, crawled forward with one arm and pushed herself up. She dragged her bare feet until she stood in front of the first house on the street. She staggered up the wooden steps and lifted her bleeding knuckles to the giant door.

No movement, no lights, no footsteps, no barking dog.

Hello? she squeaked.


She knocked again, harder. Her bloodshot eyes burned beneath tears. Each teardrop left a clean streak through the dirt on her pale cheeks.

HELLO!?!

She sobbed and pounded on the door. No one came to her rescue. No one welcomed her into a warm home with blankets and food. Helpless and alone with a starving baby to care for, she placed a hand on the knob. She felt something close to relief as it turned stickily, breaking through old rust.

The door creaked open revealing an empty house. She let herself in and tried the light switch. No electricity. A thick layer of dust sat on the floor and cobwebs lined the walls and ceilings.

She leaned against the wall in the corner and slid down to the floorboards. She closed her eyes. How they would move on tomorrow with no one to care for them anymore? Maybe no one was left. The thought made her want to fall asleep and never wake up.

She felt herself drifting off when footsteps thumped on the porch steps outside. She jolted up and clamped a hand over the baby’s mouth, listening intensely. The steps grew louder. She squeezed her eyes shut and pleaded silently that he could not come to this world.

CHAPTER 1

THE MYSTERY NOTE

Goldie Locks, get down here!

Beatrice rolled her eyes from the top of the dark stairwell as those dreaded words rang throughout the house. She began the long descent, biting a sloppy hand-written letter in her teeth. It had to be on the countertop by 9:00am or Sophie refused to mail it. Not that her real parents ever responded to any of her hundreds of letters, but there was always a chance.

Don’t make me come up there!

Beatrice cringed; the irritation in Sophie’s voice told her the chore list was growing by the minute. Sophie was always happy to keep Beatrice inside, away from her friends. And her tasks were never normal things like taking out the trash or folding the laundry. Instead, she demanded horrible things like using a fork to twirl clumps of slimy hair from the tub drain, scrubbing the mold out of the toilets, cleaning out the rain gutters that clogged up from the oak tree in the front yard, and cleaning Beatrice’s part of the house, which was a-whole-nother story.

The house was divided into two parts: one for show and one hidden from the rest of the world. Everywhere from the ground floor to the upstairs bedrooms, company could admire. But within the beautifully painted and polished dwelling, private doors sat quietly in the walls; you need only to press on one for it to pop open and reveal the depth behind it.

A rainforest mural in the second floor bathroom concealed one of the entrances. No one knew it popped opened to a narrow hallway resting in darkness and dust. The hall curved around the house, running alongside every room with silent doors here and there until it ended at a long, twisted staircase. Beginning at the secret door in the kitchen, it leaned and swirled up the three-story Victorian. At the tiptop, the stairs ended at a large door to the attic: Beatrice’s room.

Beatrice tiptoed down the long, winding staircase. Untamed blonde locks fell before her eyes, but she didn’t need to see. Even without a dim light to turn on, she knew every kink and uneven board. The stairs groaned softly and spiders skittered across the walls as she shifted her weight from one step to the next. One fuzzy black spider in particular always followed a little too closely as if chasing her away from his web. She tried to ignore it, but admittedly, it did increase her pace.

She buttoned her faded jean shorts and situated her red t-shirt as she moved swiftly in the dark. Every quiet step was precious.

She reached the bottom landing and pressed her ear against the trick door. Old and splitting on her side, the other side of the door blended in perfectly with the sage kitchen walls. She pushed on it lightly and peeked through the gap with one eye. The coast was clear; the room was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator. She let herself in and prowled across the checkerboard tiles in search of her shoes when she froze at the sight of them on the living room couch. As her mouth fell open, her letter floated down to the floor.

Her sneakers, which looked like they had been fully submerged in a bucket of brown sludge, lay sprawled across Sophie’s white sofa. A number of curse words flew through her head while she contemplated what to do.

With the exception of the shoes, the living room appeared in perfect order from the matching marble lamps at each end table to the glossy cherry wood floor. The soiled couch sat across from an old stone fireplace, which Sophie used exclusively to burn junk mail.

As she tiptoed towards the scene of the crime, something in the fireplace caught her attention. Partially exposed from the ash was a crumbled up singed paper. Most of it had fallen victim to the fire, but she plucked it out for a quick snoop anyway. She ruffled it, sending dust and soot swirling into the room, and read…

...running out of time for Beatrice to... ...the witch promised...

...we will keep you informed...

—King Everett & Queen Aurelia

She stared at the burnt letter with a scrunched brow and read it over again.

What in the world?

Her momentary lapse of focus dispersed back to reality at the sound of Sophie stomping down the main staircase. Stuffing the burnt paper in her back pocket, she scanned the room for something to hide the oozing eyesore on the couch. Her eyes landed on the decorative blanket with the butterfly stitching: Sophie’s favorite throw.

Holding her breath, she seized the shoes, tossed them around the side of the couch, and threw the blanket over the crime scene just as Sophie rounded the corner in a huff.

She’ll be here any second. Just sit down and don’t go anywhere.

Beatrice racked her brain.

Who?

Before Sophie could answer, the doorbell rang. She clenched her jaw and snarled, Lie better this time.

Beatrice raised one brow at the Foster Monster. Sometimes, the way Sophie spat her words really brought attention to her long hooked nose and crows’ feet. Not to mention the warts and unibrow.

If only her face was green...

Sophie hurried from the room and opened the front door with a fake smile stitched into place.

Hello there, Mrs. Anderson! Sophie shouted cheerfully.

Beatrice rolled her eyes as she took a seat on the couch beside the sloppy blanket.

A pair of heels entered the house, clacking loudly and digging into the floorboards with every step. The sharp pangs carried across the foyer and into the living room. A familiar figure blocked the sunlight from the wide bay window.

Beatrice looked up at the social worker and instantly thought of Humpty Dumpty: oval from her shoulders to her knees. Her plump chipmunk cheeks rolled down to her neck. She wore a dark green blazer over a black pencil skirt. Her stockings bore long runs and her feet oozed over the sides of her high heels. She kept her hair pinned up with a pencil stabbed through the bun and round glasses sat low on her nose. She carried a brown briefcase that didn’t match her outfit. Beatrice tried to ignore the mess that she was and smiled at the woman.

Mrs. Anderson lifted her cheeks in an attempted happy expression, but the end result looked more like a grimace. She walked into the room and Beatrice watched in horror as the heavy woman sat down on the blanket covered mud pie. Her eyes widened as she pictured the sludge gushing through the threads, onto Mrs. Anderson’s skirt and squashing deeper into the white couch.

Morning, Mrs. Anderson, Beatrice said over a gulp.

The woman set her briefcase down and extracted a pen and notebook. She looked over her glasses at Beatrice.

So, first day of summer break. What are your plans?

Oh, uh… Beatrice glanced up and caught Sophie peeking in from the foyer. Beatrice smiled sweetly and said, Actually, Sophie promised to take me camping this weekend.

Sophie shot daggers at her.

Beatrice continued, After that, I’ll be spending most of my time with friends. We like to go fishing in the reservoir. We’ll probably see a few movies too.

Mrs. Anderson scribbled notes as she said, Do you go to the reservoir often without adult supervision?

Oh don’t worry. We’re very careful. My friend has a boat that we like to take out.

I see. Miss Burns tells me that your grades have improved this year in Science and Math.

I had some really good teachers.

Wonderful. Keep up the good work. Stay out of trouble.

Mrs. Anderson stood to leave and the butterfly blanket went right with her. Beatrice tensed and Sophie’s spying eyes grew wide. As Mrs. Anderson bent over for her briefcase, Beatrice quickly peeled the blanket from her backside, revealing the mud caked onto her skirt. She covered the sofa with the ruined throw and smiled through burning cheeks as the social worker turned to face her.

Call me if you need anything. See you soon.

Right, Beatrice squeaked.

Sophie entered the room, her face red at the sight of her ruined couch and favorite throw.

All right, good visit. Let me walk you out.

I can manage, Miss Burns.

No, no, I insist.

The moment they disappeared in the foyer, Beatrice swiped up her shoes, slipped through the kitchen, set her letter on the counter, and slunk out the sliding patio door.

Beatrice ran with extraordinary speed for a twelve-year-old. She sprinted across the backyard of the Victorian, her mismatching socks soaked up the morning dew as she headed for the woods connecting to Tommy’s house. She and Tommy had beaten a trail through the trees from their daily visits over the years.

Reaching the tree line, she braced herself for the broken twigs and rubble that would prick the sensitive undersides of her feet. She dodged the poison ivy and sticker bushes that leaned into her path. She was halfway there when something orange smacked into her forehead.

She skidded to a stop and scanned the ground. A bright orange nerf bullet with a suction tip stood out in the leaf rubble. She twitched when a second one hit her shoulder. A compressed giggle sounded high above. She was struck by another bullet, then another and another. The laughter grew louder with each hit. Beatrice scanned the taller trees, catching the smiling eyes of her assassin in the branches overhead.

Tommy pulled off his camouflage facemask, ruffled his shaggy brown hair, and smiled down at her with his almond eyes.

Hey, Bees!

Beatrice dropped her shoulders and chuckled at the sight.

Why are you up there?

I hammered these planks in this morning. I’m building a treehouse.

Sure enough, a crooked ladder was fixed into the trunk. She nodded in approval.

Nice. It can be our new hiding place when it’s finished.

Yeah, Tommy agreed, the last one was getting kind of old. I don’t know about you, but if I have to crawl under my house one more time, I’m going to need new clothes. Not to mention the spiders. He shuddered and brushed his shoulders as if the very thought would make them appear.

Beatrice shrugged and said, It was a great spot though. Sophie never even came close to finding it.

Tommy gripped the branches above him, maneuvering from his spot thirty feet up to the planks on the trunk.

Was that Mrs. Anderson’s car I saw pull up to your house a few minutes ago? he called down.

Yep. Another pointless visit. Apparently my grades are improving in Science and Math.

You mean the only two classes you already had A’s in?

Don’t forget gym. But yes, shows how well she actually knows me.

As Beatrice relaxed, she slid her hands into her back pockets when her fingertips grazed the burnt letter from the fireplace. She whipped the paper out and read it again.

Hey, hurry up and get down here. I gotta show you something.

Tommy descended the ladder one step at a time, careful not to move too fast. Grace was not his strong suit.

Okay, okay, I’m coming, he said lazily.

Beatrice tossed a foam bullet up at him, smacking the back of his head. He flinched and swatted his hair, no doubt still thinking about spiders.

He almost reached the last plank when he screamed, Spider! and jumped to the ground. He flailed around, throwing his facemask and house key into the rubble, and squirmed about until he was satisfied that there was no spider on him. With his head down, he turned to Beatrice.

Unable to look her in the eye, he said, I’m sorry you had to see that.

Lips pursed, she shook her head at him.

Tommy tightened his shoulders in defense and argued, Did you see that thing? It had a huge red spot on its back and it was practically gunning for me! I could’ve died!

Without another word, she held the charred paper up to his face.

He leaned back and said, What am I reading?

I found this in the fireplace. Sophie must’ve thought she burned it all.

Tommy took it and read it aloud, Running out of time for Beatrice to… the witch promised… we will keep you informed… King Everett and Queen Aurelia? What is this?

She grabbed his shoulders