Hart Street & Main: Metamorphosis

By Tabitha Sprunger

Could you risk everything you have to save someone you barely know? Would you be able to summon enough courage to leave everything behind? Only time will tell...

It's been months since Skye first journeyed through the Second World and slept under the stars with Olli, the future King of Humans in the land known as Gresham.<

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atmosphere Press
• Release date: Aug 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639885220

Book preview

Praise for Tabitha Sprunger’s

Hart Street & Main

Book 1 in the Hart Street & Main Series

Text Description automatically generated

A picture containing text Description automatically generated Hart Street and Main is a treat for fantasy lovers. Filled with wood fairies, pixies, sorcerers, and a host of other magical creatures, author Tabitha Sprunger’s page-turner of a novel transports you to a land of magic and wonder that is as awe-inspiring as it is captivating.

A picture containing calendar Description automatically generated Author Tabitha Sprunger has penned a masterly work of fantasy fiction with HART STREET & MAIN, a great read for those seeking fantasy fiction with sophisticated world-building, compelling characters, and intriguing plots.

Hart Street

& Main

Metamorphosis

Book 2

Written by

Tabitha Sprunger

Featuring Illustrations by Joe Traster

atmosphere press

© 2022 Tabitha Sprunger

Published by Atmosphere Press

Cover design by Ronaldo Alves

No part of this book may be reproduced without permission from the author except in brief quotations and in reviews. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real places, persons, or events is entirely coincidental.

Atmospherepress.com

To all the teachers who believed I could be more…

Prologue

Reynaldo’s Beginning

Warsaw Ghetto 1940, First World

A rail thin child stood at the edge of an overgrown shrub on the gloomy sidewalk rubble of Zamenhofa Street. He was donning his usual black flat top cap with the button at the center, and his long gray peacoat had worn holes in it. The boy was picking away at the faded frayed strands in the jacket once belonging to his father.

Matching the worn color of his jacket were his tight gray trousers. The boy was well overdue for a new pair for his long legs. His pants were about eight inches above his boney ankles, but they looked clean and proper enough to be selling in the market. Trades for food were more important than those made for comfort. His mother would call such a waste of supplies a fool’s motive.

Reynaldo’s mother tried her best to keep clothes on both her children’s backs. She often sewed and restitched from scraps of fabric or discarded clothing. Aside from scrounging for work and food, his family was struggling with his brother’s illness. Reynaldo’s younger brother had been extremely sick for weeks now and hadn’t left the bedroom they once shared. While his brother was sick, Reynaldo was forbidden to see him. So, he knew whatever his brother had must’ve been serious. It didn’t stop them from passing pieces of paper through the crack in the wall along his brother’s bedside.

While his brother wasn’t old enough to read and write, the silly caricatures and comics Reynaldo drew up for entertainment were all they had. Every so often, Reynaldo would find a small smiley face or stick figure his brother scribbled in response to his notes. As long as the scribbles kept coming, then he knew there was still a prayer for his brother to get better.

If his mother and father couldn’t afford the medicine for his sick brother, it was worth being uncomfortable in his old clothes. Even if it meant sleeping on the floor in the den and being diligent not to wear any tears in his only pair of shoes. Reynaldo tended to carry his one pair of shoes to and from his street post to try and make them last longer. Although his toes were threatening to poke through the ends of the soles, he knew there were far worse tortures.

Today the misfortune of boredom threatened to consume the better half of him. Reynaldo would have been satisfied with a corner of an old receipt paper and tack of graphite or end of charcoal. Anything to doodle away the belittling hours.

Other than the large crowd of uncertain new arrivals from this morning, there weren’t a lot of people out running errands today. Reynaldo adjusted a burlap bag hung over his shoulders; the bag was a gift from his grandmother, only when she gave it to him just over a year ago on his birthday it was meant for his paper route. Now he was forced to go around to the same people he had known to love and care for on his paper route and sell them these horrendous armbands. The family he sold papers for couldn’t afford the supplies to print anymore.

A fleeting breeze swooshed by as a rickshaw cart zoomed past. The two-wheeled carriage was hulled by a tall young boy hunched over carrying the few people who could manage to pay for their services. Everyone else walked. Reynaldo tried to be a peddler for the rickshaw carts several months ago, but he wasn’t old enough and more importantly not big enough to peddle the weight of two passengers.

He had his honest family roots to blame. Reynaldo Abelson came from a fair upbringing but no one in his family was very thick-boned. The Abelsons were known for their dedicated work ethic which only meant a chance at food and possibly danger. To prove it, his father had been busy ever since the wall began to rise around them in town in the spring the same year.

Everywhere Reynaldo looked, all he found was trouble, trouble, and more trouble. As he and the people around him became even more like caged rats in a space filled with too many people and not enough beds to sleep them all or food for endless hungry bellies. New faces arrived nearly every day.

So many other problems Reynaldo could be helping to solve. Instead, he was assigned the position to pass around these armbands with the Star of David on them. His body seemed to cringe at the sight of them. He was to report any disobedience or intolerance to wearing the bands to his father and the council overseeing the activities within the boundaries of the Warsaw Ghetto.

Reynaldo was only thirteen, but he was smart enough to know what was going on in the world. He saw it in his parents’ eyes, heard change on the radio, and felt it with the absence of laughter. No one smiled anymore.

Hey, Reynaldo! a shrill, bubbly voice mocked.

Reynaldo rubbed his hands together as he stood agitated at the sound of her voice. Well, almost no one smiled anymore. Reynaldo caught a glimpse of the girl with the bouncing shiny black curls. A pink silk bow held the black curls together at the top of the girl’s head. The girl dodged behind an old man selling day-old bread and a widowed gray-haired woman trying to straighten her display on a molding wooden crate of what was left of her husband’s belongings. The old woman was trying to sell an ancient clock with stagnant hands, a pair of leather gloves, assorted buttons, and a few spools with very little thread.

Go away, Charlotte, said Reynaldo. I’m working.

Reynaldo pretended to straighten the items in his bag. He figured if he ignored her, maybe Charlotte would go away.

Working? the young girl said.

Charlotte’s eyes were wide open, and she never stopped smiling. I haven’t seen you move all day. You just look like a sour turtle standing there.

As much as she mocked him, Reynaldo envied her. Not even a war could remove the naïve happiness from her. It was obvious her family still had money. They had their connections. She didn’t have to take in any hungry bodies off the crowded streets. Her family didn’t fear sickness. Charlotte could still enjoy the luxury of a silk-colored bow.

It doesn’t look like you are selling any more of those armbands than you were selling your newspapers, Charlotte said. Then she prodded at the full bag of armbands with a small stick she’d been playing with. Reynaldo recoiled, feeling bitter the more he thought of pretty bows and medicine cabinets lined with tiny glass bottles.

Be quiet, will you? Reynaldo shouted. Or I’ll tell your parents you’re not wearing yours.

Charlotte was younger than Reynaldo, but not much. At the age of twelve, she was required to wear the Star of David armbands just as much as he was, regardless of her family’s position.

Her scalding face and pursed lips pondered the threat for a moment before shaking off any chance Reynaldo would even consider tattling to her parents. Her family was very close to Adam Czerniakow who was once a well-off engineer. He was now ahead of the Jewish council, Judenrat. Although he was on the council with five other men, he still had power. Power that meant if you were close to the council, you were also closer to the German.

Come on, stop that, Reynaldo put up a struggle, hopping around and losing white bands all over the filthy pavement. Reynaldo flailed his arms and legs but was no match for his sly opponent. His toes ached from keeping them tightly curled, standing stationary all day.

Unamused and not in the mood for messing around, Reynaldo quit moving and stood like a statue, not willing to break holes in the points of his tight shoes. Charlotte grinned from ear to ear as she slung the satchel over her own shoulder. She stood still and wrinkled her brow, mocking Reynaldo’s disapproval as he parted his receding short black hair.

Charlotte, said Reynaldo in some form of a forced whisper, trying very hard not to have a wrinkle in his brow. Charlotte, you give me that back. You are not funny.

The young boy and girl were about in step with height because of her polished black heeled shoes. Reynaldo moved from his stiffened pose. He couldn’t let her win. He started jumping up and down, hastily trying to reach his bag. Charlotte twirled around Reynaldo in circles.

She just didn’t understand what the big deal was. She knew she was Jewish. She knew Reynaldo was Jewish. Now that Charlotte thought about it, everyone she knew was Jewish, including most of the new travelers, unless you stopped to consider some of the gypsies.

Just as Reynaldo was going to take off his shoes to really get after Charlotte, he stopped and instead removed his hat. His body completely stiffened, still as a board.

Charlotte didn’t understand Reynaldo’s strategy, but he wasn’t chasing her anymore. There was no joking around, and the mockery slipped away from his brief glimpse of child’s play. When Charlotte turned her head, she too fell silent. There was an ear-piercing echo let out into the air like thunder.

No more laughter. In a mere instant, the young pair were stock still. No more games. Fear was all that remained. The fear of their current reality. The sack of armbands went limp at Charlotte’s side.

In front of the two children stood one of the most feared men in all of Poland. Reynaldo gazed up from the man’s black leather boots, his matching long black coat, and tried desperately to avert his eyes to the man’s cap slightly uneven on the top of his head. The soldier was holding his smoking gun straight up in the air.

The perfectly ironed uniform was deceiving. This man was dirty. Everything about him reeked of vile waste. A sour potent sting hit Reynaldo’s nostrils along with the lingering burn of gun smoke. Reynaldo once witnessed the soldier kill an entire family waiting on a side street for their monthly rations of food. He killed seamlessly for no reason. It was his reminder of where they stood and a stern enforcer of who really was in control of their lives now. No one was sure of his title or real name, but behind his back, they referred to him as Motetz Dam because of his thirst for blood.

The officer started cursing and shouting directly at Reynaldo but was obviously scolding both children. The locals didn’t always comprehend what the German officers were saying around them. Even knowing a little German didn’t seem to help when translating whole conversations. The way the German soldiers spoke was polluted by unfamiliar slang; it was as if they spoke in a code. Which would be to no one’s surprise.

Neither Charlotte nor Reynaldo needed to translate Motetz Dam’s words to understand the message. It didn’t seem like the others along the street path did either. The street carts quickly peddled away, and others hastily piled up all their belongings for sale or trade and took off. Most of those who could barely move retreated into shop fronts or bustled along their way, hobbling crookedly as they went, not looking back to offer help. No one could judge their choice to keep going. Nothing to see here. Protecting your own was far too common practice nowadays especially when it came to someone with such a reputation as the soldier known as Motetz Dam.

The officer’s hands were still firmly securing his rifle’s trigger. The officer leaned in towards Reynaldo; the thick, sour stench radiated from his yellow skin. His gangly grease-filled blond hair was slicked down against his scalp. The sight grew more repulsive the closer he leaned in. The usual half-smoked cigarette dangled out of the side of his mouth just under the crooked pointy nose. Smoke billowed in Reynaldo’s face making his eyes burn and itch terribly.

Reynaldo was a much quicker thinker than Charlotte. He slowly bent down and grabbed a white band from the satchel, never looking away from the soldier’s fiery eyes. The band was pinned on Charlotte’s arm without her giving a single smart remark. Reynaldo was sure he had accidentally pricked her with the pin, but she didn’t flinch or fuss. Perhaps she was frozen with shock?

Then Reynaldo followed in slow, unwavering movements snatching the burlap bag off the ground along with its spilled contents and quickly slinging it over his shoulder. All while still securely holding his hat in the other hand. Reynaldo’s eyes were transfixed on the soldier’s neck. He had heard of the man’s scars, but had never seen them up close. It was a grotesque sight. The large thick gruesome scar started at the curve of the man’s neck just below his ear, wrapped around the soldier’s jaw, and traveled up the base of his veiny cheek.

The German officer stopped cursing and seemed content. Still, neither of the children dared to move out of place. Reynaldo tried to turn his gaze away from the nasty scar. He and Charlotte had undoubtedly fallen out of line. Now they were at the mercy of the officer. It didn’t matter to him whose families these children belonged to. There was no one else remaining in the street to be his target or stand as a helpless witness.

Motetz Dam took one last puff from his dirty rolled cigarette and flicked it towards Reynaldo. The children’s cheeks went white, contrasting the officer’s own yellowed but pasty complexion. That’s when the man with the greasy hair and scarred neck raised his rifle to strike Charlotte. Something ignited inside of Reynaldo that forced him to jump in front of the monster Motetz Dam. Instead of Charlotte being hit with the rifle, Reynaldo was lashed straight in the back of the head.

For a while, Reynaldo found himself in a dream. His skin was glowing clean. The clothes he was wearing were strange, but they fit him undeniably well. Except he wasn’t wearing any shoes at all. At first, Reynaldo was dismayed, but the earth felt warm and soft on the bottom of his feet. He was surrounded by bright lights somewhere deep in a towering forest. The trees were so large they couldn’t possibly exist anywhere in the world.

In the dream, Reynaldo was sitting and playing dreidel on the dirt ground in the woods. A beautiful woman danced nearby as he played. He saw her long, flowing curly black hair. A purple and green dragonfly shimmered in the radiant light as it flew around his head.

Disoriented, Reynaldo called out to the beautiful woman in the distance, Mother? Mother? he questioned.

Yet the woman running wouldn’t turn around, and she did not slow down her stride at the sound of his voice. It must’ve been someone else.

The woman disappeared and then his head was hurting terribly. Had something fallen from a tree and struck him in the head? Reynaldo quit shouting and looked down at the ground. His eyes focused on the spinning dreidel. The small dreidel turned around and around, shaking until it fell revealing the symbol for Gimel. He looked around but there wasn’t any prize to collect from the pot and it didn’t seem like he was playing the game with anyone.

When Reynaldo opened his eyes, the massive trees were gone. He was no longer within the pleasant dream. There were shabby grey buildings on both sides of him. He could hear voices around him but far away. It must be empty sounds bouncing between vacant streets.

He sat up, still unsure of what was happening to him. The air was much cooler now, but his head felt as warm as burning coals.

Seeing spots, Reynaldo turned his head. Unlike he’d imagined, he hadn’t been laying in his mother’s lap after all. Instead, it was Charlotte sitting on the filthy pavement in the early hours of the night. Some of the shops had lamps lit in their windows or just outside their doorways.

Why didn’t you go home? asked Reynaldo. Your parents will be worried sick.

The more Reynaldo moved or spoke the more nauseous he felt. Maybe it was best to sleep on the sidewalk tonight? There were others not far away sleeping against the brick walls in the alley. It couldn’t be so bad. Going home may not be the best option. There was no telling how long his brother would be sick, and his mother looked dreadful when he last saw her this morning before leaving to sell armbands at his sidewalk post. She didn’t need another ailing child to look after.

Charlotte hugged Reynaldo’s head and he winced with the terrible pain still throbbing in his temple.

I couldn’t leave you, sobbed Charlotte.

Oh yeah, why’s that? asked Reynaldo, still climbing out of a soft haze quietly seeking his missing prize.

Charlotte smoothed the fresh drop of blood gliding across Reynaldo’s eyebrow.

She said, Because, it should be me lying in the street, not you.

While Charlotte wasn’t wrong, the soldier would have easily killed them both without blinking. She should’ve left just like everyone else, but she didn’t. It would only put her at more risk. Especially if the soldier did find out who she was or that her family was connected to the council of Jewish elders known as Judenrat.

Reynaldo let his head fall at rest in Charlotte’s lap as he gently started humming the tune, Oh, dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay. Oh, dreidel, dreidel, dreidel. Now dreidel I shall play.

What are you singing? Charlotte asked. She was so worried looking into Reynaldo’s open eyes for the first time in hours. She pressed her cheek against his forehead. He felt feverish.

Charlotte, I had a dream, said Reynaldo. It was beautiful. I think you were there too… Reynaldo’s head was making it even harder to recall the dream. He imagined Charlotte and fantasized about what she may look like in a few years.

He must’ve hit you harder than I thought, said Charlotte. You know you’re lucky to be alive. Here, I’ll help to get you to your Mamaw.

Then Charlotte stood on her cold legs and helped Reynaldo to his feet along the side of the street. There was no one left out in the markets and the shops were all closed for curfew. No soldiers were in sight. If they hurried, they’d make it home before they got into any more trouble.

Present Day Yodére Forest, Second World

Reynaldo shook his head away from the ancient memory. He must’ve dozed off for a few minutes.

It was something that had been happening more often now in his old age. Reynaldo would celebrate his one-hundredth birthday this year. He and Charlotte shared so many adventures together. Unfortunately, the day in the street was far from the last time they would see of Motetz Dam.

As he shifted his bottom on the carved stool, he placed his magazine down on the tree stump to pick up the lit lantern in his wrinkled hands. He stretched his aching body and ruffled his wrinkled wings. Reynaldo then shuffled his feet that were wrapped cozily with a pair of well-fitting slippers made of bark and leaves.

The others were approaching. Marconi said he’d return with his small troop of wood fairies near midnight and would be bringing along a few humans. He would never admit it, but he was excited to see some fresh faces around the dwelling. Reynaldo peaked out of the small crack from the inside of the massive tree. There was a friendly fog hovering above a dewy earth. The glowing moon was visible overhead through the thinning trees.

His old eyes watched below through the many massive branches checking for movement. He was satisfied with what he saw, for what his old eyes could not see he had learned to sense. Then Reynaldo opened the entrance to the crack in the tree more greatly.

He didn’t step out of the inside of the hollowed tree, but he grasped a second lantern and shakily added more fuel before lighting it with a lit dried twig from the first. His eyes squinted as they strained to see down the fifty-foot drop to the forest floor. Ah, here they were.

More certain now of their arrival, he reached outside the inner part of the hollow sycamore tree and slowly placed the freshly lit lantern on the knobby tree branch just outside. Once it was securely in place, he turned around and sat down with a shimmy on the wooden stool stump.

Reynaldo then picked up another magazine. This one was vintage, May 1980, and the pages were worn by the many hours spent tediously sifting through each article. The pages were full of lots of First World celebrities to ponder as he passed the time.

Chapter 1

Senioritis

A picture containing indoor, decorated Description automatically generated

Present Day Alfaro, First World

I’ll be back, I promise.

The words hung around like a ghost you couldn’t shake. Ever since she was returned to the First World, there seemed to be no break in the monotony of each day. Before Skye knew it, the rest of her senior year at Black Pine High School had flown by. Skye threw her morning class’s books into her hollow locker. The past semester had been nothing except a blur of catch-up assignments and scholarship applications.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on the weeks she’d been away. It had been months since she’d been in the Second World and it was only a wisp of a bad memory…with some good sprinkled in. Graduation was only a week away now, and it could not come soon enough. Skye was accepted to four colleges in the area. Yet, she chose the closest one to home, Bellview University. Bellview was only about an hour away from the small town of Alfaro, just close enough that she could still commute from home to her college classes every day.

Skye slammed her locker door shut only to realize the short, bright blue and pink pixie cut hair was turning the corner at the end of the senior hallway. Quick to act, Skye hurriedly turned around and started off in a brisk walk in the opposite direction of the other girl. She knew she had spent too much time dilly-dallying at their shared locker.

The girl with the colorful pixie hair shouted at the back of Skye’s head. Her locker partner didn’t care if the hundreds of other students around her could hear.

You can’t ignore me forever, Skye!