The dice were old.
Mackenzie could feel in her bones they were the oldest things she’d ever seen. She thought George Washington’s wooden teeth would look the same—scratched, nicked, stained—if the first President had wooden teeth. One never knew what was true anymore.
She held them in her right hand, and they were heavier than expected as if the middles were full of metal. The dice vibrated as if they were alive and were purring like kittens. “What do they do?” she asked the old woman who had dug them from a satin bag—so black it looked like it wasn’t even there—and put them in Mackenzie’s palm.
They stood in a tent full of collectibles at the far edge of the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. It huddled in a corner, hidden under the shade of an ash tree. She almost missed it, but luckily, she turned her head and spied the carnation pink and forest green fabric—matching her favorite crayons—through the mass of faire goers. Mr. Burns had been distracted by a bosomy woman dressed as a character from The Witcher and ignored his daughter until they stood before the old woman’s table of tchotchkes. He heard Mackenzie’s question and told her, “Don’t be rude, honey.”
The merchant laughed. Mackenzie expected it to sound like her grandpa’s laugh—rasping and choking from all his cigarettes—but it sounded like her mom’s laugh, young and pleasant. “Tis not rude,” the old woman said, talking like the other costumed people. “Sellers of wares such as mine are beholden to answer the questions of children.”
“And what kind of wares are those?” Mr. Burns asked.
The old woman was around the same height as Mackenzie, so she had to crane her neck to glare at Mr. Burns. It was a creepy, as only one eye moved in his direction. The other, it must have been fake, remained focused on Mackenzie. She turned her attention back to the girl. “These dice might make your wildest dreams come true, child.”
“Might?”
“Yes, dearie. You roll the dice. And the number will tell you if your dream is going to come true. Some are good, some not. Snake eyes … very bad. A twelve? Good!”
“I saw a boy leaving here on our way over,” Mackenzie said. “Did he roll the dice?”
“He did.” She shook her head. “Snake eyes.”
“So, his dreams aren’t going to come true?”
The old woman tightened her painted lips until her mouth was a straight line and no color was visible. But she relented. She had to answer. “He will get what is coming to him.”
Mr. Burns got a chill despite the eighty-degree temps outside. “Why don’t we go check out another tent,” he said to his daughter. “We can look at those leather gauntlets you liked.”
“She touched the dice,” the old woman explained. “She must roll them.”
“Come on, dad. It’s one roll, and you’re always telling me I’m lucky.”
“Lucky, eh?” the old woman asked.
“I’m the luckiest person my parents know. They tell me all the time.” Mackenzie’s smile was as wide as her face, and her missing front teeth were prominent. “What did that last boy wish for?”
“I do not believe that’s—”
“You said you have to answer my questions.” Mackenzie folded her arms across her chest. “I want to know what other people wish for. So what was his wish?”
The old woman sighed. “He wished to be a dragon slayer.”
“That’s it?” Mackenzie asked.
“Boys.” The merchant shrugged. “They wish for silly boy things. He was obsessed with dragons.”
“Mackenzie,” her dad said with his I’m-disappointed voice. “Let’s go. Now. Please.”
He never said please when he used that voice. “Sure, dad,” Mackenzie said. “One sec.”
She swung her arm and was about to throw the dice when the old woman reached out and stopped her. “No! You have to follow the rules.”
“Rules?”
The woman smiled for the first time, and her teeth looked as decrepit as the dice. “Make a wish. You say it once. You say it twice. Then, you take a chance and roll the dice.”
“That rhymed.” Mackenzie giggled. “My dad would say you’re a poet and don’t know it, but he’s being a grump right now.”
“Mackenzie,” her dad said as if on cue. “Please?”
But she ignored him and whispered, “I wish my parents would get back together.”
The old woman held up one finger and whispered back. “That was one. Say it again.”
She did. Softly. And then Mackenzie rolled the dice. They tumbled down the long table of items until one came to rest against a stuffed monkey’s paw (a three), and the other came to rest by an old hockey mask (a four). Mackenzie clasped her hands together and shouted, “Lucky seven!”
The old woman sighed again, and her shoulders slumped. She gathered up the dice and shoved them back in the satin bag, nodding the entire time. “You are very lucky, indeed, child. Go on now. Take your father and enjoy the faire. Your wish will come true.”
Mackenzie grabbed her father’s hand, he’d been looking for anyone he could report this merchant to, and she pulled him from the tent. They walked back to where there were more people, and they passed a stand selling turkey legs and a group of women dressed as fairies. Mackenzie smiled when the women didn’t catch her dad’s eye. Perhaps my parents will get back together …
Then, the wind picked up.
It had been sunny, but black clouds rolled in, and sudden gusts blew trash around and threatened to uproot tents. Mackenzie pouted, her weekend with her dad was supposed to be nice both days, but now it seemed like a storm was coming. The wind never peaked, it kept rising, and people began screaming. Mackenzie heard someone call for help. She saw the roof of the music hall peel back like a bandage coming off after getting wet. Mr. Burns scooped Mackenzie up in his arms—When was the last time he did that?—and ran toward a large, thick tree. They huddled against the bark with a few strangers, and Mackenzie asked, “What is it? A tornado?”
“No!” her dad yelled over the roar of the wind. “Not here!”
That’s when Mackenzie saw the boy. The one who came out of the carnation pink and forest green tent moments before she dragged her dad inside. The dragon slayer who rolled the dice. He was running between two adults—his parents, most likely—when he came to a stop and looked up. His parents stopped and looked up. Mackenzie followed their gazes skyward, and her eyes almost bugged out of her head.
An enormous, black-scaled dragon swooped down from between two clouds, opened its maw wide enough to swallow an elephant, and devoured the boy and his parents. Later, the one thing Mackenzie would remember was being surprised the dragon didn’t breathe fire like in the movies. Because then, her dad also saw the dragon, let out a loud curse, and—with Mackenzie still in his arms—stood up and began running toward the exit.
Mackenzie lost track of the dragon after that, as if it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She looked over her dad’s shoulder and the carnation pink and forest green tent was also gone. She wondered if it blew away. Maybe it’ll be back next year?
Her father called out something about not worrying, and Mackenzie said, “Relax, daddy.” She was barely audible over his gasping breath. “I rolled a seven. I am lucky, after all …”
—
Thomas Gaffney was born and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He fell in love with horror and storytelling while reading a beat-up copy of Stephen King’s IT. Gaffney survived 12 years of Catholic school before embarking on several careers–including computer programmer, barista, and account manager–while writing in his spare time. His collection of short stories, Stranger Things Have Happened, was a 2020 Book Excellence Award winner for Horror, a 2019 Next Generation Indie Book Award finalist for E-Book Fiction, and a 2019 New Apple Literary official selection for Short Stories. Much like Henry Bemis in the Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough at Last,” Gaffney considers himself a bookish little man whose passion is the printed page. He currently lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with his wife and spends too much time and money in random coffee shops.
Loved it, want read more!