Page 329 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

What a shrewd dream this is, dear brother. The sun has
been taken unawares, and now the good shadows of the world
rush to take its place. Whenever has such sweetness been set
before us? You must take us up now, into your artist’s hands,
and treat us to all the reddest candies you can find. Look at
all this lovely darkness. Why, it goes on and on! Who can
tell what syrupy goodies it might shelter. Now brother, don’t
you dare wake father, lest he eat everything on his own and
leave us to gnaw upon the ashes. Please, take us quietly into
these lantern woods, walk with us upon the darkest paths.
Take us down into the oldest cellars, let the moon stain our
teeth with its cold light until they are dimmed with all the
sweetest blood you can find us. Oh please, brother! You must
let us play here for as long as we can! We just can’t go back
to sleep, not after seeing all this! Please, please don’t make
us go back to sleep!
They were the most wonderful girls, but they knew my
rules—their thirst could only be slaked as a consequence of
my art or in defense of its pursuit, not merely for the sake
of gluttony and laughter. I loathed to disappoint them, yet
just as I was about to deny them, I heard music—a traveling
circus! The girls would love that.
As the wind began to deliver more of the festival music,
it became clear the melodies were sickly rather than
saccharine, like cotton candy that had fallen to the ground,
infested with ants. Nearby trees began to wilt and stumble
at the sound of the approaching jubilee, their copper lamps
twinkling to the ground like disgraced Christmas ornaments.
The autumn leaves turned dead and brown, curling in on
themselves like burning paper. This darkened world was
unapologetic, even brazen, showcasing strangeness with the
speed and crudeness of a traveling snake oil salesman.
The circus music grew louder. Again, I felt the scorch
of my sisters’ thirst. They stared up at me, vibrating with
giddy impatience, barely containing their eagerness for my
permission. I sighed and brought them giggling and grinning
332 | Mark Anzalone