THE TOPIC OF THIS CONTEST WAS:
It was a dreary, cold day, but the cast iron stove kept the passenger car warm. Outside, cobblestone streets covered with orange and red leaves started to appear as they approached the town. She glanced around, wondering why the train wasn’t slowing down. As the locomotive hurtled past the depot, she and the other passengers stared wide-eyed through the windows at…
(Stories need only touch on this topic in some way to qualify.)
Late Autumn was Eve’s least favorite time of year. Days were short, and the nights were interminably long, portending the dreaded winter months ahead. It was the time of year when children could no longer run and play. When trees showed no life and skies were dark, forcing little ones to be captive in their homes. Until Spring arrived, and they could be free once again. Free to roam and explore; free to fly.
Swirling red and orange leaves formed mini cyclones on the cobblestone street in front of her, mimicking fiery tempests as she trudged along. Pulling her woolen coat closer, Eve put her head down against the biting wind, calculating the duration of her familiar walk as a distraction. The distant wail of a train whistle was plaintive as she passed the depot with its faceless travelers, and she quickened her pace; just one block to go.
With numbing fingertips, she fiddled with the keyring in her pocket, searching out the familiar skeleton key and grasping it at the ready. The lock was predictably finicky. She rattled the doorknob and used her shoulder to push the looming mahogany door open, as the old brass doorbells chimed her arrival.
But before stepping inside, Eve paused to stroke the child’s face chiseled in the center of her entry door and bowed in reverence. Almost every customer at The Mighty Cherubim, after absorbing the towering bookshelves stuffed with antique tomes of every size and variety, would approach her to ask about this face – this oddity.
“Is your bookstore named after the cherub’s face carved in the front door?” they would inquire. More astute patrons would press further. “It appears you have nothing but children’s books. Can you show me to the adult section, please?”
But Eve dismissed their queries and blatant ignorance, offering the same cryptic refrain: “Everything you seek is here at The Mighty Cherubim.”
Removing her overcoat and hanging it on the hall tree, she flipped the sign in the front window to “Open.” Luckily, the embers were still hot in the potbelly stove. Eve shoveled in more coal from the bin, warming her hands and giving thanks that she had banked the fire the evening before.
Moving behind the beveled-glass counter, she retrieved the ancient wooden coffer hidden on a shelf below, and ran her fingers over the carvings on its cover. Several four-winged cherubim, flying below the fiery Seraph, were meticulously etched into the grain, fierce guardians of the contents within. She worshipped their power and significance, just as she did every day, before opening the clasp to retrieve the leather-bound book inside.
The journal was thick with photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings. Eve retrieved each photo and gazed at them with maternal pride, then carefully unfolded the articles to read the headlines she knew by heart.
“Another Child Missing in Adams County.”
“Family Reports Their Children Vanished in the Park.”
“Police Continue Search for Infant Believed Stolen from Local Hospital.”
Eve gave a deep sigh and smiled as she tucked the book back into its special chest. For decades, townspeople stopped by the bookstore, clucking about the tragedies. They blamed the woods, they blamed the river, and they even blamed the transient travelers stepping off the midnight trains. But they never got any input from Eve; she knew they wouldn’t understand.
Outside, harsh winds gusted, rattling the windowpanes, as the train whistle blew – once, twice – announcing its arrival at the depot.
A sharp metallic ping echoed as the cast-iron stove shifted, and the fire Eve had just fed instantly died down. The air grew profoundly cold, freezing the breath in Eve’s throat.
Then came the footsteps on the cobblestones outside.
There were too many to count, and every step was intentional, moving in a rhythmic shuffle toward the threshold.
In unison, a methodic, hollow knocking began on the door. The knob jiggled, begging to open. Through the frosted pane of the front window, Eve watched as dozens of small silhouettes pressed their faces against the glass. Their cheeks were rosy from the biting cold, and their eyes were black, as they continued to rap persistently.
“We got off the train as we were told,” a chorus of small voices whispered through the door. “Our parents will be coming soon. Let us in.”
Eve approached the door, her heart swelling with love and anticipation. As she drew near, the cast-iron stove suddenly ignited with a roaring flash, radiating an intense, supernatural warmth throughout the old bookstore.
She opened the door wide as the bells heralded their entry.
“Come in, my little cherubim. I have been waiting for so long. Let me make us some tea, and then I will read you a story.”
They filed in obediently, one by one. Eve hugged each one tightly, patting their heads and welcoming them into the warmth. They stared at Eve with an unblinking glare, as their massive wings covered in eyes, slowly unfurled.
When the last of them crossed the threshold, Eve stepped outside for a moment. She looked toward the empty depot, then back at her quiet street. The train had gone on to its next stop; no parents were coming.
She walked back inside the bookstore, securely locked the heavy door with her skeleton key, and turned the window sign to “Closed for Business.”
On the exterior of the front door, the chiseled face began to transform, its four distinct faces now fully exposed, as giant pinions emerged.
The cherubim were finally home.
