This is Cast of Wonders, the young adult fiction podcast featuring stories of the fantastic. Welcome. Episode 638. I'm Catherine Inskip, your editor and host. Our story for today is A Spell of Grief by Ray A. Shell, the Cast of Wonders original. Ray A. Shell is an autistic writer and fibre artist mainly of the crochet and embroidery variety. When not writing, they are cuddling their dog and two cats
info-dumping to anyone in hearing range, or playing and getting emotional about video games, or falling in love with stationery. Their first published story, Remnants, won third place in On the Premises' 37th issue. They hang out on Mastodon at lapis at booktube.club and on bluesky at stonebird.bsky.social. You can find them on their website where they infrequently blog. This story is narrated by Jordan Corella.
Jordan Carella is a trans and disabled author who has lived all over the world, including Moscow and Manhattan. In his past lives, he was a photographer, radio DJ and social worker. His fiction has been nominated for the Nebula Award, long-listed for the British Science Fantasy Award, and taught at Iowa State University. He is decisive, but couldn't decide in Cat vs Dog, so has both. And now, we have a tale to tell. A spell of grief. The library was closing in 10 minutes.
Lucas stared at the picture books, paralyzed by both indecision and nostalgia. Hurry up! He screamed at himself. If he was late, if he screwed up the ceremony again... Sure, Lucas would be hardest on himself. Aunt Meg was more likely to comfort him than scold him, but the two of them had agreed, were adamant that this year, this year, he would succeed. Lucas swallowed and grabbed the four frog and toad books along with some Amelia Bedelia and a couple of titles that just look fun.
If he had more time, he would have grabbed little women. Joe was his favorite character for obvious reasons, but at best, he'd only have about six hours. If anyone asked, he was babysitting a nephew. No one would ask, right? When he had reached the checkout desk, the librarians smiled as they checked out Lucas's collection, as if remembering their own childhood.
Have a good day, and a nice time reading these. Uh, you too, Lucas said before blushing, but there was no time for dwelling on how long the awkward exchange would haunt him. He had to get to his shrine before sunset. Lucas rushed home, reciting the newest version of the spell's recipe in his head. Recipe for contact with a soul, revised. Items precious to the lightpersons. Check! He had their wedding rings.
Scents that will trigger memories in the debt. Check. He had experimented with this one over the past six years of attempts. This year, he had settled on his late father's Old Spice, at least it was an axe, and some herbal essences shampoo for his mother. A candle that has been burning since sunrise. This was Meg's contribution. She had some long-lasting enchanted candles that were nigh impossible to burn down houses.
The names of the dead persons written 13 times a piece on ink with ultramarine. Check. This was by far the costliest part of the process. You wouldn't want to ruin the spell by cutting costs. Ultramarine. As precious and expensive as gold, apparently. A functional Teddy Ruxman doll. Check. This was Aunt Meg's idea after last year's failure. Lucas had never had one of these. Had never even heard of them until Aunt Meg produced the stained, matted teddy seemingly haunted by the scent of dust.
She did not appreciate him calling it junk. Finally, he was home. After a quick greeting, he rushed to the shrine in his room, caught his breath, and arranged the Teddy Ruxpin doll behind him just as Aunt Megan instructed. Good, the candle was still burning. He poured a little of the herbal essences and Old Spice in a small dish next to the candle, then took a cautious... The cinnamon and cedarwood stood out to him for a moment before the floral scent, roses maybe, overtook his scent.
Regardless of the success or the failure, he was revising the amount of cent next year. As Lucas spread out the library books on the floor, he decided to make one last change to the spell. While he was supposed to burn the sheet with his parents' names and repeat them aloud, did it really make that much sense to call his parents by name when he certainly hadn't done that when they were alive? Would they even respond to that?
The point was for the two of them to know it was him, no matter how much he had changed. He took a deep breath and held the sheet to the canvas. mom dad mom dad please mama please dad i miss you please please please please answer this call He sniffed. Please? He would repeat the names countless times until they responded, or until his voice gave out, and it was clear he had failed, whichever came first.
The problem with needing years to learn magic was that the longer someone had been dead, the harder it was to contact. It had been 15 years since the accident. Lucas was certain he was running out of time. Mama, dad, please answer this call. It's... His voice cracked and he took a deep breath. No, Aunt Meg had promised. It's your son. I know I'm far different than you remember. I'm Lucas now, not... You know.
Aunt Meg had promised him that he would not need to deadname himself to get his parents to acknowledge him. Perhaps for different spirits, he would have had to, but Aunt Meg was certain his parents would understand. But as Lucas chanted, his eyes burning from both candle smoke and tears, he was swallowed by self-doubt. Could that really be true? Could you really know someone before you revealed yourself to them?
He recalled countless rejections, countless misgenderings, countless deadnamings from supposed friends when he came out. Not now. Have faith. Think of your parents. They loved you. They'd accept you. If they wouldn't, would you really want to see them? Lucas shook while he chanted and begged. The candle consumed the last of the paper and mere moments later went out.
From behind him there came a sound not unlike the degauss button on Aunt Meg's ancient computer had done. Then the noise of static filled the room. Lucas tried to turn around but a frigid grip pinned him in place. freezing cold hands, which for some reason he did not mind at all, suddenly embraced him. A jolt of nostalgia reached his brain. Don't look. A voice came from the Teddy Ruxpin doll. He put a hand on one of the freezing spectral arms. Mom?
They tightened in response, but not uncomfortably. Lucas, Lucas. Lucas. The Teddy Ruxman's voice suddenly sounded like what he thought. The faint memories told him were his father's. The same timbre Lucas' voices settled on some months after he began tea. His heart fluttered at the similarity. Yes, it's me, Dad. So good to see you. What a fine, a fine young man you've become. Lucas swallowed. You don't mind?
A hiss of air came near an ear, turning into what he thought was his mother's voice. I'm so sorry, kiddo, that we had to leave you so soon. that we didn't, couldn't see you for yourself until now. Lucas clutched the spectral arms as best he could, his hands hovering over his bound chest. Meg has been taking good care of you, Father Ruxpin said. We can't stay forever, kiddo, his mother whispered. He knew this.
Aunt Meg had drilled it into him right from the start when he declared on his 12th birthday, when he was finally old enough, that she had to let him help, had to let him learn, that he wanted to learn magic just for this purpose. He had to get to business. The knot in his chest tight. First, mama, what's the secret to your zucchini cake? I've tried countless times to replicate it and it's just not. It's just not. Are you using small zucchini?
Lucas nodded before realizing he had no idea that his parents could see that. Yeah. A written recipe, even if it has every single detail, never comes out identical to what another person made. You can't recreate my zucchini cake because you're not me. You're your own person. I'm sorry, kiddo. He felt that nigh, imperceptible cold lips on his forehead. But that doesn't mean you can't make zucchini cake. That means something to you. Got it.
The knot in his chest unwound a bit. What else, kiddo? He had until midnight. It was plenty of time, yet not enough. Never enough. He could feel himself becoming a kid once more. I want Mama, Dad, can you read me stories? He lifted a couple of books. I really miss you two reading to me. His mother's hands closed his eyes and pulled him downwards so he was lying on the rough carpet.
Aunt Meg was right. It needed vacuuming. He couldn't be in her lap anymore. Maybe if he had succeeded at this spell years earlier, he could have, but he could feel a cold hand stroke his face. It wasn't the same. Nothing would ever be the same, but he would enjoy this while he could. Frog and Toad are friends by Arnold Lobel. Remember to do the voices, dear, his mother whispered to his father. Frog ran up the path to Toad's house.
As the reading went on and on, like he was four once more, Lucas could feel himself getting sleepy. Noticing he was fighting that urge, his mother caressed his cropped hair. Sweet dreams kiddo. Can we, he whispered, afraid of shattering this moment, do this again next year? Do it over and over again until I, I join you? Shh, your father's reading, his mother said. His eyes fluttered once, twice, and then closed.
When the first rays of sunshine prodded Lucas he awoke with a start, wiping away some residual tears. Yesterday had been surprisingly warm, but despite the freezing cold temperature of his mother's arms, despite the fact that those were gone now, and all he felt were the warm kisses of sunbeams reflecting off a blanket of snow.
He felt colder than ever. He composed himself and went to make coffee. To surprise, Aunt Meg was there. How'd it go? You were right, he said, beaming. They knew who I was and accepted me. Aunt Meg hugged him. Glad to hear it worked. She broke the hug and smacked his back. Now, why don't you make me some zucchini cake as thank you.
He chuckled. As long as you're fine with it being my version, he said and grabbed the kitchen tools. Of course, I want the Lucas special. He frowned as he grated the zucchini. Aunt Meg, that's it. Does it ever stop hurting? She sighed and stared at a wooden clock made by a long dead son, a son Lucas never remembered meeting. Not really. The feelings change over the years. Sometimes they're numb. Sometimes they're raw. There are good days. They're bad.
There are days where the grief bites at you, devours you like the teeth of winter on those windshield advisory days. It never stops hurting outright, but more importantly, the love never goes away either. You just have to remember it's there, always, forever. You just have to remember. Aunt Meg turned to him, her eyes damp but smiling regardless. And now you know why I keep my positively antique junk.
Lucas let her words settle into his mind. Aunt Meg patted his shoulder. After the cake is in the oven, why don't we talk about how the spell can be improved? Lucas smiled. I like that very much. This has not been a pleasant few weeks for trans people in the UK, or in many other parts of the world for that matter. All are more reason to share stories like this one, which very much align with our team's own feelings here. We're here for all of you. Cis, trans, non-binary and plural.
No one but you gets to define what your story is, and it is a joy and a privilege to see and accept people for who they are. There is one thing I will say, though. Teddy Ruxpin dolls. For those of you younger than me, picture a teddy bear in a red shirt. Definitely not Winnie the Pooh.
with a slightly mobile head and a tape of recorded sound bites. Well, Teddy Rockspins were around when I was a kid, and oh my days, were they creepy! I'm not sure I'd have been able to follow through on a spell like that. Not even with the promise of zucchini cake Join us again soon. We love bringing you the best audio fiction week after week but we can't do it without your support
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