Through the Eye's Veil

Words: 4,500 (Approx)

THROUGH THE EYE’S VEIL

by Lily Finch

The giant red orb of a sun hung low in the sky and cast elongated shadows over the town of Pineville as Brian, Bobby, and Mark meandered toward school. The crisp air nipped their cheeks, while their breaths puffed out in plumes of mist that mingled with their laughter. The pine and oak trees, ancient sentinels draped in golden light, loomed as if guards of the secrets from an era long past.

“Ever since I was a little boy, a bloody eye has been out there in the sky. It stares at us like an overseer,” Brian declared. His gaze lingered on the horizon where the eye hovered—an unsettled ball suspended in the heavens. It pulsed with a mesmerizing glow, a reminder of the uncanny blend of normalcy and dread woven into their lives.

“I know, right?” Bobby said and rolled his eyes. Unable to hide his anxiety, he babbled on, “That stupid eye always comes first and then those damn tremors start; it makes the ground restless.”

Brian looked down at the gravel beneath their feet. The stones shifted with his thoughts. “A life spent under constant watching is unnerving.”

Bobby furrowed his brow. “Yeah, but you already know there’s nothing we can do about that. Since that’s the way things are, why let it upset you?”

“Because I believe there’s more waiting for me somewhere else,” Brian replied, a touch of hope flickering behind his eyes.

Bobby shrugged. “Why don’t you write about it or draw it? It might help.”

“Excellent idea,” Mark said.

Both boys, dwarfed by Brian’s creativity, were supportive friends.

By the school gates, Mark whispered a question: “Should we ask Miss Jane about the eye in science class today?”

“It creeps me out, too.”

“Newsflash, everything creeps you out. You big baby, you can ask her if you want, but I won’t,” Bobby said. He brushed it off, but his curiosity simmered like Mark’s fears simmered.

Mark endured years as a victim. The teasing caused his timidity.

“I’ll find out somehow.

“I think I’d like to ask her too,” Brian said, a spark of defiance lighting his face. He had always mastered swinging, pursuing the elusive thrill of adventure.

“Who wants to go to the gravel pit after school tomorrow?” Mark asked, half-eager, half-anxious.

“On our bikes?” Bobby asked, his interest piqued. The pit stirred a mix of thrill and fear, just like the eye that watched from above.

The bell rang, cutting through their conversation. The boys exchanged glances, sensing something was about to change. The eye, an omniscient orb, tracked their every move as if it held the secrets to their dreams and fears.

It cast a surreal light that hinted at a hidden magic above them that promised to transform their ordinary lives.

After school, the boys played outside until dark. On foggy nights, the town vanished into blackness. Nights felt like they lasted for days, and the town’s candlemaker’s shop became the busiest place during those days.

The town’s small population of less than 10,000 meant everyone knew each other. The gravel and tremors were a part of their daily lives. The eye in the sky watched the town’s residents without fail.

Pine and oak trees lined the streets that led to the park. Townspeople enjoyed having picnics at this spot. Six consecutive days of sunshine prompted the boys to head outdoors early for school to throw snowballs. They laughed as one boy got hit in the face on their way to school. The boys enjoyed throwing snowballs before school because of the school’s ban.

The eye made Mark twitch and fidget, but he couldn’t help but look at it. He longed for acceptance. Despite his initial bravery at the sight of the eye, Bobby fled to safety as soon as the tremors began. He picked the gravel off himself and his friends every time it rained until he couldn’t see anymore.

“I’d like to go,” Brian said, staring at his feet. “But I don’t have a bike.” His words hurt him to say. He visited Mr. Martens’s store to find a bike. He’d fit in and could show off his bike skills at the pits.

The town’s “nice guy,” Mr. Martens’s character, remained mysterious for townsfolk, but his smile was timeless and put everyone at ease. Mr. Martens, who never aged, had everything his customers needed. His pawnshop brimmed with discarded artifacts and held their secrets. A dusty light filtered through the windows as shadows danced across shelves filled with wonders.

Mr. Martens, a globe-trotting archaeologist, shared his findings with interested visitors to his shop. He possessed intriguing relics and dealt in the trade of time at his store.

After her father’s death, grief ran thick in her house. Her mother withdrew, and Susan turned to reading as her refuge and rebellion. The never-ending cycle of small-town life and the trapped feelings deep inside fueled her desire to vanish. Susan aspired to leave the town behind for a life filled with possibilities. Susan’s heart held a fierce desire to rise above her circumstances and find her identity and a place where she belonged. She also wanted to bridge her relationship with her mother, even if that meant navigating the complexities of their shared pain.

That afternoon, Susan Blakely entered the shop. Seventeen, tall, with brunette curls and a freckled face, Susan found her escape in books.

“Look at you, Susan Blakely,” Mr. Martens said, beaming. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, Mr. Martens. How have you been?”

“Can I help you today?”

“I need something like a snow globe,” she said. “All the girls are getting together for a party, and we’re supposed to bring a snow globe with us. Do you have any for sale?”

“I might. I’ll look for you.” Mr. Martens moved towards the far right side of the store. “How’s your mother doing? I saw her last week at the post office. She still looks beautiful.”

“Yeah, thanks. You know, she still isn’t over my dad’s death, but she’s making do. You should visit us sometime.”

“I’d be more than happy to.”

Honestly, Mr. Martens, I would like to become like the Darling children, Wendy, John, and Michael, from Peter Pan and escape to Neverland.

“I can’t say that I’ve thought about disappearing, but I get what you mean, wanting to escape from everything for a while.”

Mr. Martens paused. He hesitated to assist Susan, recalling his previous attempt to help a boy her age beforehand. The boy bought a knife that possessed him. However, he responded, “I don’t have a real snow globe, but I may have something even better—a special one.”

“I don’t know?”

“It’s right over here. It doesn’t look like much, but trust me, there’s magic in that globe.” He handed it to her.

The skill involved in crafting such a detailed town model amazed Susan. Reviewing the work, her admiration for its craftsmanship grew. The wooden mailbox at the end of Mr. Jessop’s driveway was the highlight of her amazement. Maybe Mr. Martens’ pawnshop had more to it than it seemed. She saw the clothesline, where her mother hung sheets. Susan saw her arms full of laundry to fold.

“Hey, that’s me!” she shrieked. She collapsed off the bookshelf. Mr. Martens caught every trinket that fell from the shelves with a magician’s deft hand.

Susan gasped as she tried to articulate words to express what she had seen.

Mr. Martens produced a glass of liquid. “Here, drink this and you’ll feel better.” She drank it, and it settled her nerves.

“I was inside the globe; I saw myself. But how can that be? I’m not in there. I’m right here. With you.”

“I told you it was special.”

“But, but …”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s magic, my dear.”

Curiosity consumed her. “How much is it?”

“It’s $5.00.”

“Wow, that’s all? I’ll take it then. Thanks.” She smiled at Mr. Martens.

“No one else can see what’s inside the globe; only you can.”

Susan left the store. She completed her dip, then had time enough for home, a change, and a party arrival. Although she needed to make her dip, she forgot about it once she got home. She looked over the globe in fine detail. It stole her concentration. She studied it. Susan compared the two and discovered her globe weighed much heavier than her mother’s on the mantle. She turned it over but felt pushback from an invisible force that prevented her from turning it upside down. Perhaps Mr. Martens told her the truth? It seemed magical enough to Susan. She shook the globe and watched black snow fall inside it, while in Pineville, more gravel fell instead. She had never seen black snow. Yet, she found a correlation: more shaking meant more gravel in Pineville. She understood that what happened in Pineville also happened inside the magic globe.

She gasped. All her attention on the globe made Susan remember she forgot to make her chip dip for the party.

“Mom. Please, I’m begging you, I’m in a jam. I need your help. Can you make it for me, please?”

“Fine. I’ll do it this time,” her mom said. “But you know, Susan, this really is your responsibility.”

“I know, Mom. You’re right. I should’ve done it earlier. Thank you.” Susan said. Then she flew back upstairs to find an outfit.

She came downstairs in a lovely green and red cotton dress. She paired it with elegant matching red flats and a red cardigan. Her red barrettes held back her curls so that her green earrings showed. Susan resembled Santa’s elves, she thought as she glanced in the mirror. Her mother waited by the door and handed her a small bowl wrapped with Saran Wrap and a bag with the globe and chips inside. She smiled, kissed her mother, and headed to the party.

At the party, music pulsed, and laughter bounced off the walls. Her friends showed off glittering globes. Susan pulled hers out of the bag. It showed only black fog. She shook the object to reveal its charm to her friends. They laughed. The house shook as gravel fell. Hurt by their laughter and upset, Susan tore down the stairs and outside like a startled doe.

It wasn’t even 10:30 when Susan busted through the front door and slammed the globe onto the kitchen table at home. “Damn that Mr. Martens! What good is this magic globe if no one else can see the magic in it?”

Outside, gravel snow fell—gravel-like drops dented Mrs. Taber’s watering can. Upstairs, Susan collapsed onto her bed. The globe’s fog continued to swirl. She left it on her desk for days. Susan stayed in the house, lying on her bed. She read for days. She had nothing else to do since her friends aggravated her.

Frustrated, Susan attempted to turn it over—this time she could. An outline of a tiny door hidden beneath a label caught her eye. She peeled back the label and opened the globe’s miniature door. Something pulled Susan inside.

She travelled through it and landed on a wooden floor. A kind-looking older woman approached her.

“Hello, dear. Did Mr. Martens send you?”

“I know him... but how is it possible that he sent me here? To you?” Susan asked, dazed.

The woman smiled. “He’s my son. His great-grandfather created that globe in your hand. Our family magic is how that world flourishes.

Susan relaxed in the surroundings she had fallen into. She heard gravel hit the windows while she shook the globe. She held it still and discovered the gravel stopped falling, and the tremors ceased.

#

Class resumed; the boys remained inside all day at school because of the tremors.

“Look at the eye,” Mark whispered. “It’s haunting.”

“Tonight, right after school, we’re off to the gravel pits,” Mark said, high-fived Bobby, and let out a “Woo-hoo.”

“I can’t wait,” Bobby responded.

“I’ll have to catch up with you guys after a visit to Mr. Martens’ pawnshop—I need a bike.”

The boys fidgeted through the afternoon. After school ended, the boys sprinted home to get their bikes like it was a race day.

Brian headed to Mr. Martens’ pawn shop, focused on a bicycle.

Mr. Martens met him at the door. Known for his reasonable prices, Mr. Martens is a beloved business owner in town. He hated it if anyone entered his pawn shop and went away empty-handed.

Brian thought the bike looked super through the pawnshop window. He entered the shop all smiles and nodded at Mr. Martens.

“Hey Brian, it’s wonderful to see you. I noticed you looking at the bike in the window.”

“Yes, sir. It’s a neat-looking bike. Does a helmet come with it?”

“I’m sure we could work something out. Let’s see how you look on the bike. The seat may need to be adjusted to your height.”

“I have $50.00 to spend, but I hoped to keep a bit for movies and the diner for a float.”

“Are you still working at the potato pool on weekends?”

“Yes, sir, my parents say it keeps me out of trouble.” Brian got closer to the bike. “How much for the bike? It doesn’t have a price.” His eyes shifted from side to side.

“Brian, how much can you afford?”

“I guess all of it.” He looked down with his hands in his pockets.

Mr. Martens’ glasses slid down his nose. He looked at Brian and said, “For you, it’s a special price, $25.00. Helmet included.”

“I’ll take it!” Brian said it with a big smile on his face. He counted out the money.

“Thank you, Mr. Martens.”

“Gee, this bike really is for you.” Mr. Martens scratched his head. “It’s at the perfect height. No adjustments to the seat need to be made.”

“Be safe,” Mr. Martens said as Brian wheeled the bike out of the store. Brian had already put on the helmet. He pedalled toward the gravel pit to join his friends.

Brian glimpsed the gigantic eye. It watched him as a tremor shook him on his bike. Falling gravel covered him. After it stopped, Brian jumped off the bike and wiped the gravel from his clothes. “I hate that stuff all over me,” Brian said, his tongue clicking. “I always feel suffocated when that stuff falls like that,” he said out loud. He jumped back on his bike and continued toward the gravel pit.

Brian had heard stories about the gravel pits. Stories spread about cyclists performing stunts there. Brian arrived to see older boys biking up and down the gravel walls of the giant pit.

It didn’t take long before Brian joined in on the action. His confidence wavered, yet he plunged down the gravel wall while his friends watched.

Any fear Brian had before descending the pit disappeared after his first run down it. His confidence compelled him to ride down the pit walls again and again. He attempted all the tricks. The older kids tried to stop Brian because of the tremors and the bits of gravel that loosened from the wall and flew into the air.

“He’ll never make it across the hole with that bike,” one of the oldest boys said.

“It’s not safe,” said another boy. “It’s those tremors; he doesn’t have enough experience yet.”

He heard boys in line, behind him, discuss the dangers of the ride, even for experienced riders. Brian ignored the dire warnings and moved to the starting point without regard for the consequences if he failed. He was sure he could make it. He concentrated on becoming a badass at bike tricks at the pit today. He never thought he wouldn’t make it. Brian descended the pit wall using his bike’s momentum to turn the front wheel sideways into the now soft, loosened gravel wall.

Despite doing every move right, Brian hit soft gravel, and it caused him to spin the rear tire faster than he should have. That patch of gravel gave way, and he sank into the geyser hole.

“Agh!” Brian screamed. He knew he was in trouble and had lost control. The boys watched in horror as the gravel opened up and swallowed Brian. It buried him alive in the gravel. All the boys dropped their bikes, jumped into the pit, and dug. His friends shouted, “Come on guys, DIG! Brian needs AIR!”

Each boy understood how time was. Their fingers and arms slathered with wet gravel paste; a handful of boys cried while others shook their heads. One boy rode his bike back into town. By the time the rescue crews showed up, the boys knew Brian couldn’t be alive. Parents showed up and collected their boys.

The news devastated Brian’s parents. His sister collapsed. Friends and acquaintances lined the street outside the funeral home. Mark and Bobby stood in the receiving line with Brian’s parents and sister. Every boy at the pit on the day Brian died attended the funeral. Amidst the tears, Mark and Bobby wore bands in Brian’s honour.

Mr. Martens heard the news and could not believe it. He thought he had not handled the sale well. He should’ve emphasized safety before anything else with Brian, and he didn’t. Brian had no reason to be at the gravel pit that day; he was too young to understand the consequences of his actions. As he went through the line at the funeral home, he and Brian’s dad embraced without offering words of comfort. What could he say that would suffice?

Brian’s father sat on the town council. He pushed for and passed a law banning non-employees from the gravel pit area. To keep the kids out, the company erected a new fence. The town now had round-the-clock security patrols.

#

Susan didn’t realize that her understanding of the globe’s true magic and how she could find her place within it contained the key to two worlds.

Susan sat cross-legged on a patchwork rug inside the small wooden house, the globe resting in her lap like a sleeping animal. The room pulsed with silent magic—every flicker of the lanterns appeared alive with watchful energy. It remained unlike anything she’d ever known as strange, familiar, and personal.

The older woman—Mrs. Martens—moved, her silver braid swinging down her back as she poured tea from a floral kettle. “The globe doesn’t just reflect your emotions, Susan. It bends with them. It’s not meant to trap you, but to show you.”

“Show me what?” Susan asked. Her voice was hoarse with wonder and confusion.

“Your power. Your feelings. How grief and hope shape our entire world if you let them.”

Susan looked down at the black fog swirling behind the glass. “Then… is everything in there because of me?”

Mrs. Martens smiled. “Not just you. But you’re the one who unlocked it. That means you’re also the one who can begin to set it right.”

Susan didn’t know what that meant. Was there something she should do? How could she know? She wondered what might come next. Mrs. Martens’ words revealed no clues and no answers. She noticed strange birds with glass-like wings above in the violet sky outside the window. Could this be? Her wish came true? Was this place her very own Peter Panish place? The land was magical, with its shimmering forests, backward-flowing rivers, and familiar-yet-different houses. Susan had no answers, but she knew peace when it enveloped her. For her, this place embraced her whole being. Susan liked whatever this situation was that she found herself in. But she just had to know.

“Where am I supposed to go?” Susan asked.

Mrs. Martens handed her a folded map drawn on velvet-thick parchment. “To the Memory Grove. That’s where everything begins. That’s also the place where we can start anew. All that has been done can be undone there.”

Susan navigated a winding path of glowing pebbles. The trees whispered, and their leaves sparkled as if frost rested on the tips, even though the air was warm. Her boots left no prints. In this boundless, lush environment, Susan loved the blissfulness of the place.

But that changed when she crossed the low bridge into the grove. She saw the varied tree shapes, as if they appeared out of nowhere. Ornaments were familiar and evoked her father’s presence. Tears fell from her eyes, and sadness gripped her heart.

She shed more tears, and grief stopped her. She moaned. She knew she neared the path’s end and dreaded what lay ahead. She couldn’t believe that she could feel any worse. When she felt her legs again, she trudged on. The path ended at a stone pedestal. On it sat a mirror framed in vines. Susan stepped forward into flickers of memories of her father, who flashed through her mind. Her mood lifted. She saw her father’s smile. A calm peace overcame her. All the answers she was seeking came to her. She used her hands to block them as if bright lights shone in her eyes. The answers’ intensity subsided—Susan understood.

The globe was hers. Something she saw didn’t belong: The image rippled as if it beckoned to her. She saw a clear vision of Brian’s accident. “Oh my God, I have to undo it.” She closed her eyes. Her energy raced through her veins.

He’s in trouble at the pit. “Brian. NO! The gravel’s giving way. Stop,” she screamed. Her will surged like an enraged mob. Push back, Susan. Push back with all your might. Rewrite this memory before it sets in, lost forever inside the Memory Grove. It’s too late for my dad. But if I bring back Brian through choices and actions of my will, I can do anything. All of her grief left her, and she surrendered to the peace.

#

The gravel storms intensified, and the townspeople rushed home daily like ants returning to the anthill. One afternoon, during another storm, the boys huddled in an old bus shelter.

“What can we do to stop this?” Brian screamed. Mark and Bobby looked at him, shocked and uncertain.

Brian sighed. “We can’t. Our situation is helpless.” Mr. Martens knew Susan could rid the town of the insidious eye, the tremors, and the gravel.

Brian leaned over the counter in the pawnshop. A smell of cedar, polish, and warmth came from inside. The tremors grew stronger, and last night’s had broken a water main on Willow Street.

“I keep having the same dream,” Brian admitted. “A girl inside the eye.”

Mr. Martens didn’t flinch but said, “You’re seeing the intersection.”

Brian frowned. “Intersection of what?”

“You’re observing the nexus between emotional existence and embracing reality. It occurs between thought and memory. That eye—it doesn’t watch you, silly. It’s been waiting for you.”

Brian looked away. “Waiting for me? For what?”

“Are you aware that you are extraordinary, or do you prefer to continue pretending to be ordinary?”

“Ordinary? Pretend? I’m not. Honest. I’m neither extraordinary nor pretending.”

“Allow your creativity the freedom it deserves,” Mr. Martens said, winking at him.

“Okay, I’ll try. Thanks, Mr. Martens. I gotta go. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

He caught up with the boys in the park by the monkey bars. The boys sat silent. Mark drew patterns in the dirt with a stick. Bobby glanced upward at the eye.

Brian joined them. “Hey, I was just at the pawnshop.”

“Whoa, did you get the information you needed?”

Not totally. I think we should speak to Mr. Martens at the pawnshop.”

Mark looked up, startled. “Why? You think he knows more than he’s letting on? Or did you think of something else on the way over?”

Brian nodded. “I think he knows everything—from Pineville to the eye to the tremors and the gravel.”

#

In the grove, Susan placed her hand on the mirror. The vines curled back, revealing a glowing doorway—its edges flickered like the sky in a storm. The unknown lay ahead, but she somehow knew it had something to do with her and her ability to transform Pineville.

In both worlds, somehow, the eye turned from a round orb into a slit of light—Susan experienced it while it occurred.

#

The wind died down. Brian, Bobby, and Mark stood in front of the pawnshop just as the eye in the sky narrowed into a slit of silver light. It only waited, suspended there.

Inside, Mr. Martens had finished polishing the glass on a peculiar clock before they entered his shop.

“She’s almost there,” he said, without looking up.

Brian stepped forward, his voice firmer than it had ever been. “We want to help. I know we can help. I just don’t know how.”

Mr. Martens met his eyes. “You’ve already helped. Every question you’ve asked, every doubt, every act of courage—it’s anchored to the globe. You’ve allowed those things to become part of its delicate balance. You boys have always been a part of this delicate balance.”

#

Susan passed through the Memory Grove doorway into a large, sunlit field. She saw her family. Her dad smiled, and she laughed; her mom cried. Susan grasped that global and local emotions—hers, Brian’s, and the people of Pineville—intertwined to shape their reality.

The eye? Neither watched nor judged. Instead, it mirrored the undercurrents that the people of Pineville had hidden deep within.

“I’m ready,” she whispered. “I know what it is that I’m meant to do.”

The globe that Susan had returned to Mr. Martens’ pawnshop pulsed once, twice, and it shattered so that every piece disappeared.

Outside the pawnshop, the grey clouds parted. A warm light bathed the town. Tremors and gravel ceased. Families emerged from their houses and gazed upward, surprised by the absence of the eye. A sky, blue enough to pass as tropical ocean waters, filled the socket.

Susan opened her eyes. The globe had disappeared, but the grass sparkled beneath her feet as she walked. She walked to the park. Her eyes focused on three familiar figures by the monkey bars. They watched her approach, confused.

Brian stepped forward. “Susan?”

She nodded, her tears caught the light on her freckled cheeks. “You saw it too?”

“No, but we felt it,” Mark whispered. “All of it.”

Their profound silence conveyed more than words expressed. An unspoken change had occurred between them—understanding and appreciation, rather than through words.

When the dusk faded, Susan sat beside her mother on the porch swing. They shared a warm cup of tea. With the globe gone, the ache in Susan’s chest dissipated like the ghost of a storm finally passed.

“I want to start writing again,” she told her mother.

Her mother looked at her with soft eyes. “I think I’d love to read whatever you write when you’re finished.”

#

The fresh world of Pineville emerged beneath the town’s sky. Dark fog turned to golden light in a world poised to disclose its secrets to its world-altering dreamers. The story didn’t end.

Instead—like the eye—it turned toward a new chapter.

THE END