Rumplestiltskin flicked his tail as he watched the kids approach the house-turned-museum. Three children this time, two girls and a boy. He hated Halloween. Every year, he had to stand guard because he never knew which year would have intruders. Not to mention the difficulty of being a black cat trying to stand up to people, even small ones.
He had no choice. Rumple couldn’t let anyone bring the Sandersons back. He’d already failed Baelfire; he’d not fail again.
The memory shot through him all over again, as though it had happened yesterday instead of 300 years ago.
He remembered waking. Discovering Baelfire was gone…hearing Zelena’s voice enchanting Bae to follow her. The colored wisps of conjured smoke seeping from the cursed house in the woods.
Bae was inside before Rumple could catch up to him and Zelena. The rest happened so quickly, but while it happened, it felt as though time had ceased movement. Through the window, he heard Cora calling for ingredients, saw Regina adding them to an enormous cauldron in the middle of the room. Bae sat on a chair in a daze, clearly spelled. Rumple leaped in with no thought other than he had to stop them.
He’d nearly succeeded.
Nearly. Their magicks had been too strong for him.
He awoke to cheerful cackling, his heart sinking as his eyes took in Baelfire’s slumped figure.
“Tis just as thou claimed, Mother!” Regina howled gleefully. “The life of only one child has granted us the beauteous youth of roses newly in bloom.” Rumple was aghast. They had killed his Bae to make themselves younger.
“We shall be younger and more beautiful soon. That foolish boy ruined our first batch, but I shall brew another while Zelena fetches more children.”
“No,” Rumple had shouted as he pulled himself up from the floor. “You’ll murder no more children.”
And then they had turned him into what he remained to this day: a black cat. Cursed to live forever with the guilt of failing his little brother. Forced to hide in the shadows while his remaining family grieved the loss of Baelfire, and the unknown fate of Rumplestiltskin. Never to rejoin them in heaven.
If only he’d been faster.
-------
“Emma, can we go home now?” the young boy dressed as Harry Potter whined.
“I thought you wanted to make a believer out of me, Henry,” his older sister countered. She wore a red leather jacket that was a little too large for her over a black tee with ripped jeans and boots. It was a flimsy excuse for what she claimed was a biker chick costume. They were new to the town, and trick-or-treating was the next-to-last thing on the long list of things Emma didn’t want to do, but her parents had given her a choice between that or the last thing on her list: being grounded.
“We won’t stay long. We can just have a quick look around.” Belle held her mom’s key up to the light, trying to discern which way it would need to go into the lock.
Belle was the entire reason the three of them were even attempting this Halloween break-in; she was the only friend Emma had made since she and Henry had moved to Storybrooke with their parents a few weeks ago. It wasn’t something they’d planned, but when Emma stopped at Belle’s house for a pee-break halfway through their trick-or-treating route, Henry and Belle had started talking Sandersons. Unlike Emma, Belle and Henry were very into Halloween, and the Sanderson story in particular.
“I’ve been wanting to sneak back in here ever since they closed up last year, but I couldn’t bring myself to come here alone,” Belle said as she turned the key in the lock. Once inside (and once they’d figured out how to turn on some lights), Belle started pointing out the various items and explaining what they were.
“That’s Cora’s spinning wheel. They say she could spin straw into gold.”
“Definitely witchcraft,” Henry said with a nod.
“The boxes that line that wall are said to be where the Sandersons kept the hearts of those they wished to control.”
“Hearts?” Emma looked at the rows of ornate boxes. “Wait, how did they get the hearts?”
“No one knows for sure. Some people say Zelena studied Aztec mysticism, but that seems unlikely in the early 1700s.“ Belle shrugged. “When the villagers opened the boxes, most of them were empty, but a few contained a single fist-sized bloodstone. See?” she said, holding open one of the boxes. The rock was a deep red color with veins of black running through it. “They didn’t find any hearts, though.”
“Eww, what’s that?” Emma asked, pointing at a gnarled stump that seemed to be rotting inside a glass box.
“It’s Regina’s apple tree. According to legend, this tree bore apples that were poison to any more beautiful than Regina. After Regina and the others were hanged for the murder of Baelfire Gold and the disappearance of Rumplestiltskin Gold, it’s said to have withered into what you see before you.” Belle was really relishing this; she’d never been allowed to give tours when her mother worked for the museum, only work the cash register from time to time.
Emma stopped in front of one of the largest candles she’d ever seen. “The Sandersons must have had one hell of a Bath and Body Works bill.”
Belle laughed. “Not exactly.”
Henry spoke up this time. “That’s the black flame candle!”
“Right. Of course it is.”
“Henry’s right. Do you know the story of it, Henry?”
“Umm…” he thought for a moment. “There’s some kind of curse. And it’s made from human fat!”
“Disgusting.” Emma’s commentary, of course.
Belle nodded. “Cora Sanderson is supposed to have cast a curse on it with her dying breath; if lit by a virgin on All Hallow’s Eve, it will summon the dead…in particular, the Sanderson witches.”
Emma had no time to respond to this information, because at that moment, a howling black cat launched itself at her from out of nowhere.