Brass Ring
At fifteen, Tara Stohlman believed she was too old to vacation with her parents. The Stohlmans felt differently. Had she been eighteen, they might have considered leaving her home alone but definitely not at fifteen.
"It's not that we don't trust you," her father, Dick Stohlman, explained, hoping to mollify his sulking daughter.
"But you don't."
"That's not true. You know how your mother is. She's afraid something might happen to you if you're left alone."
"I know. Even when she goes grocery shopping or to a doctor's appointment, she always fears some sex offender is going to break into the house and abduct me while she's gone. I bet if I were a boy, she wouldn't be so strict."
"But you're not a boy," her father countered, sharing his wife's belief that one could never be too careful when one is the parent of a daughter. "And young girls do occasionally get abducted, some even taken right from their own homes."
"I think you and Mom watch way too many true-crime shows on TV."
"Maybe so," Dick said, putting down his newspaper—a sure sign that the discussion was over. "But you're still coming with us."
Early on Saturday morning, the Stohlmans packed up their Toyota 4Runner and left their New Jersey home for a two-week trip to North Carolina. The roughly five-hundred-mile trek would take them at least nine hours. Traffic and rest stops would add another two hours or more.
An entire day wasted! Tara thought, staring out the window at the cars that sped past them in the northbound lanes of the interstate.
"I don't see why you had to drive," she complained. "Don't they have any airports in North Carolina?"
"Of course, they do," Bonnie Stohlman answered. "But there are no direct flights to the Outer Banks. We would have to take a plane to Norfolk, Virginia, and then rent a vehicle to drive the rest of the way. It's much easier and cheaper to just go by car."
"And remind me. Why are we going to the Outer Banks? What's there?"
"Beautiful beaches for one thing."
"Beaches? Seriously? We live in New Jersey, a state that has a hundred and thirty miles of beaches!"
"Then there are several lighthouses including the one on Cape Hatteras."
"Are you forgetting we've got lighthouses at Absecon, Barnegat and Cape May?"
"But North Carolina has Kitty Hawk where the Wright Brothers had their historic first flight."
"Are there any theme parks on the Outer Banks?"
"Not exactly, but there are several places that have mini golf, ropes courses, ziplines and amusements of that sort."
"And we're driving an entire day for that!" Tara mumbled.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Dick asked, defending his wife's choice of vacation locale. "Surely, you don't want to spend the entire summer in New Jersey."
"Florida would be nice," his daughter suggested. "It has beaches and lighthouses as well. And forget the Wright Brothers and Kitty Hawk; Florida has the Kennedy Space Center. Oh, and then there's Walt Disney World, Universal Studios, SeaWorld and Busch Gardens."
"All right. That's enough," her father declared. "We're going to the Outer Banks."
"You know, I've been thinking we ought to do a cruise next year," Bonnie announced.
A cruise! her daughter thought with a grimace. Talk about going from bad to worse. Who wants to be on a cruise ship with a bunch of old people stuffing their faces at the buffet, drinking or getting sunburned at the pool?
"There's a Royal Caribbean ship that leaves from Bayonne and goes to the Bahamas. It stops at Cape Canaveral along the way where you can choose from optional excursions that go to the Space Center and the theme parks in Orlando."
"You might enjoy that," Dick suggested.
"And I bet you'd love CocoCay!" his wife added.
"What's that? A chocolate dessert?"
"No. It's a private island used exclusively by the cruise line. In 2019, they turned it into a giant water park. And since only the people on the ship can use it, you won't have the long lines you would at the parks in New Jersey."
A private water park and an excursion to Universal Studios, Tara mused. A cruise might not be too bad after all. At least I wouldn't have to spend several hours in traffic on I-95.
It was after seven o'clock when the Stohlmans finally arrived at the Outer Banks. Rather than stay in a hotel, they rented a two-bedroom beach cottage at Kill Devil Hills. The house was small, but Tara preferred it to the Days Inn and Best Western since she would sleep in a separate room and not have to listen to her father's snoring all night.
* * *
While her parents, both of whom worked full-time jobs, enjoyed relaxing in lounge chairs on the beach beneath brightly colored umbrellas, sipping iced tea and lemonade, Tara soon grew bored of lying on a sandy towel, her body slathered with sunscreen, listening to the same old playlists on her iPhone. Ed Sheeran was great, but come on! How many times in one day could you listen to "Shape of You" and "Perfect"?
"Can we do something?" she whined. "I'm tired of just sitting on the beach."
They had already visited the Wright Brothers National Memorial, the lighthouses at Cape Hatteras and Currituck Beach, the Elizabethan Gardens and the North Carolina Aquarium.
"Why don't you go in the water?" Bonnie suggested.
"Are you sure it's safe, Mom?" Tara cried out in mock horror. "What if there are sharks in that water? I could wind up becoming a shark happy meal like Alex Kintner, the kid in Jaws."
"I can tell you were born in Jersey," her mother laughed. "You've got a smart mouth."
To appease their daughter, the Stohlmans went to an adventure park in Nags Head. Since neither Bonnie nor Dick enjoyed ziplines or ropes courses, they remained spectators on the ground and took photographs. After two hours of rigorous climbing through obstacles, wearing a helmet and harness, the fifteen-year-old was ready to call it quits.
"That last zipline gave me a major wedgie," she grumbled as the family headed toward the parking lot. "Besides, I'm getting hungry."
They ate at a nearby seafood restaurant. The fries included in Tara's fish and chips dinner were overly salty, and consequently, it took three large Cokes to quench her thirst.
"Fair warning," she announced when they returned to the rented cottage. "I'm going to be running to the bathroom all night."
Although she managed to empty her bladder in just two trips, the caffeine in the soda kept her awake. Since reading usually put her to sleep, she picked up Stephenie Meyer's Midnight Sun, the latest in the Twilight series. Despite having a major crush on Edward Cullen's character, she soon grew restless and lost interest in the book.
I should have ordered a drink with no caffeine, she thought, getting up from bed and pacing the floor.
Music didn't help. Neither did playing a game on her phone. Eventually, her restless gaze went to the window.
It's such a beautiful night!
Tara was never one to sneak out of the house, drink alcohol or smoke behind her parents' backs. Despite the occasional wisecrack, she was basically a well-mannered, obedient child. But on that night, the sound of the surf seemed to call to her, and the moon reached out its silvery beams to entice her. She tiptoed across the room, quietly raised the window and climbed out over the sill.
Clad in an oversized Bruce Springsteen T-sheet, which she wore in lieu of pajamas, and a pair of cotton panties, she walked barefoot on the beach. During the day, the hot sand would have burned the soles of her feet, but it had cooled since the sun went down. She walked to the water's edge and let the gentle waves wash over her lower legs.
It's odd having the beach all to myself, she thought, watching the light from the waxing gibbous moon reflect on the water. It's nice not having to navigate through crowds of sun-worshippers.
The only light came from the moon, and the only sound was that of the waves lapping the shore. Leisurely strolling along the lonely beach, she tried to imagine what Kill Devil Hills must have been like when Wilbur and Orville Wright tested their flying machine there: no hotels, restaurants, shopping centers or gas stations to mar the natural beauty of the barrier island. Engrossed in her reverie, her eyes on her feet as she walked through the wet sand, Tara lost all track of time.
Suddenly, a familiar sound broke the peace of the night. Music. It was not a rock 'n' roll or country tune coming from a late-night bar nor was it a rap song blasted on a car radio. It was more like circus or carnival music being played on a Wurlitzer organ. The teenager picked her head up and was surprised to see a large, round building directly ahead of her.
Where am I? she wondered, turning her head to look for familiar landmarks and finding none.
It was as though she had been transported back to the Wright brothers' time. The buildings, roads, vehicles and traffic signs were gone. The only two things on or near the beach were the carousel house and the teenager from New Jersey.
This isn't Kill Devil Hills. I must be in Nags Head. How long have I been out walking? My parents are going to be furious! I can see it now. I'll be grounded for the rest of the summer.
Her initial instinct was to turn around and hurry back to the cottage, but the Wurlitzer's music emanating from the round building lured her inside. The eeriness of the night only intensified when she entered the barn-like structure. The lights were on. The music played. The carousel was rotating. But not a single person was in sight.
"Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone here?"
The merry-go-round slowed to a stop. The finely crafted wooden animals appeared to issue an unspoken invitation with their painted eyes. Mesmerized by the music, Tara stepped onto the platform, walked past a camel, tiger and seahorse and chose a white prancer. No sooner was she sitting in the saddle than the ride started up again. She did not stop to wonder who was operating the controls; frankly, she didn't care. This was an adventure!
It was not until she made four complete revolutions that she noticed the ring dispenser. The next time around, she reached up to grab a ring from the wooden arm suspended above her head.
"Darn it! I missed."
Four more times she tried to grab hold of the prize, and four more times the brass ring eluded her. There would be no more opportunities that night, for the carousel slowed to a stop and the organ music came to an end. She got down from the horse, and moments after she crossed the threshold of the round building, the lights went out.
"I'd better get my ass home before my mother calls the local and state police and possibly even the FBI to look for me!"
Surprisingly, it was only a short walk back to the cottage. And when she crawled through the window, she was overjoyed to discover that her parents were both still sound asleep in the next room.
* * *
The following morning, Bonnie and Dick Stohlman, unaware of their daughter's nighttime escapade, woke early, ready to go to the beach.
"Come on, sleepyhead," the mother called to the sleeping teenager. "It's time to get up. It's almost ten o'clock."
Tara opened her eyes to see the sun brightly shining through the window, which set off a mental chain reaction. The window reminded her of her walk. The walk reminded her of the carousel. The carousel reminded her of the brass ring.
"Hey, Mom," she called as she headed for the kitchen where Bonnie had a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice waiting for her. "Can we go to the carousel house today?"
"What's that?" her father asked. "A fast-food restaurant?"
"No. It's a merry-go-round. It's right on the beach in the direction of Nags Head."
"I didn't read about any carousel in the guidebooks or on the tourism websites," Bonnie said. "How did you hear about it?"
Not wanting to confess to her unsanctioned wandering of the previous night, she lied.
"I overheard some kids talking about it on the ropes course yesterday. They say it's an old-fashioned merry-go-round where you can try to reach up and grab a brass ring."
"A brass ring?" Dick echoed, smiling at a nostalgic memory that came to him. "I haven't seen one of those since we rode the Flying Horses on Martha's Vineyard. Remember that, Bon? It's the oldest, continuously operating carousel in America."
"I remember. That must have been two or three years before Tara was born."
"Can we go, please?" her daughter pleaded.
"To Martha's Vineyard?" Dick joked.
"No, to the carousel house here on the beach."
"All right," her mother agreed. "If there is one, we'll find it."
Tara and her parents walked along the beach for well over a mile. The senior Stohlmans, who were not athletically inclined, soon grew tired.
"I told you there was no carousel here," Bonnie declared.
"Maybe it's in the opposite direction, toward Kitty Hawk," her husband suggested.
"No, it's this way!" the teenager maintained.
"How many times must I tell you? There is no carousel!"
Dick stepped in before his wife and daughter got into an argument, suggesting, "Why don't we ask someone who lives or works around here?"
Three people, including a retired, local police officer, confirmed Bonnie's assertion that there was no carousel house in Kill Devil Hills.
Then what did I see last night? the girl wondered. Could it have been nothing more than a dream?
If it was, it was the most realistic dream she had ever had.
* * *
Tara quietly paced the floor of her room, listening to her parents in the living room.
When are they going to go to bed? she wondered with frustration.
It was after midnight when they turned off the television and another hour after that before she heard her father's snore. Praying her mother was also sleeping, she tiptoed to the window and climbed out.
"I know I wasn't dreaming," she told herself as she jogged along the beach in the direction of Nags Head. "I saw that carousel. I rode that horse. When I find it, I'll take a picture of it with my phone."
She heard the organ music before she saw the circular house.
"Aha! I was right. It does exist!"
All signs of the surrounding twenty-first-century Outer Banks community suddenly vanished. The disappearance did not frighten Tara as much as it fascinated her. It was as though she were Dorothy encountering Oz for the first time or Doctor Who stepping out of his police call box. No, that wasn't right. The bizarre, otherworldly experience was more akin to entering the Twilight Zone.
"There it is!" she exclaimed when she saw the lights shining from the open door of the round building.
She took out her phone to snap a picture, but despite having charged it only that morning, the iPhone's battery was dead.
As on the previous night, the fifteen-year-old was mesmerized by the music. Like a cobra responding to a snake charmer's pungi, she was powerless to resist it. When the carousel stopped, she stepped on the platform and mounted the white prancer. The ride started up again, slowly at first, but it soon gained speed. As she neared the ring dispenser, she extended her arm. Yet like the fruit that tempted Tantalus, the brass ring remained out of reach. There were four more attempts and four more failures. Determined to succeed, Tara risked serious injury by climbing up onto the saddle. As she approached the ring dispenser for the sixth time, she held onto the pole with her left hand and reached with her right.
The joy of victory she felt when her index finger grabbed hold of the brass ring was quickly replaced by fear as she slipped from the white prancer and felt herself falling off the carousel.
* * *
Tara opened her eyes. She was lying on her back, and everything around her was dark. After several moments, her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the moon shining through overhead trees.
Where am I?
One thing was certain; she was no longer in the carousel house. Nor was she on a beach. She listened closely. There was neither the faint sound of organ music nor the splash of the surf.
Was I badly hurt when I fell?
Since she had no difficulty moving her arms and legs, she tried standing. Everything seemed to be in working order. She quickly ran her hand over her head. No bumps. No bleeding. No pain.
I'm okay. But where am I and how did I get here?
Whatever this place was, there were trees. Lots of them. She vaguely recalled her mother saying something about a nature preserve in Nags Head. That answered her first question, but what about the second? The last thing she remembered was reaching for the brass ring and falling. The next thing she knew, she was waking up in a clearing in the middle of the woods.
"Okay, I knocked myself out when I fell," she said, trying to make sense of what had happened to her. "I must have been in some kind of fugue state and walked here. Maybe I then tripped over a rock or tree root and fell. When I did, I came out of my trance."
It sounded plausible but was that what really happened? Tara supposed she should stop worrying about how she got there and concentrate on finding a way out. She looked around helplessly. Not only were there no direction signs but there were no hiking trails to follow either.
"I'm really lost this time. I have no idea which way to go. If only my phone were charged."
A sudden rustling of leaves frightened her. Could it be a wild animal or, worse, a human predator? As the sound drew nearer, she thought of all the horror stories her parents had told her about the sickos and perverts who kidnapped children. She didn't want to be another Jaycee Dugard, Elizabeth Smart or any of the thousands of teenage girls who were raped, killed, tortured or sold into white slavery.
Oh, God, please let it be a deer or a rabbit!
It wasn't either a wild animal or a human bent on kidnapping. It was her mother.
"Mom!" she cried with a mixture of surprise and relief. "What are you doing here?"
"How many times must I tell you not to wander off? It could be dangerous. Now, come along, Virginia."
"Virginia?" Tara echoed, noticing for the first time the strange clothing Bonnie wore. "Why did you call me that? And what's with that getup you're wearing?"
"Have you lost your senses, girl? You know what evil lurks in these woods."
"I'm not the one who's behaving strangely. You are! How did you find me? Where's Daddy?"
There were more questions but no answers.
"Where's Daddy?" she repeated.
"I'm right here," Dick Stohlman announced.
His voice triggered another Twilight Zone reality shift.
"Did you have a nightmare?" her father asked. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."
She was back in the cottage, lying on the bed, wearing her baggy Bruce Springsteen T-shirt.
"I must have."
Yet even as she lay in the safety of her bed, with her parents close at hand, she knew both the carousel and the woods were real.
* * *
The frightening experience of encountering a Twilight Zone version of her mother in an eerie, wooded setting only to find herself instantly transported back to her cottage bedroom had a profound effect on Tara. During the day, she obediently went where her parents led her, either to the beach or on a family outing arranged by her mother. At night, she remained in her room. This good behavior lasted for three days. On the fourth, her mother suggested they go to the Nags Head Woods Preserve.
"Are you sure you want to go there?" the teenager asked, clearly not eager to go herself. "You and Dad aren't much for hiking."
"With all we've been eating since we left home, we need the exercise. A nice stroll on a boardwalk through a wooded area fits the bill."
"Maybe I'll stay here and read. I'm not making much progress on the book I brought."
Visions of Natalee Holloway vanishing in Aruba, little Madeleine McCann being abducted from her parents' hotel room in Portugal and Azaria Chamberlain disappearing from a tent at an Australian campground flitted through Bonnie's mind.
"Don't be silly. You're going with us," she insisted.
As though Tara had read her mother's mind, she quipped, "Don't worry, Mom. I'm not going to be eaten by a dingo."
"You're going."
Two words, short and sweet, that brooked no disobedience.
Despite the purpose of the outing being to get some long overdue exercise, the Stohlmans drove their car the approximately two-mile distance from the cottage to the preserve.
"Why didn't we just walk here?" their daughter asked.
"We're saving our strength for the hike," her father laughed.
As the Toyota headed south on Croatan Highway, the teenager tried not to dwell on the now-you-see-it/now-you-don't carousel.
Look. See for yourself. It doesn't exist. It was nothing but a dream.
It was the place itself she concluded. It was most likely the only location in America that has a creepier history than Salem, Massachusetts. An entire colony vanished, leaving behind only a single word carved in the trunk of a tree: Croatoan. No wonder popular TV shows had episodes about that time in history. Croatoan was the name of a demonic virus on Supernatural and the creature from the Void played by William Shatner in Haven. American Horror Story devoted its entire sixth season to a scary retelling of the story of the Lost Colony of Roanoke.
If I had seen a disappearing carousel at the Jersey Shore, I would have thought I was being gaslighted. But in this place ....
"We're here," Bonnie announced as though they had traveled a great distance rather than a mere two miles.
"This doesn't look like the place," Tara muttered, unaware that she had spoken aloud.
"Yes, it is. There's the sign," her father said. "Nags Head Woods."
"Don't mind me. I was just daydreaming. Of course, this is it."
But as they hiked along the trail, admiring the sylvan setting, nothing looked familiar to Tara.
Although I doubt I would recognize one tree from another. Besides, I wasn't on the trail; I was in a clearing deep in the woods.
Thus, the trip to the nature preserve, rather than dispel any lingering belief that the unnerving experiences had been real, managed to reinforce her certainty.
* * *
After their exhausting walk, which amounted to a little over three miles, Bonnie and Dick were asleep in bed by eleven o'clock. Tara waited to hear the snoring before climbing out the window. Oddly enough, the walk to the carousel seemed shorter than it had been on the previous two occasions.
No sooner did she hear the Wurlitzer organ music than the doors to the large round building opened, inviting her inside. She ran through them, jumped onto the merry-go-round's platform and headed straight for the white prancer.
The teenager did not bother sitting in the saddle. Instead, she climbed up onto the horse as though she were a circus bareback rider. Somehow, she instinctively knew her experience in the woods was connected to the brass ring itself and not her fall from the wooden horse. This time, she grabbed it on the first attempt. As soon as her fingers took hold of the cool, metal object, she was mysteriously whisked away from the carousel house and returned to the clearing in the woods. Again, there was a rustling sound coming from the trees.
"It's not a bear or a pervert," she told herself, as her heartbeat quickened. "It's just my mother."
However, it was not Bonnie Stohlman who emerged from the darkness of the thick woods. It was a little girl, about eight years old, possibly nine. Tara squinted to get a better look at her face. It was one she had seen many times before looking back at her from her third-grade school photograph.
"You're ... me!" the teenager cried.
"No. I'm Virginia. Virginia Dare."
Tara had visited the Roanoke Adventure Museum with her parents and learned that a child named Virginia Dare was born to settlers of the Lost Colony more than four hundred years ago.
"Who are you, really?"
"I just told you. I'm Virginia Dare."
The teenager then noticed the little girl was dressed in the same era clothing as her mother had been on the previous evening.
"What are you doing here, dressed like that?"
"This is where I live, and these are my clothes. You're the one who is out of place, not me. You clearly don't belong here."
"You're right. I'm from New Jersey. I'm here on vacation with my parents."
"And your mother lets you go out at night—alone—in these woods?"
"Not exactly. I snuck out of the house while she was sleeping. And, by the way, where's your mother? You're a lot younger than I am, and you're here alone at night in these same woods."
"I snuck out, too. My mother knows there's nothing here that can hurt me, but she still doesn't approve. That's how this whole mess started."
The little girl had tears in her eyes, those same blue eyes as Tara's.
"What mess is that?" the girl from New Jersey asked.
"Don't you know what happened in this place?" Virginia asked.
"You mean the Lost Colony/Croatoan thing?"
"Yes. It was all my mother's fault."
"Whoa! You're saying you and your mother lived on Roanoke Island back in the sixteenth century?"
"Why does that surprise you?"
"Because this is the year 2023!"
"I'm afraid time has no meaning for me."
"Let me get this straight," Tara said, trying to unravel the mystery calmly and logically. "You lived here with your mother ...."
"And my father. Elinor and Ananias Dare. My mother was the daughter of John White, the colony's governor."
"Okay. But according to historical records, Virginia Dare ...."
"That's me."
"Yes. Now, here's where your story gets confusing. You were born here on Roanoke. While you were still an infant, your grandfather went back to England for additional supplies, and when he returned, everybody was gone. What happened to you all those people? And how is it you survived?"
"I told you. It was my mother's fault. None of the six children she gave birth to before me lived to see their first birthday. When I was born, she was terrified that she might lose me as well."
"It sounds like my mother," the teenager said. "She's always been overprotective, too."
"But did she barter with the devil to ensure your safety?"
"Excuse me! Did you say the devil?"
"Yes. She found him here in these woods late one night and struck a deal with him."
"What did he ask of her in return for your safety?"
"The lives of the other one hundred and thirteen people in the colony, including that of her own husband, my father."
"How did the two of you survive by yourselves?"
"It was all part of the deal. The devil provided us with food, clothing and everything else we needed. You see, I was special to him. I was the first English-born child in the New World."
"And, as such, he wanted you to worship him?" Tara assumed.
"Oh, no! It's nothing like that. The devil is a collector, not of souls but of people. He has many men, women and children in his collection. He keeps them in—I don't know what else to call it—a magic bubble. Time passes much slower inside it. That's why, although more than four hundred years have passed since the deal was made, I'm still a child."
"But why do you look so much like me when I was your age?"
"In a way, you are me, and I am you."
"You mean I'm you reincarnated?"
"No. Because I'm still alive. There have been billions and billions of people born on Earth down through the millennia. Some of them are duplicates—twins if you prefer—but with different parents and born miles and years apart. For all intents and purposes, you are my identical twin, just as our mothers are twins. That's how you got inside the bubble. The device that protects my mother and I must have been fooled into thinking you were me."
"So, there are doppelgangers in the world? It's not just a nutty conspiracy theory. Despite the obvious difference in our ages, you and are like carbon copies of each other. In modern terms, I can be called Virginia Dare version 2.0. But I don't want to spend my life locked inside a protective bubble."
"You won't have to. Once the keeper—that's the name I've given to the force that protects us—realizes its mistake, you will be returned to your own world."
"How long will that take?" Tara asked.
Before Virginia had the opportunity to answer her question, the teenager found herself back in the Kill Devil Hills beach cottage.
* * *
"Are you going to sleep all day?" Bonnie called into the second bedroom. "It's nearly eleven. You don't want to spend these last few days of vacation in bed, do you?"
"I didn't realize it was so late," Tara said. "I had the weirdest dream!"
"What about?"
"I dreamt I was a modern-day clone of Virginia Dare, the child born in the Lost Colony."
"Maybe you should read something other than novels about vampires and werewolves."
"Virginia Dare wasn't either of those things."
"Just the same, those books give people bad dreams."
It was probably not the story of Edward Cullen that caused her nightmares; more likely, it was the history of Roanoke Island. Regardless of what triggered the all-too-real visions, Tara finally accepted the fact that the carousel, the clearing in the woods and the eight-year-old girl claiming to be Virginia Dare were all just figments of her imagination. Thankfully, the Stohlmans would soon be going home to New Jersey, where, despite the legend of Mrs. Leeds giving birth to a demonic child in the Pine Barrens, the only real "devils" were a hockey team.
"What's for breakfast?" the girl called to her mother in the kitchen.
"Breakfast? It's nearly lunchtime."
"Breakfast, lunch? What does it matter? I'm so hungry I could eat ...."
As she pulled the comforter up to make the bed, she heard a soft thud on the carpeted floor. She looked down and saw the brass ring lying at her feet.
It hadn't been a dream after all!
This story was loosely based on the history of the Lost Colony of Roanoke and the birth of Virginia Dare, the first child born in America to British parents.
A TARDIS-like carousel may be strange, but one full of cats like Salem would be even worse!
