Porta Della Cavina

• Lydia Hales, Grade 6, East Ulverstone Primary School
• Short Story
• 2001

Finalist in the 'Zapped! 2001' competition

We walked up an ancient, mellow street in Montelpulciano. Mum and Dad insisted on pushing on because it was so “Typically Italian.” Dad pointed to a weathered tunnel transformed into a candle shop, we trudged inside. A tall, sinister woman greeted us. She was pale with dark, lank hair clinging to a pointed face. A strange field radiated from her. She glowed with evil. Her eyes leered at me, penetrating, like burning green acid. Her sharp voice poisoned the air. “Giorno.” Uncomfortable, a strong stench filled my nostrils.
I lifted a candle. A fragment fluttered, I raised the candle to my face. Strange, I felt sluggish. I snatched the parchment. It read:
Love wax
Trap
Whole world hear – come
Enchant
Rule
Mum returned my drink flask to my backpack. The candles were so strange; shape, colour…smell. Crumbling, worn stairs were just visible in the dark.
(Sometimes there are ancient Etruscan tunnels. Artifacts and weapons are displayed in them.) I crept into pitch black. I stretched out my fingers to trail the narrow, slimy walls. An odd tension was in the air. My skin tingled with anticipation. Suddenly the walls curved out and the floor vanished – THUD! I hit the mouldy floor deep below. I craned my neck to look desperately at the ledge, laughing, dancing, out of my reach.
My skin crawled. I saw the vague outline of a jewel-encrusted dagger. I snatched it. I wrapped my clammy fingers around it. The dust made my head spin. I realised it was not just my head spinning!! I hurtled through the air propelled by the dagger into a cavern. I glimpsed a powerful figure, mad glint in her eye, in the act of filing Etruscan soldiers into a cauldron. The shopkeeper! The candle moulds lay waiting.
I now knew the secret of the eerie incense perfuming the candles. I tumbled before her. A burning hatred rose within me. It spread from the dagger like lava, bubbling and boiling. It tightened my grip on the handle. Something stirred in the far corner. An Etruscan soldier feebly raised a finger and pointed; first at the dagger, then at the menacing woman. He had the appearance of a shriveled prune. He rasped in Italian. I couldn’t decipher the words but the intention was clear.
I lunged. She emitted an icy shriek. Wax splattered the walls. The lone remnants of what would soon be a myth….When I had driven the blade through her she had stumbled into the cauldron spraying the orange contents up the ledge. My drink-flask had flipped out of my backpack. I picked up the empty flask. EMPTY? The water had set the potion into a vague impression of a staircase. “Shriveled Prune” winked and pointed to the stairs.
If you visit Tuscany, go to Montelpulciano and buy some candles from Porta Della Cavina-they’re perfumed with herbs and wild flowers. They smell of pure magic. Don’t be shocked though. The shopkeeper looks like a shriveled prune.