The Ozanne Series Pt. 1

by S.L. Jordan

I kicked the chunk of greyish melting snow and took another pull of my vape pen. As the light puff of smoke swirled around me in the crisp early evening air I glanced down the busy street in annoyance.

I could hear the Marching Band practicing down at Perch Field House. Nostalgia brought a wave of memories over me. Just last year, that would’ve been me down there practicing my flute along with the rest of the band.

But that was last year. Turning my back, I shook those memories off. It felt like a lifetime ago.

The town was bustling with activity to prepare for Dec. 26th. It should feel odd because almost every other city known to man was busy winding down for the season, except for the bigger cities that really brought in the New Year with a bang – but not us. No one would ever mistake sleepy old Heinx for a city that did anything other than fish.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

The clock above City Hall announced the time. 3 .p.m.

Just as I was about to take one last pull from my vape, I heard, “Trip 1 – now you know Imma have to tell your people ‘bout you smoking dat vape right in front of the school!”

I clicked the pen three times to increase the smoke and deliberately took the biggest pull I could, turned to face our neighbor and exhaled the largest cloud of smoke directly into his face.

“Make sure you tell dat”, I said and stuffed the pen back into my jeans pocket. Mr. Hatterly was just about as nosy as you could get, and while I knew I would have to hear it when I got back home, it felt good to shut him up.

“Trip 1”, I hated that nickname. One, it was stupid. Two, I’M NOT A TRIPLET!!

I am the oldest of three. We are a year apart. Yes, we all look exactly alike – and YES, we all have the same birthday – Dec. 26th.

BUT WE ARE NOT TRIPLETS! 

No matter what we said, or did the Heinxian’s didn’t care. We were the Ozanne Triplets as far as they were concerned. 

Mr. Hatterly was still sputtering and coughing when Holly and Gar walked up.

“Tinsey, what did you do to old man Hatterly?” Gar said around a mouthful of smoke.

“Looks like she tried to smoke him out”, Holly said, laughing as she patted Mr. Hatterly on his back until he waved her away with his cane, “excuse me, I was just trying to help.”

All three of us continued to laugh as Old Man Hatterly straightened up and walked off grumbling something about, “disrespectful ass kids”.

“What’s that you said?” I hollered at his back.

“Tinsey, chill. You already know mama gone be on our head about whatever you just did,” Holly said, pulling her own vape pen from her bag. 

Holly was the baby, but she was always the one who reigned us back in.

“He called me Trip 1.” 

We shared a glance and nodded in agreement. Gar shrugged, “well he earned it” he said and blew perfectly shaped rings of smoke from his mouth. 

The three of us made our way through town, laughing and smoking the whole time. I could see why the town called us triplets. We do almost everything together and we look EXACTLY alike. I mean, down to our birthmarks – a perfectly shaped five-pointed star on the insides of our right forearm. We thought it was weird too, but sharing it strengthened our bond. Or at least we thought so. When we were growing up, if Holly or Gar were in trouble, I would feel a sensation at one point of the star.

Our parents thought we were making it up, but we’ve all felt it over the last 17 years at one point. When all three of us are together, we feel a surge of energy pulsating through our birthmarks. No one else in our family had anything similar, and that made us feel even more unique and bonded. 

Maybe we were supposed to be triplets. 

Between us smoking and all the activity in town, it took us about thirty minutes longer to get home than usual.

“What do you think they have in store for us tonight?” Gar asked as we turned onto our block.

“I think I saw mom smashing clay in the back this morning…” Holly offered, “I need a new intention bowl.”

In the Ozanne household, we started our birthday celebrations the night of the 25th. Mom and dad always made a big deal of celebrating right at midnight on the dot. 

For the last few years our celebrations got weirder and weirder.

Last year, we were all given daggers. Pretty ornate ones too. When we asked where they had gotten such decorative knives, they ducked and dodged those questions as if they were pointed spears. 

Holly and Gar were in the midst of guessing when we all noticed the door to our home was open, and not in a welcoming way. It looked as if someone had kicked the door in.

“Wait here”, I said,

“Nah, you’re not going by yourself,” Holly and Gar said simultaneously. 

We paused for a moment and felt the surge of energy crackling through our birthmarks. I took a moment to touch the spot through my jacket before proceeding further. 

Taking the lead, with Holly in the middle and Gar bringing up the rear, we stepped onto the front porch.

“Mom… Dad…” I called out as we stepped through the front door. There was evidence of a struggle – broken glass, smashed furniture and spots of blood trailing toward the back of the house. 

That’s when I recognized the sound of the sink in the kitchen running.

Hoping I would find them in the back, I took off running towards the sound and found more broken glass and blood. I blindly turned the faucet off. 

“Gar, check upstairs,” I said while grabbing Holly to my side. 

Bewildered, I tried to process what I was seeing. What in the hell happened in the last eight hours? Who would do this? Where were our parents?

“They aren’t,” Gar said as he came running into the kitchen, “there’s no damage up there either.”

The three of us stood silently in our kitchen. As the oldest, I knew I had to step up and handle whatever this was, but my mind was taking its time taking all the details in.

“We need to call someone,” Holly said. 

My autopilot turned on and I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket to call 911.

“Wait,” Gar said just as I was about to hit the call button.

There on the table were a few newspaper clippings, and an envelope marked “Ozanne 3”. The top clipping showed an old gray-scale picture of a baby.

I stepped closer and picked the clipping up. I stared at that picture so long that Holly grabbed it from me. She stared at it even longer until Gar grabbed it from her. 

We all looked at each other. It was an announcement for a baby that looked just like us. Except the year was wrong – Dec. 26th 2005 – this baby was born a year after Holly.

“What the fu-” I started before Gar cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“There’s more…” he said in a hushed voice. 

Under the envelope marked “Ozanne 3” lay another article with an identical baby staring up at us. The article was marked Dec. 26th 2001 – exactly one year before I was born.

I felt like someone had yanked the rug from under me. Who were these kids? And why did they look exactly like me and my siblings? I crumpled to the floor and let my cell phone drop from my hand.

Gar grabbed the letter and ripped it open.

“It’s mom’s handwriting”, he said.

He sat down next to me and began reading.. 

To My Dearest Three,

I don’t know where to start.

You three are the loves of our lives. Loves we didn’t think we would ever have. Your father and I had been married ten years, and had experienced plenty of loss before we met you Tinsel. Eighteen years ago, while at the Christmas fair, there was a group of traveling ladies who were reading fortunes. 

There were rumors they practiced witchcraft and spells, but as desperate as we were, your father and I had our fortunes read. 

We would be parents, they said, but only if we did as we were told. 

They told us to perform a specific ritual five nights in a row from Dec. 20-25.

Most of our family tried to talk us out of it. It went against our beliefs; they said. They called it heresy, but we called it hope. After much debate, we started the rituals on the 23rd through the 25th.

That first year, nothing happened. I still was not pregnant. We eventually placed the fortune and rituals in a drawer and put it all behind us. 

That following year – on Dec. 26th at midnight we awoke to hear the cries of a baby that had been left on our doorstep.

That was you, Tinsel.

How we cried at the sight of your precious face. 

I hurried to find the rituals, the one to thank the universe for delivering you to us. We performed them that night through tears of joy.

The following year, out of a thankful spirit, we performed the rituals again on Dec. 23rd -25th. This time, we had our baby with us. Again – on Dec. 26th at midnight we awoke to the cries of a baby left on our doorstep.

That was you Garland.

To go from childless to two children was more than we could have ever wished for. We celebrated your birth and Tinsey’s 1st birthday under the moonlight. 

The third year, again out of a thankful spirit, we performed the rituals on Dec. 23rd -25th with our two babies. Only to be awakened again on Dec. 26th with the cries of a baby left on our doorstep.

That was you Holly. 

We celebrated and performed the thankful ritual as a family of five. Our hearts were as full as the moon.

Last Saturday at the Christmas Festival, we saw those fortune tellers for the first time in 19 years. They recognized you three and told your father the time had come ….

That we had to let you go.

Go become who you were destined to be, but how …

Gar stopped reading.

“But how, what?” I said.

“That’s where the letter stops.” He said. 

I finally looked at this face. He had the same face he used to make when he was younger and fell, but didn’t want to cry.

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. His point on my star stung sharply.

Holly had been standing by the window silently while he read the letter.

“Someone is watching the house,” she said.

To Be Continued ….