READ THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS: Child Of Nod (The Balance, #1), by C.W. Snyder
Once upon a time, a curious girl called Alice finds herself in an even curiouser situation, when she wakes up in a world that isn't her own—on the other side of death. Determined to recall the otherwise hazy details of her demise, she embarks through the land of Nod in hopes of self-discovery... Or, whatever comes thereafter.
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ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A GIRL WHO WAS DEAD.
Her name was Alice. A minute ago, she wasn’t even sure
of that, wasn’t sure of anything in this new place. Realiza-
tion came to her as she looked around, as though a patch of
fog lifted from her mind, and the sun had come blazing
through. Then the brilliance was gone, receding back
behind a patch of gray, and she was left again with tattered
mist that drifted between her thoughts, obscuring answers
she felt sure she would need.
The next thing that came to Alice was an awareness of
her surroundings. It dawned on her as though someone had
thrown a switch—one moment, a dreamlike haze swirled
around her, filled with blank shapes, the next, the fog was
all in sharp focus. She was sitting in a clearing ringed by
trees, black in the low light. Their branches reached to the
roof of the earthen tunnel that enclosed them, some even
digging into the soil above, and disappeared as if they were
fingers sunk in loam. Beneath her, leaves long dead and dry
rustled with the movement of her skirt. Fear trickled in,
and she fought it down. Regardless of where she was, panic
would do little to improve her situation. She pressed her
hazy mind into service, frustration gnawing at the edges of
She struggled with her disorientation, with trying to
remember what she had been doing before. This new place
felt off to her, as though she were in two places at the same
time, but only belonged to one. A subtle shift in perception
and it reminded her of looking through the glass in an old
general store near her aunt’s cottage. You could creep in
under a board that hadn’t been fully nailed down, the smells
of dust and damp wood seeping into the air. Light filtered
in, lazy in its walk, and she’d step to the window, thick glass,
imperfections as bubbles in the cloudy portal. She look out
then and saw the world outside as she imagined someone
standing on a threshold of another world might. Bright
greens of trees and field, thick browns of the boles of old
maple and oak but rendered with the brush of an impres-
sionist. Peering at the trees and their branches above,
hearing the way they sighed and creaked even without a
breeze, wherever this was, she was sure this bleak forest
wasn’t where she was meant to be. Still, it invoked a feeling
of familiarity, and despite her situation, a comforting
warmth settled in her chest.
This certainly wasn’t 54th street or the cottage by the sea, she
thought to herself. The memories of those familiar places
flared and settled in her mind. Life comes at you in bits and
pieces, her aunt would have said, and she realized the phrase
was another thing she remembered and wondered how long
her mind would continue to drip-feed these memories; a
stream trying in vain to remember it was a river.
Alice stood, her legs tingling with pins and needles, and
took a deep breath. She smelled the earth around her, the
dry scents of trees and leaves, and a faint, tang of saltwater.
It reminded her of her aunt’s cottage by the ocean and the
soft sand that would squish between her toes when the
honey-colored grains were wet. She smoothed her skirt,
took another breath, and headed toward what she thought
might be the end of the tunnel.
Leaves crunched under Alice’s feet, sending up the
smells of dirt and autumn trapped in the layers of dead
foliage. At first, she had to stop every few feet and disen-
tangle her skirt or her top from clutching tree limbs, as
though they were greedy relatives who wanted to monopo-
lize her time, jealous of her youth. She blew out an anxious
breath, the emotion a cover for her frustration. She’d always
had a short fuse, and though she recognized the complete
nonsense involved in becoming angry with a tree, she
wanted nothing more than to grab one back and shake it
until it gave up all it knew of her situation. The further she
went, the less frequent it became, the grasping branches
becoming sparser and losing strength against her determi-
nation. Eventually, she was able to walk a straight line as the
trees and the flotsam and jetsam underfoot thinned out.
The path gradually lit up, and unless merely a mirage, a
widening to the tunnel loomed ahead.
Alice stopped for a moment and turned around. The
trees and the path behind her lay undisturbed, though she
could recall breaking a branch off here and kicking a pile of
leaves to the side. She looked down and noticed the ground
had turned to a trail of hard-packed clay, worn smooth by
ages of travel. A rustling in the underbrush to either side of
the path made her swing back toward the mouth of the
Where there was no one before, a dog now lay in her
way, and she took an involuntary step back. She hadn’t
thought there would be any animals here—the forest
seemed devoid of life: no chatter of chipmunks, no scur-
rying underfoot, no singing birds. She’d stood in a wooded
wasteland. The sight of the dog had startled her, and she
froze, trying to calm the pounding in her chest. As she
watched, it tilted its head, opened its mouth, tongue lolled
out as if to say, “He"o.”
Alice glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she could
wind back and find a way around, but the walls of the
tunnel were far too close yet, and to her surprise, the path
had disappeared. Only the scrub brush and leaves littered
the fallow ground among the trunks behind her. She looked
at the dog again and remembered a trick her aunt had
taught her. Memory flared for a moment, bright as starlight,
and her mother’s sister hovered into view in her mind’s eye
—red hair like her own, round glasses, and a generous
figure. She’d taken Alice in when her mother had died and
spent the next years of her life instructing her niece in
everything she could. Like the trick with the dogs. Alice
bent a bit, held out her hand, and tried not to smell like
“Nice doggy...good doggy...”
She repeated it like a mantra as she approached the
animal in small hesitant half-steps. It tilted its head to the
side and watched her approach, its eyes a light blue that
reminded her of summer skies, pleasant and comforting.
Inching her way closer to the creature, Alice stopped, hand
still out. The dog looked up at her with those blue eyes and
seemed to weigh her. She sincerely hoped it wasn’t thinking
she would taste good. After a minute, it stretched its neck
out, opened its mouth, and licked her palm, its smooth
tongue leaving a wet smear on her hand.
A sigh of relief escaped her, and Alice pulled her hand
back. She wiped her palm on her skirt as best she could
without letting the dog know she was doing it. There was
intelligence in its eyes that made her fear it would take
something like this as an insult. As if making a decision, the
dog stood, and Alice stiffened again, not sure if it had
changed its mind. Ah, he. If he had changed his mind.
He glanced at her once more, then turned and padded
down the path. A few feet along, he paused and looked back
over his shoulder, as if waiting for her to follow. His expec-
tant look made up her mind, and Alice followed, hoping she
was taking the right path. The dog started again and let out
a soft snort on the way as if to say, “About time.”
By the time Alice caught up with the beast, the tunnel
entrance had widened into a wide sky, the hard clay under-
foot softening and mixing with sand. The light here was
better as well, though she still could not tell where the illu-
mination was coming from. The smell of saltwater was
stronger and accompanied the sounds of waves lapping at a
The dog stopped in the middle of the beach, and Alice
came to a halt beside him. A wide expanse of water lay
before them, with no end in sight. A light breeze blew
across the surface, sending ripples and waves against the
shore. In the low light, the water appeared black, though
still clear as glass. From where she stood, Alice could see
the bottom for several feet out.
Where the water met sand, a small pier made from
weathered planks, and lashed together with thick cords of
rope, jutted out into the waves. At its end, a boat of dark
lacquered wood with a high prow, and a lantern hanging
from the bowsprit, looked to have room for two or three
people bobbed, tied to the pier.
Sedately, a shadow detached itself from the stern of the
boat and debarked. The newcomer was tall—over six feet,
and gaunt, even in the folds of the cloak it wore, and Alice
couldn’t see the passenger’s face in the depths of his hood.
He walked with the aid of a long pole that thumped on the
boards of the pier, marking time to his stride, though his
footsteps made no sound at all. When he reached the end
of the walkway, where the boards met sand, he stopped, and
held out a hand, palm up, as though waiting for something.
The dog looked up at her, then at the man on the end of
the pier, and back to her. As if waiting for her decision, he
let out a huff of air and lay down in the sand. Alice dithered,
fingers plucking at her skirt nervously. The man stood there
waiting, hand out, as though he could for hours, and never
spoke. She checked her gut once, but no internal warning
flares soared up from there. Her Uncle Phil, who had been a
cop in Chicago, had told her when she wasn’t sure of some-
thing, her gut couldn’t lead her wrong. Something about
that memory stuck with her, and for a moment, she saw
flashing lights and heard the faint sounds of sirens and
steady patter of rain. She shook herself, and it faded.
She considered the boatman for a little while longer and
waited for a hint of anything, but nothing came—no twist
in her stomach, like when she had seen the man with the
gun—just a quiet expectation in the air.
Her stomach dropped out as the world faded again, and
she was standing on the subway platform. The man was
there, dark eyes and dark clothes, a small black gun in his
hand and a sneer on his face. He was pressing against her,
forcing her to the edge of the platform. He said something,
something she didn’t hear, and then she was falling, and she
The dog barked once, a sharp warning that snapped her
back to her new reality, and she found herself stock still,
tears streaming down her cheeks. She drew breath in short
painful gasps and her heart pounded, threatening to rise to
her throat. She let her lids fall closed, took a deep breath,
and forced the fear away, to a place in her mind where she
could lock it up until she was ready. After a minute, she
opened her eyes. The man on the pier was still there, hand
outstretched, unaffected by her episode.
Another minute passed, and Alice crouched down to pet
the dog, who laid his head between his paws, and sighed
again as she ran her hand through his fur. Her knees were
beginning to throb with a dull ache, and Alice let herself
down the rest of the way until she was sitting in the sand
next to the dog.
Her left hand went on stroking his fur, and she enjoyed
the softness against her palm; the reassuring warmth
beneath her skin. She frowned, lost in thought, while her
free hand absently dug and sifted through the sand at her
“What do you want?” she asked the figure at the end of
No answer came, and she went back to worrying at the
situation like a mouse at a rope. She tried to think of things
she had read, stories she had heard before, mentioning a
man and a boat. Unfortunately, most of what she knew still
seemed shrouded in a gray fog that persisted in her brain.
Although, the harder she thought, the more something
glimmered in the back of her mind, and she pushed
She spared a glance at the man, who still had not moved.
Something told her maybe he couldn’t go beyond the pier,
and as long as she kept her distance, she was fine. The idea
flared in her brain again, burning off a bit of the fog, and
she grabbed for it.
...turn to page one hundred and sixty-three, Mythology, and...
Her mind seized on the fragment, and for a moment she
was back in Mrs. Rabe’s class, the fragrances of early
autumn and late summer drifting in through open windows.
Mrs. Rabe was a short, rotund woman with graying hair, and a
stern, grandmotherly air. She was writing something on the black-
board, a name, in flowing script. Calvin, another redhead, sat
behind Alice, whispering to a $iend. She turned to see who―
Her right hand closed on something hard and cold. The
memory came to her, a flash of light in a dark room. Of
course—the dead need to pay the ferryman for passage. She
looked down and saw she had been digging a hole in the
sand, her right hand caked with soft mud, grains grinding
against each other under her fingernails. Something glit-
tered with a dull shine in the dirt in her hand, and she
brushed it off, recognizing the shape of a coin. She
wondered where hers was and realized she wouldn’t have
had one. They no longer buried the dead with a coin. It
troubled her, the idea that she could have been trapped on
this side with no possible recourse but to swim or languish.
For her, it was fortunate that she had come across one
someone had lost, though she felt for the poor soul.
What of the others? Those that had come here in the
intervening years and found themselves wandering this
endless beach. A second thought occurred to her—how
many actua"y come here? Surely those who passed on didn’t all
go to the same place. It would be, for the lack of a better
term, awkward. She let out a sigh, exasperated with the
cloud in her head, and bent to clean the coin.
When the disc was as clean as she could get it without
walking to the water’s edge and rinsing it, she confirmed it
was gold in color, and crudely stamped with a man’s image
on both sides. Roman numerals crawled along the outer
edges, and beneath the portrait, lettering she couldn’t deci-
pher. While she was looking at it, the dog let out a low
Alice followed the direction of his snout and spotted
what the dog had already sensed—a naked man sprinting
full-tilt down the beach. An idle part of her, the part that
remembered old jingles and quotes from TV shows,
wondered where his clothes had gone. Then shrugged.
Maybe he’d been here so long, they’d simply fallen to
tatters. Maybe he was just a loon.
She was frozen momentarily, torn between waiting for
him—he was the first human she had encountered since
coming to this place, present company, excluded—and
running like hell from what appeared to be a madman on a
collision course toward her.
He drew closer and opened his mouth, the words that
spilled out made up her mind for her.
“Kill you, kill you, KILL YOU! MY COIN, MY COIN,
Alice clambered to her feet and kicked up sand, heading
for the ferryman, where he still waited with his palm out.
The dog followed, still growling deep in his chest and
throat. She reached the coiled figure and slapped the coin
into his hand. His fingers closed around it, and he turned,
making his way to the boat.
She followed and looked over her shoulder, noting the
psycho was closer now, maybe three, four hundred yards
away, and still bellowing obscenities at her. She quickened
her pace, and a knot of frustration tied itself in her stomach
when she realized the tall man in the cloak seemed unhur-
ried and unconcerned.
The dinghy rocked as Alice, her new animal companion,
Dog, and the boatman stepped in, leaning forward to untie
the rope and cast off. When finished, he took his place at
the back of the boat, slipped his long pole into the water,