Truly Elemental: And Other Retro Faerie Tales

Over Your Grave

Something solid trips him in the doorway. Castor looks down and finds links of gold chain coiled at his feet. Connected in unseamed loops, the chain curls around the cramped room; lumping under the worn rugs and snaking over a rocking chair. He follows the turns with his eyes until they end in a leg iron locked around the saggy stockinged ankle of a little old woman.

Granmére.

She sits at the table, on a stool made of bones. Castor has seen enough skeletons to know they are—holy shit!—human bones. Her hair is gray cobwebs sculpted high on her head and sprigged with moths. Mostly dead ones. Nested amongst the loose pin curls. But a few live ones still flutter in circles, worshiping at the ashy mountain. Despite her visible age and the wrinkles on her moon-shaped face, her hands are new as a baby's. She is busy, crumbling dried blue flowers onto squares of white paper.

Rolled cigarettes litter the table top.

"Granmére?" Maebean says, bending to kiss a crumpled cheek. Granmére looks up at her and smiles, lips pinched tight shut. Castor wonders what she sees through the pearl-pink cat glasses she wears. The lenses are tinted black, matching her voluminous silk dress—tatted lace and a high collar. Castor can imagine his great, great grandmother swilling away hours in a damask parlor dressed like that.

Maebean waves him closer. "Granmére, this is Castor. I told you about him remember?"

The faded woman spares him a brief turn of her head and a curt nod.

Uninviting.

"We've brought you a gift." Maebean brushes stray petals aside and places the teacup in front of the old woman.

This time, the smile parts Granmére's lips wide open. Naked gums, devoid of anything but black speckles, fill her mouth. The moths bob and weave as she tips forward to dump the pulled teeth out on the table. Castor takes a step back, swallowing his disgust.

She sorts the teeth with chubby fingers. Once arranged, Granmére picks them up in order and shoves them into her gums. Castor flinches away, concentrating on the fire in the hearth, trying to ignore the wet squidges until she is done.

"Tell me, lovey, what is it you want?" Granmére's voice rasps in her chest.

Maebean grabs Castor's arm and squeezes. "Cat and I want to get married, do we have your blessing?"

Castor presses close to Maebean.

"Come here," Granmére says. Castor almost shakes his head, no, but Maebean gives him a push. He stumbles on a length of chain as he nears the table.

Granmére studies him. He studies his reflection in her sunglasses. "No," she says after a pause. "No, I do not think so."

Castor frowns, forgetting his fear. "Hang on, lady. I dug up a grave for you, the least you could do is let me marry Bean."

Maebean points to her foot, "Please, Granmére. Release me so I might bind to him instead." Her voice pitches higher, a whine. Castor notices for the first time that the other end of the golden chain imprisons her ankle, too.

Granmére snorts. "He is mortal, lovey."

"I don't care."

"He is stupid."

"Hey!" Castor says, annoyed.

Maebean softens. Clasping her elegant fingers together, she pouts. "But he loves me. Bind me to him."

"Does he?

"Yes, and I love him. Bind me to him!"

"Do you, really?" Granmére's hand snatches at Castor's red jacket. She forces him to bend over, inches from her face. He's not sure if the question is for him or Maebean, but what he does know is—the rot-scent wafts on Granmére's breath.

"I think, you are not meant for my lovey-Bean. She can taunt me all she wishes, but this is where she'll stay," she says and tips forward on the stool, snagging his cheek between her teeth.

When his face is chewed clean to the ruddy bones, she lets his limp corpse fall free. He sprawls at Maebean's feet,

dead,

          dead,

                    dead.

Maebean steps back in disgust. Fresh blood stains her suede pumps, and she crouches to scrub at the dark splotches spoiling the powder blue. Her face contorts, angry.

"Granmére! You've ruined my favorite shoes!"

♛ A/N: Thank you for the read! If you liked it, please don't forget to ★ vote ★ and/or add :)

This is my first time ever writing third person present, I tried my best to keep the tenses straight. It's actually quite difficult. Also, has anyone listened to the Viva Elvis remix of Blue Suede Shoes? H E A V E N.

This short is dedicated to Marie-Williams. Thanks for everything, lovey.