Frightful Fairy Tales (8 page)

That evening several white luminous figures dragged themselves out of the ocean toward the ship, talking among themselves in low hushed voices as they examined the ruins and cargo within. This escalated into exclamations of joy as they soon found one treasure after another. Soon the island was covered by sirens dripping in glistening, luxurious jewels, lounging and eating their lobster off silver-embossed platters as they wove pearls into each other’s hair--the pearls imitating and highlighting the whiteness there as they gazed at themselves in their new-found silver hand mirrors.

The sirens had never seen this many incredible earthly belongings before, and it gave them a lust for more. Their favorite treasures were the telescope and compass. Fights broke out as to who should own them, but the conflict was settled in a lady-like way when one siren acquired both in a bet. After they divided the remaining treasures, the sirens focused on the ship, which they promptly set to rebuild. They worked for hours, the last touch being the replacement of the figurehead they unknowingly made in their image. Laughing all the while, they placed a crown of shells in her waving wooden locks. They planned to set sail the following twilight.

The first ship they came across was much smaller than theirs and not much cargo was to be had, but they stole what there was with relish, leaving the crew tied to the mast. The next day they came across a larger craft. The sailors on board fought well but the sirens won with a vengeance and victoriously carried the cargo back to the island.

Soon the story spread of beautiful, strange women, glowing white like ghosts with long tapered  horns, killing sailors with swords and stealing the booty. Some laughed and claimed the victims were mad, making up stories to glorify their loss; others believed the women were actually ghosts and tried to anoint their ships with spells and charms for good luck. Either way, no one ever caught the siren ship, and you can still see the strange luminous lights from the coast.

THE QUEEN OF SPADES

The Queen of Spades was a striking creature, her skin pale as abalone, her hair the color of fresh blood, matching her crimson, heart-shaped mouth; her wit was sharp (though demented, and her steel gray eyes cut like a knife anyone who dared oppose her.

She lived in a basement, a hole in the earth really, that most people wouldn’t look twice at. Leaves and filth always covered steps leading down into it, thus giving it the appearance of being abandoned. She liked it this way.

Inside the door the hapless victim or ghoulish guest was met with a dazzling sight: luxurious golden candelabras, cherubs floating over the marble fireplace dripping with exotic jewels. And from one wall, the icing on the cake--a large, protruding wooden arm holding a shining silver bowl of golden fringe (this was her fringe holder), placed there, easily at reach, for whenever she needed to add fringe to something.

Her collection of parasols and cloaks were the envy of everyone, her linen the finest, her velvet the softest, her frames and mirrors the most gilded.

She spent most of the day sleeping, writing correspondence to her many admirers, and sewing (only for herself), and when it grew dark, she claimed to be a fortune-teller (by appointment, of course). She had no husband, but was loved by many.

She received the newspaper early in the week as she always did and read only the section that concerned her: the comics and the obituaries. She was very excited this week because a middle· aged woman of wealthy lineage had been freshly buried on Wednesday. The Queen of Spades waited until the weekend, though, because the moon would shine brighter and fewer mourners would be hanging around getting in her way with their petty observations.

She prepared for her task at dusk when the night surrounded her like a sweet, familiar cloak of blackness. It was only then that she emerged from her home, leaving for work shielded in darkness. The only tool of her trade was a spade. She toiled mostly by full moon so the light of a lantern wouldn’t give her away. By the glow of this moon she made her way with conviction to the cemetery.

As she strolled to the graveyard whistling tunelessly to herself, she heard a whistle mock her in reply from the top of a tree. She looked up to see the ghost of a thin young man in a battered vest and top hat. His teeth were either knocked out or black (she could not tell which and she didn’t care), and his throat had been slit open, black clotted blood running down his neck and smearing the front of his shirt. She ignored him and continued on.

She hated this cemetery in particular because of its strong lock and guard dog policy but she was accustomed to these little inconveniences, and when she failed to open the lock with her buttonhook, she went immediately around back. She looked perplexed for a moment as she regarded the tall, intricately embossed wrought iron bars tipped with foreboding spears. Propping her spade against them, she slipped her button-up boot with deep azure spats into the handle, then pulled her long, nimble, ivory limbs. Grasping one of the spears, she balanced on the top, swung her spade to the other side, and climbed down using the same method.

Once on the ground, she heard a sound from far away. The dogs howled and came closer. As they neared, she made her shovel ready for the attack. The Queen of Spades had a method of disabling her attackers with her spade by swiftly applying the edge to their temples; this, she had found though much trial and error, could temporarily disable or kill her rival, whether it be man or beast. She also had a way of hypnotizing them with her eyes as she swung the shovel so they never knew what hit them.

As the dogs approached, she got her spade ready to do the deed it had done so many times before. The first dog neared and as she struck it, she felt a temporary surge of adrenaline mixed with satisfaction. It howled and lay on the ground dead. Its comrades soon joined it after the Queen of Spades had her way with them. She wiped off her bloody spade on the grass and continued onward, searching eagerly for the gravestone of Mrs. Millicent Bly, which she finally found near the gate. She began to dig, pausing only at brief intervals to see if anyone approached to apprehend her wicked deed, never ceasing until she struck the lid of the coffin.

She pried open the lid of the coffin, and the familiar stench hit her then. The jewels glistened in the moonlight, enveloping Mrs. Bly’s neck and glimmering tauntingly on her breast. On her fingers shone ruby rings of varying sizes (she must have been born in July): these she quickly pocketed, as well as the rest of the jewelry. She shut the lid and finished filling in the grave by 2:30. She replaced the last gardenia with a flourish then looked critically back at her work. The dirt had been lowered a few inches (there’s never quite enough), but other than that there was no sign of suspicion. She congratulated herself for a job well done, jingling the jewels in her pocket as she strode toward the gate where she had entered.

As she neared, she saw the dogs and noticed one of them still breathed. She simply kicked it once and it stopped. She stepped over it and climbed lightly over the fence. When she had safely cleared it, she walked briskly home, not looking back. While walking, she tried as hard as she could to envision the woman’s face from whom she had just taken the jewelry, but to no avail. All that would materialize was the picture of her Great Aunt Augusta still in the frame lying on the body of the corpse, covering the face.

The Queen of Spades didn’t know what to think of this but nonetheless found it amusing as she continued homeward in the daybreak, whistling tunelessly to herself. As her key turned in the latch to her door, she heard the rooster next door crow, signaling that she had broken her record and had completed her excursion by sunrise. She entered her home and carefully laid her booty on the plush, dark crimson Oriental rug. Her eyes gleamed greedily as she began to conceive of her fortune. By midmorning she estimated the value of her wares to come in easily at a couple of grand. These she could hock to her connections by the end of the week and buy that taxidermied python frozen in the act of eating the taxidermied vole she’d had her eye on for so long.