Frightful Fairy Tales Read online

  He began to chide her about still being dressed in her nightgown at four in the afternoon, but he went on to say he liked the sight of it anyway and offered her a cigarette. This she took eagerly and sat on her double divan, casually draping her arm over the back. She looked up at him, inquiring only with her eyes the reason for his visit.

  Briggs began promptly (which was his nature) to explain that he had heard of the recent death of an extremely wealthy young lady and would give her the exact location of the grave site if she gave him a percentage of the goods. After they worked out exactly what the percentage would be, the Queen of Spades agreed and led him to the door, where he fondly kissed her hand before she bade him farewell. She began to make some tea and prepare herself for her next job.

  That evening on the way to the graveyard, her nerves were on edge. She felt weary and distracted despite the long rest. Leaves rustled behind her, blown by the wind, and she jumped. A feeling of foreboding hung thickly in the air. The Queen of Spades tried to ignore it as she successfully picked the lock with her ever trusted silver buttonhook. She silently walked in and shut the gate behind her. Although the rich populated this particular graveyard, it was older and no guards of any kind appeared to hinder her destination.

  She found herself surrounded by urns overgrown with crawling vines. Some women with long hair clung desperately to sunken crucifixes, while in the background hands appeared from marble clouds clasped in eternal love. Many of the angels were headless.

  She finally came to the recently dug grave of her newest benefactor. The freshly dug soil was strewn with lilies as the headstone read, “As the roses are sweetened with dew so the world was sweetened with you. Constance Penelope Byrne.” How her parents must have adored her and how crushed they surely were when their twenty-three-year-old daughter passed away without ever marrying. The Queen of Spades began to turn the earth, and as she did, her head began to swim until finally she had to stop. She sat back and patted her brow with her red handkerchief. She had no idea why she felt so ill. As she continued on, the sound of the wind (it must be the wind) moaned a little way off, sending a cold chill down her spine.

  She knew it was time (what was true?) she shook her head of delirium and continued on. She struck the shiny new lid of the coffin and opened it without trouble. The sight that met her gaze was glorious: an ivory cameo, fine diamond brooches, two rings, and a solid gold buckle with four emeralds. A veritable fortune gleamed up from the fortunate. Constance had a pensive, sad expression as she lay motionless, coins covering her eyes. Black hair framed her pale face and hung limply on her breast.

  The Queen of Spades sat Constance up to undo the hook on the back of the velvet choker bearing the ivory cameo. As she did, the coins fell off her eyes, which opened widely and mimicked the shocked expression the Queen of Spades simultaneously wore. Constance looked around and gasped for air. “Where am I?” and "Who are you?” Then seeing the walls of black dirt surrounding her, she screamed, "They buried me alive!"

  Constance began to shriek and tried to scramble out of the grave, which threw the Queen of Spades into a panic. Afraid of being convicted, she pushed the girl back into the coffin and struck her with the spade, abruptly silencing her screams. She left the choker and quickly took three brooches and the rings, replaced the lid and filled in the grave as quickly as she could, then ran from the cemetery like her dress was on fire. As she ran, the young woman’s surprised, tormented eyes taunted her. They seemed to surround her even though the cemetery rapidly faded into the distance behind her. She swore she could still hear Constance’s shrieks and cries of confusion and fury.

  She ran to her home and bolted the door. She put on her nightgown and left the jewels in the pocket of her deep green velvet dress. She didn’t care if she ever saw them again. The incident that night made her think for the first time of getting out of the business. Slowly, her whirling thoughts subsided, and as the hazy blanket of slumber closed in around her, she swore she saw a vision of someone in the room with her before she lost consciousness.

  When she awoke it was with a start; something cold and solid was in her mouth. She sat up and spit the object into her hand, then gasped in alarm. The brooches and rings stolen previously from Constance sat gleaming in her palm. She dropped them as if they were vile insects, and she immediately began making arrangements to hock them to her connections and be rid of them forever. That evening three big men in b1ack suits rang the bell. They talked her down to a fraction of the jewels’ worth, but the Queen of Spades was in no mood for bartering that evening.

  As she watched them walk away, she sighed with relief, closed the heavy curtains, and made arrangements to meet her latest beau so she could go on a fancy-type date somewhere and take her mind off the hideous time she had been having lately. He arrived at 11:00, looking as dapper as ever, greeting her with “Hello, Angel,” and handing her a yellow tulip he’d obviously pinched from someone’s garden on the way over.

  That night she arrived home drunk and was laughing so hard she was in stitches as she pushed the door shut and locked him out. She threw herself onto the unmade bed and fell deeply asleep fully dressed. She was awakened by the sound of someone ominously calling her name. Slowly she opened her eyes and the sight she beheld stopped her heart. There stood the ghost of Constance Byrne, blood glistening from the fresh gash on her head and running down her neck, matching the glisten from the stolen jewelry she now seemingly repossessed.

  She looked at the terrified Queen of Spades and pointed accusingly in her direction, a stolen ring sparkling on the threateningly thrust finger. “You stole not only my inheritance but also my second chance at life. I despise you, you wicked wretch.” And with this, she came suddenly toward the Queen of Spades. Seeing this, she spoke some magic words she knew to protect herself from ghosts and the spirit instantly disappeared, the rings and brooches falling to the floor with a clatter.

  The Queen of Spades looked at them lying still on the floor for a moment, but then the doorbell rang. She arose and stepped carefully around the jewels as she made her way to the thick velvet curtain to cautiously peek out. The three big men in black suits she had hocked the jewelry to earlier now pounded on her door with increased force. She immediately slipped on her coat. leaving the jewelry where it was, hoping they would see it when they broke in and spare the rest of her home. Then she slipped out the back door.

  When she returned the next evening, she found she had no such luck, her home had been devastated. She lay on the floor with her face in her hands and wept bitterly.

  After locking her doors, she began to clean up her house and fell asleep exhausted. When she woke up, she was choking. The ghost of Constance was straddling her and pushing the jewelry down her throat. She tried to push her off but her hands went through the ghost feeling nothing more than coldness. Blackness started forming around the circle of her vision, slowly leaching out everything but the grimacing smile of the ghost, and even this, too, slowly faded from view as she ceased her struggle and fell downward, ever down.

  She awoke and couldn’t move her arms. The wooden lid of her coffin was mere inches from her face, and as her mind cleared the Queen of Spades realized ironically that she had been buried alive. A couple strolling near the cemetery heard her screams but dismissed them as the wind and continued on, never pausing to glance back. Meanwhile in a nearby grave the eyes of Constance shut forever, finally at rest.

  THE GAMBLER’S LESSON

  Gambling is the king of all vices. No one knows the truth of this more than Felix Worthy. The alluring grip of gambling held him fast and drained him dry like a succubus. Nineteen years ago his beautiful, beloved wife had died in childbirth, leaving him with his kind and lovely daughter, Ezmerelda, and the scant shack in which they lived. He lost everything else he owned to his all-consuming vice. He often felt he had been born under an unlucky star, the black beams of this star wafting down to encircle him like an asp.

  Every night Felix went to the local saloo
n to gamble and drink. He left in the afternoon and did not return until very late in the evening or sometimes not at all.

  One night Felix went to the saloon and sat down at the dice table. Across from him sat a very thin man with slightly pointed ears. He was dressed all in red crushed velvet with black edging. Rakish black hair with a widow’s peak lay upon his head. His sharp blue eyes shone brightly against his pale skin. These eyes made Felix nervous, for it seemed they could look into his mind.

  They began to play. The stranger was cold and distant and arrogant. He easily won every game but never displayed the slightest satisfaction. Finally, Felix gambled away the very last of his money, his possessions, and even the ramshackle hellhole he called a home. As he was about to rise and leave the table, the stranger stared directly into his eyes.

  The gaze of the stranger mesmerized Felix. He thought of his loving and loyal daughter at home, and he was filled with a desperate desire to win back what he had lost at all costs.

  “What sort of creature are you?” asked the sad and beaten father. “I have never seen the likes of you in my life, and I fear I’ve lost my home and property to the devil.”

  “I am not the devil, and I don’t intend any evil,” claimed the stranger. “I am the Duke of the Elves, and I own riches beyond comprehension. I put this purse to wager; in it are many rare and precious jewels and gold. It is magic and will refill three times. I will wager this and all that you previously lost this evening if you roll the dice again.”

  “But I cannot!” exclaimed Felix in despair. “I have absolutely nothing left.”

  “There you are wrong,” said the Duke. “In your home you still have a pearl beyond price. Gamble your daughter; and if you win, you shall keep her and all that I have laid before you. If you lose, I will take her.”

  “Give me a moment to decide!” cried Felix.

  “Your moment is up,” said the Duke coldly.

  “I will wager Ezmerelda. Heaven help me!” said Felix at last.

  Felix and the Duke each threw the dice and the Duke won. Felix pressed his palms to his eyes and burst into tears. When at last he lifted his head, all the riches had disappeared from the table. He looked for the Duke but saw nothing more than a red vapor disappearing up the chimney.

  When Felix returned to the shack that evening, Ezmerelda was gone: only her little black-buckled shoes remained.

  While her father was out, she sat at the table doing piecework for a local seamstress and worrying about her father when a group of strangers came to the door, whispering indecipherable things. They wore dark cloaks and she could not tell whether they were men or women. They threw a cask over her and then carried her swiftly away. Ezmerelda was overwhelmed with fright.

  While the evil elves carried her inside the pitch dark cask, she peered through a small hole to see that she was traveling faster than she’d ever gone before. Straight ahead was a wall of granite, and just as she thought she would be smashed to pieces, the rock magically split open and a doorway appeared. She was hurtled down into the earth. She heard rocks and roots scraping against the cask but could not see anything.

  Suddenly the cask opened and she fell sprawling to the floor in the midst of laughter. Strange people clothed in fine silk and velvet surrounded her. They were extraordinarily pale and thin, and their ears were pointed. Before her stood a man in red velvet.

  He handed her a brooch in which lay a golden rose made from her great-grandmother’s blond hair. She remembered this brooch from her childhood; she had been told it had belonged to her dead mother. She clutched it desperately, asking, “Where did you get this?”

  “I won it from your father,” he responded. You may keep this pathetic trinket, because I know it has sentimental value to you. This will be the one souvenir of your former life. Your father gambled you away, and now you shall be my scullery maid. Mrs. Bent will show you to the servants’ quarters. Mrs. Bent! Come straightaway!”

  Mrs. Bent was a plump, flustered old woman in a maid’s uniform. Ezmerelda recognized her as being human. Under the cold gaze of the Duke, Mrs. Bent grabbed Ezmerelda by the forearm and dragged her up a decrepit wooden spiral staircase to the servants’ quarters.

  It was here that she received a scullery maid’s uniform and a corset made from lead. She was not given shoes. Mrs. Bent explained Ezmerelda’s duties: emptying the Duke’s chamber pot, mending his clothes, and scrubbing the stone steps leading to his lavish home.

  Time passed but Ezmerelda did not give up hope of escape. She knew every nook and cranny of the Duke’s home at this point--as well as his habits and some of his financial affairs--although he tried to keep it all a secret from her. She listened at the keyhole and sifted through his belongings.

  One evening as she cleaned the hallway outside the Duke’s locked door, she heard an ethereal tinkling sound inside the Duke’s room. She knelt and peered through the keyhole. She saw the Duke sitting in an easy chair with his back to her. Before him was a luminous lady with the brilliant wings of a moth. She wore golden shoes encrusted in garnets.

  “The shoes are serving you well, I see,” said the Duke to the lady.

  “Yes, my precious. Thank you so much for giving them to me,” she responded. "I’ve discovered that not only do they carry me through time and space, but they also carry back anything I touch, so now I can bring you back many presents in return.” She laughed and sat on the Duke’s lap, petting his hair and kissing him.

  “Nothing is too good for you, my sweet,” said the Duke. Ezmerelda scurried down the hallway into the shadows.

  The next day, while the Duke was away, she found the golden shoes under his bed. “The luminous lady must have forgotten them,” she thought. She pulled them out hurriedly and slipped them on. They fit perfectly. “The glory of having shoes once more!” she cried. “Oh, how I wish I could always wear these shoes.” She heard footsteps in the hallway and knew the Duke was returning. Frantically, she tried to pry the shoes off, but they were stuck fast. “I wish these shoes would come off!" she said in exasperation. They slid easily from her feet. She realized that the shoes were not only beautiful but also granted wishes. If she had them, she could escape from the Kingdom of the Elves. She heard the Duke’s key turning in the lock; in a panic, she looked for a place to hide the shoes. Just as the door opened, she thrust them under the floorboards.

  Many times she hoped to sneak into the Duke’s room and retrieve the shoes from their hiding place, but every time she went to his room, she found him there engaged in correspondence.

  Later, when the Duke asked her for them, she denied seeing them, knowing they were under the floorboards all along. He reprimanded her as he struck her, saying that the fairy princess to whom they belonged would be very upset that her shoes were gone.

  Hearing this, Ezmerelda denied it even more vehemently, and the Duke struck her with more force until eventually he tired of the sport. He left her with one final warning: “If I ever find you with those shoes in your possession, I will kill you in a merciless manner.” With this, he rushed away to his secret meeting, leaving her in a heap on the floor, blood weeping from her wounds. There she lay, waiting for the elves to retrieve her and thrust her into that wretched cask again.

  The elves held secret meetings annually, from which Ezmerelda and the other slaves were unanimously excluded. During these times she was thrown into the cask and taken to a hollow tree, where she would remain without food and water until they remembered to retrieve her. Sometimes these stints would last for days, and she cried and twisted inside the trunk, praying for the angel of death to come free her from her misery.

  Once, a long time ago, when they took her from the tree, she peered through a hole in the cask and saw them move toward a large rock in the woods near the hollow tree where they kept her. She saw a hand touch the rock with a hematite key, and where the key touched the stone, a keyhole appeared. The key turned in the lock and a door appeared. They then took her back into the elf kingdom underground. The
roof of the elf kingdom was domed and held up with shining ivory pillars. The domes, she realized, were the undersides of the hills on the other side of the earth where humans and animals tread.

  She thought about this now as she waited in the tree, sicker than ever from her severe beating. If only she had the key, she could escape from the elf kingdom, for now she knew the way and the means of escape. She also prayed that someone might hear her in the tree, a woodsman perhaps, wandering through the forest, and chop her from the tree with his swift, sharp axe. But to no avail: the elves had hidden her so deeply in the forest; no one ever dared go so far, because the brush and bramble were so wild and thick.

  Ezmerelda heard noises outside the tree: the elves had returned to take her back to the kingdom. Once there she was allotted minimal recovery time before she was forced to return to her usual drudgery. It was during this time as she ate her gruel that she remembered the hematite key as being one of the keys she saw previously on the Duke’s set of keys. At the first opportunity, she stole this key off the ring and kept it on a string around her neck, hidden under her clothes.