SMP Fairytale
Aug. 10th, 2005 06:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thieving_gypsy, who requested a fairytale and we all know how much I hate writing those XD XD
Het, a spinoff on an old favorite, The Robber Bridegroom. For those not familiar with it, you can find it here. It's also a different style than usual, because I wanted to play with a more typical 'fairytale style."
I'm glad you liked it, Gypsy ^_^ I've been going nuts to know the verdict ^^;
There once was a village, at the edge of the kingdom, which was neither very small nor very large. It was a peaceful village, calm and set in its ways. And though it was situated right at the border, it did not see many travelers because of the thick, dark forest that surrounded it. The weather could be harsh in winter but by and large it was mild.
The people of the village were neither terribly poor nor terribly rich, living pleasantly and comfortably. If anyone could be considered especially prosperous in this village, it would be the owner of the village mercantile store. For he was the only one, and of the entire village most frequently knew what was occurring outside of the village. He was an amiable man, always friendly and eager to help.
Only the death of his wife marred his happiness, but every time he looked at his daughter his pain eased slightly, for every day the girl grew more and more like his deceased wife. His wife had been beautiful and his daughter too was possessed of loveliness, with hair like gold and eyes as clear and blue as the sky. She had a small spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and people liked to say that even the fairies found her lovely and had kissed her there to show their affection.
Her name was Caroline and despite the attention lavished upon her she grew up sweet and pleasant. She was friendly with everyone, but her best friend was a young boy from across the street, who tended to the town stables with his own father and mother. His name was Marshall and as they grew up together their friendship only deepened.
Then Caroline came of age, and her father decided it was time to consider marriage. For he would not be around forever and he wanted to know that he was leaving his daughter in good hands. And so her father set quietly about finding a fitting suitor for his beloved daughter.
And Marshall knew this, though Caroline did not, and he knew also that he wanted Caroline for his own. But his family was poor and he knew he was not the best match her father could want – but he also refused to let this stop him trying.
When it came time for his parents to venture to the city to sell and buy horses, Marshall begged that he be permitted to go instead. Trusting him, knowing he was a good boy, his parents granted his request. And so Marshall took the horses and while there, bought a gift for Caroline with which he hoped to win her affection. It was a small, simple trinket but it was pretty and gold and perfect for his dearest friend.
Quietly he began to talk with Marshall’s parents, for all but perhaps the two young people could see that they were well-matched indeed. But Marshall knew it, had known it for years, and wanted to take Caroline as his wife. And so he waited eagerly but patiently for the parents to say something and even traveled away from the village one day, on pretext of selling some horses, to buy her a betrothal gift.
But upon his return he was met with dire news indeed.
In his absence, a man from a house deep in the woods – a man who had always been reclusive, sending his servants to do his shopping, keeping to himself, contributing to the village where he could but seldom interacting – had appeared with an offer for Caroline’s hand.
And he ran to Caroline’s house, and stopped just outside, staring through the window at the small happy party going on inside. Just an early lunch, but he could see Caroline smile in a way she’d never smiled before, and how she held her new bridegroom’s hand and leaned in close to him, laughing, eyes bright with happiness. And he saw the new ribbon in her hair, blue silk the color of her eyes, and the diamond and gold that sparkled on her finger. Items a poor stable boy would never be able to buy, and he wrapped his fingers around the small gift in his pocket, feeling with a pang the inadequacy of it.
Marshall looked at the new bridegroom and felt sick, for the man was very handsome indeed. Black hair, fair skin, dressed in rich clothes the likes of which Marshall had never worn nor ever would. And suddenly he hated his own clay-brown hair and boring brown eyes, so far removed from the bridegroom’s rich green ones.
He turned and fled, heart breaking, before anyone took notice of him, running from the village without even telling his parents he was home. And the gift he’d bought for Caroline with nearly all his savings burned a hole in his pocket and he longed to throw it in the river but could not bring himself to do so.
Aimlessly Marshall wandered through the woods, so familiar with them that he did not fear getting lost. Over and over the image of Caroline bright and happy beside the stranger tormented him, until he could no longer bear the pain.
By and by he came to a path in the wood that was only just worn – a path very seldom used. It was one he did not recall seeing before, though he knew where he was in the forest. Having nothing better to do, and desperate for a distraction, Marshall followed the path deeper into the woods until eventually the familiar grew strange and dark.
As he went, Marshall began to drop bright white pebbles intermittently to the ground. A gift from his mother, who swore she’d been given them by fairies; the pebbles would glow in moonlight and show him the way back should he be forced to travel in the dark. So long as he followed the stones he would not be lost.
Eventually his traveling brought him to a house, and he knew it to be the house of Caroline’s bridegroom.
It was a large house, three stories and at least four rooms across. He wondered at how such a magnificent house had been built so deep in the forest. Cobblestones lined the path from the edge of the clearing up to the front door. Roses grew all along the front of the house and the grass was rich and green. The shutters were painted a cheerful blue, bright against the dark brick of the house, and the door had a small stained-glass window.
Far better a house than the little one he knew his parents and Caroline’s father had secretly planned to build in the field at the edge of town, only a little way from the brook where they’d played as children. And the wildflowers they used to pick together were nothing like the rich red roses that managed to grow despite the cover of the heavy trees.
Miserable that he’d lost his Caroline to a man he did not even know, angry that he could not even compete, Marshall approached the house and knocked on the door before his good sense got the better of him.
There was no reply for several long minutes, though Marshall knocked three times more. At last it seemed that no one was home and as angry as he was he would not reduce himself to breaking into a man’s home.
But as he at last turned to leave, the door creaked open to reveal the ancient, wrinkled and withered face of an old, old woman. “May I help you?” she asked in a voice as slow and thick as molasses – as though it was hard for her to speak. Her blue eyes were dim, and Marshall wondered briefly if she had been drugged…perhaps to help with the pain suffered by the elderly?
“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely. “I’ve become lost in the woods and wondered if I might stop to rest for a spell, to recover myself.”
The woman blinked her dim eyes. “You are lying.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You are lying. Tell me why you have come.”
Marshall hesitated, and almost lied again, but the dim blue eyes looked at him unwaveringly and at last he nodded. “I…the man who owns this house has stolen the heart of the woman I love. I wanted only to know about that man, as he is a stranger to me and the village.”
The woman nodded. “You are a smart boy. Come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Marshall doffed his worn hat and stepped inside. The door closed behind them and suddenly he was washed with the scent of flowers – dozens of them, so many he could not pick out the particular scents. It smelled like the sickly sweet perfume worn by women in the city. Marshall instantly disliked it and as he examined the house through which the old woman led him, he saw more that he disliked.
Like the perfect cleanliness of the place. Even his tidy mother’s house had miscellany all around – a blanket thrown carelessly over her hold chair, a stray mug from his father’s morning tea. Dust on the floor when she was too busy to sweep on some days. This house was pristine; it looked as though it had been taken from a painting or an etching in a book.
No homely touches – not a quilt made by a loving mother, no old books handed down through generations. No ‘dust catchers’ of any sort. The house was…stale. As though it was for show and not really someone’s home.
Perhaps it was only that the man lived alone and did not have a wife to warm the place up. His father had often said he hadn’t considered his house a home until his mother came along and turned it into one.
But the doubts lingered.
“Who are you young man?” the woman asked as they finally came to a halt in a beautiful but cold dining room. It glittered with crystal and fine china, set against dark woods that Marshall knew were not native to that area. Silk and satin decorated the table and windows and he felt more like a poor stable boy than ever.
But one determined. “My name is Marshall Stable; my family cares for the horses in town.”
“You came to learn of Master Maurus and because you seem to be a good, smart boy I shall show you some things. Follow me.”
She led him from the dining room into the kitchen and threw open the door to the cellar. Downstairs were several barrels and upon examination Marshall saw they each held either wine or ale. But the old woman did not stop at the barrels but continued onward toward the back, where a door was all but invisible in the corner behind a large barrel of wine.
Marshall followed her through the door, down another set of stairs that led deeper below ground than he would have thought possible. Down they went, and Marshall held out a hand to help the old woman.
As they went, the smell of damp earth was overridden by another, more wretched and sickening smell. Marshall was reminded of the butcher’s shop, the smell of meat and blood, an underlying scent of death.
At last they reached the bottom of the stairs and Marshall choked on a horrified cry, pressing his sleeve to his mouth to keep himself from retching. His eyes burned from the smell and tears.
Beside him the old woman’s cried her own tears. And though she tried, she could not say a word that would speak against her master.
The room was indeed a butcher’s shop. Parts and bones and blood were all over – lined up neatly on high tables, brewing in a large cauldron…again Marshall pressed the sleeve of his coat to his mouth to keep from gagging and puking.
Across a low counter were three heads and Marshall’s eyes burned anew with tears, for they were all young women and the head of one he recognized as a traveler who had purchased a horse from him before she continued on toward the city.
Unable to help himself he counted the parts in the room, noting with a sick, morbid fascination that at least eight bodies were present in the room – and there was no telling how many had come before that.
“Is this…is this what will become of my Caroline?”
“He has fallen in love with her,” the woman said quietly, slowly. But words unsaid lingered heavy on the air, and Marshall could taste them like something rotten and foul. He looked at the gruesome heads, and started as he noticed what each wore – silk ribbons. And he wondered if once those ribbons had been the color of the girls’ eyes.
“I must go,” Marshall said, but he lingered. “Would you like to come with me? You should not stay here.”
“I am bespelled,” the old woman replied. “I cannot leave until he is dead.”
Marshall nodded and with words of gratitude fled the house and raced back toward the village. In his haste, he neglected to pick up the white pebbles.
But back home, doubts began slowly to creep into his mind. Night had fallen and from Caroline’s house spilled light and laughter and song. Marshall approached with heavy steps, despite the racing of his heart and the fear that twisted his stomach.
The first thing he saw was Caroline and her suitor, dancing playfully in the middle of the room while his own mother and father played and sang. And he knew looking at all of them that no one would believe a single word he said.
Before he could retreat to think of something else, his oldest and dearest friend spied him and with a cry of joy pulled him into the center circle, hugging him and speaking in a rush. And she smelled of wild flowers and sunshine, clinging to her bridegroom’s arm and introducing him with a proud, happy smile.
Marshall knew suddenly he stood no chance, for she had never smiled at him like that and with a pang he knew she never would. But he could not send her to the house in the woods and the gruesome kitchen deep in the earth.
So he smiled and agreed to play a song, and danced with his friend and drank with her bridegroom, waiting until he could free her from him.
As the hour grew late and the guests departed, Marshall overheard Caroline talking quietly with her handsome suitor. When she suggested going to visit his house, Marshall felt cold and immediately stated his disapproval. He ignored the looks of his parents and Caroline’s father. But before he could explain himself, the bridegroom stepped in and agreed with him.
And he explained that his house was a bit away, and difficult to get to if one was not familiar. But Caroline brushed the words aside, frowning at both her bridegroom and her friend. “Nonsense,” she said. “You have come to visit me several times and tomorrow I will return with you and visit your house. It will be my house someday, I should not wait until our wedding day to see it.” And that was that, and the men were helpless to protest.
By and by Marshall’s parents bid them goodnight and took their son with them, immediately pestering him with questions about the city and their horses. And he answered their questions and let them chat at him. As they slowed he attempted to voice his fears about the bridegroom but with sad, knowing smiles his parents told him he worried over nothing and that it was best if he left things alone. Unhappily Marshall subsided, and went to bed exhausted but still very worried.
With the morning he helped with chores and ran errands, stopping by as always to chat with his best friend, smiling at her happiness despite his own pain. Eventually they said their goodbyes for the day, as Caroline dragged her bridegroom cheerfully from the house and insisted they go to visit his. She smiled fondly at her frowning father and told him to cease fretting and her father reluctantly smiled, though once she turned away he glared fiercely at the bridegroom.
And Marshall darted off, racing ahead of them into the woods toward the dark house, waiting until he could rescue Caroline once she saw for herself what her bridegroom really was. He felt sick again, putting her into such danger, but he knew this was also the only way he would be believed.
Some time later he heard them come up the path, laughing and talking. But when they appeared, Marshall noticed a slowness to their steps, as if one or both were reluctant to reach the house.
On the front steps the old woman appeared and greeted the couple warmly. Immediately charmed, Caroline returned the woman’s greeting and began to chatter as though they’d always been the best of friends. And the woman smiled strangely, and escorted them inside.
When they had gone, Marshall wasted no time in following them. The door, when he tried it, was unlocked and he wondered briefly if the old woman had done it on purpose.
Inside the house was quiet. Marshall felt a chill up his spine, for it was too deep and strange a silence. Where had they all gone so quickly? But the answer to that was clear and as rapidly as he could he made his way to the grim basement.
The first thing to greet his eyes was the body of Caroline’s bridegroom.
Marshall stumbled to a halt, not understanding what he was seeing. But Caroline called his name tearfully and he finished racing down the stairs, barreling into the room and straight for Caroline, who was grappling with the old woman.
And the old woman no longer looked so gentle or mild or sad. Her eyes had turned cold and sharp, and molasses in her voice had become something sharp and cruel. “What is going on here? Unhand her!”
The old woman laughed and threw Caroline to the ground to face Marshall. “You, my good little boy are not quite so clever as you think. You did exactly as I knew you would. Now I have not only a fine girl but also a new slave.” She sneered at the unconscious bridegroom. “That one had grown weak and disobedient.”
Comprehension flooded Marshall and he bit back a cry, cursing himself every kind of fool. He backed away in sudden fear, no longer knowing what he was to do, covering his ears when the horrid old woman began to speak in a strange tongue, her spidery fingers pointed toward him.
But the string of words was broken abruptly as Caroline leapt at the woman’s back, clawing and pulling and tearing whatever she could get her hands on. The old woman, far too strong for her appearance, wrestled with the young woman and at last succeeded in throwing her off. Caroline crashed painfully against a large cauldron and fell on the floor with a pained cry. She did not get up again.
It was all Marshall needed to regain his senses and before the old woman could regain herself he had launched his own attack, grabbing a knife from a blood-drenched counter and driving her back, screaming to block her attempts at speaking in the strange tongue. With a final burst of energy he drove her back and made sure she would not stand again.
Breathing heavily, biting back sobs of fear and relief, Marshall turned to see to Caroline.
Caroline was slowly standing, and looked at him with a shaky smile, crying openly. She embraced him, neither seeming to notice the blood and filth in which they were covered. Kissing his cheek and whispering her gratitude again, Caroline went to attend her beloved, tears renewing as she realized he was not dead, merely unconscious. And even as she turned to ask Marshall’s assistance in getting him upstairs, the young man groaned and slowly woke.
He took all in with a long glance, soothing and petting Caroline as she cried in his arms. He exchanged a glance with Marshall. “How did you know?” he asked softly, knowing that Marshall must have known, in order to find his way so quickly to the secret basement.
Marshall explained all to them, and begged their forgiveness for doubting Caroline’s bride groom. And his best friend smiled, and kissed his cheek again, and said of course there was nothing to forgive.
The three left the basement behind, as well as the house. Outside dark had fallen, but beneath the light of the moon shown the white pebbles which Marshall had tossed down the night before and they made their way rapidly back to the village.
To their horrified parents Marshall and Caroline told their tale, and the bridegroom explained his own part and the spell under which he’d been caught. Horrified and enraged, they rapidly gathered together villagers and set off into the forest that night, guided by the bright white pebbles.
With fervor they set to destroying the house, razing it despite the risk they took in setting the surrounding forest aflame.
By the time all returned to the village the sun was slowly rising above the horizon. Bit by bit the people drifted away to spread the story to those who had slept through the chaos and climb back into their beds. Eventually the only persons remaining were Caroline, her bridegroom, her father and Marshall’s parents.
Marshall was no where to be found, except in the small, gold, flower shaped pendant around Caroline’s throat. She smiled gently and explained his absence to his parents.
For amidst the destroying of the house, Marshall had realized he no longer desired to remain in the village. Caroline was not his, though he would always love her dearly, and the vicious fight with the old witch was still fresh and terrifying in his mind.
So he had kissed his dearest friend goodbye and vanished into the woods, obeying the sudden call to wander before his parents could waylay him.
And he’d backed his bags quickly, and cleaned himself in the river, and as the sun rose he continued to walk, whistling a childhood song as he broke free of the forest and continued on toward the city and whatever lay beyond it.
thieving_gypsy, who requested a fairytale and we all know how much I hate writing those XD XDHet, a spinoff on an old favorite, The Robber Bridegroom. For those not familiar with it, you can find it here. It's also a different style than usual, because I wanted to play with a more typical 'fairytale style."
I'm glad you liked it, Gypsy ^_^ I've been going nuts to know the verdict ^^;
Caroline's Bridegroom
There once was a village, at the edge of the kingdom, which was neither very small nor very large. It was a peaceful village, calm and set in its ways. And though it was situated right at the border, it did not see many travelers because of the thick, dark forest that surrounded it. The weather could be harsh in winter but by and large it was mild.
The people of the village were neither terribly poor nor terribly rich, living pleasantly and comfortably. If anyone could be considered especially prosperous in this village, it would be the owner of the village mercantile store. For he was the only one, and of the entire village most frequently knew what was occurring outside of the village. He was an amiable man, always friendly and eager to help.
Only the death of his wife marred his happiness, but every time he looked at his daughter his pain eased slightly, for every day the girl grew more and more like his deceased wife. His wife had been beautiful and his daughter too was possessed of loveliness, with hair like gold and eyes as clear and blue as the sky. She had a small spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and people liked to say that even the fairies found her lovely and had kissed her there to show their affection.
Her name was Caroline and despite the attention lavished upon her she grew up sweet and pleasant. She was friendly with everyone, but her best friend was a young boy from across the street, who tended to the town stables with his own father and mother. His name was Marshall and as they grew up together their friendship only deepened.
Then Caroline came of age, and her father decided it was time to consider marriage. For he would not be around forever and he wanted to know that he was leaving his daughter in good hands. And so her father set quietly about finding a fitting suitor for his beloved daughter.
And Marshall knew this, though Caroline did not, and he knew also that he wanted Caroline for his own. But his family was poor and he knew he was not the best match her father could want – but he also refused to let this stop him trying.
When it came time for his parents to venture to the city to sell and buy horses, Marshall begged that he be permitted to go instead. Trusting him, knowing he was a good boy, his parents granted his request. And so Marshall took the horses and while there, bought a gift for Caroline with which he hoped to win her affection. It was a small, simple trinket but it was pretty and gold and perfect for his dearest friend.
Quietly he began to talk with Marshall’s parents, for all but perhaps the two young people could see that they were well-matched indeed. But Marshall knew it, had known it for years, and wanted to take Caroline as his wife. And so he waited eagerly but patiently for the parents to say something and even traveled away from the village one day, on pretext of selling some horses, to buy her a betrothal gift.
But upon his return he was met with dire news indeed.
In his absence, a man from a house deep in the woods – a man who had always been reclusive, sending his servants to do his shopping, keeping to himself, contributing to the village where he could but seldom interacting – had appeared with an offer for Caroline’s hand.
And he ran to Caroline’s house, and stopped just outside, staring through the window at the small happy party going on inside. Just an early lunch, but he could see Caroline smile in a way she’d never smiled before, and how she held her new bridegroom’s hand and leaned in close to him, laughing, eyes bright with happiness. And he saw the new ribbon in her hair, blue silk the color of her eyes, and the diamond and gold that sparkled on her finger. Items a poor stable boy would never be able to buy, and he wrapped his fingers around the small gift in his pocket, feeling with a pang the inadequacy of it.
Marshall looked at the new bridegroom and felt sick, for the man was very handsome indeed. Black hair, fair skin, dressed in rich clothes the likes of which Marshall had never worn nor ever would. And suddenly he hated his own clay-brown hair and boring brown eyes, so far removed from the bridegroom’s rich green ones.
He turned and fled, heart breaking, before anyone took notice of him, running from the village without even telling his parents he was home. And the gift he’d bought for Caroline with nearly all his savings burned a hole in his pocket and he longed to throw it in the river but could not bring himself to do so.
Aimlessly Marshall wandered through the woods, so familiar with them that he did not fear getting lost. Over and over the image of Caroline bright and happy beside the stranger tormented him, until he could no longer bear the pain.
By and by he came to a path in the wood that was only just worn – a path very seldom used. It was one he did not recall seeing before, though he knew where he was in the forest. Having nothing better to do, and desperate for a distraction, Marshall followed the path deeper into the woods until eventually the familiar grew strange and dark.
As he went, Marshall began to drop bright white pebbles intermittently to the ground. A gift from his mother, who swore she’d been given them by fairies; the pebbles would glow in moonlight and show him the way back should he be forced to travel in the dark. So long as he followed the stones he would not be lost.
Eventually his traveling brought him to a house, and he knew it to be the house of Caroline’s bridegroom.
It was a large house, three stories and at least four rooms across. He wondered at how such a magnificent house had been built so deep in the forest. Cobblestones lined the path from the edge of the clearing up to the front door. Roses grew all along the front of the house and the grass was rich and green. The shutters were painted a cheerful blue, bright against the dark brick of the house, and the door had a small stained-glass window.
Far better a house than the little one he knew his parents and Caroline’s father had secretly planned to build in the field at the edge of town, only a little way from the brook where they’d played as children. And the wildflowers they used to pick together were nothing like the rich red roses that managed to grow despite the cover of the heavy trees.
Miserable that he’d lost his Caroline to a man he did not even know, angry that he could not even compete, Marshall approached the house and knocked on the door before his good sense got the better of him.
There was no reply for several long minutes, though Marshall knocked three times more. At last it seemed that no one was home and as angry as he was he would not reduce himself to breaking into a man’s home.
But as he at last turned to leave, the door creaked open to reveal the ancient, wrinkled and withered face of an old, old woman. “May I help you?” she asked in a voice as slow and thick as molasses – as though it was hard for her to speak. Her blue eyes were dim, and Marshall wondered briefly if she had been drugged…perhaps to help with the pain suffered by the elderly?
“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely. “I’ve become lost in the woods and wondered if I might stop to rest for a spell, to recover myself.”
The woman blinked her dim eyes. “You are lying.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You are lying. Tell me why you have come.”
Marshall hesitated, and almost lied again, but the dim blue eyes looked at him unwaveringly and at last he nodded. “I…the man who owns this house has stolen the heart of the woman I love. I wanted only to know about that man, as he is a stranger to me and the village.”
The woman nodded. “You are a smart boy. Come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Marshall doffed his worn hat and stepped inside. The door closed behind them and suddenly he was washed with the scent of flowers – dozens of them, so many he could not pick out the particular scents. It smelled like the sickly sweet perfume worn by women in the city. Marshall instantly disliked it and as he examined the house through which the old woman led him, he saw more that he disliked.
Like the perfect cleanliness of the place. Even his tidy mother’s house had miscellany all around – a blanket thrown carelessly over her hold chair, a stray mug from his father’s morning tea. Dust on the floor when she was too busy to sweep on some days. This house was pristine; it looked as though it had been taken from a painting or an etching in a book.
No homely touches – not a quilt made by a loving mother, no old books handed down through generations. No ‘dust catchers’ of any sort. The house was…stale. As though it was for show and not really someone’s home.
Perhaps it was only that the man lived alone and did not have a wife to warm the place up. His father had often said he hadn’t considered his house a home until his mother came along and turned it into one.
But the doubts lingered.
“Who are you young man?” the woman asked as they finally came to a halt in a beautiful but cold dining room. It glittered with crystal and fine china, set against dark woods that Marshall knew were not native to that area. Silk and satin decorated the table and windows and he felt more like a poor stable boy than ever.
But one determined. “My name is Marshall Stable; my family cares for the horses in town.”
“You came to learn of Master Maurus and because you seem to be a good, smart boy I shall show you some things. Follow me.”
She led him from the dining room into the kitchen and threw open the door to the cellar. Downstairs were several barrels and upon examination Marshall saw they each held either wine or ale. But the old woman did not stop at the barrels but continued onward toward the back, where a door was all but invisible in the corner behind a large barrel of wine.
Marshall followed her through the door, down another set of stairs that led deeper below ground than he would have thought possible. Down they went, and Marshall held out a hand to help the old woman.
As they went, the smell of damp earth was overridden by another, more wretched and sickening smell. Marshall was reminded of the butcher’s shop, the smell of meat and blood, an underlying scent of death.
At last they reached the bottom of the stairs and Marshall choked on a horrified cry, pressing his sleeve to his mouth to keep himself from retching. His eyes burned from the smell and tears.
Beside him the old woman’s cried her own tears. And though she tried, she could not say a word that would speak against her master.
The room was indeed a butcher’s shop. Parts and bones and blood were all over – lined up neatly on high tables, brewing in a large cauldron…again Marshall pressed the sleeve of his coat to his mouth to keep from gagging and puking.
Across a low counter were three heads and Marshall’s eyes burned anew with tears, for they were all young women and the head of one he recognized as a traveler who had purchased a horse from him before she continued on toward the city.
Unable to help himself he counted the parts in the room, noting with a sick, morbid fascination that at least eight bodies were present in the room – and there was no telling how many had come before that.
“Is this…is this what will become of my Caroline?”
“He has fallen in love with her,” the woman said quietly, slowly. But words unsaid lingered heavy on the air, and Marshall could taste them like something rotten and foul. He looked at the gruesome heads, and started as he noticed what each wore – silk ribbons. And he wondered if once those ribbons had been the color of the girls’ eyes.
“I must go,” Marshall said, but he lingered. “Would you like to come with me? You should not stay here.”
“I am bespelled,” the old woman replied. “I cannot leave until he is dead.”
Marshall nodded and with words of gratitude fled the house and raced back toward the village. In his haste, he neglected to pick up the white pebbles.
But back home, doubts began slowly to creep into his mind. Night had fallen and from Caroline’s house spilled light and laughter and song. Marshall approached with heavy steps, despite the racing of his heart and the fear that twisted his stomach.
The first thing he saw was Caroline and her suitor, dancing playfully in the middle of the room while his own mother and father played and sang. And he knew looking at all of them that no one would believe a single word he said.
Before he could retreat to think of something else, his oldest and dearest friend spied him and with a cry of joy pulled him into the center circle, hugging him and speaking in a rush. And she smelled of wild flowers and sunshine, clinging to her bridegroom’s arm and introducing him with a proud, happy smile.
Marshall knew suddenly he stood no chance, for she had never smiled at him like that and with a pang he knew she never would. But he could not send her to the house in the woods and the gruesome kitchen deep in the earth.
So he smiled and agreed to play a song, and danced with his friend and drank with her bridegroom, waiting until he could free her from him.
As the hour grew late and the guests departed, Marshall overheard Caroline talking quietly with her handsome suitor. When she suggested going to visit his house, Marshall felt cold and immediately stated his disapproval. He ignored the looks of his parents and Caroline’s father. But before he could explain himself, the bridegroom stepped in and agreed with him.
And he explained that his house was a bit away, and difficult to get to if one was not familiar. But Caroline brushed the words aside, frowning at both her bridegroom and her friend. “Nonsense,” she said. “You have come to visit me several times and tomorrow I will return with you and visit your house. It will be my house someday, I should not wait until our wedding day to see it.” And that was that, and the men were helpless to protest.
By and by Marshall’s parents bid them goodnight and took their son with them, immediately pestering him with questions about the city and their horses. And he answered their questions and let them chat at him. As they slowed he attempted to voice his fears about the bridegroom but with sad, knowing smiles his parents told him he worried over nothing and that it was best if he left things alone. Unhappily Marshall subsided, and went to bed exhausted but still very worried.
With the morning he helped with chores and ran errands, stopping by as always to chat with his best friend, smiling at her happiness despite his own pain. Eventually they said their goodbyes for the day, as Caroline dragged her bridegroom cheerfully from the house and insisted they go to visit his. She smiled fondly at her frowning father and told him to cease fretting and her father reluctantly smiled, though once she turned away he glared fiercely at the bridegroom.
And Marshall darted off, racing ahead of them into the woods toward the dark house, waiting until he could rescue Caroline once she saw for herself what her bridegroom really was. He felt sick again, putting her into such danger, but he knew this was also the only way he would be believed.
Some time later he heard them come up the path, laughing and talking. But when they appeared, Marshall noticed a slowness to their steps, as if one or both were reluctant to reach the house.
On the front steps the old woman appeared and greeted the couple warmly. Immediately charmed, Caroline returned the woman’s greeting and began to chatter as though they’d always been the best of friends. And the woman smiled strangely, and escorted them inside.
When they had gone, Marshall wasted no time in following them. The door, when he tried it, was unlocked and he wondered briefly if the old woman had done it on purpose.
Inside the house was quiet. Marshall felt a chill up his spine, for it was too deep and strange a silence. Where had they all gone so quickly? But the answer to that was clear and as rapidly as he could he made his way to the grim basement.
The first thing to greet his eyes was the body of Caroline’s bridegroom.
Marshall stumbled to a halt, not understanding what he was seeing. But Caroline called his name tearfully and he finished racing down the stairs, barreling into the room and straight for Caroline, who was grappling with the old woman.
And the old woman no longer looked so gentle or mild or sad. Her eyes had turned cold and sharp, and molasses in her voice had become something sharp and cruel. “What is going on here? Unhand her!”
The old woman laughed and threw Caroline to the ground to face Marshall. “You, my good little boy are not quite so clever as you think. You did exactly as I knew you would. Now I have not only a fine girl but also a new slave.” She sneered at the unconscious bridegroom. “That one had grown weak and disobedient.”
Comprehension flooded Marshall and he bit back a cry, cursing himself every kind of fool. He backed away in sudden fear, no longer knowing what he was to do, covering his ears when the horrid old woman began to speak in a strange tongue, her spidery fingers pointed toward him.
But the string of words was broken abruptly as Caroline leapt at the woman’s back, clawing and pulling and tearing whatever she could get her hands on. The old woman, far too strong for her appearance, wrestled with the young woman and at last succeeded in throwing her off. Caroline crashed painfully against a large cauldron and fell on the floor with a pained cry. She did not get up again.
It was all Marshall needed to regain his senses and before the old woman could regain herself he had launched his own attack, grabbing a knife from a blood-drenched counter and driving her back, screaming to block her attempts at speaking in the strange tongue. With a final burst of energy he drove her back and made sure she would not stand again.
Breathing heavily, biting back sobs of fear and relief, Marshall turned to see to Caroline.
Caroline was slowly standing, and looked at him with a shaky smile, crying openly. She embraced him, neither seeming to notice the blood and filth in which they were covered. Kissing his cheek and whispering her gratitude again, Caroline went to attend her beloved, tears renewing as she realized he was not dead, merely unconscious. And even as she turned to ask Marshall’s assistance in getting him upstairs, the young man groaned and slowly woke.
He took all in with a long glance, soothing and petting Caroline as she cried in his arms. He exchanged a glance with Marshall. “How did you know?” he asked softly, knowing that Marshall must have known, in order to find his way so quickly to the secret basement.
Marshall explained all to them, and begged their forgiveness for doubting Caroline’s bride groom. And his best friend smiled, and kissed his cheek again, and said of course there was nothing to forgive.
The three left the basement behind, as well as the house. Outside dark had fallen, but beneath the light of the moon shown the white pebbles which Marshall had tossed down the night before and they made their way rapidly back to the village.
To their horrified parents Marshall and Caroline told their tale, and the bridegroom explained his own part and the spell under which he’d been caught. Horrified and enraged, they rapidly gathered together villagers and set off into the forest that night, guided by the bright white pebbles.
With fervor they set to destroying the house, razing it despite the risk they took in setting the surrounding forest aflame.
By the time all returned to the village the sun was slowly rising above the horizon. Bit by bit the people drifted away to spread the story to those who had slept through the chaos and climb back into their beds. Eventually the only persons remaining were Caroline, her bridegroom, her father and Marshall’s parents.
Marshall was no where to be found, except in the small, gold, flower shaped pendant around Caroline’s throat. She smiled gently and explained his absence to his parents.
For amidst the destroying of the house, Marshall had realized he no longer desired to remain in the village. Caroline was not his, though he would always love her dearly, and the vicious fight with the old witch was still fresh and terrifying in his mind.
So he had kissed his dearest friend goodbye and vanished into the woods, obeying the sudden call to wander before his parents could waylay him.
And he’d backed his bags quickly, and cleaned himself in the river, and as the sun rose he continued to walk, whistling a childhood song as he broke free of the forest and continued on toward the city and whatever lay beyond it.
