Day 91 – Tin Foil Queen

Didn’t have a lot of time to think this one through as Derek was expecting a far too trim routine to get out the door when he arrived. I’ll ensure that he is shot in the bum in tomorrow’s paintballing. Muh.HA.HA.HA.

Word count: 783


At the end of their street there was a mad old lady whose garden was full of raggedly old sacks and strips of metal from the carcasses of old cars, all intertwined with the decaying shrubbery and poking out of the fence. Her terraced house was not much more aesthetically pleasing either. One of the windows was broken; the front door knocker had fallen off and smashed the concrete sculpted plant pot that had formerly resembled an angel; and several roof tiles were missing, no doubt blown away by some fierce and howling gale.

Mary, as some had come to know her – no one in the neighbourhood had ever been sure that that was her real name – was approaching the wrinkly age of seventy. An opaque mist of cigarette smoke would be seen venting from the chimney more often than a genuine fire. She was renowned for barely washing. Her breath stank from a mixture of nicotine, stale cheese and home-brewed vodka. No one came to visit her. For all thirty-one years she had lived in the brick two storey house, she had never had a visitor to the best of her neighbours’ memories. The local kids avoided her at all costs, making up mythical stories about her surrounding witches and ogres, goblins and wenches.

So it was a surprise to see Colin and Michael sitting on their bikes just outside her gate. For years they had always rode past the house, previously too scared to stop, but who were now too old to care to remember she lived there. However, on the morning of the first day of April, they found themselves unable to move. It was as if they were being transfixed by some spell. They could not move and they could not blink. For two hours they had been glued in time. Unfortunately for them, it was a quiet street. No one cared to  look out their windows for their spying hobby, no one dared meet eye contact with anyone that they passed in fear of a conversation striking up.

It was odd, however, that no one had really their complete lack of motion. Though several people had passed, they were not surprised that the two did not move over. Approaching sixteen, they were not the nicest of boys around. Combined with their rampant teenage hormones and the genes of their angry father, they were more often than not, the terrible twins who – some said – were most likely never going to amount to anything at all and up until this day, they were probably right.

But on this fine morning with probable drizzle in the early afternoon, their lives were about to change. Though frozen for nearly two hours now, Michael’s eyes suddenly began twitching; soon, too, did Colin’s. After a few seconds, their arms were able to move; not long after that their legs were once again functioning and within minutes of all that they were dismounting their bikes and walking towards Mary’s front door.

These were not ordinary actions, however. Though their limbs moved and their blood flowed freely around their arteries and veins, their movements were not their own. They were like robots with no mind of their own and controlled by someone else entirely.

Above on the second floor the curtain swayed slightly as they opened the unlocked door and entered the house. The hallway was lined with tin foil. It suffocated every piece of furniture and fixings. It extended into all the rooms and all the way up the stairs too. Even the bannister had been wrapped up tightly. The boys ascended to the second floor and would have been surprised by what they saw in the bedroom had they not been controlled like minions by an until recently unknown god.

Their mistress grinned at them from behind dark wrinkled eyes. She wore a long flowing gown made wholly of tin foil. It had layers of ruffled foil and a sweetheart neckline of crushed foil flowers. She wore a foil tiara and even foil gloves. The woman sparkled like a tinsel or a big fat turkey – either description was accurate.

Mary clapped her foiled hands in excitement. Her plan was working. Her slaves had come.

“Come my pretty boys, come! You do look so alike… so alike.” She bobbed up and down on her foiled stool.

The two boys continued to walk towards her until she raised her hand.

“Stop.” And they did.

Mary then raised her arms up high, palms flat and raised to the ceiling, and the boys knelt slowly to the floor – never breaking eye contact with their mistress.

“You are mine, now, boys… mine.”

And that was the beginning of fairies.

~ by S.G. Mark on January 6, 2012.

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