Warning: Do not read if you are squeamish about blood or cannibalism
The house was all high ceilings and polished wood panelling. Every room was filled with velvet love seats, threaded lamps, and thick carpets. Plump women smiled at me from regency paintings, and the glittering eyes of busts followed me through the halls. The statues didn’t stare so much...but then, most of them were headless. The house was old. The house was dusty.
The house was dead, silent in the night but for the creaking in the eaves and the tapping of the branches, like hard fingers, against the glass. In the very roof, the wind shrieked. Ours was a deserted, isolated place; on a windy moor, not ten miles from the ocean, it was the kind of place Mr. Rochester would have liked to live in.
I stared out the window at a day of pale clouds. The ocean was of a colour with steel. As I gripped the windowsill, my knuckles turned white. I rubbed my hands together; I blew on them. Each finger was numb.
The room was small. The floorboards were wood; they creaked as I crossed the space. The four poster which dominated my bedroom was coated in a thin layer of dust. I pulled the single tattered blanket to myself—it smelled of mothballs, but it was something. I shuddered.
There was a mirror beside the dresser. It’s surface was scratched, but I could make myself out. The dress I wore looked thick; with a long skirt and baggy sleeves, it screamed “peasant.”
To look at myself, and this room, one wouldn’t have known we were in the 2020’s. To look at them, one wouldn’t have known there was anything sane in this world.
I sat on the bed’s edge with a sigh. It even hurt to sit on it. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I won’t. I can’t.
My eyes stung. I wiped them quickly. The breath I took was heavy, shaking me.
The door flew open.
“Ma!” I leapt up. I squared my shoulders. “Ma, won’t you take me to the fair?”
She stared back at me. Her face was gaunt and wrinkled; tendrils of hair, like cobwebs, straggled to her shoulders. A beak protruded from the centre of her face, and the eyes were like jets—black and glittering.
The Hag grinned. She tightened her shawl over her hunched form and waddled in. My eyes strayed to her feet: they were talons, rough and gray.
“Ma?”
“You’re finally calling me by my rightful name.” She stroked my face with a long nail. I shivered. “There’s a good girl. That’s right. I am your Ma now. I’ve been charged with your protection, and you will do as your Ma says.”
“Yes, Ma.”
“But to use my name to attain what you want...” She shook her head. “That is duplicitous, girl. It is unworthy of a young lady.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“You still don’t respect me.”
“I only want to see the fair.”
“Not this again.” A second Hag entered the room. He looked identical, but for the stringy beard which fell from his chin and dragged over the floor.
“You can’t keep me in here forever.” I coughed. “It’s dusty.”
Ma placed her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes gleamed. “I am going to keep you forever, child. Don’t you know how Hags are made?”
Pa chuckled. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
“Let go of me.” I struggled, but her nails only cut into my skin. “Let go!”
Pa drifted behind me: he stroked my hair. “She’ll be beautiful.”
“Hags aren’t ugly as a rule.” Her breath smelled of dead meat. “It’s just that they only picked ugly people to fashion them.”
“You don’t mean...no! I don’t want to be-”
She covered my mouth. She made a shushing gesture. “It’s okay, child. It doesn’t hurt. And you will have access to magic.”
I frowned. “You mean I could do spells?”
“We’ll let you out, too. We’ll be a proper family. You’ll dine with us. You’ll be given beautiful clothes. And then we’ll go to the fair.”
My head spun. “The fair...”
They pushed me to the bed. Images of massive trees and urns swam through my brain. Pa poked my forehead with his fingers; the nails were longer than Ma’s. Ma prodded me, and I had a vision of the three of us: floating, black wings unfurled, we cut through the clouds.
“But they’ll see...” The vision faded. “My beak. The humans...”
“It is not a human fair.” She rubbed her cheek against mine. “How I’ve missed having a daughter. You’re even prettier than Theresa was.”
“But I’m Theresa.”
“You are now, sweet.” She took my limp hands. “Because I have called you that.”
Danielle. My name is Danielle. My surname is Greene. I’m nine years old. My parents are-
“We are your parents now.” She cradled me to her chest. “We’ll take good care of you.”
“I’m hungry.”
“We have to ween you off the human food, darling. Only when you’re ravenous will you consider our food. Go to sleep.”
They drifted to the door. I sat up with a yelp. The door shut, and the lock clicked. I rushed to the door. I tugged on the doorknob, screaming. The fair had been my only chance.
“Mom! Dad! Help me! Let me out!” I kicked the door. “Let me go, please! I want to go home! You’ll never be my parents! Never! I want my mom and dad!”
I ran to the bed. I threw my arms over my head and sobbed. They came in the evening to let me into the washroom. Otherwise, I remained in the room. On the third day, Pa gave me water. I choked it down, trembling. It was another two days before he brought me water again.
My head throbbed as he entered the room. I stared at the ceiling, limbs all lead. He held the pitcher out to me.
I snatched it from him.
I took one gulp, before spitting the substance out.
Not water.
My stomach clenched. I rolled to one side, dry heaving. Pain shot across my belly. I collapsed on to my back with a groan.
“You have to drink, child.” He held the pitcher out. My stomach rolled at the scent of copper. I shook my head. “You’ll die if you don’t.”
“Water,” I whispered.
He set the pitcher on my bedside table. Shaking his head, he scuttled away. The door shut. The lock clicked.
When the moonlight pooled into my room later, I reached for the pitcher. I cradled it in my lap. I winced at the smell, and my stomach seized...but there was no nausea. My tongue was parchment. I swallowed – or tried to. Coughs seized me. I sniffed the pitcher.
It’s not what I think. It can’t be. I won’t. I won’t think.
I guzzled. It dribbled red over my chin. I gasped. The ache in my stomach eased. I drained the pitcher.
In the morning, Pa entered. He ran a napkin over my chin. “Dear child, what a mess.” He laughed. “Though you are still beautiful.”
Every third day they brought the pitcher of-
I didn’t think. I drank, gasping and crying. Why couldn’t they give it to me everyday? I swam in my dress. It was all I could do to drink, before sinking back into sleep. I dreamt of flying, of treetops, of the roar of wind in my ears.
Something soft touched my face. I opened my eyes. A woman with white hair stood over my bed, face elfin in the candlelight. Her eyes were dark, familiar...
“Poor child. I hate to hurt you so much. But there is no other way.”
I’m hallucinating now. That’s what happens. And then I’ll-
“You aren’t going to die. I’ve brought you dinner.”
Food? I tried to remember my last meal. Was it bread? I tried to remember the last time I’d been out to use the washroom. But I hardly do that now. Hags don’t need to-
She held the plate out. It was piled with meat. I yanked it from her hand. The flavour was strange, but not bad. She had seasoned it with spinach. I tore into the meat. My fingers came away bloody. The juice smeared my chin, my dress; it stuck in my hair.
She took the plate away, her smile gentle.
“Do not be ashamed.”
Why would I be ashamed of eating?
“Does it taste good?”
I nodded. “I want more. All the time. Don’t starve me anymore.”
“Shh.” She pressed her fingers to my lips. “If you want more, you will get it. I love you, Theresa.”
But I’m Danielle. “What happened to Theresa?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are sitting before me.”
“The first Theresa.”
“Humans.” She spat on the floor. “More than that, you do not need to know.”
“Humans killed her?” My face burned. I felt strong. One meal could do that? “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze softened. “I know, Theresa. You always were a good little girl. I will bring you more food tomorrow. Your hunger is over.”
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