Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales Page 5

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Briar said. She felt out of breath as her throat eased out of its cramp.

  “Hurt you! Don’t be ridiculous. I am here to save you.” He turned toward an old cracked hanging mirror and adjusted his beauty mark. He teetered back toward the closet, like someone walking a tightrope, and he balanced himself against the wall. “Now, if you value your life, you will get into that closet with me!”

  He opened the door and unsteadily lurched inward, doing his best to get his fluffed-up petticoats to cooperate. Briar rushed up and slammed the door behind him. There was a chair sitting beneath the window, and she jammed it between the knob and the floor, to brace the door shut.

  Right on cue, the door at the top of the steps angrily scraped open, wood against wood, and Briar heard the unmistakable, unapologetic footsteps of Megan, Marnie, and Matilda, Briar’s foster mother, clambering down.

  Matilda was a beefy woman with broad, rounded ape-like shoulders. She was a former prison guard who tried to offset her machismo with bottle-blonde puffy hair, a French manicure, and deep makeup layers. She stood between her two daughters with mannish hands set defiantly on her hips.

  Briar tried to wipe the astonishment from her face at seeing Megan and Marnie both wearing fuzzy slippers and awful matching pink crocheted bathrobes. Briar had never seen the girls after dusk, and knowing what lengths they took to assure a cultivated daytime look, she was taken aback by their atrocious get-ups.

  “Oh Jeez,” Briar said. She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or astounded.

  She started across the room, but Matilda held up a hand. “Stop right there.”

  “What? Stop? No you don’t understand—” Briar cut her words short. She glanced over her shoulder at the closet. She knew they wouldn’t believe her.

  “Dear God. Here we go again,” Megan said.

  Matilda flashed her sloppily mascaraed eyes. “Now that’s not quite fair, Megan.” She crossed her arms so that they balanced atop her preposterously enormous bosom. “Let’s give Briar a chance to explain.”

  Briar swallowed hard. “There was—something down here. I was scared. You didn’t hear anything?”

  “Well, that’s just sad,” said Megan.

  “Pitiful, really,” Marnie added. She was distracted with texting.

  Matilda ignored Megan and narrowed her eyes at Briar. “Something? Down here?” She advanced on Briar, looking left and right. “And just what did you see?”

  Marnie chimed in, bored as ever. “Maybe it was her queer-bait friend.”

  Matilda got red-faced. “We don’t talk like that. This is a Christian home. We pray for all sinners here, whether they’re gay, Jewish, or of Latin descent.”

  “Mother, that was so divinely inspired,” Megan said.

  “Thank you, darling. Now what the hell is going on down here?”

  Briar knew she was screwed no matter what she said now. “There was a man in the closet,” she finally blurted out. Sounding crazy was easier than she thought.

  “Oh, then it definitely wasn’t Dax,” Marnie said. She was still glued to her phone. “He’s been out of the closet since he could toddle.”

  Matilda paraded across the basement, fists clenched, trains of yellow chiffon fluttering around her rump. “A man you say?” She pounded on the closet door. “Who’s in there? Come out!” But there was no answer.

  “I’ll tell you what’s in there, mother,” said Megan. “Briar’s desperate cry for help. You know the rumors. For all we know she conjured up a demon.”

  Matilda yanked away the chair wedged beneath the doorknob and jerked the closet door open. But it was empty, except for Briar’s few black outfits hanging lifelessly above some jumbled shoes.

  Megan shook her head. “It just breaks the Baby Jesus’ heart.”

  Staring into the emptiness, Briar felt a cold panic that started in her stomach. “I don’t understand…”

  Megan inserted herself again. “There’s something more mother. I just didn’t want to upset you. But, at school today, Briar stood on stage in front of everyone and spoke in tongues. I was so frightened.”

  Marnie picked her teeth. “Yeah me too.”

  “A sign of the Beast,” Matilda blurted. Then she threw a hammy arm around Briar’s shoulder. “But we mustn’t give up on Christ’s lost lamb.”

  “I pray every night for her soul,” said Megan.

  “It’s true. She’s down on her knees a lot!” Marnie added.

  Megan glared.

  Matilda then noticed Briar’s phone on the bed. “What is this?” She snapped up the phone in her sweaty fist.

  Briar’s heart dropped into her stomach. “I don’t know. There’s so much junk in this basement—maybe it belongs to one of you?”

  Matilda powered it up and scanned the logs. “Well, what a coincidence. Whoever owns this phone also calls a so-called boy named Dax.” Her face tightened and her caked makeup flaked. “Who is paying for this phone Briar? Is it drugs? The Lord hates liars, and drug addicts, and cell phone users.”

  Marnie shoved her own phone into her robe.

  “I—I…” Briar dared not say.

  “We’ve tried mother—you’ve tried. There’s no shame in calling Mrs. Poplar to put an end to all of this.”

  Matilda stuffed the phone between her bosoms. “Are you crazy? What do you think will happen when Mrs. Poplar gets involved?”

  Megan tried to look angelic. “Well, I suppose she’ll find Briar a more suitable placement.”

  “And just where do you think the check comes from every month for your salon trips and your…enhancements?” Matilda snapped. “No. We must help poor Briar in her hour of need. It’s time to pray like never before. Girls, go bring down the kneelers and light the votives. We shall hold a night-long vigil to expunge the demons from this household.”

  Marnie shoved Megan. “She’s talking about you.”

  Matilda snarled at Briar. “As for Miss Blackwood, you’d better pray with us that I don’t change my mind.”

  Briar suspected she’d never change her mind, as long as the support checks kept coming, which meant that Matilda didn’t have to go to work.

  “Come along girls,” Matilda yelled over her shoulder. “We need to find the heavy crucifix.”

  They were stopped in their tracks when three sharp knocks sounded from inside the closet.

  Chapter 6

  All four of them stood holding their breath, staring in disbelief at the paint-crackled closet door.

  It knocked from the inside again.

  “This better not be one of your tricks, you little worm.” Matilda lathered up on her words. “Go open it up,” she ordered Briar. But really, she was afraid to do it herself.

  Briar edged toward the door, reached for the knob, but then hesitated. “It was probably mice. I’ve heard them before.”

  “Open-the-door.” Matilda barked like a drill sergeant. But before Briar could do anything, the door swung open. Inside was Mrs. Poplar, dressed in the most outlandish fashion imaginable. She was short and round, with the lumps and crevices of middle age, and she wore a hip-hugging gray fishtail skirt with brass buttons that swept down one side to the floor. Her white blouse was a cascade of lace, and she sported an oversized hat with iridescent peacock plumage that bounced in all directions. A brass monocle with three telescopic lenses was fitted over her left eye.

  “What in the world?” Mrs. Poplar asked. She adjusted the lenses of her monocle and ogled the Saulks.

  Briar and her foster family stood awash in breathless astonishment, gawking at the tiny closet, barely big enough for Briar’s clothes, stunned at the improbability of it all.

  Mrs. Poplar stepped into the room and shut the door with a back kick from her button-down shoes. “I’ve been knocking for some time now. Were you going to let me wait on the front porch all night?”

  “Front porch—” Matilda was disoriented, trying to understand the outlandish situation. “Mrs. Poplar, you’re in Briar�
�s basement closet. However—did you find your way there?” She approached Mrs. Poplar who abruptly turned aside and began inspecting the basement, twisting her monocle left and right, while scribbling on a clipboard she held tight to her breast.

  “Are you questioning me, Mrs. Saulk?” Poplar asked. “You know, explanations for everything rarely lead to understanding anything.”

  She sized Matilda up and scribbled a short note.

  “There’s only one word to describe your behavior Mrs. Saulk—and that word is rude,” Poplar said. “That is, the word is not itself rude—and yet, it is.”

  “What?” Matilda asked. She slowly backed away from the strange woman who was rummaging around and taking notes. “Girls,” she said quietly, “why don’t you go upstairs and—make a phone call, hmm?”

  Dull as ever, it took Marnie a few moments to finally understand. “Oh right. Gotcha.”

  She poked her sister’s side and they slunk up the steps. Suddenly the door at the top crashed open with great force, embedding itself into the wall. The girls screamed in stereo. A slim shadowed figure stood in the doorframe. A flash of lightning illuminated her silhouette. The surprise knocked the girls off balance, causing them to jumble together down the steps.

  “Looks like the storm has finally arrived,” Poplar said. “In any event, I brought along my supervisor from the Department of Children’s Services, Mrs. Myrtle. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?!” Matilda said. “Lady, are you nuts? What is going on here?”

  The woman atop the stairs took dignified, starchy strides down. Mrs. Myrtle was unusually tall, gaunt, and severe. She too wore clothing that looked as though it was from another era. Then it clicked for Briar. The neck-high pearl-buttoned shirt and red waistcoat, miniscule glasses sitting on the end of her nose, the tiny black top hat perched upon her pulled back gray hair—it was the woman she saw on her handheld device this afternoon.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Saulk,” Myrtle said. She pursed her crinkled lips as though smelling something sour and she petted a burnt orange fox stole that she had clasped around her shoulders.

  “This is an outrage!” Matilda simmered. “You can’t just invade my home. Where are your credentials?”

  “My credentials?” Myrtle peered over her spectacles. “And just where are your credentials? How am I to know you are who you say you are?”

  “What?” Matilda looked as though she had something vile in her mouth. “I haven’t—what?”

  Ignoring Matilda, Myrtle spoke directly to Poplar. “Is this the creature into whose charge we have left our Miss Blackwood?”

  “Hey, nut bag! I’m not deaf. You can talk to me directly,” Matilda said. “If you don’t mind—”

  “Oh, dear. It speaks,” Myrtle said. She developed a lingering sneer. “I don’t mind at all,” she remarked. She sauntered past Matilda with a posture as straight and true as freshly milled lumber. She tried to force a social smile, but it looked more like someone smelling urine. Then it morphed into a look of outright revulsion while eyeing Briar’s shabby furnishings.

  “You are aware, Mrs. Saulk, that you’ve signed a county contract that we may inspect the premises at any time. Well, any time happens to be now. Congratulations.”

  “This is the middle of the night. You can’t barge in here!”

  “It is exactly nine forty-five, Mrs. Saulk. If it was the middle of the night it would be precisely midnight. In fact, the word midnight explains itself in plain English. Do you not speak English, Mrs. Saulk?” Myrtle stood nose to nose with Matilda. “Therefore, Mrs. Saulk, it is not the middle of the night, nor anywhere near such time. Are we quite clear on that point?”

  Matilda found herself confused and backing away from Myrtle, toward the closet, when it erupted for a second time. The door burst off its hinges and knocked Matilda flat beneath, onto the pitted cement floor.

  A man wearing a full suit of armor strode out. He lifted a lengthy sword and pierced the water-stained ceiling. “I am here to save you,” he said. Muffled by his helmet, he sounded as though he was speaking through two tin cans and a string.

  The girls screeched and clung to one another.

  He began grumbling. “This makes four times this month in this ridiculous attire.” He tugged the sword free, and it released a shower of plaster that pinged off the steel suit.

  “Get off me!” Matilda shouted from beneath the door.

  He lifted the helmet’s slatted faceplate to see who was speaking. Briar could see it was the same bearded man who appeared to her earlier.

  “Oh, sorry about the door,” he said. He stepped off, removed it from Matilda and leaned it into the doorframe. Briar tried to suppress a laugh.

  Megan and Marnie, trying not to look too flipped out, edged up the basement steps together. It didn’t bother them one bit to leave Matilda behind. But before they could reach them, the door atop the stairs dislodged from the wall and slammed shut with such force that it nearly split. Megan charged up and threw herself against it grunting, prying it with her chipping finger-nails.

  “Let us out!” she shouted. Finally she broke down in tears while hanging onto the immovable knob.

  Mrs. Myrtle positioned her spectacles and grimaced at the pair. “Really,” she said. Then to Matilda, “Are these hysterical beasts your spawn?”

  “How dare you come into my house and speak to me like that!” Matilda huffed while heaving herself to a stand.

  Myrtle whispered to Poplar, “—like a beached whale.”

  “A beached—what did you just call me?” Matilda clenched her fists.

  “Oh fuss,” Myrtle said. She petted the fox stole. “You were busy hoisting yourself using the least amount of grace possible. It’s a wonder you could hear anything while performing such a momentous task.”

  “I can hear you perfectly well, Mrs. Myrtle. Now—”

  Myrtle smiled primly, “Good. Then perhaps you’ll hear it when I say that I shall report what is happening in your home to the police authorities, to child protective agents, and to the Internal Revenue Service. I am certain that the criminal maltreatment of a foster child and the misappropriation of her support funds would be of interest to them.”

  “Oh quite so,” Poplar chimed in cheerily.

  The girls screamed and pointed at Poplar, who was in a corner of the basement now, busy eating the remains of a rat. Blood ran down Poplar’s chin and she shrugged, holding the final third of the carcass by its fleshy tail. She pulled a crisp white doily from her velvet drawstring handbag, wrapped the rat within, and placed it away. “Portion control,” she said patting her girth and smiling daintily. Briar could see a rat claw still stuck between her front teeth.

  “Sensible of you,” Myrtle agreed.

  Matilda’s face drooped like a saggy mattress and she slapped her hands together in prayer. “Lord, what fiends hast thou cast upon my home?”

  “Do you think she knows Lord Toad of the Swamps?” Poplar whispered loudly. She wiped her bloody chin with her lacey sleeve.

  “My dear woman,” Myrtle explained, “Lord Toad has been indisposed for some time now.”

  Matilda looked positively sick.

  “Oh yes,” Myrtle continued. “He was imprisoned. Caught poaching magic beans, I’m afraid.”

  “Dear, you’ve gotten things mixed again,” Poplar corrected. “You’re thinking of that pumpkin eater.”

  “Oh yes, that’s right, Peter.” Myrtle said. “Spousal abuse. Put her in a pumpkin shell. And there he kept her. Just dreadful.”

  Matilda wasn’t certain if she was angry or confused. “I am speaking of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

  “Good Goose,” Myrtle said. “The poor creature speaks in gibberish. Are you quite ill, madam?”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t wish to soil her reputation by association with Toad,” the knight suggested.

  “Never fear Mrs. Saulk, your secret will remain safe among us,” Poplar said reassuringly. “Goblins know you could be hanged for the m
ere mention of his name.”

  “Hanged? What?” Matilda said. “Now see here—”

  “No. You will see here,” Myrtle said. She ran her gloved finger across Briar’s dresser and flicked away a heaping crumble of crud. “I will be kind enough to overlook your association with Lord Toad. But I will not tolerate the dungeon imprisonment of this poor child.”

  “Dungeon! This is a perfectly suitable dwelling for a foster child, considering the meager stipend I receive each month. There are sufficient supplies and amenities for her here.”

  “Is that so?” the knight asked.

  “Yes, that’s so, Oil-Can. You three have illegally invaded my home. I don’t know how you did it, but in any event, you have insulted me and my family, and you’ve battered me with a door. There’s grounds enough for all three of you to be arrested.” She removed Briar’s cell phone from between her bosoms and showed it to Myrtle with an angry smile. She started to dial the police when Megan stopped her with a sudden thrill in her voice.

  “Mother, I get what’s going on here now. They’re the reason why Briar has—you know—weird powers. They’re all witches. Admit it. You’re witches.”

  “Witches!” Myrtle was positively scandalized. She held her hand aloft and made a beckoning gesture. Briar’s phone slipped from between Matilda’s fingers, soared across the room, and snapped into Myrtle’s grasp. “Utterly preposterous.”

  Matilda clasped her hands over her open mouth. Unable to scream, she just squeaked.

  “Now then,” Myrtle said, “are you finished with your babbling? Fine then. We shall be taking our leave with young Briar now. She will return after some time—how long I dare not say, for the tasks ahead are epic. Meanwhile, since you find these quarters so suitable, you shall dwell among them yourselves.”

  “Oh hell no,” Megan said. Finding sudden courage, she puffed up and stood chest to chest with Myrtle. “Are you freaks high or something? You’re not leaving with anyone. Briar stays. And as soon as we get the chance, we’re calling the cops.”