Tag: Fairytale

Top 15s: 15 Creepy Fairytales That Could Be Horror Movies

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Top 15s: Pop Culture CountdownsLeave a comment

Only in recent history have fairy tales been designated as innocent and magical childhood stories. This was in large part the doing of the Grimm brothers, who collected such tales from their homeland into the first official book of fairy tales. These original Grimm tales are much darker than the stories we recall our parents reading to us at night, and the same is true for fairy tales throughout time and all over the world. Often, these are horrific stories that are either told among adults or as cautionary tales to children who will undoubtedly have nightmares (and hopefully learn a thing or two).

Culture to culture, the stories tend to deal with very similar content. Common themes include dangerous journeys into the woods, lost children or people seeking refuge, and monsters ranging from ogres to wolves to cruel parents. You’re also pretty likely to encounter blood, body parts, cannibalism, and captivity. Many of the tales are extremely gory, and often times there are no happy endings, even for the few characters who survive. So why are we letting Disney cut away all the good stuff? These stories from around the world all have the makings of a good horror movie; or, at the very least, a disturbing campfire tale.

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Image via: Deviant Art

3 Days, 3 Quotes Book Tag – Day 3

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Other, Reviews and Essays, Shyla's Stories8 Comments

It’s the final day, and a final thank you to Irene of Books and Hot Tea for tagging me on this one. It’s been more difficult than I had anticipated – finding those perfect words. But at least I’ve gotten to revisit some of my favourite books!

So, one last time, here are the rules:

  • Thank the person who nominated you
  • Post three different quotes in three consecutive days
  • Nominate three new bloggers each day

To end, I’ve chosen an eerie quote from Angela Carter’s short story, “The Lady of the House of Love.” It’s been published in a collection of her works, The Bloody Chamber.

She herself is a haunted house. She does not possess herself; her ancestors sometimes come and peer out of the windows of her eyes and that is very frightening.

A sorrowful and grim passage that well represents the tone of Carter’s fairytale retellings. I recommend this collection to anyone who has outgrown fairytales as told by Disney, and is longing to return to their darker, more powerful, roots.

Thanks for reading!

Today I nominate Friendly Fairy Tales, ronovanwrites, and C.M. Rininger. Feel free to join in, or pass.

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Shyla's StoriesLeave a comment

Walter practiced smiling sheepishly in the mirror, but it was useless. When he bared those sharp, inhuman, canines, his smile became a snarl; he became a threat. Everything about him from his piercing yellow eyes to his thick, tool-like, toenails screamed villain. There was no house of straw, or stick, or even brick that he couldn’t be accused of blowing down. No three innocents they wouldn’t have him hanged for killing. No creature in all the lands that wouldn’t hear his tale and cringe. Except, of course, Gale. He had to get to Gale. A man of his size, temper, and smarts would not turn Walter away – he hoped.

In Gale’s dimly lit office, crowded with antiques from far and wide, Walter sat as still as any of the statues that lined the walls. He could feel his chest anxiously heaving. Gale stood against his own desk, looking down on Walter – analyzing every last bit of him. His eyes narrowed, head slightly tilted; the intensity thickened the air.

“You’re a monster, Walter. Why should I take your case?”

Walter felt his left eye twitch at the insult.

“They made me a monster, sir.”

“And the three dead cops? Who do you suppose took them out, if not you?” Gale was lighting a cigarette now, the glowing ember directed right at Walter – a target.

Feeling a rage building in his tightening chest, Walter’s low voice slowly turned to a growl. “They came at me. I – Self-defence. We still allow that in this tyranny. Don’t we?”

Gale and Walter’s eyes met and locked into a hardened standoff.

“And the girl? Val,” Gale finally asked, not breaking his stare – not even for a blink.

Walter leapt to his feet and in one quick stride was overtop of Gale, breathing so wildly the ember began to flicker. The edge of the desk was digging into the small of Gale’s back now, but still, he didn’t blink. Slowly, he brought the cigarette back to his lips and sucked hard, reigniting its power.

Walter shook his head violently, as if to release his anger. He moved an inch or two back, and huffed.

“I loved her,” he finally said. “And she me.”

With the silence hanging heavy over them, Walter collapsed back into his chair, eyes torn away from Gale’s. He finished, “But – yes. I killed her.”

Tears pushed forcefully out of his eyelids, but he made no sound other than the heaving huffs of a madman. Gale watched patiently.

“She – She said she’d defend me. She said – she said she’d make them see what she saw.” After a long pause, Walter grunted. “I suppose that’s exactly what she did; let them see me as she saw me. Wild, dangerous, exotic. A monster. A monster she could call her own.”

Walter looked up after what seemed an eternity. The ember had gone out, and on the edge of the desk Gale now sat behind was a contract. Stunned, Walter looked up at Gale.

“I ask nothing of my clients but the truth. The truth can always be defended.”

© Shyla Fairfax-Owen

 

 

 

 

Daddy’s Little Girl (Part 4 – Finale)

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Shyla's Stories3 Comments

“It’s the winter’s moon, I think,” Charlotte posited as they stalked through the castle halls. “He’s simply not right, during it.”
They kept on the move, sneaking past his chambers and then his office. Not knowing where he was made the task of hiding from him all the more difficult. But Charlotte led the way, fearlessly and cautiously. Ellie remembered her as a child, so full of energy, and questions. She had always been such a treasure to spend time with, and always enjoyed spending it with her maid. It was peculiar, when she began calling her Ellie rather than Ms. Eleanor, but it was welcomed. As she grew, their affections did too until they built a true friendship. It was the real reason Ellie stayed, even when things were strange.

Charlotte motioned for Ellie to run to the front door while she hung back standing guard. With the coast clear, Ellie broke for it and jammed her key into the appropriate hole. When the door opened, a slight breeze whistled in and the two of them froze and winced at the sound. When no one seemed to be coming after them, they exited and ran down the grounds path. It was only then that Charlotte felt a pang in her stomach, wishing she had left a note for her mother. But, it was too late and she was betting she would understand. Their feet slapped hard against the cement and their lips blued as they fought against the cold air, but neither slowed them down. However, it wasn’t long before a coach and carriage blocking their way stopped them.

At first, it was difficult to see who the culprit was though the fog. But between the swirls of haze Charlotte eventually caught the eyes of her prince. He was early. Damn it. He was early. His eyes pierced her own, amused by her rambunctious nature and pleased with his own triumph. He reached out and locked a hand around her dainty wrist.

“How nice of you to come out and meet me. We shouldn’t waste time with goodbyes then, shall we?” He laughed. It was the type of laugh that buried itself inside of Charlotte’s chest and made her heart thump with resentment.

Charlotte pulled away but it did no good. His grip just grew tighter, his smile wider.

“Don’t get me wrong Princess, I like a good hunt, but I’m not stupid enough to release an easy catch.”

The moonlight reflected off of his teeth and his sharp incisors sparkled ominously. Before her eyes, they seemed to grow. She tugged harder now, and Ellie wrapped her arms around her waist to pull. But the two women’s efforts failed miserably, and made the Prince’s laughter heartier. Through the blue haze of nighttime fog, Ellie squinted in disbelief. His eyes glowed red now, she was almost sure of it.

“NO!”

In a heartbeat, the man became more beast, growling in disdain. His skin tore open revealing fur black as darkness and as thick as a wolf. His height increased along with his muscles, and he towered over them casting a shadow of pure evil across their faces. He lunged at Ellie, and she let out a mortal cry that must have shattered her windpipes as it carried across the Kingdom. It was only then that the horse reacted, crying out and wrenching back on his hind legs. The coachman, who had been otherwise invisible, was thrown landing akimbo on the ground.

Charlotte watched it all unfold, and it was as if time had slowed down. The sound of the crickets pierced through the muck in her mind, along with the flap of a crow’s wings above her head. She tried to blink away the disaster but it didn’t work. The prince – the monster – was headed for Ellie and the only thing Charlotte’s body could do was counter. And it did. Adrenaline surged through her as she leapt through the air, making direct contact with the beast. She landed flat on top of him and felt a bolt of electricity push through her skin until it burst open. Her teeth sharpened and her maw widened to release a vengeful roar before she tore into the prince’s furry throat. Charlotte could see only in red, and wasn’t sure if it was her anger, her eyes, or the blood she was guzzling. All the same, she kept fighting, kept growling, kept feasting.

It wasn’t until the prince’s monstrous head had been disconnected from his body that Charlotte stopped to take in her surroundings. She rose slowly, half-beast half-woman, and all rage. Ellie was on the ground, unconscious, as was the coachman. The crow she had heard was perched on a low hanging branch within her reach. The fog had begun to dissolve and the moonlight was brighter than ever. Charlotte could only hear the pace of her heart banging against her chest now, and could only feel power inside of her. It was like nothing she had ever known before.

A slow and steady clap began behind her. It was the King. His smirk told Charlotte that he had witnessed enough of the event, and was impressed.

“You’re fiercer than I expected. I underestimated you – a woman and a half-breed. But I suppose you really are daddy’s little girl, after all.”

With that, he turned and headed back to the castle, where Charlotte could see her mother gazing down at her from a window. There was absolutely nothing behind her eyes.

THE END.

Read Part 3

Read Part 2

Read Part 1

Daddy’s Little Girl (Part 3)

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Shyla's Stories2 Comments

“AHHHHHHH!”

The shriek entered through the open windows and echoed through the castle. The Queen shot upright in bed, assaulted by the fresh morning’s sun. The screaming continued as she jogged through the halls to alert the guards. Of course, they were already making their way towards the sound, so the Queen followed unnoticed. Outside, the cook stood over the garden, looking as pale as death. At the arrival of the concerned crowd, she looked up, and whimpered.

“I came to get tomatoes,” she whispered through quivering lips.

At her feet lied the gardener, or what was left of him. He had been torn to shreds. His blood was splattered across the vegetables and ground into the dirt. His limbs were unattached, his head evidently gnawed upon by something inhuman.

“Wolves Madame, the wolves are back,” the guard stated calmly, and started away.

******

“How could you? He was a perfectly humble man. No trouble at all,” the Queen pleaded uselessly.

The King cut his eyes at her, and sipped his red wine. “He had become trouble,” he finally said.

The Queen rolled her eyes and plopped into her chair. It was nearly dinnertime, but they had asked for privacy tonight. The King would not need to eat, anyways. And the Queen was losing her appetite by the minute.

“He grew, curious,” he continued. “Always out there, at all hours. He’d seen me on my runs. Eyed me when I’d come in.”

“Why would he be out so late?” the Queen asked, genuinely concerned.

“Watching me, I suppose.”

“Well, it would seem he got an eyeful.”

“Yes, it would.”

The King gulped back the rest of his glass’ contents and set it on the table in front of his Queen. She sighed, and refilled it. On the other side of the wall, the maid pulled her ear away from the door and gasped. Shakily, she ran back to her chambers, chased by the memory of the beast.

******

Outside, a thick fog was rolling in. The prince would be sending a carriage for Charlotte at dawn but in such conditions it was sure to be late. She wanted her last evening to be special, but could barely pull herself out of bed after the morning’s events. She had decided to visit her greatest confidante, the maid. Only she was not in her chambers when Charlotte arrived, but hurried in just moments later, grasping for air.

“What’s the matter Ellie?” Charlotte asked.

The maid turned with a start. She had expected her room to be empty.

“Oh! Princess, you frightened me.” She tried to smile and catch her breath but Charlotte was not convinced.

“Do tell me,” she insisted, rising from the bed now.

Still shaken up, Ellie broke into tears and embraced the girl. She wanted to blurt out the horrible truth, that the King was a monster – the beast she had seen so many years ago. But she couldn’t. Instead, she wept for Charlotte, who had to carry this man’s genes.

“Is it my father?” Charlotte whispered in a calm, omniscient, tone.

Ellie looked into her eyes and saw in them beautiful, pure, truth.

“We should get out of here,” Charlotte whispered lower now, never breaking her stare. When the maid did not respond she repeated: “Ellie, please. Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to go with the prince, nor stay here with my father.”

“You know?” Ellie asked.

Charlotte nodded and looked away. “I saw him, just before my… illness. He tore our coachman to bits and pieces. It was horrific. That’s why he – that’s why he got rid of me.”

Ellie fought the dizziness. The coachman? The coachman who had suddenly quit last winter? Of course, that coachman. How many of the resigned groundskeepers and castle employees had really just been – no. The thought was too much. Charlotte was right; they had to leave.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Read Part 1

Read Part 2

Daddy’s Little Girl (Part 2)

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Shyla's Stories3 Comments

The next morning, a viewing of Princess Charlotte was the Kingdom’s main event. Princes and Kings came from all across the lands to gaze upon the resting beauty. All were taken aback by her, and brought gifts they soon decided could not possibly be worthy of her. One by one the butler escorted the men in to have their look, leave their gifts, and postulate their plans to win her hand. One by one they were escorted out, deemed undeserving by the King. Some left angry and foul mouthed, spewing threats that sent shivers up the maid’s spine. Others left in tears, desperate for one last chance. The effect Charlotte seemed to have over them was powerful and unexpected, but the King and Queen were not at all surprised. In fact, they seemed bored.

“May I ask what qualities in a mate you are seeking for her?” the maid asked the Queen that evening while she bathed.

“I seek nothing. It is the King who has strong ideals about what she might need.” Squeezing water from a sponge, the Queen took a moment to ponder on this before continuing, “and I think I’d agree. She should be with someone who can handle her potential for voracity.”

The maid wondered what that meant, but decided not to ask. The Queen had been quite herself all day and she saw no reason to disturb that. Instead, she nodded, and prepared the towel.

“The men who visited today were all handsome, but so weak,” The Queen stated as she stepped out of the tub.

The maid wrapped the Queen in the towel and used another to dry her hair. Some did cry, that was true, but others seemed very strong-minded. Preferring not to disagree with her highness, the maid continued to nod.

“You might need to rest some more. You’re awfully quiet today. I hope you didn’t hurt your head when you fell.”

“I didn’t,” the maid smiled. “I’m just a little tired. I might take my sleep earlier tonight. Once you’re settled down.”

“I’m settled,” the Queen insisted. “I’d rather like a night cap by the fire. But otherwise, I’m fine. Please, go on.” She smiled warmly, a familiar sentiment that eased the maid.

In the library, the Queen made herself cozy on a chair by the fire. She brought the strong liquid to her lips and held it there, teasing herself with its delectable scent. She was always very thankful for night caps. The first sip melted over her tongue, tingled her throat, and finally warmed her belly. It was just what she needed after a day like today. Her husband would be far from the grounds by now, assumed secure in his chambers. It was on these nights that she could really unwind.

Being with him was not nearly as treacherous as she had expected it to be when he first took her. There was a brief time in which she even believed she loved him and wanted to stay. Now, she had simply accepted her fate. After Charlotte’s birth some seventeen years ago, she knew there was no turning away. If she had been able to escape before, she might have, but not now. Now, she simply basked in nights like these when he was away, and she could roam freely.

Of course, her favorite place to come to was still the library. Being alone with her books, her mind fluttering from the liquor, reminded her of being a girl again; a naive, impressionable, girl. She was happy to know that her daughter would not be so. Inheriting the beast from her father, dormant as it might be, had made her feisty in a way that appealed to the Queen. If she had learned anything living in this world with the King, it was that it was better to have a little fight in you – better to be the predator than the prey.

The Queen watched as the fire cast dancing shadows upon the wall, and drifted into a dream of her youthful days, dancing at balls, laughing a genuine laugh, smiling a believable smile. She missed those days, no matter how she tried to deny it.

“Your Highness, Your Highness! It’s the Princess, she’s awake!”

The Queen’s eyes shot open, her nasal cavity immediately invaded by the scent of peat from both the dead fire and the spilled whiskey on her dress. “Wh-What..” she started as she tried to focus on her surroundings.

“A Prince,” the maid exclaimed, “A prince came and woke her with a kiss. We cannot find the King.”

At the news the Queen perked up, alert, and dove off of the chair and towards the door – because she had to get to her Princess; had to know she was safe.

In the viewing room, she found Charlotte rightfully confused. She was fighting the Prince off of her, while guards stood as steadfast observers. She had tears in her eyes but was not exactly crying; just very frustrated and confused.

“Darling!” the Queen hollered and the room fell still, all eyes on her. It took a moment for the guards and prince to remember to bow, and as they did so Charlotte leapt off of her bed of captivity, letting the thorns tear at her skin as she rushed to the Queen.

“What’s happening, mother? Please, tell me what’s happening!”

“Shhh.” Pulling her in for a hug the Queen explained, “We discussed this Charlotte, you fell ill and we decided it was best to let you sleep until”

“Until a madman touches me!” Charlotte shot a glare at the prince who huffed at the insult but said nothing.

After a moment of jarring silence, the King strode in. Charlotte was scolded for her rudeness and made to thank the prince for awakening her and curing her ailments. As she knelt to him respectfully, she felt a sudden cold rush through her. She might have been woken, but she knew the nightmare had only just begun.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Read Part 1

Read Part 3

Daddy’s Little Girl (Part 1)

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Shyla's Stories5 Comments

Like all fairytale princesses, little Charlotte’s birth was nothing short of a miracle; a beauty in an ugly place of ignorance and prejudice, not as far far away as some might expect. She was darling, silent, and obedient. But as she grew more curious, and more rambunctious, the King became wary. He sought advice from the Kingdom’s well respected doctor, who had a dreary conclusion to draw: Bestowed with cleverness, and a proclivity towards intellect, he was sure hysteria would soon be upon the Princess Charlotte.

So very closely she was watched, that after being found defiantly sneaking about the castle at the tender age of fifteen (thus proving the doctor’s theory), Charlotte was put to rest on a bed of roses that adorned the vicinity with thorns. There, in the deepest of induced sleeps, Charlotte would lie until a suitable prince might come along – one who might be trusted with the task of keeping her safe, and quiet.

“This will do. Remember to give her one dose each morning. We wouldn’t want the effects to ware off at an inopportune time,” the doctor chuckled as he was escorted out of the castle.

“Oh, of course.” The King returned the smile, anxious to be rid of his company.

As the doctor turned to leave, he paused and glanced back at the King. “I must ask, if it’s not an imposition – you said she was poking around, did she happen upon –”

“Dr. Kitz, I told you that in confidence. I expect the matter will not be brought up again.”

The doctor bowed his head apologetically, and stuttered a vow of silence. The King closed the heavy doors in the man’s face and grunted his disapproval. The doctor had been intrusive, but at least he had provided the King with a definite solution to his problem. Charlotte would no longer be an issue.

******

“There’s a storm coming, your highness. Shall I fix the fires?”

The Queen looked up from her daze and met the eyes of her maid, but seemed to look right through them. After a moment the maid backed away, unnerved by her Queen’s empty glare. It had been nearly two decades since she had seen that look in her eyes.

She shuddered to remember the first night it happened. She had only been at the castle for a few weeks. The King and Queen had been newlywed and the Kingdom’s celebratory festivities were just starting to wind down. It was the first quiet night since her arrival, and the maid was looking forward to it. She had been getting along quite well with the Queen, and had even made her giggle once or twice. It had set her completely at ease. That particular night, she had been doing her rounds of the castle, sure to open all of the shutters to let in the bright harvest moonlight. Then, humming a tune through the dissipating darkness, the maid had caught the sight of what she could only describe as a beast through the window. It stood on two sturdy hind legs in the distance; its fur white as snow, eyes red as blood, soul black as night.

Startled, the maid yelped and let her candle tumble to the floor. Despite the yards of space between them, the monster seemed to sense her fear, and turned so that its eyes met hers before it leapt into the shadows of the trees and disappeared. In her catatonia, the maid hardly noticed the candle had set her skirt ablaze. It was only when she turned to run, hyperventilating, that she came face to face with the Queen who had been silently watching the events unfold. The maid yelled out, frightened by both the realization that she was not alone, and by the fact that her highness was standing so very still. Suddenly, the maid could feel the heat sneaking up her legs, and smell her own flesh melting away. She jumped, breaking the Queen’s empty gaze. Snapping out of what seemed to be nothing short of a hypnotic state, the Queen poured her glass of water onto the small but painful flames below them. The maid had not even noticed the water, and wondered if she had been holding it the whole time. She might have asked if she were not overwhelmed by the strangeness of it all. Instead, she watched, mouth gaping and heart pounding, as the Queen wandered off down the hall.

Frightened and confused, the maid had told no one about the monster she had seen. Eventually, the memory became less tangible and more oneiric.

Tonight, the Queen had that same eerie look in her eyes. The recognition sent the memory of that night flooding back to the maid. It washed over her like a wave, so that she was woozy and unsteady on her feet. In her mind’s eye, images of the beast flashed incoherently until she felt her body succumb to the exhaustion. She collapsed to the floor and it was only then that the Queen rose, and came to her side (though with very little urgency). The world blackened and the maid soon awoke in her chambers, tucked into bed with a cool breeze grazing her face. She let her eyes flutter open and saw that the Queen was just leaving, closing the door behind her.

The window was wide open, sheer curtains blowing in the wind. Much like that night so many years ago, moonlight poured in splashing her in the face. Only now, it was not so welcomed. She turned her back to it, squeezed her eyes shut, and said a silent prayer. In the distance, she thought she heard a howl. So, she prayed again.

Down the hall, the princess slept, sound as death.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Read Part 2

Devoured

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Shyla's StoriesLeave a comment

“Please don’t make me,” Alice murmured.

Her brother, Eric, shot her a look and pushed the plate of food nearer to her face. The salt-water fumes charged through her nasal cavity and landed in the pit of her empty stomach. It lurched forward, but came to a prompt stop when it realized it had nothing to give.

She hated fish; she hated seaweed; she hated not knowing where she would ever find a decent meal, again. She did not, however, hate Eric’s ambition. Since they’d been on their own he had provided well above her expectations.

“What is it?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’m sure you don’t want to know.”

That was true. Whatever it was it would sustain her, but for how long? How long were they meant to live this way?

Pushing the dreary thought from her mind, she closed her eyes; took a deep breath; and scooped the mystery flesh into her mouth – gills and all.

Four years later, the world was still broken, but Alice was fierce and strong. She and Eric had become quite the team, only occasionally having brief encounters with other survivors. Mostly they’d make some trades and move on. Groups were not their thing. Eric had become quite the fisherman – and Alice quite the fish eater. Something about the meat fueled her. She was sixteen now and despite the elemental exposure, hard labor, and lack of rest, she had grown into a stunning young woman. She was tall; lean yet muscular, with eyes of emerald and caramel skin that seemed to glow in the sunlight. She looked remarkably healthy, and it was not lost on her that the men they would come across could not help but gawk. She was never in danger though, and seemed to wield a certain power.

It was the mermaid meat. She knew that, now. She gobbled it up happily every night. It seemed there was enough to last a lifetime – or several. It would have to. Consuming the mermaid’s flesh had given Alice eternal life, and eternal wealth. In these times, that just meant she would never starve, again.

Alice was pleased with her vigor, but it panged her to see Eric suffering, so. The mermaid could only be consumed by one; could only offer its powers to one. Eric had given it to his weak younger sister that day on the beach, and was paying the price with each passing month.

Often, Alice thought about what capturing the mermaid must have been like. She envisioned her brother, mighty and heroic, slaying the creature. In her fantasies, it was like a fairytale. But she knew in actuality, it would not have been so magical. It would have been violent, bloody, and monstrous.

The first time she saw a mermaid was the day before the war. It had washed up on the shore near their house, and Alice had been the first to spot it. The creature had a fish tail below, and smooth creamy skin up top – her breasts bared shamelessly. Her eyes were red and dug into Alice’s soul as she writhed and hissed. She even had horns, just like Alice was told she would. She was an omen, just as Alice had read about.

And now that she had consumed her (or one of her kind), Alice herself was the Omen. It would only be a matter of time.

Just before her eighteenth birthday, Eric drifted off to the next world. She committed his body to the sea, whispered well-wishes to his soul, and thanked the heavens that he would not suffer through her transformation. She could already sense it beginning, and she was ashamed of how good it felt.

The air became thick and clogged her airwaves, filling Alice with a thirst that even six years of destitution had never brought on so strongly. Naked, she crawled towards the sea, carried by her throbbing desire to splash about in its coolness. She huffed and puffed until she finally got far enough out to sink into its abyss. Below the surface her legs stiffened and coalesced until she had only one. A stinging sensation over came them as scales fought their way out of the skin that was simultaneously greening in color. The mass that had become her lower body grew a fin and flailed about, thrashing her body with it. A school of fish tried to scoot by, but Alice caught their scent. She could feel her jaw rip open, tearing at the hinges until her mouth hung low and wide. Instinctively, her body lunged towards the fish and she scooped them into her maw, devouring every last one. Her teeth, small but sharp, shredding apart the contents of her meal quickly and effectively.

She looked around; her body and mind screaming for more. She swam deeper and deeper, following a new monstrous intuition deep inside of her. The scent was staggering, and made her tingle from nose to fin. At the bottom of the sea she found it – a man, strung down with rope and a rock in his lap. He looked familiar, but mostly; he looked nectarous.

The Call

On By Shyla Fairfax-OwenIn Fantasy, Horror, Micro Fiction, Shyla's StoriesLeave a comment

Under the guise of the sheep

You call to me, across worlds

The scent of your deception reeks

But still, I rouse for a peek

 

How fallible we are, after all

No costume, nor mask, can hide

Our weaknesses; outside us they reside

Assisting the sting of broken pride

 

So I came, as you intended

And I am reluctant to regret

The way I squirmed and smiled

Wrapped in your lies; no fret

 

I ignored the easy yellow glow

Beaming from your once kind eyes

And let you hunt me, willingly

Until there was only darkness and desire

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©