house of horrors

by emily de villaincourt

it is a lovely day, isn’t it, beverly?” “yes, it is, aunt mona. and it would be an even lovelier one if some kind gentleman were to come along and offer to marry me, and rescue me from this house of horrors.” “house of horrors!” aunt mona laughed. “really, my dear, you are so dramatic at times!” that evening at dinner, aunt mona reported beverly’s remark about living in a house of horrors, much to the amusement of the entire company, who kept repeating it with humorous variations right up until the gentlemen retired to the lounge. what a treacherous old cow aunt mona is, beverly reflected. she resolved never to trust another human being again.

the story of xyz

by emily de villaincourt

“… and so,” amanda concluded, “ having slain in mortal combat the dragon who had, in the guise of a handsome prince, presumed to ask for her hand, xarelia declared her intent to mount the throne alone, and rule alone as empress. she did so, and ruled the empire wisely and well forever and a day, until time had a stop.” the class clapped politely, and ms faraday, known as “the goalpost” to the girls, clapped a bit longer than the class. “that was lovely, amanda, very nice. very inspiring, and with a resoundingly positive heroine.” amanda sat down. she ranked 5th in the class in looks, 2nd in athletic ability , but only 21st, fifth from the bottom, in popularity, because of her sarcastic and haughty manner. bedelia got up to read her story. bedelia ranked at the bottom of the class, number 26, in all categories. and on this rainy day, she had also happened to draw lot number 26, so that she would be the last to tell her story. the class, therefore, was prepared to give her a rousing ovation at the conclusion of her story, as they always did to the last storyteller. “once upon a time,” bedelia began, “ a newborn female child was left in a basket at the back gate of a great castle. it was taken to one of the under chambermaids. ‘looks kind of scrawny,’ noted the servant who had brought it to the under chambermaid. ‘yes, agreed the under chambermaid, ‘but the stars predict a great harvest in three years, when it will be ready to be put to work, and the great lord says we will need all the hands we can get, especially if he loses this war, and and can not bring back hordes of slaves from his conquests. so, take this little beauty and feed it.’ the little child that thus began its passage through this strange world, was never given a name. for the purposes of this story, we will refer to her as xyz. xyz survived, but when she reached the age to be put to good use and earn her keep, she was judged not strong enough to work in the fields. she was instead assigned to the castle cleaning force, where she was put to work cleaning the worst filth from the foulest corners of the castle. she was given a little brush for this purpose, and the brush lasted her for twenty years and was her only friend. she helped clean the castle for twenty years. she never complained. when the other servants spoke bitterly of the great lord and his lieutenants and courtiers and high flunkies, she always took their side, and reminded her hearers that fate had placed them in their positions and that they were doing the best they could. this attitude did not win xyz any popularity contests with her fellows. then one day the castle was stormed by the troops of the rival empire, and xyz and a few hundred other servants and soldiers who had survived the assault were taken prisoner and marched through four thousand miles of desert to the capital of the empire. when they finally reached the capital, xyz was one of the only seventeen prisoners who had survived the march, out of the original three hundred or so. she had also lost her friend, the brush, along the way. the imperial capital was not as merciful an employer as the great lord’s castle had been. a slave was a slave, and no allowances were made for weakness. xyz was assigned to a work gang in the desert. the work consisted of collecting stones to be brought to a gigantic rock crusher and cement mixer. the sun only set every fifteen years, and xyz missed the cool atmosphere of the castle’s noxious chambers. but she never complained, never disrespected the guards and whipmasters, and survived another thirteen years. one day one of the whipmasters took her aside and told her, ‘you can’t pull your weight any more. i give you a choice - you can wander off into the desert, or be hanged.’ xyz thanked the whipmaster for his thoughtfulness, and chose to wander into the desert. when she got about nineteen miles into the desert, she found a water hole. she knelt down in front of it to take a drink, and was bitten by a scorpion. the scorpion’s bite caused her body to swell up, and to be covered with a foul green fungus. she tried to crawl away. the sky above her suddenly turned black. a giant meteor crashed into the planet she was crawling on and smashed it into a trillion little pieces. so ends the story of xyz,” bedelia concluded. all the class applauded, as ms faraday had known they would. “good one, bedelia, old girl!” “way to go!” “best story ever!” “i am sure you put a lot of work into your story, bedelia,” ms faraday told her. “perhaps your next effort will be a bit more positive.” “perhaps,” bedelia replied. the class broke up, it was the last one of the day. most of the girls went to their rooms, but a few went out into the rain, headed for the donut shop in town .

men only want three things

by emily de villaincourt

the flight to singapore was delayed again, and celeste and edna sat in the coffee shop looking out at the rain. “this game will humble you,” celeste observed. “yes,” edna agreed, “but you can’t win them all.” “i can’t believe how bad the reception is in this place,” celeste said. “i have been trying to get through to rodney williams all night and i just can’t.” “it is supposed to be state of the art,” edna replied, as celeste seemed to expect a response. “some state,” celeste said. “and no art.” a tall, tanned man with a neatly trimmed pencil mustache approached the table. he wore a white suit with a powder blue shirt open at the neck, and carried a green briefcase. “do you mind if i join you?” the man asked celeste and edna. “go away,” celeste told him. the man bowed and left. “men only want three things,” celeste said. “how true,” edna agreed. they resumed their conversation about the reception in the airport. “the reds introduced a bill in parliament last month to increase capacity in public places,” edna said, “but the blues expressed concerns about privacy.” “what do i care about privacy?” celeste said. “i have nothing to hide.” “i wish i could say the same” , edna replied. she sighed and took a sip of her coffee. they lapsed into silence. they continued to look out at the rain, which continued to fall.

story time, or the cracked governess

by emily de villaincourt

it was a lovely cool spring morning, and alicia took her seat on the stone bench, eagerly awaiting the arrival of miss feathers, the young new governess, who had been favoring her with such amusing and thrilling stories since her arrival in the household a few weeks earlier. presently miss feathers arrived, but with what alicia could not help feeling was a rather sullen and resentful look on her face. “good morinng, miss feathers ” alicia greeted the young woman, “i hope you are well today.” miss feathers seated herself beside alicia. “actually, i feel rather miserable,” she announced, and she followed this pronouncement with a most unseemly and unladylike yawn, for which she did not apologize. “well,“ alicia responded uncertainly, “perhaps the story this morning will put you in a more favorable frame of mind. although, of course, “ she added with a smile, “you already know the end to it, being the teller of the tale.” “there will be no story this morning,” miss feathers replied. “i am not in the mood for it.” “what!” alicia cried. “what say, you, miss? what insolence is this?” miss feathers turned and looked directly at alicia for the first time since taking her seat. “i am not inclined to do so, this morning, that is all. there is nothing to make a great fuss about. perhaps you could tell me a story, if you fancy it.” “oh! but it is you who are being paid to tell me stories, miss, not i who am being paid to tell them to you. if you do not wish to fulfill the terms of your employment, i am afraid i shall have … to… tell my mother.” “do what you will,” miss feathers replied with a shrug. alicia was not sure how to proceed as getting up and going in search of her mother might seem a bit undignified on her part, but at that moment clod, the elderly third gardener and handyman came shuffling past, and alicia called to him. “go to mrs benson, clod ” - mrs benson was the housekeeper - “and ask mrs benson to ask her ladyship to come here.” “yes, miss.” clod plodded off. miss feathers seemed in no way discomfited by all this. “tell me,” she asked alicia, when clod was out of sight, “do you believe in the end times?” “the end times? why, i believe i have heard the vicar mention them in sunday services on occasion. why do you ask?” “because the end times are here,” miss feathers said matter of factly. “do you really think so?” alicia replied . “i shall ask the vicar about it, next sunday morning, if i think of it.” lady isobel arrived, looking properly ferocious. “what is going on, alicia, that you must disturb my artfully prepared schedule in this manner?” alicia explained in the situation in a halting manner, as miss feathers gazed into the distance with a small catlike smile. “is this true, miss feathers?” lady isobel asked wearily. “you might say that it is,” miss feathers replied, “though it seems a great fuss over a mere story to tell a child.” “that is the hardly the point. i am sorry it has come to this , miss feathers. i understand, and thought to take pity, on your sad situation , brought about as it was by the unfortunate financial meltdown which has so devastated modern society, but which was itself, i am convinced, largely brought about by the very irresponsible attitude to the path of duty which you are now displaying - “ “do you want me to tell you a story?” miss feathers interrupted lady isobel. “i am afraid the time for that has passed.” “well, then i will not tell you a story, but i will tell you that you will see for yourself the ending to a story, this evening when the sun goes down. yes - ha ha! - this evening just before the sun goes down, go out on to the broad highway, lady isobel, and look down the road and you will see something - yes, you will see the end of a story indeed, ha ha ha ha!” “very well. i am going to summon mrs benson, miss feathers, and she will give you a sedative, and then i must ask you to leave the premises, without, i hope, making it necessary to summon the constabulary - an event which would serve no good purpose to any one concerned.” lady isobel turned on her heel and headed to the house without looking back. poor thing, she thought, she is quite cracked, though i do regret exposing my progeny to her. i suppose it is for the best that her sad mental state exposed itself as early as this. all the same, lady isobel could not help feeling a slight trepidation as to what would happen that evening, when the sun went down.

the train

by emily de villaincourt

the stars looked down and laughed as albert chased the lights of the train down the mountain. the train made frequent stops, seemingly at every little village or hamlet on the mountainside, but the stops were brief, and albert, try as he might, could never quite catch it before it moved on to the next little stop. he ran and ran. sometimes the lights of the train were so close as to almost blind him, but he just could not catch it. until, just as he was about to give up, he finally caught it as it slowed down around a particularly sharp bend of the mountain. gasping, albert pulled himself up the steps of the train as it began to pick up speed, where he immediately came face to face with a conductor, a ruddy faced fellow with an impeccable little conductor’s mustache. “destination, sir?” the conductor asked albert. “vienna, of course,” albert replied. “where else would i be going?” “very good, sir.” the conductor produced a ticket from his capacious pockets, took albert’s money, and punched the ticket and gave it to albert. “the club car is three cars down, sir, if you would care to refresh yourself. the first class seating is in the two cars beyond the club car.” “thank you.” albert picked his way through the third and second class cars to the club car. the club car was empty except for a woman seated by herself at one of the tables. to his astonishment albert recognized her as the celebrated countess de c————— ! the countess, who was wearing one of her signature ermine wraps, looked up at the gawking albert. “a bit chilly in here, isn’t it?” the countess asked albert. “won’t you join me?” albert quickly obliged, and at a signal from the countess, a waiter appeared and brought albert a glass of wine. if albert was afraid of not being able to amuse the countess, his fears were for naught, for as the train careened down the mountainside the countess kept up a constant flow of elegant chatter about the duke of this and the baron of that, and various renowned artists and composers, as if albert , like herself, was an intimate acquaintance of theirs, and did not know them only by sight, or by seeing their pictures in the society pages of the weekly newsmagazines. albert was transfixed. he was not called upon to open his mouth, only to nod occasionally. the time flew past. then, just as the train was about to reach the foot of the mountain, albert caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the club car bar. he had been transformed into a curious little green creature, halfway between a frog and a kitten! the countess noticed albert’s confusion. “ah, my friend,” she told him, “i am truly sorry i have had to put this spell on you. i can, however, remove it, if you could see your way to doing me a service.” “i am your your disposal, dear madame,” albert managed to squeak. “vey well then.” the countess had a small purse on the table in front of her and she reached into it and took out a couple of brightly printed brochures. she placed them on the table and by hopping up on to the table albert was able to read them. “some of my friends and i,” the countess commenced, “ have taken an interest in the fortunes of this company. “ she tapped the brochures with her long fingernail. “the great austrian-african railway, which proposes to connect vienna with cape town in the near future, with the most advanced comfort and convenience. if i restore you to your previous form, my friends and i would take it as a great favor if you would consent to become the agent of this concern, in the stations of this mountain, and in the plains extending to sarajevo.” so it is, traveler, that if you find yourself on the train, or waiting for the train, or running to catch the train, you may encounter alfred at any of the stations or cafes along the route, attempting to promote the prospects and sell the shares of the great austrian-african railway, with various results. you will find him always happy to accept a glass of wine or a bock, and to discuss the events of the day.