For the goulish and spooky followers of eery folklore, art, gothic dolls and faerie tales of the darkly twisted

Thursday, 26 May 2011

The May Tree

Keates glared impatiently at his solid silver fob watch as the gardener from the village
hastily made his way up the gravel drive with a highly audible 'crunch crunch crunch.'
"You're late" grumbled Keates as he gestured towards the lawn with his goose head
walking stick. "So there's the offending article gardener, I want it gone by this evening"
he barked. "I can only see that tree sir" replied the gardener. "Yes yes...the tree, I want
the tree gone" Keates snapped. "But sir....I, I can''s a hawthorne, a faerie tree sir,
I for one do not have the right to lay one finger on it" replied the gardener
"permission must be sought from the faeries before touching so much as a leaf!"
"What utter nonsense gardener...are you going to cut it down or not?" shouted Keates
"With respect, I dare not, I'm so very sorry" answered the gardener, and with
that, he retreated back down the gravel drive with a 'crunch crunch crunch.'
"Hmmph" went Keates feeling most put out at the insubordinate gardener's refusal
to carry out his request. "Right then" he growled "I shall do it myself!" and shortly he
found himself standing by the ancient hawthorne with a sharp axe ready to perform
the deed. The first swing of the axe made a sickening 'thunk' as it embedded itself
deep into the twisted bark. Several hours passed and eventually, a very dirty and
tired Keates stood knee deep in what was left of the poor unfortunate tree. A quick
glimpse of the solid silver fob watch, and he decided that it was time for
a cup of Earl Grey before dragging the remains of the tree down to the wood pile
at the bottom of the hill.
As evening finally set in, a very tired and dusty Keates walked up the hill from the
woodpile, brushing sawdust and wood chips off of his tweed jacket. He stood on
the lawn and gazed with a great sense of achievement at the empty spot where the
tree once stood. "At last I have a view of the moor from my study" he mused.
Once inside, a large glass of port was poured and a very weary Keates sank into
the large red Chesterfield in the window that overlooked the now treeless
lawn. After about twenty minutes, something caught his eye outside in the
failing light of dusk. Keates strained his eyes to see exactly what the strange sight
actually was. There...silhouetted against the purple and red sunset, were branches,
branches where branches should not be. They were protruding above the slope
which descended the end of the garden to the woodpile, and what's more.....they
were growing, growing as he watched. "What the..!" Keates started as he stood bolt
upright, dropping the glass of port which smashed across the wooden floor.
Now the branches at the top of slope revealed that they were attached to a tree,
the very tree that he cut down not several hours previous. The tree was moving,
moving towards the empty spot that stood between the house and itself.
He watched in total disbelief as the tree slowly moved into the spot where it
once proudly stood, didn't stop. It was moving towards the house,
moving towards Keates.
With a fit of blind panic, he fled from the study into the hallway and bounded
up the stairs two at a time, as behind him the creaking and splintering sound of the
front door echoed across the house and into the darkness. Keates slammed the
bedroom door shut and slumped against it. It was quiet outside, but it wasn't
for long. A high pitched 'screeeechh screeeechh screeeechh' pierced the night as
the tree's thorny branches dragged themselves across the portraits of Keates'
ancestors that were hanging on the walls that lined the stairway. Silence........
"It's a tree for goodness sake, this can't be on earth is it
going to open this door?" a terrified Keates whispered to himself.
Then....slowly...very slowly, the door handle began to turn.
The following morning, the familiar 'crunch crunch crunch' sound echoed up the
driveway as the gardener from the village returned to apologize for his rudeness.
"Oh good, the tree is still there" said the gardener on noticing the hawthorne
standing in its usual spot, but then noticed a shiny object swinging from the
thorny branches in the morning breeze. There, hanging from the tree was a watch,
no ordinary was a very familiar watch...a solid silver fob watch.

Sunday, 9 January 2011

Horrid George

George didn't believe in faeries, George told me so, George.......he's horrid.
George could often be found lurking around the cabbage patch looking, hunting
and hoping to find......faeries, wishing that in the good fortune of actually finding a
faerie who, so he was told, resided there amongst the large green vegetables
(which he never ate) he would utter the words "are you a faerie, if so I do not
believe in faeries!"
George knew only too well that by uttering this phrase the faerie would drop down
dead in an instant on the spot. George.........he's really horrid.
One gloomy afternoon, George was stalking through the cabbages , hoping to find
a faerie that he could utter his deadly phrase to. Several hours passed and there were
no faeries to be seen, so a very grumpy George decided to go back to the house
to eat some jam sandwiches, when startled, he suddenly cried out.........
"what's that, could it be, why yes....a faerie!" There on a large cabbage leaf,
not ten feet away was indeed ....a faerie staring back at him with her large green eyes.
Being totally horrid, George chuckled to himself at the poor faerie's impending fate,
and without taking his eyes off her (otherwise she would be gone in an instant)
he approached her wringing his hands with morbid delight. "are you a......." he
started but was instantly cut off "why good afternoon young sir, I am
delighted to make your acquaintance, my name is Nightshade and with whom
do I have the pleasure?" the faerie asked. "Oh....I'm George, are you a........" but
the faerie instantly jumped in again "I am a faerie but I can tell that you are not...
you are very impressive.....what are you, please tell me?" the faerie enquired.
"Why......I am a boy!" George answered. "Oh" said the faerie, and suddenly her
green eyes turned to a burning firey red and she hissed "a boy is it?.....why....
I do not believe in boys!"
The cabbage patch was quiet and all was still. Nightshade still sat on the cabbage
leaf as she brushed her long black hair softly humming to herself. Next to her,
the dark clouds were being reflected in George's wide open, lifeless eyes as they
moved sombrely across the grey skies above them. "I forgot to mention Master George"
whispered the faerie "my name is Nightshade and I am horrid, in fact I am indeed
a lot more horrid than you!"

Saturday, 18 December 2010

Emily Evangeline

"You will be the death of me Emily Evangeline!" shrieked Nurse across the
toy filled playroom "you've been lopping the heads off of your dolls again
with the gardener's sharp, shiny axe". Emily Evangeline said nothing,
she just shuffled her feet as she gave the ground a very hard stare.
It wasn't long before she was in trouble once more, "you will be the death
of me Emily Evangeline" yelled Nurse "why must you leave all of the windows
open in the nursery on this cold, blustery day?" Yet again Emily Evangeline
uttered not one word.
The rest of the morning saw Emily Evangeline being a very good girl
as she played with her large, red ball, that was at least until.........Crash!
"You will be the death of me Emily Evangeline" Nurse howled "that's
the third plant pot this month that you have smashed to millions of pieces
with your large, red ball".
Nurse returned with a stiff brush and with a loud huff and a loud puff she
got down on her knees and busily started to sweep up the remains of the
decorative vase that once stood proudly on the mantle.
As Nurse knelt there muttering under her breath, Emily Evangeline
stared at the pale flesh of Nurse's neck that was exposed between her
starched white collar and the dark brown bun in her hair.
"Honestly young lady, you will be the death of me!" grumbled Nurse as she
hastily tidied the broken shards of pottery "indeed.....I think that I
probably will" whispered Emily Evangeline as her petite hand tightened
around the rough wooden handle of the gardener's sharp, shiny axe
that she was hiding behind her back.
On noticing the empty nursery Mother enquired "oh where is Nurse
Emily Evangeline, it's so unlike her to miss tea and muffins?"
"I'm afraid that I may have been a horrid girl again mother" replied
Emily Evangeline "I think that poor unfortunate Nursey may
well have lost her head!"