The Fairy Godmother: Part One (rough draft)

The Blessed Silver School for Boys had been a fading relic when I came to it. I had studied there as a boy, sent into its halls by my father. I was unsure why he did such a thing, as our family wasn’t affluent nor were we known for having any sort of education. It made me angry to be sent away, I just wanted to be with my family. But every time I went home, I began to realize it was not the place I wanted to be.

My mother was controlling and possessive, but in these small, soft ways that I never would have seen had I stayed home. It became apparent to me my father sent me away for my own good and well being. He could not escape, but I could. I could learn the ways in which my mother was twisting things to suit the story of her life.

One too many times I had caught wise to her games. The way she played the victim and the way she cried, once it stopped working on me, I saw who she truly was. Vicious and spitting bones, she lashed out at me, blaming me for things I had nothing to do with. I was not a bastion for her happiness or unhappiness, that was all her doing. She had wound up people before, my father, her lover, and I was not to be part of it. 

I returned to the Blessed Silver School for Boys and never left. Upon graduating, I changed my name to avoid my parents. I insisted I go by the last name, Zelazny, or by the nickname Fable. I do not want to risk anything, I do not want to return home. I will never go back to that place. 

I took up a job at the school, teaching, something I was good at but rarely enjoyed. It was a means to an end. I took no joy in seeing the students nor in furthering their education. They were forced to be here and I forced myself to stay, that was about all we had in common.

The years went by and I became headmaster of the school. At this point, the school was on the verge of decay. There were very few students who attended, and teachers were leaving for better places. Since there were so few students, the funding was drying up rapidly. There were threats of shutting the school down, but I feared if I left Blessed Silver or the town of Silverlake itself, my mother would find me. 

In a last ditch effort, I sunk every penny I had into buying the school for myself. I renovated it and turned it into a boarding house for young women. My original intent had been to provide housing for young women going to school or traveling, a safe haven of sorts. But it all took a strange turn, and my boarding house became known for something else.

Young women came into the boarding house, rarely staying more than nine months at a time. Their families sent them to allow them to ‘recuperate’ and to be educated into being fine young women. Somewhere along the way, these poor girls had fallen victim to their own needs, or to the needs of others. They came to me pregnant, then left me as fine, upstanding girls again. 

I provided the best care for these women and the eventual births of the babies. The girls were made to take classes in order to reform. Those who had been greatly affected by their condition received special treatment in the attic.

The fate of the babies born was often left a mystery to the ones who bore them. There would be instances where the family would ‘adopt’ the child to raise. The more likely circumstance was that the family paid extra for us to take care of the child. Usually, the baby had a place to go once it was born. Other needy families would bid for the upcoming child, taking it and raising it as their own. There were the sad, few occasions where the new life had nowhere to go after birth. But they are too few to mention.

The halls sound haunted these days with the wails and moans of the girls within them. In sadness and in pain, they are like spirits here. The souls of the mistreated and forgotten, they wander around as if lost. Trapped between worlds, they linger until they can leave, neither alive nor dead in the eyes of the family who sent them here.

The Blessed Silver Boarding House for Girls is never empty, our rooms are always full, our hearths are always warm, but the curtains are never open. I like it that way, even if it feels sometimes like the place is haunted. I don’t like feeling alone here.

When I am alone it is when I am truly bedeviled. I keep the doors locked, hoping to keep some sense of sanity and safety in my mind. For years, when I was a child, I would watch the open door at the foot of my bed, fearing my mother would appear there. If she was not happy, then no one could be happy. If she felt that no one loved her, then she made us pay. It was why my father sent me away. 

It was on nights where I was alone she came to me. She would come from open doorways, the cracks in the wardrobes. I had no clue if she was alive or dead, if this was a specter of my own imagination. She would crawl out and hunch over me, breathing softly with the scent of pine upon her. Her hands would reach out and stroke me before those long, bony fingers slipped around my throat. I stopped staying at home and instead began to live in the school.

I was penniless when I first reopened the doors, so I rented out my home for extra funds. The money came in slow at first, but over the years, I grew a reputation and, soon enough, I could name my price for anything. It was a shock to see how willing people were to hide their wretched daughters until they gave birth. Even more surprising was the lengths people would go to just to have children. Within the same walls, babies were wretched and blessed all in the same breath. Conceived the supposed right way, they are miracles, conceived in the allegedly wrong way and they are sins. 

I had first seen this with my mother, and I had convinced myself that she was a rare case. But the more I saw here at the boarding house, the more I was aware that she was just one of the many. Locked doors were fine as they were locked, but god forbid you ever open them.

My staff was such that they were able to live in a portion of the house. Cooking staff, a few maids who also acted as nurses, and the few doctors I kept on hand. Disgraced is a word that could be used for my staff. Fallen from grace sounds much more forgiving, it isn’t always your fault when you fall. Some of the staff are former residents of the boarding house, young women who chose not to go home, or came here with no money at all. The doctors I have are hiding as well, using the walls of the boarding house like armor. I do not ask questions and they perform admirably. They know that one wrong step can lead to their presence being known again.

I have an office and bedroom within the boarding house, but I also have a home in Silverlake. I stay at the boarding house almost exclusively as I, too, am hiding. My mother is like a specter for me, something that haunts me when I am alone. I see her emerging from my wardrobe, I feel her fingers grab me from under my bed. I stay at the school because someone is always close by, even if my doors remain locked at all times. I believe that, without a key, my mother will not bother me.

I only allow a single person in my bedroom, and my office is for business only, as I keep my full safe there. This young maid is paying off her debt. She came here as a resident, barely a cent to her name. She had come from a town adjacent to Silverlake, I am led to believe. Having heard about the board house, she brought herself here in order to be tended to. 

She was an alluring creature, strange in behavior, but lovely to behold. She had hair that was thick and curly, almost completely wild. Her skin was golden like honey, and her eyes were completely black. If they had color, I could never see it. Her cold steely gaze often frightened the other girls. She was called creepy and weird, but she was fascinating to me. She would never give her name. She said it was a bad omen to give your name so freely. She simply went by Danvers.

She reveled in scaring the girls. She told stories of horror and gore, laughing at the reactions around her. The way she moved was haunting, sometimes she was graceful and ethereal, other times she was jerky and disjointed. 

I noticed early on in Danvers’ stay, that whenever I was in the room, she would stare at me with a slight smile on her face. It was terrifying in a way, like a hawk spotting a fish in the stream. I found myself extremely attracted to her, something that terrified me.

When she began working here as a maid and nurse, I was impressed by her work ethic. She was excited to work with the doctors, as she told me she was ‘tantalized’ by blood. It made me wonder if she was some sort of creature from another world; a demon, a vampire, a succubus. Whatever she was, I was drawn to her physically and mentally. 

There was an evening I was going over paperwork while Danvers was cleaning the fireplace. My finger was sliced by the razor-like edge of the paper and blood rose like beads to the surface. Danvers was instantly by my side, standing over me with a smile that verged on wicked.

She grabbed my hand by force and her warm, wet tongue curled around my finger. Her eyes bore into mine as my finger slipped between her pursed lips. She moaned and whimpered like a lusty heathen. My blood surged through my body and I was terrified yet elated at the same time.

“Tell me what sort you are,” I snarled at her. “Be you some common wench with a penchant for chaos, or be you from some shadows I cannot see into.”

Danvers chuckled, releasing my finger with a cat-like grin upon her face. “I’ll show you my shadows,” she replied with a husky murmur. “I have been wanting this for ages.”

Her kiss was hungry and all consuming. She bit my lip and sucked my tongue, voraciously consuming me like a beast. I wanted her, I knew I did from the moment those black eyes fell upon me. She became like breathing or eating to me, a need I would die without. 

My locked doors only opened for her. I would let her take me and rule over me when they were closed. She would ride me like she was running from hell and I would love every instant of it. Her wild and uninhibited nature made me think of her as a beast. But she was my beast.

Outside the locked doors, Danvers never let on her desire for me. Around others she treated me as strangely as anyone else. I suppose she liked the secrecy of our affairs and love making. Once doors were closed and we were separated from the world would we be lovers again. It excited me to feel her upon me. Her lips, her tongue, her teeth, I would accept everything she gave me.

“You seem like such a fine upstanding man,” she panted one evening. She was on top of me, her hands pressed firmly against my chest. I took comfort in her being there, I had always taken comfort in someone sharing my bed. It made me feel safe, and Danvers felt powerful and warm. “Do you not worry about being with such a hedonistic girl like me?”

“You think I am upstanding?” I laughed. “I have shared my bed with more people than you realize, dear Danvers.”

“Tell me about them,” she moaned. She thrust her chest out, shaking her head back as she takes me deep.

“Back when this was a boy’s school, my classmates and I took comfort in one another. When I became headmaster, there were some of the teachers who I took great pleasure in their company.” I ran my hands up her chest, groping her breasts. 

She leaned down so her hair blanketed over me and all I could see was her face. She then grinned at me. “You don’t like being alone, do you?”

“Bad things come to me when I am alone.” I kissed her as her teeth sank into my lip. It didn’t matter to me what she gave me or how she gave it, I would have been grateful for everything.

One day, a scream rang throughout the boarding house. It came from outside where, at the shores of the lake, there was the body of a girl. The pockets of her dress were filled with stones. She had been a resident of the boarding house who was due to go home. 

Danvers was there, watching with a stricken expression. She turned to me as I approached, her black eyes wide and her mouth open.

“Go back inside, all of you.” I ordered. “We shall handle this.” Me and the doctors were trying to dissipate the crowd of girls who had gathered and were sobbing horribly. 

“I didn’t get here in time,” Danvers whispered. “I couldn’t grant it.”

I furrowed my brow at her as she stared at the body. “Couldn’t grant what?” I asked her. “Danvers?”

She looked back at me, closing her mouth and lifting her chin. She left silently then.

The doctors and I pulled the girl to shore and onto a gurney. Her skin looked like wet paper, like it would fall away if I touched it. Her head turned as the doctors lifted the gurney and I saw something in her mouth. Inside was a piece of paper covered in writing. I took the letter with me to my office while her body was taken away. The ink had run, but I could make out the letter still. 

‘I do not wish to return home, nor do I ever wish to return here. I know I will come back as the true criminal in all this resides in my own home. He sent me here and called me names. He derided me and abused me, all the while he had been the perpetrator of my affliction. He has done it before and he will do it again and again until he is dead. He has taken my control from me, so I will take myself away from him. Do not take this as a mournful passage, but as one of anger. I hope to God I never leave the earth and instead remain here to make his life a living hell. I put my wishes out there to the heavens to make his life long and empty and tortured by my presence.’

I am used to anger, but this is rage and boiling blood. In a way, I hope this girl’s final wish is granted. But in another way, I hope she finds peace.

“What does it say?”

I look up to see Danvers standing over me. “See for yourself.”

She sits down on my desk as she reads over the page. Her expression goes blank and her mouth parts slightly. 

“What a wretched creature.” She lays the note down.

“Her short time here was torture,” I sigh.

“Not her,” Danvers shakes her head. “This man.” She then gets a look upon her face, one of glee and excitement. “Don’t you think he deserves torture?”

I eye her curiously, watching her overly joyful expression. “I think most people do,” I reply. “But what can we do about it?”

“We let this girl’s spirit do as it wishes.” Danvers slips off the desk, taking the note as she goes towards the fireplace. “The attic is filled with wails like these. Of women crying for revenge.” She turns back and looks at me and, for a moment, her eyes look gold. “I have heard them all from my time being here. I have listened to these women cry in anguish. The halls are haunted by their desires.”

I furrow my brow at her. “It is not my place to step into these affairs.”

“But don’t you want to?” She hisses.

“You’re scaring me.” I stand up from my desk. “I don’t understand your wishes or what you are aiming for, but leave me out of this.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly. “But you’re what I need, Sir.”

My skin bristles as she speaks. She clutches the letter to her chest and watches me intently. I look away from her, focusing on the top of my desk.

“I know you’re angry,” she whispers. “I know you’ve suffered too. You’re haunted, the same as these girls.”

I glance back at her, seeing she is standing right before me. “That is why you do not leave this place, is it not?” Danvers touches my face and I lean into her palm. “Isn’t that why you cling too tightly to me at night?”

I turn my head to kiss her palm. I capture her hand and kiss down her arm until I am biting her neck. She giggles happily and cups her hand around the back of my head. 

“Let’s help this poor girl, Sir,” Danvers moans. “Let’s grant her wish.”

Danvers leads me down into the basement where the girl’s body is laying on a table and covered by a cloth. Danvers uncovers the body and looks fondly down at it. She kisses its forehead then steps back and looks at me. 

“What...what are you going to do?” I whisper in fright.

Danvers takes my hand and then jabs a pin into my finger. I flinch in pain and cry out and the blood flows from the tip as she squeezes. She then guides my hand, painting my blood upon the body. She makes strange markings on the chest and face before she places the note back into the mouth.

“Your blood holds powerful magic,” Danvers breathes. “I can see what you are, no matter how you try to hide it.” She smirks at me then licks my finger, sucking it to taste my blood. “I know you.”

I wrench my hand away. “This is quite enough.”

“Your mother was a witch, was she not? A lady in the Tribe of Owls?” She grins at me and turns back to the body. She encircles her hands around the head and pulses them. She grunts and moans, undulating her entire body as she pulses the head up and down, up and down. Her eyes roll back into her eyes, going completely white. Her mouth opens wide and her tongue turns black. It spreads to her lips and cheeks, it goes into her veins and through her eyes. 

The body begins to twitch. It surges and bucks and writhes upon the table. I stand away, watching agape in horror as the body levitates off the table. It pulses and shakes, contorting and relaxing. It radiates an overwhelming heat that burns my open eyes. All at once it bursts into flames and its feet touch the ground.

Danvers breathes, her neck jerks and pops, and her body twitches and moves in such a strange, almost insect-like way. She grins at the fiery corpse before her as it walks towards the fireplace. 

“You’re free to seek your revenge now,” Danvers sighs, her lips turn pink again. “Your wish is granted.”

The body stoops down and crawls into the fireplace and pushes themself up through the chimney. I stand in shock, using my wings to cover myself as Danvers approaches me again. She looks at me as I stand in my true form. Her eyes roll back down and I see the golden glimmer in them once again.

“What have you done?” I shudder. “What is it that you have unleashed upon the world?”

Danvers touches her neck, popping it as it goes back into place. “I have set nothing upon the world. Just one person, perhaps a household.” She looks at me with a smile and a grin. “I have granted the wish of a soul done wrong. It will live free now, it will find peace.”

“It was on fire!” I point my shaking finger towards the fireplace. Signs of smoke and ash sizzle from the logs even still.  “It looked like it was from hell!”

Danvers’ eyes focus on me in a humorous way. “Fire comes from all places, it is neither evil nor good. It is the intentions of humans that are to be judged.” Danvers holds her hand out to me. “There is much more to be done here and I need your help to accomplish it.”

I look at her eyes then down at her palm. I take it and she gently holds my hand. She locks the door then takes me into her arms. I am assured by the locked door and I begin to relax as Danvers comforts me. She whispers ‘thank yous’ into my ear and presses my back against the door.

I wake in the morning to see smoke rising from Silverlake. I am told there was a fire and that there was a survivor in the hospital. I am sure they don’t feel so lucky.

Danvers brings me tea that morning, a smug look upon her face as she serves me. “Is there good news from town?” She asks me.

I look up at her and, with a sigh, I touch her wrist. “Tell me, my dear, what exactly are you?” I trail my fingers up her arm. “And what are you doing here?”

Danvers looks at me with a smile. “I have my reasons for being here. I came here out of need and stayed for the same reasons.” She places a teacup before on the desk. “I have been taking in the wishes and the desires of the young women who come into these walls. I have listened to their anger and sorrows, and I have let them linger in this house.”

“What do you mean?” I whisper. 

Danvers smiles at me. “I grant the wishes of young women.” She slips her fingers under my chin. “Have you read the story of Cinderella?”

I watch her, waiting for her to finish.

“She, much like these girls here, was abused and treated horribly. I granted her wish, and her sisters suffered because of it. Now, I grant the wishes of these girls. It is their rage and anguish which calls to me, and these walls are like honeycombs filled to the brim with it.” She slowly places herself upon my lap. “It’s dripping with a honey-like decadence. I was drawn here and I will remain here.” She kisses me and I place my hands around her waist.

“But what about me?” I ask.

Danvers licks my lips. “You are just like them; haunted, enraged, and tainted.” She kisses me and I wrap my arms around her in a tight embrace. 

“You also have powerful magic.” She kisses my neck, slowly scraping her teeth down. “One you do not use and one I can feed upon.” Her teeth break skin on my shoulder and she laps up the blood. “You and I are a match.” She then reaches down, stroking my cock as she drinks my blood. “Perfect and inseparable.”

Danvers took me to the attic where she ripped open the walls like flesh to show me what had been building up there for years. The hate, the rage, the pain that had been suffered in these walls had manifested themselves into a single entity. It was what had called Danvers here and what begged her to stay. 

“This is like a hive,” she tells me. “The girls bring in their suffering like pollen. It clings to them. They come here and that pollen becomes honey that is thick and rich with their suffering. These girls feel lost and trapped in the world.” She turns and looks up at me, dark eyes boring into me. “You’ve allowed this place to become saturated, and now it’s haunted by emotion.”

I think about my mother and the ghost of her I fear. Was it really her or was it my own feelings towards her that were haunting me?

Danvers sticks her hand into the wall and all I hear is squelch and moans. The cries of the women who have been here echo out from within while her hand sinks in deeper. Her eyes grow wide, her grin grows much bigger. She then pulls her hand out and it is coated in a red, glossy substance. She licks it off her fingers and steam exits through her nose.

“How do you help these girls?” I step towards her. “All you do is allow them to hurt others.”

“I know it is not agreeable. But it is my way.” She licks the corner of her mouth as she turns towards me again. 

“But why must you do it? Why is that the way?” I place my hand on her arm. “Must there be such violent means?”

She grabs my wrist and holds it fast. “Would you not kill the thing that haunts you? If it came back for you, if it wrapped its hands around your throat, would you not fight for your life even if it was violent?”

I frown down at her. “That is why I remain here. I stay here and keep myself away from it. I do not want to know what will happen should I ever cross paths with her again.”

Danvers’ gaze turns sour and sharp. “A her?” She takes my hand then cups her palm around my face. “Don’t hide it,” she hisses. “Let me feel it, let me hear that agony.”

I cast my eyes down as she touches me. Her fingers move over my lips and then she moves closer to me. “I see,” she whispers. She takes a breath and I feel ghostly fingers around my neck. I gasp in alarm as tears come to my eyes. 

“It’s not real, it’s just the memory. The walls make it feel real.” She dusts my neck and I no longer feel the fingers. She then dabs the tears from my eyes and gives me a look.

“Now I am angry,” she pulls me close. “Whoever hurt you will never lay a cold finger on you again. You are mine and I will protect you viciously, Sir.”

I lean down to meet her kiss and there is something sweet on her tongue. She pulls away, gazing into my eyes.

“We shall rip apart the world, you and I,” she moans. “From here on out, the two of us will see the agony of this house relieved.”