monster haven 06.5 - transmonstrified Read online

  I narrowed my eyes. “Show me.”

  Kelsey led me to the break room and flipped on the light. On one side stood a fridge next to a counter with a small sink, drawers, and a microwave attached to the underside of a few cupboards. A table sat in the corner with several chairs clustered around it. A line of lockers hung on the far wall.

  Kelsey stood in front of one of the lockers, pointing. “That one. I peeked inside and saw a bunch of stuff, including my missing MP3 player. But it’s locked, and she never opens it when anyone’s around, so no one knows she’s the one stealing.”

  I fingered the padlock on the little door and smirked. “No problem.” My tools made quick work of it, and the lock popped open without a fight. I swung the door open and gasped.

  Keychains. Stuffed animals. Jewelry. I counted three watches and two MP3 players. And at the back, six bottles of hairspray and more colors of nail polish than I cared to count.

  Kelsey whistled. “I didn’t realize there was so much in there. I only saw a little of it.”

  I closed the door and snapped the lock in place. “Come with me.” I led her back to the front counter and flipped on the flashlight app on my phone to search. “Got it.”

  Taped to the front of the register was a piece of paper with Antonio on it, followed by a phone number.

  Kelsey hovered over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

  “You’re going to make a phone call to the owner,” I said. “An anonymous call in the middle of the night, traced back to his own shop where the alarm hasn’t even gone off? That’ll get his attention. You’ve already made a name for yourself as a ghost, spraying all those people. Let’s really leave a mark for you.”

  She gave me a nervous laugh. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly talk to the owner. Nobody but Connie is allowed to talk to him.”

  “Honey, that’s part of how she controls everyone. Call him.” I picked up the shop phone and dialed Antonio’s number, listened for it to ring, then handed it to Kelsey. “Tell him.”

  She took the phone, sweat beading on her ghostly skin. “Hello? Antonio?” Her voice shook, and she paused to listen to someone speaking on the other end of the line. When she spoke again, her voice held more confidence. “No, you listen to me. It doesn’t matter who this is. If you want to keep your salon from financial ruin, it would be in your best interest to check your manager’s locker. I think you’ll find it very interesting.” She hung up and gave me a tentative smile.

  “Good job.” I squeezed her shaking hand. “I think that should do it.”

  Her hand felt less solid than it had, and her face relaxed into peace and contentment. “I’m done.”

  I gave her a dubious look. “That’s it? You don’t want to stay and watch?”

  She shook her head. “He’ll come in the morning. I know he will. I don’t need to see it happen.”

  “Really? You’re sure?”

  She nodded. “This wasn’t about revenge, just about what was right.”

  I slipped the soul stone from beneath my shirt. “Well, then. Thank you for doing my hair.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Sorry I took up so much of your night.”

  “It was fun hanging out with you.”

  I rubbed my thumb over the stone in my necklace, and Kelsey shimmered into a sparkling silver cloud, then flowed into the stone until she was gone. In a few days, I’d be near a dump site, and I’d empty the stone’s contents into the receptacle so Kelsey and the three other souls sharing space in there would be sent on to wherever it was souls went.

  For a moment, I considered leaving the shop by the front door. That would set off the alarms, and Antonio was sure to show up. Instead, I left the way I came, despite being tired as hell and not really thrilled about the six-store crawl through the ceiling. I wanted Kelsey’s mystery call to live on as part of the ghost stories that would forever be told about this place.

  Even though I’d been up all night, I waited around outside for a few hours until daylight. There was a quiet coffee shop across the street, so I had a front row seat when Antonio arrived.

  At least, I assumed it was Antonio. He had keys to the place, long, luxurious boy-hair, and a pompous walk. I was on my third cup of coffee when Connie showed up, and my fourth when the cops escorted her off the premises. She didn’t look so snooty anymore.

  I touched the stone through the fabric of my shirt and smiled. “Good job, Kelsey.” I tossed my paper cup in the trash, feeling a little jittery from all the caffeine.

  On my way out the door, a woman looked up at me from her phone. “Hey, I like your hair,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I smiled and patted my orange-streaked curls. “I just had it done.”

  “Baked Goods”

  The doctor said I’m anemic,

  that the diabetes has affected my eyesight.

  “More red meat, no sweets.”

  Ironic advice for a vegetarian confectioner.

  An arthritic old woman

  can’t sit for hours in the damp woods,

  waiting for deer and rabbit to happen by.

  A tragic waste to kill

  such lovely creatures,

  with so much life to give.

  I eat the world’s leftovers.

  For this, they call me Witch.

  They forget the children were sent to die.

  With me, at least they are warm,

  their swollen tummies filled with treats

  before they leave this earth.

  I have set the bait with what I know:

  sparkling windows of sugared glass,

  enticing shutters of cream filled cookies.

  Cheerful peppermints line the path,

  as if to say

  “Welcome.

  Here you are wanted.”

  “The Button War”

  This is a flash piece that first appeared at the Confabulator Cafe website with the original title “Buttoned Down.”

  On Monday, Edwina Snagroot found the gate unlatched. Her prized hellboar, Terrance, had wandered into the garden and helped himself to every last fruit in her buzzberry patch.

  As everyone knows, buzzberries are toxic to hellboars. Terrence fell ill and died by afternoon tea.

  Edwina was devastated. She was also suspicious. Every night before bed, Edwina locked the gate as part of her routine. The gate should not have been unlatched.

  Upon inspection, Edwina found a shiny silver button engraved with the letters “W.H.” in the grass next to the fencepost.

  Edwina was furious. Her bright pink hair blew in the wind as she shook her gnarled fist at the house across the street.

  “Winifred Houndswaggle, you will pay for this!”

  ~*~

  On Tuesday, Winifred Houndswaggle opened her front door to find that every last black rose in her garden had been beheaded. Winifred cried out in dismay and threw her pointed hat to the ground.

  It took years for each rose to bloom, and she’d waited patiently so she could use them to rid herself of a nasty case of hexzema. She scratched her scaly arms and examined the dying plant. Several strands of bright pink hair wafted in the needle-sharp prickles.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Edwina, you wretched cow,” she whispered. “You won’t get away with this.”

  ~*~

  On Wednesday, Edwina returned home from the market to find the thatching on her roof infested with golden star-aphids. They’d already eaten through a good portion of roof above her kitchen by the time she discovered them.

  It took all afternoon and all of her carefully hoarded supply of unicorn sweat to banish them.

  Exhausted and needing the services of a good thatcher before the next rainstorm, Edwina pondered her neighbor—now her greatest enemy.

  This insult would not go unanswered.

  ~*~

  On Thursday, Winifred, having forgotten all about her feud with Edwina, marched across her lawn to fetch the morning paper.

  The smell hit her square in the face.
She glanced down at her pointed shoes and scowled at what she’d stepped in. Dozens of dung beetles rolled their prizes across nearly every inch of the yard. It seemed they’d brought the contents of at least three cow pastures to her doorstep.

  It took hours to shovel it all out and the lawn was ruined.

  ~*~

  On Friday, Edwina found her fishpond filled with blood. Every last swamp lily lay across the surface, wilted and brown. Every frog, salamander, and fish floated belly up. It was a huge blow. Edwina had built the pond herself, digging and filling it, then stocking it with plants and animals she needed for her work.

  Gone. All gone. How could someone do something like that? Why would someone do such a thing?

  She buried the dead animals and drained the blood, considering her next move.

  ~*~

  On Saturday, Winifred’s speckled goat, Miranda, gave sour, green milk flecked with purple spots. The goat made one sickly bleat and keeled over dead.

  Winnifred wept. She’d raised Miranda from a kid and had spent a great deal of attention and supplies on her to cultivate a perfect product. Winifred bathed her feet in the milk every half moon, and it eased her ingrown toenails. Now that was lost.

  Her feet already ached in anticipation.

  ~*~

  On Sunday, before the sun rose, Edwina marched out to confront Winifred before she had a chance to retaliate.

  Winifred stomped out before dawn, carrying two buckets of brimstone and heading that way.

  They met in the middle of the street and glared at each other.

  “Winifred,” Edwina said through pinched lips.

  Winifred put down the buckets and tipped her head toward her enemy. “Edwina.”

  They stood that way for some time, shooting silent hatred at each other from their eyes.

  Winifred wiped her hands on her apron and broke the silence. “You killed my goat.”

  Edwina scowled. “You bloodied my pond.”

  Winifred narrowed her eyes. “Well, you covered my yard in cow poop.”

  “After you infested my roof!” Edwina took a step forward, her hand clenched in a fist, ready to pop Winifred in her pointy nose.

  “What was I supposed to do? You cut all my roses! I needed those!” Winifred, too, took a step forward, her hand raised to strike a blow.

  “Only because you opened my gate and let Terrence out! You might as well have killed him with your own hands, letting him into the buzzberry patch like that!” Edwina pulled her arm back to strike.

  “Well, you had it coming after you…” Winifred dropped her arm, confused. “Wait, what? I didn’t open your gate.”

  “Don’t try to lie about it! I found your button. You wanted me to know it was you!”

  “Button?” Winifred frowned. “Show me.”

  Edwina pulled the silver button from her pocket and handed it over. “See? It has your initials on it, plain as day. W.H.”

  Winifred examined the object, turning it in the growing first light of the morning. She scowled, then her face transformed into a grin. She cackled and handed the button back. “You idiot. You read it upside down. It’s H.M.”

  The two women stood on the street, and together they turned toward the house on the corner.

  “She thought she got away with it. I bet she’s been watching us the whole time,” Winifred said.

  Edwina nodded. “Oh, she’s going to pay for this.”

  ~*~

  On Monday, Henrietta Manticore found the gate unlatched.

  “Fool’s Gold”

  A lot of Todd the leprechaun was an early blueprint for Walter the brownie, Molly’s husband in the Monster Haven series. Also, Dirk the Daring was a real gerbil, and his backstory is absolutely true. He didn’t exactly drown in the toilet, but he did die shortly after he and his cage were knocked in by a cat. Marian’s words are the same words I spoke at his memorial. No one came to that service, either. This story first appeared in the March 2011 issue of Daikaijuzine.

  Very little ever surprised Marian, so when she found the pot of gold buried in her yard, it wasn’t so much its presence that startled her, but how small it was. When her spade hit it, she took it for a small rock until she turned the earth over and sunlight caught the object, making it catch the sun’s rays in a thousand minuscule rainbows.

  Mildly curious, she plucked it from the small hole she’d been digging, freed it of a few clumps of clinging soil, and dusted it with her fingertips. It was roughly the size of a shot glass. Elaborate curlicues decorated the golden curves, and chips of diamonds and emeralds dotted the surface. A thin gold wire served as a handle. Peering inside, Marian saw the miniature pot was filled with tiny rocks that looked like gold nuggets.

  Interesting, Marian thought. Heaving herself up from her squatting position, she reached into her pocket and produced a length of garden twine. She threaded it through the pot handle, tied a knot in the end, and put it around her neck for safe keeping. She shrugged dismissively and hunkered back down to finish her work.

  The hole she was digging didn’t need to be very large, so she finished the work in only a few minutes. A small cardboard box sat beside her. It had once held a coffee mug, a gift from some forgotten Employee of Christmas Past. The mug was long gone, probably one that declared something trite like “#1 Boss” or “Hang in there, baby!” The box, however, had been kept safe in a closet filled with other such cartons. One could never have too many boxes. Mugs she could do without.

  She patted the container affectionately and placed it in the fresh hole. Gathering the loose dirt, she scooped it over the box, creating a small mound, then patted it down. She took a piece of the garden twine and joined two sticks together to make a little cross. She poked it into the dirt before standing up to brush her palms across her knees. A slight breeze kicked up, cooling her sweating brow and rustling the leaves of the tree above her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, mentally preparing herself for the next step.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” she said, her voice taking on a booming Southern Baptist preacher tone.

  “Who’s gathered here today?” asked a voice. “Looks to me like you’re all alone.”

  Marian, never quick to startle, calmly looked around and saw no one. She scanned the area before her, walked all the way around the trunk of the elm tree, and finding herself alone, she took her place again at the foot of the tiny grave. “We are gathered here today to pay our respects to…”

  “Down here, woman. Are you blind?” the voice said.

  Marian let out an exasperated sigh and looked down. At the base of the tree, a man, roughly eighteen inches high, stood with his arms folded and one foot propped on a gnarled root. He wore jeans and a red-and-white striped polo shirt, and his dark brown hair was in need of a barber. Marian frowned at the shirt and had the passing thought that she had at last found Waldo.

  “You’re interrupting,” she said. “If you don’t mind?”

  “No, by all means,” he said, tipping his head toward her. “Proceed.”

  She cleared her throat. “Here lies Dirk the Daring. He was brave and adventurous, but he could not swim. An escapee from Petland, Dirk was found in the storage room of a shoe store. He had traveled through many obstacles, crossing half the mall before he was captured, but he never lost his adventuring gerbil spirit, even after coming to live with us here. His inability to tread water until he could be found and plucked from the dangers of the toilet was his downfall. He shall be greatly missed.”

  Marian bent over and dropped a handful of dirt over the grave. “Ashes to ashes,”

  “Hey!” the man said. “You’re spilling my gold, you stupid woman! Have a little respect!”

  “Oh,” she said, clutching the pot of gold to her chest. “I’m terribly sorry.” Keeping one hand on the container, she squatted down and picked up two tiny nuggets. “Is that all of them?” she asked, eyeing him over her shoulder.

  “No. You missed one over by the ‘headstone.’
” He snickered as he raised his hands and made air quotes around the word. “And you know, you’re supposed to drop the dirt on the box, not on the covered grave. Also, that bit about ‘dearly beloved’ is for weddings. Oh, and one more thing…it’s a gerbil, you idiot!”

  “You’re really not a very nice man, are you?” Marian put the last gold nugget back in its container and turned to walk back to the house. She despised air quotes.

  “Hey, don’t walk away from me!” The man had to run to keep up with her. “We have business to conduct, you and I. You have my gold! There are wishes! We have to deal and stuff!”

  Marian ignored him and went into the house. Before she closed the door, she looked down at the man. He was out of breath and his hair poked out in sweaty spikes. “You shouldn’t leave your things lying around like that. I’ve had a hard day and I’m going to take a nap now. I’m in mourning. No business will be conducted during the mourning period. Have a good day.” She shut the door in his face. Smiling to herself, she stood a moment at the door.

  “But there are rules,” she heard him say in a miserable tone. “Nobody respects the rules anymore.”

  ~*~

  The next morning began early, as it always did in Marian’s house. She would welcome the luxury of sleeping in from time to time, but past experience taught her the noise would gradually increase to unmanageable levels and it would take hours to make amends enough to quiet everyone down. She rose at five, showered and pinned her slightly frizzy, graying hair to the top of her head where it would, for a few hours at least, stay out of her way. She spent little time in front of the mirror these days and only stayed long enough to cover the basics of good hygiene. When she was younger, Marian had been pretty enough—nothing men swooned over, but she could hold her own. Now, at forty-seven, time was creeping in and erasing what little she’d had going for her. The thirty or so extra pounds she carried weren’t enough to plump up the sagging bits, and the wrinkles kept appearing out of nowhere. She looked in disgust at a zit that was forming on her chin. Pimples and wrinkles at the same time seemed more than a little unfair. Ah, well. Nobody she knew cared what she looked like anyway, least of all herself.