Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
Penny's Tales
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    • [Short Horror Story] My Boss’s Latest MLM Really Changed Me

      Posted at 2:17 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 1, 2019

      “Are you going to the Butterfly Party tonight, Kari? I must have missed your RSVP.” Shannon was shameless, as usual. “You are coming, right? It’s going to change your life.”

      “Oh!” I straightened in my seat, internally screaming.  “Of course I’m coming! I’m sorry, I thought I responded already.” I hadn’t thought that. I’d just hoped she wouldn’t notice. All of Shannon’s parties were a sales pitch to some sort of Multi-Level Marketing Pyramid scheme. The company and products changed every few months, but the sales pitch stayed the same: these products will change your life!

      There’s nothing worse than an #bossbabe who is also your boss. No matter what ridiculous program Shannon got wrapped up in, she had subordinates who couldn’t tell her no. I was no exception. The mass text she’d sent last week had been a barely-decipherable block of emojis and buzz words. I couldn’t even tell what the product was, but it didn’t really matter. Technically, she couldn’t force us to go… but people who didn’t tended to work Saturdays. 

      “Great! Don’t forget to bring a swimsuit!”  I had a feeling she knew exactly how unenthusiastic everyone was, she just didn’t care. Julie and I exchanged mutual looks of amusement and defeat as Shannon flounced on by.

      Once the boss was out of earshot, Richie walked over to my desk, delighted to announce that he hadn’t been invited. “Looks like this one is ladies only.” he said sympathetically. At least, he was trying to look sympathetic. He was too giddy, having dodged the bullet himself!

      “You weren’t invited?” I asked. “I mean, even if it’s makeup or something she’s usually like ‘oh, pick something out for your girlfriend’!”

      “I mean, I’m not going to ask why not. She’d probably invite me.” he laughed, unable to help himself. 

      “I’ll ask her then!” I threatened, though we both knew I wouldn’t. He raised his hands in mock surrender. I was annoyed, but not at him. 

      “Oh no please don’t–”

      “.. Oh no.” Julie interrupted, covering her face. She’d gone beet red. It took me a moment to realize why. 

      “Oh no.” I echoed. 

      “What?” Richie asked, not catching on. I turned red too. If men weren’t invited, that probably meant this was going to be a sales pitch of an intimate nature. Not again!  I still couldn’t look at Agnes the same way after hearing her happily endorse her vibrating purchase. No thank you. Agnes had always been an irredeemable brown noser but she’d hit new lows that day.

      “Now I kind of want to come.” Richie admitted, grinning. “Especially since I heard the part about the swimsuits.”

      “Ugh, shut up.” I groaned, horrified. He gave a salute before going to bother someone else. The rest of that shift was a dreadful blur; I hated my job, but hated the idea of Shannon’s party even more. There had to be a better way to spend a Friday night, but Shannon couldn’t be blown off without serious professional repercussions. 

      Her parties usually took place in her living room, the Butterfly Party was no exception. When I walked in with Julie, our fears were confirmed: the windows were covered and the lights were dimmed. The furniture was covered in plastic.

       On the coffee table, I saw the usual vegetable tray and a selection of gas station wines. It didn’t look like enough wine. Agnes was already on her second glass… if the wine stain on her blouse was any indication.

      Our host was arranging things on a small covered table, little bottles and purple pouches of whatever product she was peddling. The room smelled like flowers, probably an essential oil from her last “business” venture. 

      “I’m glad everyone could make it.” Shannon said, “I know I say this every time, but… this product is going to change your life.”  There were four of us sitting on the sectional in silence; Julie, Agnes, Cindy, and myself. Only Agnes clapped her hands together, somehow managing to muster up the enthusiasm everyone else lacked.

      “So, you might have noticed that this party is ladies only.” she continued. Julie and I exchanged looks again. Yes, we’d noticed. The plastic-covered furniture, blocked windows and dark room hadn’t exactly been reassuring. 

      “It’s not what you think, I promise. I learned my lesson.” our boss laughed. “I wanted to give all the ladies in the office a spa day to show my appreciation. The first time is free! I have enough product for everyone to try before buying. Plus, I thought it would be a good team-building experience. Did everyone remember to bring a swimsuit? I have a couple extras if anyone needs to borrow one.” 

      I was wearing a bikini under my clothes, though it was definitely out of season and I was feeling bloated and fat. Still, like everyone else, I went along with whatever Shannon said. Body issues aside, I felt relieved. I didn’t really mind trying out new beauty or skincare products. Usually I’d buy whatever was cheapest out of the catalog and call it a day.

      “Alright, suit up and pair up!” Shannon smiled, excited. “It’s easier to apply the product with a partner. This is a full-body treatment.” Naturally, Julie and I were a team since we were already friends. Everyone stripped down to their swimsuits awkwardly. I was horrified to be the only one in a bikini. I don’t know what I’d been thinking.

       “It’s a bit messy, but don’t worry. That’s what the plastic is for! Don’t worry about the floors either, I’ll mop up after.”  Shannon assured us. “We’re going to do Chrysalis Beauty Wraps by Butterfly Beauty and transform ourselves. I hope you’re excited, I know I am. The first step? Exfoliation!” 

      A large tub of what looked like dirty sugar went around the room. Each of us were instructed to scoop up generous handfuls of the stuff to ‘prime’ our skin, rubbing ourselves raw with the coarse scrub. 

      “This is a nourishing sugar scrub made with organic fair trade sugar crystals.” Shannon explained. “This one has a lovely hibiscus-rose scent. What do you think, Kari?” 

      “… It’s nice.” I answered awkwardly, though to me it seemed like a sticky, smelly mess. I knew better than to be honest. “Does this have coconut oil in it?” I pretended I was interested, and she nodded enthusiastically before moving on to Cindy. 

      “Don’t forget your elbows, hon.” Shannon chirped, “Get under the suit too. No need to be shy. It’s just us ladies today!” she prowled around the room, giving tips in a syrupy voice. “Scrub in a circular motion.” 

      Once she was satisfied with our scrubbing, she brought out a bottle of amber gel. “This is Butterfly Beauty’s Hot Honey Activating Gel. It stimulates your metabolism, tightens your skin, and encourages sweating. The best part is that it also prevents fat buildup in the subcutaneous layers of your skin. This product makes your beach body goals attainable all year long!” 

      We were each handed our own “deluxe” sample. I didn’t believe the sales pitch but dutifully began smearing it all over. It was greasy rather than sticky. I’d expected it to be honey thanks to the color, but it wasn’t. Shannon was talking about the ingredients, but I wasn’t really listening. As I smudged the stuff over my arms… it stung, and began to burn! 

      “The tingle only lasts a moment.” Shannon assured us. “Push through it, hon! It will be SO worth it.”

      Tingle my ass! It hurt! I glanced around the room, the pale faces contorted in pain confirmed that I wasn’t the only one who was suffering. I was starting to sweat too; an itchy sensation prickling everywhere the product made contact. I opted not to lather up under my bikini, despite Shannon’s urging. Fortunately, she was too busy paying attention to everyone else to notice I hadn’t. 

      It was an awkward dance of coworkers shimmying around on the floor and furniture, sticking their hands down their suits and trying to maneuver while maintaining some shred of modesty. Julie and I rubbed the stuff on each other’s back reluctantly, that persistent burning itch instantly flaring.

      This was not the relaxing spa day Shannon had promised. I noticed that she wasn’t participating either, just passing the products around and making sure we used them. I glared at her, but when she caught my gaze I quickly looked away.

      “Relief is coming, ladies!” she assured us. “Two more steps, but this will probably be your favorite part.” she picked up a bundle of purple silk pouches, passing one to each of us. Inside was a sweet-smelling mix of dried flowers, shredded coconut, and some sort of shimmery powder. It was iridescent and pretty, like it belonged in a bowl on the mantle. 

      “Press this into your skin. Every inch! The activating gel will make it stick.” I scooped some up in my palm, feeling an instant cooling relief. The pain stopped, though a numb tingle remained. “This is Butterfly Beauty’s Butterfly Wing Potpourri Powder.” she explained, “This nourishing mix will not only perfect your skin, it also has stress-relieving properties.” 

      To be fair, the pain going away did in fact relieve my stress. A ripple of sighs filled the room. 

      “Don’t crush it, use a gentle pressure.” Shannon instructed, pacing around the room. I sprinkled it on my arms, my stomach, my chest, my legs… pressed the gritty, soft mix onto the greasy mess, and let the relief wash over me. Agnes had abandoned her swimsuit altogether, though she was covered in too much product for the look to be explicitly offensive.

      “I could roll in this stuff!” Julie told me. We got each other’s backs. Of course, the relieving effect only mattered in the places I’d put the gel. It felt dry and crunchy otherwise! I couldn’t wait to take a shower and get the messy slop off of me. Whatever this product was, I wasn’t buying it. 

      While everyone ooh’d and ah’d from relief and started going for their wine glasses, our boss prepared green sheets to complete the wrap. She called them Butterfly Beauty’s Cocoon Complexion Caressing Sheets. After downing more wine, we took turns wrapping each other in the chalky, clay-like squares.  I wrapped Julia in the stuff and she wrapped me. Shannon said it was some kind of organic dead sea kelp saran wrap, which didn’t even make sense. I wasn’t in the business of arguing with her though, I was just relieved we were almost done.

      We were instructed to get comfortable, and we spread out on the furniture while Shannon turned on what she claimed were infrared lights. The room was colored with red light, and we all began to sweat again under the wraps.

      Weirdly, the sheets seemed to tighten up and harden. It began to get a little hard to move. The longer we sat, the tighter and harder it became. Getting nervous, I flexed my muscles and twisted in my body in an attempt to loosen the wrap… It didn’t work. 

      “Just relax, Kari. Even a worm like you can be a butterfly.” Shannon purred, her voice still syrupy sweet.

      “Excuse me?”

      “You heard me. You think I don’t know the way you bitches complain about me. The looks you give each other when I invite you to my parties? I don’t even need to sell products. I make good money already. I just wanted to experience … sisterhood! Friendship! To live my best life. All of you…” she pointed a finger at each of us in turn. “All of you want to be miserable. Well, I’m not going to let you.” 

      I tried to stand up, but nearly toppled over. I couldn’t move my joints at all. The only parts of us not covered were our heads!

      “I’m  a good boss. I’m your friend.” Shannon continued, “I found this company. This transformative product… and they promised it would change everything. That you’d all thank me, and mean it.”

      “Shannon, I can’t move….” Agnes whined. “I’ve always liked your parties, but maybe I’m allergic to something in this?” 

      “No, that just means it’s working. It’s organic! You can’t be allergic.” Shannon said dismissively. “Sit tight, ladies! It’ll take a few hours, please try to relax. I rented some good movies to watch while we wait.” she popped in some romcom, but I was far too busy freaking out to even notice what it was. 

      I struggled to get up; my knees couldn’t bend but I was still able to shift my weight and flail to my feet somehow. It didn’t matter because I couldn’t keep my balance– I fell forward, crashing into the coffee table. Wine bottles shattered, vegetables went rolling to the floor, and I was left groaning. I wasn’t seriously hurt. I felt like I was wearing a full-body helmet!

      “See what you did? Ugh. Good thing you’re thin or I’d make you stay there…” Shannon yanked me off the table, inelegantly shoving me back onto the couch. “Now stay put. Hopefully it still works, but I’m not responsible if it doesn’t!”

      “Don’t touch me you Stepfordwife-looking bitch!” I screamed back, though my voice came off a little more shrill than intended. Shannon smiled at me, apparently deciding I was all bark and no bite. Probably because I couldn’t move.

      “Hold on, let me get you fixed up, hon.” 

      There were cracks in the hardened shell that encased my arms, but it wasn’t enough to break free. I still couldn’t bend my limbs, but now I had a glimpse of mottled skin through the splits; I was blistered and discolored, that burning itch erupting visibly, a screaming red rash that even made my follicles quiver.

      The pain faded when my boss brought over a fresh Cocoon sheet, wrapping my arm  and covering the cracks. She patted my shoulder, then pulled away from me. I heard her take a few deep breaths, count slowly back from ten… then fix the smile back on her face as she turned back towards us.

      “Sorry, I’m not sure where the outbursts came from. I’m not trying to scare you or anything. This is a good product, it’s just not like anything you’ve ever tried before. It’s a little uncomfortable now, but it’ll be worth it.”

      “… Have you used it?” Julie asked, her breathing was a little strained.

      “No.” Shannon admitted, “Not yet. The company said it was best to wait. Besides, it’s a two person job at least and I need to  get each of you through the transformation first.” 

      “What do you mean transformation? This doesn’t seem like any wrap I’ve ever had before. I don’t like it.” Julie replied. “It’s getting harder to breathe. Please get it off me.” 

      “This is a meditative beauty experience. Relax. Give into it; shed your cynicism. Let the Chrysalis Beauty Wrap by Butterfly Beauty pull out the toxins and rejuvenate your skin. You’ll have a flawless complexion and a new outlook in no time!” 

      The sales pitches never ended with Shannon, even when we were a captive audience. Yet she wondered why we didn’t like her? 

      “I don’t care, please take it off… please…I’ll work every Saturday for the next six months. Please.” Julie begged, her voice breaking off into sobs. We’d always hated MLM parties, but the Butterfly Party was on a whole new level. 

      “Julie, you’re not being a team player right now. I wish you’d give this a chance and stop lowering morale.” I never liked Shannon, but this was going too far even for her. Instead of admitting this party was yet another bust in a long line of failed ventures… she was doubling down. 

      My skin crawled. I wasn’t in pain, but I was sure I could feel a squirming and burrowing sensation everywhere the activating gel had touched. The itch started to come back, but as much as I wanted to… it was impossible to scratch. I couldn’t move my arms, let alone chip away the glistening jade chrysalis. I wanted to curl into a ball and claw at my screaming epidermis, but I was frozen. My whole body was an itch I couldn’t scratch… and that feeling didn’t go away for hours. It had to have been hours, right?

      A sensation like static filled my limbs. Unable to move, it was like my entire body fell asleep but my mind was awake. The sounds around me were muffled and indistinct; if my coworkers or boss were talking, I couldn’t hear them. The light of the room tunnelled into a tiny red pinprick in a field of black. 

      I screamed. Sharp pains erupted all over my body, like a needle probing every pore. My limbs tried to spasm, but I still couldn’t move.  By some miracle, tiny fissures rippled across the green… cracking the tough prison enough that I felt some of the pressure release. The wrappings began to crumble, falling away in gooey clumps.

      Freedom washed over me like a summer breeze, but the feeling didn’t last. My skin began to bubble, twitch and even… tickle. I looked down at my arms and saw fluttering flaps of skin. It took me a moment to realize they were wings; thousands of wings, red and fleshy things. Tiny butterflies. Too many to count.

      I watched with repulsed fascination and terror as they emerged from blister cocoons–  they chewed through my skin, widening my pores and leaving me full of holes. They seemed to erupt all at once, taking flight on glossy wet wings with a spray of my own blood.

      The pain was excruciating, but I was the only one who was screaming. There was something wrong about that; my bloodshot eyes swiveled around the room. Clouds of bloody butterflies were joining together, ripping out of their hosts. Out of Julie, Agnes, Cindy and I. 

      But my coworkers weren’t moving, they were perfectly still. They were smiling, though tears were in their eyes… they just stood there and let it happen– not that there was anything they could do to stop it. I understood then, in some unknowable way… the “transformation” hadn’t worked on me as intended. I still had control of my body and mind, but I sensed intrusive thoughts and impulses that weren’t mine.

      Shannon was crying. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. Life as we knew it was over. I should have been dead, but I wasn’t; I was riddled with holes and gushing blood, but that didn’t seem important anymore. 

      “I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, “I didn’t know!” blah blah blah, I stopped listening. I didn’t care what she had to say. I picked up my clothes from by the door; I wasn’t feeling confident enough to keep rocking the bloody bikini. Not until the holes healed up, at least.

      The cloud of butterflies split in two; one hung around me. I knew they were mine. The others started beating themselves against a window– at least until Agnes walked over and opened it for them. My coworkers weren’t themselves anymore, acting on the will of something else; a fate I was exempt from. It was a shame; though their mouths weren’t moving, I could feel their screams.

      Their bodies were moving, but they weren’t in control of them anymore. They were drones, but I was a Queen. I’m not sure if something went wrong or something went right, but I’m not going to argue with the results. Do you know how many MLMs promise you’ll be your own boss? I didn’t expect it to be true. Success is the exception, not the rule.

      “Kari, what happened? I don’t know what happened.”

      “Of course you know, Shannon. It’s exactly as you said.” she’d promised a transformation. She promised a lot of things, but this was the first time she’d delivered. I walked over to the bloodstained table and picked up the tub of Butterfly Beauty’s Softening Sweet Fair Trade Organic Sugar Scrub.

      I turned back to my former boss, smiling. I wouldn’t give her the sales pitch, but I’d treat her to a free demonstration of my new product line.

      “The first step? Exfoliation!”

      I’m going to throw a Butterfly Party just for her. What better way to start my own downline?

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged antimlm, beauty, butterfly, dark, fiction, horror, mlm, original, scary, short stories, short story, writing
    • [Short Horror Story] A Proposal from Daddy Prince

      Posted at 12:00 am by Penny Tailsup, on August 19, 2019
      Short on time? Listen to the narration!

      When I told Blake I was pregnant, he handed me a blank check and told me to ‘take care of the problem’. He wasn’t the prince I’d thought he was. I took the check but didn’t follow his implied instructions. Instead, I moved to a quiet town in Texas to start a new life with my daughter Sarina.

      Life wasn’t the fairy tale I’d been hoping for. Reality doesn’t pull punches. Romances end, and daughters don’t always know their fathers. Although I tried to pretend everything was rosy, deep down I knew it wasn’t. Life leaves a mark.

      Even so, I was determined to live happily ever after. My heartbreak was secondary. Sarina became my world. Years passed, and I threw myself into the role of a single mother. The money dried up fast, but we got by.

      I never told her about her father, that truth was too painful for a child. I wouldn’t let one cruel “prince” stain my worldview, or hers. I tried to spare her… that was my mistake. She was young enough to believe the fairy tale, young enough that she didn’t need to know anything else.

      The first time she mentioned Daddy Prince, I was curling her hair. Sarina loved curls, she called them ‘princess hairs’— and I was happy to indulge her. I was sitting on her bed, wrapping her long, dark hair into foam rollers. As I snapped the final curler into place, she sighed and hung her head.

      “What’s the matter, Sarina?” I pulled back the covers so she could slip under them, walking over to the bookshelf to choose a bedtime story. As my fingers brushed across bent spines of well-loved books, she sighed again.

      “When are we going to live with Daddy Prince?” I froze in surprise and turned to look at her. I wasn’t prepared to hear her say ‘daddy’. My throat tightened and my eyes started to burn, but I forced a smile.

      “Who is …  Daddy Prince?” hesitation came with every syllable. Sarina didn’t seem to notice; her hazel eyes were shining bright.

      “He’s my daddy of course. He wants us to live with him in his castle.” she pointed towards her wardrobe; it was castle shaped with a crenelated parapet and engraved doors. The closet was the crown jewel of her princess-themed room. I’d found it on the curb, abandoned in one of the wealthier neighborhoods.

      “Mommy, why don’t we live with Daddy?”

      I knew a day would come where my daughter would need answers. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to give them to her. Not yet. My internal prayer smoldered in my chest, but I pushed the thought away.

      Instead of facing what might have been a pivotal moment in our relationship, I changed the subject:

      “Which story should I read?”

      Her sour face told me that she knew exactly what I was up to. She flung herself back into her pillows, crossing her arms stiffly. Redness flared across her forehead as a tantrum brewed, barely restrained.

      “How about Aladdin?” I suggested. Princess Jasmine was her favorite, but this wasn’t enough to cool her temper; she shook her head.

      “… Go to bed, Mommy. I want Daddy to tell me a story instead.”  Her lips quivered, but she kept her eyes fixed on the castle closet instead of looking at me.

      The rejection stung. I leaned over to give her forehead a kiss, which she sullenly accepted. When I made it back to my bedroom, I broke down in tears and let the mascara run into my pillow. As I calmed down and began to drift off to sleep, I heard my daughter laugh and incoherent bits of one-sided conversation.

      “Daddy… why … castle… when… mommy…”

      I woke up to Sarina’s grinning face, her hands behind her back. “Good morning, mommy!” she sounded so cheerful. Groggy, I returned the greeting and offered a sleepy smile as I threw off the covers and swooped down to hug her.

      My hands met something cold and wet. Reflexively, I let go and looked at her closely. The little girl grinned sheepishly and showed me what she was holding. A handful of small, purple flowers; a large clump of wet dirt clinging to the roots.

      “A present from Daddy!” she declared proudly, holding them out to me. I didn’t recognize the flowers, spiky and wet, but it looked like she’d dug them out of someone’s garden.

      “Sweetie, did you go outside before I woke up?” I asked.

      “Not me, the prince.” Sarina immediately corrected. “To cheer you up. You seemed sad.”

      “I see.” I didn’t. “Well, make sure he asks the neighbors permission before going into someone else’s garden, and let me know so I don’t worry.” I didn’t believe her, but I felt so guilty from the night before that I couldn’t bring myself to call her out on her lie.

      “Okay!” she agreed immediately. I took the flowers, they were in bad shape; soggy, sad little things. I decided to let them air out by the kitchen window and told her to wash up. My little girl had mud up to her elbows! She skipped off while I busied myself making waffles. I pulled the rollers out of her hair when she returned, mud-free, before we sat down to enjoy breakfast.

      “Did you like the flowers?” she asked, looking attentively at her waffle as I poured the syrup; she wasn’t satisfied until every square was filled.

      “Of course, sweetie. Any gift from you is special to me.”  I didn’t like the flowers, but I appreciated the gesture. You aren’t supposed to be completely honest with children.

      Sarina nodded with satisfaction. “He said you would! Now can we go live with him?” I nearly choked, setting down my fork and looking at her. Apparently, this conversation was going to happen, whether I was ready or not.

      “I’m sorry honey. We’re going to stay here; this is our home. We can’t move in with him.”

      “Why?” I paused. Like most parents, I was accustomed to the whys of children; that single syllable was the epitome of frustration and dread, but… I’d do my best to answer, as gently as I could.

      “Because I’m not married to him.” I tried to keep it simple. My little girl nodded but was undeterred. Her smile came back.

      “Okay. Well, then get married to him.” in her eyes, this was an easy fix. I shook my head.

      “He never asked me to marry him.” I admitted, “But that’s okay, sweetie. We have everything we need here. I have you, and you have me.”

      “He just has to ask?” the hopeful look on her face broke my heart. It wasn’t that simple. Blake didn’t want kids; he’d made that abundantly clear. I wasn’t about to reach out to him after all these years.

      “Maybe,” I said. Saying ‘no’ seemed too harsh. “But I like things the way they are right now.”

      “He told me he wants to already.” she insisted, “and he gave you a present.” my stomach twisted with a weird flutter of discomfort. Her insistence was genuine, and I found the fantasy disturbing. Do little girls typically dream up princes for their mothers?

      Well, maybe the ones without fathers do.

      “Sweetie, he didn’t propose.” suddenly, I was tired again. I wanted to go back to my room and hide under the covers. I couldn’t deal with any more questions, not even one. As though she sensed this, my daughter went back to her room. I could hear her playing, leaving me to scrub syrup off the table.

      When I went to check on her later, she was standing in the dark and lightly knocking on the castle wardrobe. Tap tap tap, then pausing as if she waited for an answer. Naturally, she didn’t get one. Sarina saw me looking and smiled bashfully.

      “He said he sleeps during the day.” she explained, “but I wanted to tell him the good news.” I assumed she meant ‘Daddy Prince’.

      “What good news?”

      Sarina didn’t say anything, staring so intently at the closet doors that I thought she must not have heard me. I flicked on her bedroom light, which got her attention.

      “Don’t! He doesn’t like the light on.” I decided to humor her and turned it back off. I was a little concerned about the prince character she was concocting. What sort of prince preferred the dark? Then again, she’d said he was sleeping. Kid logic is irrefutable at that age, so I let it go. You learn to pick your battles as a parent.

      Leaving her to her to play, I sat at the kitchen table to pay bills and balance my checkbook. I lived paycheck to paycheck and had to pay things strategically. I could afford to pay late on some bills, but not on others. How nice it would be, if there really was a prince ready to sweep in and take care of my problems. If only.

      Sarina kept to her room. When I went to get her for lunch, she was still sitting in the dark. She’d changed into one of her costume dresses; mint green satin and tulle, with a plastic crown and ribbon-wrapped scepter. Her subjects were strewn about the room, face down: barbies, mostly, but also a few stuffed animals. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about a scene like this… but it was a little odd when the lights were off with the curtains closed.

      “It’s dark in here, honey. Are you sure you don’t want it on?” The only light came from the hallway, a yellow square of light that fell across my daughter’s small form. She beamed at me, clearly having a blast with her game.

      “I don’t want the lights.” she said, “Can I eat in my room? I’m not done playing.”

      “Alright. Come get it. Don’t forget to rinse your plate when you’re done.”  Sarina was usually a bit more energetic, ripping through the house and demanding near constant attention. I was a little unnerved, but also relieved to have a small break. Her preoccupation would enable me to finish my errands and get the house in order, no small feat with a young daughter.

      Sarina skipped into the dining room, grabbed her plate, then paused suddenly. Her dark eyes fixed on the table for a moment, before she looked at me in confusion.

      “Where are the flowers? You said you liked them.”

      “They’re drying out, princess.” I smiled at her, gesturing towards the window. “They were a little wet.”

      “Oh.” she looked disappointed but didn’t say anything else. Plate in hand, she went back to her room. I heard the door close behind her. For some reason, I wanted to cry. I ate my lunch alone at the table, then went to retrieve the flowers. I brought them to the sink; the stems were tangled. Carefully, I worked them apart and rinsed away the clump of dirt holding them together.

      A metallic clink caught my attention. Something had come loose from the dirt and fallen into the sink… a ring? A muddy, tarnished ring. I picked it up, then held it under running water. It was missing a stone, and the filigree band was slightly bent… with a little love it could be beautiful again.

      It looked very old; I didn’t know if it was valuable or not, but it was probably important to someone. I slipped the ring onto my right ring finger so I wouldn’t lose it, intending to find the owner later. I couldn’t help but think about the conversation I’d had during breakfast.

      “Looks like he proposed after all.” I laughed, amused by the coincidence. Of course, my daughter found the flowers with a ring tangled in their roots. I dropped the flowers in a bowl on the table, making a sad excuse for a centerpiece. I didn’t add water; they were wet enough already. Apparently, Sarina’s Prince Charming lived in a swamp.

      Sarina stayed in her room until dinner. By then, the house was tidy, and my errands were done. When I went to get Sarina, the door was closed, and the lights were off. I knocked lightly on the door before opening it, to find my daughter standing at the castle wardrobe. The double doors were open, and she was leaning forward, peering inside.

      I turned on the light, causing her to glare at me. “Turn the lights OFF, mommy!” I didn’t, not liking the tone she was taking with me.

      “Go wash up for dinner. Now.” when she didn’t start marching, I began to count. “1….” she crossed her arms, “2…” she stomped her foot, but before I could get to three the stormed past me– slamming the door behind her.

      The wardrobe was still open, so I walked over to close it. The carpet was wet, soaking through my slippers, squishing with every step. As I moved to close the closet, I saw something. A pale face, crowned with golden curls and forget-me-not eyes.

      “Blake?”

      But my ex was not crouching in his daughter’s closet. There was nothing there, except a selection of dress up clothes and plastic jewelry. The face was gone almost as soon as I’d seen it, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. I closed the doors and stood there for a long moment in silence.

      Dinner was cold by the time I ladled it onto our plates. I didn’t even remember walking back to the kitchen. Sarina pushed noodles around with her fork but didn’t eat them. We didn’t talk. I felt like some part of me had checked out.

      “Mommy?” her voice pulled me back. I looked up to see her smiling at me. Relieved that the storm had passed, I smiled back.

      “What is it, sweetheart?”

      “You’re wearing the ring.” I looked down at my hands, and suddenly remembered the sorry little thing I was wearing on my right hand.

      “Oh, only for safekeeping.” I answered, “I need to find the owner. I didn’t want to lose it.”

      Sarina giggled. “You’re the owner, silly!”

      “I’ll hold onto it, for now.” I answered, reaching over to tousle her dark curls. Her hair was damp, which gave me pause.

      “Why is your hair wet?” I asked. Sarina slouched in her chair and went back to moving food around her plate. “The carpet was wet too.” I added softly, keeping my voice quiet and non-confrontational. My little girl didn’t look up, keeping her head down.

      “Can you tell me why?” she pushed her plate away, getting up from the table and running down the hall. I heard her bedroom door slam moments later. I buried my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths, giving myself a moment before I stood and walked over to the sink to rinse off our barely touched plates. Once the kitchen was clean, I grabbed the rag towels from under the sink so I could blot Sarina’s wet carpet.

      Her door was closed, so I knocked before opening. Sarina was in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin. The lights were off, the closet doors were ajar. My daughter was acting strange, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. I could see her forehead furrowed from the effort as she pretended to be asleep.

      “You don’t want me to read you a bedtime story first?” I asked her softly as I dropped the towels on the floor. Brownish, reddish stains spread across the rags– like murky rust. The smell was bad too, like mildew and rot. “…I’ll rent a carpet cleaner tomorrow. Try not to track in any more mud, it’s hard to clean.” I did my best not to sound angry, but there was a quiver in my voice. I wanted to cry.

      I blotted up the mess as best I could, spraying down the area with carpet cleaner and ruining towels in the process. Muddy carpets shouldn’t have been a breaking point for me, but with my daughter feigning sleep only feet away… I was weak. Why was everything so hard? Every obstacle broke me. I was a bad mother; weak, broken and alone. As much as I pretended everything was alright, nothing was.

      “Mommy.” Sarina spoke softly, startling me back to attention. “I want you to be happy. You’re sad all the time.” I looked up; she was sitting up in bed now. She looked past me, at the closet. The doors were still open, but I didn’t see any phantom exes peering back at us.

      “I know sweetie. I’m sorry, I’m doing my best.”

      “You’re wearing it on the wrong hand.” she answered, flopping back into her pillows and pulling the blankets up to her nose. I didn’t know what she meant, but she closed her eyes again. I stood up, kissing her on the forehead.

      “Goodnight.” my throat felt tight but having a breakdown in her room wasn’t the answer. I needed to get some rest. I was tired, that’s all. I moved to close the wardrobe, surprised to meet resistance. The doors didn’t close.

      “Leave it open. Daddy Prince likes to watch over me.”

      I was too tired to argue and left to take a long shower. The stink of the mud was sticking to me, even when I used my most fragrant soaps. After I was done, wrapped up in the only clean towel, I passed my daughter’s room on the way to mine. As I peered inside, something stopped me in my tracks.

      A white gloved hand, beckoning from the closet… and Sarina’s small hand reaching out to take it, before she was violently pulled into the wardrobe with a loud snap.

      “Sarina!”

      I ran into the bedroom just as the doors slammed shut. I pulled on the handles, alarmed by the deafening silence. My daughter didn’t answer my cries; she didn’t make a sound. When I managed to pry the doors open, the closet was empty. Even her dress-up clothes were gone.

      I screamed, but no one answered. I knocked, but no one answered. I begged, but no one answered. I even crawled into that tight space, closing myself in…but nothing happened.

      The prince in my daughter’s closet had stolen her away. I didn’t sleep, curling up on the wet carpet and waiting for something, anything, to happen. Then I realized something… and sat down to write my story. People will notice we’re missing soon; they’ll probably think I did something unspeakable because the truth is unbelievable.

      The ring was on the wrong hand. She told me this, before the prince took her away. Maybe he was impatient for my answer. He asked me to marry him, after all. We’re going to live together in his castle. Sarina is waiting for me there; she couldn’t wait any longer.

      I can hear her singing now, with a song that erases my every doubt:

       

      Skin as white as bone,

      Lips as red as blood.

      Sitting on a throne

      Made of sticks and mud.

       

      Daddy Prince loves you,

      Daddy Prince loves me.

      …and I’ll love you, too

      We’ll be family.

       

      Don’t look for us.

      But if you must… check the closet.

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged creepy, creepypasta, daddy prince, dark, fiction, horror, nosleep, original, prince, prince charming, short story, writer, writing
    • Neon Nylon Strings – Scary Short Story

      Posted at 4:08 am by Penny Tailsup, on September 8, 2018

      No time? Listen to my narration instead by clicking this link!

      I’ve always had an aversion to the cracks between things.

      You know– tiny, dark spaces where a hand barely fits, but often ventures—in search of something lost.  It’s always something important you lose in those places, isn’t it? Car keys, a watch, a cell phone—things that will have you groping the darkness without much thought.

      The worst for me was the cracks in the couch, those narrow pockets of darkness. It wasn’t a rational fear, but knowing that didn’t help. I took measures to avoid searching there, obsessively keeping track of my things so I wouldn’t lose them in the first place.

      For example, my keys always hung in the same place, and my cell phone was either charging or clipped to my pants. The television remote took a little more ingenuity; even though I had a place for it, it always had a way of ending up between the cushions. I’d know exactly where it was, and go fishing in the cracks with a pair of tongs because I couldn’t bear sticking my hand down there.

      I was tired of living like that, I hated myself for being afraid of something so benign. I couldn’t help it though, I had an instinct that all the logic in the world couldn’t shake.

      I thought I’d found the perfect solution when I found the string.

      Braided neon nylon—I bought a spool of orange, the color of construction crews and traffic cones. I tied a string around the remote, leaving six feet of length to dangle and drape over the coffee table.

      It worked beautifully.

      The remote was always easy to find, that string was easy to see. When the remote inevitably found its way between couch cushions, I’d reel in the string at a strategic angle. It worked well, why wouldn’t I try it with other things too?

      I bought more neon nylon string, several spools in different colors: orange, yellow and green. I tied them to everything small and easily lost. My headphones, my charger, the kitchen scissors… even the salt and pepper shakers!

      It worked so well, I brought the strategy out of the house too. I tied the yellow strings to things that should always be on my person; my phone, my keys, my wallet…  if I ever saw yellow, I’d know I lost something. My pockets were always bulging with balls yellow string; for peace of mind, it was a small price to pay.

      At work, I tied green strings to things that fall in that space between the wall and the desk; the pens, tape and stapler. It was an orderly chaos, those neon nylon strings. There was a method to my madness, but no one else understood it.

      When my boss called me into the office about the complaints, I did my best to explain. He didn’t get it, but he couldn’t make me stop. I could do whatever I wanted, so long as the items were my personal property and I wasn’t tying them on company time.

      With time, my house resembled an art project rather than a living space. Bright orange strings draped across every surface, in every direction—carefully laid out, strategically placed. Walking around become an exercise in balance and flexibility, but still… it was worth it.

      Of course, there is no such thing as a perfect solution; the problems with this method of organization began to present themselves before long.

      The strings tangled; it became hard to tell which strings attached to what. I spent a lot of time maintaining, untangling everything and monitoring the cracks between things to see if any thread lead into the dark.

      I stopped inviting people over, it was too tiring to explain. No explanation I could give seemed adequate. I knew it was strange, but it made me feel safer. I was in complete control, the puppet master in this colorful world.

      There were other problems too; the slightest movement would cause a chain reaction, the strings constantly quivered and rustled softly with only the slightest touch—even a breeze through an open window was enough to cause constant motion. I always saw movement in my periphery, only to realize it was the string when I turned to check.

      At night, I’d wake up because several strands would swipe softly against my skin. Once I realized it was just the string, I’d relax and fall back asleep… but that initial moment, half asleep, when you feel an unexplained touch…? Terrifying.

      After a while, I got used to the poking and prodding of the strings and stopped noticing… until the night I woke up on the floor.

      I wasn’t sure why I’d woken up at first,  reaching for the blacklight on my nightstand… only to realize I was touching carpet. Unable to see in the dark, I waited for my eyes to adjust. Before long, the furniture around me took shape… only slightly darker than the blackness around me.

      Once I was better oriented, I was able to sit up to reach the nightstand; I felt resistance as I found the light, and realized with the neon illumination that I had somehow become tangled in the strings.

      Thick bundles of cord were coiled around my calves and left elbow, pulled taut. The strings stretched out the door and down the hall, vibrating and twisting—braiding together, as though to form a thick rope. I tried to reach down and untangle myself, but it was too difficult.

      Panic set in when my body unexpectedly moved, the knots tightened by a sharp pull—I slid across the carpet, towards the door… becoming more tangled as I struggled.  I caught the door frame with my free hand before I could be yanked out, the door frame creaking in protest as the wood strained and warped.

      I heard things breaking in another room, and the soft scrape of objects being dragged… all of the strings were moving in one direction— the persistent tug didn’t stop. My grip grew weaker as I held on for dear life, until my sweaty fingers slipped. Splinters of wood bit into my skin, and once again I was reeled into the deepening darkness, down the hall.

      I fumbled for furniture, anything I could catch onto… and found nothing. I felt like a fish on the end of a line, the catch of some unseen monstrosity in the dark. It was not a gentle current, knocking me into walls and the various objects that joined me on this harrowing journey.

      Raw terror almost sent me into a blind panic, but my survival instincts kicked in. Nature and genetics hadn’t bestowed me with sharp claws, but I still had teeth– and I used them, tearing like an animal at the strands that had twisted about my elbow. The friction tore at the corners of my mouth, but I ignored the pain and bit down as hard as I could, sawing at the threads until they frayed and snapped.

      It worked, though my mouth was burning and bloody– long, limp strands of string hung from the crook of my elbow… now I had control of both arms. I started ripping off my pajama bottoms— screaming in pain when I dislocated my ankle to slip free from the massive knot. I felt like a coyote in a trap, doing what I could to free myself even if it meant an injury.

      Free, I hobbled down the hall on one foot, it was easy enough to dodge the undulating strings as they began to converge into one thick mass. I turned on the hallway light, using the wall as support as I eased myself slowly towards the kitchen. I was in bad shape, covered in rug burn and blood. Adrenaline kept me moving even when I shouldn’t have been able to stand.

      Not much was left of the kitchen. Everything I’d tied had already been pulled into that tangled body… fortunately; the knife block hadn’t made it far. For practical reasons, I hadn’t tied strings to any of the knives. Although the block had been knocked to the floor, the knives were still safely housed inside. I grabbed the biggest one with my least injured hand.

      Armed, I limped after the strings into the living room– the source of the pull. When I turned on the lights I could see objects catching on things, getting stuck.  Everything was converging on the couch, in the gap between the left armrest and the cushions.

      Now that I was closer to the source, I could hear it… a sucking sound, wet and smacking, as though my couch were enjoying a plate of pasta, noodles of string being slurped into that cramped abyss.

      Pushing back the disbelief, I got to work with the knife—hacking inelegantly at the writhing neon vein, freeing what possessions I could before they were all sucked down that bottomless maw.

      I didn’t save much, but it was better than nothing. At sunrise, I paid the paperboy  $100.00 to dump the couch on the curb for me, and another $20.00 so he wouldn’t ask questions.

      Even at a distance, from the safety of my window… I could still see those neon nylon strings, a spray of orange twisted into the frayed ends of rope. It stuck out of the gap, only a few inches in length— as if to bait me to reach out, and reel the darkness in.

      I could reclaim all I’d lost, with just a pull of the strings. But no,  I wouldn’t take the bait. I knew something was waiting on the other side to pull me in. No… I’d let my lost things stay lost.

      For all my fear, I’d somehow neglected to remember that a string can be pulled from both ends.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 4 Comments | Tagged couch, creepy, dark, furniture, horror, neon, nylon, original, phobia, short story, story, string, strings, weird
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