Today's entry into our Short Story Orgy set (number 5), comes from our new fiction editor Becca Kelly. It's perfectly ghoulish for Halloween. Becca is currently immersed in editing a forthcoming anthology of young Wolverhampton writers, 3 Years in Wolverhampton; and has already been an active voice for our projects within the cultural community. If you have a short sharp story, send it. We are thrilled to have Becca's help.
IT'S ONLY FAYRE
Rides and stages, carts and stalls; fire-breathers, jugglers, clowns and mimes; buttery popcorn, sweet candyfloss and fried goods; joyful screams and hearty laughter bubbling up through the beat of lively music. Everything bursting with colour except one lonely stall on the edge of the forest. Deep coal black from its awning to its giant wheels to the camera looming nearby. A slate leaning against one wheel read: Picture with a spectre! Fresh from the grave for your pleasure.
A mother and her two children approached.
“Does it do possession?” the mother asked the vendor.
“Ah, no, not yet. Still in training. But,” the vendor pressed, seeing her face drop in disappointment, “it’s got great scares. It were murdered, y’see.”
The little boy gasped. “Mom, Mom, Mom! Please! I’ve never seen a murdered one!”
“Oh, alright then,” she relented, and the vendor near drooled when he caught the fat wad of cash in her purse. “How much?”
“Two hundred.”
She handed it over without thought.
“Bobby!” he bellowed. The thing appeared in front of him, head bowed, wooden soldier clutched between its broken, purple fingers. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Chin up, son. Let ‘em have a look.”
Bobby lifted its head.
“Ewwww!” the little girl exclaimed. “Where’s its eyes gone? Is that how it was murdered? Someone stole its eyes?”
“Idiot,” the boy scoffed. “Can’t you see its throat?” He edged closer for a better look. “Woah, it’s still bleeding! It can’t have long died!”
“Oh, yes!” The vendor ducked down and pulled out a wooden box. ‘Kane & Son’ was stamped on top in bone white ink. From it, he pulled out a wicked knife and spoon. “These are the murder weapons.” He waved them in front of the children. Blood splattered across their gawking faces. “Oops, sorry ‘bout that.”
“Children, we don’t have all day,” their mother said. “Why don’t you climb that big tree there and we’ll take the picture, hm?”
The children scampered up the tree, shoving each other to get the highest branch.
“Go on, son.” The vendor urged Bobby forward. Bobby mutely followed the children and stood in front of the trunk, the children hanging onto the branches above it.
The vendor lined up the shot. There was a great boom and a flash as the picture was taken. With a smug little smile, he showed the mother the result. Her two children were both beautiful and smiling and, while Bobby had a terrifying face, it was only 4 feet tall, made smaller still by the way it folded in on itself like a crumpled paper plane. She frowned at it. “That’s pathetic,” she sneered. His smile faltered. “If I wanted to see a normal one, I would have gone to the local graveyard. Where’s the scares you promised?”
“Ah, well, that was just a warm-up!” he assured. He angled a glare at Bobby, who was shaking as if freezing cold. Then he remembered the thing was blind and instead ambled over with forced nonchalance. “Bobby.” His eyes darted up at the curious children watching him and he crouched down to Bobby’s level, lowering his voice. “Son. This ain’t the time to go shy on me. Gimme something to work with. I – we – need their money.” Bobby stared through the vendor, who was now wondering if he’d accidentally made the thing go deaf as well as blind. He shook it slightly, making it sway as if caught in a current. “Ya wanna see your mom again? I’ll let ya go home for the day if ya put on a good show. How ‘bout a new solider too? This one’s all rotten now. That’ll be nice, eh?”
Blood fell in steady streams from Bobby’s eye sockets.
“What’s taking so long?” the mother called. She was standing behind the camera, watching them through the lens.
“Just making sure it knows how to give you the best scare!” He flashed her a smile before he turned back to Bobby. He snatched the soldier out of its hands and tossed it. Bobby opened and closed its mouth, flashing pointed yellow teeth. The vendor grabbed it by the jaw, his fingers pressed against its lips. “Listen, you little monster – ARGH!” Pain lanced through his hand where Bobby had sunk its teeth in. He jerked free, slipping onto his backside in the mud. Bobby leapt at him, clamping its hands around his throat.
The children squealed in delight.
The vendor gasped, clawing at Bobby, but his attempts only grew weaker and weaker against Bobby’s abnormal strength. Black veins popped in its arms as it squeezed. There was a great boom and a flash at the exact moment it wrenched the vendor’s neck sharply sideways.
Bobby stood, brushed itself off uselessly, and said, “Can we go home now, Daddy?”
© 2024, Becca Kelly
Essential Information
Main image Gemini AI generated from a word prompt based on Becca Kelly's story
Short Story Orgy encounters...
Short Story Orgy #0: Introducing the Short Story Orgy series
Short Story Orgy #1: Kiah Cranston - Going Round The Bend
Short Story Orgy #2: Charlie Hill - Genocide
Short Story Orgy #3: David O'Byrne - The Listeners EV Reboot
Short Story Orgy #4: Wayne Dean-Richards - Supermarket Shoot
Short Story Orgy #5: Becca Kelly - It's Only Fayre