Bruce Memblatt

Fairy Tale

 

 

He imagined himself sultry lingering on some lonely street corner.

 

He imagined himself with a bottle just edging his lips.

 

He imagined himself wandering…

 

Moonlight flickered through the branches. Alone in the woods, seventeen year old Billy sang the song. He didn’t care if Paul, or Jack, or any of those high school rejects called him a fag again. He loved the song. His Mama used to sing him to sleep with it.

 

When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are...

 

And he was going to sing it tonight.

 

The moon looked so full and alive just lazing against the trees. He took a deep breath and he began to mouth the melody, and as the words danced from his lips like beams of unbridled dreams, blood washed across the moon. The lonesome white island in the sky turned dripping red, and Billy froze.

 

His eyes punched across the woods around him. To his left, to his right - nothing but leaves, trees. Branches scattering in the wind bathed in the insidious red glow.

 

He felt like he was dying. He wanted to run, but something wouldn't let him. Something ugly surrounding him that he couldn’t see, but he could feel it inside him - real- like a man - burning his belly like fire.

 

His stomach stung like acid peeled through it.

 

He had to get home.

 

He ran through the trees grabbing at his belly.

 

A tear slipped down his left cheek.

 

The strands of hair that seemed to always fall over his eyes were pushed back now. His face - his eyes looked strangely naked, as if he’d been unmasked, but Billy never wore a mask, Billy was always Billy.

 

He pushed on harder- faster. The red moonlight raced through the treetops, dogging him, daring him. He wanted to cry. He just wanted to stop and cry. Would no one rescue him?

 

There was the trail; the  trail that led out of the wood to the road where his house stood - old and shitty, but it was home.

 

Why did he ever go out into these woods tonight? He came out here to get away from the assholes in town, to get fool drunk on the moon, to sing the song, and wish.

 

Wishes, damn wishes will kill you, Billy thought, before he tore down the trail.

 

Pushing through the screen door he could smell his mother’s heavy perfume. He heard the screen snap shut behind him like a cage locking. The air in the living room felt muggy and heavy as a swamp. Old magazines and an empty popcorn bag stretched across the couch. Kernels littered the floor below. Billy kicked them and the empty scotch bottle away with his shoes, as he sat down on the sofa trying to catch his breath.

 

He saw his mother’s shadow at the top of the stairs, and then he heard her drunken voice.

 

“Where were you, Billy?"

 

She began to descend like Athena from Olympus. Her robe was torn, and her hair was a mess, but in Billy's eyes she was beautiful. The fire in his belly subsided.

 

"You heard me, Billy, where were you?"

 

“Out Mama,” he smirked and crossed his legs, resting his head back deep into the sofa cushion.

 

“Billy!”

 

“You know, Mama, in the woods!"

 

“Why do you spend so much time out there alone? What is going on with you, Billy?” She said as she stepped off the last step.

 

Looking at Billy directly she headed straight towards him, Billy thought, like a bull charging a matador.

 

He sat up. “Nothing, Mama, you know I just like to go out there and get away from everything. It’s like fantasy. Like going to the movies but cheaper.”

 

She sat down next to him, “Billy you are spending too much time out there alone.”

 

“I like being alone.”

 

“Once in a while is fine, but a boy your age.”

 

“Oh, please, Mama!”

 

She wrapped her arm around his shoulders.  Billy knew that meant she was going to ask him something personal. He took in a deep breath and he pouted in the way he had a thousand times before. This was Billy's - oh no something's up - pout, not to be confused with his - are you crazy? - pout.

 

“Billy, hope you don’t mind my asking, but have you borrowed my black dress again?”

 

A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes. “Oh, mama, that old thing, you know I have better taste than that.”

 

“What do you mean? I’ll have you know I got that OLD THING at Bloomingdales!”

 

“But that was twenty years ago, Mama. A pretty young thing like me needs something more modern.” He pursed his lips.

 

“Billy, you stop this. You stop this right, now. Remember you are a boy!”

 

“A strange boy,” Billy said and then he got up from the couch and began to laugh hard.

 

He saw his mother start in too, and he just stood for a moment and watched the twinkle in her eyes, and he wished he could really talk to her, instead of joking, but the joking, it seemed, was the only thing that worked for them.

 

He headed towards the steps.

 

“Where you going, Billy?”

 

“To bed, Mamma,” he said as he climbed the stairs.

 

Sandra, now alone on the couch, pushed the cushion behind her away, and reached for the other bottle of scotch.

 

####

 

Alone in his room, Billy tore off his jeans and began to pull his legs through his pajama bottoms. He was probably the only teenage boy left in the Western World who still wore pajamas. He didn’t care they made him feel soft.

 

 He opened his closet and posed in front of the mirror that hung on the door. His smooth chest splashed by the cool white moonlight made him smile. He pulled the pajama top over his head, shook his hair, and headed over to the window. Red light edged around the shutters, but Billy didn’t see. He was safe inside his home.. The light he saw was white.

 

 He pulled the shutters open; one last look at the night before bed.

 

He saw it real! The moon was red, dripping blood.

 

No, not here at home too. Not with his Mama just downstairs. Not in the warmth of his room.

 

He raced for the door. His breaths grew manic.

 

Standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing, he cried, “Mamma look out the window! Please, look out the window!”

 

But beneath him all Billy heard return was his mother's sleepy drunken voice singing, "When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.”

 

Sadly shaking his head he whispered, "Oh Mama," and then he rushed back to his room, making sure to slam the door behind him.

His bed looked like it was the only sane place left in the world.  He slid onto his mattress, and wrapped the blanket around his body tight. He would have to face this alone the same way he faced everything. He stared at the ceiling. The red light of the moon still illuminated the walls. He wondered if the red dream would soon swallow him.

 

 How could he fight the moon?

 

He made up his mind that he would never wish again. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shivering shoulders, and he tried to move his thoughts to a happy place.

 

#####

 

It seemed like it would never move. Oh god, please make it move. Billy stared at the classroom clock. It was only two. It must have been two o’clock for six hours. Pleeeeeeez make it three! And please make Ms. Sherman shut up, and stop yammering on about the Magna Carta. And Jesus Christ, will someone please buy her a new dress!

 

He looked at the desk to his left. There was Jack Grady, hot as ever, but also looking smugger than ever. Looking meaner too, whispering something in Paul Gunderson's ear, then pointing at Billy. And then Jack would turn to Paul again, and the both of them would start giggling. They must have been having a good old laugh over Billy about something. Of course Ms. Sherman didn't notice because she was still droning on about the freaking Magna Carta! Would three p.m. ever arrive? Would this day EVER END?

 

Then something occurred that would later make Billy wish the school bell never rang.

 

Three o‘clock finally came and the bell went off.  Most of the students shot out of the room before Ms. Sherman could complete her final sentence on the infamous Magna Carta.

 

Still, she cried, as the next to last set of footsteps leapt for the door," Remember there is a pop quiz tomorrow! And please no one forget their homework!"

 

Then she turned around. There was only one student left in the room.

 

"Are you okay, Billy? Why are you still here? You're usually the first one to make a mad dash for the exit."

 

“Isn’t a pop quiz supposed to be a surprise, Ms. Sherman?"

 

She rolled her eyes. “What is the difference? You people don't listen to a word I say anyway.”

 

Billy grinned.

 

“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong. Why are you still here?”

 

He straightened his shoulders and looked directly in Sherman’s eyes. “Well, I have a few questions about the Magna Carta.”

 

“Oh please, Billy you don’t give a rat’s ass about the Magna Carta.”

 

He feigned a sigh. “But, Ms. Sherman it’s all I dream about.”

 

She waved him away while she pulled a folder from her desk.” Now you get out of here Billy, just go. Please. It’s been a long day.”

 

He didn’t respond. He just quietly headed for the door.

 

“Billy, are you okay? Is anyone bothering you?”

 

He turned around. There was pain in his eyes, but he said “I’m fine, Ms. Sherman thanks for asking.”

 

“I want you to know if anything is wrong you can tell me.”

 

“Thanks, Ms. Sherman,” Billy said, and he threw on a smile.” You have a good night.”

 

“You too, Billy. See you tomorrow.”

 

He peered to his left, and then to his right as he exited the classroom. The halls had nearly emptied out in the few minutes he’d spent with Ms. Sherman. Nothing could empty a building faster than the three o’clock bell. Still, something was eating at him. All the warning bells in his head were blaring.

 

He should have said something to Sherman. What on earth was wrong with him? Why was he always pushing people away? Another gift he borrowed from his mother.

 

He slowly walked down the hallway towards the large sunlit glass double doors. Passing by the lockers, the fire extinguishers, the posters on the walls, the only sounds he could hear echoing were his own; his shoes slapping against the floor tiles. It must have been the saddest sound in the world.

 

If he could just make it through those doors and out the parking lot.

 

But, the moment he pushed through the double doors it happened. Jack Grady stood on his left side and Paul Gunderson on his right. Both of them grinning like fools.

 

Immediately, he tried to run, but Jack Grady grabbed his right arm tight. “Where are you going, Billy?  What’s wrong? We just want to talk with you.”

 

“Yeah," Paul Gunderson said grabbing Billy’s left arm. Then he smirked, "we just want to escort you home, Billy. It ain’t safe for a lady to be walking home all by herself these days.”

 

He dug his heels in. He tried to pull away, but all Billy could see was Jack Grady’s handsome face laughing. "Tell us what you were doing in those woods last night, Billy?  C’mon you pretty little bitch tell me. Were you making believe you were Little Red Riding Hood waiting for your hot wolf?"

 

“Let me, go, Jack! Please! Let me go.”

 

Jack grabbed onto Billy tighter, allowing Paul to maneuver Billy’s skull into a head lock. He was going to DIE. He was certain he would never make it through the day. What did these mother fuckers want from him?

 

He had nothing to lose. He cried, “What do you want from me, Jack? What is the deal? You wanna piece of my ass? You wanna fuck me?”

 

Suddenly, Jack Grady’s face turned beet red and scary as the moon.  Suddenly, Billy felt Paul Gunderson’s arms release him, and then all he saw was the flesh of Jack’s fist as it slammed into his face, before he slammed into the pavement below.

 

It stung like a son of a bitch.  Billy began to cry.

 

Pulling himself up from the asphalt, he saw Jack and Paul tear through the parking lot.

 

Then Billy ran home.

 

He barreled through the screen door. This time he didn’t hear it snap behind him, because it fell off its hinges.

 

He heard his mother’s voice cry. "Billy, what on earth is going on?”

 

He had to get to a mirror before she saw him. He raced past the couch saying" We may need a new door, Mother."

 

"Billy!" She cried tossing a cushion at him. It just missed him. He was now halfway up the steps. Tears still rolled down his face.

When he reached the top of the stairs he raced to the bathroom in the hallway, flipped on the light, and glared into the mirror.

 

His eye –it was black- swollen. He just stood staring at his face, at his eye, like the world had come to an end. How would  he explain this to Mama? What would the kids in school say tomorrow? They would just laugh at his ridiculous face. At the ridiculous person he had become. The tears then streamed down his cheeks like rain. Why couldn't he have kept his big mouth shut? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Why couldn't everyone just leave everyone alone?

 

He raced down the hallway and ducked into his mother's room. He pulled her top bureau drawer open, grabbed her makeup kit out of the drawer, and stashed it in his jacket pocket. Then he reached into her closet and grabbed her old black dress. The one she got at Bloomingdales. The old one she thought he'd borrowed. Mother, looks like I will need this old thing after all.

 

####

 

It was nearly night. Billy ran down the trail back to the woods. His black dress billowed in the breeze. He pulled it close to his body tight. He didn't care anymore. He had to get away from everyone. Billy could cry a river of tears. He touched his eye. It still stung like the devil. Makeup doesn't cover up pain. It just hides it, just like he had to do now. He had to hide.

 

Finally, there were his woods. He stopped for a moment, catching his breath, and then he slipped into the trees. Into the tiny clearing he had escaped to nearly every night lately. The moon would be back soon. White. Please, God, let it be white.

 

And when it returned it was white.

 

And Billy stood there in his black dress entranced by the glow of moonlight, bathing him through the branches, as they swayed in a gentle breeze.

 

For a moment he felt like everything was right in the world.

 

And he sang the song…

 

If your heart is in your dream

No request is too extreme...

 

Then suddenly like magic before him, he saw his dream. Billy became all squishy inside. He could barely believe his eyes.  He had to be the most beautiful boy in the world. Oh no, this had to be a dream. But he looked so real, so irresistible.

 

The boy, the dream, stepped towards Billy, under the radiant moon, and he said,” Why are you wearing a dress?  You’re a beautiful boy, take off your dress.”

 

And Billy tore his mother’s black dress off. Then he threw it to the leaves below like it was trash.

 

Now Billy stood naked before the boy, and the boy continued to move toward him - so beautiful.

 

A smile came to his succulent lips, and he said, “What happened to your eye?”

 

“Got slammed," was all Billy could think to say. Why was he always such an idiot?

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it." The boy said and he wrapped his arms around Billy.

 

It was unimaginable. It was too good to be true. It had to be a dream, but Billy didn’t care. He put his arms around the boy and he held him fast. He could cry. He could cry good tears now.

 

But, as his eyes looked over the boy's soft shoulders he saw the red light hitting the branches, and he looked up. God, no the moon was blood red again!

 

The boy held Billy tighter, harder and suddenly Billy felt something cold pinch his chest.

 

His eyes glanced down. His belly was soaked red - covered in blood.

 

Billy screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

 

Not a dream a nightmare.

 

Furiously, the boy’s hands ripped through his body like they were claws.

 

Then the dream grinned and said, blood dripping from his teeth,” You are too beautiful to live, Billy.”

 

And his claws tore into Billy again. Blood pooled down his chest.

 

Damn every wish that ever was. Damn every hidden treasure - every fairy tale.

 

The boy wouldn’t stop tearing into Billy, ripping him apart under the red moon.

 

Then Billy’s blood soaked the leaves, washing over his mother’s black dress.

 

And everything became quiet.

 

At that moment Jack Grady, walking through the trail, suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He could swear he heard a wolf howl.

 

 

 

Bruce Memblatt is a native New Yorker, and a member of the Horror Writers Association .He is on the staff of The Horror Zine as Kindle Coordinator. His story "Destination Unknown," received an honorable mention in the 2012  L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Awards. This month his story, "Wish Upon an Indifferent Clearing" will be featured in FORGOTTEN PLACES : BEST OF THE HORROR SOCIETY 2014.

His works have been published several times in anthology books, magazines and zines such as Aphelion, Nameless Magazine (Cycatrix Press), Suspense Magazine, Post Mortem Press, Dark Moon Books, Sam's Dot Publishing, Strange Weird and Wonderful Magazine, The Horror Zine, Midwest Literary Magazine, Parsec Ink, The Feathertale, and DM.