Standing outside the study door, I look to my fiancee, pleading.
"I really have to do this?" I ask. "Ask permission?"
She nods, her expression serious, but a little embarrassed, like she had been confessing an intense fear of chickens.
"You do if you really want to marry me," she says. "Grandma's old fashioned that way."
I sigh, and put my hand on the doorknob. I hadn't met any of Ellen's family. I didn't think there were any to meet.
"Having second thoughts about your proposal?" Ellen asks, with just a hint of bite in her voice.
"No, no, of course not," I say, and swing the door open.
The room is dimly lit, the only illumination a small spotlight pointed at a sofa pushed up against one of the walls. Just within the lighted circle is a small child-sized stroller with a doll in it.
I take one look and turn back, not sure whether to laugh or grimace. "Are you serious?" I ask.
Ellen shrugs. "I think she likes the spectacle," she says. "She used to be in the circus, you know."
I take a few steps into the room, which I discover smells something like cooked beets. I look back at Ellen, who gives me the thumbs up and softly shuts the door.
I walk to the couch and sit. The stroller, positioned as it is, offers me a view of the doll inside. While not normally a connoisseur of dolls, I am intrigued by this one, as it appears to have been crafted with ultra-realistic hooved feet. I'm about to risk going over to pick it up when the door to the room opens again and a fifty-something woman in a sharp business suit walks in.
I immediately stand. "Mrs. Paulos?" I ask.
The woman flicks her gaze briefly to me and the walks directly to the stroller.
She squats next to the doll and begins to stroke its head delicately, whispering something I can't hear.
I wait, unsure exactly what she wants me to do. Eventually, she turns away from the stroller, but remains squatting next to it, one hand on the back of the seat, as if reassuring the doll of her presence.
"Mrs. Paulos?" I ask her again.
"Please," I hear a cracked voice from the stroller say, and my eyes dart to its occupant, whose eyes are now fixed on mine. "Call me Babygoat."
"I...I...er," I stammer, and then squeak out a cough, trying to regain my composure.
"I apologize for being asleep when you came in," the faun-thing says. "It is good my nurse came in when she did."
I glance to the woman squatting next to the stroller, but she doesn't look at me.
"Oh," I say, "no problem at all. I was thinking of taking a nap myself."
The doll-small eyes stare at me, and I realize I can't read her expression in the slightest.
"You are joking, I think?" the Doll-Grandma asks.
"Yes, er...sorry," I say, embarrassed that I am being intimidated by a two-foot old woman. Then I remember the goat legs, and forgive myself.
"You have something to ask me, Mister....?" she continues.
"Yes! Oh, right," I say. "Sorry. My name is Dave, er, David Evans."
I stick out my hand by force of introduction habit, and Ellen's grandmother just stares at it from her stroller.
"Yes, so, anyway," I stumble, dropping my hand to my side. "I wanted to ask for Ellen's, er, her...um...hand in marriage."
"You will have it," the tiny woman says.
"I will? Oh, great! That'll be great! Just wait until..." I blather, interrupted suddenly by the faun-thing shrieking. When I stop, she does.
"I have not finished," she says. "I will give you my blessing, once you have done me a service."
"A service?" I ask.
"A simple one," she says.
"Oh...okay," I say.
"You will take a cushion from that couch," she says, "and smother me with it. Smother me with it until I am dead."
"What?" I ask, and feel my body temperature drop a good five degrees.
"You will kill me, Mr. Evans," she says. "My nurse here has refused, and I would never dream of making little Ellen do it. So you are the obvious choice."
I stare at my hands, because they seem like the only safe thing to look at.
"Do we have an agreement, David?" she asks. "Quickly, now. I am an old woman in pain and cannot afford to dawdle."
"Okay," I whisper.
"I could not hear you," says the thing in the stroller.
"Okay!" I shout. "I'll do it."
"Very good," she says. "And use that anger. Hate me, if you can. It will make it easier."
I pick up one of the cushions and hold it in front of me. My hands are shaking.
"Do it!" the Thing screams. "I am an abomination! Destroy me!"
I thrust the pillow into the stroller, and feel It twitch beneath my hands for a long time. When I finally pull the pillow away, I realize I am crying. The nurse stands and looks at me with red eyes, an expression of horror on her face.
"I..." I start to say, and she runs from the room, flinging open the door.
I hear her screaming "He's killed her! He's killed her!" as she runs further down the hallway.
I stumble toward the door and out into the light of the hallway. Ellen is there, her back to me, staring in the direction of the screaming woman.
I reach out my hand to touch her, but draw back suddenly, realizing I've just killed someone with that hand.
I gasp, trying to get control of myself, and Ellen spins around, a huge smile beaming across her face.
"Wow!" she shouts. "I think she really liked you!"
I stare, opening and closing my mouth several times, but never quite able to speak.
"Did you talk to her dummy?" she asks, looking into the room. "She loves it when people talk to it. Says it shows respect for the Ventriloquist Art."
"Yes," I say, coughing. "Yes, I talked to the dummy."
"I really have to do this?" I ask. "Ask permission?"
She nods, her expression serious, but a little embarrassed, like she had been confessing an intense fear of chickens.
"You do if you really want to marry me," she says. "Grandma's old fashioned that way."
I sigh, and put my hand on the doorknob. I hadn't met any of Ellen's family. I didn't think there were any to meet.
"Having second thoughts about your proposal?" Ellen asks, with just a hint of bite in her voice.
"No, no, of course not," I say, and swing the door open.
The room is dimly lit, the only illumination a small spotlight pointed at a sofa pushed up against one of the walls. Just within the lighted circle is a small child-sized stroller with a doll in it.
I take one look and turn back, not sure whether to laugh or grimace. "Are you serious?" I ask.
Ellen shrugs. "I think she likes the spectacle," she says. "She used to be in the circus, you know."
I take a few steps into the room, which I discover smells something like cooked beets. I look back at Ellen, who gives me the thumbs up and softly shuts the door.
I walk to the couch and sit. The stroller, positioned as it is, offers me a view of the doll inside. While not normally a connoisseur of dolls, I am intrigued by this one, as it appears to have been crafted with ultra-realistic hooved feet. I'm about to risk going over to pick it up when the door to the room opens again and a fifty-something woman in a sharp business suit walks in.
I immediately stand. "Mrs. Paulos?" I ask.
The woman flicks her gaze briefly to me and the walks directly to the stroller.
She squats next to the doll and begins to stroke its head delicately, whispering something I can't hear.
I wait, unsure exactly what she wants me to do. Eventually, she turns away from the stroller, but remains squatting next to it, one hand on the back of the seat, as if reassuring the doll of her presence.
"Mrs. Paulos?" I ask her again.
"Please," I hear a cracked voice from the stroller say, and my eyes dart to its occupant, whose eyes are now fixed on mine. "Call me Babygoat."
"I...I...er," I stammer, and then squeak out a cough, trying to regain my composure.
"I apologize for being asleep when you came in," the faun-thing says. "It is good my nurse came in when she did."
I glance to the woman squatting next to the stroller, but she doesn't look at me.
"Oh," I say, "no problem at all. I was thinking of taking a nap myself."
The doll-small eyes stare at me, and I realize I can't read her expression in the slightest.
"You are joking, I think?" the Doll-Grandma asks.
"Yes, er...sorry," I say, embarrassed that I am being intimidated by a two-foot old woman. Then I remember the goat legs, and forgive myself.
"You have something to ask me, Mister....?" she continues.
"Yes! Oh, right," I say. "Sorry. My name is Dave, er, David Evans."
I stick out my hand by force of introduction habit, and Ellen's grandmother just stares at it from her stroller.
"Yes, so, anyway," I stumble, dropping my hand to my side. "I wanted to ask for Ellen's, er, her...um...hand in marriage."
"You will have it," the tiny woman says.
"I will? Oh, great! That'll be great! Just wait until..." I blather, interrupted suddenly by the faun-thing shrieking. When I stop, she does.
"I have not finished," she says. "I will give you my blessing, once you have done me a service."
"A service?" I ask.
"A simple one," she says.
"Oh...okay," I say.
"You will take a cushion from that couch," she says, "and smother me with it. Smother me with it until I am dead."
"What?" I ask, and feel my body temperature drop a good five degrees.
"You will kill me, Mr. Evans," she says. "My nurse here has refused, and I would never dream of making little Ellen do it. So you are the obvious choice."
I stare at my hands, because they seem like the only safe thing to look at.
"Do we have an agreement, David?" she asks. "Quickly, now. I am an old woman in pain and cannot afford to dawdle."
"Okay," I whisper.
"I could not hear you," says the thing in the stroller.
"Okay!" I shout. "I'll do it."
"Very good," she says. "And use that anger. Hate me, if you can. It will make it easier."
I pick up one of the cushions and hold it in front of me. My hands are shaking.
"Do it!" the Thing screams. "I am an abomination! Destroy me!"
I thrust the pillow into the stroller, and feel It twitch beneath my hands for a long time. When I finally pull the pillow away, I realize I am crying. The nurse stands and looks at me with red eyes, an expression of horror on her face.
"I..." I start to say, and she runs from the room, flinging open the door.
I hear her screaming "He's killed her! He's killed her!" as she runs further down the hallway.
I stumble toward the door and out into the light of the hallway. Ellen is there, her back to me, staring in the direction of the screaming woman.
I reach out my hand to touch her, but draw back suddenly, realizing I've just killed someone with that hand.
I gasp, trying to get control of myself, and Ellen spins around, a huge smile beaming across her face.
"Wow!" she shouts. "I think she really liked you!"
I stare, opening and closing my mouth several times, but never quite able to speak.
"Did you talk to her dummy?" she asks, looking into the room. "She loves it when people talk to it. Says it shows respect for the Ventriloquist Art."
"Yes," I say, coughing. "Yes, I talked to the dummy."
That is really creepy!
I liked how it was not gory at all though. :)
Posted by: Q | December 03, 2007 at 05:01 PM
Heh. That's very very ironic.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | December 03, 2007 at 06:14 PM
That was fantastic.
Posted by: Faith | December 03, 2007 at 07:22 PM
Ironic in what way, Enna Isilee?
Posted by: Q | December 03, 2007 at 07:52 PM
Oooh, that was fabulous!
Posted by: Celes | December 03, 2007 at 09:58 PM
Oh, and I forgot to say that I really do like it. :)
Posted by: Q | December 04, 2007 at 02:45 PM
Ironic in that I JUST read a book that had stayrs in it. Ya know. The little goat-footed people?
Posted by: Enna Isilee | December 04, 2007 at 07:57 PM
I see. Creepy how that sometimes happens...
Posted by: Q | December 04, 2007 at 08:47 PM
Ha! One of my favorite crumbs ever.
Posted by: cuileann | December 05, 2007 at 09:37 AM
That seriously was beginning to creep me out.
Posted by: Felicity | December 09, 2007 at 12:14 PM
Totally hilarious. I wish I could laugh as loud as I want to, because I hate having to hold it in! But my laugh is so loud, my family would get kind of upset, since they're all in bed. I LOVE this blog. (And Shannon Hale)
Posted by: Katie-Wa | December 12, 2007 at 09:34 PM
Simply splendid. One of my favorites.
Posted by: Karalenn | December 30, 2007 at 04:18 AM