For centuries, I have been summoned by unsuspecting children playing a game they did not know the consequences to. In my prime, I’d spy on their miserable lives and make them dream of their solutions to their problems: A mother and father, a feast, clean water, a home. When they declared their happiness and their wish to be together forever, it is when I would eat up the children’s lives until they were nothing but a shell of a person. And all was done in a night’s work.
My kind’s work had reached the ears from all corners of the world. Mothers and fathers taught their children rhymes and songs to protect themselves with:
How delightful.
It works with little children, but whatever happens when they grow up? They go on their own little ways, and decide for themselves. Curiosity kills the cats. Satisfaction never brings them back.
Ah, but there was one time a child outsmarted me. Who saw past my treats and games and saw the weaving of my web. We set a deal, struck a game. I lost and they won, ending with their soul to never be gone. Thus ending in the form of a cat black as brimstone.
This cat set to roam the Eerthe has fulfilled its life warning children not to play my game. Disturbting the ritual, interrputing the players, tripping the dancers, or carrrying off the sacrifice.
Throughout those years where summoning demons on All Hallows Eve became latent, my kind were killed by stravation. Not enough children were there to cure their hunger for more. Thus they became empty shells and died in their own webs. Each one died just the same. Whereas I was saved by a mircale I do not know how or why.
Greedy little children, so insentitive to how we feel. Greedy for keeping their own lives. Greedy for not giving us what we want. Greedy for not being a part of the food cycle. Greedy, greedy little children. For only a child’s purest soul can feed those who are most beautiful and cunning enough to prey for it.
Even through the tries of the cat, I still found ways to save my meals to carry out with the game. Yes, I remember that little girl who played the game against her better judgement with her friends. I treated them with the same games, treats, and presents as I had done with the other children.
Only I had saved the girl for last. Oh, how she tried to be brave and not get stuck by my web! But try as she may, she never had a chance. No one does. But what made this account so special upon my memory is when the parents of those greedy children found me on a faithful night. There is no need to question who was the culprit for telling them where my web was, for the cat was standing amongst their flaming torches and agry eyes.
They read from a weathred book of shaved pine pages from long ages past and cast a spell in the bark of an elm tree. With the force of mighty hands and dill soaked rope, they pushed me into the the elm tree to stay. I thought I could take the shells of the children with me to satisfy my revenge.
In that wood of the elm tree, I stayed and starved. With every year passing, I could feel my being turn into a shell like the others hath done before me. The cat came through the bark sometimes to torment me. As I readied myself to complete darkness, something cut threw the tree.
I remember seeing the shells of the children float away free. All that was left of my collection was a small boy and the girl from before that I took with me. I was placed into a new wood with a contruction of a home. There, I was carved and shaped into a little door, placed into the living room of the house.
I saw the house as the men carried me through. I saw the outline and the future furniture to be put inside. Blessed it be, I also saw a two twin litte girls playing around. Joy! My emptiness was filled not by a child’s soul, but with determination that it might be full!
So when they placed me into the wall of the living room, I build an entirely new web of the house and of the furniture. The boy and girl tried to stop my progess, so I shoved them into a dark little room so they could be enlightened with sympathy.
To make sure this plan did not fail, I crafted a little doll to resemble the two twin little girls. I sent it through the tunnel and out the door. Where it could be found by one of them lying on the living room floor.
“Momma?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Did you get me a doll?”
“Oh! Uh, yes! Yes, I did. Go run along and play with your new doll!” From the distance I could hear the Mother say to herself. “I don’t remember a doll.”
The little girl showed me everything. Her little chickens she loved to play with, her sister, even pictures of her father. She cried and laughed with me, expressing how she loved her new home and she hated her father being away to distant lands.
It was too easy.
To lure her in, I sent out three chickens identical to her own to go and fetch her. I shaped myself into her mother, flawless skin, beautiful long hair styled, and a polk-dot dress with glossy red lipstick. Of course, with button eyes. A special tradition.
I heard the door opening from inside the house and acted normal. Her mother is often seen in the garden, so that is where I was. But instead of her mother frowning and watering dead flowers with her tears, I smile and watering the garden with a hose.
The little girl came running to me. “Momma! Momma!”
I turn to look at her. “Hello dear!”
She looked horrified.
Quickly, I created a story to not frighten my food away. “Why do you look so scared, sweetie? I’m your Other Mother, the Mother who cares most of all!”
She calmed down. “Why do I need an Other Mother?”
“Silly sweetie, I can give you all that your Mother can’t.”
So I played my games with her and laughed with her. Soon, I was in my prime once again. One night, I made her promise to bring her sister over. Much to my surprise and relief, she fulfilled her promise. Only, her twin sister did not take me lighty.
Even though I played my games with her and feed her treats and showered her with gifts, the cat got to her before I did. It is a disappointment I still have.
At least, the original sister loved me so. The cat tried talking to her too. But she prevailed. I asked her the question of if she was happy that night and she let me sew the buttons and eat up her soul.
At last, I was full with a soul to keep me alive and well. Unlike the others who wasted away, I was victorious in the end! With belly full and mind empowered, I made my wed all the more colorful and real. And so I waited for the next child to come along.
It is only until now, several upon several years past, that a new disturbance is brough to the house. I can feel it beyond the little door. I call back for the doll and dress it up as the little girl I saw through the keyhole the other day. Yellow raincoat, striped sweater, blue hair with a dragonfly pin. Black buttons.
I send it through to where it once was. A little boy discovers me. Funny, he looks like the other twin girl. I am wrapped in darkness until opened by the little girl. She remarks on how it’s strangely her. Throughout the night, I see how her family annoys her and how she wishes it to be different. Everyone mispronounces her name. It is Coraline, not Caroline.
Too easy.
When she lays down her head for the night, I send three jumping mice I’ve seen the nieghbor have. I weave myself a disguise as her mother and prepare he a nice meal she did not get to have this evening. The door creaks open. I hum to myself to lure her.
“Mom? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
I turn. “You’re just in time for supper, dear.”
I wonder how this one will taste.
My kind’s work had reached the ears from all corners of the world. Mothers and fathers taught their children rhymes and songs to protect themselves with:
“Beldam, Beldam, Beldam,
She’ll steal your soul
Beldam, Beldam, Beldam,
You’ll give in, she’ll get her goal
Beldam, Beldam, Beldam,
She’ll be most unwelcome.”
How delightful.
It works with little children, but whatever happens when they grow up? They go on their own little ways, and decide for themselves. Curiosity kills the cats. Satisfaction never brings them back.
Ah, but there was one time a child outsmarted me. Who saw past my treats and games and saw the weaving of my web. We set a deal, struck a game. I lost and they won, ending with their soul to never be gone. Thus ending in the form of a cat black as brimstone.
This cat set to roam the Eerthe has fulfilled its life warning children not to play my game. Disturbting the ritual, interrputing the players, tripping the dancers, or carrrying off the sacrifice.
Throughout those years where summoning demons on All Hallows Eve became latent, my kind were killed by stravation. Not enough children were there to cure their hunger for more. Thus they became empty shells and died in their own webs. Each one died just the same. Whereas I was saved by a mircale I do not know how or why.
Greedy little children, so insentitive to how we feel. Greedy for keeping their own lives. Greedy for not giving us what we want. Greedy for not being a part of the food cycle. Greedy, greedy little children. For only a child’s purest soul can feed those who are most beautiful and cunning enough to prey for it.
Even through the tries of the cat, I still found ways to save my meals to carry out with the game. Yes, I remember that little girl who played the game against her better judgement with her friends. I treated them with the same games, treats, and presents as I had done with the other children.
Only I had saved the girl for last. Oh, how she tried to be brave and not get stuck by my web! But try as she may, she never had a chance. No one does. But what made this account so special upon my memory is when the parents of those greedy children found me on a faithful night. There is no need to question who was the culprit for telling them where my web was, for the cat was standing amongst their flaming torches and agry eyes.
They read from a weathred book of shaved pine pages from long ages past and cast a spell in the bark of an elm tree. With the force of mighty hands and dill soaked rope, they pushed me into the the elm tree to stay. I thought I could take the shells of the children with me to satisfy my revenge.
In that wood of the elm tree, I stayed and starved. With every year passing, I could feel my being turn into a shell like the others hath done before me. The cat came through the bark sometimes to torment me. As I readied myself to complete darkness, something cut threw the tree.
I remember seeing the shells of the children float away free. All that was left of my collection was a small boy and the girl from before that I took with me. I was placed into a new wood with a contruction of a home. There, I was carved and shaped into a little door, placed into the living room of the house.
I saw the house as the men carried me through. I saw the outline and the future furniture to be put inside. Blessed it be, I also saw a two twin litte girls playing around. Joy! My emptiness was filled not by a child’s soul, but with determination that it might be full!
So when they placed me into the wall of the living room, I build an entirely new web of the house and of the furniture. The boy and girl tried to stop my progess, so I shoved them into a dark little room so they could be enlightened with sympathy.
To make sure this plan did not fail, I crafted a little doll to resemble the two twin little girls. I sent it through the tunnel and out the door. Where it could be found by one of them lying on the living room floor.
“Momma?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Did you get me a doll?”
“Oh! Uh, yes! Yes, I did. Go run along and play with your new doll!” From the distance I could hear the Mother say to herself. “I don’t remember a doll.”
The little girl showed me everything. Her little chickens she loved to play with, her sister, even pictures of her father. She cried and laughed with me, expressing how she loved her new home and she hated her father being away to distant lands.
It was too easy.
To lure her in, I sent out three chickens identical to her own to go and fetch her. I shaped myself into her mother, flawless skin, beautiful long hair styled, and a polk-dot dress with glossy red lipstick. Of course, with button eyes. A special tradition.
I heard the door opening from inside the house and acted normal. Her mother is often seen in the garden, so that is where I was. But instead of her mother frowning and watering dead flowers with her tears, I smile and watering the garden with a hose.
The little girl came running to me. “Momma! Momma!”
I turn to look at her. “Hello dear!”
She looked horrified.
Quickly, I created a story to not frighten my food away. “Why do you look so scared, sweetie? I’m your Other Mother, the Mother who cares most of all!”
She calmed down. “Why do I need an Other Mother?”
“Silly sweetie, I can give you all that your Mother can’t.”
So I played my games with her and laughed with her. Soon, I was in my prime once again. One night, I made her promise to bring her sister over. Much to my surprise and relief, she fulfilled her promise. Only, her twin sister did not take me lighty.
Even though I played my games with her and feed her treats and showered her with gifts, the cat got to her before I did. It is a disappointment I still have.
At least, the original sister loved me so. The cat tried talking to her too. But she prevailed. I asked her the question of if she was happy that night and she let me sew the buttons and eat up her soul.
At last, I was full with a soul to keep me alive and well. Unlike the others who wasted away, I was victorious in the end! With belly full and mind empowered, I made my wed all the more colorful and real. And so I waited for the next child to come along.
It is only until now, several upon several years past, that a new disturbance is brough to the house. I can feel it beyond the little door. I call back for the doll and dress it up as the little girl I saw through the keyhole the other day. Yellow raincoat, striped sweater, blue hair with a dragonfly pin. Black buttons.
I send it through to where it once was. A little boy discovers me. Funny, he looks like the other twin girl. I am wrapped in darkness until opened by the little girl. She remarks on how it’s strangely her. Throughout the night, I see how her family annoys her and how she wishes it to be different. Everyone mispronounces her name. It is Coraline, not Caroline.
Too easy.
When she lays down her head for the night, I send three jumping mice I’ve seen the nieghbor have. I weave myself a disguise as her mother and prepare he a nice meal she did not get to have this evening. The door creaks open. I hum to myself to lure her.
“Mom? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
I turn. “You’re just in time for supper, dear.”
I wonder how this one will taste.
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