Free fiction #180 – KT Wagner

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Promise Me You’ll Stay

KT Wagner

Hexe flexes gnarled fingers. Knitting with garden twine is hard on the hands but keeping her family together is worth the discomfort. The boarding house tenants are her family, and, unlike her sisters, she’s chosen this family and families stick together.

The boarders are all men. All mortals who’ve done bad things. All seeking some form of redemption, whether they realize it or not. Most don’t. In front of the hearth, Nightshade, her tuxedo cat and immortal familiar, growls softly. Firelight reflects in the feline’s eyes.

“Oh, quit judging. You know as well as I that those weird sisters of mine are cranky and would be poor company for eternity. George is coming for a visit. Mind you behave. He’ll be a bit because he’ll waste time trying to pick his cane up.” Hexe cackles a little and sets the kettle to boil.

Her private space is normally off-limits but today’s an exception. It’ll be easier to convince George while he’s still rational.

Plants crowd the glass shelves spanning the window over the kitchen sink. Outside, it’s a sunny winter day, while her rooms are murky and golden. Hexe cuts fresh amaranth, garlic greens and wormwood for the mortar.

George gifted her the clay Statue of Liberty several years ago. She snips its chia hair and smiles at the memory of his shy awkwardness when presenting it to her. It was then she decided he’d be perfect for the garden rather than the attic, the cellar, or the shed. Eventually.

She’d thought there’d be more time to enjoy his physical presence, but she has no control over the timing of things. She’s thankful he passed on just after midday. A good time to die, she muses—hours before dinner when her boarders gather in the dining room of the rambling old house and not in the middle of the night when others are more likely to notice and set up a ruckus. The last time a tenant kicked off, she wasn’t so lucky, and it took weeks to settle everyone back into a routine.

From the spice rack, she adds a dash of fenugreek, a pinch of sage, and a grating of cedar bark to the mortar. Dragging over a stool, she reaches into the far back of a high cupboard and extracts a dusty, unlabelled cannister. Carefully she adds exactly one teaspoon of the black powder, then muddles the mixture with the pestle.

Nightshade strolls over to the hall door, stretches, and meows her impatience, then returns to her fireside spot.

Hexe pulls a chair out from the kitchen table and murmurs a few archaic words learned long, long ago. A static burst dims the overhead light briefly. She checks her smile in the tarnished mirror and opens the door.

“George, so pleased you could join us.” Her voice sounds high-pitched, awkward. She really does hate this stage of the process.

George doesn’t appear to notice. He hobbles into her apartment, owl-eyed, and dishevelled. “Thank you, Hexe. It’s quite an honour.” He gestures broadly and wobbles. “Er, excuse me. My hands are numb. Couldn’t quite grasp my cane.”

Hexe nods. “Tea?”

“Wouldn’t say no to a drop.” George smiles broadly. “Lovely Nightshade in her home perch.” Arm outstretched, he stoops and moves toward the cat. She hisses.

The hurt expression on George’s face is almost Hexe’s undoing. “Nightshade’s feeling poorly today. She’ll come around after a bit. Best you sit down.”

The kettle whistles. Hexe pours boiling water over two heaping teaspoons of spiced tea plus the mixture from the mortar. Her hands tremble. The smell’s atrocious. She’s careful not to grimace and pauses to toss a couple more logs on the fire.

Setting the teapot on the table she says, “It needs to steep. Let’s chat while we wait.”

George nods. “I feel a tad off. Perhaps I should return to my room. Finish my nap.”

Hexe sighs. This next part is always tricky but blunt—even if not entirely truthful—is usually the best approach. “Things have changed, dear. You can’t live in your room anymore.”

“Sorry?” Looking confused, he tries to get up. “I must have misunderstood your invitation.”

“You can’t return to your room.” She clasps and unclasps her hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but for the good of the other boarders, you must relocate.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “I don’t want you to leave, and this is still your home.”

“None of this makes sense. I’m going back to bed.” George struggles harder to stand. A white haze edges his pupils. Time’s running out.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve temporarily bound you to the chair. Just long enough for us to chat.” Hexe longs to comfort him, but she’s out of time.

She places her hand over the teapot and hopes he’ll listen to reason. The longer she waits, the more incoherent and enraged he’ll become, until finally…she gulps…hopefully it won’t come to that.

George’s forehead wrinkles with confusion. “Please, don’t throw me out,” his voice is plaintive.

Clanking in the hall. The undertakers are removing the body. She has only moments. When Gordon starts to become translucent, she’ll be forced to burn the chair with him in it. Otherwise, what’s left of him—not the parts that make up the George she cares about—will wreak havoc on everything and everyone in the house before turning its pitiless gaze on the neighbourhood and beyond.

“There’s no time to soft peddle this. You’re dead, George. I’ve prepared an alternative path for you, but—” Hexe murmurs a spell. A green glow emanates from the teapot. “You must agree, and quickly.”

She reaches into the basket under the table and pulls out a small figure knit of twine—a garden gnome. All her tenants know—deep inside—what waits for them on the other side. On balance, none are good people. This is a vastly better alternative. For them and her. They simply need to agree. Not all do.

“I don’t know.” George mumbles.

She worried George might be reluctant. The content ones often are.

“The garden’s a wonderfully cozy spot. There’s a nice patch of Amanita muscaria under the fir tree.” Hexe works to keep the panic out of her voice.

“It’ll be fine. Wonderful, even.” Hexe croons and completes the potion. “You won’t be alone. “You remember John? The two of you got along well. And Karl?”

“Of course. I’d love to see them, yes.” What she said a minute earlier, finally sinks in. “But wait, aren’t they d—” George reaches for her, smoke billowing from his nose.

Quickly, before he can take back his yes, she presses the gnome into the hazy spot on his chest and pours the potion over his head.

Pop.

“You’ll love it in the garden, George. We can visit every day—” The cat growls and sharpens her claws against the stone hearth. Hexe glares at her. “—and don’t worry, Nightshade’s a house cat.”

May 3rd, 2024

Surrounded by gnomes, gargoyles, and poisonous plants, KT Wagner writes speculative fiction in the garden of her home on the west coast of Canada. She enjoys daydreaming and is a collector of strange plants, weird trivia, and obscure tomes. KT’s short stories are published in magazines and anthologies. www.northernlightsgothic.com and @KT_Wagner

more stories here

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Also look out for:

Karl Dandenell’s Ruby, Throat and Gold – a dark fantasy about the arrogance of a usurper and the sweet revenge of a master of his craft.
Sean MacKendrick’s Keepers: mighty artwork designed to be seen from space -for a very good reason.
Kai Delmas’ Under Fire, Under Steel – robot armies and human dilemmas.
Lyndsey Croal’s – Space for One, a sci-fi tale about hard choices and living with the consequences.
Holley Cornetto’s The Orchard of Dreams, a wistful fantasy.

Or over a hundred other free flash fiction stories.

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