The First Story

by C Bradley Owens

  “We what?” the widow shouted.

  “It’s the only way to release all of the air in time for the ceremony.” The mortician’s voice was as soothing as he could make it as he slathered petroleum jelly onto the device in his hand.

  The widow’s face contorted into a horrified mask of disgust. “Fine,” she said, her voice cracking with the effort she was exerting to maintain her composure. “Just hurry.”

  The mortician stepped to the coffin and bent over the lower half. He began working furiously. The widow was forced to step away and cover her ears as the initial slurping sound became a loud whoosh.

  “There,” the mortician said as he stood up and stepped back from the coffin. “Now, we just need to give it a little time, and we should be fine to proceed with the service.”

  “How much time?” the widow asked, awkwardly trying to cover her ears and her nose at the same time. “And why is the smell so bad now?”

  “Well, we have, um, freed the air that was further up, in the, um…”

  “Stop,” the widow instructed. “I really don’t need to know why it smells, just how long it will take.”

  “Shouldn’t be too long,” the mortician said and turned to look at the coffin. The widow hesitantly turned with him. She looked at the knobby knees of her late husband jutting above the coffin’s sides and shook her head in disbelief.

  The air continued for a moment more and then stopped. The mortician removed the speculum, and the widow helped him redress the body. The director returned and opened every window and door to air the place out, and soon, the guests arrived. The ceremony was dignified and appropriate. The widow was able to return to her mourning, and the guests comforted her as best they could.

  Then the time for speeches came. The brother of the deceased stepped to the lectern. He leaned into the microphone, and a loud, echoing, blasting fart rang out.

  “Oh, for the love of—” the widow exclaimed, burying her face in her hands as barely stifled giggles erupted from the pews.

  “I’m—I am…” the brother began. Redness flowed from his neck into his cheeks and painted his whole head. “so sorry for that.” Another blast rang out. The brother shifted his weight and squinted his face. “My family has always had problems with gas during emotional times. It’s a hereditary condition.”

  “Well,” the widow said in a calm, resigned manner. “That certainly does explain a lot.”

  “Should I continue?” the brother asked the widow.

  “To speak or to fart?” the widow asked in return.

  “Sorry to say, probably both.”

  “By all means,” the widow said, the sides of her mouth turning upward, despite her best efforts to keep them from doing so. “Please, continue.”

  The brother gave a very moving, very touching speech about how much he loved and would miss his brother. Every third sentence or so was punctuated with a loud expulsion of air.

  Chapter 35

  Further Developments

  “There’s something I’ve never understood about Droll Mary,” the Sister of Monsters said after a long moment of silence.

  “What be there to get?” Baba Vedma asked. “She be the other half of the Duality. She complements the Dottore. She be his opposite, his other half.”

  “I realize that, but her stories are not—well, they are crude more than droll, more often than not.”

  “‘Tis true,” Baba Vedma interjected. “It be the way of the world, sorry to say. No one appreciates subtlety anymore. Verily, the thief had me about to eat children, for Pete’s sake. Eatin’ children in a baked house!”

  “So, there’s no room for wit anymore?” the Sister of Monsters asked.

  “Maybe ye can ask her.” Baba Vedma motioned ahead of them as they rounded a bend in the path and came to stand in front of a small brick house. Yellow and red flowers lined a cement walkway leading to the front door. The lime green shutters and orange trim clashed so completely with the brick that Baba Vedma was forced to suppress a desire to comment on exterior design and color theory.

  “Do we just go up and knock?” the Sister of Monsters asked.

  “Aye, or we mayn’t and just go say hello to her in the garden.” Baba Vedma pointed to the well-manicured section of the yard, where a female figure huddled over the freshly turned earth. “Droll Mary!” Baba Vedma shouted and made a beeline for the garden. “I would have words with thee!”

  The woman stood up and turned. She was a pleasant-looking woman with sandy brown hair pulled tight into a bun and stuffed under a yellow kerchief. Her face was round and friendly with just a glint of mischievousness in her clear blue eyes. Her voice was soft and melodious. “May I help you?”

  “Ye bet ye can!” Baba Vedma continued to rail. “Ye stole the First Story, and ye be tryin’ to change all the other stories! I shan’t have it! Eatin’ children! Really?”

  “What?” Droll Mary asked, her delicate hand clutching the string of pearls dangling below the neckline of her cheery sundress in an affected manner. “Why ever would you think such a thing?”

  “Ye be the only one with the power to control the First Story!”

  “Baba Vedma,” the Sister of Monsters interjected. “Perhaps you would allow me to ask questions?”

  Baba Vedma huffed and glared at the Sister of Monsters, but she acquiesced and stepped back a little.

  The Sister of Monsters bowed low. “We only ask because we are concerned that the First Story is being misused.”

  “You are much better mannered than the horror show behind you,” Droll Mary said and flicked her hand in Baba Vedma’s direction. “Let’s all go in and have some tea, shall we?”

  The interior of Droll Mary’s house was exactly what the Sister of Monsters had expected. It was tidy, quaint, and smelled of lavender and gardenia. An unbidden smile etched its way across her face as she sat at the dainty cafe table near the front window of the parlor. She gingerly touched the delicate china that had been laid out in a formal pattern as Baba Vedma plopped down loudly in the chair across from her. She frowned a bit then, thinking how out of place each of them looked in such a well-appointed house.

  “Sugar?” Droll Mary asked as she poured tea from a shining silver teapot into the ivory cup etched with a delicate pink design.

  “Yes, please.” The Sister of Monsters was as happy as she had ever been. She held the cup carefully with both hands and admired the floral pattern.

  “None of that swill for me,” Baba Vedma hissed and roughly pushed her own cup away.

  The Sister of Monsters gasped when the cup teetered on its saucer and nearly fell over. “What’s wrong with you?” She was now clutching the front of her own dress and panting wildly.

  “Maybe you would prefer coffee?” Droll Mary’s words fairly dripped with disdain as she tilted her head toward Baba Vedma.

  “And what be wrong with coffee, pray tell?” Baba Vedma’s own words were equally disdainful.

  “Why nothing, dear.” The words were very pleasant, if not for the obvious inflection that Droll Mary put on each syllable. “It is the preferred drink of the unrefined.”

  “You callin’ me unrefined!” Baba Vedma shouted and stood up from the table so fast that the delicate china flew in all directions, shattering on the wooden floor.

  The Sister of Monsters looked at the remnants of the beautiful china and cried. “Why, Baba Vedma? Why have you ruined our teatime? It was so perfect, so beautiful.” She lifted her own cup, which had spilled its contents onto the table but had remained unbroken.

  The others turned. Baba Vedma and Droll Mary stopped their quarrel to look inquisitively at the Sister of Monsters.

  “What be ye talkin’ about,” Baba Vedma asked.

  “This,” the Sister of Monsters said, still heartbroken as she held up the cup. “This beautiful china, ruined by such rudeness.”

  “Beautiful?” Droll Mary interjected. “Well, thank you, dear, but it was only ever a joke. I mean who has ever heard of tea at three fi
fteen?” She pointed to the clock on the mantel and laughed, but then she noticed the tears flowing freely down the Sister of Monster’s face. “But dear, it can only be a joke so long as no one takes it too seriously.”

  “Aye,” Baba Vedma offered. “No one takes these tea parties seriously. Verily, ‘tis considered rude not to be startin’ some sorta argument.”

  “That’s right,” Droll Mary said, a broad smile lifting her face. “And such a good argument. Did you like the coffee comment?”

  “Aye, I did.” Baba Vedma’s voice displayed a pleasant cheer. “I especially liked the ‘unrefined’ bit. That was such a clever way to say I be rubbish.” The two laughed and embraced each other as would old friends.

  The Sister of Monsters stopped crying. “Something has changed,” she whispered.

  The others came back to the table.

  “What be it?” Baba Vedma asked. “Can ye describe the change?”

  The Sister of Monsters raised her tearstained face to the others. Her beautiful blue eyes glistened with moisture. They were evenly spaced and adorned with exquisite long lashes that looked every bit as soft as a baby’s kiss.

  “Oh, my!” Droll Mary exclaimed. “What happened to her eyes? They look nothing like her sister’s eyes now.”

  “The changes have been happenin’ more and more frequently,” Baba Vedma said. “We—I—thought ye might be involved, but when I saw that ye were exactly like your old self, complete with the tea gag and all, I knew it ‘tweren’t ye.”

  “Of course, it’s not me,” Droll Mary said without even a hint of sarcasm. “Have you confronted Paroxysm about this?”

  “Who?” Baba Vedma asked, moving around the table and putting a loving arm on the Sister of Monsters’ shoulders, who was still crying a little about the broken china.

  “What do you mean, who?” Droll Mary asked, her face a complete mask of confusion. “The other half of the Duality.”

  “So, you mean the Dottore?” Baba Vedma asked.

  “Not that Duality, the other one.” Droll Mary looked at each of them in turn before a creeping light of clarity shown on her face. “The nature of the Duality has been changed, hasn’t it?”

  “There used to be just the one Duality, ye and the Dottore.” Baba Vedma paced around the table. “Ye sayin’ there be more than one now?”

  “Yes, there are many. Fire and Ice, Laughter and Tears, Pain and Pleasure…”

  “That be impossible,” Baba Vedma whispered. “There had only been the Dottore and Droll Mary since the beginning of Creativity.”

  “Except for the Elder Forms.” Droll Mary was rubbing her temples, trying to conjure the world that Baba Vedma was describing and failing to do so.

  “This be too much change.” Baba Vedma sat tiredly at the table. “Creativity cannot survive such changes so fast. Elevatin’ Aspects to the level of the Duality? ‘Tis impossible.”

  “Apparently, that’s not the case,” Droll Mary said and went to take the cup from the Sister of Monsters’ trembling hands. “The world seems to be spinning right along, and, by the by, look at what has happened to one of the Council of Aspects. Do you doubt that the same could not happen to the Duality? To all of Creativity?”

  “It’s the First Story,” the Sister of Monsters whimpered.

  “Of course, it’s the First Story!” Droll Mary hissed. “What else could change us like this? And you”—she pointed a slender finger tipped with bright red at the Sister of Monsters—“stop your crying at once! We need to find the rest of the Council.”

  “We were to meet back at the Inn at the Edge of the Woods,” the Sister of Monsters offered, willing the tears to stop and wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes felt swollen and tender. Her protective viscosity was nowhere to be found, and her eyelashes were less than useless.

  “Then, we’re off!” Droll Mary twirled her dress in a flourish and headed straight out the door.

  The others paused for a moment. Baba Vedma was forced to lift the Sister of Monsters from the chair and nearly force her out of the house. Alone in the delicately designed sitting room, she waited one minute more until the others were out of earshot; then she lifted her foot and slammed her boot hard upon the delicate china cup that Droll Mary had dropped on the carpet. Baba Vedma closed her eyes and drank in the sound of the shattering china; it made her heart warm.

  Chapter 36

  A New Council

  The Innkeeper hung the last of the pink and white ruffled curtains and stood back to admire her work. The redesign was complete. There wasn’t a single surface of the room left uncovered by bright pink tablecloths or delicate white doilies. She had slathered a fresh coat of paint on every wall, changing every inch from deep ruddy earth tones to bright, cheery, crisp white.

  “What be…?” Baba Vedma exclaimed as she burst through the door. An angry wind brought fallen leaves with her.

  “Close the door,” the Innkeeper instructed. “I’ve just swept those leaves out.”

  “What did ye do to the Inn?” Baba Vedma asked from the doorway because she was suddenly unwilling to enter the room.

  “Ooh, so pretty,” the Sister of Monsters said as Droll Mary led her into the Inn, having to push their way past Baba Vedma.

  “Are you coming in?” Droll Mary asked, eyeing Baba Vedma’s sneer.

  “Not sure.” Baba Vedma gritted her teeth and stepped inside. “This be worse than your place.”

  “Hehe,” Droll Mary giggled. “I know. Isn’t it a riot?”

  “Sit anywhere you’d like,” the Innkeeper sang and flounced around the chairs, pretending to dust with a pink handkerchief but really just drawing attention to the new decor. She wafted to the door and pulled Baba Vedma, who hissed, further into the room, closing the door behind her. “I’ll fetch some drinks,” she whispered into Baba Vedma’s ear.

  “Better make ‘em big drinks.” Baba Vedma sighed and, trying not to touch any of the dainty decorations, tiptoed toward the others, who were settling in at a table near a painting of a rainbow coming out the top of a clown’s head. “Oh for the love of—”

  “The changes are getting more noticeable,” Droll Mary said and motioned for Baba Vedma to take the empty chair next to her.

  “Do ye think so?” Baba Vedma pointed to the Sister of Monster’s bright blue eyes, which were so wide with wonder that they looked like they might actually return to their previous size and shape on their own.

  “This might actually be a good thing,” Droll Mary interjected, nodding toward the Sister of Monsters. “The power to affect one of the Council of Aspects in this way limits the number of suspects.”

  “‘Tis true,” Baba Vedma’s voice floated through the air, mingling with the lace that hung from every light fixture and nearly making her retch. “The only beings capable of wieldin’ the power of the First Story in this way be the Aspects.”

  “Or one of the Duality,” the Sister of Monsters added in a voice so thick with sweetness that it made the remnants of Baba Vedma’s teeth hurt.

  The door to the Inn flew open once more. The Innkeeper hurried from behind the counter, sporting a broom, and immediately got to work rounding up the errant leaves that blew in.

  “Is there anyone who could stand against me?” Paroxysm spoke with an air of superiority in a deep voice filled with danger.

  “The others are over there, love.” The Innkeeper pointed to the back table and continued to sweep.

  “To battle!” Paroxysm yelled and, brandishing a large stick, made her way to the back table.

  The others stood up, mostly out of fear of the warrior woman heading their way. The Innkeeper tried to close the door, but Frau Iver was barring her way. She drifted into the room and shouted, “Wait! They’re friends!”

  “Ah, friends.” Paroxysm smiled and lowered her stick. “Well met, friends.” Her voice was light and joyful.

  “Paroxysm,” Droll Mary said and embraced her friend.

  “Droll Mary, it is good to see you, my si
ster.”

  “That’s Paroxysm?” The Sister of Monsters asked, and Baba Vedma shrugged.

  “She took the place of the Dottore,” Frau Iver said. “At least I think that’s what happened. The Dottore might just be off somewhere doing… She’s definitely, at least, an Aspect. Maybe.”

  “What are you talking about?” More than a little surprise filled Droll Mary’s comment. “She’s one of the greatest of the Dualities, always has been.”

  The others waited until Droll Mary and Paroxysm had wandered off to a nearby table to get reacquainted before they began to settle in the back. They sat in silence for a long, tense moment. The Innkeeper brought drinks, and Baba Vedma slurped hers down quickly.

  “There is now more than one Duality?” Frau Iver sipped her wine.

  “Apparently, there always have been.” Baba Vedma rubbed her aching head. “So, where’d ye find Paroxysm?”

  “Hanging around a tower that I didn’t recognize, but then I did.” Frau Iver perpetually shrugged. “In fact, I now have several stories taking place in the tower. It really is a lot to take in.”

  “And now there’s that.” Baba Vedma pointed to a door that was opening, seemingly, on its own.

  The Puppeteer appeared from a back room and timidly made his way to the table. He was dressed in brightly colored lederhosen adorned with red and yellow flowers. A sky blue bonnet partly obscured his wooden hat. The others stared wide-eyed as he climbed into a chair.

  “Puppeteer.” Baba Vedma’s voice was smooth and even. “‘Tis, evidently, been a long time. Anythin’ new?”

  “She did this to me!” The Puppeteer pointed at the Innkeeper. “She’s demented.”

  The door flung open once more, and the Toy Peddler stumbled in. His jacket was in tatters, nearly falling off his back. His face was more angry red slashes than skin. “The Growl in the Night shall not be joining us!” he shouted and limped back to the table. He paused when he saw the Puppeteer but then simply shook his head and sat. He took the nearest drink and downed it before waving his empty glass toward the Innkeeper.