The Corpse Queen

by Heather M. Herrman

  The groundskeeper studied Molly, inch by inch, reading her gown as he might a hand at the card table. Behind him, a small fire flickered in the stove. Molly saw the remains of the man’s supper on the table—a half-eaten loaf of bread and the moldy rind of a cheese.

  “Your sister, eh? And I suppose she’s out in the deadhouse.”

  Molly’s heart hammered. “Yes, sir.” She felt as if this man could see through the holes in her clumsily stitched lies as clearly as if they were made of tatting lace. “That is, I don’t know if she is or isn’t, but only there was word of it, from a friend.”

  The groundskeeper lifted a filthy nail to pick a bit of rind from his teeth. “A friend, eh? He ain’t an ugly fellow with a necklace, is he?”

  “Sir?”

  Seeing her genuine confusion, he relented. “No, I don’t guess you’d be the type to run with him. Not dressed like that.” He stepped aside, fingering a ring of keys at his belt. “Come in out of the cold. You’ll have to excuse my manners. We ain’t used to true friends of the dead these days.”

  Molly followed him into the closed confines of the room, the air thick with the smell of smoke and unwashed body.

  “You must admit it’s strange, a lady coming in here in the middle of the night.” He gave her a final, penetrating stare.

  “I was afraid the grave robbers would get her,” Molly said quickly. “There’s tales of them preying on folks all over the city. I came as soon as I could.”

  He grunted. The groundskeeper was an imposing figure. He was tall and thick-muscled, arms like knotted tree stumps bulging through his jacket. But it was his eyes that scared her. She felt the cold prick of them through her clothes.

  “What did she look like, your sister?”

  “Brown hair, well-formed, a birthmark just above her lip,” Molly said, reciting Tom’s carefully memorized description.

  “Aye, we might have her at that,” the groundskeeper allowed. “Pretty girl.”

  Molly nodded demurely. “Yes. Mary was kind and sweet.”

  “Not so sweet anymore, I think.” He leered, waiting for her to rise to the bait, but Molly pursed her lips closed.

  Lifting a lantern from the table, he sighed. “All right. Let’s go have a look.”

  They picked their way through the graves, the wind pushing the lantern’s flame into a dance. Around them, the snowy graveyard harbored no sound, and Molly wondered at its stillness. Surely, not everything here could be dead. Where were the live things whispering in the dark?

  “Here we are.” He lifted the lantern and leaned into the door of a stone building, its walls a mausoleum. Ugly cherubs perched on top, their wrinkled baby faces aged beyond time. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m frightened.”

  It was easier, Molly had found, to couch a lie in honesty.

  At the hotel, she’d pretended to be a confident married woman. Here, she let herself be the terrified girl she really was.

  “There’s no need to be afraid.” He hawked a great wad of spit onto the ground, and she watched it hit, sluglike, bending the frosted grass. “The dead can’t hurt ya.”

  The door to the deadhouse groaned open. Inside was nothing but shadows.

  “You need me to go in with you?” he asked.

  “No, I can manage.”

  She used her hands to feel her way inside. The walls were as frigid as a butcher’s locker, trapping the winter’s freeze. But here, instead of meat hung neatly on hooks, the flesh was laid out on the earth, bodies stacked awkwardly one on top of the other.

  “She’ll be on your right,” the groundskeeper called, and Molly heard amusement in his voice. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort, one of the men who used the small bit of power he was given to make others feel less.

  “I’ll need a light.”

  He handed his lantern through the door, smirking.

  Snatching it, she nearly tripped on a well-worn black boot, a foot still inside.

  Swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat, Molly stepped over the body and began down the line. Covers had been carelessly thrown over most of the dead, oiled canvas cloths that could be easily washed off and reused. Limbs peeked out from beneath—a hand here, a leg there.

  Steeling herself, she pulled back the first sheet.

  A boy’s face stared at her, eyes bulging, lips purple with swelling. He could be no more than ten. She choked down a scream.

  Outside, the hiss of a match sounded, followed by the groundskeeper’s chuckle. “You all right in there?”

  “I’m fine.” If her voice was unsteady, all the better. So would a grieving sister’s be.

  Molly moved to the next body. This one was not so decomposed, the face still full of a grim kind of life. But it was a man’s face, not the one she needed.

  The next body was too mangled to tell gender or age.

  Then, from the shadows, she caught the pale flash of a white wrist against the dirt. Setting the lantern down, she knelt. With a gentle hand, she pulled back the sheet.

  A girl stared up at her, brown eyes as clear as a first-day fish at market.

  Molly reached out to touch the face, sure that she was still alive.

  But her fingers met cold flesh, the cheek rubbery beneath her touch. Along the girl’s mouth was a cluster of sores and a small birthmark.

  “You find her?”

  Molly jumped back, nearly knocking into the groundskeeper, who had unexpectedly appeared behind her. “Yes,” she managed. “This is her.”

  “A pity, when they go so young.” The man nudged the body with his boot.

  “Leave her be.”

  “Your sister, did ya say?” The groundskeeper peered at her through the dark. “What was her name again?”

  “Mary.” Molly’s mouth was dry. “I loved her very much.”

  She could do this. Had to do this if she wanted to prove herself capable enough to remain at Ava’s and find Edgar. Her heart sped.

  The groundskeeper removed the smoking pipe from his mouth and dumped its ashes inches from the corpse’s dress.

  “Have some respect!” She felt strangely confident.

  The groundskeeper took hold of Molly’s arm. “Now see here . . .”

  A shadow appeared in the doorway behind them.

  “Tom!” Molly said with relief.

  But it was not Tom.

  Even before he spoke, Molly could see that. The shadow was huge, larger than the groundskeeper by a head. When he moved, a clicking sound followed, like a child’s rattle.

  “Who’s she?” His voice was deep and graveled, like rocks knocking against a can. He stepped into the lantern’s glow, and Molly gasped.

  This was not a man but a nightmare.

  His suit hung from his body in tattered black strips, as if he had stepped from the grave himself. Looped over his bare neck hung a long necklace, its chain strung with tiny bits of glowing white.

  “Thought you might turn up,” the groundskeeper said. He yanked Molly forward. “Allow me to introduce you. Girl, meet the Tooth Fairy.”

  11

  Molly raised a hand to her mouth to stop the scream.

  “You’re a pretty thing.” The Tooth Fairy ran a finger, its nail rough with dirt, beneath her chin. His breath rushed against her face in a hot wind of rotted leaves.

  Every instinct in her body told her to crumple to the ground and play dead. But a new and surprising voice sounded in her mind to steady her. Ginny, the girl from her first night stealing a head.

  They can’t scare you if you ain’t afraid.

  “Take your hands off me, please,” she said.

  The Tooth Fairy’s grin revealed wooden dentures, each tooth filed to a point.

  “Why are you in the cemetery at night, little girl?” His necklace rattled as he moved closer, and Molly saw
the tiny white bits for what they were—hundreds of human teeth.

  Her own jaw felt unexpectedly loose. “I’m here for my sister.”

  “That girl there?” He nodded to the body at their feet.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “That woman’s a whore. I’ve ridden her myself. Came tonight to buy her a final time.” Reaching into his pocket, he flipped a silver coin to the groundskeeper. “For your trouble.”

  “That ain’t nearly enough,” the groundskeeper grumbled, but then he caught the Tooth Fairy’s menacing glare and quieted.

  The sensible thing, the only thing, was to run. To escape here as quickly as she could without ever looking back.

  Instead, Molly searched her pocket for the knife. Too late, she realized she’d left it in her coat.

  “Mary’d fallen away from us,” she said, letting her nerves make her voice shaky. Her mind raced, fumbling through the pieces of her story. She needed only to make something here. To piece the lies together like a winter crow weaving sticks into its nest.

  The Tooth Fairy bent to grab the dead girl’s hair. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true.” The words came more easily now. And for the first time, she drew on her pain instead of hiding it, forcing open the raw wounds of her past. Da dead, and Ma leaving Molly so that she could die beside him. Kitty abandoning her for a boy who’d destroyed her.

  “Our family was religious. My da was a pastor. He thought Mary a sinner, so he threw her out.”

  The Tooth Fairy laughed. “Not a very Christian thing to do.”

  “No,” Molly said vehemently. “It’s unforgivable.”

  The vitriol in her voice seemed to surprise the Tooth Fairy. He rocked back on his heels, listening with full attention.

  “My sister’s been lost to me these last years, but I’ve found her now. She isn’t yours to take.”

  The Tooth Fairy’s smile stretched across his unnatural teeth. “It’s a good story, girl. Sad . . .”

  “Maybe she is what she says she is,” the groundskeeper said, looking suddenly uneasy. “Look at her dress.”

  “Just a costume, probably,” said the Tooth Fairy. “Could buy it at any secondhand shop.”

  “Or it’s real,” said the other man. “We don’t want the police bothering us if the girl’s telling the truth and her da’s a pastor.”

  “It’s still a dead whore. There’s little the police will care about that.”

  They can’t scare you if you ain’t afraid.

  “Enough!” Molly stepped in front of the dead girl, though it took everything in her to keep her limbs from shaking. She forced herself to straighten. “I’ll have my sister now.”

  Looking ashamed, the groundskeeper tucked his hands into his pockets and turned to the Tooth Fairy for guidance.

  All pretense of amusement fell away from his face. The Tooth Fairy reached into a filthy bag tied to his waist, and the lantern caught the glint of metal. Bringing out a rusty pair of pliers, he shoved them between the dead girl’s lips.

  There was a crunch, then a pop. The pliers reemerged, a tooth cradled between them, root still intact.

  They can’t scare you if . . .

  But Molly was. She was very, very afraid.

  She spun, retching onto the ground. The thread of sick sent steam into the air.

  Behind her, the popping sound came again. And again.

  She did not turn around until it was over.

  “There,” said the Tooth Fairy, standing and tying shut the newly full bag at his waist. “I’ll not be greedy this night. If you are her sister, the body’s yours.”

  She managed, just barely, to stay standing.

  “And if you’re not . . .” He held the pliers high and clipped them closed.

  Her knees landed in her own vomit as she fell to the ground.

  The pretty dress was ruined, but she didn’t care.

  When the first wrenching sob came, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  * * *

  “Here now. Quiet.” The groundskeeper knelt beside her and offered his handkerchief. “You really are upset, aren’t ya? Look, your sister came to her own bad end. Ain’t your fault.”

  From the ground, the once-beautiful girl’s body stared. She looked like an old woman now, her mouth caved in an ugly pucker. The birthmark above her lip, once a small freckle, had stretched into a smudge.

  “Will you be taking her?” The groundskeeper looked nervously around. “I can help you load her if you’ve got a wagon.” He studied Molly’s dress again, her hair and face. “Best to get on with it.”

  “I need some air.” She felt her legs wobble like gelatin as she tried to stand.

  “Easy.” He grudgingly offered her an arm that she ignored.

  Stumbling out of the deadhouse, Molly took in great gulps of the night air. Her sick-stained dress wrapped around her ankles, twining in an excess of fabric as she tried to walk.

  Each time she closed her eyes, she heard the tiny popping noise of teeth.

  “Molly.” Her name sounded close to her ear. Tom appeared from the shadows beside her.

  “Take me home.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. The boys were late. There was a problem with a delivery, and . . .”

  “Now.”

  Something in her face must have alarmed him. “All right.”

  The groundskeeper emerged, lantern held aloft. “You her help?” He stared at Tom’s dirty clothes distrustfully.

  “Yes.”

  “Your mistress isn’t doing well.”

  “She and her sister were very close.”

  The groundskeeper grunted. “The body’s not in good shape. There were some accidents in moving it.”

  “What kind of accidents?” Tom’s eye narrowed.

  “Her teeth.”

  Something unspoken passed between the two men.

  “I’m sure my mistress would just like the chance to bury her,” Tom said finally. The threat in his voice could not be mistaken. He whistled, and two shapes emerged from the dark. Boys, thirteen or fourteen. Twins. Each the image of the other.

  “If I find that any of you are lying to me—”

  “You said the body had been abused?” Tom cut in neatly.

  “It’ll do for a burial. Might just want to keep the casket closed.”

  They stared at each other.

  “If I should see you around here again,” the groundskeeper began.

  “You won’t.”

  “Nor your lady neither.”

  “No.”

  With a tight nod, Tom directed the twins. “Get the girl. Load her in the wagon.”

  They scampered to obey. The groundskeeper, with a final, disgusted sound, retreated. “I’ve counted the bodies,” he said. “Best be only the one gone.”

  Molly heard all of this as if it were a dream, the voices rising above her.

  “Let’s go.” Tom gently took her arm.

  When they arrived back at the cemetery gate, Molly found her aunt’s carriage waiting.

  “Go on,” Tom said. “This will take you home.”

  She started to protest, but a rush of exhaustion overwhelmed her, as if she’d run a great distance. She let Tom help her inside.

  “You did fine,” he said, forcing her to look at him.

  “I puked all over my dress.” Her eyes were burning, her body quivering.

  “You met the Tooth Fairy and stayed alive.” He laid a hand over her own. “That’s a hell of a lot more than most people can say.”

  “Who is he?” Molly asked. Philadelphia seemed to house as many monsters as bodies.

  “A bad man.” Tom shook his head. There was anger in his eye and something else too. Something she’d never seen in him before.


  Fear.

  “It’ll get easier,” he said before shutting the door.

  She laid her head against the seat’s night-cooled fabric, the velvet smooth against her cheek. The empty carriage bucked to life.

  Or, no. Not so empty after all. Because even when she shut her eyes, there was the dead girl and, beside her, Kitty, their ghost gazes bright pinwheels of flame.

  They followed her all the way home, faithful as any maids, their vows to serve forever.

  12

  Someone was sitting on the edge of her bed.

  In her dreams, Molly was still a child, and as she fought her way from sleep’s cunning grip, it was Ma’s face she saw. Ma as she looked that final time, walking away from the orphanage . . . from her. Molly reached out. But as the woman moved into the window’s light, her face became disfigured, fine features thickening to that of a monster.

  She sat up quickly, pulling the sheets tightly around herself.

  “Good morning.” Ava held out a small tray. On it rested a bowl filled with white powder and a small gold-handled brush. “It’s for cleaning your teeth.” She smiled, then took the brush and dipped its horsehair tip into the powder, holding it toward Molly.

  At the orphanage, they’d peeled birch branches and used them to rub salt into their gums. Warily, Molly took it, moving the brush toward her mouth.

  A flash of the dead girl’s once-pretty face ballooned in her mind. For an instant, Molly’s mouth felt sunken, her teeth loose, and she slammed the toothbrush down on the tray, turning swiftly away.

  The snap of the Tooth Fairy’s pliers followed her, like a clicking cockroach after a trail of bread.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Ava said quietly. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

  Molly nodded, swallowing hard. “Who was that man?”

  A shadow crossed Ava’s face. “Someone who needs taking care of.”

  “Tom said there’s people disappearing. Is it—”

  “Tom says a great many things he has no business talking about,” Ava said. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right. Are you?”