The Contrary Tale of the Butterfly Girl: From the Peculiar Adventures of John Loveheart, Esq., Volume 2 by Ishbelle Bee
Authors: Ishbelle Bee
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her, bite into it. Slice it in half with teeth.
“ Why are you so worried about little Mr Loveheart , dearest? He ’ s a mad thing, no match for you, my darling . ”
“ He IRKS me, ” I reply
“ You are MY prime minister. You are my commander. You are my champion. FLATTEN HIM, EAT HIM UP, ” and she stares into me, drags me under. Her red eyes are corridors into Hell: the carpets spongy with blood.
“ Of course, m y Queen . ”
“ Good boy. Mr Loveheart is edible. What do mad things taste of I wonder? Perhaps he is sweet, ” and she takes another tart and pops it between her teeth. “ You ’ ve always been so competitive Zedock, ” and I know, if she wished it, she could splat me like a bug .
She continues, “ But remember: I am the top of the food chain, ” and she raises her finger to her servant, “ Come to me. ” Her voice is the darkest, most powerful hypnotism. I can feel the pressure; oh wondrous Queen. She is the horror fairytale. The garden shudders under her, ley lines form, fruit explodes in the trees.
The servant puts down the fan rather shakily and walks towards his Queen.
Hell is hungry.
Her gardens are full of red roses. Her gardens are full of blood. See them bloom, see them burst open ! Oooze. Seep their juices onto the lawn ;
drip
drip
drip.
Lick a petal and you will taste yourself .
Part Two
Boo Boo Grows Up
Boo Boo and Mr Angelcakes
T he first time he visited me I was six and it was my first night in Uncle Grubweed ’ s house. Pedrock had kissed me goodnight and I was alone. Alone in the sticky blackness, waggling my feet over the end of the bed, examining the space between my toes. I had always wanted red shoes. I remember Sister Harriet at the convent, who smelt of floor polish, told me that witches wear red shoes. I think Sister Harriet is probably dead now.
Mr Angelcakes was wearing another man ’ s skin when he appeared. I thought he was an angel, his eyes were so bright, like firecrackers.
I didn ’ t like the way he was looking at me.
He made bite marks on my arms, said I tasted like ice-cream.
“ Do angels eat ice-cream? ” I said.
“ All the ti m e, ” he replied. “ Now don ’ t be afraid, Boo Boo. My name is Mr Angelcakes and I am here to teach you. ”
“ Teach me what? ”
“ T o k ill . ”
I cuddled my frog puppet. I squeezed him close to my heart.
“ I am going to make you very strong, Boo Boo. I am going to m ake you into a weapon. ”
“ I don ’ t understand, ” I whispered.
“ To night I am going to tell you a story, ” and he touched my head with his finger, the skin loose and yellowish. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes and listened to the spider-words oozing from his mouth. Hairy, black little words. Tickling me with their fangs.
Once Upon a Time there was a young man called Mr Angelcakes and he had one thing he loved most in the world: his pet butterfly which was black and red.
But a very bad man called Hummingbird stole his butterfly and locked Mr Angelcakes in a tomb. Mr Angelcakes starved to death . And then something rather nasty took the skin off him and wore it. This nasty thing liked to eat human skins because they made him big and strong. The nasty thing liked the name Mr Angelcakes and decided to keep it.
So, the new Mr Angelcakes, deciding he wanted the butterfly Hummingbird had stolen, followed him back to England and watched him. The butterfly was very special, it protected Hummingbird from any harm and Mr Angelcakes couldn ’ t get close enough to steal it. The butterfly was believed to be the soul of an Aztec warrior, the greatest warrior of the Empire. She had never been defeated in battle. For all butterflies are warrior souls.
And so, Mr Angelcakes waited and watched Hummingbird for many years. Hummingbird liked to collect butterflies and to increase his collection he married women to inherit their butterfly collections and then killed them or stuffed them in madhouses.
One day Mr
“ Why are you so worried about little Mr Loveheart , dearest? He ’ s a mad thing, no match for you, my darling . ”
“ He IRKS me, ” I reply
“ You are MY prime minister. You are my commander. You are my champion. FLATTEN HIM, EAT HIM UP, ” and she stares into me, drags me under. Her red eyes are corridors into Hell: the carpets spongy with blood.
“ Of course, m y Queen . ”
“ Good boy. Mr Loveheart is edible. What do mad things taste of I wonder? Perhaps he is sweet, ” and she takes another tart and pops it between her teeth. “ You ’ ve always been so competitive Zedock, ” and I know, if she wished it, she could splat me like a bug .
She continues, “ But remember: I am the top of the food chain, ” and she raises her finger to her servant, “ Come to me. ” Her voice is the darkest, most powerful hypnotism. I can feel the pressure; oh wondrous Queen. She is the horror fairytale. The garden shudders under her, ley lines form, fruit explodes in the trees.
The servant puts down the fan rather shakily and walks towards his Queen.
Hell is hungry.
Her gardens are full of red roses. Her gardens are full of blood. See them bloom, see them burst open ! Oooze. Seep their juices onto the lawn ;
drip
drip
drip.
Lick a petal and you will taste yourself .
Part Two
Boo Boo Grows Up
Boo Boo and Mr Angelcakes
T he first time he visited me I was six and it was my first night in Uncle Grubweed ’ s house. Pedrock had kissed me goodnight and I was alone. Alone in the sticky blackness, waggling my feet over the end of the bed, examining the space between my toes. I had always wanted red shoes. I remember Sister Harriet at the convent, who smelt of floor polish, told me that witches wear red shoes. I think Sister Harriet is probably dead now.
Mr Angelcakes was wearing another man ’ s skin when he appeared. I thought he was an angel, his eyes were so bright, like firecrackers.
I didn ’ t like the way he was looking at me.
He made bite marks on my arms, said I tasted like ice-cream.
“ Do angels eat ice-cream? ” I said.
“ All the ti m e, ” he replied. “ Now don ’ t be afraid, Boo Boo. My name is Mr Angelcakes and I am here to teach you. ”
“ Teach me what? ”
“ T o k ill . ”
I cuddled my frog puppet. I squeezed him close to my heart.
“ I am going to make you very strong, Boo Boo. I am going to m ake you into a weapon. ”
“ I don ’ t understand, ” I whispered.
“ To night I am going to tell you a story, ” and he touched my head with his finger, the skin loose and yellowish. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes and listened to the spider-words oozing from his mouth. Hairy, black little words. Tickling me with their fangs.
Once Upon a Time there was a young man called Mr Angelcakes and he had one thing he loved most in the world: his pet butterfly which was black and red.
But a very bad man called Hummingbird stole his butterfly and locked Mr Angelcakes in a tomb. Mr Angelcakes starved to death . And then something rather nasty took the skin off him and wore it. This nasty thing liked to eat human skins because they made him big and strong. The nasty thing liked the name Mr Angelcakes and decided to keep it.
So, the new Mr Angelcakes, deciding he wanted the butterfly Hummingbird had stolen, followed him back to England and watched him. The butterfly was very special, it protected Hummingbird from any harm and Mr Angelcakes couldn ’ t get close enough to steal it. The butterfly was believed to be the soul of an Aztec warrior, the greatest warrior of the Empire. She had never been defeated in battle. For all butterflies are warrior souls.
And so, Mr Angelcakes waited and watched Hummingbird for many years. Hummingbird liked to collect butterflies and to increase his collection he married women to inherit their butterfly collections and then killed them or stuffed them in madhouses.
One day Mr
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