The Contrary Tale of the Butterfly Girl: From the Peculiar Adventures of John Loveheart, Esq., Volume 2 by Ishbelle Bee Page A
Authors: Ishbelle Bee
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Angelcakes found a little girl who could help him and her name was Boo Boo. He decided he would make her into a warrior. And when she was old enough she would steal the butterfly and kill Hummingbird
Suddenly Pedrock came into the room. Mr Angelcakes disappeared, popped like a balloon. A fizzle-whiff of ice-cream scent hung in the air. Sweet-stale.
I was so frightened I did not know what to say, so I said nothing. If an Angel had been speaking to me, he must have been telling me the truth, and so I shut my mouth.
Before I fell asleep I counted the wobbly stars in the sky. I counted them until my eyelids shut like a book.
And I dreamt of skin, rolls and rolls of weird fabric. And there were angels sewing human skin costumes. Black threads looped through silver-sharp needles. Soggy bits were discarded, slung aside. Scraps for the angel-dogs. They chattered amongst themselves and their language was strange: squawks and low murmurs. Squealing and tongue clicking. Is this what angels really sound like? A mishmash of other sounds. Stolen perhaps. Around my neck was a magnifying glass on a black chain. A necklace. I held it up to my eyes and peered through the peephole. I could see them for what they really were.
Rotting things, falling apart in time. Leathery bubbling skin, green popping eyeballs.
I put the magnifying glass down and hunched over and vomited by my feet.
The next evening Prunella kicked Guardian and I slammed her head into the trifle dish and found it surprisingly easy. I could have killed her.
Mr Angelcakes came again that very same night and he brought me an axe.
“ I want you to chop Mr Icarus Hookeye ’ s head off. ”
“ Why? ”
“ It is a test. And if you refuse I will skin your brother. ”
I did what he said without question. I crept down into the kitchen. I could see Mr Hookeye looking out of the window. I jumped up onto the table and ran towards him, swinging the axe. He turned towards me, a look of surprise on his face, and I sliced his head off as easily as slicing a piece of cake. It bounced on the floor.
Mr Angelcakes was very happy with me. He licked my arm.
The remaining days at the Grubweed house passed like a daydream. I played in the garden with Guardian and picked blackberries and wild flowers in the woods. I imagined there were ghosts wandering about sulking, and I waved at them. Prodded them with sticks, chased them with butterfly nets.
Mr Angelcakes told me that Professor Hummingbird had killed my Uncle Grubweed, turned him into a butterfly and squashed him between his fingers. Mr Angelcakes could see things other people could not. He knew secret things.
The butterfly he carved into my back hurt, but he said the Professor would want me if he saw it. So I stopped complaining. I shut my stupid mouth.
I dreamt that I was a black butterfly. Monstrous. Landing on poppy heads, devouring their juices. I pulsated and swirl-danced like a little demon, red eyed and hungry. Stepping into space, I hovered over the strange little e arth : my body a hot engine. A great emptiness expanded within me.
I am an imploding star.
I licked everything I touched. Wet kisses, my spit honeybee sweet. My lips razor sharp.
I dream that I am a black butterfly and my name has been erased .
Mr Angelcakes ’ plan worked and the Professor wanted to adopt me. He took me to his castle in the woods to grow up. The forest is deep and full of giant toadstools and goblin laughter. Roots of the trees are like muscles, swelling and aching under the soil. Milk-white flowers and stingy nettles grow in handfuls round the paths. Dark, secret and happy moss spreads in moist places. If people get lost in these woods they turn into a plant. Flesh becomes vegetation.
That night I ate jam tarts for pudding with the Professor. I was his adopted daughter. I was his special girl. I knew I would miss Guardian, but Pedrock would look after him. My bedroom was bigger than my old one and I had a big red bed, a
Suddenly Pedrock came into the room. Mr Angelcakes disappeared, popped like a balloon. A fizzle-whiff of ice-cream scent hung in the air. Sweet-stale.
I was so frightened I did not know what to say, so I said nothing. If an Angel had been speaking to me, he must have been telling me the truth, and so I shut my mouth.
Before I fell asleep I counted the wobbly stars in the sky. I counted them until my eyelids shut like a book.
And I dreamt of skin, rolls and rolls of weird fabric. And there were angels sewing human skin costumes. Black threads looped through silver-sharp needles. Soggy bits were discarded, slung aside. Scraps for the angel-dogs. They chattered amongst themselves and their language was strange: squawks and low murmurs. Squealing and tongue clicking. Is this what angels really sound like? A mishmash of other sounds. Stolen perhaps. Around my neck was a magnifying glass on a black chain. A necklace. I held it up to my eyes and peered through the peephole. I could see them for what they really were.
Rotting things, falling apart in time. Leathery bubbling skin, green popping eyeballs.
I put the magnifying glass down and hunched over and vomited by my feet.
The next evening Prunella kicked Guardian and I slammed her head into the trifle dish and found it surprisingly easy. I could have killed her.
Mr Angelcakes came again that very same night and he brought me an axe.
“ I want you to chop Mr Icarus Hookeye ’ s head off. ”
“ Why? ”
“ It is a test. And if you refuse I will skin your brother. ”
I did what he said without question. I crept down into the kitchen. I could see Mr Hookeye looking out of the window. I jumped up onto the table and ran towards him, swinging the axe. He turned towards me, a look of surprise on his face, and I sliced his head off as easily as slicing a piece of cake. It bounced on the floor.
Mr Angelcakes was very happy with me. He licked my arm.
The remaining days at the Grubweed house passed like a daydream. I played in the garden with Guardian and picked blackberries and wild flowers in the woods. I imagined there were ghosts wandering about sulking, and I waved at them. Prodded them with sticks, chased them with butterfly nets.
Mr Angelcakes told me that Professor Hummingbird had killed my Uncle Grubweed, turned him into a butterfly and squashed him between his fingers. Mr Angelcakes could see things other people could not. He knew secret things.
The butterfly he carved into my back hurt, but he said the Professor would want me if he saw it. So I stopped complaining. I shut my stupid mouth.
I dreamt that I was a black butterfly. Monstrous. Landing on poppy heads, devouring their juices. I pulsated and swirl-danced like a little demon, red eyed and hungry. Stepping into space, I hovered over the strange little e arth : my body a hot engine. A great emptiness expanded within me.
I am an imploding star.
I licked everything I touched. Wet kisses, my spit honeybee sweet. My lips razor sharp.
I dream that I am a black butterfly and my name has been erased .
Mr Angelcakes ’ plan worked and the Professor wanted to adopt me. He took me to his castle in the woods to grow up. The forest is deep and full of giant toadstools and goblin laughter. Roots of the trees are like muscles, swelling and aching under the soil. Milk-white flowers and stingy nettles grow in handfuls round the paths. Dark, secret and happy moss spreads in moist places. If people get lost in these woods they turn into a plant. Flesh becomes vegetation.
That night I ate jam tarts for pudding with the Professor. I was his adopted daughter. I was his special girl. I knew I would miss Guardian, but Pedrock would look after him. My bedroom was bigger than my old one and I had a big red bed, a
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