DARK COTTAGE

By Gail Fulkerson

Once upon a time, there lived a husband and wife who loved to eat snacks of all kinds: cookies and candy, chocolate bars, and sugary cereals, to name a few. They snacked from the moment they got up until they went to bed at night. They snacked before and after supper, washing it all down with Pepsi. The wife also liked to drink tea with milk and no sugar. The husband liked to drink Pepsi all day and into the night. The odd thing was that neither of them gained any weight; they were slim to begin with and stayed that way. The wife attributed it to the tomato sandwiches she ate for lunch every day, while the husband drank a lot of coffee first thing in the morning. He takes it black with no sugar.

One day, the snacks ran out. The husband went to the store to buy more, but they were out of all snacks. He went to store after store, but there were none to be had. He was heartbroken and was sure his wife would be, too. She seemed to have the biggest sweet tooth between them. No snacks meant no sugar. Her body would begin to exhibit withdrawal symptoms - the shakes and sweats were the main symptoms, along with irritability and crying in equal measure.

He didn’t want to go home to face his wife with his failure, so he ran away into the woods, got lost, and ended up at an ancient cottage. He knocked on the door three times, asking if anyone was home after each knock. A wizened old woman opened the door after the third knock.  

“What brings you to my door, young man?” asked the old woman. 

“I’m lost and wondered if you could help me find my way out of this forest,” the man replied. 

“Please come in, tell me your story, and I will see whether I can help.”

The ceiling was low, the room small, the air was slightly smoky, and the man had to bend over so he wouldn’t bonk his head as he entered the room. The old woman busied herself with plates and cups, placing them on the small table in the centre of the room. “Please sit down, and I will serve us tea. We can drink it while you tell me your story of how you found my cottage.”

She sat him at the small table set with plates and teacups. She poured boiling water over some tea leaves in a teapot with a cracked lid, let it steep, and then poured it into their cups.

He took a sip of the tea and found it agreeable. As he sipped, he told the old woman more of his life with his wife and asked her whether she’d ever been married. He yawned and apologized for doing so through heavy-lidded eyes. The old woman then led him to a small settee and asked if he’d like to lie down for a spell. He agreed and settled comfortably, closing his eyes. He was asleep in moments, softly snoring. The old woman got busy stoking the fire and putting away the dishware in readiness for the next person who happened to knock at her door. 

When the fire was blazing, the old woman tossed the now-dead man, after drinking the poisoned tea, into the flames and watched as his clothing burned and then his body. The cremation took hours, but finally, the husband was nothing but ashes. She crocheted while the cremation took place. 

After the fireplace had cooled, the old woman swept the hearth and placed the ashes in a metal container. She marked the man’s name and date of cremation on it, then placed the urn with the others in the cupboard by the fireplace. By her count, today’s addition made ten. She was aiming for twelve; she was two shy of her goal. She would either have to wait for the next victim to appear or go out in search of one. She opted to go out and search. 

She thought of the wife waiting for her husband to come home, not knowing his fate. The old woman made a beeline for their house, concocting a plausible narrative to tell the young woman when she got there.

She invited the young woman to accompany her to her cottage, where they would have a lovely cup of tea, and the woman accepted. As they walked, the old woman told the younger one of her life - it was all lies, of course, but the young woman had no idea. When they reached the cottage in the early evening, the old woman opened the door. A blast of heat accosted them, and the old woman lied and said she’d been baking all morning and most of the afternoon.  

The old woman filled the kettle with cold water, put it on the fire to boil, then poured it into the teapot over some tea leaves, and finally poured it into the cups. She sat down across the table from the young woman. The old woman offered the young woman some freshly baked cookies; she gladly accepted them and died within minutes of eating them.

The old woman stoked the fire, and when it was blazing, tossed the young woman’s body into the flames. Then she crocheted while the cremation occurred. 

Hours later, the fire had died down, and the hearth was cool enough to sweep. The old woman used a metal container to place the young woman’s ashes in and then put her beside her husband. 

They will spend eternity together bemoaning the lack of snacks. 

Gail Fulkerson is a writer and a regular contributor to 'OZ', who specializes in writings of the supernatural. She lives with her family in Saskatchewan, where she is working on another story. This is a series about Ophelia Banks. 

Gail just published her new book: "Tales of the Macabre". The book is available at Turning the Tide bookstore in Saskatoon or online direct from Gail. Make a comment and I will pass on your information to her. Stay tuned to 'OZ' for future stories.