The Grimscribe's Puppets by Joseph S. Pulver Sr., Simon Strantzas, Michael Cisco, Gemma Files, Richard Gavin, Darrell Schweitzer, Allyson Bird, Livia Llewellyn, Joseph S. Pulver Page B
Authors: Joseph S. Pulver Sr., Simon Strantzas, Michael Cisco, Gemma Files, Richard Gavin, Darrell Schweitzer, Allyson Bird, Livia Llewellyn, Joseph S. Pulver
Tags: General, Literature & Fiction, Horror, Short Stories, Genre Fiction, Anthologies & Literary Collections, Anthologies
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Find a light place to live.
The first house, the light hummed musically, but there were too many comings and goings. She never knew who would be in the bathroom, or who would bang on the door for her to get the fuck out. She needed time for her powdering. A moth dies without a powdering.
Talc made her cough and sneeze. She loved the lilac-scented smell of it so much, sometimes she closed the bathroom door and puffed the talc out until it filled the air. She breathed in, mouth open, tasting the sweet powder.
Talc brought her mother back so real, that and the underlying smell of sweat. It was always warm in her childhood house.
She had to leave that place; there were too many people and they wanted to talk to her. She kept her lips pursed closed and when someone asked her a question she smiled as if she were an imbecile.
She thought they watched her throat, purple from the lilac. She’d live off lilac if she could. She loved it in her honey and her tea, she had her lipstick sent from America, lilac flavoured and shiny and thick on her lips, she wore it at home and out but she couldn’t stop herself from licking it off. She sucked on lilac lozenges from England and she cooked lilac into her porridge. She stirred lilac-flavoured sugar into her tea and she ate it by the spoonful if no one was watching.
She liked to stroke her throat because it was covered in a silky, downy hair and it felt nice on her fingers. There was hair on her large, soft stomach and she liked to stroke that, too.
The human moth was spared the embarrassment of people asking her if she was pregnant because people didn’t often see her. If she fluttered between a man and his light he’d look up and swat at her. By then she would have snipped off a corner of his shirt and have it tucked under her tongue.
She found a small apartment, up high, quiet. Some days she watched the moths outside and thought she could join them so easily.
The human moth couldn’t fly but she had flapping wings of flesh under her arms. She went walking at night, especially when the moon was waning and the lights of the houses shine so brightly the glow hurt her eyes.
The lights outside were so beautiful and varied all she could do was follow them.
She liked curtain-open people. These ones she could watch. Although curtain-closed people she could creep up and listen and she could mark the house for next time, write in chalk they couldn’t see or rub up against the letterbox or spit, or piss.
It was warm outside her apartment. The human moth sweated a lot and the talcum powder she wore caked onto her like the makeup of little old ladies. She learnt not to shake the talc on when she was soaking wet out of the bath because it clumped and was not powdery at all. Instead, she body buttered herself and then stood in the shower, tipped the shaker up.
She enjoyed the warm open air, and walked for an hour, or two, keeping her eyes on the streetlights, her hands out to catch the moths. They led her to the park, where a drunk man slumped under a light on a park bench with his elbows on his thighs. His face resting on the palms of his hands.
She was attracted to his sweat just like a clothes moth, although they don’t like the light. They’ll hide under rugs and the caterpillars love to chew on dirty clothes.
His wallet bulged out of the back pocket of his dirty pants. He’d fallen over, mud along one side of his clothing, blood oozing out of one ear.
He had a yellow wristband and this he waved at her as she sat down. He didn’t seem to mind how she looked.
“All you can drink! What do they expect is going to happen, all you can drink? Those bitches, they’re all over the big bosses, forget about the rest of us,” he said. His voice was clear and too loud. Apart from the two of them and the moths the park was empty. He looked sideways at the human moth, assessing her. Would she do? Clearly he’d been turned down by the women he worked with but the human moth thought he
The first house, the light hummed musically, but there were too many comings and goings. She never knew who would be in the bathroom, or who would bang on the door for her to get the fuck out. She needed time for her powdering. A moth dies without a powdering.
Talc made her cough and sneeze. She loved the lilac-scented smell of it so much, sometimes she closed the bathroom door and puffed the talc out until it filled the air. She breathed in, mouth open, tasting the sweet powder.
Talc brought her mother back so real, that and the underlying smell of sweat. It was always warm in her childhood house.
She had to leave that place; there were too many people and they wanted to talk to her. She kept her lips pursed closed and when someone asked her a question she smiled as if she were an imbecile.
She thought they watched her throat, purple from the lilac. She’d live off lilac if she could. She loved it in her honey and her tea, she had her lipstick sent from America, lilac flavoured and shiny and thick on her lips, she wore it at home and out but she couldn’t stop herself from licking it off. She sucked on lilac lozenges from England and she cooked lilac into her porridge. She stirred lilac-flavoured sugar into her tea and she ate it by the spoonful if no one was watching.
She liked to stroke her throat because it was covered in a silky, downy hair and it felt nice on her fingers. There was hair on her large, soft stomach and she liked to stroke that, too.
The human moth was spared the embarrassment of people asking her if she was pregnant because people didn’t often see her. If she fluttered between a man and his light he’d look up and swat at her. By then she would have snipped off a corner of his shirt and have it tucked under her tongue.
She found a small apartment, up high, quiet. Some days she watched the moths outside and thought she could join them so easily.
The human moth couldn’t fly but she had flapping wings of flesh under her arms. She went walking at night, especially when the moon was waning and the lights of the houses shine so brightly the glow hurt her eyes.
The lights outside were so beautiful and varied all she could do was follow them.
She liked curtain-open people. These ones she could watch. Although curtain-closed people she could creep up and listen and she could mark the house for next time, write in chalk they couldn’t see or rub up against the letterbox or spit, or piss.
It was warm outside her apartment. The human moth sweated a lot and the talcum powder she wore caked onto her like the makeup of little old ladies. She learnt not to shake the talc on when she was soaking wet out of the bath because it clumped and was not powdery at all. Instead, she body buttered herself and then stood in the shower, tipped the shaker up.
She enjoyed the warm open air, and walked for an hour, or two, keeping her eyes on the streetlights, her hands out to catch the moths. They led her to the park, where a drunk man slumped under a light on a park bench with his elbows on his thighs. His face resting on the palms of his hands.
She was attracted to his sweat just like a clothes moth, although they don’t like the light. They’ll hide under rugs and the caterpillars love to chew on dirty clothes.
His wallet bulged out of the back pocket of his dirty pants. He’d fallen over, mud along one side of his clothing, blood oozing out of one ear.
He had a yellow wristband and this he waved at her as she sat down. He didn’t seem to mind how she looked.
“All you can drink! What do they expect is going to happen, all you can drink? Those bitches, they’re all over the big bosses, forget about the rest of us,” he said. His voice was clear and too loud. Apart from the two of them and the moths the park was empty. He looked sideways at the human moth, assessing her. Would she do? Clearly he’d been turned down by the women he worked with but the human moth thought he
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