That Wicked Apple: A Scary Tale of Snow White and Even More Zombies

Chapter Eight

Dr. Killington and Margie

EVERYONE STARES AT MARGIE with a pained glance. Must not be a sweet tooth in the lot. Even Killi, whom she knows has a sweet-loving tongue, hurries across the room and takes her hand in his well-worn palms.

“Margie dear,” he says, “do please keep your voice down.”

“I’m sorry, Killi. I must be having one of my moments. Are we hiding?"

He pats her knuckles. “Yes, dear. We are.”

“Is it a surprise party? Should I make another cup of tea?”

***

KILLINGTON SHAKES HIS HEAD. These moments of hers are becoming more and more frequent. He strokes her palm with his thumb. Her skin is like a thin sheet. They share a smile.

“Not necessary,” he says. “Do please be quiet. We don’t want to ruin the surprise, do we?”

“Certainly not.” She gestures at the floor. “Is the mess part of the surprise?”

“It sure is,” Battson mutters.

“Killi, I think something’s wrong with Colleta. Could you check on her?”

He follows her gaze across the room to Lox. It’s not the first time in the past day that Margie has confused Lox for Colleta. Likely, it won’t be the last.

He pats her hand. “I’ll go talk with her right now. Remember, keep your voice down. Surprise.”

***

AH, THEN IT’S A prank! Wonderful. Margie’s quite the prankster. It was she who slipped whiskey into her baby brother’s milk, she who convinced her mother that a lovesick ghost haunted their carriage, and she who fooled Killi into thinking she’d had relations with farm animals. Granted, that last joke went too far, but the look on his face was priceless.

No matter.

She checks the tea water. Almost to a boil. What a shame they have no biscuits. Perhaps if she just looks around, maybe she could improvise a snack. She looks beneath the counter. Napkins. Jars of honey and sugar. Parchments. A flowerpot holding a bent deck of cards and a pair of worn dice. Bundles of silverware.

Movement catches her eye. A section of the floor throbs as if the wood has a headache. She fingers the square-shaped seam. Yes, it is moving. Ever so slightly. A trapdoor.

But how to open it? She finds a metal lever hidden underneath the counter and tugs it downward. The trapdoor yawns open. Beneath lurks a thin, ragged man in gypsy robes, his face painted the dull blue of a late, cloudless afternoon. He has a tattoo of a star on one temple. He stares up at her dully, and her heart flutters like a bird in a cage.

Delightful.

This must be their special guest. Margie flushes with guilt for forgetting his name. She must be having one of her moments yet again. Clearly, the stranger means to sneak up through this trap door and surprise everyone. And such a perfectly made-up monster, with his pale skin and blood-covered hands. Won’t they be surprised?

She winks at the man as he struggles upward.

Standing, Margie smiles slyly and pours the tea. The men and the little boys glance at her, and she nods.

The stranger crawls toward her.

She hums to herself, barely stifling a laugh.

Killi sits with Colleta, who appears dreadfully upset about something. He’s always been a perfect father and husband. Colleta’s so grown up that Margie hardly recognizes her. But Margie’s not sure about Colleta’s three plump little playmates across the room. Proper boys shouldn’t have beards. And the hairless one keeps staring at the floor.