#twisted tale

[l-egionaire]

@wuekka Its HERE! An Ecanto Twisted Tale! Holy shit! Whew!

[crescentmoons-and-stardust]

Twisted Tales: A Tooth For a Tooth

No one remembers the name of the first child to summon the Tooth Fairy but they all remember his legacy. The child’s parents were cruel and after a particularly rough night, the boy’s father had hit him hard enough to knock out his tooth. He lay awake in his bed, clutching the tooth, praying for help from anyone who would offer it. It was not an angel that came to him but a fairy born from the mocking laugh of a tyrant king.  The fairy offered her help in exchange for the tooth the child held in his hand. Readily he gave it to her and when he woke he found himself an orphan, alone but free of his burden. Word spread quickly among the children in town of a fairy that would come to your aid, for only the price of a single tooth. What was only one little tooth when you had a mouthful? And so, desperate children would pry the teeth from their tender gums and leave them under their pillow in hope of a visit from the tooth fairy. Dressed in goss and adorned with her payments, she stood a striking but intimidating figure. She did not care what the children would ask from her and as long as they paid their dues.  Some found her magical aid invigorating, intoxicating and so they would ask for more and more, yanking out as many teeth as they could. And when there was nothing left to give? Well, the strange fairy was not without reason. She would spirit the children away to her kingdom of bones to help her polish her trophies or collect her payments from others. Such time spent in a fairy’s realm would slowly change a child, until you couldn’t tell they had once been a child at all.  Soon the fairy had a little army of toothless imps to do her bidding. The more teeth she collects, the more she craves. Those who offer their fallen milktooth freely need not worry. Keep your window open, a candle lit and the tooth tucked safely under your pillow. A peaceful night of sleep will pass and a little reward may even be left behind.  But those who try to keep their teeth for themselves have much more to fear.  She wouldn’t hurt a child, she is not that cruel, but their loved ones may not be so lucky. Blood pouring from mouths and terrified screams as pliers tear gums are the last things a child might see before being taken away.

[worthymartyrconstruct]

My Daughter’s New Friend is Teaching Her Things I Never Did

We moved into the house in early spring, a little two-story fixer-upper on the edge of a dying town, the kind where everyone either works at the mill, or drinks because they don’t. My daughter, Lily, is seven. Sweet kid. Smart. Loves birds, dinosaurs, and stories before bed. It was just the two of us — her mother passed away during childbirth. We’ve managed.

The house was cheap. Too cheap. That should’ve been a red flag. But I told myself it was a fresh start.

Things were normal for the first few weeks. The backyard had overgrown weeds, the basement smelled like mold and something else — coppery, maybe — but nothing too unusual for an old house.

Then Lily made a friend.

"Her name's Elsie," she said one night while drawing in the living room. I didn’t think much of it. Imaginary friends are common, especially after moves. Still, something about how she said it felt... off. Too flat. Like she was repeating something she'd been told to say.

“Is she from school?” I asked.

“No. She was already here.”

I smiled, uneasy. “Already here?”

“She lives in the crawlspace. But she doesn’t like it.”

I went pale. “What crawlspace?”

“The one behind my closet.”

There was no crawlspace behind her closet. I helped install her shelves myself.

That night, after she went to sleep, I checked.

Behind her bookshelf, the drywall had been carefully peeled away. Not broken — peeled, like someone had slowly stripped it with a blade.

There was a space behind it. Maybe three feet deep. And in the middle of that crawlspace… were bones. Small ones. Scattered like dice. Maybe raccoon. I told myself that. I had to tell myself that.

I called pest control. They told me the bones were too old and too clean to be animal remains.

“More like a medical specimen,” the guy muttered before shrugging and leaving.

The next night, Lily didn’t want her bedtime story.

“Elsie tells better ones,” she said.

“What kind of stories?” I asked.

She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Ones about before.”

“Before what?”

“She says I used to live here. A long time ago. Before you stole me away.”

My blood went cold.

I asked who told her that. She only smiled and went to sleep.

Over the next week, Lily changed. Slightly, but enough for a parent to notice. Her drawings stopped being dinosaurs and birds. Now she drew open mouths. Rows of teeth. Holes in walls. A house on fire.

She began humming a lullaby I never taught her. A tune with no words, but it made my teeth ache.

One night, I woke up at 2:34 AM. I know the time because the house was completely silent — no creaks, no pipes, not even wind. And Lily was standing at the foot of my bed.

“Elsie says I can’t stay,” she whispered. “Not unless you leave.”

I sat up, trembling. “Lily… this isn’t funny.”

“She says I used to be hers. She buried me. But you brought me back. She doesn’t like that.”

I turned the lights on.

She was holding a scalpel.

We don’t have scalpels in our house.

The next day, I called a priest. Not because I’m religious — I’m not. But because therapy didn’t seem like the right fit. The priest came, looked around, prayed, and then stopped at the crawlspace.

He knelt beside it, whispering to himself. Then he backed away, pale as death.

“She’s not imaginary,” he said. “And that’s not a crawlspace.”

I didn’t understand. He only said: “She was buried there. Long ago. She’s not your daughter’s friend. She’s wearing your daughter like a coat.”

I packed everything. We ran.

We’ve been staying in a motel three towns over for a week now. Lily hasn’t said a word. But last night, I caught her staring into the mirror, giggling.

She whispered something I couldn’t hear.

So I leaned closer.

And she said, in a voice too deep to belong to any child: “You can’t steal what was never yours.”

I don’t know what to do. I don't think I have a daughter anymore.

But she still looks like her.

And I’m scared that Elsie knows I’m planning to run again.

[loo-nuh-tik]

[bustercortez]

Reading Disney Twisted Tale series (Sally's Lament) makes me write this down.

Title: Legacy

What if Sage didn't create Battle Force 5?

Context: Sage, being the last of her kind, losing her memories, traveling from zone to zone. Being hunted down by the Sarks and the Vandals. Until she found Jack Wheeler, the only human in the multiverse, helping him escape from Torso-10's grasp.

Meanwhile, Vert Wheeler didn't go to the Storm Shock thinking it was a natural and not knowing his father is in the zone.

Sage and Jack searches for the Battle Keys and fought the enemies. A year later, Krytus returned not in the form of a crystal but was imprisoned by the low maintenance in the sentient homeworld including his team in the same cell and are now free to conquer the multiverse. Can Sage and Jack save the multiverse? Can Sage recover her true memories of the past? And returning to their homes, reviving the blue sentient population and seeing his son again?

[books-in-a-storm]

December 2023 Book Haul

[jihef03]

Okay it has pictures now so I might buy it

[torpublishinggroup]

“How did you get a demon in your chicken?”

“The usual way. Couldn’t put it in the rooster. That’s how you get basilisks.” —T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone, on sale now

And don’t forget to check out What Moves the Dead, hitting shelves July 2022