The Goddess of Misery

Oor tale begins on the dusty, dirty streets o' whit wid eventually become Glesga, lang afore electric lichts or cobbles.

The locals lived unner the shadow o' poverty and death. Hope wis as scarce as a full, satisfied belly.

The king o' the land thanked God above for aw his gowden riches, while the folk o' the lower classes thanked Him that they'd made it through another deathly cauld nicht.

Until they couldnae.

If ye lived tae the ripe auld age o' forty-two, folk whispered that ye were either blessed or cursed.

Alang the stretch o' toon that wid someday be kent as Castle Street lived a shoemaker and his guid wife.

He wis a proud man o' skill, but life routinely fucked him like a dirty wee midden. His wee shop and his beautiful, though poverty-beaten, wife had been there a lang, lang time.

Normally, as ye'd imagine, shoes were something every cunt needed. Hooever, when ye couldnae even afford the basics, shoes became luxuries.

So the shoemaker tried tae sell his wares tae the rich and clean folk who lived beyond the dirt and the mire on the brighter side o' the village.

Ah say tried, 'cause he didnae hae much in the way o' materials or decent tools. He wisnae exactly on course tae hit the big time.

His wife wis a beautiful lass, inside and oot. We called her the Goddess o' Misery. Plenty o' suitors—if ye want tae call them that—had tried tae win her aff her feet, but she wis loyalty personified.

Her lang, though worn-oot, legs opened for her husband and nae other fucker.

She wis better than he deserved, and he kent it.

The year o' oor tale wis a bastard for the poorest folk in the land, and the shoemaker wis feelin' every miserable second o' it. He couldnae afford better leather, better tools, or finer materials tae tempt his wealthiest customers.

Daft bugger worked his fingers tae the bone, often leavin' his poor wee wife alone in bed.

Auburn locks still shone despite their coating o' mire. We watched her dream o' better tomorrows and listened tae her quiet moans o' desperation... and o' joy whenever her fantasies finally took ower.

She often spoke aboot leavin' and travelin', but the shoemaker aye telt her everything wid be awright soon enough.

He'd been tellin' her the same story for near enough twenty years.

Wan nicht, as the moon shone mockingly ower the toon, the shoemaker finally had enough. Efter makin' sure his wife wis wrapped up warm in bed, he wandered intae the woods beyond his hoose and workshop.

He cried.

He howled.

He begged naebody in particular tae make him a success.

He'd dae anything.

That's aw we needed tae hear.

He even cried oot tae their God afore trudgin' back tae his dingy wee workshop and his shite tools.

While we took jist wan snip, wan strand o' her mesmerising brown curls. Wan frae her heid. A lick o' her blood. That's a' we needed. 

Hair and blood.

Hair and blood remembers. 

Piss and shite remembers.

Humans forget.

But we didnae.

He collapsed where he sat, asleep ower a worn-oot strip o' leather.

Daft auld bastard.

Eleanor wis dreamin' again.

O' better tomorrows.

Morn felt nae different frae ony other for the charmless fucker an' his wild, unkempt beauty o' a wife.

She laid stale bread ower the open fire tae toast for their breakfast.

"Does ma hair look any different tae ye, Tam?" she asked, feeling remiss as she finger brushed her curls frae her eyes.

"It needs a wash and sum sorta styling." Tam croaked.

Poor fuckers.

Efter weak tea an' toast, they stumbled intae the workshop an' were nearly blinded by something new an' shiny.

On the table sat a beautiful pair o' ladies' boots, engraved wae Eleanor alang the ankle. Deep purple leather, lined in rich brown.

Some o' oor finest work.

"Oh Tam... whit happened? How did ye manage tae make these? For me?"

She gasped as feckless Tam scratched the back o' his heid.

Bugger.

Curiously, Tam didnae share her confusion. Instead he played it aff as though this had been his plan aw alang.

Thievin' bastard.

"Aye, ma dear. Ah couldnae wait till yer birthday. Ah kent they'd look extravagant, but imagine ye, wearin' them roon the toon. Folk'll notice. It'll drum up business."

His lang, awkward smile, black teeth dullin' the brightness o' the morn, telt a very different story.

She kent he wis a lyin' bastard, but forgave him... again... an' gied him the benefit o' the doubt as she slid her dainty feet intae their new hame.

"Thank ye, Tam. Ah love them. Dae ye fancy comin' back tae bed for a proper thank ye?"

We shouldnae watch.

But we'd aye been fascinated by humans... especially intimacy.

Besides...

He might confess.

Thirty minutes later...

Nae confession.

Jist the auld fucker tappin' awa' wae his hammer while Eleanor wondered how much better her life could've been.

She went oot tae visit wan o' her only friends, an auld wumman ca'd Farrah.

Farrah wis aulder than Eleanor.

Whether she wis wiser, jealous, or simply intrigued by the boots, we couldnae quite tell.

Eleanor certainly trusted her mair than she trusted Tam.

Farrah admired the boots.

"Mind if Ah try them on?"

Eleanor hesitated, pointin' tae the neat stitchin' o' her name alang the ankle.

Still, Farrah persisted.

When she offered a few fresh eggs in exchange, Eleanor finally relented.

Farrah tried tae slide the boots aff Eleanor's feet.

They wouldnae budge.

She frowned.

We thoroughly enjoyed watchin' her struggle.

Pretty wee thing.

Farrah leaned doon an' gently stroked the ootside o' the boot, tracing the stitchin' o' Eleanor's name wae the tip o' her finger.

She looked... a wee bit entranced.

But didnae seem surprised.

"Ah'd be careful wae thae boots, lass."

"They feel... powerful."

"Tam made them last nicht for me."

"Aye? Did he?"

Farrah's voice softened.

"That's sweet enough, but shoes that choose their owner are powerful things."

"Are ye sure ye ken whit ye're gettin' yersel' intae?"

"Ach, Farrah... they're jist shoes."

Eleanor laughed it aff, but we could tell Farrah's words had planted a seed.

Maybe we should've silenced Farrah.

But there are crueller ways tae quiet a voice.

Back at the workshop, it seemed a bouquet o' flowers had been delivered for Eleanor.

Tam wisnae happy aboot that.

As though the miserable bastard had a choice.

Still...

Another suitor wisnae really a problem.

We'll see.

Looks like it's time for bed.

Eleanor took hersel' aff tae bed, but the daft bugger didnae follow.

Fucking idiot.

He stayed behind, slavin' ower the same tired bit o' leather wae the same shite hammer.

At least that meant we could watch her till he drifted aff.

Then we could get tae work.

Humans struggle wae patience.

We dinnae.

It's sweeter that way.

As she slept, her ankles slowly brushed against wan another inside the boots.

It wis already workin'.

She fascinated us.

She deserved tae wear beautiful things.

She deserved tae sing.

She deserved tae laugh.

Most o' aw...

She deserved tae exist somewhere the world couldnae touch her.

Eventually Tam swallowed a mouthful o' dirty water, slumped ower his bench, an' sank intae sleep.

Now...

We could begin.

We'd already finished another pair o' boots.

These wanes were sturdy, black an' unmistakably masculine.

Made specially for the farmer that had his eye on Eleanor.

We reckoned he wis the cunt that'd sent the flowers.

Him an' Tam had never seen eye tae eye.

He looked at Eleanor an' saw a bonnie wife tae come hame tae.

Wanted tae treat her mair like a lady.

Wanted tae protect her.

Wanted tae possess her.

Same shite.

Different name.

Maybe he'd satisfy her mair than Tam ever could.

Pitiful mammals.

We'll save the description o' the boots till Eleanor wakes.

She's got a wee delivery tae make first.

Time tae expose another shitehawk for whit he really is.

Right on cue, helped alang by the gentle brush o' oor claws through her beautiful auburn hair, she woke tae find a pair o' black boots sittin' beside the sleepin' pile o' bones she called a husband.

Beside them lay a note he'd supposedly "written."

"Please deliver these tae that wanker Derrick in the morn. He'll accept them frae ye. Tell him it's double his usual fee. These are some o' ma finest work."

Watchin' her shrug, lift the boots, an' settle them neatly intae the waitin' box made us laugh.

Humans really will believe almost anything if it comes frae somebody they love.

Following her through the shite and the mire—if there's even a difference—we watched as she knocked oan Derrick's door. He wis, o' course, delighted tae see her. We couldnae blame him. She wis the kind o' beauty ye wanted tae shelter fae the world, no' let the world touch.

"Aw, Eleanor, whit a pleasure tae see ye, lass. Ah'm surprised Tam lets ye oot. Ye'd be oan a tight leash if ye were mine."

Suave prick. Aw talk, no cock.

"Ach, yer a cheeky bastard, Derrick!" she laughed, giein' him a wee shove before rubbin' at her ankles.

"Ye awright, lass? Are those shoes too tight? Let me guess—numbnuts made them? D'ye want tae sit doon?"

We had tae admire the suave prick. That actually sounded genuine.

"Nae, Derrick. Ah'll be fine."

"Right then, let's see whit the auld bugger's managed this time."

She laughed, blushed, then threatened him wae a slap.

Good lass.

The minute he lifted the lid o' the box, his face wis a picture.

"Eleanor... are ye takin' me for a fool?"

"Why wid Ah dae that, Derrick?"

"There's nae chance that shite made these. He must be gettin' help... or he's stolen them."

She laughed at first, but we could tell the doubt wis sinkin' deeper than Derrick ever hoped tae sink intae her.

"D'ye want them or no?" she asked firmly.

"Aye... but Ah'll gie ye the usual price. Unless ye fancy comin' back later for a wee nightcap?"

"The usual price's fine."

She didnae look fine.

Later that night, while Eleanor slept, enjoyin' the gentle massage fae inside her enchanted boots, Derrick tried on his own pair.

Whit happened next...

Och, ye'll find oot soon enough.

Tam still thought he wis the man as he nodded aff tae the Land o' Nod—which, tae be fair, wisnae much different fae his wakin' state.

We'd been watchin' the poor lass for a lang, lang time. Somewhere alang the way we'd fallen for her. Maybe it wis her kindness. Maybe it wis the way she still smiled despite everythin'. Or maybe it wis that haunting wee voice o' hers whenever she sang.

I wish tae be anywhere but here.

Ah dinnae care where.

Ah just wish tae be anywhere but here.

Tam would aye laugh.

"Soon."

She wis kind tae a fault but didnae suffer fools gladly.

Derrick had chased her lang before she ever met Tam.

Tam, ironically enough, had swept her aff her feet.

We'd watched it aw wae interest. We'd spent centuries studyin' humans searchin' for companions. They never seemed tae ken whit tae dae once they found one.

We had watched her for years.

We should've looked away.

Over time, we had watched kings, queens, saints, sinners, murderers and sluts. Eleanor wisnae the first by a lang shot, but maybe she'd be the last.

As she slept, we left a wee surprise for poor auld Tam.

A note.

Tam. We gave ye a chance. Noo we're giein' ye a choice. Tell Eleanor the truth, or the same thing that'll happen tae her has already happened tae poor wee Derrick.

We brushed our claws gently across Eleanor's face, dustin' her wae a sleep that would keep her dreamin' a while longer.

One final chance.

We already kent he wouldnae take it.

A knock rattled the door.

Derrick wis shoutin' aw kinds o' nonsense.

Tam opened the door, then nearly slammed it shut again. He couldnae see Derrick.

Then he heard greetin'.

"Ah'm doon here, ya cunt."

Only then did he actually open the door.

"Hawl, pal... come oot here."

"Nae! Fuck aff! Stay away fae ma Eleanor! Yer a wee freak, Derrick. Ye always huv been."

Interesting choice o' words there, Tam.

Mind ye, even we couldnae quite tell how this wis gonnae play oot.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck... whit am Ah gonnae dae? Ah could tell her everythin'... but that'll expose ma lie. Cannae huv that."

We watched Tam stare at an auld leather strap.

Wonder whit's gaun through that empty heid.

Then we watched him creep intae the bedroom.

He strapped Eleanor tae the bed while she still slept.

Sneaky wee bastard.

"Just till Ah work oot whit tae dae."

He looked calmer.

Maybe it wis time tae gie him a wee bit mair motivation.

"Tam! Tam! Help!"

Eleanor screamed.

Tam bolted through the door and froze.

Ma wee claws curled gently roond Eleanor's shapely ankles while ma brother rested an axe across his shoulder.

"Rest easy," Ah whispered. "Sing yer wee song, oor Goddess o' Misery."

Tam lunged.

"Now, now, Tam. Is that ony way tae treat yer saviours?"

Ah smiled.

"Unstrap Eleanor... an' tell her the truth... or Ah'll be takin' ma boots back."

"Nae... Ah dinnae ken whit ye mean."

His sweatin' brow said otherwise.

"Tam... Tam... please..."

Eleanor's voice cracked.

"Ah ken ye didnae make those shoes. Every cunt kens."

Ma brother slowly stroked the edge o' the axe along Eleanor's boots.

Ah couldnae help but grin.

"Why no' tell the truth? Just once."

Tam took a few deep breaths, lit a match, and hurled it at us.

"Well... that wis a dick move."

Cunt.

"If ye'd just been honest, ye could've been somethin'. Instead ye've buried yersel' under lie after lie. Ye've been tellin' her 'soon' for twenty years."

"Ah love ye, Eleanor. Ah dae everythin' Ah can for ye."

"Naw," she whispered.

"Ye just wanted tae drag me doon wae ye."

"It's even worse than that," Ah said.

"Be a guid lad an' fetch the letter fae the workshop."

Tam tried tae resist.

He couldnae.

A few moments later he stood holdin' it.

After Eleanor read it, she looked him square in the eye.

"Get tae fuck, Tam."

"So whit? Yer gonnae run away wae these wee fuckers?"

She turned tae us.

"Aye... Ah might. Their shoes are beautiful."

"But... will ye take me away?"

We smiled.

"The moment he chose himself instead o' you..."

"...ye became fair game."

"D'ye want tae come away wae us?"

She never hesitated.

Of course she didnae.

We had primed her for this.

"Yes."

"Anywhere but here."

"Guid."

"The boots'll stay oan then."

Ma brother took one hand.

Ah took the other.

And together...

we vanished intae thin air.

Wae whit wis truly oors.

*

Thanks for reading! 

This is for the awesome Stephanie Hoogstad's Adulting Children's Stories Challenge.

Based on: The Elves and the Shoemaker by the Brothers Grimm.