Green With Hunger

by Meghan Arcuri

She woke with a coppery taste in her mouth, her lips wet and sticky. A dark red liquid dotted her hands, her fingers—were they greener?

A small heap of a body lay next to her, bits of skin and shattered bone in place of where its head had once been.

It had happened again.

And so soon after the last time.

She should have been shocked and appalled—and part of her was—but part of her was supremely satisfied: full stomach, calm spirit.

Last time, she’d panicked all the way home.

What was happening to her?

Stupid question. She knew what was happening. It wasn’t supposed to happen this quickly again.

She stood, wiping dirt and pine needles from her black dress, a trail of blood in her hand’s wake. The tall trees surrounded her, reaching toward a blue sky.

Morning.

No birds chirped, no insects buzzed. Not this deep into the forest.

She didn’t bother hiding the victim’s remains. The creatures around here would make short work of…him? her? Who cared?

She grabbed her broom and headed west.

She had questions.

***

She landed in front of the apothecary’s home: a small, little shack with flecks of yellow peppering the roof and siding; dead shrubs withering under its one window; roots of nearby trees disrupting the red brick walkway.

How did Hestis live like this?

Not her problem.

She thrust her hand in front of her. The door burst open.

The inside was not much better than the outside: musty, dusty, and dark, the smell of sulfur and rot permeating the air.

She inhaled, taking in the putrid odor…savoring it? Last time she’d been here, the combination had made her gag and breathe through her nose.

Today it was scintillating.

Oh, no.

“Hestis!”

A door in the floor opened with a creak, creak, creak, SLAM!

Labored footsteps preceded small fingers poking through the hole, finding purchase on the floor.

A chubby little bald man pulled himself up to stand before her. He panted, sweated, coughed, and wheezed, his giant, round glasses foggy. Dirt, mud, and probably blood stained his bright yellow jacket.

He composed himself, rubbed his glasses, and looked at her.

“Welcome, Madam West!” He tried to hide his look of horror?—disgust?—with a brown-toothed smile, but it didn’t work: the lip twitch and tight tone gave him away.

She charged him, backing him into his pathetic kitchen with its small table and one wooden stool.

“Don’t try to play nice with me, Hestis! I am changing at a much faster rate than you’d predicted. Than you’d promised. I’m hungrier more often, I’m feeding more often, and—so help me—your place actually smells delicious. And I’m greener. Am I greener? I’m greener…aren’t I?”

She hovered over him, a long finger in his face. His panting and sweating resumed. And, hexes and hags, he smelled good. Like mud and rain and chemicals. Combined with the putrescence in the air, he smelled downright delicious.

She licked her lips.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

She needed him. Eating him wouldn’t do.

She backed off.

He stood, tugging at his ever-rumpled yellow jacket. He grabbed a candle from the table and held it close to her hands and face. “Well…Madam…it does seem as though you are a bit greener now.”

“You diagnosed me with the Taste a month ago. You told me I had well over a year before it would take hold, start changing me. I have eaten two Munchkins in the past week, and I’m hungry for more. And my skin is greener!”

“Y-ye-yes, Madam. I see that. I may have miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated? One month versus one year is a bit more than a miscalculation, don’t you think?!”

“Indeed, but since you first came to me, I’ve had time to do more research, more experimenting.”

“Hence the smell?”

“Hence the smell.”

“And?”

“And although for most it does seem to take hold after one year, for others, it does not.”

“I suppose I fall into this second category?”

He looked her up and down. “It would appear that way, Madam.”

“Did any of your research and experimenting tell you why?”

“No, Madam.” He bowed his head.

“Typical.”

“But I have a theory.”

“I’m not getting any younger…”

“Your magics, Madam. You are so powerful, so magical, that it may be accelerating the process.”

“Hurray for me.”

“You still don’t know how you acquired the Taste?”

She did not. Nobody knew how she’d caught the disease or why. Maybe someone had coughed on her. Maybe she’d gotten too close to one of those wretched beasts in the forest. Maybe she’d caught it practicing magic she shouldn’t have been practicing with that damned wizard.

Whatever.

“No, Hestis. We’ve been over this. So what’s my new timeline…or don’t you know that, either?”

“I’m afraid not.”

She spun from him, pacing back and forth, back and forth over his dank and dirty floor, the wooden floorboards splintering and creaking with each step.

“But…” he said.

“But what?”

“I think I may have discovered a solution. Or, at the very least, a way to slow the process.”

“Yes?”

“The silver shoes.”

She sighed.

Mother’s sparkly, silver shoes. The cause of so much trouble.

“The magics in them might reverse the disease,” he said.

A flutter of hope accompanied the rumblings in her stomach.

“Too bad they’re on someone else’s feet.”

Why Mother willed them to her sister was a mystery for the ages. West was the stronger witch, the better caster.

Hestis tilted his shiny, round head, lips twitching to form a smile. “You have always been the most powerful witch in the land, regardless of who has worn the shoes. Including your mother. Perhaps you could take the shoes back.”

“Perhaps.”

“As always, Madam West,” he bowed, as deep as his round body would allow, “I am at your service.”

“Save it, doc. No need to state the obvious.” She turned from him. “Go back to playing with your corpses.”

Did he just giggle?

She stormed out of the house and flicked her fingers. The door closed.

Most powerful or not, she’d need to be careful with East. Her sister was wily.

She hopped on her broom and zipped off to her castle.

***

Reginald greeted her out front when she returned. He was jumpy and jittery, his monkey face full of worry and distress.

The pathetic winged creature. He and his brood were only supposed to come to her aid three times, then be free of her control. Fortunately her magic was stronger than theirs. Now they served her indefinitely. Which was good, because the victims of the Taste did not include animals. And it would not do to eat the help.

“What’s the matter?” West said.

Unable to speak, he whimpered and twitched, occasionally pointing to his legs.

West yanked her hat off. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

He looked at the floor and whined.

“Prepare my meal.” She handed him her hat and broom and strode into her castle. Well, now it was her castle. She’d earned it, though. Nearly wiped out the entire population of Winkies to get it. They were tough little bastards, but no real match for her magic.

She’d had the monkeys remove any evidence of the previous owners—no more paintings or tapestries of ye olde Winks. Of course, she’d never gotten around to redecorating it herself, but who cared? She didn’t need much.

She walked into the Great Room, footsteps echoing off the high ceilings and dark stone walls. A hooded figure stood in front of the giant marble fireplace. Next to the plush green chair West had hoped to relax in.

Oh, hell.

The figured turned in a grand way, arms extended, the cloak spinning outward. She pulled down the hood.

“Sister! How delightful to see you!”

West sighed. “What do you want, East?”

She pushed past West, sauntering around the room, her stupid striped tights poking through the cloak with each step.

And she wore the silver shoes. More shiny and sparkly than ever.

They looked ridiculous with the tights.

“I see you’re making the same outrageous wardrobe choices, Eastie Beastie,” West said.

Her sister’s lips twisted into a snarl: she’d always hated that nickname. She walked to the chair and patted the high back. A tuft of dust rose from it.

“And I see you’re still wasting away in this dark, dank castle.” She brushed her hands together. “The least you could do is clean the joint.”

“What do you want, Beastie? Because I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to give me housecleaning tips.”

“Indeed, no.” She untied her white cloak at the neck and tossed it on West’s chair. She brushed some curls from her forehead and pursed her bright red lips. She looked around, smoothing a hand over the bodice of her white dress. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a mirror around here?”

West rolled her eyes. “You’re stunning, Beastie. The white’s a bit much, though, isn’t it? Reminds me of that goodie-two-shoes hag.”

“Say what you want about Glinda—and there’s a lot to say, believe me—but she’s got a great sense of style. I could do worse.”

“Why are you here?”

East tugged one last curl and approached West.

“Testy, testy, Dubsie.” She smirked: she knew how much West hated her nickname, too. Then she booped her nose. “Can’t a girl just want to see her sis—” She leaned in closer.

West stepped back. “What is it?’

“It’s just…your skin. Is it greener?”

“What of it?”

“From my understanding of the Taste, that’s not supposed to happen for a while. Are you feeling okay? Am I in danger? Should I grab you a Winkie for a snack?” She put a hand over her mouth, mock-concern all over her face.

“Save it, Beastie. I’m fine. Can we get back to the point of your visit?”

“Well, this really involves the point of my visit, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“Rumor has it you’ve been…nosing around the land of Munchkins—my neighboring territory—and I’d like you to stop.”

“I’m not nosing anywhere.”

“Okay, not you, but your winged furry friends.”

“They patrol for me sometimes. So what?”

“I’ve gotten reports of some missing Munchkins.”

“Somebody really missed two Munchkins?”

“Ha! So you admit it.”

“I admit nothing…except that Munchkins taste awfully sweet.” West threw her head back and cackled.

East crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’d like you to stop.”

“Why should I?”

“Because the land of Munchkins is mine.”

“Last time I checked, there were no hostile takeovers in the East.”

“Not yet…”

“What are you planning, Beastie?”

“Nothing.”

“Um-hmm. Well, when it’s yours, lemme know. Maybe I’ll stop snacking there.”

“You have a whole race of people at your doorstep.”

“The Winkies?”

“Yes.”

West leaned in close. “I’ve had a couple, and honestly? They’re kind of sour. Like milk that’s been left out too long.” She sniffed. “But you… I never realized how delicious you smell. Poppies and dark forest and…” she pointed toward the shoes “…magic.”

East stepped back and raised a hand.

Before her sister could cast, West threw a Stunning spell at her, the hot buzz of her magic pulsing through her veins.

Now was the time to get the shoes. West edged closer.

Except for her face, East remained still. Brow furrowed, jaw tight, she said, “The Taste has made you stronger.”

“With every bite.”

East’s finger twitched. Then her hand. Then her arm.

“But not strong enough.”

The heat of West’s magic faded.

Both of East’s arms were fully mobile. She nodded at her feet. “My shoes are something fierce, aren’t they?”

“You mean my shoes.”

“Mother did give them to me.”

West lunged at East.

But East dodged her, the Stunning spell having fully worn off. West stumbled, falling to the floor.

Hovering over her, hands outstretched, East’s fingers buzzed with purple electricity.

Her magic. The shoes’ magic.

“This is your only warning, Dubs. Stay away from the Munchkins or I will finish your sweet, Tasty ass.”

She fired a bolt at West.

It almost missed, scorching the top of her ear. West winced and covered the ear with her hand. She snarled at East. A low, gravelly sound.

“Oooo…” East said, grabbing her white cloak “…attractive.”

She donned the cloak, spun with a flair, and clicked out of the room on her silver heels.

West stood, brushing herself off. She used a Soothing spell on her ear, diminishing the burning sensation.

“Reginald!”

He appeared in the entryway with a whine, dragging a small being with him. The being flailed and chirped, but Reginald boxed him in the head, and he quieted down.

“Bring him over.” She sat in her lush chair.

The monkey dragged the poor slob to the fire, tears and snot running down his face.

She’d lied to East: this was Munchkin number three.

“Stay.” She tapped his forehead, her magic compelling him to freeze.

Reginald had prepared him just as she’d grown to like them: naked and afraid.

She threw Reginald a bone: “Good job.”

He smiled and squawked, his body bouncing, his mood bubbly.

“Now leave us.”

He complied.

She stood. The Munchkin’s eyes—the only part of his body he could move—followed her. She put a hand on his cheek and knelt in front of him, leaning closer to take in his scent.

Sweet. Almost cloyingly so. But it mixed with undercurrents of that same, delicious forest scent she smelled on her sister.

She stroked his cheek.

Her stomach rumbled.

Hadn’t she just eaten?

Whatever.

She grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the stone floor once, twice, three times.

Bending over, she sampled the mess.

She moaned in satisfaction.

She was losing herself.

Part of her didn’t care. But the other part reminded her that the Taste would eventually kill her.

She needed those shoes.

***

West’s dreams that night took her from Oz to the forest to the land of Munchkins and back again. She saw flying Munchkins and talking monkeys.

No matter what happened though, two things remained constant:

1)    She wore the silver shoes.

2)    Her skin was no longer green.

She woke, sitting upright, sweat dripping down her temples and neck. She lit her candles and ran to her mirror.

Was her skin greener? It was greener.

It was definitely greener.

She thrust her door open.

“Reginald!”

Silence.

She screamed his name over and over.

He stumbled up the stairs, his nightgown wrinkled, its neck askew. His feathers were ruffled and puffy.

He stood at attention and waited, suppressing a yawn.

“I want those shoes. Find her.”

Reginald nodded and flew down the stairwell.

***

West squinted, the vibrant colors straining her eyes: birds with red and yellow plumes, flowers in pink and purple, and blue, blue, blue shops and houses and mailboxes.

Like a child’s toybox, this place was dripping with every color of the rainbow.

Rainbows.

West hated rainbows.

Reginald’s scouting mission brought her to the land of Munchkins.

The wind carried that primal, forest scent, laced with poppy… Her sister was here.

But West was alone—not a single soul anywhere near her. The Taste enhanced her senses—especially that of smell. Using it to her advantage, she followed the source.

Staying by the edge of the forest, she passed the tiniest little school with even tinier little children on the playground. Their squeals and laughter—high-pitched and oh-so-annoying—hurt her ears.

As she moved away, the sounds died down. But the poppy-laced scent of leaves and earth increased.

East was close…somewhere among these quiet neighborhoods of tiny, blue houses—some with peaked roofs, others with domes.

So adorable.

So obnoxious.

A low, loud moan…a moan of pleasure. Distinct from the chirping birds and rustling leaves.

West left the safety of the edge of the forest.

Behind one of the diminutive blue-domed houses ran a hedgerow sprinkled with small pink roses. As she approached, the moans—and laughter—grew louder. The sounds, male and female, intertwining.

The scent of poppy overwhelming.

In the middle of the yard beyond the hedgerow lay a large blue-and-white checked blanket. On top of the blanket lay her sister, completely naked but for her striped thigh-high tights and, of course, the silver shoes.

My silver shoes.

On top of her sister lay a strapping Munchkin, back muscles rippling. Their bodies writhing, moving to a tune West could not hear.

So this was why she was so worried about her precious Munchkins.

West snuck through a break in the hedgerow.

She snatched the Munchkin from her sister’s body and pinned his hands behind his back.

He yelled and struggled to break free. But the Taste had also made West physically stronger, and her firm grip held him steady.

East shrieked, bolting upright.

West cast her Stunning spell at East. The heat of it hummed through her, steady and strong. Stronger than yesterday.

“What are you doing?” East said, attempting to move but failing.

“I think I should ask you the same thing,” she said, nodding at the Munchkin.

“This is Tek. He welcomed me when I first came here.”

“I guess the welcoming committee isn’t just about lollipops and songs?”

“No. It’s not.” East tried to move again. “Please don’t hurt him. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Give me the shoes, or bad things happen to the Munchkin. Who’s smelling delicious, by the way.”

East’s face turned red—from embarrassment? From the strain of trying to break free with a counter cast? Who knew? Her whole naked body turned red, and given the position she was in—stockinged (and shoed) legs and feet in front of her, arms behind her, propping her up—she looked as though she’d been sunbathing in the nude a tad too long.

The Munchkin squirmed.

“Cool it, Stretch, or I’ll finish you.”

He continued to struggle.

West tightened her grip and leaned down, her face next to his.

Before she could make another threat, the scent of him filled her nose. Earthiness tinged with rain and…was that chocolate?

Her stomach grumbled.

“Tek, do what she says!” East said. “The Taste is overtaking her.”

“How would you know that?” West said.

“Look at your hands, Dubsie. They’re even greener than last time. In fact, you look like a blade of grass.”

West’s hands had, indeed, turned an unnatural shade of green.

“If you could only see your bright green face, Dubsie. You’d die.”

How could she be so smug? How could she make it seem like she had the upper hand when West clearly did?

Or did she?

She grunted in frustration, the low guttural sound foreign to her ears.

“Watch it, Dubs. It’s really taking a hold now.”

Somehow East was able to smirk.

The Stunning spell must be wearing off.

Bested again by her sister and those damned shoes.

West growled and shoved the Munchkin aside. She ran behind her sister, hovering over her.

East’s arm had broken free of the spell. She raised her hand. Electric bolts of purple danced around her fingers.

West redoubled her efforts with the Stunning spell. Her skin burned hotter. Sweat trailed down her back. She leaned toward East’s glowing hand.

“Not this time.” She blew out a puff of air.

The purple bolts disappeared.

“No!” East said.

West knelt behind her and grabbed her head.

She squeezed…

“Stop!” the Munchkin said.

And squeezed…

East screeched.

And squeezed…

Was that a soft crack?

“You need to sto… What the—?” the Munchkin said.

West followed his gaze upward.

A large gray structure was falling from the sky, careening toward them.

West gave her sister’s head one last squeeze before shoving her away and running back to the forest.

A boom sounded—louder than the loudest clap of thunder. The earth trembled and shook.

West lost her footing with the force of it, falling over rocks and tree roots.

When she righted herself, everything was silent: no booms, no echoes, no screams.

And a large gray house rested where West once stood: it had destroyed the blue-domed house, destroyed the backyard tryst, destroyed the Munchkin, destroyed her sister.

All but her stockinged legs.

As West stood, she brushed the leaves and the dirt from her dress. A wet trail took the place of the detritus.

Blood.

Her sister’s?

She licked her hands, cleaning every finger, every square inch.

Mmmm…poppy…definitely her sister’s.

Then a new scent—a scent she’d never before experienced—wafted over.

Talking and commotion by the house.

Who was the brat with the braids…and the scruffy dog?

Does she have my shoes?

She has my shoes.

Heat spread through West’s face and body. She clenched her fists and jaw. But that smell—fresh baked bread and innocence. Her stomach rumbled as the little girl yapped with a gathering crowd of Munchkins.

She’ll do. She’ll do just fine.

I’ll get her…and my shoes.

West’s stomach growled.

And her little dog, too.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Meghan Arcuri is a Bram Stoker Award®-nominated author. Her work can be found in various anthologies, including Borderlands 7 (Borderlands Press), Madhouse (Dark Regions Press), Chiral Mad, and Chiral Mad 3 (Written Backwards). She is currently the Vice President of the Horror Writers Association.

Prior to writing, she taught high school math, having earned her B.A. from Colgate University—with a double major in mathematics and English—and her masters from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute.

She lives with her family in New York’s Hudson Valley. Please visit her at meghanarcuri.com, facebook.com/meg.arcuri, or on Twitter (@MeghanArcuri).