Red horns five foot high sprout from her head, curl into points. She wears a dress of dazzling red, and stares at me with the intensity of a flesh eating insect, while an Indian servant fans her with black ostrich feathers. A selection of strawberry tarts and a green pot of tea wait for me.
“Ah, Zedock,” she smiles and curls a finger, drawing me closer. She is from Underneath. She is the very core of it. She is the only thing I have ever feared.
I take off my hat and seat myself next to the Queen of England,
The Queen of Hell
I kiss her hand. She pulls me close to her lips. The strength of her, the muscle nearly breaks my bones into dust.
“I am your humble servant, Your Majesty”
“YES YOU ARE, my darling.”
I can see inside her mouth. The rows and rows of teeth. How I worship her, how I love her. You are the Master of my heart. Magnificent, magnificent. EATER OF WORLDS.
SUPER CANNIBAL
SUPER CANNIBAL
All hail QUEEN VICTORIA!
She kisses my lips. I feel planets collide, explode into pieces. Lava hot. When she releases me, she knows all my secrets, she has tasted all my thoughts, my dreams, my wishes.
She pours the tea, and smiles. Oh thou wondrous crocodile! MAN EATER. Feel the chomp, the crunch of bones. Liquidize in her stomach: melt into her middle
“You are the only woman I have any respect for,” I say dizzy from her kiss, and I sip my tea, which has a curious aftertaste of meteorite.
“All humans are sausages,” she sighs and glances furtively at the servant whose legs are trembling and plops a strawberry tart on a plate and passes it to me.
I thank her, bite into it. Slice it in half with teeth.
“Why are you so worried about little Mr Loveheart, dearest? He’s a mad thing, no match for you, my darling.”
“He IRKS me,” I reply
“You are MY prime minister. You are my commander. You are my champion. FLATTEN HIM, EAT HIM UP,” and she stares into me, drags me under. Her red eyes are corridors into Hell: the carpets spongy with blood.
“Of course, my Queen.”
“Good boy. Mr Loveheart is edible. What do mad things taste of I wonder? Perhaps he is sweet,” and she takes another tart and pops it between her teeth. “You’ve always been so competitive Zedock,” and I know, if she wished it, she could splat me like a bug.
She continues, “But remember: I am the top of the food chain,” and she raises her finger to her servant, “Come to me.” Her voice is the darkest, most powerful hypnotism. I can feel the pressure; oh wondrous Queen. She is the horror fairytale. The garden shudders under her, ley lines form, fruit explodes in the trees.
The servant puts down the fan rather shakily and walks towards his Queen.
Hell is hungry.
Her gardens are full of red roses. Her gardens are full of blood. See them bloom, see them burst open ! Oooze. Seep their juices onto the lawn ;
drip
drip
drip.
Lick a petal and you will taste yourself.
Part Two
Boo Boo Grows Up
Boo Boo and Mr Angelcakes
The first time he visited me I was six and it was my first night in Uncle Grubweed’s house. Pedrock had kissed me goodnight and I was alone. Alone in the sticky blackness, waggling my feet over the end of the bed, examining the space between my toes. I had always wanted red shoes. I remember Sister Harriet at the convent, who smelt of floor polish, told me that witches wear red shoes. I think Sister Harriet is probably dead now.
Mr Angelcakes was wearing another man’s skin when he appeared. I thought he was an angel, his eyes were so bright, like firecrackers.
I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.
He made bite marks on my arms, said I tasted like ice-cream.
“Do angels eat ice-cream?” I said.
“All the time,” he replied. “Now don’t be afraid, Boo Boo. My name is Mr Angelcakes and I am here to teach you.”
“Teach me what?”
“To kill.”
I cuddled my frog puppet. I squeezed him close to my heart.
“I am going to make you very strong, Boo Boo. I am going to make you into a weapon.”
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Tonight I am going to tell you a story,” and he touched my head with his finger, the skin loose and yellowish. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes and listened to the spider-words oozing from his mouth. Hairy, black little words. Tickling me with their fangs.
Once Upon a Time there was a young man called Mr Angelcakes and he had one thing he loved most in the world: his pet butterfly which was black and red.