Postmarked for Beasts: Part 3

A cozy fantasy for shoe lovers and mystery

Marissa Purdum has asked me, for ages, to write a story for her absolutely lovely, cozy world of Willow Way. I had promised this would be so. And I am a man of my word. Here is my story for Willow Way. I hope you enjoy.

The final nails had been hammered, the fittings polished, and the shoes…the shoes were all on their racks. Gleaming, where some needed to gleam, buffed and brushed for those that needed such ministrations.

Shakilara Shiverspike surveyed her shop. Fantastic, it looked just fantastic, and she gave a little clap. Everything was finished, and Willow Way would finally have a shoe shop. Much needed, she considered - really quite fairly - as many of the residents seemed wed to their hobnail boots, wellington boots, or some kind of foot coverings that might be categorised as ‘shoes’ but that would be rather like calling a carnival hotdog ‘meat’ - technically, yes, but probably best not to inquire in depth. Shaki gave her head a small shake, turning her mind back to the matter at hand - today would be the grand opening of her shop. Finally, finally, finally. Of course, she mused, this shoe shop might not be quite what they were expecting, and a small smile crept across here face. Oh no, not what they might be expecting at all.

She was interrupted from her woolgathering by a small cough, a curious sound from such a large troll. A good eight feet tall, craggy rather than rocky - marking him as a lowland troll, well known for being precise, but also a little snobbish. Hamlivek Hearthstone, by name, and gaffer of the work crew that had been doing all the building and carpentry these past few weeks.

“‘scuse me, Miss, but me and the lads are all but finished in here. Perhaps we should go outside and remove the covering from your sign? It is two minutes to nine, and one should open on the dot, especially for the fine folk of the village”

Shaki nodded “Yes, let’s do that, Hamlivek. My thanks to you and the boys”

“No thanks needed, Miss, just prompt payment, and my name mentioned to your best class of friends” he gave what she presumed he assumed was a professional, ingratiating smile, but had more the appearance of predatory geology. He gave a small clap “C’mon lads, time to unveil”.

To her surprise, there was a genuine small cheer from the work crew. She looked over to the unusual group that had been her main companions for weeks. Besides Hamlivek, there was a dwarf, a goblin, an elf and, of course, Beezo the boy apprentice, but as to what type of boy Beezo was, was anyone’s guess. Usually, such a grouping of species, many claiming the other to be ancient enemies, would result in - if you were lucky - fisticuffs and black eyes. If unlucky, declarations of war. But this group got along just fine - and for that she was truly delighted. Shaki really disliked conflict and argument. This was likely due to her formative years at Miss Petunia Pettyworth’s Academy for Young Ladies where being seen and not heard - eyes down, girls - was the only survival strategy available. Giving them all a broad smile, memories of the Academy pushed down, she led them outside.

Blinking in the early morning sunlight, she froze.

There was at least half of Willow Way standing outside her gates, with the kind of good natured curiosity that, in a perfect moment, requires popcorn. Or considering the early hour, bacon rolls and tea - that some enterprising resident hadn’t taken up this clear gap in the market was something she filed away for later.

Taking a calming breath and looked at the crowd, and imediately spotted some familiar and friendly faces. There was Barnaby Bumblebrook, looking slightly harassed, carrying a large, white, and crested toad in one arm. He managed a half wave before clamping his hand back on the restless amphibian. Gorgeous George, the gentleman’s outfitter, probably here as a professional curtesy, and that he was also quite nosey, gave a curt nod. Botanical Bethany, the local hedge witch, was pressed against the gate and yelled a friendly greeting.

“Get on with it! I’m your first customer”

Shaki gave her first real laugh for what had been ages, and made the calm down gesture. She turned the crew and nodded. Without a word Hamlivek stepped forward and pulled on the rope that held the tarpaulin over the door.

And with a swish, and a whoosh, just like that, it billowed gracefully to the ground. Perfect, just perfect sighed Shaki. And there for all to see, the legend that was her shop.

‘SHOES YOU CHOOSE’

There was the expected ‘ahhh’ and a small ripple of polite claps. Still smiling, Shaki went to the shuttered windows on either side of the door, and opened them. The ‘ahhh’ which had stopped, as these things do, and had become more a low level murmur changed once more into a collective ‘wow’.

In one window, there was a diorama of emerald green trees and castle, a golden road, and front and centre, a pair of ruby red slippers.

The other window had a panoramic view of the local region, and on a small pedestal a pair of knee high boots, with the legend ‘Seven League Boots’.

Shaki went to the gate, and opened it, giving Bethany a huge grin.

“Come in, everyone, and take a look. There may even be some cakes”

There was a good natured chuckle from the throng, and half the village seemed to pour through the gate and into the shop. Not for the first time Shaki considered the merits of owning a cake shop, and followed them in.

In the shop, people were walking among the many racks of shoes, and boots, and slippers, and clogs. Most were in silence, hands reaching out then pulling back.

None of the shoes and boots were new. They were pristine, polished, and perfect in every way. But not new. Every single one was a pair of shoes that was well known in song and fable. Puss’ boots. A pair of glass slippers. Morgana Le Fey’s rather racy, thigh high, patent leather boots with seven inch heels. Perseus’ sandals. Row after row, after row.

Lucille Lightfoot, a witch of no small power, made a beeline for Shaki, linking her arm and walking her to the counter.

“I must have those ruby red slippers. The ones in the window. How much? Money is no object.” She was deadly serious, but Shaki just smiled and shook her head.

“I’m afraid that really isn’t possible, you see—”

Lucille cut her off.

“Your sign says ‘Shoes you choose’, it seems rather odd that your business model fails on your actual first customer’s request. Not exactly the formula for success. Why won’t you sell?”

“I understand, I really do. But I’m afraid you’ve rather misunderstood the sign. It’s not what we offer to the customer but a promise to the shoes.” Shaki replied, a small amount of amusement creeping into her voice - she had rather been planning for this type of exchange and was going to enjoy it “They, the shoes, get to choose who will be their new owner ‘Shoes, you choose’, see? the emphasis is everything”

While she had been explaining, Bethany, Barnaby, and even the Postman - taking a quick skive from his rounds - had gathered behind Lucille, who was starting to laugh.

“Excuse my ignorance” said Barnaby “But they’re just shoes. Marvellous beyond compare, and I have no idea how you procured such items…but they are not people, nor animals. Shoes. We choose them, not the other way round.”

“Ah, not so” replied Shaki her tone more serious “not these shoes. They are, if not alive, then sentient and self-aware. The passage of time, the repeating of their legends has imbued them with something.”

She looked at the small group, who were starting to give the ‘oh dear’ look.

“That’s either the best sales pitch I’ve heard” purred Lucille “or you might want to try some of Bethany’s calming herbs”

“Why do you want the ruby slippers, Lucille?” Shaki said brightly

“Ahh..ummm…they hold great power. They’re legendary. Make a wish and lo and behold. Top class witch purchase. And I’d be the envy of all the end of year witches’ bash’

“Just so, but back to the slippers. What you’re saying is ‘they’ know what you mean, your intent, and make something come true. They understand you, is that right?”

“That’s not the same thing..” Lucille trailed off and pulled a puzzled face “but it is, isn’t it. Why would it only be one way? You can talk to them, and…they talk to you?”

Shaki clapped and gave a little squeak. Miss Pettyworth frowned in her mind “Ahem. I mean” and she lowered her voice a tad “Yes. that’s it exactly. Look, come with me and I’ll show you”. And with that she moved off to a nearby shoe rack, not looking behind her, knowing they would follow.

Turning round, the group were shoulder to shoulder just behind her.

“Ok, that’s quite close, but..er…you” and she pointed to Barnaby “why not try and take a pair of shoes? If you can, I’ll let you have them for free”

Now, one of the things the denizens of Willow Way liked was the idea of ‘free’. Many owned shops and businesses, and getting something without parting with the old hard earned was always something to take advantage of. Equally, they were all shrewd, and Barnaby could feel the set up, and his face brightened.

“I do know that I’m not going to get a pair of shoes for free” he laughed walking to the rack and eyeing a pair of rather nice looking ankle boots in brown leather “but I have to see for myself”

He put out a hand and touched the boots. All good. But try as he might, he could not grab them. One hand. Two hands. An elbow. There was no way to grip them, no way to lift them from the rack.

“That’s impossible” he said, slightly out of breath - he wasn’t getting any younger “This is utterly bizarre. But I must say, I think you’ve won”

Lucille was running her hands across a row of shoes, but was not trying to pick them up “None of the shoes have any prices on them, Shaki”

“When the shoes choose you, you and the shoes will agree a price to pay me. I have looked after them, repaired and polished them. I have given them a place to be as they wish to be. But they all want to be worn…by somebody worthy, or just simply like and know they will be taken care of. They decide their worth, and want to acknowledge my care. My reward is a profit, if that is included in the price. And, of course, should you the customer decide it is a fair price you can afford”

There was a collective ‘ahh’, the second of the morning, as many of Willow Way’s finest had stopped to listen to Shaki’s words.

“You knew the slippers wouldn’t choose me” Lucille said matter-of-factly, and with no rancour “They’re not meant for me”

“Perhaps not yet” Shaki conceded “But they really do like to show off, and to be displayed in the window is what they wanted. Who knows who they will choose in the future?”

Before Lucille could reply, a loud whump, coming from below vibrated through the room.

“What in the blue blazes was that?” said the Postman, still skiving, and with a small teacake in each hand.

The murmurs took on a more concerned tone. Shaki inwardly gulped “Hahah…still some work going on, I’m turning the basement into a true cobbler’s workshop. Nothing to get alarmed about”

This seemed to work, the murmur had small ‘ahs’ of understanding. The quick explanation doing its thing. The shop had just been built, workmen were still on site. Things get dropped. And with no more whumping, no more needed to be said.

As it does, the morning passed by quite quickly. Cakes were eaten, people came and went, and some shoes chose new owners. Barnaby had made his excuses and left after the whump, Bethany followed soon after, and Lucille was wandering the racks - no shoes had chosen her yet, and Shaki could see a small frown forming.

By midday the shop was empty, and Shaki decided to close as nearly everyone who could have by, had come by. There would be no more passing trade today. And she needed - really needed - to go downstairs and check on…on..it. Her.

*****

Shaki opened the cellar door and peered down into the gloom. She couldn’t hear anything. Maybe that was good. Maybe not. She climbed down the stairs, the candle guttering ever so slightly, and reached the bottom. Before her the door to her workroom. She paused a moment before entering.

The heavy table had been overturned. No, more than that, thrown. It must weigh 500lbs. The strength to do that was terrible to consider. She’d found it, no, her, a few months ago. It still seemed fantastic. A lump of something it seemed at first. Thin arms and legs from a worn rectangular body. What looked like a face stretched into thee upper surface. And the smell. Of rotten cheese. She’d been gnawed upon and eaten by goodness knows what. But she was not dead - a jaundiced eye had opened and she’d simply said ‘Help me’.

And that is what Shaki did. She had later found out her name was ‘The Cheese Mother’. Getting her back to the Willow Way had been gruelling, and Shaki didn’t dwell on it. She remembered getting The Cheese Mother downstairs, and the building of a trough. Ordering curds and whey in vast quantities to fill the ‘bath’. And over the weeks, watching The Cheese Mother heal.

She didn’t know why she didn’t tell any of her friends. But something about an anthropomorphic, giant lump of cheese made her wary. And this wariness had proved to be right. The Cheese Mother grew, and grew. And she was angry. Angry at losing her son. Angry at the army that had betrayed her. Anger and violence seemed to be her main characteristics, although she never took anything out on Shaki. But the anger did not stop. It was some small mercy that The Cheese Mother was not yet fully healed, and would soon collapse after a rage, and head to her bath.

Shaki opened the door to the smaller workroom, where she had constructed the trough. The Cheese Mother was in it, submerged, just her eyes and nose showing.

“You can’t simply smash my stuff. I’m trying to help you”

The Cheese Mother shifted, her mouth becoming visible.

“I sorry. Soon will be gone. But will not forget you. Friend”

Shaki put her hands on her hips.

“You’re not a bloody monster in a penny dreadful. Stop that”

“Fine. I just feel like one. And I really can be a monster. It was what I was trained for, extreme combat."

“Yes, that’s all very well, but I’m running a shoe shop now. It was opening day today, and your throwing around my table caused a stir. We both know we don’t want people snooping”

“I think another week or two and I’ll be me again. And when I am I…” The Cheese Mother’s eyes narrowed.

Shaki could see the rage building and needed to put a stop to it.

“Yes, yes. You’ll get your revenge. Now, until then, a bit of quiet?”

The Cheese Mother nodded and submerged. The conversation over.

Shaki sighed and left, and did her best to clean up the workroom. The table could wait, and she’d get the Cheese Mother to put it back where it should be. The rest of the damage was minimal, and only took about twenty minutes to tidy up.

Climbing the stairs, she stopped halfway. It had been a big day, a successful day. The shop was open, she’d already made a tidy profit, and the Cheese Mother would be on her way in a couple of weeks. What could go wrong?

THE END