A Hauntingly Mad Tea Party

June 7, 2013
Eeriesoil, New York


My last correspondence with Yvette left me oozing unease. My sister said you were tormented by gifter guilt, which I believe unfounded. Mama, everyone at Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote relished in the gifts you sent for our first Hauntingly Mad Tea Party.

Cordelia arrived a few hours before your parcels were delivered. She was in a horrid state, Mama. For the first time, since she could remember, her parents went to the Ghoulish Eat-a-Ton Carnival without her. She was glad to see me, but rather crossed to have to spend the weekend at camp. Your gift mollified Cordelia’s mood. She said that the rabbit was the tenderest of gestures.

“I’ve never had”, Cordelia said to tell you, “anyone more delectable or willing.” Most beings she invites to tea start screaming as soon as she puts them near anything resembling a serving platter. Not the rabbit, Mama. The queer little beast leapt about in euphoric glee, shouting, “I’m late! I’m late! I’m late!” Cordelia chomped him down with a sharp grin, and spat out the gilded pocket watch he used to accentuate his misjudged tardiness.

Mistress Claudia gasped in pleasure when she glimpsed the top hat you included for her. “How does your mother know that crimson, black, and murder are my favorite colors?” The severed head you used to maintain the shape of the hat did a marvelous job, Mama. The camp mistress simply adores the genuine silk weave, and thought the bits of delicately splattered skull and brains added tasteful definition to the nap.

My own gift, Mama, evoked palpitations and produced tears of ecstasy. I love my yerba mate tea set. You should know that it was a complete hit with every grownup in attendance.

Cordelia and I left the pot and bombilla on our table. I needed a more substantial fluid to brew my tea, something thicker than water… When we returned, we found all the adults giggling madly, and eating every morsel of pretend food Cordelia and I had made to decorate the tables. They were happy.

Someone was happy enough to nibble on the ears of Mistress Claudia’s top hat’s stand. But the camp mistress did not get upset. She just yelled, “Off with his head!” and laughed like the delightful maniac she truly is. Cordelia and I laughed, too. Maniacal laughter and cholera are so contagious.

So, you see, Mama dearest, your insides should be bursting with satisfaction and mirth. Really. You will always be queen, when it comes to the subtle art of gifting haunting memories.

Yours in blood,
Drusilla Amarantha Tepes, the Only

P.S. Mistress Claudia and a few others requested your yerba dealer’s calling card.

the wee notes…
– The 2nd letter: Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote.
– This bit of Drusilla’s story was one of the main reasons why I revised the letters. In the original version, she writes about Cordelia being at camp without telling us how (or why) her friend got there. And although not as important as Cordelia’s elusive arrival, I should also point out that I changed the word “Haunting” for “Hauntingly” in the title. It reads more, um… haunting *cough, cough, cough*.
Yerba mate, a shrub that is part of the holly family; used to brew a caffeine-rich infused drink. Bombilla, a metal straw used to drink mate.
– The 4th letter: A Charming Unkindness of One.


Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote

June 5, 2013
Eeriesoil, New York

Dearest Yvette,

I am delighted to learn that although your reacquaintance with Marla got off to a bloody start, things are flowing warmly now. My prying into your affairs no longer shames or pains me. Not just because I know you are pleased with the results, but because I am thrilled to be at camp.

Do not tell Mama about this, but Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote turned out to be more adventure than punishment. This fact, and not displeasure, is the reason behind the short thank you note I sent to Mama after receiving her gifts. The day before I wrote home, I had been busy entertaining a peculiar visitor. No one Mama would approve of, I assure you.

The bliss began at night.

My cottage mate, Roseblood, and I were meeting with another camper in an old shack behind camp property. We were trying to convince Clare—a darling girl who takes environmentally friendly to heart, to scalp, and to other people’s garments—that mayhap she should relocate some of the fabric-eating worms that reside in her hair to the shack. Roseblood and I do not mind the worms, not the tiniest of bits. But the Camp Mistress rages like an unhealthy maniac whenever dear Clare’s creepy crawlers eat the drapery.

I was telling Clare that her ravenous friends would be happiest in musty darkness, when a lady in denim trousers, a tight top, and a red scarf tied over her eyes materialized into existence.

We smiled at her.

She backed away from us, saying, “Call me stupid and strangle me with my own veil.”

I never call anyone stupid without proper proof, so I chose to widen my smile and introduce myself instead. “I am Drusilla.” After pointing out that my armless situation would make strangulation a rather challenging affair, I offered to find a way to choke her to death if that would make her happy.

The lady said no word.

In a bout of kindness that charmed us all, Clare told the lady in denim, “If breathing is a problem for you, I could ask my friends to deflesh your nose and throat. Then your face would match Skully’s face, and Roseblood’s dolly has no need for air. She does feel lonely sometimes.”

“It would be no bother,” Roseblood said to the lady, most likely seeing the same apprehension I had noticed on her face. “Mistress Claudia, our camp mistress, said that the main mission of every girl who steps, slithers or is banished into Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote is the spreading of glee and gloom. We are very serious about joy-giving gloomy glee.”

The lady remained quiet.

I was gliding towards her, wondering if a gentle bite would urge her to speak, when one of Mistress Claudia’s familiar shrieks shook the shack, and inspired the lady to leap for the door.

I got between the lady and the exit before she could leave the shack. She panicked. I grinned. My friendly show of fangs did nothing to ease her terror. I opted for conversation. “Made vampires awake screaming with pain and desperation,” I said. “You can relax, Miss…?”

“Red”, she said, “my name is Red.”

I promised Miss Red that Mistress Claudia would be her usual sweet self after she remembered that she was not asphyxiating. I explained that nothing… well, nothing other than the “K song” ever gets Mistress Claudia that upset. “Do not fret”, I said. “We are safe… while indoors.”

Yvette, I am not sure why I even mentioned the “K song”. But I swear to you, sister, it seemed that it was the only thing Miss Red heard me say. She began to interrogate me about the title. I told her that it was not a song by The Fugees, Aaron Tippin, or by Florence + The Machine. I showed her that even the thought of the song had poor Clare trembling out of her skin.

“We never speak the title,” I said. “The history of Camp Cute, Creepy and (quite conveniently) Remote says the ‘K song’ was often sung around campfires and at the beach, but I refuse to—”

“Kumbaya?” Miss Red said.

The accursed word was a whisper, Yvette. But all the signs showed that Mistress Claudia had heard it. Miss Red began to fade out of our reality. Clare’s worms stiffened, fell out of her hair, and vanished before landing on wet dirt. Roseblood’s fangs grew, cutting through her lower lip.

I was so distracted by the crimson dripping down Roseblood’s chin, that I did not realize that Miss Red had left the shack. Not until I heard the screams.

They were glorious screams, Yvette. I wonder if Miss Red is a famous soprano or an unknown town crier. We have neither computers nor personal telephones at camp that could satisfy our curiosity. Would you please try to find out for me? Roseblood asked Mistress Claudia during our last Art of Biting lesson. But the moment she said Miss Red’s name, the camp mistress’ pupils darkened, the left side of her face began to twitch, and Roseblood’s dolly burst into flames.

Do give my love to Marla and to Cordelia. I shall write to Mama tomorrow night. I promise to be gentle when reminding our mother that, although she birthed me, every one of my actions is not a reaction to her latest spell of madness.

Yours in blood and thought,
Drusilla Amarantha Tepes, the Only

the wee notes…
– The 1st letter: A Date for the Vampire’s Day Soirée.
Town crier… an officer of the court who makes public pronouncements; they can also be used to offer information (in rather vociferous manner) in the streets.
– The 3rd of letter: A Hauntingly Mad Tea Party.

painting of Roseblood, by Shelle Kennedy
Drusilla dolly, by Groovy Gothic
superb photographic skills, by moi *giggles*