Easter fic
I had hoped to write something last night but the cracked wrist stopped me! So I'm reposting some of my older Easter fic, Might please new readers. I do hope so.
No More Mr Nice Guy!
Richard Wilkins III, Mayor of Sunnydale and, in his honest opinion, a really nice guy, stood his desk calendar neatly alongside his blotter. His paper-knife lay precisely against his notepad, which was open at a blank page. He sighed out loud and wrote the date on the top line with a flourish - then smiled. He liked the month of April. It was one of those sensible months containing the right number of days. Thirty was a good, round, even number.
The Mayor scowled at the next month on the calendar. May, a horrible month, with thirty-one days. In a year or two’s time, he decided, he would abolish all months with thirty-one or twenty-eight days and as for leap years - He allowed his minds to run cheerfully over what he would do with leap years and immediately felt much better.
He popped a peppermint in his mouth and was making a neat list of “Jobs Still to be Accomplished this Month in Order of Importance” when he realised his deputy was standing in front of his desk, hovering. Not that he was actually hovering, of course - the Mayor smiled faintly to himself - now that would be a dandy sight, little feet paddling in mid-air like a duck. He sighed. He knew that only the boring are bored, but golly geez, he would have given a whole millennia of his life for a little excitement.
“Excuse me, Sir, but Principal Snyder is here to see you.”
Richard Wilkins shut his eyes briefly, but only briefly because he didn’t want to appear concerned in front of a subordinate, especially one who couldn’t hover. He’d wanted excitement, not a visit from Principal Snyder who was, without doubt, the most boring man in this universe and many others as well.
“Well, show him in. Let’s hear what he has to complain about today.” Because there was always something! The students who continually ran amok, the teachers - and why were they paying that British guy so much money? Weren’t there any decent American librarians? The facilities - the Mayor ran a mental eye down the list of bills he’d had to pay recently. The damage done to the school during the Student-Parent evening was just one example - horrendous waste of money, even if Snyder’s explanation had been accepted by the press. It was useful to have William the Bloody in town, but my, the repair bills that vampire managed to run up were unbelievable.
“Mr Mayor?”
“Principal Snyder! Welcome. Sit yourself down. Fancy a cup of coffee? Or how about a glass of milk? I always say you are never too old for milk. It grows bones and scales and - I mean bones and skin!”
The Mayor beamed and Snyder felt a cold chill run down his spine. There was something about this man that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Why did he always have the suspicion that there was more to the Mayor than appeared on the surface?
“No thank you, Mayor. Milk doesn’t agree with me. My digestion, as I think you know, is never of the strongest and since working in Sunnydale - ”
“Well, gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the Mayor broke in swiftly because another lecture on the internal workings of the Principal’s stomach was more than he could possibly bear without doing some serious damage and he’d already had this room redecorated twice this month.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you about my concerns for the Spring Festival.”
The Mayor’s eyes lit up. “We’re having a festival? That’s great. I love festivals. All the flags and displays and a parade - there will be a parade, with floats?” he finished anxiously.
Principal Snyder pulled at his top lip with feverish fingers. “No, no parade, Mayor. There’s going to be a talent contest - and a swing choir and - ”
“I love swing choirs!” The Mayor beamed and almost felt well disposed towards the silly little man sitting in front of him - although he did wish his head wasn’t quite so, so - oval - because he had an overwhelming desire to slice off the top, just like he did with his boiled egg at supper time. Richard Wilkins could not abide people who just tapped the egg gently with a spoon when you could slash it gloriously with a knife.
Principal Snyder plowed on, “The principals of the middle and elementary schools want us to join forces for this event, but I do not feel it is at all wise. All those little children scurrying about, making a mess, putting sticky fingers on the walls and probably whining and crying if they don’t find an egg in the Easter egg hunt - ”
“I love Easter egg hunts!”
Snyder found himself wishing he hadn’t decided to visit the municipal offices today. He was beginning to realise that the Mayor had no idea of the trouble and problems that were going to arise from mixing the three schools. Three times as many pupils, three times as much trouble and damage. “Surely you’re not in favour of it going ahead?”
Richard Wilkins tilted back his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. He knew he shouldn’t - it wasn’t time - he might spoil everything - but he was so bored! “Yes, I believe I am. And to help out, the Mayor’s office will provide the eggs. I’ll start my staff dyeing them straight away - green, blue, pink, all pretty colours that will attract the little ones.”
When the Principal finally left, foretelling gloom and disaster, the Mayor - “the most respected and genuine nice guy in Sunnydale” - as he called himself while he shaved every morning, chewed another peppermint and made his way down to the basement of the Town Hall.
He loved the basement! It was dark and damp and smelt of - well, he supposed it was the sort of smell you always got when long dead, recently dead and almost dead people and things were all stacked together into tottering, bloody heaps. But as much fun as it would have been to reorganise the remains tidily into male, female and unknown, he hurried past, with just a genial wave at someone who was still screaming.
At the end of a dark tunnel stood a chest, iron bound, secured by lengths of heavy chain and a padlock that would not have looked out of place at Fort Knox. The Mayor fished in his vest pocket for the key, freed the chest and carefully - because, holey-moley, he didn’t want to get blood on this suit - lifted the lid and peered inside.
He’d been saving these eggs for another occasion - but he could always get more. But perhaps using all of them would be a slight case of over-kill! If you could imagine such a thing as too much kill! Reluctantly, he picked up just one egg and lifted it to his ear, listening for the slither of baby tentacles, the chitter of tiny needle teeth that could strip flesh with the ease of a shoal of piranhas.
He murmured soothingly and it fell silent, its infant mind terrified by what it sensed outside its shell.
The day of the Spring Festival dawned warm and fine. The staff of all three schools had been busy since sun-up, hiding eggs, organising the seating for the talent contest, chasing the smaller children out of the high school laboratories and wishing devoutly that they’d taken up another profession, anything that meant that didn’t have to deal with kids!
They had to admit, however, that it had helped, having the eggs arrive already painted, from the Mayor’s office. He had even provided little baskets for the pupils to use and there were to be prizes for those who found the most, and a special prize for anyone who found a golden egg.
Principal Snyder had been deeply aggrieved when he heard that news. He could see no reason to reward the little horrors for running around screaming, making a mess.
By the time the Mayor arrived, the hunt was well underway. He walked through the high school grounds, smiling genially, his inner antennae - and gee they ached this morning - seeking out hot spots such as vampires, the Slayer, and the odd lower type of demon. But most of all he was enjoying the crowds of children rushing around, the joyous laughter, the happiness, the fun of it all. He could only imagine how wonderful it was going to be when the special gold egg he had in his pocket, ready to hide, was picked up. The laughter would change to screams of pure, unadulterated terror and his smile grew wider, his eyes crinkled with delight.
Because he was good - no, excellent, he didn’t believe in false modesty - at sensing distress, he was amused to discover amongst all the jollity, one little echo of unhappiness. Intrigued, he hunted it down because, hey, someone unhappy could make his day. He found a young girl sitting on a flight of steps. He supposed she was about ten or eleven, with long black hair and a face like a friendly horse. She was not the prettiest child he had ever seen, that was for sure. She’d been crying and her nose was running. The Mayor sighed, pulled out a large, clean white handkerchief from his pocket, sat down beside her and thrust the linen square into her hand. “Blow!” he instructed.
Amanda looked up, startled, then did as she was told. “Sobby,” she muttered, handing it back to him. “Thang you.”
The Mayor carefully put the handkerchief away, making a mental note to throw out this particular jacket as soon as he got home. “What’s the matter, little girl?”
There was a loud sniff, then, “I’m not a little girl! My name’s Amanda and I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”
Richard Wilkins smiled down on the dark head that just reached his shoulder. He loved black hair on girls. Much preferred it to blonde or red. “And quite right, too. There are some very odd people around, especially in Sunnydale. But I’m the Mayor, so talking to me is permitted, although if you would rather I went and asked your teacher why you’re crying, then - ”
“I’m too tall!”
The Mayor squinted down at the long, thin legs, the scraped knees and feet that looked too big in the blue sneakers. “Too tall for what?” he asked, puzzled.
“Just too tall. I’m miles bigger than everyone else in my year. I look like some sort of giant!” She sniffed hard. “We’re supposed to be dressed as People from Around the World for the festival. I’m a Spanish lady.”
The Mayor had a brief memory flash of a very fun-filled night during the Spanish inquisition then realised Amanda was continuing,
“I have to wear this silly red dress with ruffles and a big black shawl. All the kids laugh. They say I look like some great bat out of hell. I hate them. I HATE THEM ALL.”
Richard Wilkins listened, puzzled. Most of the bats out of hell he had known had been quite friendly creatures but not the type of evil soul-sucking fiends he would have laughed at. He wouldn’t mind being one at all. Still…
“Hmm. Well, little lady, hate is a powerful weapon and not one you should use lightly.” He fingered the egg inside his pocket. He could hand it to this child and within a few hours all her problems would be over. So would she, of course. He sighed and reached out, absentmindedly, to stroke the dark hair.
Suddenly a memory rocketed into his mind - a small paragraph in the Ascension documents, buried between the amount of meat he had to consume and regulations regarding refugees. A prophecy? No, more like an official comment. His plans would not work unless he included in them a dark-haired female human. Was this the one? He peered down at the child who was busy picking a scab off her knee. Not quite what he’d imagined, but still, being prejudiced on the grounds of age was a bad quality. After all, he himself had been young once, although the bloody mists of time did tend to hide those details from his memory.
He took the golden egg out of his pocket and rolled it between his palms, enjoying the terrible panic his actions caused inside the shell. “If I could tell you how to get back at those mean kids who laugh at you, would you want to know? Really make them pay for what they say and do?”
Amanda glanced up, startled. She knew the Mayor was a very important person and he looked nice and kind when he smiled. And he smiled a lot. But - he was a grown-up and when she heard him talk about making kids pay for being mean, she couldn’t hear any smile in his voice at all.
Suddenly she wanted to be out in the sunshine, to taste the fresh air. The stairs where they were sitting seemed gloomy and very, very cold. And there was a horrid smell coming from somewhere. She jumped up. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for the hanky.” And she was running, desperate to escape from - something - although she had no idea what that could possibly be.
The Mayor smiled regretfully. So, not the girl he was destined to meet. Well, geez, that was probably a good thing because she was very young and there just wasn’t time for him to watch over her until she grew up.
But she was still an interesting child: she had potential. He had no doubt she would have a big future ahead of her - then he giggled. Well, she would have had a future, of course, but in a couple of years she’d be dead, of course. But - and golly geez, why was there always a but in life? - just in case she proved a problem to him in the years to come -
“Amanda!”
She hesitated, stopped and turned. The Mayor threw the golden egg towards her and felt a surge of pride when she caught it easily. “There! The golden egg. You deserve it. Go and claim your prize. Have fun! Loads of fun.”
Amanda stumbled out into the sunshine. She peered down at the egg: it was very pretty but she knew she couldn’t keep it. That would be cheating and she didn’t cheat. The Mayor was just being kind to her. She hadn’t won anything! She hadn’t found the egg; he’d given it to her.
She tossed back her long black hair and sniffed violently. There was no way she was going to walk up to the high school’s principal and tell him she had won the prize. Everyone would look at her! It would be horrible.
Without thinking twice, she crouched down to where a grating led to the sewer system and dropped the egg through the bars. There! If anyone found it down there, they were welcome to it. And almost with relief she returned to put on the red ruffled dress, the black shawl and being laughed at by her class mates.
Richard Wilkins III was driven back to town in a reflective mood. It had been a good day, almost perfect, except that when there had been no terrified screaming or shouting, he’d known young Amanda must have thrown the egg away somewhere no-one could discover it and release the creature inside. Perhaps he’d been wrong just to take one egg to the high school. Well, he still had a chest full of fun - he could arrange for them all to be handed out.
The Mayor sighed. It was a shame, though, that today’s egg had been lost. The blood and death would have made such a good ending to the festival. Amanda had spoilt his happy day! He massaged away the frown between his eyes - he couldn’t believe that his plans had been thwarted by a small girl. Well, he would make sure that never happened again! From now on there would be No more Mr Nice Guy!
ends
No More Mr Nice Guy!
Richard Wilkins III, Mayor of Sunnydale and, in his honest opinion, a really nice guy, stood his desk calendar neatly alongside his blotter. His paper-knife lay precisely against his notepad, which was open at a blank page. He sighed out loud and wrote the date on the top line with a flourish - then smiled. He liked the month of April. It was one of those sensible months containing the right number of days. Thirty was a good, round, even number.
The Mayor scowled at the next month on the calendar. May, a horrible month, with thirty-one days. In a year or two’s time, he decided, he would abolish all months with thirty-one or twenty-eight days and as for leap years - He allowed his minds to run cheerfully over what he would do with leap years and immediately felt much better.
He popped a peppermint in his mouth and was making a neat list of “Jobs Still to be Accomplished this Month in Order of Importance” when he realised his deputy was standing in front of his desk, hovering. Not that he was actually hovering, of course - the Mayor smiled faintly to himself - now that would be a dandy sight, little feet paddling in mid-air like a duck. He sighed. He knew that only the boring are bored, but golly geez, he would have given a whole millennia of his life for a little excitement.
“Excuse me, Sir, but Principal Snyder is here to see you.”
Richard Wilkins shut his eyes briefly, but only briefly because he didn’t want to appear concerned in front of a subordinate, especially one who couldn’t hover. He’d wanted excitement, not a visit from Principal Snyder who was, without doubt, the most boring man in this universe and many others as well.
“Well, show him in. Let’s hear what he has to complain about today.” Because there was always something! The students who continually ran amok, the teachers - and why were they paying that British guy so much money? Weren’t there any decent American librarians? The facilities - the Mayor ran a mental eye down the list of bills he’d had to pay recently. The damage done to the school during the Student-Parent evening was just one example - horrendous waste of money, even if Snyder’s explanation had been accepted by the press. It was useful to have William the Bloody in town, but my, the repair bills that vampire managed to run up were unbelievable.
“Mr Mayor?”
“Principal Snyder! Welcome. Sit yourself down. Fancy a cup of coffee? Or how about a glass of milk? I always say you are never too old for milk. It grows bones and scales and - I mean bones and skin!”
The Mayor beamed and Snyder felt a cold chill run down his spine. There was something about this man that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Why did he always have the suspicion that there was more to the Mayor than appeared on the surface?
“No thank you, Mayor. Milk doesn’t agree with me. My digestion, as I think you know, is never of the strongest and since working in Sunnydale - ”
“Well, gosh, I’m sorry to hear that,” the Mayor broke in swiftly because another lecture on the internal workings of the Principal’s stomach was more than he could possibly bear without doing some serious damage and he’d already had this room redecorated twice this month.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you about my concerns for the Spring Festival.”
The Mayor’s eyes lit up. “We’re having a festival? That’s great. I love festivals. All the flags and displays and a parade - there will be a parade, with floats?” he finished anxiously.
Principal Snyder pulled at his top lip with feverish fingers. “No, no parade, Mayor. There’s going to be a talent contest - and a swing choir and - ”
“I love swing choirs!” The Mayor beamed and almost felt well disposed towards the silly little man sitting in front of him - although he did wish his head wasn’t quite so, so - oval - because he had an overwhelming desire to slice off the top, just like he did with his boiled egg at supper time. Richard Wilkins could not abide people who just tapped the egg gently with a spoon when you could slash it gloriously with a knife.
Principal Snyder plowed on, “The principals of the middle and elementary schools want us to join forces for this event, but I do not feel it is at all wise. All those little children scurrying about, making a mess, putting sticky fingers on the walls and probably whining and crying if they don’t find an egg in the Easter egg hunt - ”
“I love Easter egg hunts!”
Snyder found himself wishing he hadn’t decided to visit the municipal offices today. He was beginning to realise that the Mayor had no idea of the trouble and problems that were going to arise from mixing the three schools. Three times as many pupils, three times as much trouble and damage. “Surely you’re not in favour of it going ahead?”
Richard Wilkins tilted back his chair and gazed up at the ceiling. He knew he shouldn’t - it wasn’t time - he might spoil everything - but he was so bored! “Yes, I believe I am. And to help out, the Mayor’s office will provide the eggs. I’ll start my staff dyeing them straight away - green, blue, pink, all pretty colours that will attract the little ones.”
When the Principal finally left, foretelling gloom and disaster, the Mayor - “the most respected and genuine nice guy in Sunnydale” - as he called himself while he shaved every morning, chewed another peppermint and made his way down to the basement of the Town Hall.
He loved the basement! It was dark and damp and smelt of - well, he supposed it was the sort of smell you always got when long dead, recently dead and almost dead people and things were all stacked together into tottering, bloody heaps. But as much fun as it would have been to reorganise the remains tidily into male, female and unknown, he hurried past, with just a genial wave at someone who was still screaming.
At the end of a dark tunnel stood a chest, iron bound, secured by lengths of heavy chain and a padlock that would not have looked out of place at Fort Knox. The Mayor fished in his vest pocket for the key, freed the chest and carefully - because, holey-moley, he didn’t want to get blood on this suit - lifted the lid and peered inside.
He’d been saving these eggs for another occasion - but he could always get more. But perhaps using all of them would be a slight case of over-kill! If you could imagine such a thing as too much kill! Reluctantly, he picked up just one egg and lifted it to his ear, listening for the slither of baby tentacles, the chitter of tiny needle teeth that could strip flesh with the ease of a shoal of piranhas.
He murmured soothingly and it fell silent, its infant mind terrified by what it sensed outside its shell.
The day of the Spring Festival dawned warm and fine. The staff of all three schools had been busy since sun-up, hiding eggs, organising the seating for the talent contest, chasing the smaller children out of the high school laboratories and wishing devoutly that they’d taken up another profession, anything that meant that didn’t have to deal with kids!
They had to admit, however, that it had helped, having the eggs arrive already painted, from the Mayor’s office. He had even provided little baskets for the pupils to use and there were to be prizes for those who found the most, and a special prize for anyone who found a golden egg.
Principal Snyder had been deeply aggrieved when he heard that news. He could see no reason to reward the little horrors for running around screaming, making a mess.
By the time the Mayor arrived, the hunt was well underway. He walked through the high school grounds, smiling genially, his inner antennae - and gee they ached this morning - seeking out hot spots such as vampires, the Slayer, and the odd lower type of demon. But most of all he was enjoying the crowds of children rushing around, the joyous laughter, the happiness, the fun of it all. He could only imagine how wonderful it was going to be when the special gold egg he had in his pocket, ready to hide, was picked up. The laughter would change to screams of pure, unadulterated terror and his smile grew wider, his eyes crinkled with delight.
Because he was good - no, excellent, he didn’t believe in false modesty - at sensing distress, he was amused to discover amongst all the jollity, one little echo of unhappiness. Intrigued, he hunted it down because, hey, someone unhappy could make his day. He found a young girl sitting on a flight of steps. He supposed she was about ten or eleven, with long black hair and a face like a friendly horse. She was not the prettiest child he had ever seen, that was for sure. She’d been crying and her nose was running. The Mayor sighed, pulled out a large, clean white handkerchief from his pocket, sat down beside her and thrust the linen square into her hand. “Blow!” he instructed.
Amanda looked up, startled, then did as she was told. “Sobby,” she muttered, handing it back to him. “Thang you.”
The Mayor carefully put the handkerchief away, making a mental note to throw out this particular jacket as soon as he got home. “What’s the matter, little girl?”
There was a loud sniff, then, “I’m not a little girl! My name’s Amanda and I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”
Richard Wilkins smiled down on the dark head that just reached his shoulder. He loved black hair on girls. Much preferred it to blonde or red. “And quite right, too. There are some very odd people around, especially in Sunnydale. But I’m the Mayor, so talking to me is permitted, although if you would rather I went and asked your teacher why you’re crying, then - ”
“I’m too tall!”
The Mayor squinted down at the long, thin legs, the scraped knees and feet that looked too big in the blue sneakers. “Too tall for what?” he asked, puzzled.
“Just too tall. I’m miles bigger than everyone else in my year. I look like some sort of giant!” She sniffed hard. “We’re supposed to be dressed as People from Around the World for the festival. I’m a Spanish lady.”
The Mayor had a brief memory flash of a very fun-filled night during the Spanish inquisition then realised Amanda was continuing,
“I have to wear this silly red dress with ruffles and a big black shawl. All the kids laugh. They say I look like some great bat out of hell. I hate them. I HATE THEM ALL.”
Richard Wilkins listened, puzzled. Most of the bats out of hell he had known had been quite friendly creatures but not the type of evil soul-sucking fiends he would have laughed at. He wouldn’t mind being one at all. Still…
“Hmm. Well, little lady, hate is a powerful weapon and not one you should use lightly.” He fingered the egg inside his pocket. He could hand it to this child and within a few hours all her problems would be over. So would she, of course. He sighed and reached out, absentmindedly, to stroke the dark hair.
Suddenly a memory rocketed into his mind - a small paragraph in the Ascension documents, buried between the amount of meat he had to consume and regulations regarding refugees. A prophecy? No, more like an official comment. His plans would not work unless he included in them a dark-haired female human. Was this the one? He peered down at the child who was busy picking a scab off her knee. Not quite what he’d imagined, but still, being prejudiced on the grounds of age was a bad quality. After all, he himself had been young once, although the bloody mists of time did tend to hide those details from his memory.
He took the golden egg out of his pocket and rolled it between his palms, enjoying the terrible panic his actions caused inside the shell. “If I could tell you how to get back at those mean kids who laugh at you, would you want to know? Really make them pay for what they say and do?”
Amanda glanced up, startled. She knew the Mayor was a very important person and he looked nice and kind when he smiled. And he smiled a lot. But - he was a grown-up and when she heard him talk about making kids pay for being mean, she couldn’t hear any smile in his voice at all.
Suddenly she wanted to be out in the sunshine, to taste the fresh air. The stairs where they were sitting seemed gloomy and very, very cold. And there was a horrid smell coming from somewhere. She jumped up. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for the hanky.” And she was running, desperate to escape from - something - although she had no idea what that could possibly be.
The Mayor smiled regretfully. So, not the girl he was destined to meet. Well, geez, that was probably a good thing because she was very young and there just wasn’t time for him to watch over her until she grew up.
But she was still an interesting child: she had potential. He had no doubt she would have a big future ahead of her - then he giggled. Well, she would have had a future, of course, but in a couple of years she’d be dead, of course. But - and golly geez, why was there always a but in life? - just in case she proved a problem to him in the years to come -
“Amanda!”
She hesitated, stopped and turned. The Mayor threw the golden egg towards her and felt a surge of pride when she caught it easily. “There! The golden egg. You deserve it. Go and claim your prize. Have fun! Loads of fun.”
Amanda stumbled out into the sunshine. She peered down at the egg: it was very pretty but she knew she couldn’t keep it. That would be cheating and she didn’t cheat. The Mayor was just being kind to her. She hadn’t won anything! She hadn’t found the egg; he’d given it to her.
She tossed back her long black hair and sniffed violently. There was no way she was going to walk up to the high school’s principal and tell him she had won the prize. Everyone would look at her! It would be horrible.
Without thinking twice, she crouched down to where a grating led to the sewer system and dropped the egg through the bars. There! If anyone found it down there, they were welcome to it. And almost with relief she returned to put on the red ruffled dress, the black shawl and being laughed at by her class mates.
Richard Wilkins III was driven back to town in a reflective mood. It had been a good day, almost perfect, except that when there had been no terrified screaming or shouting, he’d known young Amanda must have thrown the egg away somewhere no-one could discover it and release the creature inside. Perhaps he’d been wrong just to take one egg to the high school. Well, he still had a chest full of fun - he could arrange for them all to be handed out.
The Mayor sighed. It was a shame, though, that today’s egg had been lost. The blood and death would have made such a good ending to the festival. Amanda had spoilt his happy day! He massaged away the frown between his eyes - he couldn’t believe that his plans had been thwarted by a small girl. Well, he would make sure that never happened again! From now on there would be No more Mr Nice Guy!
ends