#twisted tale

Twisted Tales: A Tooth For a Tooth

We moved into the house in early spring, a little two-story fixer-upper on the edge of a dying town, the kind where everyone either works at the mill, or drinks because they don’t. My daughter, Lily, is seven. Sweet kid. Smart. Loves birds, dinosaurs, and stories before bed. It was just the two of us — her mother passed away during childbirth. We’ve managed.

The house was cheap. Too cheap. That should’ve been a red flag. But I told myself it was a fresh start.

Things were normal for the first few weeks. The backyard had overgrown weeds, the basement smelled like mold and something else — coppery, maybe — but nothing too unusual for an old house.

Then Lily made a friend.

"Her name's Elsie," she said one night while drawing in the living room. I didn’t think much of it. Imaginary friends are common, especially after moves. Still, something about how she said it felt... off. Too flat. Like she was repeating something she'd been told to say.

“Is she from school?” I asked.

“No. She was already here.”

I smiled, uneasy. “Already here?”

“She lives in the crawlspace. But she doesn’t like it.”

I went pale. “What crawlspace?”

“The one behind my closet.”

There was no crawlspace behind her closet. I helped install her shelves myself.

That night, after she went to sleep, I checked.

Behind her bookshelf, the drywall had been carefully peeled away. Not broken — peeled, like someone had slowly stripped it with a blade.

There was a space behind it. Maybe three feet deep. And in the middle of that crawlspace… were bones. Small ones. Scattered like dice. Maybe raccoon. I told myself that. I had to tell myself that.

I called pest control. They told me the bones were too old and too clean to be animal remains.

“More like a medical specimen,” the guy muttered before shrugging and leaving.

The next night, Lily didn’t want her bedtime story.

“Elsie tells better ones,” she said.

“What kind of stories?” I asked.

She looked up at me with wide eyes. “Ones about before.”

“Before what?”

“She says I used to live here. A long time ago. Before you stole me away.”

My blood went cold.

I asked who told her that. She only smiled and went to sleep.

Over the next week, Lily changed. Slightly, but enough for a parent to notice. Her drawings stopped being dinosaurs and birds. Now she drew open mouths. Rows of teeth. Holes in walls. A house on fire.

She began humming a lullaby I never taught her. A tune with no words, but it made my teeth ache.

One night, I woke up at 2:34 AM. I know the time because the house was completely silent — no creaks, no pipes, not even wind. And Lily was standing at the foot of my bed.

“Elsie says I can’t stay,” she whispered. “Not unless you leave.”

I sat up, trembling. “Lily… this isn’t funny.”

“She says I used to be hers. She buried me. But you brought me back. She doesn’t like that.”

I turned the lights on.

She was holding a scalpel.

We don’t have scalpels in our house.

The next day, I called a priest. Not because I’m religious — I’m not. But because therapy didn’t seem like the right fit. The priest came, looked around, prayed, and then stopped at the crawlspace.

He knelt beside it, whispering to himself. Then he backed away, pale as death.

“She’s not imaginary,” he said. “And that’s not a crawlspace.”

I didn’t understand. He only said: “She was buried there. Long ago. She’s not your daughter’s friend. She’s wearing your daughter like a coat.”

I packed everything. We ran.

We’ve been staying in a motel three towns over for a week now. Lily hasn’t said a word. But last night, I caught her staring into the mirror, giggling.

She whispered something I couldn’t hear.

So I leaned closer.

And she said, in a voice too deep to belong to any child: “You can’t steal what was never yours.”

I don’t know what to do. I don't think I have a daughter anymore.

But she still looks like her.

Title: Legacy

What if Sage didn't create Battle Force 5?

Context: Sage, being the last of her kind, losing her memories, traveling from zone to zone. Being hunted down by the Sarks and the Vandals. Until she found Jack Wheeler, the only human in the multiverse, helping him escape from Torso-10's grasp.

Meanwhile, Vert Wheeler didn't go to the Storm Shock thinking it was a natural and not knowing his father is in the zone.

“How did you get a demon in your chicken?”

“The usual way. Couldn’t put it in the rooster. That’s how you get basilisks.” —T. Kingfisher, Nettle & Bone, on sale now