The May Queen

By Faith Ryan

Based on a tale of folklore, The May Queen is a twist on what really takes places during the May Day celebrations in the fictional community of Anemone. Secrets and desire drive each character through the traditions and what is left in the end is a bloody mess.

*This was originally published in the Tainted Tales anthology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faith Ryan
• Release date: Dec 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201633387

Faith Ryan

Faith Ryan is wife to a handsome bearded man and mother to three, yes three, teenage girls. She lives in a small town in Ohio and is a weirdo to the max. She is in love with love of all kinds, especially the dark, dirty, and forbidden. She enjoys torturing her characters, sometimes figuratively and other times literally. Faith’s writing leans to the weird, dark, and unconventional. If you like your stories with a bit of blood and taboo, you’re looking in the right place. But don’t worry, Faith also has a sweet side she lets out on occasion.

Book preview

Chapter One

Harloe

The preparations have begun, and I watch in amusement as these sheep go along with Reverend Godfrey’s orders with minimal thought as to why. They disgust me, maybe even more than he does. The whole town of Anemone is filled with bigoted hypocrites.

And then there is this farce of a festival. May Day and its traditions hound my every move. I eat, breathe, and sleep May Day. But I guess I should expect nothing less being the daughter of Macon Godfrey. I’ve been groomed for the coveted role of May Queen since birth. Before I could walk, I was wearing flowery crowns and frilly white dresses.

For the first thirteen years of my life, I was a part of the flock. A sheep prodded into place by a man claiming to be intimate with God. His promises sounded glorious and fantastical to my innocent ears.

I was naïve.

Believing myself to be an adult because of the moniker of teenager extended to me that year, I took it upon myself to see how the adults celebrated May Day. If the dancing competition the children could take part in was any indication, the parents’ nighttime festivities promised to be intense but fun. So, I faked sickness and went to bed early. When darkness fell, I trailed behind my father to a building hidden among the cherry blossoms.

The first thing I noticed was how there were no women during this part of the celebration. Only the men my father called the Elders, his closest advisors in all decisions regarding the well-being of Anemone.

Not wanting to risk being seen, I stayed outside, peeking through a window well covered by tree branches. What I saw that night haunted my dreams for months with predatory grins and blood, before manifesting a deep-seated need in me to cull the evil of this town. I wanted them all to suffer. Every last one. The men for going through with the ceremony. The women—whom I later discovered knew about the sick ritual performed each May Day—for their inaction against the monsters they called husbands and sons. The children for the sinners their parents were grooming them to become.

I wanted to tear Anemone apart piece by piece to save us all.

Until Mina.

Wilhelmina Atwood is a blonde goddess who joined our community recently when she was taken in by distant family, the Tennysons. When her parents died in a horrible farming accident, it was the only option left to her. I haven’t heard details, and she doesn’t talk about it much, but if I had to guess, she wasn’t terribly upset over their deaths. Her non-emotional response to the prying questions, and her sometimes vacant stare, drew me to her more than her obvious beauty. She is my ultimate muse; the daydream that fuels all others. An obsession almost eclipsing my need to rescue the damned souls of this town.

Four years after I witnessed the horrors of the real May Day, I observe the frantic activity of this year’s May Day preparations from beneath the same cherry blossoms; an invisible voyeur. The fallen petals surrounding me are soft to the touch, and I imagine it is Mina’s skin under the caress of my fingers. A melodious laugh sounds from the frenzy of workers and my attention pulls to her like a magnet seeking its opposite.

I watch as the beautiful blonde helps dye the fabric to be used as the ribbons around the May Pole. Her hands are stained a dark red and when she lifts them from the tub of dye, it drips onto her white dress. She looks like an avenging angel, laughing while covered in the blood of the damned. I’m mesmerized by the vision in my mind’s eye. The contrast of the virginal white and the wicked red provides fervor for the plans I’ve already started to make.

I allow my daydreams to take over and give me hope for