Bluebeard always hated going home. Three wives was enough to make him doubt, and after the twelfth one, he had all but given up hope that he would find a woman smart enough to not open the one door he had pointed out. He rubbed his eyes as he made his way back to his castle. He had moved locations more times than he could count, had had more wives then he could count. He almost wondered why he bothered, until he became aware once again of his earring, a blue stone stabbed into his earlobe. The door between worlds, or the key to it. Something like that. His dad hadn't exactly taken the time to explain what it was exactly before deciding to die from an arrow in his eye. Regardless of what it was or was not, it was what allowed him to pass through the portals to various kingdoms and worlds, to have his name whispered in hundreds of them with each version of his tale slightly different.
Originally, he was just a walker, someone who walked the worlds, on some sort of patrol for some demons that died with Ancient Father Zeus, a god on one of the worlds he had walked more than once. Now he was the man who married and then butchered more wives in his life than there were wives in an entire city. He sighed again as his castle came into view. The wedding to wife number whatever had been exactly seven days ago. After the wedding, as he did with all his wives, he told them he needed to be away for a week for whatever reason, and as they always did, this one believed him. He had run out of places to be centuries ago. Now he just ran out and camped in the woods for a week, twiddling his thumbs. What he needed was a woman who could resist temptation and follow orders, someone who could bear him a son that he could pass his key, door, earpiece, whatever it was, on to when he died, and for it to be someone who could use it. Preferably someone born to someone who would live long enough to nurse him, maybe even help raise him.
At this point, Bluebeard would be happy for the woman to last long enough to just deliver the baby. Then if she decided she just had to open the door, he could hire a wet nurse or something. But then he'd need to make sure she didn't go near the door. He exhaled and absentmindedly drummed his fingers on his thigh. He'd tried telling them outright was behind the door. But really, what honest woman believes her strange husband of a few hours when he tells her that behind that door lay the spirits of a very angry old witch (courtesy of his father, bless his rotten hell bound soul) plus the very angry souls of all his previous wives who were just waiting for someone to wander through so they could take possession of the body?
Very few. Or in his case, absolutely none. He did get an angry mob outside his castle once because of his wife screaming about her mad husband. It had been then that he stopped taking his ability to move his castle with him from spot to spot for granted. He could count on his fingers the number of wives who had not opened the door while away, and those had been horrible. Because they had opened the door eventually, more often than not right after he got back. He had only said to not open it while he was away, after all. Then they became filled with the angry souls and came at him with brooms or knives, whatever weapons they could manage to grab.
When he arrived at his castle, he gave another mental sigh and steeled himself for the picture of the insane wife holding the blood-stained key when he entered. Even worse, ironically, would be if she wasn't insane, and if she didn't have a bloody key. Then it was just a very intense waiting game, with him only half sleeping every night as he waited for her to open the door and then try and murder him. Not seeing her on his way in and assuming her to be in her room, he veered off to where he knew her room to be. Bluebeard's a villain, they say, don't go getting yourself wed to a strange rich man with a blue-black beard that came from thin air, they say, he'll kill you before the week is out.
He'd like to have whoever the hell "they" are come and sit in his shoes for a month, and then see what sort of advise they go about spreading. Maybe 'don't go opening doors you're told not to,' or 'do as your mysterious rich magical husband says when he tells you not to open a demon-cursed door, lest you lose both your soul and your life. Maybe he'll know what he's talking about.' After all, after killing him, what was this wraith to do other than take out her (their) remaining infinite rage out on others in the world? And when there were no more victims there, would they not find some way to walk the worlds? If the spirit of that witch was with them, which it would be, he knew, then he had little trouble imagining them do just that.
He knocked once on wife number whatever's door and entered, preparing for both bad scenarios and feeling cheated and self-pitying that the centuries had turned the possibly 'good' situation into an even worse than the bad one. He heard movement on the other side of the door as he turned the handle, then a voice call greeting as he pushed it open, knife in hand, a resigned sigh already heaving his shoulders before he even saw her.
He didn't get more than a step into the room before someone boxed his ear from behind and knocked him dazed to the floor. His mind instantly jumped to his wife, but no, she was sitting in a chair, watching him with un-blinking eyes. Great. She had opened the door. She had opened the door. He had too--
Someone, the one who had the audacity to knock him down, stepped on his fingers as they tried to step over him, and he gave decent voice to his displeasure of this turn of events. The finger-smasher glanced down at him as he passed, but otherwise didn't take notice of him. He looked up to see the local authority talking to his wife.
"...found the bodies in the room you mentioned... brave... us... him up and let's..."
He was talking too quietly for Bluebeard to make all the words out. By then four other men had joined him and were listening to his words with such attention you'd think them spell bound. Bluebeard didn't doubt it for a minute. Through the entire exchange, he was looking at wife number whatever, and she was staring at him, lying dazed and dizzy on the floor. His earring felt heavy in his ear, reminding him of its presence, and he sighed, forcing himself to stand, wobbly as he was. The men noticed him stand, but seeing him wobble and trusting him not to stand a single step, didn't move to stop him, only smiled and watched, waiting for his fall. He didn't need to take any steps. He just needed to stand in order to move the castle. The authorities died the moment the worlds switched, the bodies turned to ash on his floor.
His wife (wives) were still very much alive, however, if a little stunned from both the blow and the sudden travel. Another mystery his dad hadn't had the courtesy to explain before going out to get his eye plucked. From what he could tell, it was the wedding ring that protected her, which, he reminded himself, he would need to collect from her before he locked the door. He picked up her body and swiftly carried it down to the room where his other wives' bodies rested and, shoving the body of the last one off the alter, placed his latest one there instead. More of a habit than an honor or respect.
He left immediately after and locked the door. Give it a good month for the souls to settle and disperse from the body, and it should be okay for him to marry again, try again to find a wife. If the union didn't call for trust for a world-walker heir to be produced, he thought as he wiped his hands on his pants and made his way up to his own room, he'd simply chain his wives to a dungeon wall until they delivered. If he didn't need a capable heir in order for him to age and eventually die and get the damned bit of blue stone out of his ear, he wouldn't even bother.
But no. Dad couldn't set things up to be easy, could he? Had to trap a witch's soul in the bloody castle and start this whole mess. If it wasn't for good ol' Dad, Bluebeard thought as he entered his room and tried to ignore the scratching sounds coming from the locked door, he'd probably have been done with the business several centuries ago. But no. Now he needed to find another wife and hope the legend of the blue-bearded wife killer hadn't spread to this particular world as well.
Thanks, Dad.
Here I am to review.
