April 2022 Story - The Finger Curse (Chapter 8) (Patreon)

NOTE: I made a few edits that I should explain. Agnes's family name is still Norwich but the kingdom is now Dalria. I also edited the witch's spell again because of an idea I had involving semantics.

Penelope had no idea things would get so out of hand.

It was a rather mean thing to do at first, but Penelope could not help it. She considered it just a tiny guilty pleasure to trick Agnes into drinking her ale. Of course, Penelope had drank before. She was just smitten seeing Agnes in her compromising position.

Next thing she knew, they were at The Wet Cock for over an hour entertaining the men drinking one ale after another. Agnes was in no position to ride her horse by the end of the night, for she was as drunk as sailor on shore leave.

Penelope stumbled out of the tavern holding Agnes in tow. Agnes kept waving the crowd goodbye until they walked further down the alleyway.

Agnes was completely flushed and laughed at everything. Penelope could not keep a grip on her and they both fell to the ground.

“HAhaHAhahahaHAHAHaaHA!” Agnes cackled. She snorted, which made her laugh even more.

Penelope had also drunk quite a bit, but she was far more adept at controlling her liquor than Agnes ever was. As far as she knew, this was the first time Agnes ever got drunk.

“Oh my GOD, Pen,” Agnes said. “Is this---is this---what people do all night?”

Penelope could not get a word in before Agnes began laughing again, rolling on the ground.

“Pen? I feel so goooood…”

At this stage in the night, Agnes had lost all control of her burping, which made Penelope weak in the knees every time Agnes casually let out another throaty eruption.

Those belches!

They could have rivaled Belinda’s! They were the loudest belches Penelope had ever heard from the demurest woman in the all the realm. Penelope was so besides herself when they left the tavern that she could not get up after they fell.

Penelope would treasure this night forever — hearing and seeing Agnes belch like an uncouth, gruff man, drinking herself to oblivion like the rest of them. She would write about it later in her diary and cherish her secret record of it forever. She never understood exactly why but for as long as she could remember, she was attracted to the expulsion of wind. She herself found it relieving when she did it, but the taboo over such matters was maybe what did her in. It was different when a man did it. She hated it and found it disgusting. But when someone like Agnes did it, or Margaret or Milly or any of the other maids or nobles, it aroused something in her. Agnes was after all the pinnacle of etiquette and high society. There was something so...enticing about her breaking wind loudly.

Agnes was still on the ground laughing when Penelope got up and readied their horses. She thought about their current state and realized that, with the late night already upon them, they would not be able to set off for the thief.

Going back to the castle would be a nightmare for everyone involved. Her parents would scold Agnes for being in this state. They may also put the blame on Penelope herself. She gulped at the thought and wondered what to do.

The Wet Cock offered several rooms for the night. They would have to stay there and finish their quest in the morning. Maybe Agnes’s parents had no idea that she set off, as she had hurried away after dinner. Maybe they could return without them ever knowing of her disappearance. Either way, they would return tomorrow and at the very least Penelope could help conjure up some flimsy excuse about Agnes needing a night ride and getting lost.

Penelope sighed, picked up Agnes, and lugged her upstairs to a room.

#

Agnes woke with a loud snort.

Her head ached so much so that she could hardly keep her eyes open or move in bed. She moaned, low at first and then louder as the ache grew more severe.

Light shone through the window, which lacked curtains, and Agnes continued to moan as she covered her head with her pillow.

Time passed and she eventually became more conscious of where she was. When she realized that the night had passed, she gasped aloud and shot up in bed.

“PENELOPE?!”

Agnes found herself lying on a dingy cot in an even dingier room that was somehow an excuse for a bedroom. It was very bare, with the exceptions of a dresser and a mirror.

Memories flooded through her head all at once, and it almost hurt to remember. She covered her face in shame and cursed at herself. She remembered bits and pieces of the previous night and knew she had gotten drunk. Very drunk. Unbelievably drunk. The stench of alcohol was all over her. Her makeup and hair were disheveled, and she was in her undergarments with her dress draped over the dresser.

Then, a loud gurgle reminded her of her predicament.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned, bending over clutching her swollen belly.

Now that she was awake, she was aware of how much she drank. The yeast from all that ale seemed to still be alive in her stomach, making all sorts of noises like a bubbling swamp with all sorts of dreadful creatures.

As the minutes passed, the pain and discomfort were so great that she could not get out of bed. She laid on her side and knew she needed help. She moaned aloud, “Penelope…Penelope? Penelopeeeeee.”

Penelope finally knocked after what felt like an eternity of waiting. Before she could ask as usual if she could come in, Agnes barked, “Penelope! Come in!”

Penelope was already dressed and ready. She sighed upon seeing Agnes and said, “Milady—”

“Sssh!”

“Er, mum, I’m so glad to see you—”

“Penelope! Come here.” Agnes desperately needed that relief and put away whatever pleasantries Penelope tried to utter.

Agnes stretched out on the bed and offered her finger.

“I need you to pull my finger, please,” she said, groaning.

Penelope stared at it. She hesitated this time, and that threw Agnes off. Penelope did things at her bidding that very moment. This time, she seemed extremely nervous. Or was it shyness? Agnes was not sure. But she was in great pain and needed Penelope’s help right away.

“M-Milady…I don’t know if it’s my place to ask but I wondered why—”

“Please, Pen. Pull my finger and I will tell you. I cannot bear it any longer!”

Penelope held her breath. She pulled Agnes’s finger, and like before so many times, she broke wind loud and long. The fart sounded like a wet splatter, something like a dozen ducks quacking and sputtering.

Breaking wind became pure bliss for Agnes. The bloating diminished, and she sighed longingly as she was able to sit up again.

“Uggggh!” she moaned aloud.

After she stretched, Penelope’s face was beet-red. Agnes had never seen her face so red before. The poor girl must have been ashamed to see such a disgraceful display of bad manners. Agnes looked away and cleared her throat. She too felt her cheeks become red hot with embarrassment. The silence between them strained the longer it dragged on.

“Penelope,” Agnes finally said. “On the morning of my birthday, an old witch cursed me.”

Penelope looked up. “Cursed you, milady?”

“Yes. I do not know why, but she cursed me with a spell that rendered me unable to…to break wind…unless someone pulled my finger.”

Penelope did not laugh or look disgusted. She pulled back her hair and said lowly, “That is terrible, milady…You must have been in agony.”

“I thought the spell would break once you pulled my finger the other day. But the curse persisted. I MUST find her and figure out why the spell has not broken.” She gestured with her hands as she seethed with rage. “When I finally find her, it will take a lot of effort not to throttle her!”

“Well then, we must make haste, milady. We don’t know if your parents are looking for you. It is still early in the morning. People haven’t even woken up for breakfast. If we leave now, we can confront the witch and be back before anyone noticed you were missing.”

Agnes put a hand on her forehead. She still felt dizzy and queasy. She then moaned thinking about the night before. “Oh, Pen, did I do something unbecoming of me last night?”

Penelope hesitated. She looked away and put a finger on her lips. “Well…um…”

“Oh my Lord,” Agnes muttered. “Do not even try to tell me.”

Penelope chuckled. “It’s nothing so terrible. You simply belched a lot…and…er…the bartender might possibly know who you are.”

Agnes gasped. “Curses!”

“Don’t worry, milady! I made sure to threaten him.” Penelope unsheathed a dagger that Agnes never realized she carried with her. She was taken aback. Penelope was grinning, almost like a madman. “I made sure he understood to keep mum about it!”

“My dear, Pen. I had no idea you had it in you.”

“Anything for you, milady.” Penelope curtsied.

Agnes felt warmth as she fully realized how Penelope devoted everything to her. She was truly the best servant of House Norwich. She could not imagine getting through this without anyone else.

#

They rode out of Dalria down the main road that led to Southwood. The city was quiet, as it was still the wee hours of the morning. The sun had just barely risen. Once they reached the outskirts, they were surrounded by the peaceful sounds of woodland birds.

Penelope led the way, being that she had also been familiar with the roads outside of Dalria. She also kept thinking about how she had witnessed Princess Agnes break wind yet again so grotesquely that she needed to be alone to calm herself down.

The path winded through a sparsely wooded forest with tall oaks and pines. They rode in silence for a while, and Agnes eventually complained.

“How much longer until the dirt path appears? You did not see it, did you?”

Penelope surveyed the grass. “No, mum.”

“You may address me as milady here now, Penelope.”

“Yes, milady.”

The path opened up to a clearing. Penelope stopped to look around. She surveyed every inch around her and spotted something on the ground. The dirt path had not been frequently traveled in ages, so the grass had grown over it. The path wound down past a thick grove of trees.

She jumped when Agnes interrupted her. “Ah! There! You see it? There used to be a path here. The grass has grown over it, but it’s definitely a path. Come!”

Agnes rode onward. Penelope wanted to urge caution, but the princess had already disappeared through the grove. Penelope had to duck to avoid low-hanging branches. The thick foliage blocked out most of the sunlight, so it was dark and cold the further they went in.

The trees parted and revealed a small, homely stone cottage with a smoking chimney. Agnes was waiting for Penelope there.

“Wait here. I shall deal with this myself.”

Agnes got off her horse, but Penelope refused to let her go alone.

“Milady. I would strongly urge to go with me. You may never know the true intentions of a witch.”

“I am perfectly fine on my own. This is a matter I must deal with myself.”

Penelope blocked her way. She was not going to let her be injured by any thief, even if it was not in her place to order the princess. She then unsheathed a dagger. “You are unarmed, princess. And I am adept with a dagger. Please. I do this not to humiliate you but to protect you.”

Her voice wavered a bit near the end, but Agnes did not seem to notice. Agnes reflected on this with wandering eyes, and then finally said, “Fine.”

Penelope knocked on the door and waited. The silence was unnerving as they waited. Penelope realized that there were no birds chirping around the cottage, neither was there any rustling in the shrubbery from any woodland creatures. It was as if they were in a small separate world of its own.

The door creaked open. The inside of the cottage was dimly lit. Agnes leaned forward to look, but Penelope brushed her aside with her dagger drawn. She whispered, “Behind me, milady.” She was prepared to give everything for her.

The cottage reeked of odd scents – both pleasing and unpleasant. One moment Penelope sniffed baked goods but then the next she smelled rotting eggs. Candles were strewn about the place, seemingly haphazard. Everything was unkempt and untidy, with books scattered and half-filled cauldrons both big and small taking up space.

Agnes whispered, “Does this look like a witch’s hut? I do not know what it is they do.”

Before Penelope could answer, an old woman stepped in the room, unperturbed by their presence. Penelope let out a small gasp at her appearance. The old woman was exactly how Agnes described. She walked about the room looking for something underneath books and cauldrons, mumbling to herself.

“There you are foul witch!” Agnes spat. She stepped forth and let out all her anger and frustration on the old woman. “I do not know what you did to me, but I demand that you undo your spell.”

The old woman cackled to herself but did not look at them in the eye, nor did she face them. She continued about her business hobbling around the cottage.

Agnes placed her hands on her hips and stamped her foot. “Did you hear me? Do you not know who I am? I am Agnes Regina Norwich, princess of Dalria! My family is very powerful. My father will have you hanged before you could even reach for your wand!”

Still, the old woman barely acknowledged her presence. This fueled Agnes’s rage further. She scowled and clenched her fists. Before Penelope could intervene to prevent her from doing anything rash, the old woman went up to her and did the unthinkable. She lifted up her cloak and let off an abrasive, long fart.

PPPPPPPPPPrrrrrrrrrrrrrPPPPPPPPPPrrrrrrrrPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRrrrrrrrPPPPPPPP!

Agnes cried out in rage. Penelope could not believe what had happened. She also was mildly conflicted. The witch had seen younger days, but that had been the most wonderfully vile farts Penelope had heard in a long time. She pretended to be disgusted by stifled her laughter.

The witch finally spoke. “That’s what I think of ye Norwiches.”

Agnes’s hair became disheveled solely from being so distraught and angry. She still had her fists clenched and shouted, “STOP BREAKING WIND YOU OLD HAG! WHY MUST YOU PLAGUE ME WITH YOUR WIND? UNDO THE SPELL ON ME RIGHT NOW OR I SHALL HAVE YOUR HEAD CUT OFF!” Agnes huffed and huffed, and then said, “My servant here pulled my finger and yet the curse persisted. Why is that?”

The witch laughed. She finally sat down and leaned back with a satisfied look on her face. “The spell never mentioned that it would end, did it now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember, silly girl? The spell.”

“Yes, yes. Of course I remember it! I shall be unable to break wind unless someone pulls my forefinger.”

The witch continued to laugh. “But I never said that it will go away after that.”

Agnes seemed to think about it. When it finally hit her, her face turned red with fury and she seethed, shaking her fist at the witch. “Curse you and your semantics! You tricked me!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the witch said, shaking her head. “You still haven’t learned, have ye?”

“Learned what?”

“You are still as spoiled and bratty as ever. You find offense at such a basic human function. You treat others as being beneath you for being nothing more than normal.”

“I am of House Norwich. We brought this kingdom back to its glory days. The people owe us their gratitude and their loyalty.”

Penelope stood there awkwardly. She was not sure what to say but felt disheartened by Agnes’s words. This indeed was the reason why so many others found her displeasing. She did not want her biggest crush to be so…full of herself. Alas, that was the way of all royal families.

“Now…” Agnes said, “undo the spell. Or I shall have you HANGED!”

The witch, completely unperturbed as always, sighed heavily. She lifted an old stick and said, “Very well then…”

Agnes eased and smiled. “Thank you.”

The witch twirled her stick, but then stopped suddenly with wide eyes. The hairs on Penelope’s back rose as she sensed that something very bad was about to happen. She did not understand how or why, but she knew the witch was going to trick Agnes again.

The witch then grinned devilishly. Penelope jumped in front of Agnes but the world around them darkened except for a blinding light that emanated from the witch.

“THOU SHALL BE CURSED TO NEVER BREAK WIND AGAIN UNLESS BY THE PULL OF THY FOREFINGER FROM TRUE LOVE!”

Agnes screamed from the light. Penelope held her dagger out in front of her, wielding it blindly.

The light then faded, and the witch resumed to her old, cackling and hobbling self. She kept snickering and waved a finger at Agnes. The two girls were on the floor having been pushed back by the magic.

Penelope offered her hand to Agnes, but she instead shot to her feet and dusted off her dress with a wry smile.

“True love?” she said. “That is all?”

The witch cackled. “You speak as though it is so easy.”

“It is!” Agnes replied haughtily. She stood straight, poised, with her chin up. “For I already have a suitor ready to propose to me. Right, Penelope?”

Penelope nodded.

“Is that so?” the witch said, still smirking.

Agnes turned for the door with a swirl of her dress. “Come, Penelope. We are finished here. Let us return to the castle at once!”

Penelope walked behind her. Before leaving, she took one last look at the witch. The witch did not seem perturbed or pensive at Agnes’s supposed win. In fact, the witch continued smiling devilishly, and seemed to understand something through Penelope’s gaze.

She shuddered, as though something had touched her, even looked inside her soul. When she closed the door behind her, she heard the witch laugh again.