A spoooooooky story for Earth Hour
Earth Hour is coming up! On 26 March at 8 pm people all over the world will be turning off their lights to stand in solidarity with, well, the planet. It’s a moment (or hour) to pause and think about how our everyday actions have an impact on the environment.
Earth Hour is in response to a very serious issue, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun while you participate. Take advantage of the darkness by reading a super spooky story written by our very own James Castles. Enjoy! And beware…
Gather round, gather round. It’s getting dark. Gather round, and let me tell you about the legend of Muerta Mia…
Muerta Mia was a star - one of the greatest of all time. She was a singer. She was a dancer. She was a comedian. She was a performer. She had legs for days and a booty that wouldn’t quit. In short, she was a drag queen.
But despite the legions of fans and a social media following that would have made Beyoncé weep, there was an empty place in Muerta’s heart. She wanted a daughter to call her own.
Always one to get what she wanted, she seized her chance when a young, wide-eyed bambi, in drag for the very first time, stumbled into Muerta at a Halloween party. Muerta took this little ball of glitter and potential under her wing and taught her everything she knew. And so, her drag daughter, Mini Mia was born.
Muerta and Mini were unstoppable, and together they reached new heights of fame and fortune. They toured the world as a double act, performing for packed clubs, arenas and the most exclusive parties. They even performed for royalty, at the birthday party of the not-at-all-obscure Crown Prince of Liechtenstein.
But it was not to last. You see, Muerta had grown jealous. Muerta wasn’t as young as she’d once been and she was envious of Mini’s youth. Mini didn’t need eight layers of foundation to hide the creeping crow’s feet like Muerta did. Nor did she have to battle incessantly creeping grey hairs, sagging curves and the aching joints that were the price of night after night in heels.
Muerta’s resentment grew and grew and grew, until one night before a show Mini said to her, “mother, why don’t you sit tonight out? The show won’t finish until after three and I’m not sure your geriatric joints can take it.”
Muerta was white with rage. But she contolled herself and with icy calm, she replied, “oh sweetie, you’re such a dear for fussing about me. But don’t worry. If your botoxed lips still have enough life in them to stutter through tonight’s performance, then these ‘geriatric joints’ of mine can certainly haul themselves around the stage just fine.”
That night’s performance went ahead, but was noted by many attendees for its unusually vicious jokes.
It was the last straw. Muerta couldn’t stand it anymore.
Mini’s time on stage was up.
A few days passed and the two of them were backstage together in Muerta’s dressing room, getting ready for yet another performance. Muerta had made up her mind. Tonight, after the show, she would smother Mini with her favourite wig and damn the consequences.
“We’ll see how pretty those plump lips are when they’re blue and cold as ice,” Muerta thought to herself with satisfaction.
They were sharing the same mirror, with Mini putting the finishing touches on her makeup while Muerta applied a final layer of her favourite brilliantly red lipstick. Mini glanced at Muerta’s reflection and their eyes made contact.
“That colour really is to die for,” said Mini with a sly smile.
“What’s that Mini?” said Muerta, distracted. “Jealous again, are we?”
“No,” said Mini, a look of pure venom now creeping across her face. “Not. Any. More.”
Muerta suddenly staggered, her eyes widened in horror and she crumpled to the floor with a look of abject shock frozen across her features.
The poisoned lipstick canister slipped from her fingers and rolled across the carpet, only stopping as Mini caught it under the sole of one stilettoed heel.
Mini made a run for it that night and was never caught. It’s said she spent the rest of her days performing Madonna covers for sunburnt tourists on a third rate cruise ship as it plied the Gulf of Thailand.
But what about Muerta? I hear you wondering.
Well, some say she’s gone forever and we’ll never see her like on Earth again. Others, that she never really died because, naturally, it was all a publicity stunt.
But I’m afraid the truth is far more chilling.
The truth is that she is trapped, somewhere between our world and the next.
So remember to be careful, the next time you’re in the bathroom getting ready for a big night out, or a hot date. You might just see a figure behind you in the mirror watching you, with lips redder than the reddest red you’ve ever seen.
And then you’ll know.
Your time is up.
Muerta Mia has come for you.
