12 Days, 12 Stories, each 200-300 words. The contest theme is gifts and each day has a prompt. Today's is:
The feast was wholesome but dull. Mounds of apples fragranced the air, loaves too - home-baked, of course. No shop bought nonsense for the upstanding mothers of Paloosa. No liquor either. Temperance ruled the white picket fences.
If Dionysus hadn’t been so bored, he might have left them to it. But it had been millennia since the God of Wine had had a really good party.
Annabeth Williams was on the door, an imposing presence to dissuade any less desirable elements from joining the community celebration. Broad hipped and narrow minded, she had the kind of bosom that used to adorn the prows of ships back in the good old days, days when the gods had heroes to play with instead of housewives. A regular Tupperware tyrant.
But when she saw who approached she smiled.
“Gracie,” she said in the voice she reserved for girls that would never pose a threat to her maternal supremacy. No lipstick smeared floozy, Gracie. Annabeth’s sons were safe.
Gracie smiled her pale smile and tucked one limp strand of hair behind her ear. “I brought meatloaf.”
“You go right on in.” Annabeth didn’t look back over her shoulder, as Gracie hurried past. She didn’t see her smile change.
It took three years for the Paloosians to come to terms with The Incident. No one could have anticipated the madness that overtook the Mother’s Society, the wildness with which they tore apart the church hall, bare breasted and smeared with food.
Annabeth’s absence scarred the town, but she was better where she was, in the secure unit at the state penitentiary. A woman who ripped off her own son’s head really had no place in Paloosa.
And Gracie? Turned out she was a man. Dion, or something.
Unmarried women were always a risk.