there is no friend like a sister

by dossier

Notes & Warnings

She gave up beauty in her tender youth, gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways;
she covered up her eyes lest they should gaze on vanity, and chose the bitter truth.
A Portrait, Christina Rossetti

Marilyn stood on the busy L.A. Intersection – she still disliked the family seeing her plain, ugly apartment – in borrowed a funeral dress. Layers of black chiffon flapped in the brisk wind, and the hood wouldn't stay up to cover her her bright blond hair. She felt like a poseur and finally, perfectly normal at the same time, while wearing Lily's dress. Desperately aware of how out of place her appearance seemed amongst the the Angelenos in short skirts, tank tops, high heels, but something that had always squirmed and felt out of place inside of her had immediately sighed and settled upon donning Aunt Lily's mourning garb.

Eddy picked her up in the Munster coach. Tall and black and glittering, a predator that cut through schools of brightly colored Hondas, Ferraris and Porsches then rolled to a stop. He got out, instead of just shoving the door open from across the car. "Hey, you look great," Eddy yelled over the engine's heavy rumble.

"Thanks. You do too." She gave him a weak smile, and blinked back the sudden tears at his appearance. He wasn't wearing Grandpa's suit, it was one of his own. Dark hair slicked back to display a prominent widow's peak and the bright, white streak – proof that he was Lily's blood – that bisected his head. Grandpa wouldn't have ever pulled his hair back into a pony tail, though. She missed Grandpa fiercely, and the reminder was a sweet, painful jab. Grandpa had died in a lab explosion just last year, staked through the heart by a piece of flying debris.

Eddie opened the door, and handed her into the vehicle with a courtly gesture, just like Grandpa, or Uncle Herman had done for Aunt Lily a thousand times. Marilyn pulled a black handkerchief out of her sleeve, and dabbed at her tears. She'd spent hours applying the heavy black eye makeup and the flat white foundation. Lily hadn't ever had to resort to theatrical supply companies for cosmetics.

They didn't talk. She and Eddy had said everything they needed to say to one another during the long weeks sitting next to Lily's death bed.


The house had always seemed huge to her when she lived here. The hours spent redistributing graveyard dirt and hanging cobwebs with Aunt Lily had never felt like work. Lily had always been so kind, loving her for who she was, despite her abnormality, and they'd talked while they worked. The house had never been quiet, not with Uncle Herman's booming laughter, Grandpa's bang and clatter in the lab, Spot roaring from under the stairs.

It felt smaller now, closing in on her, without Lily. The years after Uncle Herman passed away, Lily and Grandpa had rattled around 1313 Mockingbird, two lonely old peas in a dried up husk. Marilyn hadn't lived at the house since she'd graduated Westbury, but she'd visited frequently. It was home, in a way that her apartment wasn't.

Maybe it was just that there were so many people here, strangers with their American odors of cologne, shoe polish and hair gel mingling with the sweet redolence of fresh dirt, musty cobwebs, and funeral wreaths of lilies and white roses.

The relatives were crowded together in the parlour. Ancient Uncle Lester, his fur gone gray and grizzled was openly weeping next to the sleek black coffin, and his third wife Caroline was wiping his face dry with the tail ends of her linen bandages. Uncles Gilbert and Gilbert – twin sons of different families – stood to the side, dripping ichor onto the dusty carpet. Garrett and Mina sat on a chaise lounge, waiting for their turn to pay their respects and Cousin Humphrey hovered over the coffin, weak and insubstantial. There were more that she didn't know, or recognize.

Eddy glided into the room silently, greeting cousins with a brief handshake and a murmured word of thanks. Marilyn followed behind, and despite the appropriate costume, she felt out of place.

All eyes were on her, and though some nodded with approval, it was the quickly shuttered pity that stung. She was a throwback, disfigured by her plainness. She couldn't pass, not here in this room with the tattered, royal remains of the family. The dress and cosmetics singled her out so she couldn't disappear among the mundanes in the next room.

This was a dreadful mistake.

Lily had been there to offer support and a buffer for Grandpa's funeral (grander, though they'd only had a handful of dust to scatter) , and now she was gone forever. Eddy was a poor substitute. He seemed to straddle the divide so seamlessly, carelessly, between family and his friends in the entertainment industry in the next room. But then, he'd always belonged in a way that she never had.

Marilyn supposed that Eddy would give her the keys to Dragula, or the coach, but she didn't want to leave. She just wanted them to stop their pitying stares. Lily had raised her, treated her like one of the family, had never had anything but concern for her, despite her non-ghoulish appearance. Marilyn had as much right to be here as they did. She sniffed back the tears, pulled the hood forward to cover her shockingly blond hair and pasted a smile on her face.

Screw them, anyway. A decade of therapy had to be worth something, and the message that Dr. Dudley had been guiding her towards was to embrace the differences, just as her entire family had exemplified her entire life.

These people weren't here for her, they were here for Lily, too. No one was at their best today so she circulated offering and accepting words of sympathy. Uncle Lester wrapped her in a warm hug, squeezed her tight, and whispered over and over how sorry he was. He had something to give her, later.


Fandom: The Munsters

Category/Rated: Gen, E

Year/Length: 2010, ~980

Spoilers: Surely you jest? Canon has been set for nearly 40 years. Go watch TVLand, or something.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.

Summary: Marilyn Munster: beauty or freak?

Notes: This story ignores canon from 'Here Come The Munsters' (1995), in which Marilyn is related to Herman, not Lily.

Author's Notes: Spawned from a conversation with my sister (hence the cheesy title), that growing up we were essentially 'The Munsters'. Weird house on the corner, people didn't like to come over, all of us out of step with the middle class suburban people that were too far away for us to become fully socialized and functioning.

Author's Notes: Yet another story that I am freeing to the world at large without an actual ending.

Beta: [F7]

| Home | Stories | Sitemap O'Doom | Whazzup? | email dossier |

Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional