GRIMM STORIES & OTHER FAERY TALES

Grimm Stories and Other Faery Tales

“Snowdrop is more beautiful by far. Sorry.”

“Snowdrop? Snowdrop? Snowdrop is dead!”

“Dead she may be, but she's still prettier than you.”

“How can she be prettier than me if she's dead?” hissed the Queen.

 “Can't say. Have you been letting yourself go a bit?”

In this collection of seven short stories based on traditional fairy tales, you will learn how Hansel and Grettel were ultimately responsible for a whole kingdom sleeping for a hundred years, and that not all princesses marry Prince Charming, or any other passing prince. Did Goldilocks really get away with vandalising the Three Bears' house, and shouldn't we recognise Jack for what he was- a burglar and a thief? In some cases, more Dahl than Disney, spend an hour or more reading tales you thought you knew, and perhaps crack a smile or two.

Wolf

Rapunzel

Jack

The Frog Prince

Goldilocks

Snowdrop

and

Rosebud

Wolf

♣

Wolf was hungry. He hadn't eaten all day and his stomach was rumbling so loudly, he could barely hear himself think. What to do? What to do? A search of the surrounding area uncovered one shrivelled conker, an elastic band, an old tissue that had evidently been put through the wash, and a now obsolete pfennig. Nothing there that would get him a meal.

The sudden splash of water on his nose had him looking upwards. He sighed, a sigh loaded with anger and frustration, a sigh that was almost a growl. Rain. Not only was he extremely hungry, he was now going to get wet. In fact, by the look of that sky, he was going to get very wet. This really wasn't good enough. He didn't know who was to blame, but when he found out, they were going to be in big trouble.

He put his head down as the raindrops began to bounce on the road, and then a torrent fell. Within seconds he was dripping, and cold began to creep over him.

It had all started last night, when he had arrived at that ridiculously cute village. He'd taken a room at the local inn, intending to stay there a couple of days, and hopeful of making some money out of any naïve residents stupid enough to fall for one of his many scams. He had been quite optimistic of making at least enough to get him to the next town, or even the next city. Optimistic, that was, until the incident with the bacon sandwich.

It had, he thought, been the most innocuous of requests. A bacon sandwich on white bread, hold the ketchup and put brown sauce on instead— HP if you've got it— and make sure the bacon is crispy. How could anyone take offence at that? He shuddered as he remembered the sudden silence, followed by the scraping of chairs across the floor, as the entire clientèle dining at the inn's restaurant stood up and glared at him. Then the bar tender had reached under the bar and slammed a gnarled, heavy looking cudgel onto the counter. “You,” he hissed at Wolf, “have just ten seconds to get your tail out of here, starting now!”

“But,” began Wolf.

“Nine, eight...”

Behind Wolf there was the sound of the end of a bottle being broken off, then another.

Wolf ran. He hadn't even time to get his bag. Behind him he could hear the snorting and squealing of the angry mob, so he ran and ran, until his superior speed and greater stamina enabled him to escape them.

He had no idea where he'd run to, which was why he was now here, in the middle of nowhere, enduring this sudden downpour. The rain had soaked right through his coat long before he reached the crossroads. He didn't recognise any of the names on the signpost, so he chose one called Brick, and trudged on.

An hour later, he could see the lights of a house through the grey gloom of a wet, late afternoon. Mentally, Wolf rehearsed his story. Just enough to get his foot inside the door, just enough to get the occupant to listen to him, just enough for the occupant to believe him. A sob story, surely, would do the trick. Who wouldn't feel sorry for a weary traveller on a day like this? Wolf rapped on the door.

Eventually, the door opened a crack. “Who's there?” came a nervous, squeaky voice.

“Just a weary traveller seeking shelter on this most awful of afternoons,” came Wolf's obsequious reply.

“Shelter?” said the occupant. “You want me to give you shelter?”

“Well, yes, if it's not too much trouble,” said Wolf, trying Pathetic as a tactic. “I'm soaking wet,” he added. “And I've lost all my luggage. And all my money.” He paused and waited.

The crack opened a little wider. “All your money?” repeated the occupant suspiciously. “Well, that's rather inconvenient, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, Sir,” continued Wolf, in a voice that should have been able to make a grown man cry. “Night is approaching and I'm wet to my skin, and I have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning.” He slid his foot surreptitiously between the door and its frame.

“Oh, dear,” replied the voice unsympathetically. “Well, I'm afraid I have neither food or shelter to offer you, so I'll bid you good afternoon.” The owner of the voice tried to shut the door emphatically, but Wolf's foot was in the way.

Wolf tried to keep the note of pain out of his voice. “Oh,” he said sorrowfully. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you.” He paused for effect. “Um, I appear to have caught my foot in your door.”

“Yes, I know!” said the voice tersely. “It's stopping me from shutting the damn thing.”

“Well, it's stuck,” said Wolf innocently. “You'll have to open the door a little, otherwise I won't be able to get it out.” The door opened a fraction. “A little bit more than that,” said Wolf, striving to keep his voice sounding level and reasonable. “It's well and truly stuck. I'm going to need your help, I think.”

The voice tutted and the door opened fully. Wolf beheld the occupant, a short, tubby character, with little piggy eyes and an impatient look on his face.

“I'm so sorry to inconvenience you,” continued Wolf. “It's Mister...?”

“Boar!” snapped Mister Boar. “Not that it's any of your business,” he added with equal sharpness. “Now, let's get this sorted out and you on your way. I've no time for tomfoolery. I'm expecting visitors tomorrow and I'm nowhere near ready for them. Get your foot free and be gone!”

“Visitors?” repeated Wolf, ignoring Boar's poor manners. “Oh, I am sorry. I will try not to inconvenience you any longer than I have to. Now, let me have a look.” Wolf pretended to examine his foot. “No,” he said at last. “It won't move. I can't see why. It's most odd, don't you think?”

“Yes, very odd,” snapped Boar. “It looks a perfectly normal foot to me. I can see no reason, whatsoever, why you remain unable to remove it from my front door!”

“Hmm,” said Wolf thoughtfully. “I wonder, Mister Boar, if you have some oil or grease I might apply to it. It really won't budge an inch at the moment.”

“Oh, don't be so ridiculous,” said Boar through gritted teeth. “It's just a foot and just a door. There's no reason why one can't be removed from the other.”

“Just a little bit of grease, Mister Boar,” continued Wolf, as though he hadn't heard him. “Otherwise, I might still be here when your guests arrive.”

“Oh! For—!” Boar paused. “Oh! All right! Stay here. I'll see what I can find.”

“Thank you, Mister Boar. And I assure you I can do nothing else but stay here.” Boar turned and disappeared into another room, which looked as though it could be the kitchen.

As soon as he had gone, Wolf slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He slid the chain back on and turned the key in the lock. He didn't want to be disturbed. “I wonder, Mister Boar,” he said as he entered the kitchen, “if you have any brown sauce, preferably HP.”

♣

Wolf surveyed his new home as he picked the bacon from between his teeth. Not a bad place. Not a bad place at all. Perhaps a bit on the small side, a bit too cosy. However, the kitchen was in a class of its own. Mister Boar had definitely liked his food. Every gadget imaginable was present, together with a well stocked fridge-freezer. Well stocked with vegetables, that is. No meat in sight. But that didn't matter. Wolf now had enough bacon to last him a week.

He gazed around the kitchen and his eyes alighted on a picture above the stove. A family portrait, by the look of it. Three Mister Boars staring cheerfully into the camera. The family resemblance was unmistakable— in fact, they were so alike, one might assume they were triplets.

“Hmm,” growled Wolf quietly. Family. That reminded him of something— something Boar had said last night, the reason he refused to let Wolf in. Ah, yes, now he remembered. Boar had family visiting this morning— or so he claimed. Wolf glanced at the kitchen clock. Nearly eleven o'clock— and nearly dinner time too. Well, it wouldn't do to leave Boar's siblings standing on the doorstep. He'd better get ready to greet them.

♣

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Wolf called out, in a quivering whimper that suggested he might die any minute.

He heard the door open. “Hey, bro',” called another voice. “What's up? Where are you?”

“In the bedroom,” called out Wolf. He pulled the duvet up to his chin.

There was a tentative knock. “Bro'? Percy?” called the visitor.

“Yes,” said Wolf, in a voice so weary it could hardly lift itself up off the floor.

The door creaked open. “Percy?”

“I'm here,” moaned Wolf.

“What's up?” came a concerned voice.

“Yeah, and why is it so— ouch! —dark in here?” said another.

“Not well,” said Wolf glumly. He sniffed, for effect. “Too bright,” he added, by way of explanation. “I—” he gave a long suffering sigh “—can't bear the light.”

“Yeah, well that's all very well, Percy,” said the first voice, “but I can hardly see you— Omff!”

“What's up, Pinky,” said the second voice. “Where've you gone?”

“Fell over something,” grumbled Pinky, getting up. “Any more little traps lying around the floor, Perce?” he asked.

“Sorry,” said Wolf, in a hoarse whisper, which suggested its owner had little time left in this world.

The two brothers stumbled towards him. “Er,” said Pinky suddenly. “Hold on, Peppo, I've just had a thought.” Wolf's ears pricked up as he steeled himself for discovery. “Um, Perce,” continued Pinky, “this sickness thing— it's not catching, is it?”

“No!” said Wolf, rather too emphatically for one so near death.

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

The two brothers drew near. Wolf could make out their chubby pink faces and their little piggy eyes. They were the spitting images of Percy.

“Ooh, Perce, you don't look good. You don't look good at all,” commented Peppo. “Does he, Pinky?”

“No,” agreed Pinky. “Uglier. Definitely uglier. What's happened to your face? You don't look anything like you!”

Damn! thought Wolf. He hadn't blacked out the room enough.

“Yeah,” continued Peppo. “I mean, look at your eyes.”

“I can't,” said Wolf impatiently. “I can look with them, but I can't look at them. Not without a mirror.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” said Peppo. “But what big eyes you've got, bro'.”

“All the better to see you with,” said Wolf, before he could stop himself, and with the death rattle of the virtually deceased.

“Yeah, and what about your ears! Look at his ears, Peppo. They're Mastiff— sorry, massive!”

“All the better to hear you with,” advised Wolf, in a voice so pathetic, the brothers could hardly hear it, though the irony was, sadly, lost on them.

“And your snout, mate! Your snout's really swollen! It's huge!”

“All the better to— er— smell you with?” said Wolf uncertainly. Somehow, that didn't sound right. Never mind. They were nearly there now. He smiled maliciously, realised what he was doing and shut his mouth quickly. Too late.

“His teeth!” Peppo nearly screamed. “Pinky, did you see his teeth?”

“Yes!” gasped Pinky. “Percy! You look like you've grown fangs!”

There was a short pause. “Really?” said Wolf, that one word dripping off his long, red tongue like treacle from a spoon. “Fangs, eh?” He sat up. “All the better to eat you with!”

Wolf leapt.

The End

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