Beanstalker and Other Hilarious Scarytales

by Kiersten White

  The queen smiled fondly at the grimacing portrait. “Yes, that is him.”

  “Oh,” said the princess. “He has your … nose.” She slid that smile onto the end of the sentence again, but the queen felt the words pinching her.

  The queen put her hand over her nose. She had always thought she had a wonderful nose—large and noble, like an eagle. But now she wondered if eagles were not the standard of beauty for women.

  The queen excused herself early. She summoned Jack the servant.

  “Is her room prepared, the pea in place?” She paced, out of sorts and wishing she could somehow cover up her nose.

  “Yes.” Jack shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you would want me to do that to the bed, though.”

  “Don’t question me,” the queen snapped.

  Later, she sat in front of a mirror looking at her nose from every possible angle and being upset at each of them.

  “I think she is an amazing princess,” the queen said to the king, who was trying to make his tummy look smaller. The princess had asked in an innocent tone whether large stomachs were fashionable in this kingdom, because they certainly weren’t in hers.

  “You do?” the king asked.

  “A queen should make everyone else feel inferior, and she is certainly skilled at that.”

  “She is,” the king agreed.

  Even though the second princess had such a marvelous queenly quality, the king and queen were both nervous the next morning. Would her skills at finding fault extend to the pea in the mattress?

  In place of the princess, though, they were met by Jack. He carried a letter. It was neatly rolled and tied with an elegant bow.

  Dear King and Queen,

  While I’m certain your son is as lovely as your castle, I’m afraid neither is to my taste. Thank you so much for your overwhelming hospitality.

  All best,

  Princess Tuesday

  “Is it just me,” said the king, “or do some of these words feel like she’s pinching us?”

  The queen rubbed her rear end. “It isn’t just you. I don’t understand! Why did she leave?”

  “She must have felt the pea! But why couldn’t she have stayed until she found out the good news? We’ve lost another one.” The king drooped sorrowfully.

  The queen wouldn’t admit it, but she was relieved. If the first princess was more sensitive than she was, the second was certainly more critical than she was. And the queen did not like the idea of a daughter-in-law who was better than her.

  Jack, still standing there because he hadn’t been dismissed, shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Maybe it’s the bed? It doesn’t seem very pleasant.”

  “Oh, what would you know!” the queen growled. She looked Jack up and down, trying to find some way to make him feel bad about himself. “You’re just—you have—isn’t your face interesting?”

  Jack brightened, smiling and standing straighter. “Thank you! My stepmother always told me so, too. She said an interesting face is better than a handsome one, because handsome faces don’t always mean handsome hearts, but interesting faces always mean interesting minds.”

  The queen slumped in her throne, even her ruler’s spine wilted with disappointment. Jack obviously did not feel one bit bad about himself. “Oh, go eat the princess’s breakfast since she isn’t here. And then make the pease porridge for the other servants!”

  “Can’t I make them something else?” Jack asked.

  “Go now, or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon!”

  “There aren’t even enough servants to eat it! We still have leftovers from the last batch.”

  “Then take the leftovers to the village and let the peasants eat it! They’ll be grateful.”

  “I don’t think they will …” Jack muttered. But he did as he was told. He’d leave a batch for that rotten Jill, at least. It was the least he could do.

  The third princess was their last hope. The princess from the next castle over was missing. (Poor, beautiful Snow White!) Every other princess in the area had rosy cheeks and massive eyes. They even looked like singers. It was the third princess, or none.

  She arrived in the throne room without the customary two guards. She was even smaller than the first princess but decidedly less Tuesday-ish than the second one. The third princess looked like nothing so much as a detention, a time-out, or a grounding of epic proportion.

  “Where are my soldiers?” the king asked, standing in a rage. “They aren’t doing their duty!”

  “I had them thrown in the dungeon,” the princess said.

  “You … what?”

  “I didn’t like the way the first one smelled. And the second one almost smiled when my foot caught on a loose tile. He was definitely thinking about smiling. So I had them thrown in the dungeon.”

  “But that’s my job!” the queen said.

  The princess narrowed her eyes. “It’s very improper to speak to a princess before you have been introduced.”

  The king and queen, thoroughly embarrassed, introduced themselves.

  Supper was late. The cook, no longer having hands, had a hard time managing the meals. The princess had her thrown in the dungeon, along with the two servers.

  “But you can’t have them locked up,” the king protested.

  “The soup was cold, and the jellied eel tasted too much of jelly and eel.”

  “Yes,” the queen agreed, “but what he means is, this is our castle. You can’t go throwing our servants into our dungeon.”

  The princess narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like being disagreed with. I’m certain there’s more room in the dungeon.”

  “Guards!” the queen screeched. “Someone! Anyone! Escort the princess to her room!”

  Jack hurried into the dining hall.

  “Don’t we have any other servants?” the king asked, frowning.

  “Almost all of them are sick. Or in the dungeon.” Jack looked warily at the princess.

  “Is the princess’s room ready? Did you … specially prepare it?” The queen was terrified that this princess would notice the pea, but she was more terrified to tell the princess to go home. Not only because she was their last chance, but also because she didn’t want the princess to get angry with her. And, after the more sensitive first princess, the second princess making everyone feel bad about themselves, and now this princess being better at throwing people in the dungeon, the queen was starting to wonder if she had any special talents, after all.

  (I think the queen is a little off on her princessy priorities, but I hate being thrown in dungeons, so I’m not going to tell her so.)

  Jack, who also hated being thrown in dungeons, nodded uneasily. “I did what you asked.”

  “Good. Take her to her room. I hope you sleep … well?” The king looked at the queen, and she shrugged. She didn’t know what she wanted, either.

  They didn’t have to wait until morning.

  No sooner had Jack escorted the princess to her room than she came roaring back into the throne room.

  “What is the meaning of this? I have never been so insulted in all my life!”

  The queen tried to smile. “Was the mattress uncomfortable, dear?”

  “Uncomfortable! It was disgusting!”

  The king’s mouth trembled as he, too, tried to force a smile. “Good news! That means you are worthy of marrying our—”

  “Into the dungeon with both of you!” the princess screamed, pointing at them.

  Everyone stood there.

  “Um,” Jack said, “they’re the king and queen. You can’t throw them into the dungeon.”

  “I can and I will! I’ll throw all of you in the dungeon for this!”

  “But don’t you want to marry our son?” the queen asked, wringing her hands in despair. She didn’t want to go to the dungeon. She didn’t have any good dungeon outfits, and she was certain it wouldn’t smell nice. Plus, she probably wasn’t the most popular person down there.

  “After what you’
ve done to me? You’re lucky I don’t have you all executed! Now where are the guards?”

  “You had them thrown in the dungeon,” the king said, waving his hands in exasperation.

  The princess narrowed her eyes and everyone froze, bowing their heads meekly. Someday, the princess would make an excellent mother, school principal, or dictator. Maybe all three. “Very well. I’m having your entire kingdom thrown in the dungeon.”

  Jack couldn’t figure out how that would work. “Are you actually throwing people into the dungeon? Who do you have to do it? They’d have to be pretty strong to toss around so many people. And nobody could lift a whole kingdom! Do you mean everyone in the kingdom, or the kingdom itself? Because there’s no way the actual kingdom with all the buildings and animals and dirt would fit in the dungeon.”

  “I don’t mean I’ll put the kingdom in the actual dungeon, you idiot! I mean a metaphorical dungeon!”

  Jack scratched his head. “I don’t think you can make bars out of metaphors.”

  “Argh!” the princess screamed, stomping one tiny, terrible foot. “I will go to every kingdom in the land and tell them all what you have done. No one—NO ONE—will ever visit here again. And no one will ever be allowed to leave! You are all GROUNDED FOREVER!”

  With that she turned and thundered from the castle.

  “All over one little pea.” The king took off his crown and rubbed his bald head. “I thought we were sensitive, but apparently princesses these days are even harder to please.”

  “You did put just one pea under the mattress, right?” the queen asked.

  Jack scrunched up his face in confusion. “I don’t know that you could say ‘just one.’ You can’t really measure it that way.”

  “What do you mean? Of course you can measure a single pea.”

  “I guess, but it all depends on how much I had to drink that afternoon.”

  The king frowned. “What does you drinking have to do with putting a pea under a mattress?”

  “Well, I can’t very well do it if I don’t have to go to the bathroom.”

  The queen’s eyes widened as the full, horrible truth descended on her in a flush. I mean, a rush.

  No. I mean a flush.

  “Jack,” she said. “Spell pea.”

  “Well, that’s easy. There’s only one way. P-E-E.”

  (I told you spelling matters.)

  The queen pointed a trembling finger at the door. “You’ve ruined everything, you disgusting, vile creature! Go to the dungeon!”

  “But I did what you told me! And the dungeon is full!”

  “GET OUT!” the queen screamed. “JUST GET OUT.”

  Jack, confused and disappointed at once again being kicked out of a castle, ran as fast as he could.

  “But who will make the pease porridge now?” the king asked. “Jack has been cooking it for all the servants!”

  “Oh no,” the queen whispered. “Pease porridge. He didn’t …”

  Oh NO.

  Once upon that same time, a little girl went into the woods.

  Little girls go into the woods all the time. They go there to pick berries or to dangle their feet in cool, clear streams. They go there to play hide-and-seek, though they can’t say who they are hiding from or what they are seeking. They go there to make a burrow for themselves and find special hidden places where they think they could maybe live forever. Little girls go into the woods because the woods are wild places, and little girls are told they must never be wild.

  But the woods like wild things, and so little girls like the woods. Woods keep the secrets that adults force little girls to have. And many little girls know, deep in their darkest heart space where no one else can ever see, something no one else does:

  They are actually monsters.

  There’s nothing wrong with that. But it can be hard to be a monster when everyone tells you that you are the opposite. All the monster parts of you—the anger, the wildness, the hunger for more—are parts you have to keep hidden.

  And so little girls go into the woods. Sometimes they leave their little heart monsters behind in their burrows in the woods, and come out again to grow up and be exactly what they are told they are.

  Sometimes they are consumed by their little heart monsters and never really come out of the woods again. People cluck their tongues and whisper about the tragedy, but they don’t really mind because there are enough nice, quiet, proper little girls to comfort them.

  But sometimes, a little girl goes into the woods with a secret heart monster, and she comes back out a monster with a secret little girl heart.

  I think those are the best kind, don’t you?

  And at this particular time, in this particular forest, the little girl going into the woods wore a long red cloak. It fastened with a ribbon bow around her neck, and had a hood that went up over her hair and draped her face in deep shadows. She loved that hood. It made her feel mysterious. Peering out through it at the world, she pretended she carried secrets in her basket.

  What she actually carried was far more boring than secrets. Some bread, some cold chicken, a bit of cake, a cork-topped glass bottle of lemonade, and some porridge from the stupid castle. Surely a castle could send better food than porridge.

  “Now, Jill, take it straight to your grandmother,” her mother had sternly cautioned. “Stay on the path. And no dillydallying about! You are still in a lot of trouble for what you did to Jack, young lady.”

  The little girl pulled her cloak down lower over her face. Jack hadn’t gotten in trouble for kicking her out of her own bed and making her sleep on the floor. Jack never got in trouble for climbing on things, or shouting, or knocking all the heads off the flowers with a stick. Jack never got in trouble for bragging or spitting or pushing.

  She was not one bit sorry for pushing him into the well. And that was part of why she was being punished so much. You and I know that parents want to see that you feel bad for what you did. If she could have worked up some remorseful tears or written a flowery apology letter, she would probably have been off the hook. But she just couldn’t do it.

  She was always in trouble anyway, for something ridiculous like talking too loud, or eating too much, or laughing too brightly. Even her face got her in trouble for looking too smart, or too mean, or too sullen.

  She liked being too. She didn’t want to stop.

  Her stomach growled. She growled back at it.

  And then the woods growled, too.

  Startled, she stopped. The path stretched ahead of her. It was clear and precise, bordered by a heavy wall of trees on both sides. The branches crowded overhead, clawing at the sky over the path. The trees seemed to hint that they would love to grab the path and drag it away. And the little girl thought she’d like the woods better with no path.

  The little girl looked to her right. The gloom of the forest hung heavy and green, impenetrable after a few feet. But, over to the left, past snaking roots and between massive trunks, the sun broke through to illuminate a small clearing filled with flowers. A large flat rock was in the center. Nature had prepared for a picnic.

  “Don’t ever leave the path,” her mother cautioned in her memory. “It’s too dangerous.”

  But the little girl liked too.

  She clambered over the roots, tugging her cloak free when it snagged on a branch. She could still see the path from the clearing. She was still safe.

  Or so she thought.

  She seated herself on the flat rock, then took out her grandmother’s food and examined it. The cake couldn’t be eaten without leaving evidence. She had no fork, and bite marks would show. Same with the chicken. It was so neatly sliced that even tearing a piece off would be obvious. The bread was a whole loaf, which would also give away her crime.

  She was really very angry with her mother.

  But the porridge …

  She didn’t have a spoon. The porridge was a big glop in a bowl with a cover on it. She stuck her finger in the middle experimentally. When s
he pulled it out, the porridge slowly settled back to fill it in.

  (Oh dear. Please don’t, little girl.)

  She smiled, took a huge handful, and shoved it in her mouth.

  (I feel a bit sick, don’t you? I wish she knew what we know about that porridge.)

  It was … not good. Really not good. (So much worse than not good, poor thing.) She gagged, but she had eaten it so fast she accidentally swallowed some. She thought it must have gone bad, which would explain why the castle had given it out for free.

  Angry that her rebellious picnic had been ruined, she slammed the lid back on the bowl. She couldn’t even open the lemonade to try to get the taste out of her mouth. So she was understandably quite annoyed when a wolf stepped into the clearing with a growling sneer.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  The wolf was taken aback. He was not used to that sort of greeting. “Augh!” he got a lot. “Oh no!” was quite common. “Watch out for the arghhguggleunghhhhh” was one of his favorites. But “What do you want?” was not something he had a ready answer for.

  “That isn’t how a little girl says hello, now, is it?” the wolf asked in his friendliest voice. It was about as friendly as a chain saw, but he did try.

  “Well, I’m a little girl, and it’s how I said hello, so I guess it is exactly how a little girl says hello.” She crossed her arms and glared at the wolf. He was long and lean, with a great bushy tail and large yellow eyes.

  He laughed. It sounded like the garbage disposal catching on a spoon. And when he finished laughing, he licked his big, sharp teeth. They were nearly as yellow as his eyes. “I suppose you are right. What’s your name?”

  The little girl did not want to tell him her name. She didn’t even particularly like her name. The only thing her mother had ever given her that she liked was her cloak. So she said, “My name is Red Riding Hood.”

  The wolf laughed again. It was not meant to be a joke, and Red Riding Hood was indignant. Also, her stomach was beginning to hurt.

  “Well, Little Red Riding Hood, where are you off to on this fine day?”