Zombie Kids Books : Blood Red (from Snow White) - Fables of the Undead ( zombie books fiction,zombie books for kids,zombie books for kids) (zombie books for kids - Fables of the Undead Book 3)
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Table of Contents
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Title
Introduction
Index
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
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Conclustion
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Copyright: Published in the United States by Dina T Seth / © Dina T Seth
Published 01/04/2015
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Introduction
Revision Edition for Classic Tale with Zombie Version.
horror kindle books
BLOOD RED (from Snow White)
- Fables of the Undead -
Do you like Classic tale or Horror story?
You will get all of them in this book. You will love them.
Content
CHAPTER ONE: DEATH BECOMES HER
CHAPTER TWO: SOME OF SEVEN DEATHS
CHAPTER THREE: SNOW WHITE AND THE MANY CORPSES
CHAPTER FOUR: THE PRINCE HAS COME
CHAPTER ONE: DEATH BECOMES HER
In which a princess departs this life, and returns.
“Just a single bite, my dear,” the old woman says sweetly, holding out the apple. “It’s a rare breed, most juicy and bursting with taste! If you were to cook your Prince a pie from these apples, he would surely run to be back by your side again! No more waiting … No more tears…”
Snow White looks at the shiny, smooth surface of the red apple. She can see the distorted reflection of her pale, beautiful face, and the rustic simplicity of the cottage around her. Her reflection is smiling, but her face does not feel like it holds a smile. But she knows that she wants her Prince to finally come and rescue her.
Maybe this haggard old visitor is right? She might only be selling simple apples, but her reasoning is sound. Snow White will have to do something if she wants to be rescued from this little cottage in the Deep Forest.
Snow White accepts the polished apple. It even smells delicious! She lifts it to her ruby-red lips – and takes a bite.
The witch is laughing even before the sound of the crunch has faded.
Seven little men stand around the pale body of the girl. They have been out all day working in the diamond mine, and returned home only to find that their beloved Snow White had collapsed on the kitchen floor.
“My lady?” calls Hawthawn with tears in his eyes. “My lady? Oh, please wake up!”
Hawthawn is normally such a happy little man. It is his defining characteristic. But seeing the beautiful girl like this, as white as ash and stone cold, drives his heart to despair.
“Where’s the Doc?” shouts Griff in his rough voice. “Where’s the damned Doc? Bring him here!”
“He’s washing his face in the river – I’ll fetch him!” replies Bostor. He runs from the cottage and comes back with the Doc, who is just as short and fat as the rest of the old friends.
The Doc kneels by Snow White and feels for a pulse. There is none. Her skin is as cold as ice.
He looks up into the faces of his comrades. Each of them – Hawthawn, Griff, Bostor, Daer,
Sorfius and Sion – wait expectantly for his diagnosis. Will she recover? Will she live?
The Doc shakes his head. “I’m sorry, my lads … Oh, God … She’s gone … She’s gone…”
Her last words before she died had been: “My Prince will come … My … Prince will … come…”
FOUR DAYS AGO:
‘Mirror, Mirror, on the wall: Who is the fairest of them all?”
Such were the words that the Queen had asked of the Magic Mirror every day for years. The Sorcerer trapped behind the glass knew all; and he was bound by magic to tell the truth. The Queen had trapped him there the day that she stole his power, siphoning it from his body by sexual means whilst disguised as a common harlot.
It was using similar techniques that she had seduced the King, and as such leapt in social stature from a poor alchemist’s apprentice – abused and ill-treated in all ways possible – and became Queen of a whole country. The King had often lamented, in times gone by, how such a damaged young girl had worked her way up to a position where she held sway over the life and death of every person in Everedge. He rued the day he allowed her to cast her first spells, which happened in secret when he was asleep. Later, once he was too spellbound to resist, she had woven dark magic around him until he was under her complete control.
The King, like the Sorcerer, had no choice but to do the Queen’s bidding. But those days were long past, and the King dead having not once been able to provide her with royal offspring.
But the Witch Queen was working on that…
Meanwhile, her vanity compelled her to ask the same question of the Magic Mirror: “Who is the fairest of them all?”
And always the Sorcerer in the Mirror would say, “My Queen, the truth is plain to see: no-one is more fair than thee!”
So it was every day for years, until one morning when the sun had just risen, and the Queen was disrobing for her servants to bathe her. Absently she asked again: “Who is the fairest of them all?”
She had not expected the reply:
“My Queen, you know my words are true: Snow White is more fair than you!”
“What!?” Bathwater splashed across the room as the Queen rose suddenly, scattering her maidens. She strode angrily towards the glass-imprisoned Sorcerer. “What do you mean by this? Speak!”
The Sorcerer had long ago ceased to be intimidated by the Queen. His imprisonment was permanent, but it also meant that he could not be harmed for as long as he was trapped in the fractal sub-space within the reflections. She would have to free him first, and in that second he would make his escape. Knowing this, he always spoke bluntly, regardless of the spell which forced him to tell the truth in all times. In this way he could torment his gaoler whilst complying with her magical imperative.
“There is a girl, my Queen, of but sixteen years. She is the orphaned child of a seamstress and a sailor, and happens to work in the orchards of your own castle. Bad luck, to have been surpassed by such a frail thing.”
“Bad luck! I’ll shatter you into a thousand pieces! Show me her face, this face that is more beautiful than mine!”
The Sorcerer obliged. In the misty mirror came a distant image of a girl, dark-haired and lovely, with pinched cheeks and slender figure. She was only a slip of a gi
rl, but strikingly beautiful. She turned heads with every corner she turned. The Queen had to admit it: this girl, called Snow White, was more fair than she!
Furious, the Queen summoned her most trusted guardsman to the throne room. She told him to haul the young girl into the woods and execute her.
“Kill Snow White! You must make it look like an accident!” she shrieked.
“But, she’s only a girl, Your Majesty … Perhaps—”
“Do as I say! And bring me her heart, as proof!”
The guardsman left, uncertain about his duty … but still, that evening he returned to the Queen with a small, bloodied heart in a wooden box. The Queen was delighted. She had long ago forgotten what it meant to love.
That very evening she put the wooden box into a fire and watched it burn away. For a moment, the heart was visible amongst the cinders before it was cooked like old meat, and shrivelled into a charred knot. Delirious with happiness, the Queen danced into her underground den of magickry and asked of the Sorcerer in the mirror, “Who is fairest of them all now?”
And the Sorcerer had replied: “My Queen … I don’t like to make you blue, but Snow White is still more fair than you!”
Within hours, she had her ‘trusted’ guardsman publically drawn and quartered for disobedience, and buried with the burnt remains of the fraudulent pig’s heart stuffed into his mouth. He had been soft, and must have allowed the girl to escape into the Deep Forest…
And so the Queen now asked of the Sorcerer: “Mirror, Mirror, like no other: how can I make poor Snow White suffer?”
TWO DAYS AGO:
The wicked Witch Queen, disguised as an old woman, found Snow White’s cottage in the Deep Forest, where she had escaped from the guardsman and been taken in by seven untidy little men, who gave her room and board in exchange for cleaning and other services. The Queen tricked the girl into taking a bite of a magical poisoned apple…
ONE DAY AGO:
Seven little men, unable to bear the thought of their darling Snow White buried in the unforgiving Earth, built her a coffin made out of gold and glass. They surrounded her with fresh flowers, and placed the coffin in a sacred grove within the forest, where they would visit every day. Within the glass coffin she seemed perfect, beautiful … Hardly dead at all…
TONIGHT:
In the Deep Forest there is a clearing. On nights like this, when the moonlight drifts down upon the treetops, the pale lunar glow settles into the clearing and seems to touch every blade of grass, every fallen leaf, every sleeping bird and crawling insect.
The animals of the forest have always been attracted to Snow White. She had such an innocence, such purity. They were not afraid of her, nor could they bear to see any harm come to her. They had tried to warn her of the old woman with the apple – the Witch Queen in disguise – but to no avail.
Snow White is dead, and the animals mourn.
But for some reason there are few animals in the clearing where Snow White’s gold-and-glass coffin is displayed. Perhaps something keeps them away. Only a lone deer is present tonight, its doe-eyes large and brown under the moonlight, and the freckles on its back like silvery stars embedded in its fur.
It loved Snow White deeply when she was alive, and so it does not flee when the glass coffin cracks. It thinks that the lovely girl has returned to life somehow, and prances over to the pale, slender arm that rises from amidst the shattered canopy of the glass coffin.
The girl that had been Snow White reaches out for the deer. The deer comes closer, unknowingly innocent. Snow White tears out its throat with her teeth.
CHAPTER TWO: SOME OF SEVEN DEATHS
In which an undead princess is awakened to her new, ungodly appetites; and the little men fight for their lives.
Hawthawn is one of two brothers. He and Sorfius are twins, born within seconds of each other. But, like the other five men who live in the cottage, they were born deformed: barely four feet tall, stocky, with large hands and boxlike faces. Cast out of the white city of Everedge, over which the Queen’s black castle looms like a stone trident, he and the other little men eventually came to terms with the bigotry of Everedge’s citizens and learned to be happy together in the Deep Forest.
Hawthawn always denies it, but the others think of him as their saviour. It was Hawthawn, eternally happy, who saw the silver lining in their situation and turned their moods around. Well, all but Griff, who is the grouchiest of the lot and will probably never change. But still, the seven men love one another like brothers, the result of their adversity. Hawthawn wouldn’t have it any other way.
But then came Snow White. She had tricked the guardsman into letting her go, but she had become lost and the dark forest had nearly frightened her to death. With nowhere else for her to go, Hawthawn had persuaded the others to adopt her as their caretaker. It was wonderful to have a woman around the house, after all.
Hawthawn has just come back from dropping off today’s bounty. They have all worked hard in the mine, except for Sorfius, who has been so down with grief that he couldn’t bear to climb out of bed in this morning. Snow White’s death has crippled them all, and it will just take Sorfius a little longer than it would everyone else. He’s always been a drowsy one, slow on the uptake. Hawthawn won’t be surprised if he finds Sorfius still in bed, asleep.
Lo and behold, there Sorfius is now: snoring away in front of the cottage, slumped against the wall with his chin on his chest. Perhaps he’s dreaming of the girl, thinks Hawthawn. He’s dreamt of her two nights in a row.
“Sorfius!” he bellows, switching his pickax to his other hand. “Sorfius – or should I call you Snore-fius? Wake up, brother!”
Sorfius doesn’t move. Hawthawn approaches in the darkness. Something doesn’t feel right. Sorfius’ chest isn’t rising and falling in his sleep. And besides, it’s a funny place to take a nap…
Then Hawthawn sees the dark black stain spread down his brother’s chest. The red smears on his face and hands. The gaping black gash across his neck. The way he’s folded over himself like a sack of rocks…
Hawthawn drops to his knees beside the corpse of his brother, wailing into the night. What could have done this to poor, sleepy Sorfius? His throat is torn out like a wild animal’s dinner, and the meat of his neck, cheeks and shoulders has been eaten away. Hawthawn knows the spoor of wild animals, and these are not wolf-bites. Besides, there are no claw marks on the body.
“What spawn of Heck could have done this!?” he cries.
A shadow falls across the two little men. Hawthawn looks up. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes.
“Can it be?” he says tremulously, an almost-forgotten smile rising on his face. “Is it you, girl – our blessed Snow White?”
The girl in the shadow of the tree says nothing. Her body is motionless in the gloom. Moonlight catches the edge of her tattered blue dress, but nothing else. The rest of her is hidden deep within darkness, as though made of it.
“It’s me!” says the little man, getting to his feet. His old joints creak as he stands and steps towards the girl. “Snow White? It’s me, Hawthawn! How is it possible? But, oh – poor Sorfius! Why must a miracle be balanced by tragedy?”
Hawthawn rushes to the tree, too ecstatic at seeing the young girl alive to think clearly. He should have noticed the signs: the tilted head, as though her neck hasn’t the strength to stay upright, and the twisted limbs. Her legs are turned towards one another, and stiff with rigor mortis. One of her arms is a crooked bird’s wing held high by her breast. When she moves, it is with a slow, agonized gait, dragging one foot in the dirt.
“Snow White…?”
Hawthawn stops. There is something horribly out of place here…!
His realization comes too late. The living corpse is upon him. He has only a few seconds to see how the girl’s eyes are filmed over by cataracts, and how her scalp has been torn by glass and now hangs over her ear in a grisly flap. The same wound extends down her cheek, through which her teeth are visible, and
across her lower jaw. The skin is peeled away to reveal her gums and teeth, eradicating her bottom lip completely.
What is left of her mouth is dark and glistening with fresh blood – Sorfius’ blood. It drips from her chin onto her white chest and has stained her satin dress black. Her hands, turned to claws, scrape at Hawthawn’s throat. There is no escape for the old man. Using her preternatural strength, she overpowers him and sinks her teeth into his shoulder, tearing away a chunk of flesh. Hot blood squirts across Hawthawn’s cheek.
He hasn’t realised yet that he is already dead.
Inside the cottage, Bostor is awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The others are sound asleep, but sleep eludes Bostor. He has always been a sensitive type. He cannot stop thinking about poor dead Snow White.