Perfection-
Bluebeard
To him, Steampunk-indeed, any of the "punk" genres-has always felt like something darker than similar styles, and so when the idea of a steampunk fairy tale was brought up, what came to Chris Champe's mind was more in the realms of The Brothers Grimm than Walt Disney. "Bluebeard" felt like a story that could be adapted to fit a steampunk setting very well, and through the course of writing it, it started asking a question about humanity: at what point was Doctor Blaubart no longer terminating a failed experiment, but instead murdering his wife?
The Mech Oni and
the Three-Inch Tinkerer-
The One-Inch Boy
Dave here! The Mech Oni and the Three-Inch Tinkerer is a retelling of the popular Japanese story, Issun Boshi, or One-Inch Boy.
Issun Boshi has many versions, which take place in different regions of Japan. We chose Hokkaido as the setting, since we called that island home for a year. We not aware of any other retellings that take place in Hokkaido.
Although set in Japan, we kept the language and cultural references minimalistic. Ganbatte is what Japanese people say to wish each other luck. While thinking back to my semester in Sapporo, I remember a young Japanese woman who was helping us withdraw money motioned for us to come to the desk. To everyone's confusion and amusement, the Americans and I sat down, since the Japanese hand gesture for "come here" is the American gesture for "sit down." This is why Yuki points to her nose, instead of placing her hand on her chest, when she introduces herself.
One less subtle reference is Mr. Suenaga asking Issun if he was a Koro-pok-guru. Koro-pok-guru are tiny people in Ainu mythology that traded meat and other goods with the Ainu people. They didn't like to be seen, so when a young Ainu man, who wanted to know what they looked like, waited to ambush them, the koro-pok-guru were so offended that they quit trading and have never been seen since. One familiar reference in the Western world is the Picori from The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap, who live beneath house plants and leave gifts for the player. Since the Ainu are native to Hokkaido, and Issun Boshi is a tiny man, we felt the reference was appropriate.
We aimed to stay true to the roots of Issun Boshi, even though our oni, which is a kind of Japanese ogre, was actually a giant automoton.
The Copper Eyes-
The Crystal Ball
The Copper Eyes was inspired by a short story called The Crystal Ball by The Brothers Grimm. I came across it while looking for a piece to adapt for our collection. It was a happy mess, with every fairy tale element shoved into a two-page story. When I decided to work with it, I tried to make it more cohesive. The witch mother became the inventor mother. The 'Crystal Ball' became Oliver's goggles, which were used throughout this version. The animals became metal machines. The biggest change was Aileen. I wanted a female character that kicked butt instead of a damsel in distress stuck in a tower like in the original. So Aileen was created, and I am extremely happy with how it turned out.
Strawberry Sins-
Beauty and the Beast
This story started with "how would the Beast from Beauty and the Beast be transformed in a steampunk setting?" Perhaps because of my love of Girl Genius, the answer was "it was a science experiment gone wrong". Mad science and villainy soon followed.
The Yellow Butterfly-
The Dream of Akinosuke
The Dream of Akinosuke struck me as a story brimming with wonder and that touch of sadness that many folk and fairy tales hold. I tried to hold onto and expand that while bringing in the steampunk element. To do so, I needed to add a villain and technology, but I wanted to keep certain visual elements like the ants and the yellow butterfly from the original too. Hopefully together, it all adds up to something new!
Aubrey and the World Above-
Jack and the Beanstalk
This story is inspired by Jack and the Beanstalk with a dark twist. It contains references to the original where Jack was a villain. There are also influences from other fairytales such as Cinderella.
As a child I was influenced by the Swedish author Astrid Lindgren's tales (my favourite being Mio, my son), and I've tried to instill some of that atmosphere here.
Author Information
There's magic all around us, if we just know where to look. Angela Castillo has a goal as an author: to help people see. She comes from the small town of Bastrop, Texas, where she loves to walk in the woods and shop in the local stores. Castillo studied Practical Theology and Music at Christ for the Nations in Dallas, Texas. She was home-schooled all through high school and is the oldest of 7 kids. Castillo's greatest joys are her little girl and two boys, who 'are the best inspiration for writing ideas.'
Angela has several books available in paperback and on Kindle, including short stories, middle-grade fiction, and historic fiction.
Excerpt from Hidden Pictures, Twisty Little Short Stories and Poems: TAMER
Evening approached and with it, blessed relief from heat and the road. The circus troop made camp within a few miles of a small town, the morning's destination. People sank into makeshift beds of canvas and straw; animals fidgeted in heavy chains and cages riddled with filth.
Geneva made tiny squeals behind her great trunk while she begged for a pail of water to splash over her tired body. She squeezed her massive hulk into the corner of the wagon. Clean by nature, there was no escape from the piles of her own waste.
The lion, Fanghorn, paced the twenty square feet of wagon he had called home since a cub. Growls rumbled from his emaciated body and sometimes evolved into roars which shook the barred walls. Every mile traveled by the caravan increased his misery.
Despite deep exhaustion from a hard week of work, precious slumber would not come to Lurkey, the circus clown. Errant bits of straw pricked into him and even turpentine failed to ward of the gnats. His muscles ached and nerves twitched along his back and shoulders. He gave up the fight and rose.
Lurkey glanced back at the other clown, curled up child-like on a bundle of canvas. Gustav's head was thrown back, mouth wide open in a snore. The man could sleep through anything.
He staggered out to the community water barrel in the center of camp. Lurkey withdrew the dipper and poured some into the tin cup hanging from a rusty chain on the side. He swilled the lukewarm water in his parched mouth, spit it out on the ground, and took another swig.
"Trouble sleeping?"
He choked on the water and dropped the cup. Coughing, he held his arms up over his head until air flowed freely again. The man in the shadows made no move to help him.
"Gosh, Ringwald," Lurkey gasped. "You almost skeered me to death!"
The ring master stepped into the dim halo of Lurkey's lantern. His top hat added ten inches to his already massive form.
"Stupid clown," Ringwald's grimace revealed a mouth full of rotten teeth. "Since you are rested enough to fetch water, you should get to work. Go muck out the elephant wagon."
Links:
https://angelacastillowrites.weebly.com
Chris Champe
Chris Champe has been found primarily in West Virginia for the past few decades, rarely straying far from home unless brought further afield by the promises of anime or gaming conventions, large LARP events, or the occasional major hiking trip. He's mostly a fanfiction author and has only recently begun focusing on more original work.
He'd like to thank his wife Heather White for her support, editing, motivation, and inspiration, as well as constantly pushing him to overcome his laziness and actually finish a project.
Leslie & David T. Allen
Leslie and Dave are Pittsburgh, PA authors and caretakers to three unpredictable, and often demanding, mutts.
Inspired by the worlds and stories of David Eddings, Baldur's Gate, and Final Fantasy VI, they strive to imbue their fantastical stories with a dose of humor and plenty of intrigue.
On the rare instance they aren't writing, they forge ahead on any of their other numerous obsessions, such as gardening, pr
ogramming, and putting together Legos while watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
They are currently working on a character-driven epic arcane steampunk series called Bitlather Chronicles.
Links:
Find out more at https://bitlather.com
To receive notifications of new releases, sign up for their publications newsletter at https://bitlather.com/newsletter/fairy
Excerpt of Dream Eater's Carnival
It was an explosion-not the ringing of the bell tower-that startled Leisl awake.
By the height of the shadows, she'd slept through the morning bell. Not the first time she had neglected chores in favor of sleep.
She hugged a sheet to her body and hurried across the cold stone floor to peer out the arched window. A plume of smoke rose above the nearby field. She traced it to its source, a full-sized replica of a galleon ship. Iron-wheeled houses with colorful banners trailed the vessel as it crept toward town. The procession resembled a small village on the move.
Forgetting that only a thin sheet robed her nakedness, Leisl hurried to the cathedral observatory. There she grabbed an arm-length rosewood telescope and dashed to the balcony. Her elbows pinned the sheet around her while she focused the lens.
A sign crowning the tallest wheeled building read The Tower. Acrobats launched themselves through windows and twirled on poles jutting from the structure. One performer worked her way to the roof, where she did a handstand atop a flagpole. Another rode a unicycle balanced on a railing while he juggled.
This wasn't an invasion, it was a carnival. Precious few visited town anymore, and this one looked especially wonderful. Leisl smiled at the promise of adventure and returned her attention to the ship. Shreds of a sail whipped about the mast as it rocked back and forth across the bumpy field. She read under her breath, "The Dreamer's Carnival."
The sailors reloaded the cannons and fired another volley into the sky. Leisl flinched, hoping they were blanks. Performers on balconies tossed confetti and sweets to the cheering crowds that rushed to meet the procession. A jester saddled the carved mermaid bust and tossed life preservers to the townspeople.
"You are not decent," a pious voice announced from the gardens beneath her.
"Brother Mikkel, I was startled by the explosion ?"
"Yes, and everyone else will be startled by your exposure. You are seven-and-ten now, and you still can't dress yourself?"
Leisl blushed and pulled her sheet tighter.
Music blared from the carnival. She watched the cheering crowd with envy. Their parents hadn't given them to the cathedral. Unlike her, they were allowed to have fun.
With one last glance at the performers, she returned to her dormitory cell. She didn't bother to get dressed, not yet. Brother Mikkel wouldn't check on her; he'd be too busy researching to notice if she attended to her work.
She continued to watch out the window, already planning her escape.
To read more, visit https://bitlather.com/books
Allison Latzko
Allison Latzko is a recent graduate with a degree in Fiction Writing. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she spends her time slowly writing horror novels she plans to someday publish. It's just taking quite longer than expected. The Copper Eyes is her first published short story.
Links:
Blog: https://allisonlatzko.wordpress.com
Excerpt from Allison's upcoming book: Queen of Hearts
Excerpt from Queen of Hearts
When I was younger and my dad was alive, he liked to frighten me with tales about the haunted theater we once visited called The Refuge.
"While many horrors have befallen the performers and guests of this theater within the last century," my father read aloud to me and my sister, "The Refuge still stands as one of the oldest, most popular, and most uncanny tourist attractions in Alden Grove."
He read from an article he'd found on a magazine page, exaggerating every syllable to make them all sound ominous and frightening. My sister Em and I were both awed by his voice, mesmerized like two young girls should have been. He had fun scaring us, telling us ghost stories before bedtime instead of fairy tales, and letting us watch Tales from the Crypt instead of Barney. We'd eagerly sit in the living room with him late on Saturday nights, watching movies like A Nightmare on Elm Street until our mother came home from work and made him shut it off.
To see something right from the Travel Channel's most famous haunted places was something I'd longed for. "Established in 1893" was marked on a gray and faded slab, which was tacked on to the corner of the brick building. I snapped a picture of the entrance to the theater and a short staircase that led to two gold and red doors awaiting our entry. I hummed ecstatically. It was a place I had only ever seen in my dreams.
"Will we see dead people?" I asked loudly, moving my camera away from my face. My family stood around me in a circle.
"No, Delaney. He's just scaring you. The magic show won't be like that," my mother said.
"Are you sure?" My thoughts swirled. "I think we're going to see some."
"Let's go inside." She took my hand and led me up the steps, her warm fingers pressed around my small fist. My sister and dad followed.
My dad spoke with false menace as we walked up the steps. "Most people say if you're quiet long enough, you can hear the dead screaming from hell as soon as you walk through the entryway." Our eyes widened in fright and he grinned back at both of us.
"Greg, you're going to give them nightmares before we even go inside." My mother stared around us with a look of contempt. My dad chuckled, checked his pager, and led us through the entryway. As we passed I read the 'no photography' sign posted at the entrance of the theater and tucked my camera into the folds of my blue jacket.
I had imagined a grand opera house-type theater that held hundreds, with seats scaling up the sides and balconies holding the most sophisticated theatergoers as they observed with small binoculars. Instead, we got a room with tables in the back and fold up chairs in the aisles. There were scuff marks in the floor and cracks in the walls. As I sat down, my dad's shoulder brushed up against mine. We were in the fourth row, close enough that we could see every detail on the stage, every indent in the floor, and every wisp of shadow underneath the stage curtain. Red velvet lined the sides of the walls and the lights danced above. It was just nearing sunset outside, but it was eternally nighttime inside the theater.
I drummed my fingers against the side of my ripped chair cushion. As we waited for the show to begin, a man appeared on stage. My sister and I leaned forward in our seats, whispering excitedly. "Is that him?"-"Is it starting?" My dad put a finger to his mouth to shush us, although I could tell there was a hint of excitement on his face. Only our mother looked uninterested, gazing at the man as though he were an annoying bug crawling on the counter.
The man wore an ill-fitting suit, and his large face was very pale and sickly. "Thank you everyone for coming tonight for a very special show at The Refuge" he said, coughing into his sleeve. "I have some unfortunate last minute news: our regular magician will not be performing tonight. He's gotten terribly sick, and has had to cancel at the last moment."
The crowd murmured and lost focus of the stage. Dread welled up inside of me. I glanced around and felt the disappointment of the audience, some of whom had known about the magician's act. Others looked towards him with confusion. Friends from my class had been chatting about the magic show all week, and after my onslaught of begging, my parents had granted my wish. Now everything was falling apart. I slid to the edge of my seat and waited, hoping with all my might that the show would go on with any magician necessary.
The large man continued. "Instead, we'll be introducing two new last-minute performers who we assure you are worth everything you paid for. Please welcome your magician, Quincy Ganson, and his lovely assistant, Elizabeth Armonte." The crowd clapped but I couldn't help notice a ripple of disappointment throughout the room. People stood and walked bac
k toward the door as dismay stirred in my chest.
A young man and woman appeared on the stage and it took a moment for the audience to notice. I elbowed my sister Em, who'd been looking at the family beside us that'd gotten up to leave. The man on stage, Quincy, was tall, and his shadow stretched out behind him. His suit looked expensive, and he wore a red tie that matched the dress of his petite assistant. His eyes roved over the crowd. The woman looked to be about a foot shorter than him, but side-by-side the two couldn't have belonged anywhere else. They matched like two pieces in a puzzle.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the magician called out. "Are you ready to see something amazing?" No one cheered. Everyone was fixated on the family walking out. "Suit yourselves," he added.
The doors swung back and forth, and another couple stood to leave.
"You two are going to miss out," his assistant Elizabeth called in a high-pitched voice, which echoed through the building. She placed her hands on her hips as she watched them with an amused smirk. The light from above gave her dress a blood red sheen and her short black hair curled against her round, childlike face.
Lifting her small hand above her head, she snapped her fingers.
It was like a firework had gone off, bursting in the auditorium. A few people yelped. I blinked and Elizabeth was no longer where she'd been on the stage. I glanced around nervously, then towards Em, who shrugged back.
The back of the theater gasped.
Elizabeth stood in front of the doorway and ushered the couple back to their seats. Em and I glanced at each other, our smiles widening and faces lighting up. The magician began to clap and, slowly, the audience followed suit. When Elizabeth was back on stage beside him, he grabbed his hat, swung it and bowed.
Steampunk Fairy Tales Page 8