Witchy Tales

by Amanda M. Lee

“We’re not little guys,” the first dwarf said. “We’re dwarves.”

  “We figured that out,” Thistle said.

  “What gave it away?”

  “The axes.”

  “That usually does it,” the dwarf said. “I guess I should introduce us.”

  “That would be great,” I said.

  “I’m … .”

  “Wait, let me guess,” Thistle said. “You’re Grumpy.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been a great day, but I’m not grumpy.”

  “I thought that was your name,” Thistle said, disappointed.

  “No, my name is Flip.”

  “Flip?”

  “Flip.”

  “Huh,” Thistle said. “I don’t remember this part of the story.”

  Flip ignored her. “This is Kip, Trip, Skip, Pip, Whip and Bud.”

  Well, that sounded fun.

  “Bud?” Thistle asked. “Your mother couldn’t think of one more name that ended with ‘ip?’”

  “Apparently not,” Flip said. “It’s been a lifelong embarrassment for Bud. He doesn’t talk much.”

  I studied Bud for a moment. “He doesn’t look happy with his lot in life.”

  “Would you be happy with our lot in life?” Flip asked. “We spend twelve hours a day digging in mines and we don’t even get paid for it.”

  “So stop doing it,” Thistle said.

  “We can’t,” Flip said. “We’re dwarves. That’s what we do.”

  The rest of his brothers nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

  Landon cleared his throat. “So, um, is there a reason you’re hanging around the yellow brick road?”

  “We’re waiting for someone,” Flip said.

  “Who?”

  “Snow White.”

  “I told you,” I crowed.

  “You’re the smartest woman in the world, sweetie,” Landon said, refusing to let me slide out of the arm cage he’d built behind him to corral me.

  “Do you know what Snow White looks like?” Sam asked.

  Flip nodded.

  “Do you know when she’s supposed to get here?”

  “She’s already here,” Flip said.

  “Oh, this is going to be bad,” Thistle said. “Does anyone remember whether the dwarves gang-banged Snow White in Aunt Tillie’s story? I’m really worried about that for some reason.”

  “We’re not sexual deviants,” Flip said. “We just need her to clean our cabin and sing while we’re at work.”

  “Sing?”

  “Sing.”

  “Which one of us do you think is Snow White?” a nervous Clove asked.

  Since she was the only one with dark hair, we all expected it to be her.

  Flip grinned at her. “Welcome home.”

  “Oh, no way,” Clove shouted. “I just spent two hours in a tower waiting for someone to climb my hair. I’m absolutely not turning myself into a maid and … singing.”

  “You have to,” Flip said. “That’s what you do.”

  “Well, I’m not going to do it,” Clove said. “I’m drawing the line. I’m done. This fairy tale world sucks.”

  “It does suck,” Landon said.

  “Listen, I have no idea who the rest of you are, but we need to claim our Snow White before it gets too late,” Flip said.

  “Yeah, we want dinner,” Trip said. “We haven’t had a decent meal in ten years.”

  “How did you know to wait here for Snow White?” I asked.

  “The crone told us.”

  “What crone?”

  “The one in the black dress and hood with the red apple,” Flip said. “She said Snow White was coming and we were to wait here until she crossed our path. We’ve been here a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, weary. “Does anyone have any suggestions?” I asked. “It’s not as if we can let Clove go with the dwarves. If that story plays out, she’s going to eat a poison apple and then land in a glass coffin.”

  “Yeah, I’d really rather not die,” Clove said.

  “We need to move this along,” Landon said. “Um, guys, here’s the thing … you can’t have Snow White. I don’t know what this crone told you, and I’m really curious what she looks like because I’m picturing a tiny woman with a round face and evil eyes … .”

  “How did you know that?” Flip asked.

  “Just a lucky guess,” Landon said, grimacing.

  He’d described Aunt Tillie. Had she really based some of the characters in the book on herself? That made sense. She always thought she was the center of all of our worlds.

  “The thing is, the crone’s information is outdated,” Landon said, and I could practically see his mind working. “It seems Snow White can’t do any manual labor until her contract is settled.”

  “What contract?”

  “Yeah, what contract?” Clove asked.

  Landon shot her a quelling look. “Snow White joined a union.”

  “No way,” Flip said. “Is that even allowed?”

  “It’s a new world, man,” Landon said. “She’s on strike until the contract is settled.”

  “When is that going to happen?” Flip asked. “We really need a maid.”

  “I suggest hiring the crone,” I said. “She’s great with a broom … and a cackle.”

  “And she sings like a dream,” Thistle said. “This one over here is tone deaf.”

  “I am not,” Clove protested. “I have a beautiful singing voice.”

  “Since when?” Thistle asked, laughing. “You’re so off key you scare small children and household pets.”

  “That’s not true,” Clove said. “Bay, tell her that’s not true.”

  I worried my bottom lip with my teeth, unsure how to progress. The truth was, Clove wasn’t a terrible singer. She was awful. Thistle wasn’t exaggerating. There’s nothing worse than someone who thinks they can sing when they really can’t. Usually I go out of my way to spare Clove’s feelings – especially at times like this – but we needed the dwarves to give up their maid quest.

  “When you sing you sound like the frog Thistle had to kiss,” I said.

  Clove crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her lower lip. “You’re dead to me.”

  We were all going to be dead to each other if we didn’t get out of this book. “You’ll live.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you guys,” Flip said. “Can we hear this alleged bad singing?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Clove balked. “But … I need time to warm up. I need a piano to accompany me. I need … my karaoke machine.”

  “We don’t have any of that,” I said.

  “And we’re in a bit of a time crunch here,” Landon added. “Just sing, scare them and get it over with. I don’t want to spend any more time here than we have to.”

  “I’m not going to scare them,” Clove said. “If I sing, they’re all going to fall in love with me. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  Sam looked trapped. “I happen to find your singing … cute,” he said. “I especially like when you do it in the shower.”

  Thistle snorted. “I’m guessing that’s because you’re naked, Clove.”

  “Shut up,” Clove said. “You’re dead to me, too.”

  “Just sing,” I said. “Pick a song and … wow them. Prove us all wrong. You know that’s what you want to do.”

  “What are you doing?” Landon murmured. “What happens if she can really sing?”

  “She can’t.”

  “What if the curse made it so she can sing?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Uh-oh. I opened my mouth to stop Clove from belting out a Broadway tune – I just knew we had a rendition of Memory in our future – but it was too late.

  Clove began to sing, her eyes wide and her chest puffed out. It was her proudest moment. And then the birds started complaining … loudly. A couple of them even swooped down in an attack formation.

  T
he deer in the field next to the dwarves bounded away. The rabbits in the nearby bush tried to burrow beneath it to drown her out.

  Then the dwarves started groaning and covering their ears.

  Clove broke off, flummoxed. “What’s wrong?”

  Flip arched an eyebrow. “We believe you,” he said. “Keep her on strike. I’d rather live in filth than live with … that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Clove was incensed. “I could be on American Idol.”

  “You could,” Thistle said, patting her shoulder. “You could be on those first few episodes where they let the really bad singers in so they can laugh at them.”

  “I really hate you,” Clove said.

  When we glanced back up the yellow brick road, the dwarves were gone. They’d opted to beat a hasty retreat while we were distracted. It was probably for the best.

  Landon released his grip on me, finally allowing a small smile to play at the corner of his lips. “This is just so … messed up.”

  “Aren’t you glad I don’t sing? I sound worse than her.”

  “Sweetie, if we get out of this, I’ll listen to you sing every day for the rest of my life,” Landon said.

  That was kind of sweet.

  “I’ll just put headphones on and watch you dance naked or something.”

  His sweetness comes and goes.

  “Let’s get moving,” Landon said. “I have a feeling we have a few more fairy tales to go through before we can say ‘the end.’”

  I had a feeling he was right.

  If you’re going to cry wolf, you’d better hope there’s really a wolf there. Oh, and if there’s a wolf, kick it really hard in its special place before you run. Wolves are faster than little girls.

  – Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up

  Chapter 9

  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Clove said. “I can sing. The curse must have made me sound horrible or something.”

  “I’m sure that was it,” Sam said, rubbing her back lightly as he directed her down the pathway. “You sound like an angel when you sing.”

  “It’s probably good you’re not Pinocchio right now,” Thistle said. “Your nose would be about five feet long if you were.”

  “Shut up, Thistle,” Sam grumbled. “Why do you always have to be so … you?”

  Thistle frowned, her forehead furrowing. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  Everyone shifted their attention to her, surprised.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Thistle said. “I’m well aware of how annoying I can be. I’m really trying not to say everything that crosses my mind, but it’s not easy.”

  “It’s not easy for any of us,” Landon said. “We have to keep moving forward. We don’t have a lot of options here. We have to get to the end of the book, and to do that we can’t kill each other.”

  “Speaking of that, do you think we die in the real world if we die in this story?” Marcus asked.

  I’d been wondering that myself. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’d like to think Aunt Tillie wouldn’t risk our lives unnecessarily, but she was really ticked off last night.”

  “She wouldn’t risk our lives,” Clove said. “I know she wouldn’t.”

  “What if she didn’t realize she did?” Thistle asked. “We don’t know where her mind was when she cast the curse. I mean, this has all the elements of being well thought out, but she had to cast it on the fly.”

  “Maybe it’s something she had in her back pocket for a long time,” I suggested. “Maybe she came up with the idea years ago, but decided she can finally utilize it. That sounds like something she would do.”

  “It does,” Thistle conceded. “The amount of thought she put into this, though … it’s just amazing.”

  “I always thought she liked me,” Marcus said. “I never thought I would make it onto her list.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you made it on her list,” I said. “I think Landon was on her list, and I think she knew she was going to have to distract Thistle, Clove and me, but I think you and Sam were included because she needed an even number of princesses and princes.”

  “That was one of her complaints about fairy tales,” Thistle said. “She didn’t understand why princesses were considered heroines when their only goal seemed to be snagging a man.”

  Landon barked out a hoarse laugh. “I guess I never thought about it that way. There are fairy tales that don’t involve coupling up, though.”

  “I think Aunt Tillie just wanted us to shut up when we were kids,” Thistle said. “Clove went through a princess phase, but Bay and I never did. Bay went through a stuffed animal phase and I preferred Legos. It’s not as if we were walking around dreaming about princes.”

  “And yet you got them,” Marcus teased, poking her in the ribs.

  “We did,” Thistle said, tilting her head to the side and rubbing her forehead.

  “Do you have a headache?” Marcus asked, worried.

  “I’m just exhausted,” Thistle said. “We only got a couple of hours of sleep before the curse hit, and it feels like we’ve been at this for hours. How long do you think it’s been?”

  I shrugged. I had no idea.

  “I’m guessing between four and five hours,” Landon said. “Without any changes in the sky, though, it’s really hard to tell. I never realized how much I used the sun to gauge the time of day.”

  “I use the clock on my cell phone,” Clove said.

  “I think the lack of sun is throwing off our internal clocks,” Landon said.

  “I don’t think that’s the only thing,” Thistle said. “I feel as if I have PMS.”

  Marcus, Sam and Landon made identical horrified faces.

  “That’s not supposed to happen for two weeks,” Landon said. “I marked it on my calendar.”

  “That’s disturbing,” I said.

  “You three are disturbing when you’re feeling moody together,” Landon said. “If I can keep you away from those two you’re fine. Well, you’re not fine, but you’re tolerable. If you three get together, though? Good night. It’s like the end of the world.”

  “Bring me ice cream,” Sam said, mimicking Clove’s voice to perfection.

  “My back hurts,” Marcus said.

  “My pants are too tight,” Landon said.

  I narrowed my eyes and put my hands on my hips. “Is that how I sound to you?”

  Landon grinned. “Sometimes.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me ever talking to you again then,” I muttered.

  “And here we go with the mood swings,” Landon said. “This night keeps getting worse. Every time I think it’s not possible … .”

  Thistle scowled. “I didn’t mean that it’s that time of the month,” she said. “I mean that I can’t seem to control my emotions. One second I’m fine. I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable or happy, but I’m not panicking or anything. The next second it’s as if every bad impulse I’ve ever had just … takes over.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said. “I felt like crying for absolutely no reason a few minutes ago.”

  “What were you thinking about?” Clove asked. “I was going to cry a few minutes ago, too, but I know why I was going to do it.”

  “Because we made fun of your singing,” Thistle said.

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to sit here and dissect everything. I’m so tired. I just want to be back in my bed. I want to rub my feet against Landon’s and listen to him sleep. That sounds like the best thing in the world right now.”

  Landon arched an eyebrow. “You listen to me sleep?”

  “Don’t let it inflate your ego,” I said. “Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night it’s the sound of your breathing that lulls me right back to sleep. I can’t explain it.”

  “I do the same thing, sweetie,” Landon said, tightening his grip on my hand. “I would seriously buy Aunt Ti
llie a new snowplow if we could only get out of this book.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” I said. “We have to keep walking.”

  “We should sing a song to make the trip go faster,” Clove suggested. “I can start.”

  “No!”

  “HELP!”

  “Did you hear that?” Landon asked.

  Twenty minutes later we were still walking down the path in morose silence. Clove was pouting about the singing. I was pouting about my deep thoughts. And Thistle, well, she was pouting because she felt like it. I think the men were happy for the conversational reprieve.

  “Did someone scream for help? Yeah, it was hard to miss,” Thistle replied dryly.

  “Help!”

  Landon glanced at me. “Are we going to ignore that?”

  I worried my bottom lip, unsure. “I think we have to find our way to the end of the path. This is probably just a way to delay us.”

  “Help! Please!”

  Landon pressed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voice.

  “Help!”

  “I can’t ignore that,” he said. “I … I’m supposed to help people.”

  I let go of his hand. This was clearly his fairy tale puzzle to solve. “Go.”

  Landon bolted off the path and into the night, racing down a hill and disappearing into a grove of trees.

  “Should we follow him?” Thistle asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t want to risk being separated.”

  “He’s going to wish he’d stayed on the path,” Clove said. “He’s going to be angry with himself.”

  “I know,” I said. “He can’t listen to someone ask for help and not offer it, though. It’s not in him. Let’s go.”

  We followed Landon down the embankment and through the trees. The cries for help ceased, but somehow I knew which direction to go. I found Landon standing in the middle of a field, a herd of sheep happily munching grass around him, and fixed him with a quizzical look. “Who was screaming?”

  Landon shifted so I could see the young boy standing next to him. The boy was small, his skin pale, his gangly limbs gesturing emphatically as he pointed at the field.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Daniel,” the boy said, flashing me an impish grin.