The Asylum for Fairy-Tale Creatures

by Sebastian Gregory

  And so forth and so on again and again and again. The chorus only stopped for the three-times-daily dose of leeches. They all sat in row upon row of dining tables and chairs. There was an atmosphere of fun and anticipation as a Mother May I pushed along a metal cart loaded with the leech tank. Through the glass of the tank they squirmed inside, black and thick and wet with slime full to the brim and spilling over the top. The un-children became excited at the approach and clapped and cheered. Thumbeana and Thread Bear sat as the leeches were scooped out and placed in wooden bowls and placed messily on the table. Some of the creatures managed to slide away and a lucky few attached themselves to Mother May I’s hand and began suckling greedily. The May I did not notice and moved on, serving more un-children. But not before saying,

  “A bowl of leeches a day keeps the madness away.”

  Thumbeana looked at the bowl; tiny rows of black teeth snapped back at her. She had never had the need to eat and she wondered if this should be her first meal. For guidance she looked at the other un-children on how best to consume leech. The troll sisters sitting to her left had been licking their bowls clean. Bits of the leech dripped on their chins like wet liquorice. The cursed dead boy, who never had truly died but continued to rot, slurped them one by one. Thumbeana could see them passing through holes in his throat. Thread Bear in the meantime was wearing his bowl on his head and was dripping leeches, leaving a trail of slime in his fur. Thumbeana laughed to see such fun and began picking at her meal, one wriggle at a time. Each one she chewed popped black liquid into her mouth; she did not feel less mad so she tried another and another. As she completely forgot to swallow, her mouth simply filled up and when she smiled at Thread Bear, as she often did, the leeches fell down her chin and onto the table in a stream of black slime.

  At night, they stayed in a giant dormitory filled with beds as diverse as the un-children who slept in them. For example the troll children slept under bridges, built in the room. The giant children slept upon beanstalks that grew to the ceiling. The puppet children in boxes, the bear children in beds too small, the spider children in spouts and so forth and so on. Again there were no windows; what little light there was cast by dim gas lamps, high upon the stone walls.

  Thumbeana lay on her bed and looked up at the impossibly high ceiling. The gas lamps danced yellow shadows on them. They reminded her of people on fire, burning to nothing over and over again in the yellow light.

  “I don’t like it here,” Thumbeana said. “I miss the girl. I think we should leave.”

  Thread Bear, who lay next to her, pulled on the chain that held Thumbeana’s wrist to the bed. Thumbeana sat up, and looked around. It seemed all the un-children were asleep. They snored and grunted into the dark.

  “Don’t worry about this, funny bear.” Thumbeana smiled, indicating the chain and shackle. She pulled at the stich in her wrist with her free hand. It came away with the sound of a boot being unlaced and immediately her trapped hand fell free and dangled on the chain.

  “And now,” she said to the bear, “let us rescue the red girl. It will be fun.”

  In the night when the un-children slept, there was a squeaking on the cold, hard floor. Thumbeana and Thread Bear, mischief bound, slowly wheeled in the leech cart, sloshing leeches on its way. Pausing in the room amongst the slumbering un-children, they heaved with all their might until the cart tipped and shattered and spilt the screeching creatures, crashing on the floor. Un-children suddenly woke and, to their surprise, saw a thousand leeches crawling before their eyes. They pulled and snapped their chains as they screamed with joy at the midnight feast, braving the shattered glass and greedily gorging at the leeches. Mother May Is and lumbering guards entered the chaos. Thumbeana, carrying Thread Bear and leaving her hand behind, quietly left the room. The pair began to trace their steps from when they were first taken deep into the asylum. Past locked cell doors they went until they had almost made it back to Dr Grimm’s office. Thumbeana held the tiny bear tight as they hid in a shadow.

  In the corridor a scrawny man was being held by two of the lumbering guards. His feet had left the ground and he was tiny in comparison to the guards, yet he struggled with a strength that made the guards shake. He wore nothing but rags and his features were obscured by the dim gas-light shadow. Dr Grimm stood in front of the three, attempting to fill a large syringe with a green liquid. The man kicked it from Grimm’s frail skeletal hand. The bottle shattered with a hiss.

  The man pleaded, “Lock me up—you need to lock me up.”

  “Calm down,” Grimm replied. “You need to take your medicine. This tantrum will not do.”

  “It’s too late, too late, lock me up, sir, I beg you.”

  “After medicine,” Grimm insisted.

  Too late indeed, for the man threw back his head and with a sickening creak his jaw opened wide and split. From his mouth, slowly at first, came a muzzle and thick black fur, then fangs all the better to eat you with and eyes all the better to hunt you with, ears all the better to catch your screams. The scrawny man’s skin flopped to the floor as the guards and Dr Grimm were dwarfed by the huge frame of the wolf. In one swift movement almost too fast for the eye to catch, a claw shredded the guards. The wolf stood on gigantic hind legs as wolf and man merged into something other. It picked up the doctor and held him in a grip so tight, Thumbeana heard his bones snap. The good doctor did not seem to notice, distracted by the wolf’s huge dripping maw.

  It spoke with a deep rumbling growl.

  “The girl from the forest—where is she?”

  The doctor did not or could not reply.

  “I followed her scent. Tell me.”

  It was at this moment, Thumbeana noted, that all sanity had left Doctor Grimm. Maybe the wolf sensed it too, for it howled a screaming howl of frustration and, in one clean snap, removed the doctor’s head.

  And There Was Insanity Forever Ever After

  “Then,” continued Thumbeana to Red Riding Hood, “a lot of guards came, lumbering and grunting, tried to fight the wolf, but it did not like that at all.”

  “It got angry and smashed the magic mirror in Grimm’s office. It must have been important because it made an awful mess. Nearly everyone escaped. They are harming each other. We searched lots of days and nights to find you,” Thread Bear added helpfully.

  “We found keys from a dead-like-a-dodo guard.”

  Tears welled up in Red’s eyes; they spilled, rolling down her cheeks, wetting them with bitter stings.

  “Then I am not insane? All this happened?”

  Thumbeana and the bear shook their heads slowly.

  “We brought you something,” the bear said.

  “We took it from Dr Grimm’s cabinet,” added Thumbeana.

  She placed the folded gift in front of Red. The girl took it and smiled. It was her blood-red hood.

  “Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around herself, but now wearing the strait-jacket like a dress.

  “The wolf is looking for you—it followed you all the way here. What should we do?” Thumbeana wanted to know.

  “We stick together and we should leave,” Red decided and the others nodded in agreement.

  The three crept from the cell. First Red Riding hood, followed by Thumbeana with the Thread Bear on her shoulders carrying the metal hoop and asylum keys. They found the asylum even more horrid than when they first arrived. There was darkness now to the place that oozed from the very walls. In the air was the smell of burning and fresh blood. A silence had descended yet in the background a constant chatter of giggles and screams filled the air. Slowly, ever so slowly and following the wall, they descended deeper into the asylum. They stepped past the bodies of Mother May Is and lumbering guards. An inmate or two lay dead or hanging from the ceiling by thick, thick rope, dying. Swinging slowly back and forth like an awful decoration.

  “I cannot remember my name,” gibbered a small goblin-like creature curled on the floor.

  “It is Rumpelstiltskin—it says so on y
our strait-jacket,” Thumbeana said as they passed.

  “Thank you, thank you,” he sang and went dancing down the corridor.

  They came to a figure standing in the centre of the corridor and blocking the way forward. Her long hair was black as raven feather and her skin was snow white. When she spoke she did so through lips of deep red wine. She too wore a strait-jacket designed for restraint. However it was torn and ripped and re-sewn into a long dress. Red Riding Hood immediately spotted the meat cleaver in the girl’s left hand.

  “Can you help me?” she cried. “I cannot find my dwarves. Have you seen them?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Red replied. “Myself and my friends are leaving—why don’t you come with us?” She looked at the weapon in Snow White Skin’s hand and she inched forward. “Perhaps I should take that?”

  She wants our weapon for herself—she wants to harm us. The voice came from Snow White Skin’s lips but sounded unlike her previous soft tones. The voice was a male voice, deep and grumpy. We should kill them before they kill us.

  The voice changed and was more pleasant and happy. Please do not hurt them—we could be friends. The voice changed again and again, each one separate from the last:

  No, kill them.

  They’re looking at us—why are they doing that?

  I’m tired.

  Perhaps they want to be friends.

  We should help them.

  Help them die before they finish us.

  Snow White Skin paced the width of the corridor back and forth, arguing with herself. Each point rose in a different voice. Red Riding Hood counted seven in all.

  “Who are you talking to?” Thumbeana asked, her face a patchwork of interest.

  Snow White Skin glared directly at the three and began to stalk towards them. In turn Red, Thumbeana and the bear were moving backwards.

  “Who am I talking to? Who am I talking to?” she shrilled. “Do you not see? My dwarves. My dwarves.”

  “Yes, they are very nice,” Red told her.

  “Oh, yes, they are,” she replied. “Which is your favourite?”

  “That one.” Red pointed.

  “That one?” asked Snow White Skin, stopping and pointing.

  “I like his hat,” Thread Bear added.

  “His hat? I’m sure he would be pleased to hear that. Except, little bear, there is no one there.”

  The blade was lifted and swung; however, Red Riding Hood saw it coming and pushed at the Snow White Skin girl, knocking her into the hard wall. This did not stop the cleaver being swung blindly once again.

  Kill them; kill them all! screamed seven voices all from Snow White Skin’s mouth.

  Red Riding Hood barely managed to fall backwards from its arch. It travelled instead hitting the bear on Thumbeana’s shoulder. All of a sudden bear and cleaver were embedded in the wall. The bear flopped against the metal. Whatever life force had animated it was now gone. Thumbeana in anguish screamed forth as she was experiencing sorrow for the first time. It overwhelmed her and she scratched, bit and pulled at Snow White Skin in a flurry of pure viciousness. Red regained her balance and fought to pull Thumbeana away. Snow White Skin lay still.

  “You are very naughty. What did you do?” cried Thumbeana and for the first time in her un-life she had real tears.

  “Oh, I’m not hurt,” a tiny voice informed them. The air had gone cold and pure white breath came from Red.

  There by the cells was a boy of six or seven. He wore a tidy school uniform and an honest face. He was also completely see-through.

  “Bear, is that you?” Thumbeana asked, wiping her tears.

  “Yes, silly. I was never a bear. They were right—I was a ghost thing hiding, but now I am free.”

  Thumbeana thought about it for a moment and sulkily said, “Then I am happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Thumbeana, and thank you, Red Riding Hood. Now you must run.” He pointed to a spiral staircase. “That way, because someone bad is coming.” Then, like smoke from a dead ember, he was lost to the air.

  “Goodbye,” he said, becoming nothing.

  To the staircase the pair went; downwards they went as fast as their bruised legs could carry them. Of course, if the ghost boy had had the time before moving on he would have clearly told his friends not to take the stairs downward. But he did not and they did.

  Down and down into a thick darkness they ran. To the part of the asylum where even the insane feared to tread. There was a long corridor as was the design of the maze, however here there was only one cell at the very far end. The door to the cell had been obliterated and stood splintered in the doorway. Even in the gloom, Red Riding Hood could see that was not the way to proceed. No sooner had they begun to walk that long dark corridor than they both felt a crunching underfoot. Red Riding Hood reached down to feel her way and found it to be littered. There were thousands of them and all around. Bones: animal bones, bird bones, mice and ravens’ but as the two moved forward, crunch, crunch, crunch, they saw the bones of people.

  “Where has all this come from?” Thumbeana voiced curiously.

  “I think it is from the broken cell,” Red Riding Hood said. “I think we need to leave quickly.”

  They would of course have done so, if not for the music that was suddenly filling the air, but more than that it filled their very beings, overwhelming their senses and rooting them to the spot.

  The Pied Piper bowed in front of the two. He was horrible, thin and tall, like an insect dressed as a person. He danced and played his pipe, skipping this way and that, jumping as he played. Finally he pulled the pipe from his horrible lips.

  “My, my. What do we have here? Two pretties eager for my rats?” His voice was venom.

  Red and Thumbeana could only watch and listen as the piper played his hypnotic sound. Oh, what music played. It called the rats of all shapes and sizes crawling from holes in the brickwork or gnawing their way through the floor itself. Hundreds if not thousands appeared as the piper played. Rats of razor-sharp teeth and pestilent fur. They crawled over the piper and each other in time to the piper’s tune. Then he stopped playing and the rats reared in anticipation.

  “You see, my pretties, my pets need feeding, and they are here to feast. Just like the children of Hamlet—oh, what a banquet they had.” With that he simply pointed a bony finger and the vermin poured forward in a wave of disease and pain. Chittering, they swept towards the two as again the piper played a feasting tune. When then and all of a sudden something much worse and vast descended from the ceiling. It moved exactly like wet shadow and as it took form the corridor lit up once again. The girl realised the terrible truththat the corridor was not in darkness, the thing was the darkness itself. Yet there was more to its smooth oily surface: bones white and brittle, trapped in place all around it like skeletons in tar. At first, when Red saw the piper she presumed he was the one who had caused the bones in some evil way. However this was not the case. She witnessed the rats drowning in the black with barely enough time to scream before being skinned to pure white bone that rattled against the stone floor.

  The dark thing turned its attention to the piper, whose pipe had fallen to the floor from his terrified mouth. The piper could only gasp before the darkness took him. The bones followed the pipe to the stone with a clatter. Instantly Red and Thumbeana could move again; however, there was little point in doing so. There was no escape from the prisoner. A skull appeared amongst its surface, giving the oil a face of sorts as it flowed towards them. Red Riding Hood recognised the creature as would everyone who ever lived in the fairy tale kingdom. Many years ago it had been named Grandfather Death. Although never directly told about in stories, Grandfather Death was always there. When a princess was locked in a tower or a witch placed a child in a cooking pot, or a boy climbed a beanstalk like a fool, Grandfather Death would lurk in the cracks, waiting.

  Thumbeana turned to Red. “Goodbye,” she said. “Leave safe, for me.” She smiled.

  Before Red Riding Hood could q
uestion, Thumbeana threw her arms outstretched, walking into the darkness, and was instantly taken the same way as the others. Except this time Grandfather Death twisted and turned in an apparent silent agony. For Grandfather Death could only take life and Thumbeana was not life. She an un-child; born from death and as poison to the grandfather. It shook for a moment before shrivelling like a worm left in the midday sun. Bones rained from the dark in a clattering crescendo before nothing but a haze the texture of floating ember was left and Grandfather Death was gone.

  Red fell to her knees at the loss of her friend. She felt herself collapsing inside as if her very soul were hurt. It would have been easy to lie there amongst the bone and die of too much heartache, if not for that moment her grandma’s words filling her head.

  “Stick to the path, girl, and you will always be safe.”

  She stood upright again and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “I will, Grandma,” she said. “I will.”

  Red Riding Hood limped through the bowels of the asylum. Using the keys taken by her friends, she made her way through door after door. It was silent in this part of the asylum, for Grandfather Death had been quarantined as there was no greater madness than death itself. Eventually, unopposed, Red found her way to a set of small stairs that led upwards. She passed a girl on the stairs. The girl was tall, lank and terribly thin. Her bones were as if painted in skin and her straight jacket dripped from her. However even as her blond hair was wasting away by the clump and her crystal blue eyes sat in deep sockets; there was a memory of Beauty about her. She muttered to herself with cracked lips and black teeth. “Mustn’t sleep, mustn't sleep, sleep for a hundred years I must not, will not, sleep again.

  She slid along the stone wall with exhaustion dragging her down. Until finally she fell to the floor in a bony heap and slept the slumber that all living things must eventually surrender to.

  Slowly Red continued to climb for an unknown amount of time. Stopping to catch her breath and energy, she followed the cold stone beneath her feet. Until finally she came to another door and, fumbling for the right key, she unlocked it.