The Inside Story

by Michael Buckley

  “The night we were poisoned and put to sleep?”

  Veronica nodded. “I was going to tell you that we were going to have a baby.”

  Henry blinked. Then he blinked, again. “A baby?”

  Veronica nodded.

  “Veronica! We have to get you out of this book. This could be too dangerous. You need to be at home, resting, taking vitamins, other baby stuff like that.”

  Veronica shook her head. “This is going to be shocking.”

  And then Veronica told Henry about the baby boy that had been born during the two years they had been asleep. She told him about the magic that was used on her that helped Mirror deliver the child and that she herself didn’t know the baby had been born until the night the Scarlet Hand had attacked the fort. She apologized to him for not telling him right away, but she saw he was under pressure, and to keep him safe she decided to wait until some of the chaos in the town subsided. She didn’t need him running off into the night in search of the child.

  “And that’s why we’re here,” Daphne said. “Mirror had a nursery hidden in the Hall of Wonders. He’s been taking care of Joshua ever since.”

  “Joshua?”

  “I’ve been trying to come up with a name for him,” Daphne said.

  “I have a son . . . ,” Henry said.

  Veronica burst into happy tears, as did Granny Relda.

  “You can name him whatever you want,” Daphne said, sheepishly. “None of my ideas have really stuck.”

  “I was a big fan of Oohg,” Puck said. “But personally, Puck is a wonderful name for a boy.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow.

  Daphne’s expression turned serious. “The point is that Mirror has the baby and he brought him into this book. He can use it to change history. If he does . . . something bad is going to happen.”

  “Bad in what way?” Granny asked.

  Sabrina continued for Daphne. “He’s going to try to steal our brother’s body for himself. He wants to be real, not an Everafter—and not trapped in the Mirror. He’ll have all his powers, and as a human child he can step through Wilhelm’s magic barrier into the real world.”

  “And you helped?” Granny said as she turned her attention to Pinocchio. “Your father will not be happy when he hears about this.”

  Pinocchio scowled.

  Granny Relda reached into her handbag and dug through a dump truck’s worth of makeup, pencils, binoculars, a pad of paper, and eventually a leather-bound book straight from the family’s collection of journals.

  “What’s that?” Sabrina said.

  “The journal of one Trixie Grimm,” Granny said. “Your great-aunt. She was quite a character—an unrepentant bohemian who spent her time painting and marrying an endless stream of rich men. She walked down the aisle more than a dozen times and traveled the world before taking on the family business. She was a real can-do type. She negotiated a treaty between cyclopes and centaurs, helped Little Bo Peep find her sheep, and most importantly, had some experience inside the pages of the Book of Everafter.”

  Granny flipped through the pages. “She wrote extensively about the Book of Everafter and its origins, but most importantly she wrote about how magic linked the Book to actual history. She was integral in creating safety standards to make sure the stories remained unaltered. Even then she knew the Book was dangerous to have lying around so she locked it in a room in the Hall of Wonders. She didn’t even label it. Most of the family didn’t know it even existed.”

  “Mirror knew,” Veronica said.

  “Well, come along,” Granny Relda said. “We have a baby boy to rescue.”

  The old woman whispered into the ball of yarn, “Lead us to the story of Snow White.” It popped and crackled but sat still. “Something seems to be wrong.”

  “The Editor told us that story was off-limits,” Daphne said.

  “The Editor?” Henry said.

  “Yes, the guardian of the Book,” Granny said. “Trixie helped invent him. After the magic messed with the Book, she discovered that someone needed to put the stories back together if they were changed. He is described as the man in charge. I suppose we should pay him a visit. Come along, children.”

  “That’s not going to be so easy,” Daphne said. “The only way to get into his library is if he opens the door himself.”

  “And we kind of irked him,” Puck said. “He’s very sensitive.”

  “So I’ve heard. Trixie writes that she was startled by his bad attitude and suspected there would come a day when he would become difficult. I suppose that’s why she placed this key inside,” Granny Relda reached into her handbag and took out a bright golden key. “It won’t get us into any of the other stories, but Trixie said it would get us into his library. Once we get there we’re just going to have to use our considerable charms to convince him to let us follow Mirror into Snow White’s tale.”

  Granny flipped through the Book, read a small passage to herself, and then stuffed the Book back into her handbag. Then she leaned over as if inserting the key into an actual lock. Suddenly, a door appeared in front of her around the key. She opened it and a blast of wind nearly knocked off her bonnet.

  After the wind died down, they could hear the familiar sound of pages turning and a fireplace crackling. Granny reached out for the children and hurried everyone in ahead of herself.

  “I wish you luck,” Daphne said, turning to the genie.

  The creature nodded respectfully as the family disappeared through the portal.

  “Well, that was most disagreeable,” Granny Relda said once they stepped into the Editor’s study. She took her journal out of her handbag and jotted a note: “The doors between stories are best traveled with empty stomachs.”

  The Editor sat in his leather chair, a single reviser resting at his feet, licking its huge mouth as if it had just finished the last bite of a bucket of fried chicken. When he saw them, the Editor leaped from his chair as if shocked.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” Granny said, ignoring his question. “My name is Relda Grimm.”

  “More Grimms? How many of them are there?” the man said dryly.

  Granny ignored the sarcasm. “I believe you know my grandchildren, Sabrina and Daphne, as well as Puck. This is my son, Henry, and my daughter-in-law, Veronica. We are descendants of Trixie Grimm.”

  “A most troublesome woman, even if she did have a hand in my creation. She’s very much responsible for many of my personal headaches—and that pesky streak appears to run in the family,” the Editor said, flashing a dark look at the girls.

  “Well, hopefully my request will be quick and painless,” Granny replied. “We have need of your services.”

  The Editor’s face fell in shock. “You come to me for help? You realize your granddaughters and this poor excuse for a Trickster King have caused me nearly a million times the grief of any Trixie? After making a deal with me, they raised an army of characters who attacked me in my own sanctuary. They attempted to aid them in their quest to escape the Book.”

  “Sabrina!” Henry said.

  “That’s not exactly what happened,” Sabrina said sheepishly.

  “We weren’t helping them, Dad,” Daphne added.

  “Mr. Editor, I highly doubt my daughters are capable of betraying you,” Veronica said.

  “And I’m hardly a poor excuse for a Trickster King. I’m the first and the best, pal. Everyone after me is a copy,” Puck said indignantly.

  “Perhaps we can start over,” Granny said. “I can assure you we will not be helping anyone escape this book. In fact, we’re here to remove two individuals who have no business being in your pages. There’s a man running through the stories carrying a child. We believe he has found his way into the tale known commonly as ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.’ We tried to chase him, but there seem to be barriers preventing our entrance. We’d like you to let us into the story. When we catch him, we’ll all leave and you won’t have
any more problems from us.”

  “The magic mirror. I know all about him and the boy,” the Editor said. “I have revisers chasing them as we speak.”

  “You can’t!” Daphne cried. “They might hurt the baby.”

  “I have no concerns for the child,” the Editor said. “My only goal is to keep these stories safe.”

  “Then you won’t help us?” Henry said.

  The Editor shook his head.

  Henry rushed to the old man and snatched him by the collar. He pushed him hard against a bookshelf and several volumes tumbled down on their heads. “That’s my child in that story. If he gets hurt and you could have prevented it . . . well, there’s nothing a skinny, magical entity with a lousy attitude could do to save himself.”

  The Editor eyed him closely. “I will not help.”

  Henry pulled back with a closed fist, but before he could punch the man, Granny stopped him.

  “Let him go, Henry. I think we can persuade him without violence.”

  Henry shoved him once more but then released him. The Editor brushed off his suit and eyed the family. “Do you, now?”

  “Yes, indeed,” the old woman said as she stepped over to the magic door and whispered something into her ball of magic yarn. When she opened the door, the wind carried the smell of wheat into the room and howled over her voice. “If you think the children kept you busy, you have never had to experience me. Come along, family.”

  “What are we going to do?” Daphne said as she stepped into the void.

  “Some good old-fashioned troublemaking,” Granny Relda said with a grin, and then turned to Puck. “Why don’t we show the Editor here why they call you the Trickster King?”

  Puck smiled and leaped into the void.

  “What about me?” Pinocchio cried.

  “Stay here,” Granny said with a smile. “I suspect we’ll be right back.”

  She pushed the door open and her bonnet nearly flew off her head. Sabrina slipped her hand into her grandmother’s and, along with the rest of her family, she stepped through the open doorway and vanished.

  9

  he stately study was replaced with a dusty road framed by wheat so dry and white one could almost hear its cries for rain.

  “Where are we, Mom?” Henry said.

  “Henry, I’m disappointed.” The old woman smiled. “This is the setting for one of the most important fairy tales ever told. And if I’m correct, all the action is just over that rise.”

  Puck ran ahead while the family followed. When they reached the top of the crest, they looked down on a little valley. Three tiny structures rested along the road: one made from hay, the second from twigs, and the last from brick.

  Daphne bit her palm and squeaked, “Pucktastic,” but Sabrina’s little sister’s happiness was short-lived. A hulking, hairy creature lumbered in front of the grass house. It was the Big Bad Wolf and in his clawed hand he held a tiny whistle. When he used it, a magical wind as powerful as a tornado blasted the little house of straw, exploding it in every direction. When the house was gone, all that was left was a pig with a familiar face. The family’s friend and former sheriff Ernest Hamstead was desperately grasping at a patch of turf, close to succumbing to the terrible wind. Before long, he lost his grip and was sent squealing and sailing across the valley.

  “Not cool,” Daphne said.

  “And he’s headed to the house of twigs now,” Veronica said. “I never liked this story. It’s depressing.”

  “I think it’s hilarious,” Puck said. “Really! I might wet myself if he does it again.”

  “There goes the house of twigs,” Henry said. The wolf had unleashed his whistle on it with similar results. Mr. Swineheart had been hiding inside, but soon enough he was airborne as well, and disappearing into the clouds.

  Puck was on his back, rolling around and giggling like a hyena. “Classic!”

  “He’s going to have some problems with the next house, Puck. Why don’t you help him?”

  “Relda!” Veronica cried.

  “Really?” Puck said, wiping away happy tears.

  “Go have fun,” the old woman said.

  Puck ran off to join the Big Bad Wolf.

  “Relda, that’s not nice,” Veronica said.

  “That’s not our Mr. Boarman. He’s just an approximation,” Granny said. “The Editor will put this all back together the way it should be. If anything, we’re just inconveniencing him.”

  Sabrina watched Puck encourage the Big Bad Wolf to huff and puff again, but he was unable to cause the well-built brick structure any harm. So Puck spun on his heels and his body inflated and two enormous ivory tusks grew out of his face. Soon he had become a prehistoric woolly mammoth. He dipped his head down and charged at the front door of the house, knocking it off its hinges. The Wolf hopped around happily, and he raced into the house with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. A second later Sabrina heard the growls and squeals of a horrible fight.

  A door appeared before the group, and Puck rushed back to join them.

  “I did good, old lady?” he said.

  Granny nodded and mussed the boy’s hair. “You did very good, Puck.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sabrina spotted revisers rushing down the street toward the brick house. As if on cue, Granny Relda kneeled down and spoke to the ball of yarn. “We want to go to Rapunzel.”

  She opened the door and everyone stomped through.

  The group stood before a steep ivory tower. In a window near the top was a beautiful princess with the longest red hair Sabrina had ever seen. It hung down the side of the tower. The woman had braided it so that it was as thick and long as a rope. Climbing up the hair was a man, and on closer examination Sabrina realized it was Prince Charming.

  Granny reached into her handbag and took out a pair of scissors. She handed them to Puck, who giggled with delight. A moment later, his wings were out and he was airborne. He fluttered above the prince, who was very high off the ground, and then started slicing the hair-rope in two. It wasn’t long before Puck had cut completely through it. Prince Charming fell to the ground and landed with his leg in a very unnatural position.

  Before long, the revisers were munching away on the story and Granny found another door. The old woman whispered to the yarn that she wanted to visit Cinderella.

  When they passed through the doorway, the family found themselves on top of a grand staircase as a beautiful blond woman in a crystal blue dress raced past them and down the stairs. She stumbled a bit and fell, losing her shoe. Once again, Prince Charming appeared, chasing her down the stairs.

  Cinderella was met at the foot of the stairs by a pumpkin-shaped coach, but before the driver could help her inside, Granny told Puck to steal it. The boy flew down the stairs, leaped into the driving seat, and shoved the footman to the ground. He grabbed the reins and sped off, leaving Cinderella stranded in front of Charming’s castle. A moment later, a shimmering light engulfed the beautiful woman and she magically transformed back into a filthy, overworked housecleaner.

  “Holy moly,” Daphne said, squeezing her nose. “She’s got the funk.”

  Prince Charming raced to her side with the glass slipper in his hands. “Excuse me, but are you the owner of—aw geez, what is that smell?”

  Cinderella ran off into the night, sobbing into her hands.

  “Pretty girl, but not a big fan of the soap, is she?” Prince Charming said to Henry.

  A door appeared behind them as Puck returned. His clothes were covered with the insides of a pumpkin. “That buggy changed while I was on it,” he complained. “I smell like a pie.”

  “You are doing very well,” Granny said as revisers scurried up the staircase toward them. She whispered to the yarn and then opened the new door. “Let’s see what we can mess with in Hansel and Gretel’s story.”

  The family was soon standing before a life-size gingerbread house with candy-cane windowpanes, a roof made of peanut brittle, and a walkway lined with gumdrops.


  “I don’t think the children have showed up yet,” Granny said. “Puck, are you feeling hungry?”

  The boy clapped his hands and rubbed them together greedily. “Starving! I can’t seem to get enough to eat these days.”

  “It’s because you’re becoming a teenager,” the old woman explained.

  Puck ignored her and sprang on the house, ripping parts of roof down and licking the door. He shoveled everything from the doorknob to the welcome mat into his mouth. In a matter of seconds, he was covered from head to toe in sticky, sugary candy. Cream filling was in his hair and icing ran down his shirt.

  “Um, can I help with this one?” Daphne said.

  Veronica laughed. “Be my guest.”

  Daphne dove in with the same enthusiasm as Puck. She licked the windows and took a giant bite out of the house’s chewy foundation.

  As she ate, two dumpy kids approached. They looked perplexed by the sight of other children already eating away at the house. Daphne spotted them and waved them off. “Just go home, kids. A witch lives here. She’ll put you in a cage and try to fatten you up. It’s an ugly story. Besides, birds are eating your trail of bread crumbs, so you better hurry.”

  “Knuckleheads!” Puck said. “Didn’t you think animals might want to eat the bread? Next time why don’t you just leave a trail of winning lottery tickets?”

  Hansel and Gretel looked offended and walked back the way they came.

  “Here come the revisers,” Sabrina said, nodding at the edge of the forest. Luckily a door appeared in clearing.

  “All right,” Granny said. “Let’s see if the Editor likes what we do to the Frog Prince. I think we can get the princess to try some frog legs for dinner.”

  The family stepped through the void, but they did not land where they had aimed. Instead they found themselves back in the Editor’s library. The Editor was staring at them with shock and exasperation. Pinocchio had settled in a corner and barely looked up from the giant book on his lap.