Disenchanted

by Raven, C L

  I visited her every day for weeks. Her conversational skills didn't stretch beyond the weather and berry recipes and she had the social graces of a crazed chimp, but she had been incarcerated in a tower all her life. Where the hell were social services?

  "If the witch sees you, she'll kill me," she whispered.

  As long as she didn't kill me…"I'll take you to my mansion. She'll never hurt you again."

  "Get out of my tower!"

  I turned and saw the witch.

  "You let any man climb your hair?" The witch grabbed Rapunzel's hair. "Hussy!"

  "I'm a prince and I intend to marry Rapretzel."

  "Rapunzel," she murmured.

  "I'll turn you into a toad!" The witch shrieked.

  I waved my hand under my nose. "Dear god woman, have you never heard of toothpaste?"

  She uttered an incantation. I threw her out the window. It was a far more effective method. Every complaints department should have high windows. Her broken body lay at the foot of the tower. I climbed down Rapunzel's hair, returned to my mansion for a spade and buried the witch in the forest. Rapunzel made a rope out of bed sheets and climbed down. I caught her and took her back to my mansion.

  The wedding was simple. I was too mortified by her feral behaviour to invite guests. Plus marrying someone so soon after Cinderella's death wouldn't win me Widower of the Year. The prize was an 'all expenses paid' world cruise. Rapunzel wore her hair pinned up. I longed for our wedding night. I used the witch's improved potion and while Rapunzel slept, I spent ages unpinning her silky hair and running my fingers through it. The feel of it brushing my naked skin sent tingles through my body.

  Our wedding was the last time I saw Rapunzel awake. The witch had got the potion right, except for one thing - the sunlight spilling over Rapunzel's naked form exposed the cruelty of ageing. She no longer aroused me. I asked the witch to revive her so I could divorce her. But the witch failed. Some things can never be undone.

  I pressed a pillow over Rapunzel's face. She didn't struggle. She didn't cry out. She didn't fight for her life. She just lay there until she died.

  ***

  I sat in the honeymoon suite. My beautiful brides. Asleep forever in their glass coffins, like Star Wars figures still in their original packaging. Snow White. Cinderella. Rapunzel. Goldilocks. Red Riding Hood. I met Red in the forest. Goldilocks broke into my mansion. I had the worst luck. Other people managed to keep their wives alive for years. Most lamented it.

  The witch's potion made their sleep eternal and each time they kept their youthful looks for longer but they still aged. My fantasy died with each new wrinkle. I took the witch's anti-ageing potion so I was handsome enough to attract my next bride. Ageing's far more forgivable in a man.

  "I have a bride for you," the witch said. "Her parents were desperate for a child. When they finally succeeded, they organised a christening and invited seven good fairies. They didn't invite me."

  "But you're such an upstanding citizen."

  "The fairies received gold caskets with jewel encrusted cutlery so bestowed absurd wishes on the brat. I got sod all. I've created a spell. When their precious daughter pricks her finger on a sewing needle, she'll fall asleep for a hundred years."

  "How old is she?"

  "She's just been born."

  "I don't want a baby!"

  "Do you want a sleeping beauty or not?"

  I scowled. "What if she pricks her finger as a child?"

  "Her father's ordered every needle to be destroyed. I've hidden one. When she's old enough, I'll put it in her holiday home. She'll be so curious, she'll touch it. And you'll have your sleeping beauty."

  "What if she grows up ugly?"

  "The fairies have seen to it she'll be beautiful, kind, sing like an angel, play every musical instrument."

  "I don't want her CV, I want her unconscious."

  "Spells like this aren't cheap."

  I frowned. "You can have half now and half on completion."

  I watched her walk out, wondering what the hell I would do for the next few years.

  ***

  Nineteen years passed. The honeymoon suite had more brides – Gretel, Beauty, the one I called Frog Princess because she'd been talking to a frog when I met her. I seriously questioned her sanity. There were others, but they didn't deserve coffins. I'd buried them in the woods. I was helping the council with their cemetery overcrowding problem. Somehow I doubted my efforts would earn me a key to the city.

  There was a knock at my door. It was the witch. "It's time."

  My heart raced. "She's asleep?"

  She recited an address. "One of the fairies put a hedge around the manor house to keep her safe. Sprinkle this on it and the hedge will fall away." She relinquished a pouch. "I want my money."

  I smashed her head in with a Faberge egg. Drastic measures must be taken during a recession. I wheeled my trail bike out of the garage and sped towards the house. When I arrived, I saw the tall thorny hedge that protected the princess from intruders.

  It couldn't protect her from me.

  I sprinkled the powder and watched the hedge crumble. The gate creaked open. I walked to the house, my hands trembling. I shoved open the door. It protested loudly, but eventually yielded.

  Staff were asleep on the floor, stairs, wherever they happened to be when she pricked her finger. I tiptoed past them, convinced they'd wake. I snuck upstairs and along the corridor. I stepped over a maid and stopped at the door at the far end.

  I took a deep breath before nudging the door open and stepping inside.

  My bride was laid out on the bed, her long brown hair fanned out on the white pillow. Her pale skin was flawless. I eased myself down and lay beside her. I stretched a quivering finger towards her and brushed her hair from her forehead.

  I kissed her perfect lips. She didn't respond. I moaned, exploring her slender body with one hand. I pulled away. I didn't want to ruin this moment. I had one chance to fulfil my fantasy for the first time. There was plenty of time to do other things to her.

  I had a hundred years.

  I had my Sleeping Beauty.

  Girl All the Bad Guys Want

  Candles flickered in the castle's eyes making it resemble a twisted, blackened pumpkin. Snow White knew this pumpkin couldn't banish evil spirits – one lived within its fortress walls. A poisonous witch so malignant she made Vlad the Impaler look like a children's entertainer.

  Snow White watched the castle from the protective embrace of the surrounding woods. The candles' flames conjured images of Hell's fires burning the souls of sinners and saints. Her stepmother smiled, posing before her hideous mirror. A smile on her face was as rare as a tragic ending to a Rom Com. She was plotting something. It probably wasn't her next Botox party.

  "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

  "Although you haven't aged a bit, Snow White is looking pretty fit," the mirror responded.

  "What?" Crows took flight and dogs howled. Snow White left. "Gothem Shitty? You think she's prettier than me? She looks like the living dead!" The mirror stayed silent. "She's allergic to colour! She thinks skulls are a fashion accessory! Only vampires would find her attractive."

  "She's a goddess of the underworld."

  "If she likes the underworld that much she can bloody well live there!"

  The queen stormed out in a swirl of silk and festering rage. Candles extinguished as she passed, smoke deserting their wicks like dying spirits. Snatching the sharpest knife from the kitchen, she rushed into Snow White's room and stabbed the figure under the black covers. Fifty stabs later, her fury fled and she sank onto the bed. A skeleton hung in a corner like a condemned man. Skulls and swords decorated the violet walls. It looked like Dracula's castle had regurgitated the room.

  She yanked back the cover. "Not so pretty now, Princess of Darkness." The blank eyes of Snow White's life-sized Corpse Bride model stared back.

  "You little bitch!"

  She tore the bri
de's blue head off and flung it into a corner where it knocked over a coffin jewellery box. She marched out, her wrath stalking her like a malevolent shadow. She surrendered to its spreading poison. She paced the drawing room until a revenge plot crawled from behind its dungeon door in her mind and whispered in her ear. She smiled.

  Snow White wouldn't live to see another sunset.

  ***

  In the morning she summoned her favourite huntsman. As she waited she deliberated which smile to use. Playful minx, sultry seductress or cold assassin? She chose playful minx. She was still young enough to carry it off.

  "I need a favour." She stroked his arm. "Take Snow White into the forest and kill her."

  "Kill the king's daughter?"

  "No, his prized pot plant. He won't even notice she's gone – she only comes out at night like other monsters. I want proof. Bring me her heart."

  "Wouldn't a photo be better?"

  "Like some pervy Victorian death shot? Bring me her goddamn heart or I'll roast your chestnuts on an open fire. Capuche?"

  Snow White tiptoed to her room and selected her favourite dagger. The haft had a skull with ruby eyes. Finally, spying on the queen was paying off. She was sick of hearing her moan about her cellulite and she'd never get the image of her doing a strip tease in front of the mirror out of her head. If the queen wanted a heart that badly, Snow White could cut out the queen's and hand it to her gift wrapped. She wouldn't miss it – she'd been functioning without a heart for years. Snow White suspected it wasn't blood running through the queen's veins but battery acid.

  She slipped the dagger up the bat winged sleeve of her top, securing it with her spiked wristband. "Bring it on, Queen of Tarts."

  The huntsman knocked her door. "The queen asked me to exercise some horses but my groom's injured. Any chance you can come?"

  Kill him now or get the jump on him in the woods? She fingered the dagger. Woods. I'll never get bloodstains out of my carpet.

  Her horse, Midnight Kiss, was already tacked up. She mounted and trotted after the huntsman. When they were deep in the woods, his horse swerved and he hit the ground with a crunch. Kind of how she imagined the queen's head would sound if she bashed it in with her spooky tower snow globe. She dismounted, unclipping a chain strap from her trousers. As she neared him, he sprang up and grabbed her. She spun away, kicked him in the back of his knees then wrapped her strap around his throat as he dropped. He clawed at it, gagging, his skin turning an unhealthy shade of crimson kisses.

  "Drop it, punk!"

  He dropped his dagger, gasping and trying to free himself. She yanked the chains tighter. He was like a mood changing ring - first pink promise, then ruby dreams and now a lovely shade of violet fusion, like a furious sunset. She guessed his mood was 'slowly asphyxiating'.

  "You have two choices. Die and be eaten by bears or tell the queen I'm dead." He gasped. She pulled the chains. "One or two?" He shakily raised two fingers. "If you break your promise, I'll gut you like a pumpkin and hang you somewhere to ward off evil spirits."

  She unwound the chains and drew her dagger. He coughed, dropping to all fours. She considered kicking him over and ramming her stiletto into his eye but her boots were custom made by the best Gothic designer. She didn't want them ruined with eyeball gunk.

  He rose, rubbing his throat.

  "Put ice on that," she gestured to his throat with her dagger. "Now piss off and tell the wicked witch I'm dead." She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and pressing her dagger to his throat. "If you hear things going bump in the night, you'd better lock your door, because I'm about to become the queen's worst nightmare."

  She shoved him away. He scurried to his horse, grabbed Midnight Kiss' reins and galloped off.

  "Calls himself a huntsman. He couldn't kill a daisy."

  The horses' hooves faded, replaced by loaded silence. She walked away. The trees' skeletal branches snatched at her hair, whispering nefarious secrets only they understood. A hundred eyes watched her but every time she whirled around, she was alone. The sun exploded, splattering the clouds with its scarlet blood. The moon lowered its veil, mourning the death of another day.

  Her designer boots, although perfect for stamping out eyes, weren't designed for dark woodland treks. The silver heels glinted when moonlight struck them. The chains on her boots and trousers rattled like a ghostly gaoler's keys. She shivered as night's cold caress stroked her skin. She'd brought a dagger but left her coat behind. Now she'd freeze to death and be eaten by bears. No way would she live that down.

  Twigs crunched under invisible feet. A wolf howled, answered by a pack.

  "All I need's a basket and a hooded red cloak then my life would be a fairytale."

  A light flickered ahead, as though Hell's burning brands were guiding sinners to its darkest lair. Anyone lighting a fire in these woods was either a serial killing cannibal cooking his (they were always male. What happened to feminism?) latest victim or boy scouts on a camping trip. She'd rather take her chances with the cannibal. At least she'd have supper after she'd killed him. The sugary sweetness of boy scouts would ruin her cholesterol.

  She crouched behind a tree, peering over a rock. Below sat a cabin looking as innocent as a judge caught in a brothel raid. A man walked past the window. She shrank back into the shadows. A cannibal could live in a cabin. Just because he ate people didn't mean he wasn't civilised. Estate agents didn't require decency ratings alongside the fixtures and fittings.

  Snow White spent the night watching the cabin. She saw seven men come and go, a couple returning with women. She wondered if she'd discovered a male brothel. Seven men didn't live together in the woods for tax reasons. When daylight reared its ugly head, she had cramp, was starving and her bladder was threatening to explode. She found a quiet spot then returned to watch the cabin.

  ***

  The queen paced, clenching her glutes. Goths hated exercise so she'd soon win back the mirror's heart. The huntsman returned.

  "It's done."

  "Where's her heart?"

  He relinquished a tupperware lunchbox. She removed the lid, wrinkling her nose. She held the box up to the light.

  "How can I be sure this is her heart?"

  "See if her name's imprinted on it?"

  "Don't get smart with me and don't tell anyone about this. Remember who killed her."

  She stashed the heart in the fridge, to feed to the king later. Let's see how delightful he finds his daughter when she's lodged in his intestinal tract.

  She headed to her mirror. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

  "You think she's dead, but she is not. Snow White is looking pretty hot."

  "Her heart's cooling in the fridge. You think I'm second best to a corpse?"

  "Snow White's alive."

  "Where is she?"

  "In the woods, playing soldiers."

  The queen emitted a scream a horror movie blonde would be proud of. "Let's see how much she likes graveyards when she's buried in one."

  ***

  Snow White abandoned her hiding place. Nobody had left the cabin for five hours. She circled it. The curtains in the back were open a slit. Seven coffins lay in a row. She'd wanted a coffin bed but she was a fitful sleeper and coffins didn't allow rolling room. There was no sign of the men.

  The front door was locked, but not for long. If that spoilt brat Goldilocks (she'd have to dye her roots or her name would be false advertising) could break into the three bears' cottage, she could lock pick a brothel. The air was as still as an undisturbed crypt. Apart from the coffins, nothing about the cabin screamed 'gothic chic'. She was disappointed. She opened the fridge. Once she'd eaten she'd get as far from the castle as possible.

  Vials of red liquid filled the fridge. She took one out and pulled off the stopper. She sniffed it. It smelled faintly metallic. She took a sip then spat it out.

  Blood.

  She scoured the cabin for weapons. If she was going to survive alone she wanted to
be better armed than a warrior. A warrior wouldn't get molested by a pervy man wandering the woods waiting to find a damsel in distress so he could take her to his castle, chain her up and indulge in his darkest fantasies. She barricaded herself in an upstairs room and made a bed out of blankets and clothes.

  When she woke, it was dark. A muffled shriek fractured the silence. She cursed, removed the barricade and crept downstairs, dagger poised for bloodshed. The only sound was her heart, betraying her with every creaking step. Her breath escaped with treacherous noise. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, remembering the horror film rule - the bad guy was always behind you.

  She whirled around. Nothing but uninviting darkness. She moved towards the kitchen, stubbing her toe on a coffin. She swore, rubbing her foot and hopping, wishing her boots had steel toe caps. She moved through the pulsing darkness and eased the door open, fear like a bed of nails pricking her skin.

  The door slammed shut. She spun around, stabbing her dagger forwards. Her wrist was grabbed so she retaliated with a kick, sending her attacker stumbling backwards. She drew the huntsman's dagger.

  "Bring it on, bitch." She hoped she sounded more hardass than she felt.

  Silence. The type of silence that only comes when a murderer is waiting in the shadows for you to turn your back so he can grab you, throw you in a cage then boil your skin to remove it and recover his furniture because he's too tight to buy fabric. Flames danced seductively to life, their swaying orange bodies casting writhing shadows on the walls. She blinked in the sudden light. The cabin now resembled the dungeon she'd feared.

  A body pressed against hers as her head was wrenched back. She struggled uselessly.

  "Who are you?" A voice asked from the shadows.

  This was the perfect time to reinvent herself. She could never return to the castle and she'd always hated her name. Any parent who named their child Snow White should be arrested on cruelty charges.