by Alana Greig
Fairy Tales Unravelled
Once Upon a time… It all became DEADLY!
Alana Greig
Cover design Marmaduke The Spy
Edited by Britney Andews
Formatting by Crescent Moon
FAIRY TALE UNRAVELLED by Alana Greig
PUBLISHED BY CRAZY INK
THE MORAL RIGHT OF THE AUTHOR HAS BEEN ASSERTED.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ANY REFERENCES TO HISTORICAL EVENTS, REAL PEOPLE, OR REAL PLACES ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. OTHER NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND EVENTS ARE PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION, AND ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL EVENTS OR PLACES OR PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.
© COPYRIGHT ALANA GREIG 2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, STORED IN A RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, OR TRANSMITTED, IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, NOR BE CIRCULATED IN ANY FORM OF BINDING OR COVER OTHER THAN THAT IN WHICH IT IS PUBLISHED AND WITHOUT A SIMILAR CONDITION INCLUDING THIS CONDITION BEING IMPOSED ON THE SUBSEQUENT PURCHASER.
COVER DESIGN © MARMADUKE THE SPY PRODUCTIONS
EDITING BY BRITTNEY ANDREWS
FORMATTING BY CRESCENT MOON DESIGN
Contents
Acknowledgments
Foreword
GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH TERMS
Dear Reader
IT’S TIME TO TUMBLE DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE AND DESCEND INTO THE MADNESS
RABBIT HOLE
ANGEL FACED DEMON
RICHER THAN LOVE
UGLY, BROKEN THINGS
DULL FEATHERS
BAKLAVA AND WISHES
FOREVER YOUNG
THE ARTIST
LUCIFER’S WIFE
ATTACK OF THE MUNCHIES
SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT
CONCRETE CHILD
SKINNER
GINGERBREAD AND THE W.S.G
KILLER HEELS
THE CURSE
TINY VIRUS
TROUGH
Fairy tale Lost
Amber Liquid Tears
VISITATION WITH A MURDERESS
THE HIT
Untitled
Sanguisauge
The Aurora Stone
Coming Soon
Also By Alana Greig
About the Author
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU TO MARMADUKE THE SPY PRODUCTIONS FOR THE COVER. I KNOW WE HAD SOME DO OVERS, BUT I
KNEW WE WOULD GET THERE.
TO EVERYONE WHO THOUGHT ABOUT GIVING UP ON THEIR DREAMS.
DON’T, YOU ARE STRONGER THAN YOU KNOW.
NEVER LET THAT MAGIC INSIDE YOU DIE. THE WORLD NEEDS DREAMERS LIKE YOU.
Foreword
This is a book that never should have been. It is a combination of previously published work and brand-new stories.
There is something evocative about fairy tales and I just didn’t feel like I had scratched the itch with this idea.
This is a collection of my twisted imagination and the classic fairytales that gave me inspiration. Twenty-four retells of some well-known and some you may never have heard of fairy tales that you shouldn’t read to your children at bedtime. I really explored levels of intensity with these short stories. Some are quite tame while others have caused quite a reaction. My husband read some, and one in particular had him turn to me and say, “You are really messed up.”
I took that as a compliment. As an author it is my goal to get a reaction from my readers. It isn’t always going to be a great reaction; that is the risk of putting yourself out there. The written word has always been a huge love of mine and love this or loath it, thank you for taking a chance and purchasing this collection.
One last thing, I am a British author, therefore these tales are written using standard English. I have included a glossary of the more unusual words in the book.
Enjoy your tumble down the rabbit hole of unraveled reality. Try not to get too caught up in the madness.
Alana
GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH TERMS
Caul
The amniotic membrane enclosing a foetus.
Folly
A costly ornamental building with no practical purpose, especially a tower or mock-Gothic ruin built in a large garden or park.
Verge
A grass edging such as that by the side of a road or path.
Puce
A dark red or purple-brown colour.
Put paid to
Stop abruptly; destroy.
By the name of
Called.
Rubbed along
Cope or manage without undue difficulty.
Pyjamas
Night wear, top and bottoms.
Mould
A hollow container used to give shape to molten or hot liquid material when it cools and hardens.
Entrails
A person's or animal's intestines or internal organs, especially when removed or exposed.
Hilt
The handle of a weapon or tool, especially a sword, dagger, or knife.
Squire
A young nobleman acting as an attendant to a knight before becoming a knight himself.
Tell tale
A person, especially a child, who reports others' wrongdoings or reveals their secrets.
Sans
Middle English: from Old French sanz, from a variant of Latin sine ‘without’.
Bairn
A child.
Bonny
Attractive or beautiful.
Wendy House
A play house for children .Term originates from Wendy’s House in Peter Pan.
DEAREST READER, PLEASE TAKE CARE, THE WORLD GOES TOPSY TURVY FROM HERE.
THE STORIES YOU LOVED AT YOUR MOTHER’S KNEE, HAVE BEEN TWISTED AND CORRUPTED AS YOU
WILL SEE.
PLEASE HAVE A CARE WHEN TURNING THESE PAGES, THAT THOSE SMALLER EARS DON’T HEAR THESE
STORIES.
IF YOU STILL DESIRE TO TURN THE NEXT PAGE AND DISCOVER THE WORLD WHERE NIGHTMARES AND
UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTHS REIN. THEN TAKE A BREATH
AND GO ON IN, IT’S ALL THERE WAITING TO TICKLE YOUR BRAIN.
WITH ALL THAT SAID LET US BE CLEAR, IT IS ONLY A STORY BOOK, THERE IS NOTHING REAL TO FEAR.
SO, LET US BEGIN, ARE YOU READY?
ONCE UPON A TIME, IT ALL BECAME DEADLY!
IT’S TIME TO TUMBLE DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE AND DESCEND INTO THE MADNESS
RABBIT HOLE
BASED ON ALICE IN WONDERLAND
Alice was in Wonderland . It was a day like any other the pansies were singing, and Cheshire cat was appearing and disappearing in time with the beat. The tiger lilies purred and dropped pollen in her hair. It wasn’t perfect, but she couldn’t be happier. It was the same dream she had every night. It was the one about being back with her friends in the most magical place she could possibly imagine.
So, the day the White Rabbit appeared in her Surrey back garden came as a bit of a shock. Alice, now twenty- three and a university student of philosophy, was more logical these days. She knew by now, that Wonderland had been a product of her imagination and a place she could only visit in her sleep. Long ago, she’d written it all off as a brilliant daydream that swept her up in her girlhood and kept her safe and content though those summer-filled years. Or so she thought.
Due to this belief, the sight of the rabbit came as quite a surprise. Her glass of milk slipped from her manicured hand and hit the tile floor, creating a loud smashing sound. But she didn’t notice. Alice had bigger problems. In this moment, she needed to see the rabbit up close. Because it couldn’t be the same rabbit. That was impossible. She was
a woman grown, with a partner and a life.
Jill. What would she think? Jill would think she had lost the plot. They had been together two years, but even Alice knew her girlfriend was not ready to take on a crazy person of this particular kind. There was only so much a relationship could take.
Still, she opened the back door and walked down to the garden in her sweatpants and vest top. It was a chilly morning; the breeze whipped her newly dyed pink hair across her eyes. When she was able to see again, she noticed the rabbit was still sitting exactly where she had seen him from the house.
“Hello Mr. Rabbit, are you lost?”
No, but you’re mental.
Was she really addressing a rabbit at eight o’clock on a Tuesday morning in her pyjamas? The rabbit did not answer, which was expected. It was, she reminded herself, a rabbit after all. She wanted to work out why it was just sitting there. As a rule, these animals are scared of everything. It should have run off the moment it saw her or when it caught the scent of her cat.
Still it did not move.
“Well, good morning; I now have to go and clean my kitchen thanks to you.”
Without looking back, Alice returned to her house and carried on with her day.
That night, the dreams started right back up. Back in Wonderland, the gardens were afire with blue flames. The smoke billowed into a violent orange sky. Screams filled the air, and the smell caught in her throat. Alice knew she was in Wonderland once more. But this was not the place of her childhood. This was a place twisted and broken.
She should wake up, then the screams would be no more, and Jill would be next to her, snoring in that cute way she had always snored—two snorts, one pause, two snorts again. Jill was consistent.
Alice, not so much. But at least she was lucky. Usually, she could control her dreams to a degree. If she did not like them, she could wake herself up. She never told anyone this, not even Jill. It was her special thing. Tonight though, this trick was not working. Alice was stuck in the wasteland that had once been her favourite place.
Deciding to explore, Alice made her way through the garden of giant flowers and headed to the Mad Hatter’s house. What she found on her arrival was beyond description. Piles of body parts were stacked on the chairs of his beloved tea table. Bloated flies and maggots were feasting on the soft tissues that were still glistening with moisture.
She let out a sob when she spied Hatter’s hat atop his broken body at the head of the table, blood dripping from its purple brim. She could not stay here, not with the birds that would be next to pick out dead eyes and gorge on bulging intestines, now that she’d opened the door and let the death smell permeate outside.
Instead, she ran. It was some time before Alice stopped running. The mantra of “wake up, wake the fuck up” was as rhythmic as Jill’s snoring, but equally useless. Alice was trapped here, and unless she found a way to wake up, this would be her new reality.
“Alice,Alice, wake up. You just kicked me out of the bed, you crazy bitch.”
Jill staggered to her feet; the fall from their overly high bed onto the hardwood floor was not the wake-up she wanted. Frankly, she never wanted any kind of wake- up at three-thirty in the morning. Stumbling over to her thrashing girlfriend, Jill gripped her by her shoulders and shook her.
“Wake. The. Hell. Up.” Nothing.
She tried holding her nose closed, running her knuckles along Alice’s sternum, and more, but still nothing woke her. The thrashing had stopped, but Alice was out, and a cold sweat had bloomed over her pale skin.
Jill was a tough one who wasn’t known for giving up easily. She was a couple of years older than Alice and worked as a correction officer at the local prison. She had seen it all and then some. Nothing scared her. But the sight of her Alice in bed terrified her. She fell to her knees, praying for someone—anyone—to help her.
Alice fell hard to her knees. Someone had pushed her. The same unseen assailant now threw her onto her back, only to rise her up and throw her down again and again. Excruciating pain shot through her skull. Whoever, or whatever “it” was, wanted her dead. She tried to get up, but found that now she was somehow pinned to the floor. Water mixed with bodily fluids was rising around her inert form. It was at that very moment that Alice knew she was going to die.
Jill was at a loss. She knelt by the bed trying to figure out what to do next. Finally, she stood back up to assess the situation again: Alice had all the signs of drowning; she knew this because Google was a great tool, and she had seen someone drown once. It was a sight she could never forget, and it was all she could think of. Like back then, brown-tinged, rancid water flowed from Alice’s mouth. The smell was horrific; it was as if the room was filled with decaying flesh and excrement. It was the kind of smell that one can taste. Jill gagged. She needed air. But she didn’t have time. Sick to her stomach, she started chest compressions on her girlfriend. She had no clue what the fuck was going on. But there was no way Alice was dying today. Come back to me! It was no use. After twenty minutes of working on her, she ran to get the phone.
The bed was soaked in slimy fluids by the time Jill got back to Alice. She had only crossed the room and back. There was already a puddle on the floor and the comforter was saturated in a tan layer of bile. She had flashbacks of watching horror movies and the drowning she’d never spoken of.
But this was different, almost like a possession. Was that what was happening to her girl? Was she possessed? Jill was an atheist, as was Alice. No religion that told them their love was wrong was worth their time. But right now, she was willing to pray again to any and all higher powers if it meant Alice would live through this night. Climbing back onto the bed, Jill straddled her lover and restarted the lifesaving compressions that would hopefully expel the water from her lungs. The phone was forgotten. It was all on her to save Alice’s life.
Back in Wonderland, filthy water covered Alice. Her last-hope breath before she was submerged was almost spent. Alice knew that this would be one of the most painful ways to die. Her chest burned with the need to breathe; she would soon have no choice, even though it would be the death of her. As reflex took over and the primal need to survive that is hardwired in every human being kicked in, the putrid water rushed into Alice’s open mouth, filling her lungs, choking her. She convulsed. In the water poured, her lungs trying to expel the fluid but on every retching exhale there was a reflexive inhale. Every muscle in her body screamed. She wanted to free herself. The attack left her weak, and her head hurt so much.
My fight to survive this is strong. It became her mantra, and she repeated it over and over again.
She fought the weight of the water as her vision began to cloud. Her chest hurt so much, but she needed to hold on, just a little longer. If she could sit up, she told herself, she had a chance. Her arms burned with the effort. They did not move, but still she tried. Just as she was moments from death, she felt a great pressure on her chest.
This is it, the moment I die. Her mantra was gone.
She wanted to scream; every rib in her chest was bowing and popping. The being was back and was crushing her chest, hastening her death. The pressure forced the water out of her lungs, but it was all in vain. For every agonising compression and the violent expulsion of fluid, there was another rapid intake of the liquid that was killing her.
I love you, Jill.
THE COMPRESSIONS WERE USELESS. Jill knew it. She knew that Alice was dead, but she just couldn’t stop.
Where had the water come from? How can someone spew a lake of shit-filled water and be asleep in bed? What the fuck just happened?
A cry ripped its way through Jill and echoed throughout their home. They had plans. The adoption was only finalised yesterday. Tomorrow they were painting the nursery in anticipation of the arrival of their own little girl. Now, everything was ruined. Alice was dead, and Jill didn’t know how to carry on.
The police needed to be called, she knew that. She would be taken in for questioning for sure. If that
happened, she might lose little Diana. There was no way she could lose both her girls in the same night. She needed to get rid of the body. Burn it, bury it, whatever. There was no way anyone could know that Alice was dead. Looking down at the girl she loved more than anything, Jill kissed her cold, wet mouth. The water had stopped. The taste of the filth made Jill gag again, but she had to kiss her goodbye. In that moment, she felt she had no other choice. She had tried to save her, but this was something beyond the ordinary, and it would take extraordinary measures to patch it up even a little.
Rolling the body in the sodden comforter, Jill was suddenly thankful that they had not started work on the garage yet. The floor had been removed and only bare earth remained. There was a connecting door in the hall, so she would not be seen. She checked the clock, her mind racing, as the adrenaline took over. 4:15. She had time. Throwing the petite Alice over her shoulder, Jill made her way slowly to the garage.
