One night, an old and feeble man came to the prince’s castle gates, knocking on them with his wooden stick.
‘I have been summoned to play chess,’ the old man muttered.
The gates opened to allow him through, and he was escorted to meet the prince. The prince, resting on his throne, looked the man up and down and knew it would be an easy match.
‘If you win, which you shall not,’ the prince spat, ‘you will receive treasures beyond your dreams. What do you have to give to me, old man?’
The man pulled his coat closer around him.
‘You are hiding something from me!’ the prince said.
The prince leapt forward and ripped the man’s coat apart, pulling a golden orb from the inner pocket.
The prince lifted it up to the light and studied it for a moment. ‘Ah … I have heard tales of this rare ornament!’ he gasped in reverence. ‘It was crafted in the depths of my kingdom by a great and mighty sorcerer, who gifted upon it part of his soul. The story goes that anyone who comes to possess it will command its supernatural forces.’
‘So the story goes, m’lord, but I have yet to receive these gifts,’ the old man admitted.
‘Well, you may never! I shall play you for it,’ the prince decided.
The man let out a cry, ‘Your royalness, it is all I have!’
‘Would you refuse your sovereign?’ the prince retorted.
The old man bowed his head accepting his fate, and they sat to start the game. In only eight moves, the prince had knocked the old man’s king down.
‘Checkmate!’ he gloated. He snatched the orb away from the man and ordered him to leave his castle and never return.
At the gates, the old man looked back and, mustering up all his strength, shouted, ‘I was once like you, Prince, young and foolish. You have taken everything from me. But remember, what you sow you shall also reap. And so your lesson will be learned.’
That evening, the prince was preparing for bed, carelessly juggling the golden orb.
‘I wish … to be even richer! I wish … to be known beyond my own land! I wish … to find the most beautiful woman alive!’ the prince declared. ‘If only I knew how this magic works …’
This time the orb slipped through his fingers and fell onto the floor. It bounced up and out of the window, straight into the pond directly below. The prince panicked, and also jumped out of the window and into the pond, since the fall was only short, and the pond deep enough to catch him.
He swam to the bottom, glimpsed the orb reflecting back at him and reached out to grasp it. All at once, he felt a charge through his body, and before he knew it he had been washed up on the pond’s bank with the orb resting on his chest.
Annoyed at this inconvenience, he plodded past his bemused guards, back through his gates and up to his sleeping chamber.
The next morning, the prince awoke in his royal bed. He pushed and pulled at his sheets, but they felt heavy and anchored. He must be tired from his fall, he thought.
His eyes blinked open, and to his astonishment he could see the entire span of the room without moving his head – the world had expanded! Panic was rising in his chest – he must have something in his eye! His arms instinctively reached up to check, and it was then that he saw them – his hands were green!
Stumbling out of bed, he tried to put one foot in front of the other to run, but the room around him was rising and falling. He was jumping!
‘Guard!’ he shouted.
The guard swung the door open. He looked left and right but couldn’t see the prince. Just as he was about to step into the room, he saw a frog jumping up and down at his feet! The guard aimed the point of his sword, deaf to the frog’s faint cries for help, and stabbed at the ground.
The prince leapt back, stunned, and before the guard could aim his sword at him once again, he jumped through the guard’s legs, down the stairs and out through the castle steps, heading straight for the Dark Forest.
He hopped, and hopped, and hopped, until the sun began to set. Feeling tired, he decided to stop and rest on a nearby stone. Watching his castle from afar, he let out a sigh, and eventually dozed off to sleep.
For several days, the frog tried to stop passers-by but was met with screams. He tapped on the doors of dwellings on the edge of the forest but was met with brooms. He tried desperately to find an audience for his story, but being a frog, nobody would lend an ear.
The forest is a very harsh place to be for a little green frog. He learned to swim quickly if there was a ripple on the water, and to jump out of the way of birds swooping down for their prey, and to stretch his tongue to catch unsuspecting flies. As time passed, he resigned himself to his new life. Time eventually lost all importance, and he slipped from memory. Sometime after, the frog was camouflaged on a low leaf, targeting a moth flying close by, when he was distracted by someone singing. The frog jumped off the leaf and hopped towards the sound.
Emerging from the foliage, he saw the most beautiful gardens he had ever beheld. There were rows of flowers in every colour afforded to nature, trees leaning back to soak in the sun and a little stream that fell down and under a wooden bridge.
A path led up towards a gleaming palace. But this was no ordinary structure. Unlike the frog’s sharp, pointy castle, it had smooth, soft edges, circular windows and a thousand colourful tiles lined it. A figure knelt in the soil at the entrance, nestled among the flowers.
The frog cleared his throat and sprang up the path, sitting directly behind her.
It must have been years … perhaps decades, since the frog had spoken to a human. He cleared his throat, and proceeded.
‘Wh … Wh … What a beautiful estate you have, madam,’ the frog said. ‘Is the master at home?’ The frog was quite pleased with his accomplishment.
Without turning, the lady said, ‘There is no master. You are seeking me, the lady of the house.’
She was weaving the soil, and seemed quite content with her own company.
The frog almost turned to leave, but warmth stirred within him; he’d almost forgotten the etiquette of conversation, and was quite enjoying it.
He tried again. ‘Well then, my lady, it is you that I must ask for assistance.’
This time the lady stood and turned. Not seeing a face where she expected, her eyes fell to the ground and caught the beady-eyed frog staring back at her.
To the frog’s astonishment, she didn’t scream or reach for her broom, but simply asked, ‘What assistance are you in need of?’
‘Are you not stunned by my appearance?’ the frog questioned.
‘Well, no, sir. I have lived in the Dark Forest my entire life, and these abnormalities become quite common when they find you so often. You mentioned you needed assistance?’
The frog wasn’t prepared for this moment, and couldn’t find the words to tell his story. He settled on asking for shelter.
‘Well, my lady, I have been travelling for what feels like an eternity. I am very much in need of some shelter, food and rest.’
‘And why, sir, should I let you stay?’
‘Well, I see you have plenty of beautiful flowers. I am quite good at catching flies – I could easily rid you of them in exchange.’
‘Every creature has a part to play in nature. The flies are quite welcome to roam here. What other reasons do you have?’
‘Well …’ The prince thought long and hard, and remembered a skill he had once possessed. ‘I used to be quite good at chess. Do you like to play?’
‘Well, sir, I have indeed been known to play a good game. My chessboard has been growing dusty with no one to play with. That’s a deal – you may stay in exchange for a game of chess.’
The frog was invited in, bathed, rested in a comfortable bed and fed like a king.
That evening, the frog and the lady dined together before the lady set out her chessboard. The frog jumped onto the table and, as promised, they sat to play.
The frog ran his pads over the pieces, trying to r
ecall their familiarity, before nudging them into place with his shoulder. They sat silently, calculating their situation, each taking their turn. The frog was, no doubt, quite rusty, but the lady also had fight in her and wouldn’t lose easily.
Many hours passed, and the chessboard grew bare until, with one fell swoop, the lady knocked down the frog’s king.
‘Checkmate!’, she proclaimed joyously.
The frog slumped his head. It was the second time he’d experienced loss, but the first time he’d ever lost at chess. He sighed; the swirl of emotions was difficult to compress.
Just then, his beady eyes flickered across an item sitting on a high shelf that he never thought he would see again. It was none other than the golden orb that the old man had given him almost a lifetime ago.
He jumped up. ‘My lady, that golden orb … May I ask where you got that from?’
‘Oh, that old thing. It came to me by chance really.’
She poured two glasses of water, pushing one towards the frog, and continued.
‘There was a prince, a long time ago, who was arrogant and self-centred and could not see beyond his own nose. One day, the prince simply … disappeared. Some say it was one of his victims taking revenge, but the body was never discovered. With no successor, all of the contents in the prince’s castle were returned to the sorry souls who had owned them originally. Some owners could not be found, and their things were sent to auction. That is how I found this item. I was told the owner had died, cold and alone, on the streets … poor man.’
The lady noticed the frog sat quietly and deep in thought. ‘Do you know this story?’ she asked.
After a moment, the frog replied, ‘Better than most. Would you allow me to hold it?’
The lady obliged, but just as she reached, almost with a life of its own, the orb jumped from the shelf and landed neatly into the frog’s water glass!
Bobbling there, the frog cautiously peered at it through the side and, with a hesitant hand, reached in to pull it out. As his hands clasped the orb, the frog felt a sensation he’d experienced before – there was a charge through his body.
His eyes blinked open. He had been jolted to the floor.
‘Are you all right?’ the lady wheezed, taken aback by the sight before her.
She extended her hand to help him up, and he reached forward to accept it, but paused. He was distracted by his own hand; no longer green – but a human hand toughened and freckled with age.
‘A mirror – do you have a mirror?’ the frog croaked.
The lady rushed away, and came back with a hand mirror. The frog looked into it, but there was no longer a frog staring back at him.
Staring back at him was a man. He was time-worn and weary. Life had marked his skin with scratches and creases; his hairline had receded and the light had left his eyes.
He slumped his head. ‘I asked to be rich, and I have been given a wealth of spirit. I asked to be known across all the lands, and I will forever be known as the prince who disappeared. I asked to meet the most beautiful woman in the land, and here I have found you, although not in the circumstances I wished for. A jest on me, for all I had truly wanted was time to live a fulfilling life.’
He thanked the lady for her hospitality and that evening, with a cloak pulled over his head, and wearing clothes the lady had found for him, the man fled into the forest. Never to be seen from or heard of again.
Beardunzel
Annie Edge
So, there’s this couple and the thing they want most in the world is a child. Sound familiar?
The wife has a craving for lettuce. (Lettuce? Yep, that slimy green stuff that sits on top of your burger.)
‘I need lettuce NOW!’ she roars.
Of course, in fairytales they don’t have supermarkets. And, as you know, lettuces don’t grow on trees. The couple is poor, the husband doesn’t earn much money as a carpenter and he doesn’t know anything about gardening.
His wife keeps wailing, ‘Give me lettuce, juicy lettuce!’
Short of stuffing a couple of cucumbers in his ears to block out the sound, the carpenter doesn’t know what to do. But considering the couple is as successful at growing cucumbers as they are lettuces, he’s stuck.
Hang on, the woman next door grows lettuces; he’s spotted them out of the bathroom window. Surely she wouldn’t miss one measly lettuce? Although he knows it’s wrong, in the dead of night, the poor carpenter climbs into the neighbour’s garden to steal one.
‘GOTCHA!’
Did I forget to mention that the woman next door is an old witch?
Well, she is. She is mean and she is nasty. She smells like the kitchen bin when no one can be bothered to empty it and her wand is bulging with horrible spells.
Anyway, when the terrified carpenter sees her crumpled bag of a face, he says the first thing that pops into his head.
‘Let me have this lettuce and I’ll let you have … my wife’s first-born child.’
Duh! The carpenter isn’t the sharpest nail in the toolbox but you can guess what happens next, can’t you?
That’s right, the wife – after years and years of wishing and wanting – is going to have a baby. And after a bit (well, about nine months), the wife gives birth to a baby boy.
‘It’s the happiest day of my life!’ she shrieks.
And it is, for about ninety seconds.
Because, of course, the carpenter has to tell his wife the truth.
‘My dearest love, I’m so very sorry but I agreed to swap our darling baby boy for a lettuce!’
His wife can’t believe it.
‘No, no, no,’ she says. ‘That old witch is not having my baby. Not on your nelly.’
‘Don’t worry,’ says the carpenter. ‘I’ll sort the whole thing out.’
On Monday, he goes round next door and rings the old witch’s doorbell. He has a funny feeling in his tummy (which could have been last night’s curry), but he doesn’t run away. The witch answers the door in her slippers and the carpenter tries passing the witch a great big enormous turnip wrapped in a blanket.
‘What’s this? What’s this?’ she cries. ‘You promised me a baby boy, not a giant vegetable!’
And she slams the door in his face.
On Tuesday, the carpenter goes round and rings her doorbell again. He has a funny feeling in his tummy and his knees wobble. Again, the old witch answers the door in her slippers and the carpenter takes a deep breath …
‘Would you believe it, a spaceship landed in the garden just last night and this hideous creature climbed out and took the baby,’ he says.
‘What’s this? What’s this?’ the old witch cries. ‘Are you trying to trick me? I’m not a doddering old fool, you know!’ she says as she points to the telltale patch of baby sick on the carpenter’s shoulder.
And she slams the door in his face.
On Wednesday, the carpenter goes round and rings the doorbell for the final time. He has a funny feeling in his tummy and his knees wobble and his voice comes out like he’s been sucking on a helium balloon, but he goes down on his knees and begs the old witch to let him keep his boy.
‘He’s got a good kick,’ says the carpenter, ‘and I think he could be a Premier League footballer when he grows up.’
But the witch does not budge.
‘Give me the child and I promise to love and care for him as if he were my own,’ she says. ‘And if you don’t …’ Her eyes twinkle like black spiders racing across your hand as she takes the wand from her onesie and points it at him.
The carpenter has no choice. With a heavy heart, he hands over his baby boy.
Love and care?
As if …
The old witch builds Beardunzel a small shed in the garden. But he keeps opening the door and crawling out …
‘Get back in there!’
So she builds him a bunker with no doors and only one window. But he keeps climbing out …
‘Get back in there!’
So she builds
him a taller shed with no door and no windows. But he keeps tunnelling out …
‘Get back in there!’
By this time, her garden is full of sheds and the local planning office is not happy.
So she builds a tower. The tower has a concrete floor. The tower has no door. The tower has no stairs. And the tower has only one window, right at the very top.
‘Let’s see you get out of that!’ says the witch.
How does the witch visit the boy? Well, she stands at the base of the tower and shouts,
‘Beardunzel, Beardunzel, let down your beard!’
And the boy, having reached the grand old age of seventeen (yes, that’s right, we’ve jumped on a bit in time), now has a great long beard which he unrolls to the ground. And the witch climbs up.
Is Beardunzel pleased to see the old witch every time her crumpled bag of a face appears at his window?
In a word – NO.
Does Beardunzel think that the old witch is his mummy?
In another word (in fact, exactly the same word) – NO.
Does Beardunzel know who his real mummy is?
You bet he does!
How? I hear you ask.
Well, for all those years, Beardunzel’s mummy hadn’t forgotten about him. She thought about him every time she tucked into a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich and she thought about him every night before she went to sleep. All that time, she knew he was just over the fence but she was too terrified of the old witch and her magic powers to pop next door and get him. Every morning she went out into the garden and sang her son a song. The song went like this (to the tune of ‘Happy Birthday to You!’):
I’m so lone-ly without you
I just don’t know what to do.
Will you ever come back to Mumm-y?
Beardunzel, I love you.
Each day, Beardunzel heard his mum’s voice and watched her from the top of his tall tower. He longed to send her a message and let her know that he loved her too.
But every afternoon at one o’clock he knew he would hear another voice – a voice that he dreaded.
Once Upon A Fairytale Page 7
