Unhappily Ever After: Fairy Tales With a Twist

by Anchor Group Publishing

  So I get to the mansion, and it's just like the professor said. A huge, beautiful brick house with white columns up front, and a big circle drive. I hopped out of the car and walked around the back of the mansion. There was a garden that went as far as you could see, filled with all these different flowers—little waves of yellow, pink, and purple. I thought to myself, this is perfect, just perfect. I picked out a little grassy spot in the back, surrounded by a circular flower bed, and decided that's where I was gonna propose to my Jorinda.

  So now I had the ring, and I had the place, and all I needed was to get Jorinda out there. I checked the schedule the professor lady gave me, and picked a Thursday afternoon. Then I went to the grocery store and got all the good picnic food I could think of. I got a huge bag and a big old blanket, and had everything in my car ready to go. The ring was in my pocket, and I was so nervous I wanted to puke, but excited, too. Real excited. I couldn't wait for Jorinda to be my wife.

  That Thursday, I got up real early and made my Jorinda pancakes, just like she likes—with lots of butter and no syrup, and hot coffee on the side—and I said to her, “You don't have any rehearsals or nothing today, do you?”

  And she said, “No,” and gave me this look, like she had half an idea of what I'm planning, so I tried to cover my steps.

  I told her, “I was just wondering, because if not, I was thinking we could spend the day together. I don't have any football practice, either.”

  Of course, she was happy because usually one of us is busy, so we wheeled around downtown and walked a bit and window shopped, then when lunch time rolled around I told her, “I got a place in mind to eat.”

  She looked at me a bit suspicious, but said, “Okay,” and hopped back in my car. I drove off, heading down to that old mansion to set up our picnic. We pulled into the front, and Jorinda gasped a little bit. “This place is beautiful,” she said, and I just nodded because it really was. It was like something out of a fairy tale.

  I grabbed the bag I packed out of the trunk of my car, and we made our way back to that grassy spot I had picked out. When we get there, there was already a picnic laid out for us. I was confused—all the food I bought was sitting in the bag in my hand. And anyway, this spread was a hell of a lot nicer than anything I could afford. The picnic blanket was new, not the old raggedy one I had brought. There was a proper basket laying there, with crystal glasses already filled with wine. I only had some little plastic cups, and the bottle of wine I packed didn't look near as fancy as the one sitting in the bucket of ice.

  Well, Jorinda, she's just beside herself. “This is for me?” she said, squeaking a little bit. You know how women do when they get excited. I didn't have the heart to tell her no, that our real picnic is sitting in my hand and I don't know who all this stuff belongs to, so I just nodded.

  Man, I was such a fool. I wish I had said something …

  … but there I go, jumping ahead again. So we settled ourselves on the blanket, and pulled out some of the food. There's pears and grapes and peaches, and they all looked perfect, exactly ripe. Then Jorinda pulled out a few blocks of cheese that I knew were expensive because they didn't even sell those kinds at the grocery store. It was the kind you buy at the fancy specialty shops downtown. She's digging in, all excited, munching on a bit of this, a bit of that. It was all so weird to me, and something felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

  Jorinda stared at me being all quiet, and said, “Now, sugar, why aren't you eating? I know you're hungry.” I was hungry—God knows I was hungry—but I was nervous, and that picnic already set out for us? That didn't make me less nervous, not by a long shot. However, I figured everything had been going perfectly so far so I might as well propose.

  I pulled the ring out of my pocket, in that pretty little box that the crazy old lady gave me, and said, “Jorinda, honey, will you marry me?” She got all wide-eyed, gasped, and planted the biggest kiss you've ever seen right on my lips.

  And she said, “Of course I'll marry you. There's no one else I'd rather be with.” She grabbed the box, stared at the ring, and cooed. “You got me a pearl, honey. It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect.”

  Her smile—oh my, her smile—it was brighter than the sun, and I relaxed for a moment. Jorinda was gonna be my wife.

  Then she got a devilish little glint in her eye and said, “Let's have a toast! To you and me, to our future.” She reached for one of the crystal glasses laying on the blanket, the ones already filled with wine. I grabbed the other one, and said, “To us,” and we both took a long sip.

  That was when I knew I made a mistake, when I knew I should have said something. Little Jorinda's eyes went glassy, and she laid down all of a sudden, spilling the wine down the front of her shirt. It looked like blood.

  And me? Well, I was frozen. I couldn't move. I was para—what's the word again? Yeah, paralyzed. I could move my eyes, but nothing else seemed to work. Not my mouth, not my arms, not my legs. I wanted more than anything to reach down to Jorinda, to grab her and hold her close to me and take her to the hospital, but I could no more do that than jump to the moon.

  [Let the record show that Mr. Jay Dale Walker's tox screen was inconclusive]

  I sat there for what seemed like an hour. I could see Jorinda was still breathing, but other than that she made no move. I looked back to the house, wondering if anyone would ever find us, when I saw a small dark figure come near.

  It was hunched, this shape, and all wrapped up in black cloth. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Some moments, it looked like an animal; other moments, I was sure it was a person. It crawled, or walked, or maybe floated over to us. It was hard to tell, especially since I was scared and worried out of my mind.

  This figure—let's call it that—came over to the picnic blanket. The figure was small, no taller than a child, but it reached over and picked up my Jorinda like she was a feather. Then the figure turned to me and said, “The wine will wear off. You are to leave here and never return.”

  That voice was so scratchy and throaty, it was like something that would come from the devil's mouth. It scared me, scared me real bad, but now I was even more angry than scared. That thing, it had my Jorinda. It had my wife. If I could've moved …

  … but that's the trick, isn't it? I couldn't move, so I couldn't do anything. That figure, it just drifted off toward the house, holding up my Jorinda like she was a trophy.

  It was hours—the longest hours of my life—until I could move again. We had gotten there for lunch around one or so. The sun was starting to set when I could finally move my head again, and it was dark before my legs would cooperate.

  Like I said, I was terrified, but I was so mad it covered the fear right up. I couldn't feel anything in me expect that madness. My skin was all hot like it was on fire, you know? The first thing I did, when my legs were steady enough to hold me, was march right up to that house. I wanted Jorinda back.

  I ran up to the house and began beating on the door, but there was no answer. So then I tried the doorknob. I guess I thought that thing might've left it open, but it was locked. So I tried kicking the door. Now look at me. Look at me real good, Detective. I am not a small man.

  [Let the record show that Mr. Walker is 6'4” and weighs 240 pounds]

  I kicked on that door for an hour at least, and it did not budge. It was just a wooden door. You know how easy those things go down. It didn't move, didn't splinter, nothing. I didn't even knock off the paint.

  I was crazy out of my mind, and since the door wasn't moving I figured I'd try a window instead. I ripped off my shirt, wrapped it around my knuckles, and punched the window closest to the door. The doctor said I broke three of my fingers. That's why I got this wrap on it.

  At that point, I was steaming, but it didn't seem like I was getting in that house any way. I decided I would go call the police and report it. I checked my pocket for my phone, but it must've fallen out at some point, so I went back to the picnic blanket to go get it.

&nb
sp; The picnic blanket was gone. Not a trace. I mean, you couldn't even see that someone had been sitting on the grass—it wasn't flattened down or nothing. It was like the earth has just opened up and swallowed the picnic whole. Oh man, my heart dropped like a lead weight. You wanna know why I didn't call the police? That's why. I thought to myself, Now Jay, who in the hell is gonna believe this? No one, that's who.

  But Jorinda was gone, and I had to do something.

  ***

  Even though the blanket and the picnic and Jorinda had all vanished, my car was still sitting up front in the driveway. Imagine that! I was sure I was gonna have to hoof it from that place back to my apartment. It really rattled me. Why would someone take the freakin' picnic, steal my Jorinda, but leave my car? I didn't know. I wasn't sure what to do next.

  I hopped in my car and drove. I couldn't even tell you where exactly I went. I just went. I had about a thousand things jumping around in my head—who could I tell? What would I tell them? And the worst of it? They always suspect the boyfriend first. Me. I hate that I was thinking that way, but I couldn't help it. I was the last person out with Jorinda, and then she vanishes on the back of some dark figure. Hell, I'd be suspicious of me.

  I had to call somebody, anybody, somebody who would listen to me. So I called Jorinda's mother. I know. I know that was a crazy thing to do. I tried to explain it to her and she said she was calling the cops. I tried to tell there was no way they'd believe me, but hey, what do I know. She called them anyway.

  You know the next bit as well as I do, detective.

  [Let the record show that Mr. Walker was held for 48 hours for questioning, then released]

  I know some of your people thought I was 'unreliable'. Well, maybe I am. Your boys told me they talked to that professor lady, searched the house, and didn't find anything. But I saw what I saw. As soon as I got back home after … after your boys questioned me, I went straight to bed. I was so exhausted, I couldn't have lifted my eyelids for nothing. Everything was wearing down on me. So I slept.

  When I slept, I kept having the freakiest dream. I mean, freaky, freaky-with-a-capital-F. I dreamed I was back in that weird shop where I bought the pearl ring. I remember thinking in the dream that this is what that lady meant by sorrows—no Jorinda by my side. But she said the sorrow could be overcome.

  In my dream, I walked to the back of the store and rang the little brass bell on the counter. Out comes the crazy-looking woman, her hair a bird's nest, jewelry clinging and clanging with every step. And she said, “Ah, it's you. I hoped we would not meet again.”

  “Here I am anyway,” I said.

  “Here you are,” she agreed, and smiled a bit. “I told you your sorrow could be overcome, yes?”

  I nodded like a fool till my head about fell off. That was what I wanted to know—how to overcome the sorrow and get my Jorinda back.

  “Use the ring,” she said. “The ring will unlock doors, reveal secrets. You have the ring, yes?”

  The ring! I had forgotten it at the house that night. It was the last thing on my mind. I had no idea where the ring was. It might have vanished like the picnic had. I about lost it when I thought of that.

  “I don't have the ring,” I told the lady, and her face fell almost as much as mine did.

  She grabbed my arm, real tight. Squeezing it, she said, “Find it. You must find it and use it to bring back Jorinda.”

  ***

  I woke up in a cold sweat. I'm sure you can imagine. I lost Jorinda and I lost the ring. I made up my mind—I would go back, I would find the ring like the old woman said.

  Hmm? Oh, you wanna know why I followed a dream? Now that you mention it, I can't really say why. I think it's because it was one of those dreams that feels more real than real life. You know the ones I mean? Where you wake up, and you think the world is a dream. There was more color, more feeling, more everything. And the old woman seemed so honest. I had a feeling that was what I was supposed to do.

  I got back in the car, and it was about all I could do not to cry on the way over there. That front seat, next to me? That was where Jorinda had been, where she would have been right then if I hadn't let her get stolen away. I panicked. What if I couldn't find the ring? But I couldn't accept that. I had to find it, and then use it somehow to find my girl.

  I finally pulled up to the house. You know how I said it looked beautiful before? It sure didn't look that way when I got there. The house looked like a crypt. Dark, empty looking. The windows were like dead eyes staring at me. It sent chill bumps all down my arms.

  I turned my head from the house, headed into the back yard, and started searching. I looked up and down that garden, dug in the flower beds, the whole nine yards. I thought I had only been searching for a few minutes, but when I looked up again it was dark, so I hopped back in my car and headed home.

  ***

  That night, I had another freaky dream. I was back in the shop where I bought the ring, but the old lady was right in the middle of the floor, waiting for me.

  “Did you find the ring?” she asked me.

  “No,” I told her. “I searched all day.”

  “You must keep looking for it,” said the woman. “You must search until you find it.”

  “What then?” I asked her. I still didn't understand what I was supposed to do with the damn thing once I'd found it. How could a little ring help get Jorinda back?

  “You'll know when you find it,” the woman said.

  ***

  I woke up, still shaking from the dream. It was barely daylight—maybe a bit after six—and I hadn't eaten anything the day before, but I got straight in my car and headed back to that house. I felt like I'd completely lost my mind. Here I was, searching for a silly ring, when what I really wanted back was Jorinda! But for some reason I trusted that old woman, so I kept searching.

  This kept up for more than a week, I'd guess. I lost ten pounds, easy. I couldn't eat, could barely sleep. All I did all day was look for that ring.

  Finally, finally, I found it. It was late afternoon, and the sky had just started to get a pink tinge at the ends. I was walking along the far edge of the garden, almost into the woods. This little bird kept hopping around and around in circles, almost as if calling me over. I turned to see what it was doing, and in its beak was the ring.

  I was flippin' out, thinking the bird was gonna fly off with the ring, but it just hopped closer and closer to me. I opened my hand, and the bird fluttered over and dropped the ring in my hand.

  I know—it's unbelievable. That face you're making? That's probably about what I looked like, too. Like I said before, this stuff is too crazy for me to make up.

  Anyway, the old lady, she told me I'd know what to do as soon as I got the ring. Well, I held it and held it, and kept expecting something to suddenly pop in my brain. Nothing did.

  So then I decided to put the ring on my finger, you know, so it wouldn't get lost again. I put it on my pinky—couldn't get it much past this first knuckle—and then it hit me, wham, what I needed to do.

  The old lady had said that the ring would unlock doors. The back door was locked. Somehow, I knew that if I touched the lock with the ring, it would open.

  I know, I know that's crazy. I know I should've called the cops or whatever, but as soon as I got the ring, the only thing I could think about was getting Jorinda. You would've done the same for your girl.

  I sprinted to the door and tapped the doorknob with the ring. I heard the lock unlatch, click open. I threw the door open and stepped inside.

  The house was empty. Not completely bare, but it was a normal house. Furniture. Paintings on the wall. Nice rugs on the floor. It was very still, very quiet, like no one had been there in years, but there wasn't dust nowhere, no cobwebs in the corners. It was spooky. I walked around, but the only noise was my own footsteps. Creepy, man. Real creepy.

  I went down the hallways, peeked into each of the rooms. They were bedrooms, bathrooms, normal stuff. Completely normal stuff. I look
ed up and down everywhere, under the sofas and beds, in the closets, the whole deal.

  Then I went upstairs, and did the same thing. There was nothing! It was like being in a museum. The furniture was all in its place, set just so.

  I didn't understand it. I saw Jorinda get carried in there. I knew she had to be in the house somewhere. So I looked again and again. I felt like a psycho, walking in circles through the house. I checked each room, checked each closet, then I realized ...

  … one of the bedrooms didn't have a closet. Only one room. Instead, there was a wardrobe in the corner, tucked out of the way. It hadn't even stuck out in my head the first three or four times I stepped into the room.

  I tried the door on the wardrobe, but it was locked. I pulled harder, and harder, then tried kicking it, but it didn't move.

  Then I remembered the ring. I tapped the lock on the bureau with it, and it swung wide open. Inside were steps leading down, down, down. It was pitch black, so I had no idea how far down they went.

  I kept one hand along the wall, trying not to fall down the stairs. I kept stepping down, down and down. It felt like I walked down a mile, like I had walked straight down to hell. There was another door at the end of this stairway, locked. This time, I didn't even fuss with trying to pull it open, especially not in the pitch dark. I just tapped it with the ring, and it opened on its own.

  Now there was light. The stairwell opened into some creepy room lined with stones. It was cold, damp, with moss growing on the walls. Regular Frankenstein stuff. There were torches on the wall, flickering. They only gave off a little light, but it was enough to see what was going on down there.

  I had come for my Jorinda. Well, guess what detective? Guess what I saw?

  Dozens of girls lined that room. They were chained to the wall, beaten, laying in their own filth. One started to scream when she saw me, but the rest calmed her down.

  “It's not her,” they said. “Be quiet. Maybe he can get us out.”

  I wanted to find my Jorinda, but I couldn't leave those girls there. They looked miserable, like they hadn't eaten in days, or bathed in weeks. They had those metal chains on, around their ankles and wrists, like the kind you see in those old movies. Some of the girls, they were bloody under the chains, I guess from pulling so hard on them. I touch the ring to the chains, and they popped opened. Those girls ran up the stairs, ran as fast as they could out of that room, out of that house.