Glasgow Fairytale

by Alastair D. McIver

  Nonetheless, he crossed the room to the sword in the stone and read the inscription aloud: ‘Only the true King of the Beanstalk can remove this sword.’

  ‘Aye,’ said the tiny woman. ‘The giant’s been trying for years to nab it, but he’s had nae luck. Must no be the true king.’

  The ground shook. The chandelier rattled. Huge footsteps thundered down the corridor.

  The ostrich was so afraid, it laid another golden egg.

  ‘Hide!’ whispered Jack, grabbing Rapunzel by the hand and dragging her under the bed.

  ‘You’re supposed to grab the sword first, Brainiac!’ cried the tiny woman in despair.

  The door of the giant’s bedroom flew open.

  From Jack’s hiding place, he caught a glimpse of the hideous beast: an incredibly ugly giant of a man with a chewed-up nose, beady eyes and hair like a jungle. And as for his size … Jack and Rapunzel could both fit comfortably into one of his boots (if they could only stand the smell).

  ‘FEE FIE FO FUM!’ cried the giant. ‘I SMELL THE BLOOD OF AN ENGLISHMAN!’

  ‘I’m no English!’ cried an outraged Jack, realising an instant too late that he had given himself away.

  ‘Too thick to live,’ the tiny woman concluded gloomily, shaking her head.

  ‘WORKS EVERY TIME,’ boomed the giant, and he plucked Jack from under the bed and popped him in his giant mouth.

  It all went very dark.

  Very dark, very wet and very smelly.

  Only by clinging fast to a gigantic mouth ulcer did Jack escape being swallowed.

  Jack fumbled for Jill’s phone, which had a built-in torch, turned it on and flooded the giant’s oral cavity with light, while wrestling desperately with the giant’s huge, slimy tongue. He kicked against the teeth, rapidly losing hope of survival.

  Then he saw hope; one of the giant’s teeth had a giant filling.

  In the instant before he was crunched like a pretzel, Jack produced a set of metal keys and jammed them hard against the filling.

  The giant roared with the distinctive pain of ‘filling shock’, and Jack saw a parting of his lips just big enough to jump through.

  As luck would have it, Jack landed on the soft bed, and so escaped serious injury. He untucked the giant sheet, slid down it to the floor, then made a run for the sword.

  The giant moved to chase his much smaller enemy, but in his haste failed to notice that Rapunzel had wrapped her hair around his legs.

  Jack pulled the sword out easily and held it up, just as the giant fell face-first upon it. In an instant, he was dead.

  Jack wiped his sword on the dead giant’s clothes while Rapunzel retrieved her hair.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ cried Rapunzel, flinging her arms around him. Jack barely seemed to notice.

  The King of the Beanstalk wasted no time in using his sword to open the cages of the tiny woman and the ostrich. The ostrich nuzzled him gratefully.

  Jack’s world was spinning; giant or no, he had just killed someone. That was a lot to take in. Everything that had happened since he went to Dungavel was a lot to take in. He suddenly realised that Rapunzel was holding him up.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘None of us will be okay if we don’t get oot o’ here,’ cried the tiny woman.

  The ground trembled and the mirrors and chandelier began to shatter. Lightning seemed to streak across the ceiling. ‘See that giant? See his existential life-energy that comes fae the Magical Realm? It was mystically linked to the cohesive life force o’ the entire beanstalk!’

  ‘What?’ cried an increasingly befuddled Jack, as the alarmed ostrich laid yet another golden egg.

  ‘Let’s see if I can put it in words even you’d unnerstaun,’ snapped the tiny woman. ‘Um … see this beanstalk? It’s aboot to explode!’

  ‘What?’ cried Rapunzel, her eyes wide. ‘We have to get out of here, now!’

  ‘Wish I’d thought o’ that!’ said the tiny woman.

  Jack gathered his wits about him. This was, indeed a serious predicament.

  He picked up the tiny woman and stuck her in his shirt pocket.

  ‘I’m Thumbelina, by the way,’ said the tiny woman. ‘Everyone cries me Thumbsy.’

  ‘I’m Jack,’ said Jack. ‘This is Rapunzel. Pleased to meet ye. We’re riding out of here on the ostrich.’ With that, he boarded the bird.

  ‘I’m destined to marry the King of the Pixies,’ said Thumbsy, almost conversationally. ‘Ostriches cannae fly, by the way.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jack, as Rapunzel climbed up behind him and put her arms around his middle, ‘but they can run awfae fast.’

  ‘Doon a beanstalk?!’

  ‘Let’s find out! YAH! YAH!’

  The ostrich laid another golden egg and charged forth, dashing along the castle’s corridors which were collapsing around them.

  Clearing the castle, Jack and Rapunzel dared not look behind them as they heard the roar of the explosion.

  The ostrich seemed to know what to do: it dived down the hole in the floor of solid cloud, and charged at incredible speed, in a spiral pattern, round and down the beanstalk, its feet momentarily touching a branch or vine with every brief step.

  The wind threatened to wrench Jack from the back of the ostrich. The round-and-round motion of its run made him dizzy and nauseous. He heard what he thought was wind … no, it wasn’t wind. He felt the heat and saw the light reflected on the ground below. The beanstalk was exploding, a foot at a time, right above his head. They were only one step ahead of the blast.

  ‘The answer is yes,’ Rapunzel yelled over the wind.

  ‘What?’ cried Jack, who was distracted by their probable imminent death.

  ‘Yes, I will marry you!’

  Jack instantly forgot their probable imminent death, and his nausea, and let a roar of triumph fill the exploding Glasgow sky.

  ‘Big deal,’ grumbled Thumbsy from his shirt pocket. ‘I’m destined to marry the King of the Pixies.’

  They landed on what was left of the Squinty Bridge just before the explosion hit the Clyde and sent gallons of water and tons of bridge flying in every direction.

  They crashed through the police cordon, much to the astonishment of the policeman on duty, who quickly adjusted his hat and said, ‘Excuse me, Sir, is this your ostrich?’

  Jack dropped the sword and dismounted, as did Rapunzel, as the sound of blaring sirens drew nearer.

  ‘This is low profile, right?’ asked Rapunzel.

  * * *

  ‘SCANDAL! ASYLUM CHEAT ESCAPES AND GETS LEAVE TO REMAIN’, cried one hysterical headline.

  ‘ASYLUM CROOK CAMERON GETS MULTI-MILLION MOVIE DEAL’, complained another.

  ‘WHAT HAPPENED UP THERE, ANYWAY?’ wondered a third.

  One newspaper even decided to sculpt reality a little: ‘ASYLUM FRAUD IN BRIDGE BANG INVESTIGATION: POLICE UNABLE TO PROVE TERROR LINK.’

  But for the most part, Glasgow took the whole thing in its stride:

  ‘I see that beanstalk’s away.’

  ‘Oh, aye. Blew up, so it did.’

  ‘What d’ye reckon happened to it?’

  ‘Och, just wan o’ they things, i’nt it?’

  ‘Aye. Some weather we’ve been getting, eh?’

  As for Jack, Rapunzel, Upenda and Thumbsy, things went rather well for them after that.

  Jack was questioned at length by police about the sword and the beanstalk, but they had to accept his story, for there was no evidence to disprove it.

  He did get a movie deal for his extraordinary story, and between that and his ostrich that laid the golden eggs, he was a rich man.

  Rapunzel was released, and reunited with Upenda.

  Jack and Rapunzel bought a doll’s house for Thumbsy, who reminded them that she was destined to marry the King of the Pixies as often as possible.

  Life was good, but to say that they lived happily ever after would, at this stage, be premature.

  CHAPTER 9

  Wee Red Hoodi
e made the mistake of muttering under her breath in front of her granny.

  ‘You dare swear at me?’

  ‘I wasnae swearing,’ Red pleaded. ‘Honest I wasnae.’

  ‘And noo you’re lying to me?’

  ‘No!’ Red started to cry. She hated herself for it. Anything was better than crying in front of Granny.

  Spurred on by this sign of weakness, Granny grabbed Red by the hair.

  ‘We all know what happens to wee lassies that swear and tell lies, don’t we?’

  The old woman dragged her granddaughter to the bathroom and washed her mouth out with soap, then gave her a couple of kicks for good measure.

  Red crawled back through to the living room.

  ‘Ye’ll get my shopping for me,’ Granny informed her and wrote out an illegible list, which she handed to Red.

  Red despaired. ‘So what have I to get?’

  ‘Can ye no read?’

  Red took a deep breath and prepared for the inevitable. ‘It’s a wee bit hard to read your writing.’

  Granny shoved the pencil, rubber-end-first, right up Red’s nose.

  ‘Go!’ the old woman screamed. ‘And don’t you dare forget anything!’

  * * *

  Red sniffed and snorted and snorted and sniffed. The discomfort of having had something rammed up her nose lingered.

  She clenched her fists and bit her lips, determined not to cry, but her eyes filled with water.

  She leaned against a lamppost saying, ‘I wish she would die! I wish the horrible old bag would just die!’

  ‘That’s a rather indiscreet thing to say, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ came a voice.

  Startled, she looked around her.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she asked, shaking with fear.

  ‘I apologise for not showing myself,’ said the voice. ‘I fear my appearance would frighten you.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ insisted the youngster, and crossed to the other side of the road.

  In the next moment a wolf was in front of her; a wolf whose face was burned in places and who was missing patches of fur. Red screamed.

  The Wolf’s paw was over her mouth in an instant.

  ‘I did warn you,’ said the Wolf. ‘Now, calm down, stop struggling and I’ll release you.’

  She did and he did.

  ‘Good,’ the wolf went on. ‘Now, tell me more about this wish of yours, to see an “old bag” dead?’

  ‘That’s nane o’ your business!’ spat the child, fearful now that she might be told on.

  ‘Of course not,’ the Wolf remarked, casually. ‘Just seems a strange thing to say in this city in the current climate. Most people have grown extremely wary of wishing out loud, since the mysterious beanstalk saga became the biggest news story. Especially wishes one might … rather not come true.’

  ‘Aye, well …’ Red crossed her arms. ‘Who says I’d rather it didnae?’

  ‘My dear child, let us be candid with each other. Do you or don’t you want your grandmother to die?’

  ‘Aye. Well, naw. Well, sometimes. Look, you don’t know what it’s like for me.’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ said the Wolf. ‘I’ve been watching you. I know how you’ve suffered at the hands of that monster. I would not blame you at all if you were moved to … desperate measures.’

  Red shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘So … what if I said I could help you? What if I said that I could make your granny disappear forever? All you have to do is nod?’

  ‘I’d say ye were a psycho. Now, I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Ahh, but if you give me the nod,’ said the Wolf, ‘you would not have to hurry. The beating you’d get – whether late or not – would never happen. Trust me.’

  Something in his voice did make her trust him. It was a gentle, reassuring, velvety voice; the sort of voice that can tell you everything’s going to be alright, and you believe it.

  ‘Think about it,’ said the Wolf, circling her now. ‘You are close to the beginning of your life. She is near the end of hers. She hates your freedom, and I can feel your yearning, your aching to be free.’

  She frowned and tried to radiate indifference with her body language. ‘So what?’

  ‘So, she has caused you nothing but pain. Surely you don’t feel compassion towards her? Surely you don’t … love her?’

  ‘What ye asking me to dae?’

  ‘Nothing you don’t want to,’ replied the Wolf, mimicking her nonchalance. ‘If you want to reclaim your life, to be free of that wicked woman forever … just nod. I only ask you to agree that at some point in the future, you will do me a favour. What do you say?’

  Red didn’t know what to say. It was tempting; a life without Granny. She had never met a talking wolf before. Much less a talking wolf willing to do a murder for her.

  There was a constant pain deep inside her nose. She snorted and sniffed and sniffed and snorted and snorted and sniffed and … spat.

  Out came the rubber from the top of that pencil, covered in bogeys and blood, that had been trapped in her sinuses all this time.

  She gave the Wolf a look of daggers and ice. She nodded.

  ‘Excellent choice,’ said the Wolf. ‘I suggest you go and enjoy some junk food at your grandmother’s expense, whilst I make certain she won’t mind.’

  Red sat with her cheeseburger and cola. She had never felt so alone.

  She had managed to convince a part of her mind that what was going on wasn’t real: that the Big, Bad Wolf was not swallowing her gran.

  Because if he was … she was guilty of murder.

  So this is what it feels like to be a murderer, she thought to herself. It didn’t feel much different from being a non-murderer. That was strange.

  But she wasn’t a murderer. Not really. At least, she might not be. It depended, she supposed, on whether the Wolf was serious. Or whether he was real, come to that. Maybe she had imagined him. Maybe she was dreaming.

  If she was a murderer … shouldn’t that bother her? It didn’t. Yet it bothered her that it didn’t bother her. Certainly she felt no pity for her gran. Why should she?

  Red sighed. It wasn’t surprising to her that she was capable of murder. She knew she was bad. Granny had told her often enough. Just born bad.

  She put it out of her mind, and decided it was too far-fetched that the Big, Bad Wolf was really eating her granny on her orders. She would go home, get beaten up for stealing the shopping money to buy junk food, and life would be back to normal. Soon she would forget all about the Big, Bad Wolf.

  The Wolf made short work of Granny, taking out his own frustrations upon her. He felt quite satisfied.

  Now, the Wolf had a peculiar sense of humour, which took over his reason now and again, and this was one of those times. He tried to imagine how Red would respond to finding him, in her gran’s rocking chair, wearing her gran’s clothes, under a blanket. She would either see the funny side or the horrific side: either way it would give the Wolf a giggle.

  He heard the key turning in the door and felt a thrill of excitement.

  The front door creaked open.

  ‘Granny?’ the child called from the hallway. ‘Granny, are you there?’

  ‘Come in, my dear,’ said the Wolf, in a ghastly parody of the old woman’s voice.

  ‘Granny?’ There was a note of uncertainty in Red’s voice. ‘Granny, is that you?’

  ‘Come through to the living room,’ said the Wolf. ‘I want to hit you with my walking stick and make you drink sour milk.’

  Red crept cautiously into the living room. She half-knew it was not her granny’s voice she had heard.

  When she saw the Wolf wearing Granny’s clothes, she felt an extraordinary sense of relief. Strangely, knowing the old woman was dead stopped her worrying about it, and she knew she was not going to get a beating this time.

  She laughed and laughed, loving the incongruity of the hairy, half-cooked wolf in her granny’s clothes.

  ‘Oh, Granny!’ she cried, caught up
in the hilarity and excitement. ‘What big eyes ye’ve got!’

  ‘All the better to see you with, my dear,’ said the Wolf, still mocking Granny’s voice.

  ‘And Granny,’ Red managed between breathless giggles, ‘what big ears ye’ve got!’

  To which the Wolf replied, ‘Pardon?’

  Red was in such hysterics that she only just managed to squeeze out the words, ‘What big teeth you have!’

  The Wolf then leapt out of the reclining chair, crying, ‘All the better to EAT THE OLD BAG!’

  They exchanged a high-five and roared with laughter.

  ‘So how are you feeling?’ said the Wolf. ‘No problems with your conscience, I take it?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘No feelings of guilt?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Red, with a cruel shrug. ‘Like ye says, she had it coming.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said the Wolf. ‘Then that concludes our business for now. I will be in touch at some point to collect the favour you owe me, but in the meantime … your life is yours.’

  The trouble was that Red soon found she didn’t much care for her life being hers. She had longed for it, dreamed of it, but freedom isn’t worth much without something to do with it, and she had nothing.

  She found she couldn’t stomach living in the flat where Gran had died. Besides, someone would find her there eventually, take her into care, or worse.

  So she started squatting in abandoned buildings, making friends with others who had found their freedom, throwing things at buses, drinking Buckfast and smashing bottles just to stave off the boredom.

  No one loved her. No one respected her. Those who noticed her despised her.

  Gran had never loved or respected her, and probably did despise her, but she at least had given her some attention.

  Then there were the nightmares.

  Every night, she would see her own hands around her granny’s throat, squeezing the life out of her, wanting to stop but unable to.

  She would wake up screaming ‘It wasnae me! I didnae do anything! All I did was nod!’

  She refused to feel guilty when she was awake. All she did was nod … besides, the old bag had it coming. She had tortured Red, humiliated her, taken away her chance in life.