Fantastic Stories

by Terry Jones

  So Eyes-All-Over took out his hanky, and pretended to cry salty tears into it.

  ‘Oh, good sir!’ he said. ‘You cannot possibly want to take young May away from me! She works so hard and keeps my house so neat and clean. Why! She’s worth her weight in gold!’

  So the young man rode off and returned, some time later, with a chest filled with gold pieces that altogether weighed exactly the same as young May.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘May and I must go and be married.’

  But old Eyes-All-Over hadn’t finished yet. ‘I can still screw even more out of this bargain!’ he said to himself. Then he looked at the young man with the eyes in his knees – the eyes that could see people’s hopes – and he could see that the young man had hopes, one day, to be a king – for he was, in fact, a prince.

  So old Eyes-All-Over clutched his heart and said: ‘Ah! Good sir! Would you take this child from me? She has been like a daughter to me these many years. I would not part with her for half a kingdom!’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Prince, and there and then he signed away half his kingdom to old Eyes-All-Over. Then he lifted May up onto his horse, and they rode off together – to be married with great feasting and merry-making in his father’s palace.

  As they rode away, old Eyes-All-Over rubbed his hands with glee.

  ‘What a bargain!’ he said to himself. ‘I get all those years of work out of that thin stick of a girl, and then I sell her off for jewels and furs and gold and half a kingdom! I certainly am the sharpest chap around!’

  But, at that very moment, he looked at himself with the eyes in his elbows – the eyes that saw people’s mistakes – and he saw, to his horror, that he himself had made a big mistake, though he didn’t know what.

  As he got his lonely breakfast, however, and sat by his lonely fire, he began, to realize what it was, for he found himself longing to hear May’s voice singing in the garden and to see her face across the room. Soon he found himself thinking that he would give back everything just to have May give him one of her smiles.

  But, when he looked at himself with the eyes in the soles of his feet – the eyes that saw things that would never happen – he knew she would never smile at him again.

  And this time, old Eyes-All-Over cried real tears, for he suddenly realized that – when he gave May away – he’d given away the only thing he’d ever really loved.

  And he cursed himself that – all the time she’d lived with him – he’d given her nothing but hard words and hard work, and had never given her any reason to care for him.

  And old Eyes-All-Over then saw – clearer than anything he’d ever seen in his life – that despite having eyes all over, he had really been quite, quite blind.

  THE SNOW BABY

  AN OLD WOMAN ONCE WISHED she had a child. But she had never married, and now she lived all alone in a bare cottage beside a dark wood.

  One day, however, around Christmas time, when the sky was yellow and heavy with snow, she looked out of the little window by her bed, and thought she saw the evening star.

  ‘That’s strange,’ she said to herself, ‘to see the evening star on such a stormy night. It must be a lucky star.’

  So there and then she made a wish. I can’t tell you what she wished for, because she never told anyone, but I think I can guess – can’t you?

  Now, as it happened, the light that the old woman had seen was not the evening star – in fact it was not a star at all, but a firefly. The firefly overheard the old lady’s wish, and felt very sorry for her. So it flew to the place where all fireflies go to fetch their lights, and told its comrades what it had heard. And they all agreed to try and help her.

  Well that night it began to snow from the black sky onto the black ground, until – as if by magic – the ground turned white, and the morning broke over a different world.

  The old woman woke up and put on her shawl. Then she took a shovel and cleared away the snow from her door.

  When she looked at the pile of snow she’d made, she smiled to herself and said: ‘I don’t think the evening star has granted my wish – so I’ll make myself my own baby.’

  And she spent the morning making the pile of snow into a snow baby.

  That night, she sat in her cottage and felt very lonely. So she went to the door, and looked out at her snow baby.

  ‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day,’ she said to her snow baby. ‘And here am I all alone in the world, and nobody cares whether I’m alive or dead – except you. And you’ll be gone when the snows thaw.’

  Then she climbed into her bed, and put out her candle.

  A moment later she woke up and looked out of her window. She could hear a sound like tiny bells jingling far, far away, and she could see a strange yellow light all around her cottage. She could not see, but above her all the fireflies in the world were gathered together on her roof. The last one had just arrived, and now they all flew together to form one single ball of light.

  The next moment, the old woman couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched a glowing ball of light descend onto the heap of snow that she had shaped like a baby. The light landed where the baby’s heart would be. Then it poured into the snow baby and filled it top to toe!

  The instant it did, the snow baby opened its eyes and looked around.

  ‘What are you doing out there in the cold?’ said the old woman. ‘Come in at once.’

  So the snow baby stepped unsteadily down from its little mound, and toddled towards the cottage door.

  The old woman rushed to the door, flung it open and lifted her snow baby up in her arms. She kissed it and held it tight.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I will not be alone this Christmas.’

  Then she tucked the snow baby up in her own bed, and bustled about the cottage to make everything ready.

  The next morning the snow baby awoke to find a stocking hanging at the end of the bed.

  ‘You must look in your stocking and see what St Nicholas has brought you,’ said the old woman.

  So the snow baby opened its stocking. Inside there was a chocolate medal, a wooden man on a trapeze, an old doll with one eye missing, a mince pie and an apple in the toe.

  When the snow baby had opened all its presents and played with its toys, the old woman said: ‘Now we must have our breakfast.’

  So she sat her snow child on the other side of the table, and they both ate a little toast and drank a little warm milk.

  Just then they heard the church bell sounding across the snow. ‘Now,’ said the old woman, ‘it’s time we went to church.’

  So she dressed the snow baby up in a woollen hat and muffler and a knitted woollen coat, and off they went, through the snow to the little church on the hill.

  No one noticed the old woman and her snow baby, as they slipped into the back of the church while everyone else was on their knees. The two of them sat close together in the very back pew, holding hands. When the moment came, they stood up and sang the carols. Then, before the end of the service, they stole out again, before anyone else saw them.

  Then the old woman and her snow baby ran back through the snow, laughing and shouting and throwing snowballs at each other.

  When they finally got back to the cottage, there was a good smell coming from the old woman’s oven.

  ‘Now we must eat our Christmas pudding and mince pies,’ said the old woman. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a goose or a ham pie to offer you.’

  But the snow baby didn’t seem to mind at all. They both sat down and ate the happiest Christmas dinner that the old woman could remember since she was a child.

  As they finished, night began to fall, and the snow baby grew tired, and the light with which it was filled grew dimmer – for the truth is that the fireflies needed to fetch new lights.

  The old woman looked rather sadly at her snow baby.

  ‘Must you go?’ she asked. And the snow baby nodded. ‘Well, thank you for keeping me company this Christmas,’ said the old woman. ‘I wish it coul
d have gone on longer… but there it is …’

  And then the first wonderful thing happened. The snow baby got up from its chair and came across to the old woman and kissed her.

  And then the second wonderful thing happened. It spoke. ‘Goodbye,’ it said.

  Then it went out of the door, and the old woman watched from her window, as the snow baby climbed back onto its little mound of snow. Then the fireflies came out, one by one, and flew off dimly into the night to fetch new lights.

  And the old woman fell asleep, nodding to herself as she remembered all the things she’d done that Christmas Day with her snow baby.

  The next day, the sun shone, and the snows had gone. The old woman lit a fire and bustled about her little cottage. And when she felt brave enough, she went out of her door, and swept away the last heap of snow that had been – for a short time – her very own snow baby.

  HOW THE BADGER GOT ITS STRIPES

  IN THE GREAT LONG-AGO, the Badger was pure white all over. ‘How sorry I feel for Bear with his dull brown coat,’ the Badger would say. ‘And who would want to be like leopard – all covered in spots? Or – worse still – like Tiger, with his vulgar striped coat! I am glad that the Maker Of All Things gave me this pure white coat without a blemish on it!’

  This is how the Badger would boast as he paraded through the forest, until all the other creatures were thoroughly sick and tired of him.

  ‘He always looks down his nose at me,’ said the Rabbit, ‘because only my tail is white.’

  ‘And he sneers at me,’ said the Field Mouse, ‘because I’m such a mousy colour.’

  ‘And he calls me an eye-sore!’ exclaimed the Zebra.

  ‘It’s time we put a stop to it,’ they said.

  ‘Then may I make a suggestion?’ asked the Fox, and he outlined a plan to which all the other animals agreed.

  Some time later, the Fox went to the Badger and said:

  ‘O, Badger, please help us! You are, without doubt, the best-looking creature in the Wild Wood. It’s not just your coat (which is exceedingly beautiful and without a blemish) but it is also… oh… the way you walk on your hind legs… the way you hold your head up… your superb manners and graceful ways… Won’t you help us humbler animals by giving us lessons in how to improve our looks and how to carry ourselves?’

  Well, the Badger was thrilled to hear all these compliments and he replied very graciously: ‘Of course, my dear Fox. I’ll see what I can do.’

  So the Fox called all the animals to meet in the Great Glade, and said to them: ‘Badger, here, has kindly agreed to give us lessons in how to look as handsome as he does. He will also instruct us in etiquette, deportment and fashion.’

  There were one or two sniggers amongst the smaller animals at this point, but the Badger didn’t notice. He stood up on his hind legs, puffed himself up with pride, and said: ‘I am very happy to be in a position to help you less fortunate animals, and I must say I can see much room for improvement. You, Wolf, for example, have such a shabby coat… ’

  ‘But it’s the only one I’ve got!’ said the Wolf.

  ‘And I pity you, Beaver,’ went on the Badger, ‘such an ordinary pelt you have… and as for that ridiculous tail… ’

  ‘Er, Badger,’ interrupted the Fox, ‘rather than going through all our shortcomings (interesting and instructive though that certainly may be), why don’t you teach us how to walk with our noses in the air – the way that makes you look so distinguished and sets off your beautiful unblemished white coat so well?’

  ‘By all means,’ said the Badger.

  ‘Why not walk to the other end of the Glade, so we can see?’ said the Fox.

  ‘Certainly,’ said the Badger. And so, without suspecting a thing, he started to walk to the other end of the Glade.

  Now if the Badger had not been so blinded by his own self-satisfaction, he might have noticed the Rat and the Stoat and the Weasel smirking behind their paws. And if he had looked a little closer, he might have noticed a twinkle in many an animal’s eye. But he didn’t. He just swaggered along on his hind legs with his nose right up in the air, saying: ‘This is the way to walk… notice how gracefully I raise my back legs… and see how I am always careful to keep my brush well ooooooooaaaarrr-ggggghhhup!’

  This is the moment that the Badger discovered the Fox’s plan. The Fox had got all the other animals to dig a deep pit at one end of the Great Glade. This they had filled with muddy water and madder-root, and then covered it over with branches and fern.

  The Badger, with his nose in the air, had, of course, walked straight into it – feet first. And he sank in – right up to his neck.

  ‘Help!’ he cried. ‘Help! My beautiful white coat! Please pull me out someone! Help!’

  Well, of course, all the animals in the Glade laughed and pointed at the poor Badger, as he struggled to keep his head out of the muck. Eventually he had to pull himself out by his own efforts.

  When the Badger looked down at his beautiful white coat, stained with mud and madder-root, he was so mortified that he ran off out of the forest with a pitiful howl. And he ran and he ran until he came to a lake of crystal water.

  There he tried to clean the stuff off his coat, but madder-root is a powerful dye, and no matter what he did, he could not get it off.

  ‘What shall I do?’ he moaned to himself. ‘My beautiful white coat… my pride and joy… ruined for ever! How can I hold my head up in the forest again?’

  To make matters worse, at that moment, a creature whom the Badger had never seen before swam up to him and said: ‘What are you doing – washing your filthy old coat in our crystal-clear lake? Push off!’

  The badger was speechless – not only because he wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, but also because the creature had such a beautiful coat. It was as white and unblemished as the Badger’s own coat used to be.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the Badger.

  ‘I’m Swan of course,’ replied the Swan. ‘Now shove off! We don’t want dirty creatures like you around here!’ And the Swan rose up on its legs and beat its powerful wings, and the badger slunk away on all fours, with his tail between his legs.

  For the rest of that day, the Badger hid himself away in a grove overlooking the crystal lake. From there he gazed down at the white swan, gliding proudly about the lake, and the Badger was so filled with bitterness and envy that he thought he would burst.

  That very night, however, he stole down to the Swan’s nest, when the Swan was fast asleep, and very, very gently, he pulled out one of the Swan’s feathers and then scuttled back to his hiding-place.

  He did the same thing the next night, and the next and the next, and each night he returned to the grove, where he was busy making himself a new coat of white feathers, to cover up his stained fur.

  And, because the Badger did all this so slowly and slyly, the Swan never noticed, until all but one of his feathers had disappeared.

  That night the Swan couldn’t sleep, because of the draught from where his feathers were missing, and so it was that he saw the Badger creeping up to steal the last one. As he did so the Swan rose up with a terrible cry. He pecked off the Badger’s tail and beat him with his wings and chased him off.

  Then the Swan returned to the crystal lake, and sat there lamenting over his lost feathers.

  When the Maker Of All Things found the Swan – that he had made so beautiful – sitting there bald and featherless, he was extremely surprised.

  But he was even more surprised when he went to the Wild Wood, and found the Badger parading about, looking quite ridiculous in his stolen feather coat!

  ‘Badger!’ exclaimed the Maker Of All Things. ‘I knew you were vain, but I didn’t know you were a thief as well!’

  And there and then he took the feathers and gave them back to the Swan.

  ‘From this day on,’ he said to the Badger, ‘you will wear only your coat stained with madder-root. And, if you’re going to steal, I’d better give you a thief’s
mask as well!’

  And the Maker Of All Things drew his fingers across the Badger’s eyes, and left him with two black stripes – like a mask – from ears to snout.

  The Badger was so ashamed that he ran off and hid, and to this very day all badgers avoid company. They live in solitude, stealing a little bit here and there, wherever they can. And each and every badger still wears a mask of stripes across its eyes.

  OLD MAN TRY-BY-NIGHT

  OLD MAN TRY-BY-NIGHT prowls round the house after dark. He rattles a window here, and he bangs a door there – just to see if anyone’s left one open. And, if anyone has, this is what he does.

  Old Man Try-By-Night slips right in and makes himself at home. He spreads marmalade on the doormat, puts his dirty feet up on the kitchen table, and has a little snack.

  He doesn’t eat all the doormat – in fact you’d scarcely notice he’s been at it – he just nibbles a little bit here and a little bit there. Then he takes out the sugar bowl and empties just a little sugar into his smelly old trousers so they crackle when he sits. He likes that. Then Old Man Try-By-Night pads around, putting his dirty fingers here and making muddy footmarks there. Then, once he’s quite satisfied that everybody is fast asleep, do you know what he does? He slips right out again, and bangs the door so that everyone wakes up!

  Oh yes! And there’s something else that he does, but I can never remember what it is…

  Well, one night, a small boy named Tom was lying in bed, when he thought he could hear Old Man Try-By-Night rattling the doors and windows downstairs.

  ‘He’s not going to keep me awake!’ said Tom, and he jumped out of bed and crept downstairs.