DOROTHY
The darker side of Oz
Written by
Scott Stanford
Based on the classic ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’
by L. Frank Baum.
A Wild Wolf Publication
Published by Wild Wolf Publishing in 2011
Copyright © 2011 Scott Stanford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.
First print
All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
E-Book Edition
ISBN: 978-1-907954-18-4 (paperback)
www.wildwolfpublishing.com
Acknowledgments
My grateful thanks to Megan, Victor, Catherine, Jimmy, family and friends for their constant support and encouragement.
I’d also like to thank; Dave Moody, Andrew J Kirby, and Iain Mckinnon, without their advice this book may not have made it to print, along with Stephen Trumble, for his amazing work.
Finally, a special thank you to the late Lyman Frank Baum,
his wonderful work is the reason this novel exists.
1
As Dorothy awakes, nothing is strange in Oz.
She gasps for air, her nightmares sever with consciousness and she sits on the bed, sweating with her head burrowed between her hands. It’s quiet and Mr Lairman’s not at the door anymore, not waiting like he was when she fell asleep. With his thin frame he stood lingering outside ‘her’ room for an hour, tapping at the wood with his pin-like fingers, waiting for an excuse to open the door. Dorothy’s skin crawls at the thought of him, his sickly wife and all the others before them.
Their names combine like cogs, nothing but pinions, faceless people forming a mechanical system she’d been trapped in since she was twelve. She’d been moved from one house to another and all the ‘parents’ were just pin-levers, roskopfs that couldn’t function, even the ones who tried their best to play mom and dad. Dorothy was never meant to have a home until now and she knew it, smiling at the thought of being eighteen tomorrow, an adult, free from the system. Then she’ll live with her aunt and uncle, away from fake parents and the orphanage. It’s been too long coming and Dorothy smiles as she thinks of them, that old farmhouse in Kansas…but the sadness creeps in. She’d known about their ill health for years, that’s why she couldn’t stay with them from the beginning; they’re only in their fifties but their disabilities made them unfit to look after a child. Despite uncle Henry’s strength, or how aunt Em’s hair refused to grey and her skin daren’t wrinkle, internally time had taken its toll.
Trying not to think too far ahead Dorothy looks around the dark dingy room meant for a teenage girl, as she smiles slightly thinking of tomorrow with a stray tear dribbling down her face. ‘It will all be over soon’ she tells herself, no more lonely nights in the orphanage, being rejected by families she starts to care for, and best of all no more cogs. Dorothy feels nervous at the thought of moving back into uncle Henry’s old farmhouse, she didn’t think she’d make it the six years, and it’s hard to believe the wait’s almost over. Wiping away the tears she puts a hand under the blanket and grabs at Toto, holding him tightly in her arms as she closes her eyes. It may just be a stuffed cuddly dog but he was the only one that stayed after her parents died, even when she lived in the orphanage. That little black dog’s never left her.
Taking a deep breath she stands from the bed, walking to the window as she holds Toto tightly. Looking out to the dark sky and city lights she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and places a hand to her nose, feeling blood caked around her nostril. Licking her finger she clears it away and rubs it into the blue flickers on her gingham dress. Staring down at the empty streets she can imagine the taxi pulling up tomorrow, ready to take her home. With a, ‘Not long Toto,’ she nurses him like a child and watches as the street lights flicker. They shimmer at first, then row by row Dorothy watches them burn out systematically, quickly eyeing the houses and apartments across the street as their lights suddenly die. She feels her heart racing, beating faster as she sees the city in darkness, feeling a cold chill as her bedroom loses light.
Almost unable to see past her hand she stands still, shocked as she looks out at the city again before putting Toto on the bed, walking toward the door. Clenching her teeth, worried that Mr Lairman will be waiting outside she listens carefully but can’t hear a sound, nothing from in the house or even outside, not a car on the streets or the creek of floorboards underneath her feet. At the door with her fingers lingering on the rusted bolt she takes a deep breath, fearless as she draws it open and grips at the handle. Shuffling her feet quietly, expecting at least a call from the fake parents she clenches a fist tightly and walks out of the room. Unsure whether she should speak, unable to see in front of her she places a hand against the wall for guidance as the other remains tense, waiting.
Moving forward, remembering the layout of the house she makes her way to the staircase as her fingers press against the wall, passing over odd doorframes as she keeps her eyes open, too nervous to close them. Gently her feet step one in front of the other as she hears nothing but her own controlled breath, and turns a corner to see a flickering light shine from the staircase. Her mouth dry, lips pulling apart gently she calls, ‘Mrs Lairman?’ and begrudgingly, ‘Mr Lairman?’ to hear nothing.
A little relieved by the dim light Dorothy walks to the staircase and peers over the banister, as a shimmer of candlelight catches her eye. She takes her first step down to hear her most recent fake mother humming, slowly descending as she calls again, ‘Mrs Lairman?’ with a fist still clenched as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. Peering around the corner into the kitchen, a candle still flickers in the distance and she squints her eyes to see Mrs Lairman in her wheelchair, with her back to Dorothy as she continues humming. Curious, scared of where the husband is, the young girl steps into the kitchen, calling, ‘Mrs Lairman?’ again, to receive no reply. Turning her head quickly to the only door that leads from the kitchen Dorothy peers past the dim light, checking if it’s open as she continues to approach the fake mother, still wondering where the husband is.
The humming sends a chill over Dorothy’s skin but she walks toward it, quietly stepping through the kitchen then stretching out an arm to the back of the wheelchair. With the humming loud in her ears Dorothy’s fingers linger gently over the metal as Mrs Lairman groans, ‘You’re not happy here are you? I don’t need eyes to see that.’
Stepping backwards, her fist unclenching and heart racing Dorothy watches Mrs Lairman’s frail hand reach for the counter. Her head slowly turns as the young girl watches, too petrified to scream, and her body shaking as Mrs Lairman’s face haunts past the flickering candle. With her eyes sewn shut and skin cracked open, her thin teeth rotten and sharp she stands frailly. Mouthing the word, ‘No,’ the young girl watches as the feeble woman starts to shuffle forward, with her twisted face shaking. Gently stepping back to the staircase Dorothy can feel she’s close and hears the elderly woman’s, ‘Come to mommy little girl!’
Turning her body, ready to run Dorothy feels the shock stab at her nerves as Mr Lairman bursts through the door, his face as tortured as his wife’s. Stretching out a rotten limb his long thin fingers leer like twisted knitting needles, inches from Dorothy’s eyes as ‘I just want to love you!’ groans through his rotten sharp teeth. Looking at him in fear she turns to the wife quickly, watching her
reach for the candle before glimpsing back at Mr Lairman’s face, moving toward her as all of a sudden, everything turns black.
Running scared, Dorothy clambers up the stairs to hear, ‘You belong to us now!’ as their voices creep through the darkness. Feeling them touch at the back of her leg she screams as she reaches the upstairs landing, running her hands along the walls to feel her way through the black corridor. Turning the corner she hears them coming closer as their voices hiss, ringing clearly in her ears, ‘Come to daddy!’ as she runs into her room.
Grabbing at the door Dorothy feels him coming closer and pushes her body against it, slamming the solid wood into him as the door clicks shut and she feels him twisting the handle. Hearing it turn rapidly she draws the rusted bolt, standing still for a second as the door’s weight pushes against her, and the fake father screams, ‘The witch is waiting!’ Dorothy trembles, locked inside the room and stepping away from the door she jumps onto the bed, curling her body as she holds Toto tightly. Closing her eyes she hears them outside, their nails scraping against the wood as she cries, unaware of what awaits her in Oz.
2
Waking in a panic, jumping from the bed and clutching Toto Dorothy stares at the door. Clenching a fist the silence grows on her, stagnant in the air as she thinks of calling to the Lairmans. ‘It was a dream’ she tells herself, but she’d never had any as vivid as that, normally just dreams of her parents, occasional nightmares. That’s one thing she liked about living with the fake families, she’d have her own room, and when the nightmares came no-one could hear her cry at night.
She always lets herself be as scared as she needs to be in ‘her’ bedroom, because as soon as the door opens she knows she has to change who she is, pretend she’s happy with the fake families, not scared. Their faces may have kept changing but their styles and expectancies of Dorothy stopped being unique years ago. She used to act shy, needy for the parents who wanted to nurture, the ones who felt good about themselves when they protected her. Others wanted her to be stronger; confident enough to maintain an adult conversation and sturdy enough not to break, she preferred these. Then there were the others; the early morning drinkers, some who couldn’t interact, feel the connection, ones who thought they could handle a child but wouldn’t be able to get themselves out of bed. She’d seen them all and things never worked out, she always ended back at the orphanage, waiting for the next family to come along.
Prying her eyes from the door Dorothy looks to the window as she pulls herself from the bed. The dream felt so real and her body still aches from clambering up the stairs. Trying to flush the thoughts away she looks out of the window expecting to see the dark sky, a city lit by streetlights as odd cars drive through the late night, but no.
Her limbs feel loose, almost dropping Toto to the floor she looks out to a midnight blue sky as it drapes over the city, leaving an azure glow through the streets as random lights flicker. Her eyes grow bigger at the wonderful sight as she looks into the sky to see something in the vast distance. Leering over the city, past odd chunks of countryside and forests, even towering above distant hills a tall baroque emerald castle rules the land. Oozing its dominance and demanding attention the twisted architecture stands like an island above the sea of skyscrapers in front of Dorothy’s eyes. Tearing herself away from the landscape and looking down at the streets, the young girl watches what seems like a blanket of ants as they flood the road. Pouring through the darkness like sand dozens and dozens of bodies lock together as their voices mesh into one, and Dorothy shudders.
Pulling herself away from the window, unsure whether she’s awake or not the young girl knows she can’t stay here and puts Toto in a small bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Moving to the door she listens carefully, hearing nothing as she gently slides the bolt aside. Slowly, with her hands along the edges she opens the door, peering through the crack as nothing seems unordinary. Almost shocked she moves into the plain hallway as the landing light flickers, and she thinks maybe the Lairmans’ slipped something into her food, perhaps she shouldn’t have…then suddenly a shriek comes from downstairs.
She walks toward the staircase, the familiar sounds of a carnivorous feast amplified; the vicious chewing and gnawing at meat slathering in her ears before it stops abruptly. Again, slowly descending just like before she waits, lingering at the bottom of the staircase as she peers into the kitchen, though this time with no candle-light, no Mrs Lairman in her wheelchair. Instead the horror presents itself brutally as Dorothy places a hand over her mouth, trying not to scream as she looks at a bloody body on the floor, Mr Lairman’s. He wriggles in agony, the skin removed from his twisted body as his nightmarish face groans. Suffering he screeches for help, flailing his long rotten knitting needled hands as Dorothy looks around him.
Scared it could be a trick, afraid of what will happen next she presses her back against a wall and looks to the only room leading from the kitchen. The door’s open and as she slowly edges forward she notices something walk toward her through the darkened room. Small in shape and followed by another, then another, Dorothy edges back to the staircase and looks at them as they walk into the dim light.
Standing less than three feet they’re bulky creatures with chubby bellies, their naked bodies covered in boils. Hunching their bulbous heads and keeping keen hunter eyes on Dorothy they point with long fingertips, and smile with sharp teeth through lipless mouths. Backed into a corner the young girl watches as the creatures walk toward her, one poking at her thigh with a spiked fingernail as another wheezes, its voice stretched like a child’s, ‘Why do you wear white? Witch?’ Whimpering, ‘No…what, what are you?’ under her breath Dorothy feels one poking at her again, this time pulling at the blue in her dress as he squeaks, ‘Munchkins…blue, we like blue. Colour of suffocation…’ Then another finishes the sentence, pointing a thumb at her own deformed skin as she smiles, ‘But we’ll have to take you to Avatonika.’ Turning its head, the female munchkin screeches into the other room, ‘Bring the restraints, one for the queen!’ but Dorothy battles, pushing away the creature closest to her with, ‘I’m not going anywhere!’ as the munchkins laugh.
Raising a finger to Dorothy then pointing it to the dying Mr Lairman one of them speaks with excitement, licking at its cheek, ‘We skin the grown folk first… you look tall enough to eat!’ then another munchkin finishes, ‘Don’t make us hurt you, Avatonika wouldn’t be happy with us if ‘we’ cut off your pretty face.’ Grabbing at a small skewered blade from its boot the munchkin waves the tip at the young girl, as two more walk into the room holding a gag and chains. Waving the knife steadily the munchkin growls, ‘On your knees grown one, down here now!’ and Dorothy looks out at them, five in the room and more outside the house. For a second she feels her knees bending, scared and succumbing to them as the little creature cuts at her leg, aiming above her knees and just below her dress.
Abruptly Dorothy’s legs straighten; she pulls her body into the wall and grits her teeth, screaming, ‘NO!’ The munchkins look at each other, chuckle amongst themselves as one speaks out to the girl, ‘We just want to play,’ and another smiles, ‘We have lots of toys to use on you!’ Pulling herself from the wall Dorothy tenses every part of her body and steps toward the munchkins, feeling her skin crawl as one licks at her leg and another raises the gag, offering it to her mouth. Shouting, ‘NO!’ she kicks at one of the munchkins and feels another sink its teeth into her arm. Flailing her limbs and crashing a fist against the boils on his skin he screams, and the others try to bite at Dorothy, stab at her with their blades. Pushing through them quickly, feeling their attacks against her flesh she squeals as blood trickles down her skin, and she runs away as they pursue.
Dashing past the living room and speeding through the open front door she stands still for a second, looking onto the street as dozens of the creatures stand, waiting. Staring at her with fresh blood dripping from their mouths they surround a dead Mrs Lairman. Standing in shock the young girl feels teeth cut into her
flesh again and swiftly pulls away, running deeper into the city as the munchkins chase her. Moving quickly through the azure streets she doesn’t look where she’s going and ignores the decaying buildings, the spreading vines and moss as she looks behind her. Getting distance from the munchkins she can see the herd of them charging, their short fat bodies running out of energy as she turns a corner, then another, and hides in a dark alleyway.
Crouching amongst debris and smelling the refuse Dorothy hides, coiling her body as she listens to hear the creatures in the distance. Alert and waiting for them to crawl from any crevice their screams slowly change direction, getting fainter, farther away as they lose the grown one. Her cheeks wet with tears, the white and blue gingham dress stained with blood, Dorothy’s skin is raw and she runs a hand along her pigtails. Touching at the hazel strands of hair she feels small wet drips slide between her fingers, matting the layers as they clump together with blood. Raising her head, she looks up at a telephone pole to see skin draped across the wire like dirty washing. Clasping a hand against her mouth she tries not to scream, moving out of the alley and looking around as she pauses at the sight; almost a hundred skins hanging from the wires, blowing with the slight breeze as she sobs to herself, clenching tightly to her bag with Toto inside, murmuring, ‘Where are we Toto, where are we?’
After calming herself she walks through the azure streets and takes a deep breath, smelling earth and brimstone as she watches vines and roots prying from the ground, entwining the buildings. Some are dead or dormant but others shrill, stretching to grow as they turn their leaves against the breeze.
Dorothy’s fascination tangles with her fear as she traipses through the barren maze of a city, scared to call out for help and dreading what will be around each corner. Lost in a place where she’d been moved from one home to another for the last six years, everything’s different now. The buildings are decrepit and frail, wrapped in peculiar vines as the silence deafens her, and there’s not a cloud or moon in the sky, nothing but a dank midnight blue.
Dorothy: The Darker Side of OZ v5 Page 1
