Dorothy: The Darker Side of OZ v5

by Scott Stanford

  Again there is silence, and just as Dorothy’s about to turn her back, she watches the door open slowly as a munchkin woman stands scared. ‘What, what is it you…’ then looking at the white and blue in her dress, and the soft blue glimmer of the girl’s eyes the munchkin opens the door wider. ‘Are you a great sorceress?’ she asks, and before Dorothy can reply the lady chimes, ‘Only good wear white don’t they, evil wears black, that’s what they tell me, and the blue, so kind of you, though I have been fooled before. What do you want?’ Dorothy speaks softly as she cowers, ‘Just…just somewhere to spend the night. I don’t want to sleep on the grass.’ Listening to the girl’s request, though her attention quickly snatched away by the shine of the silver boots the munchkin lady sparks, ‘The boots, they belong to the witch,’ ready to close the door. Dorothy nervously admits, ‘She’s dead…I killed her,’ and with the door still open the munchkin lady replies, ’No, no you couldn’t have!’ The young girl remorsefully mouths, ‘It’s true…please help me!’ and the munchkin lady looks at her wearily with, ‘I’ve been tricked before,’ then points to another small weathered hut not far away, ‘If you need rest sleep there, no-one will find you.’ Dorothy nods her head slowly, hoping for a comforting word though settling for shelter as she whimpers, ‘Th…thank you. Could you tell me how long it is to Emerald city? I need to see the wizard.’ The munchkin looks out to the girl’s lost expression, like that of a broken doll as she answers with a sigh:

  ‘It is far and will take you many days, and be careful; you will pass through dangerous places to get there. Be warned of the wizard, he is a tall slug of a man and you best keep away unless you have business with him.’

  With this Dorothy suddenly feels worried, and takes no comfort in the munchkin’s, ‘Take care,’ as the door closes.

  Lying awake on the floor of a dishevelled hut Dorothy tries to sleep as the anomalous howls and creeping sounds of the night keep her awake. She holds a small sharp stone to her side and listens to the creaking of the floorboards, the whipping of breeze through grey grass as she peers out to the lurking night sky. Scared, she grips Toto in her arm tightly for comfort, so lost in the strange land as she whispers to him, ‘Not long boy, be home in a while, see aunt Em.’ Soon she sobs herself to sleep, her reoccurring nightmare meshed with worry of what tomorrow will bring.

  Sleeping better than she expected Dorothy wakes to the soft fur of Toto against her cheek as she gently places him in his bag and pulls some breakfast from the wicker basket. After eating in the beaten up hut she stands on the porch, looking out at the countryside. Determined not to feel sorry for herself today, not let anything scare her she takes a deep breath, knowing she has to push through if she ever wants to get back home. It’s that simple, and as she feels the warming rays of white light on her face, she doesn’t even question why she’s in this land, because knowing the answer’s not as important as getting home.

  Walking through the grass and making her way back onto the road of yellow bricks Dorothy feels stronger this morning, prepared and determined. Even smiling a little at first, she sees the murder of crows again and watches as they land in a crop field not too far from her. They give a caw, followed by the screams of a man as Dorothy decides to follow, running along the yellow bricks toward the agonising cries.

  Her heart beats vigorously, even feeling adventurous as the adrenaline courses through her veins. She speeds past a slew of dead trees, curiously staring out at an eton blue cornfield. The crows scream viciously, and now closer Dorothy can make out their features, though they may seem like crows from her own world these are very different indeed. Scared at first she’s cautious, looking out to the mass of them as they gather, ignoring the dead corn but pecking at a scarecrow crucified among the crops. Dressed in a torn blue suit, tattered and well worn Dorothy looks at its face, amazed as it screams in agony and begs, ‘Help, please, please!’

  Snared by the deep cutting shrill of the scarecrow she looks out at the crows as they tear at his skin, cutting at it with their beaks as they pull straw and gnaw at bare bones. Moving quickly Dorothy grabs at a stone on the floor and throws it at the birds. A slew of them pull away quickly in shock but others linger, picking at the skin as one clasps its beak around one of the scarecrow’s black button eyes, trying to pull it out. Dorothy throws another stone and the remainder of the crows caw at her, flying away quickly from the scarecrow as they head toward her and she crouches speedily to avoid their talons. With her basket on the floor and arms wrapped around her head she looks up slowly to watch them all flying in the distance, and rises to her feet.

  Staring up at the scarecrow she hears him call, ‘Please,’ and approaches slowly as her eyes scan the long thick pole he’s nailed to, looking at his attire; grubby black shoes, shabby smart blue trousers resting on a skinny waist, and his jacket torn open. His skin tight like leather holds in bundles of straw, with odd patches sewn shut by metal wire as a gaping wound exposes his insides. She looks at his skeletal frame, bones prominent through thin skin, jagged ribs protruding and straw pouring from the hole in his chest. He says something but Dorothy ignores it as she walks closer, her eyes gazing over his barely covered skeleton hands, the skin leathered and burnt by the white sun. She looks at his neck, sewn with a thick line of barbed wire, holding the burlap sack that is his head to the body of a man. It’s dark brown, a different colour to his skin and misshapen, packed with straw as two black button eyes stare at her, and a small slit for a mouth, sewn almost shut repeats, ‘Please help me down, they’ve kept me here for days!’

  Moving to the large pole Dorothy forgets her better judgement and takes no caution as she grabs at the scarecrow’s leg, ready to free him as if in a trance. Amazed by the suffering, sympathetic towards the pathetic thing she feels at the bony leg, puffed out with straw as she grabs at the large thick nail lodged between his bones. Pulling with all her strength, she feels it loosen and her body stumbles backward as the nail tears from the wood, then she does the same to the other leg. The scarecrow mumbles, ‘Thank you, thank you, the crows will be back soon,’ and Dorothy starts to climb the pole, asking, ‘Why are you hung here?’ as her senses start to tingle, wondering if he’s crucified for a good reason, if he’s dangerous. ‘I’m a scarecrow, I…’ he answers smiling, stumbling in his words as his anxious expression turns sour, ‘I don’t know, was only made two days ago.’ Shocked though trying to suppress it Dorothy climbs along the pole, thinking the scarecrow harmless enough as she tries to pull a large nail from between his skeletal wrist and asks, ‘Who did this to you, why did they make you a scarecrow?’ He sighs quizzically, feeling no pain as the nail leaves his bones, answering:

  ‘Can’t remember, took my brain, no thoughts, memories, took insides too, only left with skin and bone. Woke up hanging here, been awake for days, can’t sleep anymore. Like my buttons? Crows keep trying to steal them, don’t want be blind.’

  Wanting to offer a ‘you poor thing’ Dorothy thinks it too cynical a phrase and pulls the other nail from his left wrist. Dropping the heavy chunk of metal to the floor Dorothy’s hands are sore and the scarecrow’s limbs dangle freely as a single hook’s left in his back, holding him to the pole. The girl tries to get a grip on it but her chapped hands can’t hold the metal tight enough as sweat forms around her brow. ‘I can’t get the last one out,’ she says to the scarecrow and he smiles manically, flailing his limbs as he hangs from the pole and looks under his jacket at the metal hook through his back, wedged around his left collarbone. He grins with, ‘Won’t you look at that,’ and presses his hands and feet against the pole, pushing away with all his strength as the collarbone snaps and he crashes to the floor. Looking down at him as a cloud of dust and straw forms Dorothy jumps from the pole and watches the heaped scarecrow. Standing close but unsure whether to extend a hand she gazes as his head looks up at her, grinning, ‘I think I broke something,’ as he shudders and stands with a ridged click of his bones. Feeling at his burlap head he insists, ‘No damage,�
� then looks at the shattered bone sticking out from dusty skin as his head leans to one side, ‘Oh dear!’

  Still keeping a little distance Dorothy asks, ‘Does that hurt?’ and half of his mouth smiles whilst the other frowns as he says, ‘No mind no pain, only bone and straw, and…’ Then swirling a bony finger around his plastic sewn on eyes he beams, ‘…and buttons. I like buttons. What’s your name?’ Smiling falsely with politeness the young girl answers, ‘Dorothy, I’m going to the Emerald city to see the wizard.’ Curious, the scarecrow stands straight, and Dorothy doesn’t realise how tall he is until he has to lean down to be face to face with her. ‘Where’s that?’ he asks, and the young girl looks up at him confused, answering, ‘It’s at the centre of Oz, didn’t you know that?’ as the scarecrow squeezes his straw filled head into shape. ‘Think I said know nothing, can I come? A wizard could help me,’ he requests.

  Dorothy thinks for a second, believing the scarecrow to be harmless as she fancies the company and sees the benefits and security of not being alone, especially if Outika finds her. ‘Yes, yes of course,’ she says, and the tall scarecrow, almost whimsical in his nature extends his arms and shuffles, his frame reminding Dorothy of thin spider’s legs as he smiles then looks down at his body. With a sudden faint look of surprise he sees the hole through his chest, sticking a finger in the air and smiling, ‘Great, but one minute please.’ Turning his back, he pushes his straw deeper into the hole, grabbing at handfuls from the ground and stuffing them in. Then taking a stray piece of metal wire from a broken fence he sews up his chest; piercing the dried up flaps of skin as he pulls them together and stabs the ends into the flesh. Turning back around and extending a hand to Dorothy he smiles, ‘Shall we?’ Cautious at first, though determined not to be scared the young girl places her small hand in Scarecrow’s long thin palm, and as they step back onto the road of yellow bricks he asks:

  ‘Have you seen my buttons? I like my buttons, they show me such pretty things.’

  7

  Several hours later, the pair still walk along the road of yellow bricks, and for the second time the scarecrow asks where Dorothy is from. Reminding her of some of the children in the orphanage, the ones who needed more attention she tells him of her world again, how she woke up to the evil munchkins and how the eastern witch is dead. Amazed at first, though easily distracted by his surroundings the scarecrow makes odd sounds and points at flying insects, smiling at their unnatural thin-shelled spines and webbed-wings as he swings his arm with a smile. ‘What are you doing?’ Dorothy asks, and Scarecrow replies, ‘Playing with them,’ as he holds tightly onto Dorothy’s wicker basket for her, his skewed legs stumbling along the road as it begins to turn rough.

  Dorothy looks down at the yellow bricks, some damaged with only cobbled chunks left, and others removed completely to expose the black sludge underneath. Almost as if it’s alive the liquid moves, trying to crawl along the bricks as Dorothy steps over it and looks out to the countryside. With the forest in front of her she tries to ignore it at first and stares out to the grey blades of grass, in the distance they almost touch the sky, and the farmhouses and odd huts stand bleak, even less inviting than the empty ones before them. With a faint putrid smell creeping through the air Dorothy’s eyes catch the odd twisted trees in the distance, noticing several peculiar shapes hanging from the branches, imagining what they could be. Sinister thoughts flash through her mind but she’s drawn to a building not too far away. She watches with a dry lump in her throat, looking out at the large door as it swings with the faint breeze.

  Almost expecting to see someone she stands still in her tracks and looks at the slaughterhouse, wondering what animals are killed inside as the capturing stain of crimson spreads a thick line along the blue chipped path. Still waiting, watching the large door swing as if giving her a distraction from entering the forest she thinks she sees someone inside, and the scarecrow calls, ‘Dorothy what’s wrong?’ She turns, facing him with a faint sigh as she walks to his side, looking back to the slaughterhouse before making her way toward the forest. The door still grinds on its hinges, ushered along by the breeze as Dorothy fades in the distance, not even noticing the odd bones scattered along the gritted path and hidden amongst the grey grass by her feet, some munchkins though mainly quadlings and humans.

  Standing in front of the forest Dorothy starts to feel the fear wriggling inside her stomach again as she looks at the crooked trees, forming an archway with their festering branches. The scarecrow’s unfazed by the dark woods in front of them as his head sways, taking everything with a quizzical smile, fearless as he sees it all for the first time. Feeling the bright white sun fading as nightfall approaches Dorothy’s skin grows colder as she stands at the entrance, and Scarecrow takes several steps ahead before noticing she’s stopped. Moving toward her from the darkened forest Dorothy watches his thin skeletal frame stretching an arm, and his misshapen burlap face unnerves her. ‘Come on Dorothy we’re off to see the wizard,’ he comforts, and as if frozen in fear she doesn’t reach out for his hand, nor even move until his bony fingers feel at hers, asking, ‘What’s wrong, what are you scared of?’ Forgetting the stamina she started the day off with, the young girl looks to the scarecrow’s button eyes and quietly whispers, ‘The woods,’ as he holds her hand and says, ‘If the road goes in it must come out. I’ll make sure you’re safe.’

  As he gently pulls her hand she follows him into the forest, and the cold on her skin from the fading sun feels like nothing compared to the darkness of the trees. Trying not to think of the reason why she’s so frightened Dorothy holds tightly onto the scarecrow’s hand, sure he’d be in pain if he could feel her grip. Looking up at his face he’s still curious of it all, and Dorothy can hear the faint crawls in the distance, the odd slithers and the cracking of branches.

  On edge with a clenched fist she feels the rough road under her feet and takes care where she steps as her eyes peer. Almost every tree is bare, standing dead as Dorothy hopes the lack of leaves will help her see better, but past every tree’s branches is another’s, as their thin arms and peculiar trunks spread through the woods. Trying to find a gap, scared of what could be waiting behind the long trees she gazes up to the sky to see nothing but branches, encasing the forest as they block out most of the fading light with their stretched wooden claws.

  Feeling a lump in her throat Dorothy hears the faint growl of an animal in the distance and clenches the scarecrow’s hand tighter as she catches odd haunting expressions on the trees faces. With carved circles for eyes and jaggedly etched mouths their thin teeth spread in the dozens, and they smile hungrily as Dorothy closes her eyes and looks again. Suddenly with the faces gone she feels sweat on her forehead, and an odd tickle at her left thigh as she looks down to swipe away a stray branch as it reseeds, coiling back to the trees as their unseen eyes leer. Watching the road in front of her bend she cautiously continues as the scarecrow’s slight humming fades into the background and she focuses on the trees. Dorothy looks ahead as they spread their arms across the road and lie still, waiting for someone to cross the path as some hang eye level and others creep along the floor.

  With the scarecrow leading slightly in front the pair get closer to the stray trees and Dorothy pulls at his hand, not wanting to get too close to the branches as the scarecrow turns to her. ‘Don’t be scared Dorothy,’ he says, and she stutters, ‘I, I‘m not.’ Slightly pulling at her hand again he leads her to the branches blocking their path and ducks his head to get past them. Dorothy waits her turn and lowers her body, feeling the trees wooden fingers an inch from her face as she looks to the ones at her feet. Stepping over them quietly the others brush through her hair like an unwanted caress and she gently stands when through, seeing the scarecrow smile, ‘See, they’re just trees.’

  Suddenly the branches creeping along the floor entwine around Dorothy’s ankles, and the ones that stretched eye level scratch along her face. Tightening their grip instantly and pulling the girl’s body backwards he
r hand wrenches from the scarecrow’s easily. He looks at her confused as the branches tear her body to the ground, pulling her along the rough road as she screams for help. Stretching out a hand to the scarecrow she feels wooden claws crawl along her face, her skin held firmly as she disappears into the woods, her body dragged deep inside as the trees smile crookedly.

  8

  In a dream the rain pours down through the trees, spreading past the leaves as it soaks Dorothy’s body. Her blood mixed with dirt and tears, lost in the downpour she screams her lungs raw as she nurses her wounded limbs. Trying to stand she falls to her knees in pain and screams, ‘Mr Clayton, Mrs Clayton!’ to hear nothing but the creeping sounds of the woods. She tried to climb out of the hole, but feels too weak to move the slightest muscle anymore.

  Nine hours have passed, and as the bright yellow sky turns black, she lies in the dirt with nothing to cover her but the thin dress she’s wearing. Watching the sky change she keeps screaming for help, sobbing to herself as she looks up at the hole, at least nine feet high as she tries to scram at the dirt walls. Unable to sleep, too scared to even try it’s dark now and she can hear the wind lurking through the trees branches, the animals calling out hungrily and she presses her body against a corner. Weak and unable to escape the cold rain pouring on her body, she keeps calling for help until she falls asleep, exhausted and sure she won’t be saved. Shivering in the morning and almost unable to speak her stomach’s empty and lips dry. Trying to drink at the rain water and call for help she feels her body get even weaker, her skin numb, cold and frail as she closes her eyes to see her parents, hoping someone will save her, praying.