Fairly Wicked Tales

by Hal Bodner

  I hurried into the cottage after him. Snow White crouched in a dark corner. I knelt down beside her, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder as the Vampyre set Matilda down. “I am here, my darling—”

  She lunged at me. I fell backwards, caught off-guard by this feral creature snapping at me like a rabid dog. The Vampyre stepped between us. He held out a hand as he advanced on Snow. “Look at me.” He placed his hand beneath her chin to tilt her head up, forcing her to stare into his black eyes. As Snow quieted, he said to me, “Strip the girl and bring her clothes here.”

  I hurried to do his bidding. After we had finished switching the clothes, the Vampyre wrapped his long fingers around Snow’s neck and squeezed.

  “What are you doing?” I cried, grabbing at his hand. He tossed me from him as though I were of no consequence.

  “Your blood calls to her,” he said, “and she is hungry. My blood in your veins would give her power that would be difficult for even me to contain.”

  “Oh,” I said as Snow stopped struggling, and her body went limp. The Vampyre lifted her into his arms.

  I followed him through the door. When we reached the mirror, he stopped. “You must invite me or I will not be able to enter.”

  “At the cottage you—”

  “Shh …” He held up a finger in warning. Startled, I turned around. The dwarfs emerged from among the trees. “We were just in time,” he said quietly. “To answer your question, I do not need an invitation to enter when vampyre blood has been spilt.”

  A loud curse split through the air. With a satisfied smile, I invited the Vampyre through the mirror.

  ***

  I set the glass jar on the planked table amid the herbs and potions. The dark red liquid sloshed against the sides, tempting me. I hesitated. Carefully, I wiped a bit of cloth across the dagger I had used until the blade gleamed in the weak light filtering through the high windows between the silver bars. Just a taste, I told myself as I lifted the container to my lips. The thick liquid hit the back of my throat, set my mouth aflame.

  One gulp turned into another until I had drunk my fill and fire flowed through my veins. I found resistance to this magical elixir more and more difficult. Snow’s blood brought strength and vitality to me. Despite the worries I faced, I felt younger and more vibrant than I had in many years. I set the container aside and turned back to my Snow White. She had grown stronger from the pig’s blood I fed her, but her mind had not. Despite bleeding her to rid her of her vampyre blood, I had not been able to release her from the silver chains binding her.

  I sighed. Her behavior had necessitated the removal of her fangs. In fits of rage, she would not keep from slashing her arms, trying to release the blood slithering through her veins—as though my bloodletting was not doing the job fast enough even for her.

  Guilt pricked at my conscience at the thought of that poor surgeon. I avoided glancing at the basket of apples—now minus one—as I brushed past the table toward the door. His sacrifice had not been in vain.

  “Bye, my darling.” I blew her a kiss before opening the door. She paid me no heed as she howled, tears flowing down her cheeks, her arm cradled to her chest. I closed the door gently behind me. Only the Vampyre could quiet her with his black eyes and commanding voice. Still, not even his power subdued her screams when he paid his husbandly visits. I shuddered. I would be glad when that was done.

  “Your Majesty?” A round-faced servant girl looked up at me from the landing. “I have news from the Council.”

  “Oh?”

  She nodded. “They believe they have found Snow White. One of the scouts heard a strange tale of seven little men who—”

  “Excellent,” I said with a small smile. The pressure from the Council would ease when they found Matilda dead.

  “That is not the best part, your Majesty!” Her face glowed with pleasure. “He returned with news that Snow White is alive. She is being held captive. The Council leaves in the morning to retrieve her. They wanted you to know the joyous news.”

  My hand pressed against the stone wall, the rough surface digging into my palm. Matilda was alive? That would not do. It would not do at all.

  A slight crease marred the girl’s brow. “The wind must be blowing furiously tonight. How can you stand the howling coming through the tower windows? It would drive me quite mad.”

  “One becomes accustomed to it, I suppose.” Lifting my skirts, I headed back up the stairs. I had need of another apple. Come first light, I would pay Snow White a visit.

  About the Author

  Laura Snapp is an emerging writer living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Born and raised in Minnesota, she mastered the art of procrastination by treading down several, diverse educational paths. When financial necessity compelled her to put away her coursework and make a living, she discovered that wicked witches, volatile ogres, and flighty fairy godmothers were alive and well in the Land of Enchantment. Armed with her new knowledge, Ms. Snapp’s desire to explore the realm of fairy tales soared, giving rise to the glorious challenge of writing. Now, with her couch potato Chihuahua as her muse, she is involved in several book projects that draw upon her harrowing experiences working and interacting with the enchanted masses.

  The Glass Coffin

  A retelling of “The Glass Coffin”

  D R Cartwright

  The sound woke me, a bellowing roar echoing through the forest and ricocheting off the wooden walls of the dingy cabin. The tiny square window panes rattled in their frames, their tinny pitch struggling to be heard.

  My eyes flickered open. Dim light surrounded me, the candles having long died down. The sun had yet to rear its head over the eastern horizon, bringing the world daylight, but I knew it wouldn’t make much difference here. Sunlight rarely graced the dense forest floor, leaving it in a constant state of darkness with deep shadows and watchful eyes.

  I stared around the room, listening, slightly shaken. A brief spell of vulnerability came over me. Had I been stupid to allow myself sleep here? The four walls of the run-down, shoddy cabin had offered a sense of security. For the first time in my journey I thought it safe to rest, but maybe I had been wrong.

  The roar died down, the sound dissipating among the trees outside.

  My quickened heartbeat slowed and I dared a movement. Travelling across miles and miles of menacing forest had taught me one thing—if ever you were caught unaware, don’t move. A movement might gain unwanted attention from an unsuspecting creature simply passing by.

  However, as my eyes darted about the cabin, something told me I wasn’t in any immediate danger. Taking the chance, I slowly lifted my head from its flat goose feather pillow and turned.

  The room was empty. I was safe.

  The roar had come from outside somewhere.

  As familiar as I had become with the creatures in this forest, the sound had been something I hadn’t heard before.

  The mildew smell of the old pillow left my nose as I sat up and peered at the small, dusty window. How far out there was this creature? After being startled awake, I hadn’t been able to judge how far away the cry had come from. It might have been right outside the door for all I knew.

  My hand slipped under the pillow, my fingers gripping the handle of the dagger I had hidden earlier, and I swung my legs off the bed and stood. My eyes never left the grimy glass panes. My booted feet navigated a careful path across the floorboards in silence, each foot easing down and ready to stop if even one board creaked under the pressure. They all remained as quiet as my breathing.

  A spider nestled on its web across the window, its large bulbous body streaked with black and red, and each point at the end of its long black legs resting on a thin strand of silk. Its next meal hung close by, encased tightly in a cocoon of the same silk, still alive and paralysed after a venomous bite, knowing what was to happen and having no option but to wait until the predator grew hungry.

  Spiders made for dark predators, and since learning how they fed, I was forever gra
teful I hadn’t been born a vulnerable insect to become its victim. I was human, and I had the power over any spider and therefore held no fear of them. But other predators lived in the shadows, capable of bestowing deeds upon me just as horrific as whatever lingered outside.

  Reaching up, my fingers pried away the webbing at the window and began rubbing away some of the grime on the glass as the disturbed spider scurried up to the safety of the far corner. My eyes peered through the clear section and out into the dark forest beyond. The deep shadows around the trees leered back, seeming lifeless, but those eyes were still out there, hidden and watchful.

  No sign of any larger beast showed.

  My grip on the dagger loosened, the sense of security returning, but it soon fled as a second cry echoed through the trees, rattling the loose panes in the window once again. This cry sounded different to the one that woke me, coming from a second animal, another as large as the first. I leaned closer to the grimy glass, oblivious to the spider watching my every move and cursing me for disturbing its web.

  Then I saw it.

  It came leaping through the trees, a beast of huge size but one of elegance and grace. A stag. As four dainty clove hooves flew over a bush and landed with poise on the mossy floor, a head lifted in the air, displaying the most impressive set of antlers I had ever seen. A slight gasp passed my lips as I peered closer to the glass, the coldness of the pane caressing the tip of my nose.

  The stag stood proud, turning his head in deliberate motions around him and allowing me to study his beauty and magnificence. The hunter in me wanted to fetch my bow and hunt for a prize, but the human in me wanted to let him be. I had never seen a creature of such splendor and realized he should never meet with the point of an arrow. This creature should live and thrive and rule.

  The second bellow, deep and menacing, vibrated the entire cabin. This had been the cry that woke me, and it didn’t belong to anything as graceful as the first creature.

  Startled, the stag leapt in the air and bounded closer to the cabin. I ducked in fear of being seen.

  The trees between him and the shadows wavered and the bushes parted as a mass of bulging muscle forced its way through. Upon seeing the stag, the second creature waved its head in the air and let out another bellow. This time the glass pane cracked, the deep vibrations sending a clean sharp line shooting up from one corner to the other. I jumped back in surprise.

  The second creature was a bull, a huge, angry creature with white fur and horns the size of my arms on its head. Muscles bulged on every inch of his body, displaying a stature of strength and violence, and as he snorted through his nose and peered at the stag with raging eyes, I realized he had been in pursuit. But why?

  Never in all the years of travelling had I seen creatures of such size and magnificence in the forest. These were other worldly creatures—they had to be—from another, darker realm I’d do well to steer clear of, but as the bull lowered his head, readying himself to charge the stag, I couldn’t sit back and watch. I had to interfere less the stag be rammed and destroyed.

  I moved with a speed I hadn’t used for some time and grabbed my bow and arrow. No stag as magnificent as he was going to die by such a beast. Without a care for my own safety I kicked open the rotting wooden door of the cabin and leapt onto the porch. As the bull hurtled forward, kicking up bushes and roots and leaves, I notched an arrow in the bow, pulled it back and released. The arrow soared through the air with as much grace as the stag and found its target in the beefy shoulder of the bull.

  His leg stammered with the sudden and painful intrusion in its muscle and bone, and he raised his head in the air, bellowing once again. The stag leapt back but remained where he stood, watching while the other beast skidded to a halt. He peered round and sniffed at the arrow protruding from his shoulder, a river of red flowing from the wound, staining its white fur.

  He glared up, his enraged eyes pinned in my direction. Unwavering, I notched a second arrow, knowing any minute he would come, and it wouldn’t take long before he struck me.

  I prepared myself.

  As soon as he lifted his head and roared his war cry, his hooves propelled him forward. I loosed the arrow. Just like the first, it flew through the air and struck true. The beast hollered in agony, the arrow tip embedding in his neck, but he didn’t stop.

  I quickly notched a third arrow and fired. It struck in the chest but still he came thundering toward me. I didn’t have time to fire a fourth and instead leapt to the side as the beast charged into the porch and, using his thick horns, rammed the front wall of the cabin. The shack trembled and collapsed around the raging, screaming form, and as I landed on my side, I rolled to my feet again, poised to strike. The bull tussled with the structure around him, unable to turn or gain momentum to go forward, and instead struggled backwards.

  Again I prepared myself.

  This beast was rabid, and my upbringing as a hunter’s son had taught me all rabid beasts must die through kindness to the creature and safety to others. The beast must be killed.

  Throwing my bow and arrow to the ground, I pulled my dagger from its sheath and leapt forward. The back of the bull pulsed as he struggled to free himself from under the collapsing cabin, and if I didn’t act soon he would gain the upper hand.

  Now was the chance, and I seized it.

  With wide strides I bounded up to the beast and hoisted myself on his back. He roared with protest and tried to buck me off but the weight of the structure kept him pinned. He increased his struggles to back out, frantically stomping the floor and thrashing his head around, his horns smashing away inside.

  My legs gripped the animal’s flanks, and I plunged my dagger in his side. The beast roared again, his body stiffening beneath me before resuming his frantic battle to be free.

  I yanked the dagger out and stabbed again and again, and blood flowed thick and fast, coating my hand and my leg with its warm stickiness. With my adrenaline surging, my own yell merged in with the animal’s and before long he worked his way free. With one last effort I reached forward and plunged the dagger in the beast’s neck before he bucked, hurling me through the air.

  My side impacted against a tree and pain exploded across my back. I slumped to the ground, breathless, and the beast stood still, his head hanging low as he snorted rapid breaths through his nose. Blood surged like a fountain from both arrow wounds and stab wounds.

  He was weakening.

  I tried to lift myself to my feet but my back screamed in protest and I winced. Despite my injuries, I looked up, my mind remaining firmly on the dying beast. He could still have one last bout of energy and charge me before giving up, and if he did I’d be in trouble. I couldn’t move yet—but as my eyes fell upon the sight, I began to believe the chances of him charging me were slim. The beast had lost too much blood already.

  The bull turned and stared across at me, his huge eyes still raging but the fire behind them dulling. He wanted to finish the job, he wanted to kill me but his spirit was leaving. He had no energy left, and as if to confirm, the bull’s knees trembled and buckled. The bulky form collapsed in a heavy heap on the floor and the ground beneath me vibrated as he went down. He snorted through enlarged nostrils, struggling for breath before rolling on his side and laying his head down.

  I watched, un-moving.

  The flanks on the beast rose and fell with his labored breathing, and after a few moments they stopped completely. I didn’t move, unsure. Had it really been that easy to kill such a beast? I had expected more of a fight, and the longer I stared at the still form, the more I began to believe the truth in it.

  The beast was dead.

  Wincing, my back returning to its usual but bruised state, I climbed to my feet. With an air of caution, I stepped up to the lifeless hulk, expecting him to jump to his feet and attack. The beast never moved. I stared at him, at his wide, dark eyes set against the contrasting white of his fur, and of the blood continuing to flow from his wounds and gather in a puddle beneath him
. Moss and leaves from the forest floor floated in the thick redness, and insects struggled, their tiny legs spread and trying to stop themselves from going under and drowning. Death would bring more death—but I had saved the life I wanted to save.

  I gazed up.

  The stag stood in the clearing, his stare directed between the dead bull and me, his head held high and proud, and his antlers still an impressive sight against the dull morning sky. I stared back, our gazes meeting and holding.

  With a stomp of his hoof on the mossy ground, the stag broke the gaze and tossed his head.

  Was he trying to tell me something?

  He continued to stomp before turning and walking away, but he stopped short of disappearing into the trees and looked back round at me. Twice more he did this and I frowned with wonder.

  “Do you want me to follow?” I asked. The stag bellowed, a cry not as deep and alarming as before but still enough to echo through the dark forest beyond.

  Again he stomped.

  I took a step forward and he moved a few steps away before halting and looking back as if checking I was in pursuit. Reaching down to the bull, I yanked my knife from his neck, wiping the blood off on my tunic and sheathing it before retrieving my bow and arrows. Then I followed.

  He took me through the forest, winding his way through trees, over stumps and logs and bushes. I followed for hours and not once did I question the stag’s reasons. He wanted me to follow and I was intent on finding out why.

  Eventually the trees came to a stop, the forest’s expansion being broken by a rock wall. Stepping out into the grassy plain, I stared up. The wall was flat with only a few nooks to be used as handholds. A climb up this section seemed impossible. Maybe further down the rock face? I peered to my right, noticing the stag studying me. He stomped his hoof again.

  “I can’t climb up here,” I told him as I gazed up at the trees lining the edge of the top. “It’s impossible. It’s suicide. Maybe further up there’s an easier route I can take.”