Fairly Wicked Tales

by Hal Bodner

  The stag bellowed and tossed his head, telling me this was the place he wanted to be.

  I took a step closer. “What? What do you want?” He protested again in his usual manner and indicated towards the wall. I shook my head. “I’ve told you, to climb here is suicide. I’ll not do it.” But the stag remained persistent.

  My brow creased with a frown as I wondered.

  “Well, it can’t be climbed so there must be something else, right?”

  He stomped, a gesture I took for yes.

  Curious, I put down my bow and arrows and stepped up to the rock wall, placing my hands on it. The rough surface was cold and grainy against my palms, no different to any other rock, and I shook my head. What exactly did this stag want me to find? My faith in him was strong though, and I believed there had to be something here he knew about. He wouldn’t have brought me otherwise. I scanned around, feeling as the rock rose and fell with notches and indents, and my skin grew covered with tiny fragments of grit. All the while the stag watched with intent.

  As hard as I looked, I couldn’t find anything different between this rock and the next.

  Then I felt it. At first the sensation was light, something that could easily be mistaken for imagination, but it grew stronger, a feeling, a pulse vibrating through my fingers, up my arms and into my chest. It buzzed and I buzzed with it.

  Hollering with shock, I pulled my hands away. What sorcery was this? My head thrashed round to the stag and he snorted and bowed his head. The sight of those impressive antlers seemed to reassure me somehow and I turned back to the wall.

  Still the stone appeared like any other rock face, but as I raised my hand and reached forwards, the buzzing sensation returned, causing every hair on my body to stand on end. I’d never felt anything like it before.

  My fingers touched the rock and instead of brushing over it, they sank in and disappeared. My eyes widened with terror. Shocked, I pulled them out and stared at the seemingly normal wall, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t expect that.

  The stag bellowed behind me and I turned to face him. “What is this?” I yelled. He stared at me before stomping on the ground. I gazed back at the wall. Was it a doorway? Did it lead somewhere the stag wanted me to go? I turned back. “Do you want me to go through? Is that it?”

  The stag bowed his head.

  “Where does it lead?”

  Of course the stag couldn’t answer me. Instead he slammed his hoof down again and shook his head in a way that told me to go through and I’ll find out. I let out a cautious sigh. Should I go through? What was beyond the doorway? It had to be something the animal was desperate for me to see.

  I closed my eyes and resigned myself. The fear of not being able to return never lingered, and as soon as the thought left, I raised my hand and let it disappear beyond the rock again, feeling the buzz work its way up my arm, across my shoulder and through my chest. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant. Inhaling a deep breath, I stepped forward.

  The rock engulfed me and darkness embraced me as I felt myself drawn forward, falling through thick shadows. I yelled with surprise, relinquishing all my control to the force as it sucked me from the world I knew. Warm, stale air rushed past me as I went, being taken somewhere I had no idea of. Now the fear of not being able to return pinched at my insides, feeding doubt, but just as those seeds were planted, I collided with something soft, and collapsed in a heap onto what I presumed to be the floor.

  I sat still, gasping, gaining my breath and recollecting what had happened. The soft wall I had bounced off pressed against my arm, but the floor on which I knelt seemed different. As my senses returned I realized my hands rested in something wet, and that same wetness seeped though my breeches and chilled my legs. I lifted my hand and squinted though the darkness but the shadows stole any sight.

  Something scurried over my other hand, something small, something insect-like. I squealed and threw my hand in the air as something else crawled over my leg. As I frantically hit out, more creatures came, climbing up me, tickling my flesh and wanting to invade my space. I let out another yell as I staggered to my feet and as my hands attacked me, swiping and battering away insect after insect. They were everywhere—crawling, nipping—and my ears were suddenly filled with their clacking sounds and their peeps. I shivered with disgust, fear eating its way into me, and continued to defend myself against the onslaught. Panic rose. There were too many to fight, too many to hit at. I was going to be eaten alive!

  I screamed as I thrashed around, feeling them slither inside my clothes and work their way in my beard and hair. One made its way towards my mouth and I spat, knocking it away. I was drowning in a sea of monstrous insects; engulfed; consumed.

  A dim glow sparked in the distant gloom. The small speck of whiteness caught my eye and desperate hope ignited in my sinking heart. I knew the stag hadn’t led me to my death.

  Forcing back my panic, I surged forward, hearing bugs fall from me, and crunch under foot. Still I battled them from my body, my clothes, and my hair, but no longer did I feel consumed. There was light. There was hope. And I struggled towards it.

  As I grew closer the light increased in size. I squinted, trying to discern its source from the shadows. What was it? A doorway? No, more like a mere gap in the blackness. But the light source existed beyond. Teasing my mind from the constricting terror of the insects, I quickened towards it. The glow grew brighter, a striking contrast against its surroundings, and I shielded my eyes until they adjusted.

  The beyond became visible. The colors appeared a blur at first, a mixture of reds and blues, but as I closed the gap they took shape. A room—a stately room with white marbled pillars and arches, and a black and white tiled floor lay out like a swirling chessboard. My jaw dropped open and I gazed with wide eyes at the unexpected beauty. I had seen some stately homes in my time, but I had never seen anything as grand as this. Stunned, I edged towards the gap—a gap merely big enough for a person to climb through—and stared. The light came from flaming torches sitting in wrought iron holders, and the walls glittered as the flickering radiance played off thousands of jewels; rubies, emeralds, sapphires, pearls and diamonds, all arranged in swirling patterns between the pillars. The room was a treasure hunter’s gold mine.

  Is this what the stag had wanted me to find? Did he want me to uncover my fortune? But surely he didn’t intend for me to enter here and start stripping the walls and desiccating this dazzling secret? No, another reason lay behind this—and as my eyes moved round I realized it involved the object sitting in the centre.

  This captured my attention more than the jewels, beautiful yet heart rendering at the same time.

  It was a woman.

  She appeared exquisite with her long, silky chestnut hair, red lips and a slender form. Instantly I became drawn to her, but one thing held me back. She had been laid in coffin of glass. Her eyes were shut, her long, dark eyelashes resting against her cheeks, and her hands resting on her stomach, her long, delicate fingers entwined with each other.

  Was she dead? Death was an ugly thing but she remained so beautiful. What was the meaning of this? Curious, I began to climb through the gap, leaving the bugs far behind me. I climbed down the rubble strangely lining this one wall, as if the shadows of beyond had once tried to break through, and made my way to the center. My eyes never left the sight of the fair maiden. Who was she? Why was she here? And what was this place that had trapped her?

  The woman was even more refined up close, with her blue velvet dress laced with gold, and the perfectly formed ringlets of her hair surrounding her peaceful face. She resembled a picture of magnificence, and such magnificence shouldn’t be closed away. I had to get her out.

  I studied the clear structure, studied the corners, searching for hinges, for a way to open the enclosure. There was nothing. And then I spotted the faint line running the length of the coffin on the side. I crouched for a closer inspection. The top, I realized, was a separate lid. Hopeful, I stret
ched my hands across it, the glass cold yet smooth against my palms, and gently pushed. After a little protest, the top gave in and moved, sliding backwards with a high-pitched grinding song. With no support on the other side, the lid fell off the structure, crashing down and filling the silent room with a deafening noise. The glass plate was thick and too sturdy to smash, but a crack made its way up from one edge.

  The scent of rose petals wafted from the open coffin, a smell that captivated and bewitched me. The maiden appeared even more stunning without her glass barrier, and without a second thought, I reached down and slipped my arms under her still form, lifting her torso up so she sat in my arms. She weighed next to nothing in my hold.

  Did she still live?

  I couldn’t tell. She wasn’t breathing, but if she were dead why did she still glow so beautifully? I gazed at her lips, lips still possessing the natural hue of roses. Oh how they trapped me, how they enchanted me with their perfect plumpness and enticement. The urge to plant my own lips upon them overwhelmed me. Could I steal a single kiss without being discovered?

  I looked around the room and glanced back at the dark gap in the wall. Silence surrounded me. No one was here. No one would know.

  I looked back at the maiden, my mind resolved, and lowered myself down to her. Our lips met, my roughness brushing her silky smoothness. My hold on her lingered, the want to keep her near and to taste more of her strong within me, but a brief kiss was all I dared to steal. I pulled myself away and stared down at her. Such beauty.

  Movement caught my attention, a brief twitch, and as I studied it happened again. Her eyelids flickered, her long lashes trembling on her cheeks. My heart jolted as excitement filled me. She lived.

  After another flicker her lids opened to reveal sparkling sapphires staring back at me, emotionless, then puzzled, then frightened. I smiled down at her, reassuring her she was okay, and instantly I fell in love with the relief and the gratitude that shone from them.

  “Fear not, my lady. You are quite safe and well.”

  She remained still, staring at me as her shock began to ebb. “The sorcerer? Where is the sorcerer?” Her soft, trembling voice was like a bird song to my ear.

  My smile remained. “There is no sorcerer here. We are quite alone. Is he the one who put you here?”

  She gave a slight nod, swallowing and blinking away her coma. “He offered marriage but I declined, and he set me in here so no other can have me. And of my brother? Where is my brother? He was turned into a stag by the same sorcerer. Pray tell, does he still live?”

  My mind raced back to the Bull and the Stag. Yes, it made sense now. The stag was her brother, trapped in a glorious body yet doomed to live in the forest until the magical hold on them was broken. And the bull for which I killed? Maybe he had been the sorcerer.

  “Your brother, the stag, still lives, my lady. He brought me here to you.”

  A smile of relief washed over the maiden’s face, a smile so captivating I melted at its mercy.

  But then there was pain, blinding pain in my abdomen. My eyes gawped, shocked as I stared at a smile no longer shining with beauty. It was cold and callous. The woman shifted and took her own weight from my hold. Without her in my arms, I managed to peer down, seeing blood flow from a new wound. Where had this come from? Was this part of the spell? Then I spotted the dagger gripped in her delicate hand, my dagger, a dagger she had stealthily slipped from its sheath to use against me.

  Weakened, I fell back and pressed my hands to my wound, knowing full well it would do little good. I was losing blood fast and I could feel my life draining from me.

  As I kicked my feet against the floor, I struggled away from the glass coffin as she stood, revealing her true nature. She was evil, pure evil. What had I done?

  “I knew it would happen. I knew a weakling would give into the temptation of seduction, even from someone as dead as I had been. You fool.” She gave a cackle as she stepped from the box and glided closer to me, effortless yet menacing. “I know you killed the sorcerer. I know you killed the bull. He has been chasing my brother for centuries, trying to stop him from luring innocent men like yourself down here to awaken me—only this time he has failed and now my brother awaits. Thank you, traveler. Thank you for lifting this curse from us.”

  I continued to struggle back, my strength draining from me and my breaths becoming ragged as she lowered herself to the floor and leaned over me. “There is but one last thing you can give me.”

  She leaned close to me, so close the warmth of her breath brushed my dying cheek. I thought I could smell the roses again, but it was marred by the stench of malice. The smell, I now knew, had only been present to ruse me.

  “You see, when I was cursed, my magic became cursed and bound. Only by the consumption of one thing can I be fully restored to all my magnificence.” She leaned even closer and I winced as her warm tongue licked the side of my face, a distraction against the dagger’s point pressing on my chest. “I need a human heart. And seeing as my spell was broken by love’s first true kiss, yours will do perfectly.”

  I didn’t have time to protest, didn’t have the strength to defend as the cold steel pushed its way into my chest and between ribs. The pain was excruciating, but I didn’t cry out. I was falling deep into the shadows of guilt, realizing the evil I had unleashed upon the world, an evil the bull had fought so hard to keep hidden for centuries. I had been foolish and cursed myself for being so as I collapsed back on the floor and stared at the colorful gems on the ceiling above. Something tickled my outstretched hand, and as I peered over I saw the insects from the dark cascading through the gap and scurrying towards me in a frantic bid to devour me after the witch had finished her work and gained my beating heart. This was where I was to finish my life. This was where I would find my end, in a dark cavern with my flesh eaten and my heart stolen, and no one would ever find me.

  I closed my eyes and drew in one last breath, knowing my heavy soul would be forever alone in the darkness beyond.

  About the Author

  Dawn Cartwright: A writer, an artist, reader, blogger, wife, owner of a Persian cat, under full-time employment and having to deal with being blonde both in hair color and in mentality, how does Dawn find time to do what she does? She doesn’t know the answer to this question, but does know that she manages to fit it all in—somehow.

  Dawn first picked up her pen when she was ten and hasn’t put it down since. With numerous novels under belt, she has one self-published on Amazon, along with a collection of short horror stories, and is currently in the process of hunting for a publishing agent for her Fantasy Horror series. The one question all writers hear is ‘where do you get your inspiration?’ With the things Dawn often churns out, from horror, fantasy, and thriller to name but a few, it’s a question best not asked, and it’s no wonder her husband prefers to sleep with one eye open.

  The Price of the Sea

  A retelling of “The Little Mermaid”

  David R. Matteri

  “Hold fast, damn you! Hold!”

  The Prince braced his legs and gripped the rope as another wave of icy sea water soaked his face. Lightning cracked overhead as the wind rocked the wooden sailing ship. His fellow sailors rushed around him, shouting futile orders in their losing struggle against the fury of the storm.

  The Prince ground his teeth as his stomach turned in on itself from the erratic motion of the ship. They sailed on a diplomatic mission to the kingdoms of the south–a journey which should have lasted a day and a night. Indeed, only a few hours ago they had feasted on roasted pig and fruits from the mainland. Their bellies full, the men turned to drinking grog and singing old sea chants. But then the glow of the moon and stars were snuffed out by a mass of black clouds rolling across the skies. The sudden rush of the storm turned their merriment into terror. No more songs of lost love or fair maidens came from the lips of those sailors, only the cries of “hold fast.”

  Hold fast or die.

  A monstrous wave l
oomed over the ship. The Prince’s heart shriveled in terror at the size of the wall of ocean crashing down on him. The force swept the Prince off his feet. Sea water filled his ears and his vision blacked out. For a moment, he feared his end had come as he tumbled through a void.

  Someone gripped his wrists. The Prince forced his eyes open and realized he dangled off the side of the ship. One of the stockier sailors, an old sea dog with a long grey beard, had seized him just before he fell overboard. The Prince spared a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the roiling sea far below him.

  “I have you,” the sea dog shouted. “Hold fast!”

  A new sound erupted over the din of the storm and men: splintering wood. The mainmast had been torn from its base and collapsed. The Prince watched in horror as the falling mast came down towards him and the old sea dog. He shouted a warning, his voice inaudible over the crashing sea and storm. The mast struck the sailor’s head and knocked him overboard.

  The Prince fell. He swung his arms in hopes to catch something, anything, to break his fall. He crashed into the ocean alongside debris and other sailors unfortunate enough to be swept off the deck. He kicked his legs and swept his arms out and reached the surface. Spitting bitter sea water, the Prince searched for something to grab and spotted some floating planks of wood. He grabbed the wood and stared at the ship flailing in the ocean. A fire erupted on the deck, but with no one around to put it out, the blaze quickly spread and engulfed most of the ship. Then, with a groan that sounded eerily like the death knell of an animal, the burning ship sank into the roiling waves. Men screamed as they jumped overboard. The Prince shouted for help, but no one shouted back.

  The Prince could no longer think clearly. Survival replaced clear thinking despite the slim odds of finding dry land this far out at sea. There was just enough room on the planks for him to lie on his stomach. He did so and gripped the edges as the storm thundered and crashed overhead.