The Inside Story

by Michael Buckley

  “We’ll finish the story on our own,” the Tin Man said.

  The Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion nodded their heads in agreement.

  “I have to warn you,” Daphne said. “The Scarecrow has his hay yanked out, the Cowardly Lion is chained up in a yard, and the Tin Man is thrown out a window of the castle. You could all skip that stuff if you come with us.”

  “That’s what happens to these guys?” Puck asked as he snatched the girls up. “You Grimms sure you don’t want to go with them? It sounds hilarious.”

  Sabrina shook her head, and Puck flew the girls toward an open window. “Well, I wish I could say it was fun,” Sabrina called back to the trio.

  A second later, they were soaring high over the spiraling green towers of Emerald City. Heading due west, Puck’s wings lifted them higher and higher until they could see nearly every mile of the Land of Oz. They flew on for the better part of an afternoon before a dark castle came into view.

  Puck circled it once to find a good entrance and finally spotted an open window in a high tower. He swooped inside and they landed. The room was covered in tapestries the color of the night sky. In a far corner of the room, a dark figure was hovering over a crystal ball. Her face was illuminated by the ball’s swirling light. Her skin was a pale shade of green. She had black, unkempt hair and a patch over her left eye. Her skin was covered in warts and her teeth were filed down into fangs. She was one of the scariest people Sabrina had ever seen, but when she noticed the children she let out a startled yelp and backed herself into the corner.

  “You’re early!” she cried. “You missed the flying-monkey attack! And the swarm of killer bees! I’m supposed to send all manner of torment against you before you get here.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Sabrina said, “but we have to move things along. Where do you keep the buckets of water?”

  “Right. Right,” the Witch said. She rushed across the room and returned with a bucket full of hot, soapy water and a mop, which she placed in front of Daphne. “Maybe the Editor won’t even notice. OK, Dorothy, in this scene, you are scrubbing the floors. I’ll go out and come back in, and when I do I’ll be very angry. All you have to do is throw the water on me. Then I’ll melt.”

  The Witch raced out into the hall.

  “I don’t want her to melt. I’ll have nightmares,” Daphne said.

  “She’s not real, Daphne,” Sabrina said.

  The Witch raced back into the room. She had a horrible expression on her face but it quickly changed to confusion. “Why aren’t you scrubbing?”

  “I don’t want you to die,” Daphne said.

  “But that’s what happened with the real Dorothy,” the Witch said. “You have to make me melt. Don’t worry about me! I’ve done it a million times. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.”

  Daphne frowned. “It’s not right.”

  Puck snatched the bucket from Daphne. “I would love to see her melt,” he said.

  Daphne snatched the bucket back. “No one is melting!”

  “Give me back the bucket or you’re not invited to the wedding,” Puck cried.

  “OK, everyone calm down,” Sabrina said.

  “Should I go back out and try this again?” the Witch asked.

  “I won’t do it,” Daphne said.

  “Daphne, we can’t get to the door unless we do this,” Sabrina said. “And we can’t stay in this story. Mirror is in this book with our brother.”

  “I know that!” the little girl cried.

  “Here, I’ll make this easy on everyone. Give me the bucket,” the Witch said and tried to snatch it from Daphne. “I’ll pour it on myself.”

  “No!”

  “Kid, let go of the bucket,” the Witch demanded. “I want to melt! Really! I do!”

  “You don’t know what you want.”

  “I’m not kidding. Dump that water on me now.”

  “Forget it! You’re staying dry!”

  Just then, the Witch gave a mighty tug and the bucket fell onto her. Water splashed across her body and a hissing sound filled the room. The children could do nothing but watch as the woman’s body began to dribble onto the floor like butter in a saucepan. A green puddle collected at their feet.

  “Thank you sooooo much!” the Witch cried just before the smile on her face leaked down her dress.

  Daphne was breathing deeply, and her face had taken on a queasy green hue that rivaled the Witch’s complexion. “I am never going to get over that.”

  “I said it before and I’ll say it again, Oz rules!” Puck cried.

  Suddenly a door materialized out of thin air. Sabrina stepped over and circled around it. It was painted red and had a little brass knocker on it. It could have been the front door of a million different homes, only there was no physical reason the door should be standing in midair. But it was there, right in front of them, defying reason. Sabrina clasped the knob, turned it, and swung the door open. A blast of wind blew her hair, and all around her was a smell of a burning fireplace.

  “So this takes us to the next story?” Puck shouted over the wind.

  Sabrina nodded. “That’s what we were told.”

  “Where do you think it leads to?” Daphne asked.

  “I don’t know, but I hope it isn’t as annoying as Oz,” Sabrina said.

  “I hope it’s a place where people don’t melt,” Daphne grumbled.

  Sabrina took Daphne’s and Puck’s hands, and together they stepped through the door. There was a whooshing sound and Sabrina’s stomach dropped, and then they suddenly found themselves in a somber library. All the furniture was a dark cherrywood. Tightly packed books, some that looked as old as time, were displayed neatly on bookshelves soaring hundreds of feet into the air. A yellowing globe sat on a stone podium, and the head of some horrible, alien animal was mounted above a crackling fireplace. In the center of the room was a high-backed leather chair, and resting in the chair was a thin, elderly man with hair as white as freshly fallen snow. A pair of antique spectacles sat precariously on the tip of his long, pointy nose. He leafed through a book with one hand and patted the bulbous head of a strange, pink creature with the other. Sabrina recognized it as one of the scurrying creatures that attacked them on the road in Oz—the one the Tin Man had called a “reviser.” Its gnashing teeth and lack of eyes unnerved Sabrina.

  “I know the fairy: Puck, Trickster, Imp, the Pooka,” the old man said as he gestured to Puck. Then he turned his tiny eyes toward the girls. “You two I do not know.”

  “We’re Sabrina and Daphne Grimm,” Sabrina said.

  “Did you say ‘Grimm’?”

  “Yes, sir. What story is this?” Daphne asked.

  Sabrina looked down at her own clothes to see if she and her sister had new outfits, but both she and Daphne were wearing their own clothing again. Even the silver slippers were gone. She looked up and saw that Dorothy’s shoes were resting on a tray. The old man placed them in the mouth of the reviser next to his chair.

  “Prepare these for reinsertion into the story,” he said, and then turned his attention back to the children. “You are not in a story. You are in my library—a place few humans or Everafters have ever seen. I have been forced to bring you here to protect the sanctity of the Book you and your comrades are sullying. Running around in my pages causes quite a bit of damage.”

  “You’re the Editor,” Sabrina said.

  Four more of the pink creatures crawled out from beneath the old man’s chair. He treated them like pets, scratching affectionately at their grotesque heads and bellies. “The characters in the Book of Everafter are difficult enough to manage without the interference of visitors. You’ve made a complete mess out of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. You skipped over parts, you butchered the dialogue, and you changed the climax. I don’t remember the Witch begging Dorothy to kill her. My revisers will have quite a bit of work ahead of them to put things back to the way they really happened.”

  The old man rose from his chair and cros
sed the room to the door the children had just stepped through, which was still standing open in the middle of the floor. The pink monsters followed him there, and when he knelt down they grinned and squeaked. He waved a hand as if to calm them and then spoke softly.

  “I’m afraid I need more than the five of you,” he said. “I’m thinking The Wonderful Wizard of Oz needs a complete page-one rewrite. We’re going to start over with this one. No use discovering we have a problem later.”

  The little pink monsters hopped forward to lick the man’s hand with their long, white tongues and then scurried back. To Sabrina’s amazement, the five divided themselves into ten, then twenty, then forty, and on and on and on. They were like bacteria in a petri dish, reproducing at an alarming rate, until there were hundreds of them. They scuttled through the open doorway with their huge, fanged mouths open wide, and then the doorway closed.

  “What are they going to do?” Daphne asked.

  “They are revisers, child. They are going to fix the changes you have made—which have been numerous.”

  “And how do they do that?” Sabrina asked suspiciously.

  “They’re going to erase everyone and everything.”

  “Erase?”

  “I suppose a more accurate word would be ‘eat.’ ”

  “Those things are going to eat everyone we met in Oz? Because of us?” Daphne cried.

  “Can I watch?” Puck said.

  “That’s what a reviser does,” the Editor said. “When they are finished, I can re-craft the story so that it matches what happened at the actual event. You seem troubled, but if I were to allow the changes you made to stay in place . . . well, it would change history—real history. Dorothy might have been trapped in Oz for good. The repercussions could be unpredictable and dangerous. Luckily, I’m here to put it back the way it has always been.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sabrina said.

  The Editor sighed impatiently. “Just like a Grimm to leap into a magic book without knowing how it works. Let me explain this in simple terms. A hundred years ago the Book of Everafter was created by the Everafter community as a sort of history book of its people—a living, breathing diorama of the places and events cherished most by the fairy-tale folk of Ferryport Landing. Many of the stories mirror those documented by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, L. Frank Baum, Hans Christian Andersen, et cetera, but unlike the writings of those men, a person can actually walk into this history book and interact with the characters. This provided the community with the opportunity to vacation away from the town and its barrier, if they so desired—reliving their glory days, as it were. For nearly four decades, it was enjoyed by many, until an Everafter abused the privilege and altered the magic for her own personal gain. She turned the Book’s magic into something its original creators never imagined.”

  “What did she do?” Daphne cried.

  “She linked it to real history.”

  “Huh?” Puck said.

  “Pay attention!” the Editor snapped. “The changes she made were very dangerous. Now when someone steps into the Book of Everafter, they can choose to change things they don’t like, and history, in the real world, is forever changed. They can marry a different princess, choose not to kiss a frog, or arrive in time to make sure the Wolf does not eat their grandmother. Whatever they change in these stories will change history. The real world will bend and twist to fit the changes. No one will remember that anything is different. This Everafter did just that—she went into her story, caused havoc, and her changes changed history.”

  “Who was it?” Daphne asked.

  “That is privileged information. All I will say is that her tale was tragic and heartbreaking and now, it is not. Needless to say, the woman made a mess and couldn’t put the story back together in a way that made any sense. So she created me, and the revisers, to help her fill in the holes. Since then, it has become my duty to clean up any further changes made by visitors, and to keep the status quo. But you fools are messing things up. Every little change you make changes reality—that is, if I don’t fix it back before it’s too late.”

  “We didn’t know!” Daphne cried.

  “Clearly,” the Editor said.

  Sabrina scowled. “We’re not a bunch of meddlesome kids joyriding in your stupid book. We’re trying to rescue a member of our family. Once we find him, we’ll go.”

  The Editor frowned as he sat back in his big chair. “I can feel his presence, as well as two others—the Magic Mirror, and Pinocchio, the marionette who wished to be a real boy.”

  “Pinocchio helped Mirror kidnap our brother,” Daphne said.

  “Regardless of their real-world transgressions, you do not belong here.” The old man gestured to the other side of the room and another doorway materialized. The door swung open. On the other side stood Granny Relda and the girls’ parents in the Hall of Wonders, looking down into the Book of Everafter. From their confused expressions, Sabrina could tell they couldn’t see the girls or the library in which they were standing.

  Sabrina considered the Editor’s explanation. Perhaps one of the adults might do a better job than she would. If she went back, her mother or father could step in and take up the hunt. Granny Relda would know what to do. The temptation to let someone else make the big choices was incredible.

  “We’re not going without our brother,” Daphne said, jarring her sister from her conflicted thoughts. “Mirror is planning on stealing his body. We won’t go until he’s safe. I don’t care if we wreck every story in this book.”

  The Editor shifted in his chair. His face showed anger and surprise. “Leave now or my revisers will devour you,” he seethed.

  Puck shrugged. “I’ve been eaten before. It’s no big deal.”

  Daphne pulled Puck and Sabrina back toward the doorway they and the revisers had just stepped through. She opened it and faced a terrible wind layered with heat and humidity, and smelling like something untamed and dangerous.

  “You are making a terrible mistake!” the Editor shouted over the sound of the wind.

  “If I had a nickel for every time a bad guy told me that, I’d be a rich detective,” Daphne said. She pushed everyone through, and suddenly there was a stomach-dropping moment, and then the Editor and his creepy pets were gone.

  Sabrina stood on a large, flat rock beneath an inky night sky. The air was hot and humid and heavy with the musk of wild creatures. Jungle trees dipped down overheard and the full moon’s light lit up the ground. In her hand was a torch, which she held above her head. Its light revealed savage beasts surrounding her—a pack of wolves. Each held its haunches high, but their eyes were on the ground and many were trembling in fear. The torch also illuminated the dirty loincloth that barely covered her.

  “Thou art the master,” a voice said from the trees above her head. It was smooth and serious, and when she looked up at it she realized its owner was a black panther nestled in the branches. “Save Akela from the death. He was ever your friend.”

  Terrified, Sabrina screamed and stumbled backward. When the panther did not pounce, she tried to calm herself. She told herself over and over again that she was in a story and story animals were not the same as their man-eating real-life versions. At least, she hoped they weren’t. The fact that the panther was talking boded well too. Most of the talking animals in Ferryport Landing weren’t savage—annoying for sure, but not bloodthirsty. Still, there was no sign of Daphne or Puck. Perhaps they had been the appetizers and she was about to become the main course. “Daphne? Puck? I could really use some help here.”

  An old gray wolf stood nearby, its head bowed in obedience. When she spoke, he looked up in confusion. “What did the man-cub say?”

  “I have no idea,” another said.

  “Could the man-cub repeat what he just said?”

  “Man-cub?” Sabrina said, confused.

  Then a figure on hands and knees crawled toward her. It was Daphne and she was giggling. “We’re in The Jungle Book!”


  Sabrina had not read The Jungle Book. Granny Relda had told her that its main character, Mowgli, was a good kid, so she had flipped through the book quickly and moved on to the next. Looking back, that hadn’t been the best strategy.

  “I’m a wolf,” Daphne said, letting out a goofy howl at the silver moon. It sounded less like a wolf and more like a wounded house cat. “Guess who you are! You’re Mowgli!”

  Sabrina searched her memory for facts about Mowgli. He was a boy from India who was raised by wolves—he had a friend that was a sloth bear and another that was a panther. She seemed to recall there was something else about a tiger, but she couldn’t remember anything specific. Was the tiger really annoying and bouncing around a lot? Maybe that was another story.

  “Where’s Puck?” Sabrina asked.

  Daphne shrugged as she got to her feet. “He’s around here somewhere.”

  Sabrina frowned as she studied the wolf pack nervously. “Any idea what we’re supposed to do before we’re turned into dog food?”

  “Pardon me?” one of the wolves cried. “We are not dogs. We are wolves!”

  “Proud ones at that!” another shouted.

  Just then, a huge animal lumbered onto the rock. It was orange and white and all muscle. Sabrina nearly dropped her torch in fright when she realized it was a Bengal tiger. This particular animal hobbled on a lame foot, but that did nothing to detract from its menacing presence.

  “Enough!” it roared. “This is not how things went. You are supposed to grant Akela a pardon from the death and then accept your banishment from the pack and the Council. Then you are supposed to attack some of the wolves with your torch and then attack me. You must stick to what happened, or the revisers will come. Follow the original events or I will kill you where you stand, man-cub.”

  “First, I’m not a ‘man-cub.’ If anything I’m a woman-cub,” Sabrina said. “Secondly, I don’t know this story well enough to follow it, so you’re going to have cut me a break.”

  “Perhaps I should just cut you,” Shere Khan said, flashing the claws on his good paw.