The Inside Story

by Michael Buckley

“Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control,” Puck said as he flew casually over to the giant’s ear. He shouted something to the big brute that the girls could not hear. They were too busy screaming and praying. A moment later, Puck fluttered back down to them. “Allow me to introduce you to my assistant.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sabrina whimpered.

  “I just recruited some help. Try to keep up, ugly,” Puck said.

  The giant reared its head and grunted at Puck.

  “Not you!” Puck shouted, then pointed to Sabrina. “She’s the ugly one.”

  The giant squinted at Sabrina and nodded.

  “He’s on our side,” Puck continued.

  “Friends!” the giant roared. Then, with a sudden jerk, the giant climbed down the rest of the beanstalk with ease. In no time at all, the children and their enormous sidekick were on the ground, though the giant still held them tightly ten feet off the ground.

  The girls peered up at him suspiciously, unsure whether to trust Puck or kick their way down and run for their lives. Neither seemed a safe bet.

  “He’s really going to help us stop Pinocchio?” Sabrina asked.

  Puck pointed across the farm. Pinocchio and his tiny helpers were bolting toward the forest not far away. “Hey, big guy, you see that boy running across the field?”

  The giant grunted.

  “That’s the guy who stole your stuff. He’s Jack.”

  The giant growled and took off across the farm, stomping on the little house beneath the beanstalk in his eagerness. Puck flew alongside his new recruit.

  “You told him that Pinocchio is Jack?” Sabrina asked.

  Puck nodded. “Better than telling him you’re Jack.”

  Sabrina looked down at her clothes and saw she was wearing well-worn wool pants, a filthy shirt, and a cap. The Book had turned her into Jack.

  “Good thinking,” Daphne said. “You know, sometimes you’re . . . you’re Pucktastic!”

  “New word?” Sabrina asked. Daphne had her own special vocabulary that seemed to materialize out of thin air.

  Daphne nodded. “It means Puck-like in the best possible way.”

  Eventually, the giant stepped over Pinocchio to block his path. He spun around, set the girls down at his feet, and growled at the little boy.

  “Step aside, brute,” Pinocchio said.

  “Fe! Fi! Fo! Fum!” the giant bellowed. “I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

  “You big idiot,” the little boy said. “I’m not part of your story.”

  “Yes, he is,” Puck shouted into the giant’s ear. “He’s Jack! Jack the Giant Killer. You know, in the killer of giants. Don’t believe a word of what he says.”

  The giant roared and beat his chest like an overgrown gorilla.

  Pinocchio stomped the ground in anger and stretched out his hand. In it he was holding a long black stick with a crystal star on the end. It crackled and popped with magical energy. He flicked it and a lightning bolt shot out and hit the giant in the chest. The giant cried out in rage and agony as he staggered back a step. Sabrina could see the attack had wounded him slightly, but his pride seemed to have taken a bigger blow. He looked perplexed that such a little boy could hurt him.

  “Where did you get that?” Daphne asked Pinocchio.

  “I’ve been seizing some unique items in the stories I’ve visited,” Pinocchio said. “Some of them have proven to be quite useful. Take this fairy godmother’s wand, which I acquired in the tale of Cinderella.”

  “It’s going to take more than a sparkler to stop our friend here,” Puck said, then turned to the giant. “Hey, big guy, are you going to let him get away? He stole the goose that lays the golden eggs!”

  The giant roared again and leaped forward, only to be met with another painful shock. This one sent him down to one knee. He pulled himself back up to his feet, but Pinocchio was ready with another blast.

  “We have to help,” Daphne said. She scooped up a rock and rushed at the boy. Puck got out his wooden sword and followed. Sabrina clenched her fists and smiled. It had been a long time since she’d had a chance to use them, and she couldn’t think of a better punching bag. While Pinocchio was distracted by the giant, the three children set on him, kicking and scratching. Puck smacked him in the mouth with his sword. Daphne kicked him in the shins. Sabrina punched and slapped. The combined assault forced the little boy to stop his attack on the giant and back away. When he could break free, he rushed into the woods and the children gave chase. They found him in a clearing where a magic door had materialized. Pinocchio opened it and turned to face his pursuers.

  “It would be ill-advised for you miscreants to follow me,” the boy said. “I have no qualms about hurting you.”

  “What did he say?” Puck asked.

  “Who knows?” Daphne replied.

  “Philistines!” Pinocchio cried, and then he stepped into the doorway and vanished. A moment later, the door disappeared as well.

  “What does ‘Philistines’ mean?” Daphne asked.

  Sabrina shrugged. “My best guess is he’s calling us morons.”

  “I want to punch some of those big words right down his mouth,” Puck said.

  “I’m very worried you won’t get your chance,” Sabrina said. “Pinocchio just took our door. We may be stuck here.”

  “No problem,” Daphne said as she removed the ball of magic yarn from her pocket. “We still have this.” She leaned over and whispered something into the yarn, but it sat motionless in her hand. “It’s not working.”

  “Because there isn’t a door to find,” Sabrina said. “It can’t direct us someplace that doesn’t exist.”

  “Oohg want to say thanks,” the giant interrupted. “You make Oohg happy.”

  “Happy? How?” Daphne wanted to know.

  “Oohg stomp through story many times. Each time Jack kill Oohg. This time, Oohg survive.”

  Sabrina frowned. “I’m afraid the Editor will come and fix that.”

  “Editor can try. Until then, Oohg going to enjoy new ending. Also, Oohg very honored to take part in celebration.”

  “Huh?”

  “Meet my best man,” Puck said, and then turned to the giant. “See you at the church, pal.”

  The giant nodded respectfully and ran into the woods. Trees were uprooted as they caught in his boots and were pulverized into mash. And then he was gone.

  “Daphne miss Oohg,” the little girl said. “Hmmm, Oohg Grimm . . .”

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Mom would love that.”

  “I think she would! Oohg Grimm is Pucktastic.”

  “Hey, you think the Editor is sending revisers?” Puck asked.

  Sabrina nodded. “I’m sure he is. Our new boss doesn’t seem to have a problem erasing his employees.”

  They wandered into the woods until they found a pear tree. Puck shook it and dozens of plump, juicy treats fell around them. There was a clear pond only steps away, so the children washed the fruit and then sat under the tree for a feast. It was good to have something in their bellies. Sabrina, however, couldn’t enjoy the snack because she was busy forcing down the panic rising in her throat. Her thoughts were haunted by images of little pink monsters pouring into the story and eating everything in sight. Without an escape door, there would be nowhere to run when the revisers came. All they could do was wait for the end.

  “You two get some rest,” Sabrina said. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Puck and Daphne didn’t argue. They lay down and soon both were snoring. Sabrina looked down at them. When the revisers came, she wouldn’t wake them. Better to die in their sleep, she thought.

  To occupy herself, she found some smooth, flat stones by the pond and practiced skipping them along the surface of the water. She had seen people skipping stones on TV, but there was little opportunity to learn such a skill in Manhattan. Sure, she lived on an island bordered by a river and the ocean, but almost every square inch of land was paved.

  Sti
ll, after some effort, she managed to get one to skip three times before it sank into oblivion. She searched the shore for more stones, collecting them in her pockets and in the belly of her shirt. When she’d had enough, she turned back to the pond only to see something unexpected rising from it. There was a creature in the water—no, better to say it was a creature made from the water. Though it was the shape of a man, it was made entirely of liquid. Leaves and pebbles swirled around in its body as it raced across the pond’s surface toward her.

  Sabrina was dumbfounded. Before she knew what was happening, its cold, wet hands were around her throat, squeezing tight. She fell back, spilling her stones at her feet and landing hard on the muddy ground. She tried to call out, but the creature’s watery hands were so strong they cut off her ability to speak and breathe.

  “Free me!” it bellowed. “Release me from this prison!”

  Suddenly there was a blast of heat and the creature cried out. Momentarily stunned, its hands lost their shape and Sabrina took the opportunity to crawl out of its reach. When she turned to run, she saw Puck breathing fire at the water monster, causing it to boil and evaporate into steam. What was left of it sank back into the pond and disappeared.

  “What was that thing, Grimm?” Puck asked as he helped her to her feet.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I have a theory that it was what everyone’s been warning us about,” Sabrina croaked. “The character from Snow White’s story that was too horrible to keep. We’re outside of Jack’s story, in the woods. That’s where this thing lives—in the parts of stories that aren’t written. When it had me, it demanded that I set it free.”

  “What’s going on?” Daphne asked as she rushed to the pond.

  Puck shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Sabrina looked at him, silently thanking him for not causing the little girl any more worry.

  “Well, come on. I have an idea on how to get out of this story,” Daphne said.

  Sabrina pulled herself together, and she and Puck followed Daphne back across the field in the direction they had come from.

  “So, the Munchkins told us that the door appears when the story is over,” Daphne said. “Well, the story is over, pretty much, and we’re still here. Why hasn’t it started over?”

  “’Cause Jack didn’t kill the giant,” Sabrina reminded her.

  “True!” Daphne said. “And now we have no Jack and no giant, but there is a big part of this story that is still around.”

  Daphne pointed at the enormous beanstalk rising into the clouds and continued her march to the little house beneath it.

  Without knocking, Daphne opened what was left of the front door and went inside, returning after a second with a large ax. “It’s just a theory, and I could be totally wrong, but maybe if we chop it down, the story will give us a break. Maybe if we can finish part of the story it will be enough of a finale to open a door.”

  Puck looked at the ax, then at the beanstalk. It was as thick and round as a house. “This smells suspiciously of work. You know I’m allergic.”

  “We have to try. Besides, there’s nothing to eat in that house and so soon—”

  “Give me that ax,” Puck shouted, and snatched it from her hands. Soon he was chopping wildly at the enormous plant.

  “It’s worth a shot,” Daphne said.

  Sabrina nodded. Her throat was sore from the water creature’s attack, and speaking hurt.

  After each of them had taken their turns hacking at the beanstalk, the overgrown plant finally tottered over. Sadly, it fell on Jack’s little house, crushing it even further. His poor mother would be distraught—she already had a loser for a son. But felling the beanstalk had its desired effect. A new door materialized right before them.

  Sabrina pulled it open. A blast of wind blew everyone’s hair back. It smelled like wild grass and tea. Daphne whispered for the ball of yarn to follow Pinocchio. It rolled into the void and the trio once again stepped into the unknown.

  When the lights came back on, Sabrina found herself sitting at a long table set beneath a tree. A little cottage sat on a hill not far off and wildflowers covered the ground, leaning toward the sunlight. Sabrina looked around the table and nearly fell out of her chair when she saw who was sitting with her. The Mad Hatter was sipping tea from an enormous cup and resting his elbow on poor Daphne’s head. Next to Daphne was a brown hare as big as a child, and he had his elbow on Daphne’s head too. The little girl seemed just as bewildered by their arrival in the strange setting as Sabrina was. She also looked annoyed as she struggled to escape from the Mad Hatter and the hare’s rude behavior.

  Puck was at the other end of the table, shoveling handfuls of cake into his mouth. He looked like a boy who hadn’t eaten in weeks. Not far away, Sabrina spotted the magic ball of yarn zipping into the woods.

  Sabrina looked down at herself and saw she was wearing a soft blue dress with an apron tied around her waist. She also had on white stockings and simple black shoes and she knew exactly which story they had stumbled into.

  “I’m Alice,” Sabrina said through her strained throat.

  “We’re in Wonderland,” Daphne squealed.

  “Shhhhhhhh!” the Mad Hatter whispered. “Stick to the story.”

  “Have some wine,” the hare said.

  “Wine? Where do you think we are, France? I’m twelve years old,” Sabrina said.

  The hare seemed surprised by her outburst.

  “Remember, you’re supposed to be Alice,” Daphne hissed.

  “Well, Alice was only seven years old when this happened. They need to worry about getting arrested. You can’t walk around offering alcohol to children.”

  “Do you know this story?” Daphne whispered.

  Sabrina tried to recall what she knew of the story. For once, her memory didn’t fail her—she knew the creature with the Mad Hatter was known as the March Hare. “I’ve read it a few times. It’s so weird, so I needed to go over it again and again, especially during Mr. Canis’s trial. I wanted to understand Judge Hatter.”

  The real Mad Hatter had been appointed by Mayor Heart so that he could intentionally rule against their friend in his murder trial. Despite the fact that the crime was eight hundred years old, and the girls managed to prove that someone else was responsible, the Hatter still sentenced Canis to death. Afterward, Canis had fled into the woods to hide.

  “Your hair wants cutting,” the Hatter said abruptly. Just like the real-life version, this Hatter had a huge head, and white hair as dry as hay and a tremendous hat. His face was filled with the now familiar nervousness of the characters they had encountered in the Book. He also shared the Book characters’ bizarre, otherworldly appearance. The Mad Hatter looked almost like he was a walking illustration and not a real person. He seemed to have a thick outline around his entire body.

  “Say something,” Daphne whispered.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Sabrina complained.

  The Mad Hatter and the March Hare shared a worried look until the March Hare leaned over and whispered, “You should learn not to make personal remarks. It’s very rude.”

  Sabrina sighed and repeated the phrase to the Mad Hatter.

  “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he said.

  “Nuh-uh-uh,” Sabrina said as she tried to get to her feet once more. “I’m not going to do the riddle part. I hate the riddle part. This goes on and on. Let’s skip it.”

  “Skip it?” the Mad Hatter said as he forced her back into her chair. In the process he dropped his teacup. It shattered on the table.

  “You fool!” the March Hare said, pointing his paw at the Mad Hatter. “That didn’t happen. The Editor will be on us now.”

  “It was an accident. She made me do it!”

  “The Editor won’t care,” the March Hare said. “What were you thinking? Going off the story! Well, I won’t suffer for your lack of respect for the Editor. When his beasties arrive, I will tell them what you all have done. Why should I be revised? I’
m innocent!”

  “Throw me under the bus, will you!” the Mad Hatter shouted. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the March Hare by the neck. He shook him so angrily that the March Hare’s bow tie unraveled. Enraged, the March Hare swung wildly and hit the Mad Hatter in the eye. The force from the blow caused him to fall backward over his chair. There he lay very still.

  “Get up, you fool,” the March Hare said. “When the Editor comes, it will do you well to show a little respect.”

  But the Mad Hatter didn’t stir.

  “Is he OK?” Daphne asked.

  Sabrina circled the table and kneeled beside the Mad Hatter’s body. She shook him gently. He was still breathing, but he was unconscious.

  “You cold-cocked him,” Puck said as he licked icing off his fingers. “Nice punch, too. For a rabbit.”

  The March Hare screamed in terror. “This is all your fault.”

  “Our fault? You’re the one serving knuckle sandwiches,” Daphne said.

  “The Mad Hatter does not get beat up in the story!” the March Hare cried. He was panicking and pacing back and forth.

  “Get control over yourself. We need to figure out what to do,” Daphne said.

  “Figure out what to do? This isn’t spilled milk, child.”

  The March Hare fled into the woods, knocking many of the teacups off the table as he went.

  Watching him flee, Sabrina had an unsettling feeling that she, Daphne, and Puck should do the same. She grabbed them by the hands and they raced off into the woods, following the string that the ball of yarn had left.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the Mad Hatter to wake up?” Daphne said.

  “You remember what the Editor said,” Sabrina responded. “His hungry little monsters show up and they eat. If we’re in their way—we’re lunch. We should go.”

  The little ball was fast and relentless. It was difficult for the kids to keep up. Everywhere they went they encountered bizarre people and talking animals, but the trio ran past them without a word. Sabrina would rather be accused of being rude than accidentally change Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland any more than they already had. Eventually they found a small stream, and since they were too tired to go on, they stopped to take a break. The ball of yarn sat not far away, agitated and eager, like a soft, round bloodhound.