Category: Fairy Tales and Other Stories Remix

Dr. Roberts was the pride of Martiville. After years of patient research and effort, he had managed to produce the world’s first shot glass Chihuahua. He proudly displayed the little puppy in his hand at the town council meeting. It was tiny, as small as a mouse, and completely adorable. Nearly every one lifted their cell phones in unison to record the historic moment.

The town was smitten. A new town sign was commissioned, “Martiville: home of the shot glass Chihuahua.” Citizens joined waiting lists to become approved breeders. Dr. Roberts happily accepted as many applications as possible, certain that there would be a large demand for the little puppies.

Three years later, Dr. Roberts was in disgrace and the new town sign was gone.   The little dogs were intelligent and within months many had managed to escape from the breeders. They took residence in the walls of all the buildings in town and began to multiply.

They made scratching sounds and barked and squealed at all hours. At first they only came out at night, but now they could be seen during the day too. They ruined food not kept in metal containers. They ripped and chewed anything and everything. Furniture, clothing, books, toys, papers, and tools.   They traveled in packs.

Cats wouldn’t go near them. In fact, there were few cats left in Martiville. Most had run off after the first year. The dogs were too smart for traps. When they tried fumigation, the dogs somehow managed to migrate to surrounding homes until it was safe to return. The citizens of Martiville didn’t know what to do.

They held yet another city council meeting to try to solve the problem. They tried to ignore the tiny dogs nipping at their ankles and piddling on the carpet.   The dogs that ran across the table and chewed on their notes and barked as they tried to speak were harder to ignore.

When they invited comments and suggestions, an angry mother stood. “My baby was in his crib. They chewed through the mosquito netting and bit him seven times before I could rescue him.   If they’re biting people now, it won’t be long before they start spreading disease. We may be looking at the next great plague,” she said.

The alarmed citizens began to shout at the mayor and town council.   Several were googling plagues and house listings in nearby towns on their phones. When the mayor finally had calmed the meeting down, a man at the back stood.   He wasn’t a citizen of the town, and his clothes looked frayed and patched because of wear, not puppies.   His beard was scruffy and his face lined.

“I would be willing to solve your problem,” he said. “For a fee, of course.”

The mayor looked skeptical. “Do you have any references?”

The man smiled. “Not exactly. But, I’d be willing to wait to collect my fee until after my work is done. I’d be happy to sign a contract binding us both to our agreement,” he said.

“What do we have to lose?” A council member asked.

“Do it!” Someone yelled from the audience.

They held a vote. It was unanimous. The scruffy, patchy man was hired. “What is your name?” The mayor asked.

“Call me The Piper,” the man said.

The mayor frowned. “All right. When can you get started?”

“Meet me here tomorrow morning at ten,” the piper said. “I’ll get rid of your pesky problem as soon as I’ve read over and signed the contract.” He whirled and his patchy coat swirled around him as he left the room.

The whole town gathered at city hall the next morning. The mayor and the town council signed the contract.   The patchy piper read through the terms and signed with a flourish. Then he pulled out a little flute, smaller than a piccolo.

He put it to his lips and blew and moved his fingers. No sound came out. He paused.   Nothing happened. He soundlessly played again.

There was a dull, roaring noise, as tiny dogs poured through doors and windows of every building, barking eagerly. The number of dogs that had been living in the walls was surprising.   Nearly everyone had their cell phones out to record the event.

The piper led the dogs to a nearby river where they jumped in and were swept away and drowned. “That’s barbaric!” A citizen yelled.

“Who cares!” another one said.

“Wasn’t there some other way?” Someone asked.

The piper turned to the mayor. “Let’s go back to city hall and complete our agreement.”
“Wait a moment,” the mayor said. “We need to calculate taxes and permit fees and the required insurance costs for city employees.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement,” the man said. “It wasn’t in the contract.”

“It’s part of our city laws and automatically applies to any agreement made by the city,” a city council member said.

“I am not a citizen of your city. Your laws do not apply to your agreement with me,” the man said.

“Of course they do,” the mayor said.

The man looked around at the crowd. Hundreds of cell phones were recording the argument. The man smirked. “If you do not pay me the full amount, I will make it impossible to use any technology within your city limits.”

“Are you threatening us? We don’t bargain with terrorists. You just invalidated our agreement,” The mayor said.

“We could put you in jail for that,” a city council member said. “You get nothing.”

“He did what you asked. I think you should pay him,” Dr. Roberts yelled from the crowd.

“As though anyone is going to listen to anything you have to say,” someone yelled. The citizens began to shout at each other and the mayor and the piper.

“Is that your final answer?” the piper asked.

“Yes,” the mayor said.

“Very well,” the piper said. He lifted his flute to his lips and began to play another soundless tune. The cell phone lights blinked out. The streetlights and houselights followed.   The man swirled his patchy coat and turned, walking out of town, playing as he left.

Nothing that used electricity of any kind worked. Cars refused to run when they crossed city limits. Nothing they tried fixed it. The city of Martiville died, just like that. People walked their belongings in wagons and wheelbarrows to trucks waiting just outside city limits. Within weeks, nearly everyone had left.

It was a nice, unusually warm fall day, and Jeremy was playing in the garden. An early frost had taken care of the last of the vegetables, so Dad didn’t mind if he played there. Last week had been cold and rainy and Jeremy was happy for the sunshine.

The ground was muddy enough to pull on his shoes and make squishy squelching sounds as he walked around and pulled on interesting bits of vine. He paused and looked around.   Maybe if he added a bit more water, he could make a pool. Then he could pull off his socks and shoes and run around in circles and make a whirlpool.

Jeremy ran for the hose and turned it on. He aimed it at the garden and waited. It started puddling up in a promising sort of way, but then it ran out into the yard and made the grass all marshy. It also ran under the fence into the neighbor’s lawn. That probably wasn’t good.

The neighbor was grumpy and shouted at Jeremy from over the fence if he played to loudly in the yard. The neighbor’s cat was mean too and liked to come into the yard and scratch at Jeremy if he tried to pet him. Jeremy privately believed they deserved each other.

It was time to turn off the hose before the neighbor noticed that his yard was a little flooded. It didn’t look like it was going to work anyways. Maybe if he dug a big hole? But he wasn’t really allowed to dig in the garden without permission.

At this point Jeremy’s socks and shoes and ankles and trousers and shirt and jacket and everything really were all wet and muddy. It was probably time to go inside and take a nice warm bath.

Jeremy didn’t get to go outside again that day, because he was in trouble for tracking mud all over the house and leaving his muddy things in the towel cupboard on top of the clean towels. So, he was excited that it was still nice out and he was able play outside for a little bit the next afternoon.

He ran over to the garden. The grass was still soggy. Strange.   It hadn’t rained at all the night before. “Why is the grass all wet?” He said out loud.

“Magic,” a deep voice said. A sea monster shimmered into view.

“The Loch Ness monster!” Jeremy said.

“Nonsense. Of course not,” the sea monster said.

“Huh?” Jeremy paused, still prepared to run away. “Then what are you?”

“Nessie is my cousin. I’m the Loch Lomond monster, of course. You can call me Lomondy,” the monster said.

“I’ve never heard of you,” Jeremy said.

“I travel a lot, Nessie doesn’t,” the monster said. “I like it here. There is wildlife to eat and all this nice squishy mud. I think I’ll stay here forever.”

“Dad!” Jeremy ran yelling into the house. Dad followed him back outside, but there was nothing there. Dad turned to go inside. Lomondy shimmered into view and winked at him, then disappeared.

The flooded garden remained flooded. There were no more squirrels running along the tops of the fences.   Birds stopped pecking along the edge of the garden for worms. The neighbor’s cat went missing.

Jeremy kept checking outside, but for a week, nothing happened. Then one day, when he went out, Lomondy was there.   “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said. “I’ve really enjoyed the visit.”

“Are you leaving? I thought you were going to stay here forever.” Jeremy said.

“I was joking,” Lomondy said. “The weather is changing and I’d like to stay ahead of the cold. If I wanted to be cold, I’d stay the winter in Loch Lomond.”

“Will you come again?” Jeremy asked.

“Will you flood the garden again next year?” Lomondy asked.

“Maybe I will,” Jeremy said.

“Then maybe I will come again,” Lomondy answered. She disappeared and the water in the garden started to drain away. The next day it snowed. Jeremy built a snow Lomondy in the garden, so he wouldn’t forget.

Two weeks before school was out, Kyle’s class went to a puppet show at the library. Afterward, they ate lunch in the nearby park. The teachers ignored the usual strict rules about lunchtime trades. The students gleefully set up their own wall street trading floor of lunches.

Kyle was happy with his lunch. So he sat on the sidelines and watched as Katie masterfully traded her carrot sticks for Joe’s apple slices, and the apple slices for Susan’s chips, and the chips for Amy’s second brownie.

Somehow she managed to trade the brownie for Horace’s jelly doughnut.   Kyle cheered as Katie bit into her doughnut. Maybe she could help Chris figure out how to effectively trade his baloney sandwich for a piece of pizza?

“Hey, Kyle,” Jack said. He sat down next to Kyle on the park bench. “I noticed that you have chocolate milk.”

“Yes, I do,” Kyle said. “I love chocolate milk.”

“So do I,” Jack said. “But I never get any. My mom is eating healthy now.” He frowned.   “She made us homemade organic jelly beans, but they look a little strange.” Jack held out a baggie of oddly shaped pellets of various muddy hues.

“Do they taste all right?” Kyle asked. They didn’t look all right.

“I haven’t tried any of them. I saved them to trade, and you have chocolate milk. I really love chocolate milk,” Jack said.

Kyle scooted his unopened chocolate milk a little further away from Jack.   “I love chocolate milk too,” he said.

“Please trade with me,” Jack said. He opened his eyes a little wider and frowned. “I never get chocolate milk and dinner last night was salad and I think tonight we’re having beets and eggplant. Please Kyle!”

Kyle sighed. “Fine,” he said, and scooted the milk towards Jack. “Thank you!” Jack yelled. He dumped the baggie of organic homemade jellybeans in Kyle’s lap and snatched up the chocolate milk. He nuzzled his cheek against the carton then grinned. “Do you think I could trade my sprout sandwich for something with meat in it?”

“I already ate my sandwich,” Kyle said. He was so glad he had. “You’ll have to ask someone else.” Jack ran off and Kyle looked down at the jellybeans.   “I don’t think I want to eat those right now,” he thought, and he shoved them in his backpack and forgot them.

A few weeks later, school was out and Kyle’s mom sent him to his room to empty out his backpack. A nice breeze blew in through the window, carrying with it the happy sounds of summertime. Kyle dumped everything on his bed and scooped most of the papers into the trash. He shoved the leftover school supplies into his desk.

That left the friendship bracelet from Mark (he threw it on his dresser), the class picture from the field trip (he threw it on his dresser), and the bag of jellybeans. Oddly, the jellybeans looked the same as they did when he got them. Pretty suspicious for something homemade and organic.

Jack opened the baggie and tossed the beans up and down, testing their weight.   He threw them one at a time out the window. He congratulated himself on his perfect aim and tossed the empty baggie in the trash. Then he went out to play.

In the morning, there was an enormous licorice vine growing out of the ground right outside his window. It was dark black and smelled delicious. What did Jack’s mom put in those jellybeans?

Kyle got dressed and ran outside.   He looked up. It grew all the way up into the clouds. Knowing that his mom would say no if he asked, Kyle did not ask if he could climb the vine. He just started climbing.

At the top of the vine, there was an enormous gingerbread house. It was covered in candies and icing and smelled like honey and spices. A giant gingerbread boy ran past. “Run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!” The gingerbread boy yelled.

“Aren’t you supposed to say, “Fee fie fo fum?” Kyle asked.

“That’s a different story,” the gingerbread boy said.

“So, you don’t eat children?” Kyle asked.

“Of course not.” The gingerbread boy frowned. “I told you that’s a different story.”

“But the candy house…” Kyle said.

“Oh, that’s where I keep my treasures,” the gingerbread boy said.   “Come inside and see.”

Kyle made sure to stay out of snatching distance and followed the gingerbread boy into the house. “First, see my hen that lays candy eggs,” the gingerbread boy said. He pulled a little plastic chicken off a shelf and loaded candy eggs into the back and wound it up. It walked along the table and occasionally paused to drop a candy egg.

“I saw those in the store around Easter,” Kyle said.

“Look at my talking rocks!” The gingerbread boy said. He dropped some pop rocks in a cup of soda. They crackled and fizzled. “They’re whispering,” he said. “But what do they say?”

“Uh huh,” Kyle said.

“And look at my pot of gold,” the gingerbread boy said, pointing to a plastic cauldron full of gold coins.

“Those are chocolate coins,” Kyle said.

“Aren’t they great?” The gingerbread boy said. “I also have a cow that gives chocolate milk, but she keeps wandering off.”

“I know where there’s a rope made of licorice. You can have it if you share your chocolate milk,” Kyle said.

They made their agreement, and soon Kyle was sliding down the licorice vine.   He used a large kitchen knife to chop it down. He tugged on it, and the gingerbread boy pulled the vine up into the clouds.

Once a week, all summer, there was a gingerbread cup of chocolate milk on his windowsill in the morning. “Should I tell Jack?” He wondered. “Would he believe me?”

Kate was trying to find her car after a frustrating round of holiday shopping, when she saw a man sitting on a bench. He was dressed in a worn, old-fashioned suit and looked a little lost. She debated for a minute or two, but finally decided to stop. After all it was almost Christmas.

She stood at a bit of a distance, to be safe, and asked, “do you need any help?”

The man turned, and seemed surprised to see her.   “Oh, hello,” he said. His accent was strange. “I seem to be lost.”

“Where are you going?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know,” the man said. “ I know I have somewhere I need to be, and people that are waiting for me, but I don’t remember anything about them or where I live.”

The man grew paler as he spoke, until Kate could see right through him. Kate was tempted to run away, but the man seemed helpless and lost. Perhaps if she helped him he could move on or whatever ghosts do.

“Do you remember your name?” Kate asked.   Perhaps she could look him up and help him figure out what sort of unfinished business he had.

“Bob Cratchit,” the man said.

It sounded so familiar to Kate. She knew somehow that she should be very familiar with this name, but she couldn’t remember why. The information just wasn’t there.

She pulled out her phone and tried to look up Bob Cratchit. “Error,” it said. It hadn’t ever done that before.

“Can you remember where you work? Do you remember the names of any family members?”   Kate asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s always so cold at work, and I’m always so tired. I think I have a son who is ill.” The man began to look more solid. “I think I should be at work now. I am never home during the day,” Bob said. He rubbed his hands together.

“Except Christmas, of course,” Kate said, looking around at the shoppers bustling to their cars. Most didn’t even glance around as they rushed by, hands curled around their purchases.

“No, I remember working Christmas too,” Bob said.   “I remember that my boss hates Christmas.”

“Like Scrooge, ‘Bah Humbug’ and all that,” Kate said, looking back at the man. “That must be pretty annoying.”

“Scrooge…” Bob said. He pressed his fingertips into his temples. “The name sounds familiar…”

“Of course it does,” Kate said. “Like the story.”   Kate pulled tried to look it up in her phone. It wouldn’t load. Neither would any entries on Ebenezer Scrooge.   Kate looked at Bob. “This may sound crazy, but do you have a son named Tim?” She asked.

“Tim!” Bob said. He stood up, eyes wide. “How could I have forgotten? I need to get back to tiny Tim. He needs me.”

“Bob Cratchit, you need to get back to your story.   You work for Ebenezer Scrooge and you live in ‘A Christmas Carol’,” Kate said.

“Of course!” Bob said. “That’s where I live.” He began to sparkle and fade, growing more transparent as the sparkles grew denser. Soon all that was left was a little glitter in the breeze like a pinch of pixie dust.

Kate looked around the parking lot again. “Oh, I remember where I parked,” she said.   “How could I have forgotten?”   And she once again joined the rushing parade of harried shoppers.