Fairy Tales: Unraveled: A twisted retell shorts collection Read online

  BAKLAVA AND WISHES

  BASED ON THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

  Molly was cold, and her skirt was wet from the snow and ice. She had been looking for her kitten when she became lost, and now, as the lamp lighters took to the slushy streets, she really became scared. Having only been in England a few weeks, she did not know how to ask for help. Oma had told her not to leave the front yard. But her kitten, Fleur, had darted out the gate at the sound of a dog barking. Molly feared her kitten would be trampled by a horse or flattened by a cartwheel. She had called to her Oma before she ran after Fleur.

  It had been light then; the crisp air of the last day of December stung her cheeks, making them rosy. She looked all over. Her hose and skirt soon became soaked, and her feet were already numb from the icy water that found its way in through tiny holes in the seams of her boots. Now, the sky was an indigo blue and the air was much colder than before. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hurried from each new pool of light cast by the hissing gas lamps. Oma would be so worried, and Molly was hungry. Fleur was still nowhere to be found.

  I wish I were at home with Oma. She would have made baklava and hot milk. Molly watched other children with their parents and wished hers were here and not in Amsterdam with her brother Daan. She had only her Oma and now she had lost her too, in this new land where she could not ask for help. She had tried, but it was no use.

  “Ik ben verdwaald!” I am lost, help me!

  She had pleaded to the lady wearing a moss green coat. “I am sorry, dear. I don’t understand,” was the reply she received. If only she knew English.

  The night grew colder still; the streets growing empty, as families took to their dinner tables to enjoy the last meal of the year. Her tummy rumbled; she was so tired and cold, and her small hands were turning blue. Sitting in a doorway, she cupped her hands and blew hot breath into them. It was then that she heard the scuffle and breaking glass. Scared of what danger might lurk in the shadows, Molly ran.

  Oma Tess was worried. Molly had been gone a long time. She had searched the streets and been to the police, but with it being a holiday, there were few who wanted to listen to an old Dutch grandma. She was grateful that one of the people she had asked understood her. It was rare in this country to find a fellow Dutch speaker.

  Where is my Molly? She is all I have in this world.

  It was a painful secret that Tess kept hidden from the child. Her parents and bother would never come across the sea to England. There had been an outbreak of pox, and to save their daughter they had sent her to England with her only living grandparent. Daan had shown the early signs, and they knew that he would not survive it. He had always been a sickly boy. A telegram had arrived the week after they had arrived in London.

  TESS DE VRIES.

  YOUR GRANDSON DAAN DE VRIES IS DEAD. HIS PARENTS EMMA AND JACOB HAVE BOTH TAKEN ILL WITH THE POX.

  The little slip of paper broke her heart. Even written in English, she could understand that her beautiful grandson would never bring her paintings of tulips again or ask to make baklava. Molly loved her brother more than anything and for that reason she would not tell her— not yet. Now she must find her granddaughter before something terrible happened to her. So out into the bitter December night, Oma Tess went to find the little girl she loved most.

  Molly wanted to cry, but she knew the tears would just cause her cheeks to sting even more. She held them in.

  I want my Oma; I want my Fleur and my bed with the pink blanket Mama made for me.

  The wind whipped her russet curls into a wet, matted mess. Lamp light spilled onto the street through gaps in the curtains of the homes she passed. When she was able, she peeked in. She saw tables laden with food and families sitting around the fire. How she missed her family. Her brother would be playing with his big red truck on the kitchen floor, and Mama would be making spiced apples for pudding. Onward she walked; the snow falling harder, and the streets all blurring into one unknown tunnel of white. “Oma! Oma!” Molly called out into the night. The wind stole her words and pressed her sodden skirt to her cold legs. It was then that she saw a little ginger body sitting just a few feet ahead of her.

  “Fleur! Oh, where have you been?”

  She ran and scooped up her kitten. Reaching up to her hair, Molly untied the two yellow ribbons holding her curls off her face and tied one around Fleur’s slender neck. “Clever kitten, take us home to Oma Tess.” She put the warm kitten back on the ground and followed her through the snow.

  The small house appeared amid the snow, and the candle was burning bright in the window. Molly and Fleur ran up the short path and pushed the latch on the door. It was locked.

  “Oma must have gone out looking for me,” she gasped.

  Fleur was yowling for food. Looking at the house, Molly saw the kitchen window was open a crack. Finding an old plant pot, she stood on its slippery base and pulled the window open enough to push Fleur through.

  “I will be back soon, little cat, be a good girl now,” she whispered, before pushing the window closed. Now I must find my Oma. She once again headed out into the unknown streets.

  The church bells began to toll the half hour, and Oma Tess was tired. She had walked to the river and up to the park. Molly was not there. It was as she passed by the butcher’s shop, that she saw something yellow poking out of the snow. Molly used hair ribbons of this colour today. Maybe she has found her way home; it is not far from here. Quickening her pace, Tess hurried back to her home and prayed she would find her granddaughter there.

  Molly and Oma met at the gate of the house; Molly had not gone more than two streets when she realised that the right thing to do was to wait by the house for Oma to return. They held each other close as they made their way into the small house. Fleur was waiting for them and yowling for her supper.

  “Go wash your hands and face, sweet one. I shall warm you a nightgown by the fire.” Oma pushed the shivering Molly toward the stairs.

  “But Oma, you are so cold, I can see your lips are blue. Please go and get changed first, I can light the fire,” the little girl said.

  “Do not fret, sweet girl, I am strong. You go on and I shall go next once I have fed the cat,” Oma Tess assured the child.

  Dry and warming by the fire, the family of two shared a mug of hot milk and baklava, just as Molly had known they would. The bells began to toll. The new year had arrived. “Gelukkig nieuwjaar, Oma!”

  But Oma Tess was asleep. The sweet treat was still in her hand. “Oma. It is the new year, our first in this country. Tomorrow we must go to the river and drink the water, and we have to burn our wishes for the coming year . . . Oma?”

  Molly was scared. She had seen death before and knew that Oma was dead. No, maybe she is just cold, she thought, knowing it was not true. She ran to her room and pulled the pink blanket from her small bed and covered Oma Tess with it. The cheery colour only made the blue of her grandmother’s skin all the more obvious.

  “I shall just burn our wishes on the candle then, Oma, and come rest with you. In the morning, I shall make you breakfast, and the day will be sunny and full of joy,” Molly whispered through her silent tears. Taking the small slips of paper from the special plate that was always used for wishes, little Molly from Amsterdam burned the wishes of two refugees on the first day of the new year.

  Laying down beside her Oma, Molly kissed her cold cheek. “Sweet dreams, Oma.”

  The New Years Day tragedy was the talk of the street. Tess and Molly De Vries had died in the night. The police said their chimney became packed with soot and they died from the smoke that filled the small house. Others claimed they had brought a foreign disease with them and God had punished them by killing them both.

  “Burn the house!”

  “Cleanse this street of the plague.”

  There was never a burning of the house. A new family moved in, a young girl and her parents. They even looked after Fleur as she had managed to find a way out and had survived, but always returned t
o the house.

  The new family was also Dutch, and their daughter was to sell the bundles of matches that her parents made. It was a thriving business, and the child was soon known well in the community. She knew what had happened to the last family, and every night before bed, the little match girl would burn a wish for the Oma and her grandchild. The wish was always the same:

  Let them be together and let there always be a warm

  fire and a candle to light their way.

  FOREVER YOUNG

  BASED ON SNOW WHITE AND ROSE RED

  Lillie and Rose were fighting again. Their mother was at her wit’s end. Why can’t they get along like they did as children?

  The screaming reached its peak. There was the sound of breaking glass and then the door slammed shut. Karen flinched at the sounds and braced for whichever angry teen was about to burst into the parlour.

  “Mother, she is the Devil’s own I swear it by the Goddess.”

  “Rose, she is your sister. Being a twin is a special gift.

  I don’t understand why you fight so much.”

  “Because she is a slovenly, rude twit, and I am fed up with always being the ‘kind’ one. Just because she has that black hair and porcelain skin, I am forever cast aside. Do you know how many courters she has?”

  Rose was lost to her anger. Her blonde hair flew, and her rosebud mouth turned down in a sullen pout. Even then she looked beautiful. Karen sighed and continued her sewing. If only their father were still alive. To be left alone with two twin girls on the brink of womanhood seemed deeply unfair to the widow.

  “I am going for a walk,” Rose continued. “I need to be away from her before I do something she will regret.”

  I love my children. I love my children, Karen repeated to herself long after the front door slammed and the sound of Lillie playing the lute filtered down to her. She needed a way to get them to realise how important having a twin was. She began to form a plan for her two tempestuous teens.

  Lillie was also angry. She was the kind of angry that she could taste. Rose was becoming an even bigger pain in the ass than usual. It’s not like she knew anything; it’s not like Henry had promised to marry her. It wasn’t her fault that he liked her more. But Rose would never see it that way. Not that she would ever know the truth. When had they become enemies? She couldn’t remember a particular event that had turned sister against sister. Maybe it was just what happened when you were sixteen and still sharing a room.

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GIRLS.”

  A small cake was placed between the two eighteen- year-olds. Today her plan was finally ready. The last two years had been a war zone in the house with each girl getting more and more out of control. But now they would learn. At least she hoped they would.

  The two beautiful young women glared at each other; even on their birthday it was impossible to stay civil for long. Sensing another argument, Karen coaxed the girls out of the house. On the old tree stump were two bags, two cloaks, and two purses of silver.

  “This is my gift to you two. Get out.”

  They watched shocked as their mother turned back to the house and shut the door, sliding the bolt into place. The twins just stood there dumbfounded. It hurt so much to see them out there alone, but this had to be done. She was fed up with living in a home full of conflict and being cook and cleaner for those two. They were old enough now. Time to grow up.

  “Mother has lost her mind,” Lillie gasped, staring at the tree stump and then back at her childhood home.

  “This isn’t at all funny. She can’t mean it?” Rose laughed nervously. Mother was just not this much of a bitch, that was Lillie’s department. Lillie and Rose felt suddenly very alone and not at all prepared for the world they had been thrust into. Wanting to save face, Rose picked up her share of the “gifts” and turned to her sister.

  “Well, goodbye. Have a wonderful life.”

  The years went by and the twins never saw each other again. Their mother died in a flash flood and neither girl knew. Anger and pride had eaten away at them until their beauty was taken from them and their youth was all but a memory.

  Lillie had married a baker and had seven children, all boys. She was happy enough, but the bitterness in her heart was too engrained for her to feel real joy. Rose had married a blacksmith. She had not been blessed with children. The couple had inherited a cottage when the smith’s grandmother had died in a freak wolf attack.

  That was until the day of the storm. A great thunder‐ storm ripped through the land. Trees caught fire and farmsteads burned to ashes. The smith and the baker were called to help with the rescue of a young family trapped in a farmhouse. They had never crossed paths, being from different villages. The strange thing was, they were identical. Once the fire was out and the family safe, John the baker and Philip the smith sat with a cup of ale and discovered everything about each other, including their wives. Deciding to play a trick on their wives, the men agreed to swap places to see if they could raise a smile from the once beautiful women. Little did they know, a mother’s magic was finally taking hold.

  Philip returned home with a gnome for Lillie’s garden and toffee apples for the children. John returned home to Rose with a bear skin. Neither woman suspected the man she was with was not her husband. The seemingly barren Rose even fell pregnant, and the petulant Lillie discovered laughter again. Slowly, the women’s beauty returned to them.

  But it just so happens, that sometimes the enchantment can get bent out of shape, and the caster of this spell was long since dead. The men began to age at an astonishing rate, while the two sisters became younger and more beautiful. On the day of their thirtieth birthday, the men met up once again at the same spot. Both looked to be in their dotage.

  “What has happened to us?” they asked, shocked to discover the affliction was upon them both. “Your wife has not aged a day; her beauty is beyond compare,”

  John said.

  “Your wife is also beautiful and full of laughter. She had a child, and the light that shines from her now is so radiant,” Philip whispered as he stared at the man so changed like himself.

  The men then realised that they had been living a lie for years. They needed to return to their original wives. The trouble was they had fallen in love with the ones they had more recently been with. Both still remembered the sour women they had ran from; they had been shrews. Agreeing to one more week before the switch, the men parted ways.

  The women were once again unaware of the switch and carried on their lives as normal. But as the days went on, their beauty began to fade. They became bitter again, and their husbands returned to their virile selves.

  Knowing something was amiss, Lillie and Rose followed the men a month later. Imagine their shock when they saw that they had married identical men—right down to the curve of their crooked smiles. It was also the first time they had seen each other in many years. They were both stunned at the aged wreck the other had become. Deciding to confront the men, the women came out of their hiding places. The closer they got to each other, the more their youth returned to them. Magic cast long ago was finally coming full circle.

  “How is this possible?” they gasped, though the distance did not allow their voices to carry. Their matching expressions spoke a thousand words.

  “Ladies, we can explain . . .” the men blustered as wrinkles and white hair began to appear once more. The sisters didn’t care; they just wanted to keep getting younger. The youth and beauty that was being restored to them came with knowledge, a deep understanding that when they held onto hate and anger, they reflected it. When they loved and laughed, they reflected that also. The men began to age more rapidly as the women got closer and closer.

  “Lillie, I have missed you.” “Rose, I am so sorry.”

  The two women reached out tentative hands. When their fingers touched, a brilliant light shone from between them. John and Philip screamed in pain. The sisters turned to see their husbands lying dead on the ground, as old and wizened as
grandfathers.

  The two women returned to Lillie’s home and together raised their eight children. Once the children were grown, the women went in search of more doppelgängers. They had researched the magic that had been cast upon them. Their new hatred was not for each other. No, now their bitterness was reserved strictly for men. Men had wronged them, and men must pay. So, they toured the lands searching for men to ensnare and share.

  Their mother, on trying to bring her sweet girls back, had managed to create two vengeful witches. To this day they wander the earth never getting older, searching out doppelgängers to trap and punish.

  Sometimes happy ever after is just a fairy tale. Some‐ times it’s deadly.

  THE ARTIST

  BASED ON THE GIANT WHO HAD NO HEART IN HIS BODY

  Augustine had never been average. He was always tall for his age and unnervingly smart. The thing that really freaked out his parents, and later the many therapists he would see, was his obsession with wax.

  Not too unhealthy you might think. Ordinarily you would be correct. But Augustine’s obsession was more sinister than just “I love the feel of it” or the act of melting wax. Instead, he liked to encase things within it.

  It started with a candle kit his auntie bought him for his eighth birthday. He accidentally dropped a paperclip into the wax mould. When the candle was complete, he gave it to his mother to light. As the wax melted away, the paper clip revealed itself, as if it were a treasure. After that, Augustine began to make his treasure candles every week. His parents bought him wax and new moulds. They were just pleased that he was happy.

  It was as he grew that the treasures became a bit disturbing. First was a spider. He killed it and then care‐ fully positioned its legs in the wax so that as it burned, the spider looked like it was praying. Next came mice. It was after that incident—the one with the mouse who starved to death because he couldn’t get away—that his parents took him to see a shrink. They hoped it would fix everything and give him the help they thought he needed.