Fairly Wicked Tales (30 page)

“Her hair, my lord. Her hair …” she said and walked away quickly.

***

The man with the grey beard stood across from her and stared as if she was his next meal. His words were kind, but they would not trick her.

“It had to be done my dear, for your own safety. Imagine how many would have wanted you dead. You are the heir to the Kingdom, you know.”

“I can think of some,” she said quietly. She had nothing to be afraid any more.

He was the one.

“Why are you standing so close to the window? Come here, sit beside me,” he said and patted the bed by his side.

“And the carriage? Why didn’t the soldiers save us back then?”

It was close to sunrise. The wind blew through the window. The morning light had not yet filled the room.

“From what I was told they tried to, but the rocks gave way and they saw you fall over the cliff, to your death.”

Liar. All of them liars.

“And the horses? What spooked them?” her voice broke.

“I do not know. You must know my dear I was miles away. If it was in my hands I would have …”

“Liar! You did this. You killed us!”

Do you remember his eyes Helena? Father’s hazel green eyes. He was afraid for you, not for himself. He held you tight in his arms while you fell. And then…

The King’s eyes glinted. His face was red. He stood and approached Helena. The next thing she felt was a sharp pain on her cheek.

“Watch your mouth, you little whore! I am your King!” he yelled. His face was sweaty.

See? He’s afraid of you. As he should be.

He grabbed her by her shoulders. He looked at her breasts.

“Were you waiting for that useless man, Patrick, to make you his, or did you wear this for me? I’ll show you what it’s like to be touched by a man,” he said and drew her towards him.

He smelled of death.

His death.

“This is why I’m standing by the window.”

His face lost all color and his eyes opened wide from fear.

***

Patrick woke up. It had been a miserable sleep, filled with bad dreams. Dreams he hadn’t seen in a long while. His mind wouldn’t rest. It was his fault and he knew it. He should have taken her away from this place. His heart had whispered to him when he first saw her. He shouldn’t have ignored it.

Women’s screams sounded from far away. His blood froze in his veins. He thought of her. Helena. He had to do something, even if it was too late. He left his room and ran like a madman in the halls.

Something strange is happening
, he thought.

He reached a door. It was open and he went through and listened at the base of the staircase. He climbed the steps and unbolted the door separating him from her. He went in.

She stood in front of the window. Her skin pale, almost transparent. His eyes were drawn to her hair. It waved in the wind outside.

My god she’s—

He couldn’t see where it ended. Her hair had grown so long it disappeared out the window. He gazed into her eyes. They were calm, but empty. Perhaps that’s how they’d always been. He just hadn’t noticed.

“Are you a witch?”

Helena shook her head.

“What are you then?”

“Dead.”

Behind her, a golden rope began slithering through the window, into the room. Her endless hair reached his feet and slowly climbed his body like a snake—climbing and twining around him, burrowing into his clothes and mouth. It went as deep as it could. He didn’t scream.

She gazed on calmly, humming a tune.

“
Helena’s lullaby
, remember? When I fell into the forest’s embrace, I was thinking of my father who held me and the men who killed us. Then I died. But not all of me. Something inside of me just … slept. Thank you for bringing me here, Patrick. Even like this. You woke me up and I will put you all to sleep with my lullaby.”

She watched as life left him. His body was dying but his mind remained. Her eyes changed and turned white. Piece by piece, his mind was blanketed by darkness.

“Now, Patrick, we will all sleep together.”

About the Author

Eugenia Rose was born and raised in Athens. She currently resides in Sweden and she has been writing for five years. She is a writer and illustrator for the Synergy collective that publishes an annual comics magazine. She has had stories published in small press anthologies and magazines in Greece and in the upcoming anthology by Angelic Night Press, “Fairly Wicked Tales.” Fantasy and magic realism are the genres she tends to explore with her stories.

The Wolf Who Cried Boy

A retelling of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf”

Armand Rosamilia

The were-boy was bored. The night was too hot. The sheep wouldn’t stop trying to run away from him. His long hair lay matted to his face and his armpits itched again.

He wished for a breeze. The fields sat aglow with the full moon light, a wonderful occasion for everyone in the community. Only, he got stuck watching sheep; sheep that bleated and kept as far away from him as possible.

Who cared about the sheep? He didn’t even like meat, although his parents kept that fact from the other villagers. A vegetarian were-wolf? Seriously? The were-boy was too young to get involved in the hunts for the humans, too. This bothered him. Not because he had any desire to feast on the vile creatures, but because he wanted to belong. He wanted to be a feared hunter like his father, and
his
father before him.

Instead … he took a step and wasn’t surprised when the sheep screamed in panic with their annoying voices and ran to the other side of the field, pushed up against the fencing. He never hurt them, but they had the same reaction whenever anyone from the village came near.

While the hunting parties went out, including his older brother and father and uncles, he got trapped doing were-girl work. He knew he was ready to show he could hunt with the best of them. He would capture a lowly human and bring honor to his family, which his father always talked about. He might be the smallest were-boy his age (by far), but he had speed and strength.

The sheep bleated incessantly and he wanted to scream. They suddenly broke as a group and ran right toward him, before gaining their senses and fanning out in all directions. Something had spooked them.

The moonlight filtering down interfered with his werewolf sight, but he could clearly spot a silhouette on the other side of the fence. Who or what was it? No one from the village would be out this time of night except to hunt, and they always moved north and east and away from this boring area. The penned in area had always been located as far from the village as possible, otherwise the sheep would cry all night.

Unless … maybe the village was under attack? What else could it be?

“Boy! Boy!” he yelled.

Whatever had been casting the shadow ran away but the villagers who weren’t out hunting came running, slavering jaws and ready to attack. The oldest members of the community and the youngest—women and children and old were-men.

“Where?” One of the older were-women, well past her prime to hunt, came up to him and shook him by the shoulders. She sniffed the air. “I don’t smell any boy.”

“He was right there.” The were-boy pointed at the spot he was sure he’d seen the shadow. “He was going to steal our sheep, I’m sure of it.”

They spread out, ignoring the screams from the sheep, and searched the ground inside and outside the fenced in area. Some of them took tentative steps into the forest.

“Nothing,” the old were-woman said with disgust. “You fool.”

“I’m not kidding. I saw something.”

“What did you actually see? The shadow of a sheep, more than likely. You’re out here, goofing off, and you spooked yourself. We give you one easy job to do and you can’t even do that. What’s wrong with you?”

He felt ashamed when the villagers walked away. He knew he’d heard or seen something. How dare they dismiss him so quickly? What if the forest was filled with humans, all coming to kill them? What if, even now, they were out there watching and waiting …

The sheep settled down and he patrolled the fences himself, but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Whatever had been out there was now long gone. But he didn’t care. He’d stay alert this night and hope to become a hero. The humans lurked nearby. He couldn’t see or smell them, but he could sense them.

***

The unmistakable snapping of twigs sounded somewhere in the forest.

“Boy! Boy!”

The villagers came running again, fangs and claws ready to rip apart human flesh.

“Where?” the old were-woman asked, teeth clacking in anticipation. “I haven’t had a fresh one in far too long.”

“Yeah, we get the leftovers, once the young ones return,” an old were-man chimed in. “It would be nice to chase one down and smell its fear before ripping its throat out and watching the human die.”

“You haven’t done that in ages. Heck, you might never have done that,” the old were-woman said and laugh-snarled. She turned back to the sheepherder. “Well?”

He pointed into the forest. “I saw one, right there! He came to attack me and get the sheep. I swear.”

The villagers, mostly those too old or too young to be out hunting, climbed over the fence and began searching through the trees.

The sheep, driven crazy by so many werewolves so close, wouldn’t be quiet. The were-boy started to get a headache.

“Nothing,” one of the were-men said as they started to return. “I didn’t catch the scent of anything at all.”

The old were-woman sighed loudly.

“I’m not lying, I heard him.”

Some of the villagers snickered at his comment.

“You do realize the seriousness of what you’re out here for, right? These sheep are the only animals we have in the village. We’re entrusting you to tend the flock and make sure nothing happens to them. Since you aren’t going out with the hunters, your job is to make sure none of the sheep get out and nothing gets in to take our sheep. I don’t think it’s a hard job, do you?”

The were-boy shook his head. “I understand how important this is. I did hear something.”

The old werewoman sneered at him and growled, but walked away without another word. As a group they left him, going back to the village. He watched them go in the moonlight and wanted to cry.

He’d heard something. Something skulked beyond the fence.

***

He must have fallen asleep leaning against the fence from sheer boredom. The wind stirred and some of the sheep started making noises again, but the sound of footsteps, crunching through the leaves near the tree line, pulled him from his sleep. Whatever made the noise was big.

The sheep kept braying and he wanted to scream at them to be quiet, but decided against it. What if a boy really was sneaking up on the flock to steal or hurt them? The sheep knew a predator was out there, and at least the humans couldn’t sneak up on him without the sheep crying in fear.

A shadow pulled itself from the forest backdrop and the were-boy held his breath.

It was a wolf, a large specimen with dark shaggy hair and glowing red eyes.

He watched as the wolf slithered over the fence and into the field. It ignored the sheep and looked right at him.

“Don’t come any closer,” the were-boy yelled to the wolf. “I’m here to guard the sheep from outlaws and thieves like you.” He had a shearing blade on his person, which he took out and let shine in the moonlight.

“I’m not here to steal lousy sheep,” the wolf said with a sneer. “I’m here to make contact with you and your people. A small enclave of my family lives just over the hill and through the woods. We’ve been decimated by the humans hunting us and need some help. They seem to think we’re just like you, which is ridiculous. They’ve been destroying us because your people are attacking them every full moon. We need either protection or to ask you to stop starting trouble.”

He pondered the words for a moment before waving his blade. “Get out of here before I use this.”

“But …”

“Tell your family, if I ever observe them around these parts again, I will hunt them myself. It’s your own fault the humans are destroying you. Learn to defend yourself, and learn how to hide better.” He took a swipe with the blade from several feet away. “Don’t make me get any closer to you. You won’t like that.”

The wolf put its head down and reluctantly jumped back over the fence and disappeared into the forest.

“Why didn’t I call the villagers?” he suddenly asked himself. He understood why: he had been scared. He’d done a good job masking his fear and making it appear he would kill the wolf, but if push came to shove he realized he would have run away—a disgrace to his village, while the evil wolf killed all the sheep.

***

“Human! Boy! Help!”

He noticed the lights of the village blinking on, one by one, and he frowned. He was sure he’d heard something, and it wasn’t the wolf again. Would they trudge all the way back to the field?

The answer was yes.

“This had better not be another false alarm,” the werewoman said. “Do you know how late the hour is? How many times you’ve pulled us from our sleep? We need our rest, because soon the real hunters will return and they’ll need help with the humans they’ve captured. But we’ll all be too tired to help, because we’ve been up and down this hill so many times.”

“I’m not kidding. I glimpsed a face in the darkness.” It had been the face of a small boy, he was sure. He stood just past the tree line, staring at the sheep with his weak human eyes.

“We’ll search the forest yet again, but if you are playing some kind of joke on us … I don’t find your pranks funny. And your father will hear about this when he returns. Trust me.”

“It’s all true.” He considered telling her about the wolf from before but decided against it. They wouldn’t believe him anyway. Not now. He watched expectantly as they moved into the forest, making plenty of noise.