Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale (4 page)

“That’s as good a way as any,” Landon said. “Can I ask why you picked it?”

“I just feel we need to go that way.”

Landon smiled. “Then let’s go. I just hope the next fairy tale monstrosity can sing. There’s nothing worse than a tone-deaf mermaid with a vulgar tongue and sexual … issues.”

I smirked. “Are you scarred for life?”

“Let’s just say I’m never going to be able to watch that movie again without having a flashback and leave it at that,” he said, tugging my hand. “Come on. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to find some reinforcements. More minds can only mean more ideas on how to get us out of this.”

“You realize more minds is going to mean more complaining, too, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Landon said. “Since I’m a never-ending fount of complaints right now, though, I can take it. Misery loves company, right?”

“I just know I love you right now,” I said.

“Right back at you. Now, come on. These woods are starting to give me the creeps.”

There are many different kinds of princesses. Some of them need a prince to save them. The best ones, though, save themselves. Always be the second kind of princess. You don’t need anyone else to save you – unless they have pie. If they have pie, go ahead and let them save you. You can always save yourself down the road. You might not find another decent pie for days.

–
Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up

“Do you think it’s going to remain night the whole time we’re here, or are we eventually going to see daylight?” Landon asked.

We walked the narrow pathway together, our hands clasped and shoulders occasionally touching. Neither one of us felt comfortable enough to wander too far from the one landmark we had. It was as though we both worried that separating would somehow zip one of us into separate fairy tales.

“I don’t know,” I said. “The good news is that the moon is really bright, so it’s lighting things relatively well. Do you miss the sun already?”

“I don’t care about the sun as much as I do about the light,” Landon said. “If it was light out I wouldn’t constantly be looking over my shoulder and searching the shadows for something trying to attack us. This place makes me … uneasy.”

I finally realized one of the reasons he was so uncomfortable. “You don’t have a weapon. You feel naked without it.”

He shook his head, his expression rueful. “Do you think less of me because I want to take a gun to a fairy tale fight?”

“Nothing could ever make me think less of you,” I said, gripping his hand tightly. “I love you regardless. Well, that’s not entirely true. If you ever tell me you have a clown fetish it’s over.”

“You’re so cute I can’t stand it sometimes,” Landon said. His face sobered. “There aren’t any clowns in fairy tales, right?”

I shook my head. “Not that I remember.”

“Good,” Landon said. “I can take talking bears and nymphomaniac mermaids. I can’t take clowns, though.”

“I didn’t know you were coulrophobic.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Landon said. “If it’s gross, I’m going to deny having it, though.”

“It’s a fear of clowns,” I said. “It’s a pretty common fear.”

“I didn’t say I was afraid of them,” Landon said. “I said I didn’t like them.”

“Because you’re afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I said. “I’m afraid of spiders.”

“Whatever,” Landon said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not afraid of clowns.”

“I believe you.”

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

We were silent a few minutes, both of us scanning the foliage as we moved forward. We’d gone a long time without any surprises. That naturally meant we were about to encounter one. I don’t know how I knew that. I just did.

When Landon opened his mouth again, he didn’t say what I was expecting. “I’m not afraid of clowns.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry I said it. I didn’t mean it. I was obviously mistaken.”

“You were.”

“Great.”

More silence.

“Bay?”

“What?” I was starting to tire.

“I don’t like their big shoes and white faces,” he said. “It’s unnatural for a grown man to wear a rubber ball on his nose and make balloon animals. I read Stephen King’s
It
when I was a kid and it scared the crap out of me.”

I pursed my lips to keep from laughing. “I felt the same way about
Salem’s Lot
,” I admitted. “I always thought there were vampires scratching at the window, trying to get in.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

“It will be our little secret.”

We lapsed into silence again. The fact that he’d admitted a fear bolstered me, and I had no idea why. It was as if he was letting me see deeper inside of him. He trusted me with something he couldn’t admit to anyone else. I was about to tell him what I was thinking when the sound of bitter complaining assailed my ears.

I tilted my head to the side, listening.

“This is absolutely the dumbest thing that has ever happened to me. If there were a list of dumb things in the world, this would be right on the top. It would be right next to Crocs and Snuggies.”

Landon and I exchanged a look. “Thistle,” we said in unison.

Landon kept steady hold of my hand as we stepped off the path and started wading through the heavy underbrush. After about two minutes of walking, the trees gave way and we found ourselves in an open area, looking out on a small pond. In the middle of that pond, standing on a huge rock with her hands on her hips, was Thistle. Unlike Landon and me, who had been able to keep access to our regular clothing, Thistle was dressed in a monstrous pink dress and had a tiara on her head.

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “Nice dress.”

Thistle snapped her head up, her usually pink hair now a dull shade of brown. She looked like a different person. “Thank the Goddess,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been hanging out with three bears,” I said. “They had a beautiful little cabin, kind of an enhanced shed more than anything else. Oh, and they could talk.”

Thistle furrowed her forehead, and even from fifty feet away – and an expanse of water separating us – I could see her mind working. “They could talk? Did they say anything interesting?”

“The kid bear thought I was a pothead,” I said. “Apparently I let myself into their cabin and tried to sleep in all of their beds.”

“Are you suddenly a dream slut?” Thistle asked. “Are you making time with talking bears?”

Landon scowled. “Stop being … you.”

“You stop being you,” Thistle shot back. “Why are you two in your regular clothes? Why do you get to wear what you want and I’m in … this?”

“I’m guessing you’re stuck in it until you play this particular story out,” I said.

“What story?”

“We’re going through fairy tales,” I said.

“Aunt Tillie,” Thistle grumbled. “I’m going to pop her like a zit. I’m going to ….” Thistle mimed a violent act, almost losing her balance and tumbling into the water. “I’m going to make that old lady pay!”

“We have to get out of here first,” I said.

“I don’t even know what this is,” Thistle said. “Where are we? Are we dreaming?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “I don’t know how all three of us could be sharing the same dream. Even Aunt Tillie wouldn’t mess with dream magic.”

Thistle rubbed her forehead. “You’re right. She’s mean, petty and bitter … and I’m going to burn her greenhouse to the ground when I get out of here … but she wouldn’t mess with dream magic. That means this is something else. I kind of figured that out already.”

“It also means all of us might be in here,” I said.

“You’ve only found each other?”

“And now you,” I said.

Thistle sighed dramatically. “Well, this is just great. What are we supposed to do now? Are we supposed to wander around fairy tale land until we find everyone?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “We could all be in the same place, or we could be split between separate places. I just don’t know.”

“I think the first thing we need to do is get you off the rock,” Landon said. “Why don’t you jump in and swim over here? It’s not that far. The dress will dry after a little bit.”

“Oh, thank you,” Thistle said. “I never would have thought of that myself.”

“Then why are you still on the rock?” Landon asked, nonplussed.

“There’s something in the water,” Thistle said.

“What?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen a … tail … a couple of times.”

“What kind of tail?”

“A green, scaly one,” Thistle said. “It’s big. That means whatever is in the water is big.”

“Have you seen any teeth?”

“No. Every time I decide I’m going to risk a swim I see the tail. Then I see a big freaking turtle staring at me. Oh, and can you hear that frog croaking? It’s driving me crazy. I’m going to kill it and cook it.”

I ran her diatribe through my head. What fairy tale was this? “What turtle? I don’t see a turtle.”

“Just watch,” Thistle instructed. She moved to the edge of the rock and dipped her toe into the water. The second she did something splashed a few feet away, a long tail rising out of the water and slapping back down loudly.

“That was creepy,” I said.

“Wait.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement on the far side of the pond. I peered into the darkness, squinting until I realized what I saw. It was a shell – a  large one at that. It was two feet long and three feet wide. The turtle didn’t raise its head until it was next to the rock, and then it focused on Thistle as it floated there.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with this,” Thistle said.

“You’re supposed to step on it,” Landon said.

I glanced at him, surprised. “How do you know that?”

“It’s the answer to the riddle,” he said. “This story is about trust. Thistle has to trust the turtle to get her over to us without dropping her in the water and feeding her to that … thing.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked.

“I don’t see where we have much of a choice,” Landon said. “You can’t stay on that rock, and you can’t risk swimming. You have to trust the turtle. Wow. There’s something I never thought I would say.”

“What happens if I fall in?” Thistle asked.

“Then swim really quickly.”

“What happens if the turtle sinks?”

“Then swim really quickly.”

“What happens … ?”

“Thistle, get your butt on that turtle,” Landon ordered. “We’re wasting time here. We need you on this shore with us. This is the only way.”

“If I get eaten, I’m going to haunt you forever,” Thistle warned.

“Duly noted. Now, get on the turtle.”

Landon tightened his hand around mine as we watched Thistle carefully step away from the rock. She tested the turtle with one foot before committing fully and dragging her other foot over. The second she was settled, the turtle started drifting in our direction.

The tail snapped angrily next to the rock. No head emerged, though, and there was no sign of the water marauder following the turtle. Thistle was on the shore within seconds. Her face flushed when she felt the solid ground beneath her, and she raced to me so she could give me a hug. I think she needed the human contact, because she’s not known as a big hugger.

“Holy crap,” she said. “That was so … surreal.”

“Try talking to bears,” I said.

“Try having a naughty mermaid ask you if you want to see her seashell,” Landon added.

Thistle laughed, the sound harsh. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Landon said. “I woke up on a beach and Bay woke up in a strange bed.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m in this dress,” Thistle said. “It’s … ugly.”

“I would think, once this fairy tale is over, you would go back to your regular clothes,” I said. “I thought the dress was part of the fairy tale.”

“Maybe it still is,” Landon suggested.

“Meaning?”

“Maybe this story isn’t over.”

“What’s left?” I asked. “She got off the rock. She’s safe. She passed the trust exercise.”

“I have no idea,” Landon said. “If I could explain this freaky place I would.”

A loud croak caused the three of us to jump, our gazes shifting to a large bullfrog perched on a rock a few feet away. It looked like a normal frog other than the fact that it stared at us.

“Do you think it can talk?” I asked.

“The turtle and the water monster couldn’t,” Thistle said. “I tried. Trust me. I was standing on that rock for about two hours and I tried talking to both of them because I was desperate.”

“Hi, frog,” I said, smiling down at it. “Can you talk?”

The frog croaked again.

“I guess not, huh?”

Another croak.

“What do you want to do?” I asked. “Do you want to stick around and see whether there’s more to the fairy tale so you can get rid of that dress or do you want to move on?”

“I don’t understand what this is,” Thistle said. “When I first woke up, I was sure I was dreaming.”

“Join the club,” Landon said.

“It didn’t take me long to realize it wasn’t a dream, though,” Thistle said. “Or, to be more precise, it didn’t take me long to realize it wasn’t a normal dream.”

“How did you figure it out?” I asked. “I talked to the bears for ten minutes before I came to the same conclusion.”

“The water kept splashing on me,” Thistle said. “When you’re in a dream, even if you’re swimming, you don’t feel the water. You just know you’re swimming. I could feel every drop as it landed on me.”

“Landon could feel the sand in his underwear,” I said. “That was his first clue that this was more than your normal dream.”

“You have sand in your underwear?” Thistle asked. “Does it chafe?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Not really,” Thistle said.

The frog croaked again and then slapped its foot against the rock. I glanced back at the frog. “Does anyone else think the frog might mean something?”

“It’s fairy tales,” Landon said. “The frog means something. But we have to figure out what. What fairy tales have frogs?”