The Wicked Deeds Society
This is about Fairy Tale creatures that get ignored after the happy ever after.
Authors note: No fairy tale creatures were harmed in the making of this story.
And they all lived happily ever after. Did they? Do all fairy tales end happily ever after?
Yes I'm sure for the lucky few, the handsome prince and the fair maiden plucked from obscurity, it all ends rather well. Rather too well compared to others.
Because behind every happy couple, every joyous wedding and every magical first kiss there is someone trying to separate them from this perfect ending. Do they live happily ever after? Do they have their fairy tale ending?
Most never survive their defeat. Many are blasted from imagination and obliterated from story books either out of choice or fear of what lies ahead if they stay. If you are the unfortunate soul who decides to remain I can assure you there is little comfort in this life, facing the combination of hiding in some garish hole or being tortured and thrown out by villagers fuelled with hate and disgust.
It is a pitiful existence with nothing real to look forward to. Who wouldn't ignite themselves to escape such suffering and indignity? And yet, even through the mockery and torment, some find comfort in living on.
You and I would probably call it rehab or a re-education of some kind. What it is to us is meaningless; it is what it is to the people who use this facility is what matters.
The owner of the establishment in question is a Mr Andrew Christopher Hanson, whose real occupation was a failed writer who only published children's stories in the local village chronicle The Tales of Things to Come. Despite this and several other failures in his life, Mr Hanson still had the Society and that is all that can be said.
And from this, our story begins. Mr Hanson had arrived early at The Wicked Deeds Society and had begun setting up the usual chairs and buffet for the day's session when …
"I can't do it! I can't do it!"
Theodore "Wolfie" Padfoot was one of the Societies recurring offenders, having recently trying to eat not only children with hooded coats and OAPs but pigs in rather poorly built DIY housing. From this, he now had a tendency to have nervous breakdowns, something he'd been teased for at Wolf Cub Elementary.
"I can't watch those little trotters keep walking past me every day. I can't watch it when I'm stuck eating lettuce and tofu! If I could just have a little nibble …"
"Theodore," interrupted Mr Hanson, "Why don't you help yourself to the buffet before everyone else arrives? Then you can talk to the others about this. Where are they anyway?"
On that cue, a cloud of smoke, fire and a sudden frost came across the room. What had the first time been a huge panic over health and safety was now a routine. The others had arrived.
Mr Hanson began. He started in the usual manner, asking for the group to update the rest on their progress and any recent events.
A tall figure stood up.
"My name is Serena and I'm here because I used food poisoning against my step-daughter."
Everyone looked at her.
"And?"
Silence. A look of disgust began to crawl across her face.
"And I used quite a bit of botox and surgery. I needed it!" Her Joan Collins look alike face winced as she lifted her hood.
Her face was, well, how do I put this to you? Not pleasant. What once would have been a beautiful glamorous young face was now haggard and decrepit. Cracks appeared if it even breathed and in an attempt to look presentable, huge thick purple eye shadow had been smeared across her eyelids and onto what would have been eyebrows.
"Are you saying you had another blow job?" asked Mr Hanson.
"Look here," she snapped, "I am beautiful. I am gorgeous and I don't care what you think. Facial cream stinks, I can't look in any damm mirrors as they're all broken so what else do I do? Eat fruit?"
This is what we call Case Study no. 1: The defiant queen. The person who will never change, who doesn't see the difference, the person whose view point will always be different from everyone else's.
Serena avoided his glare. Mr Hanson continued his. She flinched. Her eyes looked up and suddenly …
Long ago there was a beautiful queen who desired nothing else than to be the most beautiful women in the land. In her castle there lived a magic mirror which …
"Mr Hanson?"
He was standing in the middle of the circle, his hands caressing his face as he preened at an imaginary mirror.
"Maybe he's the one who needs the therapy?" cackled the figure in the corner.
Hanson turned on her.
"Larissa, perhaps you would like to talk?"
"No, I wouldn't, mortal."
This was usual behaviour from the 8,500 year old fairy. A protestor against anti-fairy legislation had landed her as a public enemy and terrorist which had caused an entire country to have an economic collapse of 100 years and several ASBO's placed on her. Everyone knew this fairy was not liable to hand out free cookies for nothing.
Everyone turned. A current of cold air blew against her.
The normal rant began. Human oppression and the "limited brainpower of the weeds" was to Larissa small talk. At this point everyone began to look for other things to do. Theodore started chewing the sausages from the buffet under a rice cake. Serena started touch ups to her make up. Even Hanson began looking around when out of nowhere … Nothing.
A single dewy tear drop bounced onto the floor.
She turned round and brought down her cape.
Broken wings. Torn shattered green wings. All the glitter and sparkle gone. All that was there was a few flimsy sheets of wings and huge stubs coming out from her spine.
Villains do not have an easy life. They in themselves are the victims of their own making. People so scared of what may happen to them and their loved ones they pour their anger out onto these people of crime. Some villains have even been beaten to death. That is the fate of those who survive.
Nothing needed to be said. Lunch was handed out in silence. All that was heard was a faint whimper and splutter of sobs.
As they all sat there sipping away on carrot soup and chewing roasted spring onions, Hanson looked around. Was this were he would end up one day? Unsuccessful, poor, slightly delusional to say the least. What had gone wrong? Was it his marriage? His profession? His lack of hair? And then …
Far far away, there sat a fairy who was so hated she was never invited to any parties. No one day, she heard there was a Christening Ball in honour of the baby princess. She left declaring …
He blinked. He stared round wildly. No. He was here in his rambled down shed. What were those visions? Why did they keep coming back to him? Why could he not look at a person and not see something strange and weird about their lives? Was he mad? Had he really watched too much This is your Fairy Tale Life? Or was it something else?
You see, when you are a writer and have not written anything worth reading since Secondary School, you begin to wonder. Your mind starts playing tricks on you. Soon you become so demented that sometimes you write something dreadful and end up in the marshes of Willows and spend a long time down under. Was that happening now? Or was it a sign?
After the silence had swallowed up all the time in the world, Larissa screamed.
"Why aren't you talking? Why are you just sitting there? What is your problem? That I'm different? That I have a different colour skin and I can, could fly? Is that it? Because if that is …"
"Sit down Larissa," bellowed Hanson.
His voice filled the room. Nothing moved. He stood up.
"We all have our problems. We all have our complaints about the world," he began. "But, we are here. We are not about to blow ourselves to oblivion because of some ignorant little people who don't even know our names." Larissa smiled. "Let's just finish today off and then see how tomorrow comes."
All nodded.
Theodore let out a whimper.
"Can I?"
All nodded again.
Theodore stood up as best he could on his hind legs, another thing he couldn't do at Elementary School.
"Hello. My name is Theodore and I'm here because I like eating things I shouldn't eat," Theodore mumbled.
"Speak up Furball." Shouted Serena.
"My name is Theodore and I'm here because I like eating things I shouldn't eat."
The usual questions began. How was he feeling (Very hungry)? What was his diet like (No fun)? Had he gone to the speed dating club at the Lonely Tower Pub (I did but they pulled my tail)? In short, he was still a bit of a woss. In Hanson's head however …
In deep dark forest, lived a hungry wolf. He had seen a little red hooded girl wandering through his patch and could just jump out to bite her when …
Just as everyone was preparing for the final sum up, the late comer arrived.
Decked in an orange beard, not his own fault, green hat and curly brown leather shoes, Rumps, short for Rumpelstiltskin lounged by the doorway.
"I haven't missed the party have I?" he drawled.
"Just the normal. He's had funny dreams again, she's been crying, he's still a retard and I'm a plastic queen? What's to miss?"
He swaggered in and then fell over.
"As you're the last, maybe you'd like to round up the day by telling us about your week?" Hanson queried, trying not to laugh, despite everyone else doing so.
Rumps staggered up, feel over again and then sat down.
"My week? Great! I've had the gold commissioner on my back all week about some fools gold I've sold to Queen what's her face and I burnt down my bakery along with my mushroom patch. Absolutely spiffing!"
"So you're still on magic mushrooms then?" sighed Hanson.
"What was I supposed to eat? I burnt down my bakery!"
Everyone's eyebrows were raised. All had the same thought running through their heads: Nutter.
"Still, I found this very interesting little article on writing. Did you know that most rich writers get their idea's from dreams? That is why I am going to write the worlds first novel by a dwarf. Do you hear me?"
But Hanson wasn't listening. He was already writing his own stories in his head. His own strange, wonderful, surreal dreams were stories to last forever. Not just in this time but the next time to come.
And that is how our story ends. I never found out what happened to Serena, Theodore, Larissa and Rumps. The last I'd heard of any of them was on a problems column in the local chronicle. Even so, it is the ending which is the hardest. It not about having the perfect story to get to the ending. It's about the perfect can I keep my life together after the stories ended ending. That is a fairy tale worth writing about.
Disclaimer I do not own the cover image ?q=regina+ouat#/art/Queen-Regina-341613221?_sid=30ac38c6 does
Hope you enjoyed this. Let me know if you fancy seeing any of these characters developed.