Shout out to Artemis Holmes for much-appreciated feedback! Posting this early because (s)he reinforced my philosophy of updating frequently. This chapter, I got to write a fairy tale how I thought Jim would want one to go. It was pretty fun :)
Chapter 25: The Bodies Stank
I was so engrossed in my own writing that I didn't even hear when my mother called me downstairs for dinner. She had to physically come in and grab me. I'd never loved English class before—math had always been my strongest and favourite subject—but some combination of Ms. O'Toole's attitude and the intrigue of Grimm's Fairy Tales unleashed a fiery passion the likes of which I'd never before experienced. I was so focused on this story that I almost neglected to do my other homework.
The downside of this zealousness: every other class seemed like a drag. Maths still managed to hold a slight appeal, but everything else was just an abominable waste of my time. Throughout the week, I snuck the paper containing my story onto my desk and worked on it while pretending to take notes on the Seven Years War, or whatever nonsense the government insisted was crucial for us to know. I finished the rough draft on Friday, far before it was actually due, which gave me lots of time to read over it and fix any imperfections. My goal was to minimize any potential edits I'd get when we peer reviewed our stories on Monday.
When Monday finally arrived, Sebastian and I burst into Ms. O'Toole's room out of breath, since we'd walked as fast as we could without getting called out by a teacher for running in the halls.
"I still can't quite believe your enthusiasm," Ms. O'Toole remarked. "I thought I was passionate about English, but you two are giving me a run for my money."
When the entirety of the class arrived, she explained that we could choose our partners for peer editing. I was glad of this, since I wanted Sebastian to be the first to read my masterpiece. He scoured mine while I leafed through his. I glanced up periodically to watch his face, internally laughing as it morphed into a mask of horror.
"Do you think Ms. O'Toole will like it?" I asked when he finished.
"Well..." he hesitated. "It's certainly unique."
"Sebastian, that is the most ambiguous thing you could possibly say about anything."
"I don't know what else to say."
"Was it good or bad? It's a simple question."
"Good, I guess."
"It's your opinion, there's no guessing involved."
"Fine. It's good."
"That's all I wanted to hear. Was that so hard?"
"What did you think of mine?" he inquired, changing the subject.
"I like your main character, since he's pretty dynamic for a short story. The overall plot was interesting, but I'm a little confused as to what the moral is supposed to be."
"That's the point. In life, things aren't always crystal clear. The same situation can be interpreted many different ways by different people."
"Whoa. You went really philosophical. As long as you explain it like that during your presentation, you're good as gold."
"Thanks." He grabbed his paper back from me and scanned it quickly.
"Most of that is just grammatical or spelling stuff. The story itself is great, just fix all that superficial stuff."
"I didn't really look for any of the stuff in yours, but knowing you, there wasn't anything to fix anyway."
"You're probably right. I've already gone over it three times myself, but even I can miss things occasionally."
"Is that modesty? It looks so strange on you," Sebastian teased, so I punched him in the arm. Sarcasm and mock violence: the language of friendship.
~0~
"A young boy lived on a farm with his parents and five sisters. They lead a peaceful life, planting crops and tending to their animals, not a care in the world except the likelihood of rain or sunshine. They were blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in the dark forest just beyond their fields.
"The children were forbidden to enter the forest, for their parents feared the predators that dwelled there: wolves, bear, and cougars. But it wasn't these creatures of Earth that would be their downfall. A far more villainous enemy sat vigil at the forest's edge, awaiting the perfect time to strike.
"Nobody knew the true name of this creature, because no one had met him face-to-face and survived. Legends called him the 'lurking one' or 'Teras—' from the Greek for monster. The beast didn't call itself by a name; it was a divine being far above mundane titles.
"This creature existed solely to feed off human misery. It played games with its victims, torturing them to insanity before claiming its prize. In the olden days, it would capture prey and slowly burn it to death, but it grew bored of listening to screams of agony. It needed something deeper: emotional turmoil.
"It spent years searching for the perfect subjects, until it stumbled upon the boy's farm. It observed the family day after day, making note of their motivations, their personalities, and everything about them. It devised an ingenious plan which would wreak ultimate suffering.
"The family depended entirely on its crops for survival; without them, they would have no food. The beast knew this, and the first step in its plan was to destroy that crucial resource.
"'Pa, something's happened to the fields!' the boy cried.
"'What is it, boy?' he questioned. The boy grabbed his father by the sleeve and dragged him outside to see. The old farmer's mouth fell open in shock. The travesty of his life's work lay splayed out before him: field after field reduced to desolation. Where once had stood flourishing wheat, tomatoes, squash, beans, and barley now stood dead, rotting stalks. It appeared as if all the life had been sucked from the crops by their roots, leaving an empty husk behind.
"'How could this have happened?' Pa said forlornly. Without these crops, his family would starve, and he knew it.
"'What are we going to do?' the boy asked.
"'I don't know, son. I don't know.'
"That night, the boy lay awake for hours worrying about the fate of his family. He couldn't stand by and watch his family starve, there had to be something he could do. The boy got out of bed and quietly snuck through the house, slipping his boots on at the door. He crept outside and walked the short distance to the forest.
"He was aware of the dangers of the forest, of the supernatural that allegedly called it home, but his gut told him that the answer lay within its grasp. He crossed the threshold into the woods, and the temperature instantaneously dropped several degrees. The moonlight was blotted out by the dense canopy, making the already dark night even darker. He heard a rustling noise, and started with fright, but realised it was just a squirrel.
"His feet carried him deeper into the forest of their own accord, he felt as if a magnet were slowly drawing him in. He finally came to a stop in a small clearing, and the creature emerged from the darkness.
"'Wh-who are you?' the boy stammered. The creature was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It almost didn't have a physical form, but seemed to be made of swirling darkness. It didn't have a face—or any distinguishable body parts—and its voice seemed to emanate from the surrounding forest.
"'Tis none of your concern,' the creature hissed.
"'Wh-what do you w-want?'
"'I wish only to restore thy farm to its former prosperity.'
"'H-how do y-you know about the f-farm?'
"'I see all, know all, feel all. Grant me but one simple request, and thou wilt not find thyself famished.'
"'R-request?'
"'Yes. One of thy sisters will suffice. Feminine flesh hast not past mine lips in eons.'
"'Sorry, I can't do that. I would never let any of my sisters die.'
"The creature knew this would be the boy's initial reaction. He'd watched them long enough to know of his loyalty to his family, especially his sisters. The creature accepted this, for the boy's refusal was a key to his plan.
"'Very well,' the creature hissed. 'If thou wilt not grant me what I so humbly request, thou payest most dearly.' With that, the creature vanished in a puff of black smoke. The boy ran back through the woods to the house and leapt into his bed. He drew the sheets up over his head as if to protect him from the sheer evil of the beast. He wondered what the dear price he was to pay would be. He had no doubt this monster possessed power enough to smite him from the Earth.
"The next morning, the boy's father awoke him excitedly. Not having slept much, the boy was reluctant to leave the comfort of his bed, but his father was insistent.
"'It's the crops, you must come see. It's a miracle!' The boy clambered out of bed and begrudgingly followed his father outside. He gasped in surprise: the crops had returned to their former splendour! Not only that, but everything was perfectly ripe and ready for harvest. The creature had been merciful! The boy and his family were so relieved that the certainty of their future had been restored they gallivanted gleefully through the fields. The boy's sisters each grabbed a juicy tomato from the vine and eagerly took a bite in celebration.
"Alas, the joyful atmosphere was not to continue. Not one minute after the tomato had passed the sisters' lips, they all fell to the ground in dramatic convulsions. His mother panicked, running frenetically between each of the girls with no idea how to aid them. As suddenly as they had began, the seizures ceased and the sisters lay still as statues. The boy ran to his eldest sister and glanced down at her motionless form. Without even checking for breathing or a pulse, the boy knew instinctively that she was dead. They were all dead.
"The boy cried out in anguish. He'd lost his beloved sisters. A strong gust of wind blew through the field, rustling the crops and carrying with it a sinister voice.
"'Thou hast let all thy sisters die.'"
~0~
Never since the Hungry Donkey had I seen an audience so shell-shocked upon the finale of my work. Even Ms. O'Toole's mouth hung slightly agape, and the entire room remained silent for an unprecedented amount of time. I rocked back and forth on my heels, proud of the effect I'd managed to create. I waited for Ms. O'Toole to react, to dismiss me back to my seat, to do anything, but she continued to stare blankly at me.
"Um, will that be all?" I asked hesitantly.
Ms. O'Toole finally snapped out of her reverie and replied, "No, Jim. You need to explain how your story fits the assignment: write a fairy tale with a moral. Please explain the moral of this story."
"Sometimes, the right choice feels like the wrong choice. Had the boy sacrificed one of his sisters, the other four would have survived. By refusing, all five of them died."
"Okay. What made you choose this theme?"
"I didn't want to write a fairy tale like every other one—one that discourages lying or promotes being yourself. I wanted to create something unique."
"You definitely succeeded in that respect. Wonderful job, you may sit down now," Ms. O'Toole instructed. I returned to my seat, leaving the paper copy of the story on the stack left by the students who had gone before me. Ms. O'Toole's eyes followed me all the way back to my desk, and I slouched in discomfort at being stared at. It took her an unusually long time to call up the next student to present, and she didn't appear completely with it the rest of the class.
"Dude, you totally threw the entire class for a loop. Did you see Ms. O'Toole's face?" Sebastian asked me after class ended.
"Yeah, why do you think she acted like that?" I answered.
"I don't know, nor do I care. It's awesome, and that's all that matters. You rocked her world, isn't that what you wanted to do?"
"Yeah, but I didn't think it would result in her looking at me like I'm a stick of dynamite about to explode. You don't think she'll see me like Mrs. Fletcher did, do you?"
"Just because you can write a dark, creepy story doesn't make you a psychopath."
"I hope you're right."
Thanks for reading!