The Ghost and the Girl

This story is based on the ghost stories of Ireland, the land of the Banshee, changelings and other supernatural spectres you wouldn’t expect to come from the same place as leprechauns and tin whistles. The main plot is from “The Fate of Frank M’Kenna” by William Carleton, but I have lengthened it and changed small details. One thing I really wanted to convey was the idea that it’s not the ghosts of our dearly departed who need to move on: It’s us. We keep the dead on earth because we can’t let them go. We try to keep them alive for our own selfish reasons and deny them the reward they deserve. I’m not saying we should just erase your dead friends and family from our minds, but, as this story shows, by dwelling on death, we risk missing out on life.

M’Kenna had two sons. The oldest, Tom, was a good boy, clever, hard-working, obedient, and the greatest pride of his father’s life. The youngest, Frank, was willful, defiant, independent and the greatest shame of his father’s life. He refused to go to church, shirked his chores and did pretty much whatever he wanted regardless of his father’s words. Finally, one winter’s morning, Frank had planned to go hunting hares in the woods with a few friends. This, for Frank’s father, was the last straw. “If you don’t come with me and your brother to church, then I hope you never come back again!”

He didn’t mean it, really, it was said in anger, but it still hurt Frank’s feelings. “Whether I come back or not,” he said, “I am going. Now!” And he took up his walking stick and made his way to the forest. Frank’s father instantly regretted what he had said, but he let the boy go and he and Tom went to church.

Frank and his friends spent most of the day pursuing a particularly tricky hare who kept leading them deeper and deeper into the woods. As time wore on, it began to snow. Soon it turned into a blizzard. A terrible snowstorm, the worst seen in years. Frank’s friends wanted to go home at once to avoid getting lost in the woods. But Frank, still seething from what his father had said, was determined to catch that hare after all the trouble it had put them through. His friends tried very hard to convince him, but in the end, they had to give up and run home, leaving Frank alone in the storm.

Frank didn’t come home the next morning, and his father and Tom organized a search of the woods. It was difficult as the ground was covered in a good foot and a half of snow, but the people of the village searched high and low through those woods only to find no trace of Frank. They set out again the next day and the day after that, as the weather got warmer and the snow began to dissipate. On the fourth day after his departure from his father’s house, Frank was found. The snow had melted to reveal his body, lying curled on the cold earth, frozen to death.

There was a house very near where the body was found, owned by a man named Daly, and his own front door was taken off its hinges and used to carry Frank’s body back to town. The funeral procession was a sad one, M’Kenna and Tom sobbing the loudest and begging God and Frank to forgive them their harsh words toward the boy. The body was dressed in Frank’s finest clothes (except for the trousers; they couldn’t find his Sunday trousers, so they had to make do with another pair) and laid to rest in the earth.

It happened that Daly had a daughter of about fourteen who lived in the small house with him and who had, without her father’s knowledge, seen the young man’s corpse being carried away. The night after the funeral, Rose, for that was the girl’s name, woke her father with a terrible scream. When Daly went to see what was the matter, Rose swore that she had seen Frank M’Kenna standing in her room. Daly searched the house and saw no trace of the boy and assured his daughter that Frank was gone to his rest. Rose agreed and went back to sleep.

But the very next night, Frank appeared again. Another scream, another search of the house, another return to sleep for father and daughter. This happened every night for many days. Soon, Rose learned not to scream and instead simply covered her head in the bed sheets, only to find Frank gone when she looked out again. The nights wore on and Rose actually got used to Frank’s visits. So much so that, about a fortnight after his first appearance, she actually dared to speak to him.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Why are you haunting this house?”

“This house was my Cóiste Bodhar[1],” said the ghost of Frank M’Kenna. “The door bore me to my final rest. I have business on earth that I must complete before I can move on.”

“What is it?”

“My Sunday trousers. It might seem like a small thing, but it is important to me. My friends took them before my body was dressed for my funeral and have since been fighting over who gets to keep them. None of them may keep them. If I was not buried in them, they must be given to charity.”

The next day, Rose told the villagers what Frank’s ghost had told her. Indeed, she was correct. Frank’s friends had been fighting over the trousers, but, after Rose’s testimony, they were promptly donated to the local parrish. The people were astounded by this news of Frank’s visitation. And all the rest of that day, it was all anyone talked or thought about. And that night, Frank appeared to Rose again, and she told him that his wishes had been fulfilled.

“Thank you, Rose,” said Frank. “Now perhaps I can go to my rest.”

But, curiously enough, he did not. That night he and Rose went on talking for a while before he vanished. She told everyone of their conversation and, once again, the ghost of Frank M’Kenna was all anyone was thinking about all that day. He appeared again and again in this way and he and Rose talked on all sorts of interesting subjects. God, Heaven, angels and so on. Rose learned more about the life after this one than any living human being has ever known. And every day she hungered for her meetings with Frank and every night she reveled in them.

It is said that we often hurt the ones we love and that’s precisely what Rose was doing. After many, many visits and many, many talks, Frank felt bold enough to ask Rose for a request.

“Of course, Frank,” she said, for she was quite fond of him by this time. “Anything you like.”

“You must forget about me.”

“What?”

“I told you when we met that I had business with the living that needed to be finished before I could move on, and that was true. But now something else is keeping me bound to this plane.”

“What’s that?”

“You. You keep me here. Every day you wait for me to appear. You long for the wisdom from beyond the grave which I grant you. And when a living soul clings too tightly to the memory of one who is deceased, it prevents that spirit from moving on.”

“But, seeing you is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You are very young, Rose. Too young to dwell on death. There is so much wonder in this world, and we only get to know it for a short while. Let me go, Rose. Live your own life.”

A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek. “I’ll miss you, Frank.”

“Don’t be sad, Rose. We’ll see each other again. But hopefully not for a very long time.”

Rose smiled in spite of her sadness. She lowered her head and closed her eyes and whispered “goodbye.” When she looked up again Frank was gone.

That was the last time Rose ever saw Frank. She stopped looking forward to his visits and occupied herself with other pursuits. Frank left this world for good and all, but Rose didn’t quite keep her promise: She never forgot Frank entirely. And let’s hope none of us ever forget the wisdom he passed on: There is so much wonder in this world, and we only get to know it for a short while. 

So know it well.

THE END

For More Great Stories, Click HERE

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[1]  Pronounced “KOE-shta-BOW-er,” meaning  “Death Coach.”

Joseph and the Coat of Many Colors

I sincerely hope that my inclusion of a story from scripture among those of the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen doesn’t offend anyone. The fact is, whether you believe in the absolute truth of the Bible or not, you can’t deny that it is full of some very excellent stories from which we can all learn a lot. Since this blog is dedicated to great stories, I thought it would be appropriate to include one of my favorites from the Old Testament.

Many, many years ago…actually, longer ago than that…no, that’s not long ago enough. It was so long ago, that...how can I put this? Remember John Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln? Remember when Columbus "discovered" America? Remember when Mel Gibson was cool and not just crazy? Yeah, waaay before that.

It was a long time ago; I just want to be clear on that point.

In any event, all the years ago we just got done discussing, there lived a man named Jacob who had many wives and twelve sons. They were all fine boys who wanted to make their father proud, but Jacob’s favorite was Joseph, because he was born late in Jacob’s life, at a time when he thought he would be unable to father any more children. So Jacob doted on Joseph and lavished affection on him. This, of course, made the other brothers (each of whom had a name and personality of their own, but there were eleven of them and we haven't got all day) very jealous and angry at Joseph. Now, technically, it wasn’t Joseph’s fault that his father played favorites, but that wasn’t the only reason they had an axe to grind.

It was also because they had a lot of wood to cut down and if they didn't grind that axe they would...no, huh? Yeah, okay, you may be right. Still, you can't expect all the jokes to be good. Moving on:

The main reason Joseph's brothers disliked him was that he was born with an unusual talent for interpreting dreams. This was all well and good, but then Joseph took to interpreting his own dreams: “Last night I had this dream where the twelve of us were all out in the fields harvesting corn, and we each had a sheath of corn in our hands. Mine was tall and sturdy and gold, but the rest of you had shriveled, green sheaths. And then, the strangest thing haeppened. All your sheaths turned and bowed to mine. I wonder if that means that someday I’m going to be in a position of authority above the rest of you. What do you guys think?”

What they thought was that Joseph was full of himself and they didn’t like the idea of having to bow to their own brother. But the final straw was when Jacob gave his favorite son a gift: A wonderful coat in all the colors of the rainbow, and one or two colors he'd never seen before. It was a beautiful, multi-colored coat (which, curiously enough, did not clash with anything Joseph owned) which made the plain, brown, sheepskin coats of his brothers look quite shabby. And when they saw Joseph, parading around in his new coat-of-many-colors, talking about how important his dreams said he was going to be, they resolved to get rid of the smug jerk once and for all.

Bright and early the next morning, the twelve sons of Jacob went out to tend the flock. Everything was going just fine until Joseph’s brothers grabbed him, pulled off his coat and threw him in a deep pit. The flock was, of course, outraged, and agreed to give very little wool come wintertime as payback. The brothers were just about to leave him down there, when some travelers passed. Travelers in the rather unsavory habit of buying young people to sell as slaves. The brothers thought about it and decided that there was no point in letting Joseph go to waste, so they pulled him out of the well and sold him to these slave traders, who dragged him away to sell him in Egypt. Then the brothers slaughtered a goat (further incensing the flock) and rubbed its blood and insides all over Joseph’s coat, which they brought to their father as proof that his favorite son was dead.

Which is just about the yuckiest thing we've seen in any of these stories, huh?

But now we leave Jacob and his eleven remaining sons and go to Egypt, where Joseph was quickly bought by a man named Potiphar, captain of the Pharaoh’s guard. Being naturally hard-working, Joseph soon outstripped all the other slaves of Potiphar’s home and  Potiphar was so impressed with Joseph, that he promoted him to the position of head servant, making him Potiphar’s right hand man. So everything was actually going pretty well for Joseph…until Mrs. Potiphar.

Hmm...this bit's going to be hard to do if I want to maintain my G-rating, huh? Well, bear with me:

Mrs. Potiphar was not what you might call a faithful spouse. This, coupled with the fact that Joseph was young and very handsome with one of those "winning smiles" you so often hear about, meant more than a few unsavory glances in his direction. Joseph rejected her, of course; he’d never do anything like that, but Mrs. Potiphar was determined to get what she wanted. One day, when they were alone together, Mrs. Potiphar reached out and grabbed Joseph roughly by his clothes. He ran away, causing his clothes to tear off in the woman’s hand. So when Potiphar saw Joseph’s bare chest under his torn garment and his wife crying out, lying that Joseph had attacked her, he assumed the worst, and put his most trusted servant in prison.

Yes, things seemed to be going pretty bad for Joseph once again. But somebody was watching over him in that dingy cell. Somebody was looking down on Joseph and preparing to lift him up into the sunlight. And this was done, as it usually is, in so roundabout and unlikely a fashion, that many people would say that it was just a coincidence, or a lucky break, or just one of those things. In any case, what happened was this: Joseph had two cellmates, both of whom had previously served the Pharaoh. And one night, both woke up having had strange and disturbing dreams. Joseph, being somewhat adept at interpreting dreams, offered to tell his companions what their dreams meant.

Of course, the last time Joseph had interpreted anyone's dreams, it had gotten him betrayed and sold into slavery by his own brothers. Still, he reasoned, that was unlikely to happen again, so he gave it a go.

“I saw a vine with three large, ripe grapes,” said the first prisoner, the Pharaoh’s cupbearer, “which I plucked, held over Pharaoh’s cup and crushed into wine. Then I gave the cup to Pharaoh and he smiled. Then I woke up.”

(Which people always say when they're telling you about a dream, don't they? Why? Of course you woke up! That's how every dream in the history of mankind has ended.) 

“The three grapes mean three days,” said Joseph. “Three days from now, Pharaoh will pardon you and return you to your old job.”

Now it was the turn of the second prisoner, a baker, who was understandably hopeful upon hearing his companion's dream. “I was carrying a basket on my head with three fat loaves of bread. Then a big black bird came and started eating the bread, I lost my balance and dropped everything. That’s when I woke up.”

(See? What'd I tell ya?)

“I’m sorry,” said Joseph. “I am so very sorry. But the three loaves also represent three days. Three days from now…Pharaoh will have you executed.” And, sure enough, in three days’ time, both predictions came true. The cupbearer was pardoned, the poor baker sentenced to death, and Joseph was alone, and beginning to feel like that's how he'd be for the rest of his days...

But, once again, somebody, somewhere had other plans for Joseph, and this time they involved a very useful ally: The Pharaoh himself. The God-King of Egypt, the supreme ruler of the land. For shortly after pardoning the first servant and executing the other, Pharaoh had a strange dream of his own. None of his advisors or wisemen knew what it meant, but then the cupbearer was bold enough to mention that, during his stint in prison, he met a man with a gift for interpreting dreams. Desperate for an explanation, Pharaoh had Joseph sent for and the poor boy was brought before the king and asked to interpret his dream:

“I was standing on my pyramid," said Pharaoh, "looking out over my land, when I saw seven big, fat, healthy-looking cows pass before me. But right behind them were seven thin, sickly, undernourished cows. Right before my eyes, the skinny cows ate the fat cows. Which, strangely enough, did not make them any fatter. So what does it mean?”

Joseph thought for a moment, then said, “For the next seven years, Egypt will know prosperity like never before. It will be the best period of food production in history. You will have more food than you know what to do with. Which is good, because the following seven years will be years of famine and desolation. So, if I were you, my liege, I would set up some kind of rationing program to set aside the extra food to distribute during the famine. You should fine a wise, discerning man to oversee it all.”

“You are the only one who was able to inerpret my dream,” said Pharaoh. “So who could be wiser and more discerning to you?” And with a word and a wave from Pharaoh, Joseph was pardoned of all his crimes, lifted up from the bonds of servitude and appointed as Pharaoh’s right hand. He was given a palace to live in, gold and jewels. He had many servants, rich clothing, a really hot wife (which is another story altogether), and in all of Egypt only Pharaoh was above him. And, as Joseph had predicted, for the next seven years, there was plenty of food for everyone…also, as he had predicted, the following seven were difficult. But, thanks to the system Joseph had put in place, no one went hungry. Everyone had plenty to eat, thanks to Joseph…

Everyone in Egypt, that is. But the famine stretched far beyond the borders of Pharaoh’s domain. In fact, back in Canaan, where Joseph was born, people were hurt the most. Poor Jacob, his eleven sons, and what was left of the flock were on the verge of starvation, and Jacob himself was old and getting very weak. Knowing that there was plenty of food in Egypt, the brothers went there to see if they could collect some food to bring home for their father.

There is, of course, a reason why all eleven of them left their ailing father alone but for one particularly loyal sheep instead of some of them staying behind...but we don't have time to get into that right now. Maybe if I hadn't wasted so much time with stupid jokes earlier in the story. Oh well, on to Egypt:

They were brought before Joseph and they explained their position and made their request. Now Joseph recognized his eleven brothers at once, but between the years of servitude, the hot Egyptian son, the new clothes and the traditional makeup of Egyptian royalty, none of them recognized him! And when he realized this, Joseph, in his grace and wisdom, did what only seemed natural under the circumstances:

He messed with their heads.

“So,” said Joseph in his Deep Scary Voice, “you expect me to just hand over Egypt’s precious food to you simple farm folk because you give me some sob story about a sick father? Why should I? What are you? Spies? Here to see how strong our defenses are?” The brothers then began to beg, plead and grovel in a fairly revolting display of pathetic toadying and he relented, as he had always intended to, instructing them to take as much as they needed…while they were doing so, however, Joseph went to his home, partly because he didn't want them to hear him laughing over his prank, but mostly because he had something else planned.

Once at his home, he found a silver goblet adorned with jewels, and snuck it into the sack of one of his brothers. Then he waited until they were ready to go home and told them to stop. “My silver cup is missing! One of you must have taken it! I will search every one of you until I find it!” Joseph and his guards searched the bewildered brothers, only to find the cup in the sack of Joseph's brother, Benjamin. “You will be thrown in prison for the rest of your life for this crime!” bellowed Joseph, and then something happened he had not expected. Actually, ten somethings.

“No!”

“You can’t!”

“Please, don’t!”

“Take me instead!”

All ten of the other brothers stepped forward to defend Benjamin. Each one insisting that their brother was innocent and begging for leniency. “Many years ago,” they explained, “we lost one of our brothers. It was our fault. And we have missed him ever since. We cannot bear to lose another member of our family.”

That was all Joseph needed to hear. For now he knew that they were truly sorry for what they had done. And when someone you care about is truly, truly sorry for something they did to you, there’s really only one thing you can do: Forgive them. Joseph revealed his true identity to his brothers and they were overjoyed to see him. The twelve brothers were reunited at last and they embraced each other over and over as Joseph told them his remarkable story. They felt guilty hearing the hardships he had endured, but Joseph forgave them all. In fact, he did a lot more than that. He invited them all to come and live with him in Egypt, and Jacob joined them and the whole family lived in happiness and prosperity forever afterward.

Or, to put it another way, they all lived happily ever after!

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (1999) This video version of the popular broadway musical by Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice stars Donny Osmond as Joseph
• Joseph: King of Dreams (2000) One of the first direct-to-video features Dreamworks animation ever produced. An attempt at a follow up to the highly successful (and, in my opinion, far superior) Prince of Egypt. Ben Affleck, Steven Weber and Mark Hamill lend their voices
• VeggieTales: The Ballad of Little Joe (2003) Hey, they’re all video releases, huh? Weird. Anyway, the popular children’s video series turned the story into a western. Very entertaining.

NEXT WEEK:  "3 Silly Stories (featuring Leroy!!)"

The Adventures of Brer Rabbit

The stories of Brer Rabbit and his friends and enemies were originally written by Joel Chandler Harris, who attributed them to an old slave he invented named "Uncle Remus." Remus lived on a plantation in Georgia during the Post-Reconstruction period, just after the Civil War. He, like many freed slaves at that time, had no place to go after being emancipated, so he stayed on for the rest of his days. He didn't do much work anymore, mostly he would tell the children of the plantation owners stories about the animals he knew from that area to entertain and to teach. Harris drew the inspiration for the Uncle Remus stories from real folktales the slaves brought to America from Africa.

I realize that some of you may view these stories as somewhat controversial. True, there is some content in the Uncle Remus stories that might be construed as insensitive by today’s standards, but at heart they are just entertaining animal fables, and I don't think they should be ignored just because they were born out of a period in our shared history that we're (rightly) ashamed of. In the interest of keeping things pleasant, I have, shall we say, softened them a little and removed a certain word which, while a literal description of a plot element in the story, has since become a fairly horrendous racial slur.

Now, this story takes place once upon a time. Not your time, or my time, or any other time. But once upon a time. Back then, the people were closer to the animals, the animals were closer to each other, and you might say things were better all around. In fact, the animals were so friendly, they called each other “Brother.” “Good morning, brother dog,” they would say. “How do you do, brother cat?” But this story takes place way down south, in the southiest of the southlands, where the people (and the animals) talk in such a way that it comes out more like “Brer.” “G’morning, brer dog.” “How d’ya do, brer cat?” and so on.

There were lots of critters around in those days, but the craftiest, quickest and cleverest of all was Brer Rabbit. He was the slickest critter you’ve ever seen. He could get himself in and out of trouble just as easy as you could fall off a log. And most of that trouble came from a certain mean, nasty critter called Brer Fox, who was determined to catch and eat Brer Rabbit for his dinner.

But Brer Rabbit wasn’t worried about Brer Fox. He knew he’d always find a way to outsmart him. He didn’t even worry when Brer Fox put that fence up around his peanut crop. He just slid under it, helped himself to all the “goobers” he wanted and scurried on home before Brer Fox even knew what hit him. Well, finally, Brer Fox got fed up and laid a little trap for Brer Rabbit. And, sure enough, the very next night when Brer Rabbit came to get more goobers, he stepped in the snare trap and before he knew it, he was trussed up by his legs, hanging between the heaven and the earth. At first, he was scared he was gonna fall…then he was scared he wasn’t gonna fall! Because he knew it would only be a few hours before Brer Fox showed up and then he’d have himself a nice juicy rabbit for a meal!

Now, being small, Brer Rabbit knew it was better to use his head instead of his feet, so he started working on a plan to get himself out of this mess. Just then, who should come along on an evening stroll but Brer Bear. Brer Bear was big and tough, friendly enough, but a little shy on brains…which was perfect for Brer Rabbit.

“Howdy, Brer Bear!” he called out from the tree. “How ya come on?”

“Huh? Oh, howdy Brer Rabbit…what you doin’ way up there?”

“Me? Oh, I’m a scarecrow, Brer Bear. I’m keepin’ the crows outta the garden for Brer Fox. It’s a good job, too. I’m makin’ a dollar a minute!”

“A dollar a minute!” exclaimed Brer Bear. “That means you’re makin’…er…a lotta money!” As I said, not much on brains.

“Yeah, it’s a good job. Say, Brer Bear, would you like this job? I think you’d make a great scarecrow. No, I insist, I’ve got plenty of money already. Just help me down and you can take over for me.”

Well, you can imagine what Brer Fox thought when he came to check his trap the next morning and found Brer Bear hanging by his feet from the tree. And, after patiently explaining to Brer Bear that he was not making a dollar a minute, the two of them decided to team up to teach Brer Rabbit a lesson once and for all. Now, being a bear, Brer Bear had an ample supply of honey at his house. So taking this, a few sticks, an old hat and coat, and buttons for eyes, they shaped the honey into the shape of a little person, and sat it down on a log by the side of the road. Then they hid behind some bushes and waited for Brer Rabbit to come by.

He did, soon enough, and when he saw the "honeychild" sitting by the side of the road, he thought it was a real person, so he called out a friendly, “Howdy!” as he passed…but the honeychild didn’t say anything. Brer Rabbit thought maybe he hadn’t heard, so he said it again: “Howdy!” But the honeychild didn’t say anything. “Hey,” he yelled at the honeychild, starting to get annoyed, “didn’t you hear me? I said ‘Howdy!’” But the honeychild didn’t say anything. “Now look here,” said Brer Rabbit, “don’t you know it ain’t polite not to say ‘howdy’ when someone says ‘howdy?’ Now I’m gonna give you to the count of three, and if I don’t get a ‘howdy,’ I’m gonna punch you right in the mouth! One…two…three! Okay, you asked for it.” Brer Rabbit swung his paw back and punched the honeychild right in the mouth…and, of course, his fist got stuck. So he punched him with the other paw…and that one got stuck. Then he started to punch and kick as hard as he could at every part of the honeychild’s body. But the more he tried to get free the more deeply he got stuck in the honey, until he was so deep in the thick, sticky honey that he could scarecely open his eyes.

The next thing Brer Rabbit heard was laughter as Brer Fox and Brer Bear came out of their hiding place. “We got you, Brer Rabbit!” said Brer Bear. “Yeah, I sure did!” said Brer Fox, who’d been waiting for this moment all his life. “I finally caught you, Brer Rabbit. And now I’m gonna get rid of you once and for all!”

“How we gonna do it?” asked Brer Bear.

“I know!” said Brer Fox after thinking about it for a moment. “Let’s get some rope and hang ‘im! What do you think of that, Brer Rabbit? We’re gonna hang ya! I bet that scares you, doesn’t it?”

But just then, Brer Rabbit got perhaps the best idea of his entire life. “You can hang me up just as high as you like, Brer Fox. As long as you don’t throw me in that Briar Patch, I don’t mind.”

“Say,” said Brer Bear. “He don’t seem to be afraid of being hanged.”

“Yeah, I know. I got it! We won’t hang ‘im…we’ll tie him to a big rock, throw him in the lake and drown ‘im! Now that’s gotta scare you, doesn’t it Brer Rabbit?”

“Drown me just as deep as you like, Brer Fox. I won’t be afraid as long as you don’t throw me in that Briar Patch!”

“No, he’s not afraid of drowning either!” said Brer Bear.

“Okay, okay…” said Brer Fox, and he began to think again. “I got it this time! I’ll take my big, sharp knife…and skin ya alive! Now that has to make you scared, right, Brer Rabbit?”

“Skin me! Hang me! Drown me! Shoot me! Stab me! Roast me! Do whatever you want to me, Brer Fox. But whatever you do, please don’t throw me in that Briar Patch!”

“Oh, this is hopeless!” said Brer Bear. “He ain’t scared of anything!”

“Wait!” said Brer Fox. “I know what he’s scared of! He’s scared of being thrown in the Briar Patch! Well, then…that’s just where he’s gonna go!” So Brer Fox and Brer Bear dragged Brer Rabbit to the edge of a mile wide thicket of sharp, dangerous briars and thorns. All the while, Brer Rabbit was begging for mercy, but they wouldn’t listen. They each took one end of Brer Rabbit and swung him back and forth between them…one…two…three! And they flung Brer Rabbit right into the middle of the Briar Patch!

Brer Fox and Brer Bear pricked up their ears to listen to the agonized, tormented screams of Brer Rabbit…imgaine their surprise when they heard laughter instead! You see, unbeknowst to the fox and the bear, Brer Rabbit had been born and raised in the Briar Patch! He knew every thorn like the back of his own paw. “I surely do appreciate you taking me home, boys!” cried Brer Rabbit playfully to his enemies as he laughed and sang in his comfortable home.

And so ends this adventure of Brer Rabbit, but there are plenty of others. Plenty of other times when Brer Rabbit got himself into trouble with Brer Fox or played a trick on Brer Bear or tried to help Brer Frog or Brer Turtle out of a jam. But no matter how much trouble Brer Rabbit gets himself into, you can be sure of one thing: He’ll get himself out again just as easy as you could fall off a log!

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Song of the South (1946) The only Disney movie to be unofficially “disowned” by the studio,it can still be seen quite easily through video torrents and websites. A live action film about a young white boy befriending Uncle Remus, interspersed with superb Disney animation. Basically the reason it’s not been released on video in this country is because of historical misunderstandings and the use of the word I alluded to earlier and substituted with “honeychild,” which just came to me as I was writing and I thought was pretty clever. Anyway, “Splash Mountain” is based on this movie, the song “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” comes from this movie, and if they can realease their wartime propoganda cartoons with a disclaimer from Leonard Maltin, I don’t see why they can’t do the same for this exceptional, multiple Oscar-winning movie, especially since they're still profiting from it.
• The Adventures of Brer Rabbit (2006) I'm not the only person that thinks these stories need to be preserved. This direct-to-DVD release boasts a voice cast including Nick Cannon, Wayne Brady, Danny Glover, D. L. Hughley and Wanda Sykes.

NEXT WEEK: "The Sleeper Awakened"

Tom Thumb

This is the Brothers Grimm story often confused with Andersen’s “Thumbelina.” In fact, that’s the main reason it’s taken me so long to feature it in this collection. I had to make sure it was distinct enough from the other story. As a matter of fact, the Brothers wrote two stories, one called, simply “Tom Thumb” and the other called “Tom Thumb’s Travels.” Basically, they are the same story, with some slight differences here and there.

It is a dangerous thing to say “I don’t care” when you want something. Making a wish is dangerous enough; you never know who might be listening. But to say you don’t care when you wish it is more dangerous still. It doesn’t happen often, mind, maybe once in a week in a month in a year or more. But now and then, someone makes a wish, and someone else hears them. And it all comes to pass…but maybe not the way you might think.

There was once upon a time a farmer and his wife who were very much in want of a child. For years they tried all sort of tricks and tonics and voodoo and whodoo and howdydoo with nothing to show for it. The farmer had all but given up, but his wife said, “No! I want a baby! Any baby will do. I wouldn’t care if he were odd, or misshapen. I wouldn’t care if he were no bigger than my thumb. As long as he’s mine, I would love him to bits.”

And, sure enough, ears pricked up and eyes winked and things were set in motion, and one morning, the farmer and his wife awoke, and went to the kitchen for breakfast, only to find, right in the center of their dining table, a tiny thing. So small a thing that they might not have seen it at all, but they did. It was a tiny bassinet. So small, the wood it was made of might have come from a stick or a twig. And in the bassinet, sleeping like an angel, was a baby. The smallest baby you ever saw, but a baby nonetheless. And the farmer and his wife rejoiced, for now they had the child they’d always wanted. They named him Tom, after his father, but since he was only the size of his mother’s thumb, they always called him “Tom Thumb.”

Now, as any parent will tell you, taking care of a baby isn’t easy. And if that baby happens to be the size of your thumb, well, that makes it even harder! But love can be a most powerful magic in and of itself, and it helped the farmer and his wife rise to each challenge and overcome it. And Tom Thumb grew…not much, of course. In fact, when he was sixteen years old, he was still not much bigger than his father’s thumb. But he had a lot of spirit, far more than you’d think would even fit in a boy that size. For one thing, he didn’t like to feel useless and, despite his size, was always a great help to his parents. He helped his mother clean house by getting into the hard to reach places, he kept household pests to a minimum by fighting them off with a needle for a sword, and when his father needed to go into town, he even drove his livestock by sitting inside their ears and shouting orders. Tom Thumb was a wonder, all right, and his parents were very proud of him.

One day, Tom Thumb and his father were traveling through the woods when they passed two rogues. The rogues were astonished at what they saw: A horse and cart traveling through the forest with the driver fast asleep at the reins. “How does he drive his horse so well in his sleep?” one asked the other. Then as the cart passed, they spied the tiny figure of Tom Thumb, commanding the horse from inside the animal's ear. “Look at that tiny little fellow! I bet he’s no bigger than my thumb!” A moment later, the two villains had a plan and they began to follow the cart closely as it went along its way. By and by, the horse stopped by the side of the road to rest and as soon as the cart had stopped, the rogues ran to the horse and snatched Tom Thumb out of its ear. Poor Tom Thumb was so small that his sleeping father didn’t hear him cry for help. But it was too late now, and the villains were well away.

“Do not be afraid, little one,” they told him. “We have a job for you. We are professional thieves, you see, and we are planning to rob the patrician’s house. But if you could slip in and pass the money out to us, it would be much easier. And, of course, you’ll get a full share in the take…well, full for someone your size. As much gold as you can carry, let’s say.” The two criminals laughed amongst themselves. Of course, Tom Thumb didn’t want to rob anyone, but he had an idea to teach these two a lesson, so he agreed.

They took Tom Thumb to the home of the wealthy patrician (and I suggest you Google the word if you don’t know it, cuz I’m not wasting time telling you about it now) that very night. “Okay, little man,” they whispered as they held him up to a crack in the windowpane, “it’s easy. The patrician keeps lots of gold in there. All you have to do is go in, pass it to us through the window, and no one will ever suspect. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” said Tom Thumb, softly, “no problem.” And he slid into the room through the crack in the window. He took a good look around the room and was delighted by what he saw: A big, brown hound dog tied up in a corner of the room, clearly there to protect the patrician’s gold. That was all Tom Thumb needed to see, then he shouted back to the robbers, “OKAY! I’M INSIDE! NOW I’LL GET THE GOLD AND GIVE IT TO YOU!!”

“Not so loud!” cried the rogues, but it was too late. The dog's keen ear picked up on Tom's very small shouting and he was awake and howling. A moment later a serving maid came in to quiet the dog and the two rogues, defeated, ran away never to be seen again…by the characters in this story, of course. I mean, other people saw them, they didn’t just go to a cave and stay there forever. And even if they had, they’d still see each other, so…sorry, I’m getting off subject, here.

The point is, they were gone and that was good. The bad part was that Tom Thumb was now hopelessly lost and far from home. Poor Tom Thumb was so busy teaching those crooks a lesson, he hadn’t thought about this. He slid out the crack in the window and wandered aimlessly for a while until he found a nice big pile of hay. He lay down on it and went to sleep at once.

The next morning, Tom Thumb awoke in the pile of hay to an alarming discovery. It seems that his aimless wandering, which had taken about two hours, had only taken him as far as the patrician’s stable. After a moment he realized he was bedding down in the cow’s breakfast! Before he could get away, the hay he was lying in was taken by the dairymaid and fed to the cow. Miraculously, Tom Thumb was able to avoid the teeth and keep from getting swallowed, but then he saw another handful of hay on its way to the cow’s mouth and he knew he would be swept into the cow’s stomach! So, in desperation, he cried out “No more hay! Please, no more hay!”

Now, Tom Thumb’s voice was as small as the rest of him, even when he was shouting. But being inside the cow’s mouth caused his voice to resonate and amplify so that it was quite easy for the dairymaid to hear. Of course, being unable to see Tom Thumb inside the cow’s mouth, she naturally assumed that the cow was talking to her and, under the circumstances, reacted quite reasonably: She fainted dead away. Luckily, she fainted right on top of the hay she was feeding to the cow, so she was not hurt. Neither was Tom Thumb, who climbed out of the cow’s mouth, thanked her for the assist, and went along his way. He had only a general idea of which direction his home was, based on the position of the sun in the sky, and he knew it would be a long walk, so on he went, wondering if he would every see his parents again.

After walking for some time, he looked up into the sky. The sun was right above his head. Midday. He had been walking for about six hours. He looked over his shoulder and saw…the stable. Distant, but still in sight. He guessed that, at this rate, he would see home again when he was about fifty-six years old. Depressed and hopeless, he sat on a pebble and sighed. Just then, a large red fox loped into view and, thinking Tom Thumb was a tasty morsel, snapped him up in his jaws and swallowed…or at least he tried to. But being so very small, Tom Thumb had gotten very good at not being eaten, and he put out his arms and legs and got himself stuck in the fox’s throat. The fox choked and spit him out, growled angrily at him, then turned to go along his way.

With lightning reflexes, Tom Thumb grabbed hold of the fox’s tail and pulled himself up onto his back. Now he was going down the road on foxback and, as luck would have it, he was even headed in the right direction. It was a minute or two later that Tom Thumb realized it was hardly a coincidence. He had seen this fox before; trying to kill his father’s chickens! This fox was headed straight for Tom Thumb’s house! When it arrived there, Tom, Sr. was outraged and took out his shotgun, but before he could fire, he heard a tiny familiar voice say, “No, father! Don’t shoot! It’s me!”

And that’s how Tom Thumb came back home.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Tom Thumb (1958) Russ Tamblyn plays the title character in this lively, musical adaptation. Peter Sellers and Terry-Thomas also appear.

NEXT WEEK: "The Adventures of Brer Rabbit" 

The Singing Bone

A slightly chilling tale from the Brothers Grimm.

It seems there was a savage boar rampaging the country, killing hunters, destroying crops, making life generally unbearable for the populace. The king therefore issued the following challenge: Anyone who can slay the beast (and bring back its head as proof) will get ten million gold coins, their own castle and half my kingdom. Of course, issuing challenges like this is a good way to get stupid people killed and lots of ambitious idiots died trying to slay the boar.

But then a couple of brothers went into the forest to try to kill the boar. The older brother, Terry, was brave, strong, clever and the best fighter in town. His younger brother, Buddy, was sort of dumpy, fat, not too bright, but had a good heart and wanted to help his brother get the reward which he knew he himself was not fit to earn for himself.

For three days they wandered the forest, without so much as a sign of the boar. Finally they saw it devouring the remains of a rabbit. Terry asked Buddy (very quietly) to pass him the crossbow so he could shoot the boar. But poor, foolish Buddy, dropped the crossbow and it went off, the arrow hitting a tree not three feet from the boar. The sound aroused the boar’s attention and it charged at the brothers. Panicked, Terry ran away, but Buddy stayed behind.

“You lousy pig!” he hollered at the charging boar. “I’ll teach you to scare my big brother!” And with that, he began swinging his brother’s sword wildly and by sheer chance, it sliced right through the boar’s neck. Neither one could believe it. The boar was dead. And it had been Buddy, not Terry, who had slain it. “I did it!” cried Buddy. “I actually did it! Say, does this mean I get the castle and the land and everything?”

“Yes, Buddy. Yes it does.” Terry was very disappointed. He wasn’t even happy for his brother, just mad that he wasn’t going to get the reward. The fact that it was his own fault for running away like a scared cockatoo and that his brave, loyal brother really did deserve it didn’t matter. He was Buddy! He was the dopey, stupid-looking one. But I’m Terry, he thought. I’m the handsome, strong son. I look like a hero, not Buddy!

They gathered up the boar's head and put it in a sack before returning to the kingdom to claim the prize. All the way there, Buddy was talking excitedly about how their lives were going to change. “I mean, I know, technically, I killed the boar, but I couldn’t have done it without you, Terry! We’ll share the prize, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll both live in the castle and rule over the half of the kingdom. I wonder if we get to pick which half? Anyway, we’ll be rich and prosperous and we’ll probably meet some nice girls and get married. It’ll be so much fun, huh, Terry? Terry, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Indeed, Terry was looking pretty awful. Between that and Buddy’s throat being dry from all the talking, they stopped to rest at a small pond. Buddy went down to the water to take a drink. As he knelt by the pond, bent over the water, an awful thought entered Terry’s mind. They were alone in the woods. Nobody for miles. No one actually saw what happened. I’ve got the sword and the head…he had made his decision. He took his hunting knife…crept up behind Buddy…and stabbed him in the heart. He buried his brother’s body right there, by the pond, under an elm tree. Then Terry returned to the kingdom alone to claim his prize.

Many years passed and by now, more people had moved to the kingdom, so the forest had to be pushed back to make room for more homes. The pond and the elm tree that marked Buddy’s grave were removed and a farmer was now living on that spot, plowing his land to plant some crops. His plow uncovered a bone which he threw to his dog without thinking. But when his son came to play with the dog and saw the bone in his mouth, he took it and looked at it more closely. Too big for a rabbit or any kind of bird, the boy thought. Maybe this is the bone of some great beast that lived in the forest before all this farmland was here. In any case, he thought it was neat and decided to hollow it out, carve some holes in it and turn it into a flute. But when he sat down to play it, instead of musical notes, words came out. The bone was singing, and what it sang was:

     Oh, little farmer’s son

     Listen to my tale

     I slew a boar so long ago

     My courage did not fail

     My wicked brother killed me then

     To claim my prize for his own

     He lay me ‘neath a tall elm tree

     Now I’m nothing but this bone

Needless to say the boy was horrified by what he had heard. He played it through a few more times and the words didn’t change. The bone was singing to the boy. He played it for his father, and then it sang “Oh, Farmer of this land” and he too was shocked. They went at once to the king and played it for him. But this time, it sang “Your majesty, my sovereign king…” The king sent for his longtime ally, Duke Terry and the truth was revealed. Now everyone knew that it was Buddy, and not Terry, who had slain the boar all those years ago. For his crimes, he was stripped of his title, his land and his castle and his gold was distributed among the poor. He was not thrown in prison, but rather forced to wander the earth for the rest of his life with the Singing Bone, as a constant reminder of his crimes and of the kind, gentle brother who only wanted to share his good fortune with the man he loved more than any other.

THE END


If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962) In this version, Terry-Thomas and Buddy Hackett (see?) are a knight and his squire who are charged by a king to rid the land of a ferocious dragon. This was probably changed to add more traditional "fairy tale" elements to the movie. Also, in this version, the bone magically reconstitutes the squire who becomes master of the knight...but that's weird, so I didn't do it.

For More Great Stories, Click HERE

The Reluctant Dragon

This story originally appeared in a book called “Dream Days” by Kenneth Grahame (best known today as the author of “The Wind in the Willows”). While the other stories in the book fell to obscurity, this one went on to become the author’s most famous short story, even going on to inspire one of my favorite (though not terribly well-known) Walt Disney films. This is also an important story, as it might be the first major work to depict the dragon as a sympathetic character, rather than a mindless killing machine, an idea which has inspired all manner of works about dragons from Jeff Smith’s graphic novel Bone to Disney’s Pete’s Dragon to the Academy-award nominated How To Train Your Dragon.

Quite a long way away and quite a long time ago, in a quite little village…no, a quiet little village…there lived a boy named James who was many years ahead of his time. You see, he lived in what we call “the dark ages” when people were a little bit stupid because they were more than a little bit afraid (which, let’s face it, is the most succinct explanation of that time period you are ever going to read). James, however, wasn’t all that afraid but was quite…quiet? No, quite…quite curious about the world around him. He wanted to learn as much as he could, which made him something of an outcast.

So, it’s nice to know that hasn’t changed.

One day he was out exploring, sketching wildlife, identifying plants, that kind of thing, when he heard a horrible sound. A truly terrible sound. A blood-curdling, heart-stopping sound that would’ve made a lesser man (boy) turn and run. But James had to know what was making that sound. Apart from anything else, he thought someone might be hurt. He followed the sound until he came to a sort of pool, surrounded by lush green trees and pretty flowers. And, in the pool itself, was the thing that was making the noise. It was quite big, far bigger than any animal James had ever seen, and seemed to be reptiliean, based on the scales. It was purple, had a long tail and horns, and the horrible sound it was making seemed to be singing.

James was looking at a dragon singing in the bathtub.

“Er…hello?” ventured James, somewhat nervously.

The dragon started slightly at this, then, when it saw the boy, heaved a sigh of relief. “You startled me, young man! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, never mind. No harm done. As long as you’re here, would you care to join me for tea?”

James accepted and had the most pleasant tea he ever had with the dragon and the two parted as good friends. In fact, James found himself going back to visit the dragon every day from then on. The other boys in the neighborhood thought James was weird and didn’t like playing with him. The grown ups also thought his interest in knowledge was unhealthy and so he didn’t really get on with anyone in his village. But the dragon was very supportive. He was always up for an intellectual discussion about art, literature and politics and seemed very impressed by James’ maturity and wisdom, not to mention his innate curiosity, the same trait which led to his being ostracized by his own species.

Everything was going swimingly for James and the Dragon until one evening when James was at home and his father came in looking worried.

“What is it?” asked James’ mother.

“They’ve confirmed it. The scouts have reported in and they’re sure of it. There’s a dragon living in the downs beyond our village.”

“Oh no!”

“I’m afraid so. Tomorrow the mayor and his corporation will meet and we’ll decide what’s to be done about it.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep knowing that awful beast is so close.”

“Everything will be all right, dear,” said James’ father. But James was not convinced. He knew that the Dragon was harmless, but he didn’t think he’d be able to convince the whole town. And how could he, without admitting that he’d been spending time with the Dragon, which, by itself, would’ve scandalized the town. They already thought he was a little peculiar. This wouldn’t exactly help disprove that.

Of course, being a social misfit does have its advantages. One of them being that nobody pays too much attention to what you do. That’s why nobody had noticed that James was disappearing every day at tea time. Today, however, they did notice. James’ mother dragged him along to the town meeting and refused to let her only child out of her sight until a solution to the dragon emergency was found.

The town meeting was an organized forum for every idiot with a pitchfork to yell out their paranoid superstition in front of the mayor and his corporation (what we could call his advisors or cabinet). When the meeting was finally called to order and nobody had said anything remotely helpful, the Mayor himself stood up.

“My friends,” he began, though this was a complete lie as he was the least popular mayor in the village’s five hundred year history. “I have in my hand a letter which shall be dispatched at once to that greatest of warriors, Sir George himself! If anyone can rid us of this horrible beast, it is Sir George!” This was met with hearty cheers from the villagers, so loud that they totally eclipsed James cry of “Oh no!” He wanted to go to see the Dragon at once and warn him, but his mother was still keeping a close watch on him. Under cover of darkness, James snuck out of his house and went to see the Dragon who was sleeping across a large patch of hydrangea bushes.

“Dragon? Dragon, wake up!”

“James? What do you mean going around waking people at all hours of the night? I was having the loveliest dream, too. There was this monkey, you see, and he and I were—”

“You’ve got run, Dragon! Run away from this place!”

“Run? James, whatever are you talking about?”

“The villagers know you’re here! They’ve sent for a knight to come and exterminate you. You have to run away or else fight him to the death.”

“Fight? Death? What are you going on about, boy? I haven’t done anything to offend this village of yours, or this knight fellow. I refuse to run when I have committed no crime, and I refuse to fight. So you’ll just have to tell everyone to call the whole thing off. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to get back to my dream.”

James tried to convince the Dragon of the seriousness of his situation, but the stubborn old lizard wouldn’t listen and fell back to sleep, where he and the monkey doubtless had a wonderful time. James, on the other hand, went home, very worried about his good friend.

A few days later, the town was abuzz with the news that Sir George had arrived. He had been given rooms at the local inn, where it was said that he was strategizing and determining how best to vanquish the dragon. James managed to get away from his mother and sneak into the inn to have a word with the knight. Sure enough, the great hero (who was getting on in years) was sitting at his table perusing a map of the area where the dragon was known to be.

“Excuse me, Sir George. I have to tell you something important about the dragon.”

“I appreciate the thought, boy,” said Sir George, “but I assure you, I know all there is to know about dragons. I have fought more dragons than I can count,” (which was substantially true, as he had fought four dragons, and education was not a quality favored in knights at this time), “so I think I can handle yours just fine, thank you.”

“No, this dragon is different. He’s good.”

“Good? Good? My boy, there is no such thing as a good dragon. They are beings of pure hate and hellfire! They exist only to burn and devour. Why, I remember when I faced Trogdor the Burn—”

“You’re wrong, Sir George! This dragon is my friend!” And James told the knight all about how he had been spending his tea times for the past month with the Dragon and they had discussed history and literature and even composed and recited original poems. The boy even recited one of the Dragon’s compositions:

Why does the sun live up in the sky?

And when it looks down below

Does it think of how lovely the land seems to be?

I think we shall never know.

And if it does think our land is a beautiful sight

Does it know that it wouldn’t be so

If it weren’t for the sun shining up in the sky

On our beautiful country below?

“You say the dragon wrote that?” said Sir George, who was not much for poetry, but had to admit that it wasn’t bad. “I’ve heard of dragons who rampage, dragons who burn, dragons who eat people and livestock, dragons who pick their teeth with the bones of their enemies, but I’ve never heard of a dragon who writes poetry.”

“I’ll be honest, it was a little strange to me, too,” said James.

“Well, I’ve slain dragons who were causing harm to others. I don’t think I could slay one who was minding his own business and writing poetry.”

“Yes, but it’s worse than that. These people will never accept him for who he is. They think all dragons are evil. They won’t give him a chance to prove them wrong. They’ll never be satisfied until you bring back his head!”

“Then what’s to be done?”

“I have a plan that should fix everything, but we'll all have to be in agreement.” He explained his plan to Sir George, who thought it was excellent. Then he snuck away to see the Dragon, who was, at the moment, making a light salad from the various flora that grew around his cave. Then he explained his plan to the Dragon and he too agreed. Everything was in place and one way or another, it would all end tomorrow.

So the next day, Sir George stepped out of the inn in full battle armor and announced that he was going to slay the dragon. He marched toward the dragon’s cave, accumulating a crowd of onlookers as he did so. James’ parents were also in the mob who wanted to see this for themselves. And, of course, so was James, though he was the only one of the spectators who knew what was really going on.

At the mouth of the cave, Sir George stopped, turned to his admirers and said, “Now, to battle!” The crowd cheered and Sir George charged into the cave, sword drawn. The spectators heard roars and saw smoke and flame erupt from the mouth of the cave. They heard Sir George cry “Take that! And that! And this! And some of these! How 'bout a couple of those? Do you have change for one of these?!?” and similar expressions. They also heard the loud clanking of metal on rock and the occasional roar which could only be coming from the beast himself. Their view was obscured by the dragon’s flaming breath, but it sounded like an epic battle was going on inside. James couldn’t help but smile, since he knew that Sir George and the Dragon were actually just banging pots and pans together and shouting a bit. Finally, the smoke died away and the sounds of the Dragon panting and begging for mercy could be heard. Then the battle stopped entirely and all was silent. After an amount of time that both parties agreed was realistic, Sir George stepped out of the cave…followed closely by a limping Dragon.

“No! Do not be afraid!” Sir George said quickly as the sight of the dragon had caused panic in the crowd. “You see, I have spared this beast’s life on the condition that he will be a good dragon from now on! I have reformed him!”

The plan worked perfectly! The townspeople were convinced that the knight had tamed the dragon and he was allowed to stay in the cave from then on. James was still his closest friend, but others followed in time. Soon, the dragon was a part of the community. As for Sir George, he decided he was too old for this kind of thing, so he retired and became a permanent resident of the village. Which is how these three unlikely friends, the knight, the boy and the dragon, lived happily ever after.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• The Reluctant Dragon (1941) This live action Disney movie stars noted humorist Robert Benchley, who is wandering around the Disney animation studio to pitch Walt the idea of making a movie based on this story. The film ends with a lavishly animated adaptation of Grahame’s story which apparently was made long before Robert even showed up! Other animated highlights include Goofy's How to Ride a Horse and the story of Baby Weems, which is presented in the style of an animation storyboard.
• "The Shirley Temple Show" (1960) Ms. Temple presented a weekly television series which depicted famous children's stories acted out by a cast of guest stars. This one starred Shirley, John Raitt and Jonathan Harris.

NEXT WEEK: 

"Hans In Luck"

Hansel and Gretel

It has been said before now that the so-called "original" versions of many fairy tales (if my research has taught me anything, it's that there's no such thing) are not suitable for today's children. A very good argument in favor of this is the version of this story made famous by our German friends, Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. In their version, the children's mother decides to abandon them in the woods so as to have fewer mouths to feed. Their father, though resistant at first, eventually gives in.

Another interesting thing about this story is what happens after the two escape from the witch's house. In the Grimm, they are running home, carrying precious stones and gems they have stolen from the witch, when they come across a large lake and they take turns crossing on the back of a duck...the answer to the question you are now asking is, "I have no earthly idea." This reminds one of "Iron Henry" from the end of the Grimm version of "The Frog Prince," in that it is a completely unnecessary, frivolous and entirely pointless element which every subsequent adaptation has, wisely, jettisoned from their tellings.


Finally, and this isn't exactly relevant to the story, but today just happens to be my kid brother's 25th birthday. So, HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY, Dash!

For some reason, the logic behind which is now, sadly, lost to us, people used to live in cottages in the middle of the woods. This allowed for some very nice scenery, but made it difficult to get anything done. The nearest village was usually quite a hike (or, in the Yiddish, “schlepp”) and more time was lost in commuting than anything else. Not to mention the constant fear of your kids being eaten by some manner of predator.

But, foolish though it may seem to you and I, it was the norm Once Upon a Time and Long Ago (see how I did that?), so let’s just get on with the story. Which is about a wood-cutter, his wife, and his two children, called Hansel and Gretel.

Now, the wood-cutter was a good man with a good heart, a keen mind and a solid work ethic. Unfortunately, what he didn’t have was customers. He chopped down lots of wood and got a lot of work done, but nobody bought his firewood. And since cutting wood was all he really knew how to do, it looked for certain that he and his family would starve to death.

Bummer.

But Hansel and Gretel would not let that happen. The good news is that they loved their parents and very much wanted to help. The bad news is that, being children, they were easily swept up by fantasy. Hansel read a book about a buried treasure being deep in the forest, and assumed that there must be a similar treasure in their forest. Once he had convinced Gretel of this, the siblings set out into the woods with only a loaf of bread between them as rations.

Hansel led the way with Gretel bringing up the rear. He blazed a trail with his wooden sword while Gretel was busy tearing pieces of bread from the loaf they had brought. She dropped them as they walked so as to provide a trail they could follow back to the house. Many hours later, the intrepid duo stopped in the middle of a clearing.

“I think we’re lost,” said Hansel. “I don’t even know how to get home.”

“I do,” said Gretel. And she told Hansel about the trail of breadcrumbs. So they started to follow the trail home, vowing to continue the search tomorrow.

But the birds, unlike Hansel, hadn’t needed an explanation of the trail of breadcrumbs. They just ate them. With the trail gone, Hansel and Gretel were more lost than ever. They wandered through the night, trying to find something familiar. Around midnight, they were too tired to go on and went to sleep. A few hours later, they awoke and continued trying to find their way home. At length they came to a meadow, hidden from the rest of the forest by a thick outcrop of trees. Here they found, not the clear path home they were hoping for, but something far more remarkable.

It was a house. Just an ordinary house in every respect except for one: It was made entirely out of sweets! The walls were gingerbread, the roof tiles were fruit pies, the windows were clear, spun sugar, the flower box was frosting, the cobblestones were gumdrops, the doorknob was a candy apple, the insulation was…well, okay, you get the idea.

Now, for two small children who have just spent the night in a scary forest with no food, there are very few sights more welcome than that of an edible house. Gretel suggested they knock on the door and ask the person who lived there for a bite, but Hansel just tucked in immediately and began devouring the house. Gretel shrugged and joined in. It must’ve been half an hour before they even thought about the owner of the house, and that was just because she spoke to them.

“Well, well, well,” she said. Hansel and Gretel looked around, their mouths still dripping with sugary sweets and saw a little old woman with warts on her nose, long shriveled hands and a black robe. Recognizable to any sentient being on the planet as an evil witch. Needless to say, but I will anyway, Hansel and Gretel were a little frightened.

But the witch smiled at them and said, “Oh, you poor dears, you must be starving to death. If you come inside, I have some more food for you.”

Of course, we all know better than to go into a strange woman’s (witch’s) house and accept her offer of food. But between being scared to death, homesick, hungry, a mild sugar buzz, and the fact that Hansel was not the cleverest of little children, he completely forgot this very basic rule of safety and followed the Witch into her house. Gretel shrugged and followed him as well.

Once inside, as promised, the Witch gave Hansel and Gretel heaps of food. And not just sweets, but real food. Chicken and ham and beef and vegetable soup and mashed potatoes…I could go on and on, but I won’t, because I’ve wasted enough time on needless exposition. And everything was delicious. Like you imagine food tastes when you see it on TV. Hansel and Gretel felt they’d never get enough.

Especially Hansel, who was already on the portly side.

After they’d had enough to eat, the Witch asked if they’d like to go to sleep?

“No, thank you. We need to get—” began Gretel, but Hansel blurted out, “Sure!”

So, the Witch led them to a special room that looked as though it had prepared for just such an emergency. She led them each to their beds, tucked them in very gently and wished them good night…

But the next morning Hansel found himself suspended in the air in a large wooden cage! Suddenly the Witch’s intentions were abundantly clear. She was going to fatten up Hansel and eat him! Gretel, who was more on the petite side, would have the unpleasant task of serving her brother the food he was to eat in order to get fatter quicker.

“And if you don’t eat every morsel she serves you,” the Witch warned, “I will kill your sister right in front of your eyes!” Here she let out a loud cackle, an evil laugh that shook the rafters. It shook the walls. It shook the cage Hansel was hanging in and it swung into the Witch’s head, knocking her spectacles off her face. “Blast! Now I won’t be able to see a thing. But that’s all right. I’ll be able to tell whether you’re getting fat enough. I’ll just feel your finger every day, and when it feels thick enough…suppertime!”

Hansel (the portly, Not Very Clever one) was scared to death that he was going to be eaten. Gretel (thinner, Cleverer), took a moment to think it over. Hansel wanted to find treasure in the woods. Gretel thought to leave a trail. Hansel started eating the house without permission. Gretel suggested they ask first. Hansel ran into the stranger’s house and accepted her offer of shelter. Gretel was apprehensive about both. Sure, she was stupid to follow him all this time, but she was still one heck of a lot smarter than Hansel! She could get them out of this mess easily.

“For once in your life,” she whispered to Hansel, “listen to me!”

The next morning the Witch came to feel Hansel’s finger. “What?” she exclaimed. “You need to eat more, child. Your hand feels as thin as a bone.” The reason for this was simple enough: His finger was a bone. At Gretel's suggestion, Hansel had saved a chicken bone from the previous night’s meal and stuck it out pretending it was his finger. With no glasses, the Witch couldn’t tell he was faking. Gretel helped him maintain the illusion for about a week. Hansel could eat as much as he wanted without gaining an ounce, as far as the Witch thought.

Then one day, the Witch felt Hansel’s finger again. Frustrated that he wasn’t gaining any weight, she had decided to go for a fly around the forest on her broomstick. But before she could leave she heard a loud snap and a crash. Even without her glasses, she could see what had happened: Hansel had gained so much weight that he had gotten too heavy for the cage to hold him and it had fallen.

“A ha!” cried the Witch. “So you have deceived me! Just for that I’m going to cook and eat both of you!” She dove at Hansel and Gretel, but they were smaller and faster (even the now Somewhat More Than Portly Hansel) and got out of the way just in time. Unable to stop herself, the Witch dove into the oven, which had been lit to cook Hansel’s breakfast, and burned herself alive…

Ew!

The fire spread. It caught the walls, the windows and everything. Gretel dragged her heavy brother out of the house just as the whole place was going up in smoke. In a matter of seconds, the gingerbread house was an enormous bonfire that was visible for miles…

Even at the home of the wood-cutter and his wife.

Well, from there it was an easy matter for Hansel and Gretel’s parents to find them and bring them home. Nothing was left of the witch's house, except for what she kept in her basement: Diamonds, jewels, gold coins, treasure beyond belief! Hansel and Gretel and their parents were now wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. And, from that day on, Hansel always took the advice of his clever sister, Gretel. 

Oh, and they lived happily ever after, in case you  hadn’t guessed.

THE END

If You Liked My Story, You Might Enjoy:

• Babes in the Woods (1932) An early Disney Silly Symphony which, while clearly based on this story, seems to go out of its way to distract you from the fact. Here the children have no names and befriend a band of dwarfs (early prototypes for Snow White) before being set upon a by a witch (likewise) whose house is made of sweets, but who turns children into horrible creatures instead of eating them.
• "Hansel and Gretel" (operetta) The most famous composition by English composer Englebert Humperdink whose name is much better than his music could ever be...although his music is still pretty good.
• "Fractured Fairy Tales" (TV) I mention this because their version of this story is one of the few to actually use the duck bit I mentioned earlier. 
• "Faerie Tale Theatre" (TV) Here, Joan Collins is the wicked stepmother and the witch, Paul Dooley is the kindly father and a very young Rick Schroeder is Hansel.
• Bewitched Bunny (1954) This one starts as Hansel and Gretel, but Bugs Bunny saves them and takes their place as the witch's intended victim. The best part, though, is that, for some reason, everyone refers to the boy as "Haaaaansel" which is a great running gag in a cartoon, but which would never work in text.

NEXT WEEK: 

"The Reluctant Dragon"