Beanstalker and Other Hilarious Scarytales

“You don’t think I’m a dwarf?” the boy asked.

“I think you grow a very fine beard for such a young child. You should be proud. Tell me, would anyone around here like to buy some fresh fruit?”

He shook his head sadly. But then his eyebrows drew low in thought. “Maybe,” he whispered, “maybe if we found her the right food …”

“Her?” the queen asked.

“Come on!” the hirsute boy said. He scrambled ahead of her, stumbling and tripping. He had to stop and rest a lot. The queen was impatient. But she was pretending to be an old woman, so she couldn’t very well tell him to go faster. Finally, they drew close to a quaint cottage. No smoke rose from the chimney.

“Don’t you get cold?” the queen asked. “You should light a fire.”

“Oh, no!” he squeaked. “No fires allowed!” He pushed her toward the cottage. “See if you can get her to eat something. Anything. Anything but …” He put a hand over the side of his neck and swallowed hard.

“Why don’t you run away?” the queen asked, crouching down to look him in the eyes. For a moment, she thought he would listen to her. Then his eyes went fuzzy again, like a television switched to the wrong channel. Nothing there but static.

“I would miss her too much,” he said. “Beautiful Snow White. Sweet Snow White.”

“Good Snow White. I know, I know.” Sighing, the queen stood up, straightening her cloak and bending her back. “A stepmother’s got to do what a stepmother’s got to do,” she muttered. “In other words, what literally no one else is willing to.”

She knocked her walking stick against the door.

The door slowly creaked open. “Yes?” Snow White said. (I should be smart like the queen and avoid looking directly into her eyes.)

The queen reached into her bag and withdrew the gleaming apple. It shone bright red. She held it out. “Apple, my dear?”

Snow White hissed, flinching away. “No! Never!”

Darn. I thought that was going to work! The queen dropped the apple back into her bag. She pulled out a banana. “Banana?” She was used to picky stepchildren.

Snow White made retching noises.

“Brussels sprout?”

“Does anyone actually like those?”

The queen shrugged, dropping it back in her bag. “It was worth a shot. Pea?”

“No, thank you, I just went to the bathroom.”

Biting back a growl of frustration, the queen pulled out one final item. Her last chance. “How about … a blood orange?”

If you were looking into Snow White’s eyes, you would have seen the black there gleam with a reddish, hungry light. “Did you say blood?”

The queen smiled. “Go on, try it. They’re very juicy.”

Snow White snatched the blood orange away. She peeled it in a frenzy, then opened her mouth and sank her fangs into it. Her black eyes went wide before rolling back into her head. She collapsed, unmoving, unbreathing.

The queen stared down sadly. The seven hirsute children gathered around her, crying. They wiped their eyes with their beards. “She was so beautiful!” they cried.

“And so good and so sweet, yes, I know.” The queen sighed.

“We should bury her!” one of the boys said.

“But then we would never get to see her again!”

“I know!” the tallest of the hirsute boys said. “I have a glass coffin.”

Everyone paused. “Why do you have a glass coffin?” the queen asked.