Beanstalker and Other Hilarious Scarytales

“I collect them. You know, like how some people collect baseball cards, or rocks shaped like hearts. I collect glass coffins.”

The queen frowned. “Well, at least your hobby i

sn’t arson. I suppose that—” But then she heard a strange rumbling. Looking up through a break in the trees, she saw, far in the distance, a very tall stalk going straight up into the clouds. And a very tiny figure—a suspiciously Jack-shaped figure—scrambling down it.

She looked the other direction, where black smoke was billowing up into the sky. It practically spelled out Cinderella. No … it actually spelled out Cinderella. She and her husband really were quite good with fire.

The queen looked back down at Snow White. “Glass coffin, you say? Sounds good. Put her inside and take her to the middle of the sunniest meadow you can find.”

The seven hirsute children nodded, sniffling and sobbing. The queen muttered, pointing back and forth between the beanstalk and the smoke. “One stepchild, two stepchild, three stepchild, four. Which rotten stepchild needs me more?” Sighing, she went off in the direction of the smoke.

The seven hirsute children slowly dragged the glass coffin toward the meadow. But it was hard work and they were only children, regardless of how much facial hair they had. By the time they got the coffin to the meadow, it was twilight. Everything was soft and purple and decidedly not-sunny.

“Hello!” a cheerful voice called.

The seven hirsute children stopped laying flowers on Snow White’s coffin. Approaching them was a nice-looking young man on top of a horse with no eyebrows. The young man, not the horse. The horse didn’t have eyebrows because she was a horse. The young man didn’t have eyebrows because he didn’t understand basic fire safety. A girl rode with her arms snug around his waist. They were both covered in soot and ashes and smelled like smoke.

“What happened here?” he asked, climbing off the horse and peering into the coffin. “She’s beautiful!”

“And sweet and good,” the hirsute children said, sobbing. One of them looked up hopefully. “Would you like to kiss her?”

“I—uh, wow, well. See. I don’t usually go around kissing dead girls in coffins. That’s a bit odd. Also I’m fairly sure it’s against the law. Besides, I’m married.” He smiled lovingly up at Cinderella. She blew him a kiss.

“But she isn’t dead,” one of the children said.

“She isn’t breathing,” Prince Charring said.

“Oh, she never breathes!”

“Have you checked her pulse?” the prince asked.

The children shook their heads. They were only kids. They didn’t understand anything about CPR. The prince pushed the lid off the glass coffin, lifting up Snow White’s wrist. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Try her neck!” Cinderella offered helpfully.

The prince couldn’t quite reach, so he gently lifted Snow White’s head. The piece of blood orange popped right out of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open. Luckily for him, Prince Charring was looking at her neck, not her eyes.

The hirsute children shoved him out of the way. “Snow White!” they shouted. “Snow White! You’re alive!”

“Not exactly,” she said. She jumped out of the coffin, grabbing the first child and draining him of what little remained of his blood. He dropped to the ground.

“Oh no!” the prince said. But even as he watched, the child’s eyes went from glassy and dead to glowing and red. “Oh, no?” Prince Charring backed up as, one by one, the seven hirsute children were drained. They turned toward him, hissing and baring their sharp teeth. One ran forward, but he tripped on his long beard.

Cinderella grabbed Prince Charring’s hand and pulled him up onto the horse. Behind them were seven hirsute children and one beautiful, sweet, good girl chasing them.

And they all lived happily ever after!

Wait, no, sorry, wrong ending. Somehow I don’t think this one has a happy ending. Let’s jump to the next, instead!

Jack knew even less about sheep than he did about peas.

Well, that’s not quite true. He knew that you should never put sheep up your nose, at least.

After he finally got down from the beanstalk, he had stumbled into a village. The police were taking away a sobbing girl named Mary. “Hey, you!” a police officer had asked. “You go to school?”

“No?” Jack had answered. He attached a question mark because he didn’t know if “no” was the answer that got him arrested. Luckily for him, it was not.

“Good. You’ve got a new job.” The police officer had pointed at a flock of sheep on a hill. “You’re in charge. Whatever you do, don’t take those sheep to school!”