Beanstalker and Other Hilarious Scarytales

“No sign of any wolves,” the woman said. But then she stopped, her glorious mustache quivering in anger. She leaned close to Jack—closer—closer. His tongue darted out to lick a stray crumb. She reached out fast as lightning and grabbed his tongue. “Ah ha!” she shouted.

“Whuu ah oo ooing?” Jack said, because it is very hard to talk when someone is holding on to your tongue.

“Apple pie!” she shouted. “There was no wolf! Only a greedy little liar.”

“Arrest him!” someone screamed.

“Can’t,” the mustachioed woman said. “The police are still interrogating Mary. And if we have him arrested, there won’t be anyone to watch the sheep.” She was still holding on to Jack’s tongue, which was getting very uncomfortable. She tugged him forward, pinching his tongue. Then she let him go. “Come on,” she grumbled.

Jack watched as everyone went back down the hill. They were setting up lights in the village square. It looked like some sort of party. Jack had no doubt he was no longer invited, if he ever had been.

The sun set. He was cold. He had eaten too much pie, and now he was thirsty. And his tongue hurt from being burned and then tugged on.

“I deserve better than this,” Jack whined.

“Meh,” said the sheep.

A twig snapped in the trees behind him. Jack startled, peering deep into the darkness there. A flash of red eyes peered back at him, then disappeared.

“Wolf,” he whispered.

Another twig snapped. Jack whipped his head to the side, where a second set of red eyes watched him.

“Wolf,” he said.

A chorus of low growls sounded.

“Wolves!” Jack shouted. “Wolves, wolves, wolves!” He looked down the hill, waiting for the villagers to run up with their wonderful knives and clubs and flamethrowers. But no one was coming.

Then the wolves began to howl. Jack had always hated the sound of wolves howling. It was so lonely, so forlorn, and so menacing all at the same time. But this time, it sounded … different.

“Braaaaaaiiiiiins!” the wolves howled.

“Meh?” a sheep asked.

Jack stumbled backward, afraid to take his eyes off the trees.

“Wolves!” he shouted until his voice was hoarse. “Wolves, wolves, wolves!!!”

Slowly, five wolves shambled from under the pitch black cover of the trees. Their eyes glowed. Their bodies were hunched and twisted. They had none of the sleek grace of predators. Instead, they lurched brokenly, mouths hanging open.

“Brains,” they growled.

“Zombies?” Jack whimpered. But he knew it didn’t matter. No one was coming to help him. He had cried wolf too many times. He certainly couldn’t cry “zombie” and expect a different result. Now he was going to die, and the whole village would, too, all because he had been bored. (There are much better things to do when you are bored. You can read a book, or write a story. Start a glass coffin collection. Go spin in circles until you throw up. Clean the house. [Your parents paid me to put that one in here, sorry.] Basically do anything other than be the reason an entire village is about to be eaten by zombie wolves. That’s a terrible thing to do just because you are bored.)

The lead wolf staggered toward him. Jack clutched the nearest sheep. At least he wouldn’t die alone. The sheep kicked Jack in the stomach. “You’re on your own, kid,” it said, before running off with the other sheep.

“Oh, so now you can talk?” Jack cried after it. He looked into the horrible eyes of his doom. “Meh,” he whimpered.

And then, out of nowhere, a gleaming golden lock flew into the wolf’s head. “Get up!” someone shouted, tugging on Jack’s arm.

Jack scrambled to his feet. A little girl with beautiful golden locks of hair stood between him and death. She swung another thick lock around and around on a golden chain. A zombie wolf came at them from the side, and, before Jack could cry out, the girl had flung the lock at its head, knocking it down. She pulled the lock back, wrapping the chain around her wrist.

“There are more coming,” she said grimly. (Many fairy tales are grim. A lot of them are Grimm, too.) “We have to go warn the village.”

Jack had no sheep, but he was very sheepish. “You might want to be the one to tell them. I don’t think they’ll believe me. I broke into a house and ate all the food.”

Goldilocks shrugged. “I don’t see the problem with that, as long as it was just right.” She sprinted down the hill.