Mark Twain is reputed to have quipped, “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Such hyperbole aptly applies to predictions that digital reading will soon triumph over print.
In late 2012, Ben Horowitz (co-founder of Andreessen Horowitz Venture Capital) declared, “Babies born today will probably never read anything in print.” Now four years on, the plausibility of his forecast has already faded.

The post Will print die?: When the inevitable isn’t appeared first on OUPblog.

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DOCTOR KANGAROO ON AMAZON.COM
DOCTOR KANGAROO ON AMAZON.CO.UK

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To study ebook adoption by kids and school libraries, School Library Journal and Follett School Solutions recently released the Sixth Annual Survey of Ebook Usage in the U.S. School (K-12) Libraries (September 2015).

Optimism about ebook adoption in schools has run high for the last few years, but this study provides some interesting news. Depending on where you fall on the issue – pro-eBook or pro-printBook – the details are shifting.

Reading on eBooks May Hamper Learning. In the past year, several research studies report that reading on ebooks may hamper understanding and/or retention of information, especially putting events into a time order. However, the studies come with a big question mark: “what about ‘ebook’ or mobile-device natives?” Kids growing up today who have known only computers and smart phones may develop differently – the research is still out.

USABILITY PROBLEMS: Too Many Standards, Too Many Passwords. Students and school libraries have too many conflicting choices for reading an ebook. On Kindle alone, there are eight different devices and apps for another 27 devices. If a school library tries to commit to one device, say Kindle or Nook, the rapidly changing landscape means their ebook collection could rapidly become out-dated and unusable. Education distributors work around this by providing browser-based ebook readers (again, they are proprietary) that can be accessed by any device with a browser. Even getting around the problem of devices, students then have to contend with accounts and passwords. Digital security demands that schools maintain strict control of access to the ebooks. In my opinion, this is the biggest factor limiting the wide-spread adoption of ebooks in schools. The answer, of course, is for companies to stop haggling over their proprietary devices and strictly adhere to the international ePub3.0 standards. That’s unlikely.

In the short term, the companies may feel it’s imperative to slug it out over the best platform for delivering and reading ebooks. In the long run, I think they are hurting themselves by alienating students and school staff. If it continues for long, educators may decide it’s not worth it and turn back to only print resources.

eBooks are Available in Schools. Across the US, about 56% of schools report that ebooks are available. But students don’t often choose them (see standards/passwords above for at least a partial explanation). Nonfiction related to school projects edges out fiction titles in popularity. Only 6% of schools report a high interest in ebooks, 37% report moderate interest, and 57% report low or no interest. Availability doesn’t equal use. Kids aren’t feeling the love for ebooks!

Parents Demand Technology. Interestingly, it’s often parents who demand technology in the classroom. Over 20% of schools have a one-to-one device policy, which means that each child has a device for at least part of a day; another 24% plan to add one-to-one soon. But the problems are massive, from funding to implementation (see the standards/passwords above). While this study doesn’t cover parental or students attitudes toward ebooks, the Scholastic 2015 Kids and Parents Reading Report says that 65% of kids say they’ll always want to read print, up from 60% in 2012. Teenagers tend to read more when introduced to ebooks; on it’s top 12 list of things parents can do to encourage more reading, providing more ebooks holds the number 12 position. Read the Scholastic report for more details on the parent’s views on ebook reading.

Are your books available as ebooks? Do you read more print or ebooks? Do your kids/grandkids read more print or ebooks?

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Our favorite season is here…autumn!  We are celebrating by reducing the price on our adorable Thanksgiving book, Ten Thankful Turkeys. This colorful autumn tale follows ten turkeys as they get ready for an important celebration. This story teaches about gratitude using numbers. There are also fun turkey facts in the back of the book.

We hope you’ll gobble up this deal before it’s gone!

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Apple will pay consumers $450 million as part of its settlement with the U.S. Justice Department, a federal appeals court has ruled.

The ruling, which was filed last week, comes after a settlement between Apple and the DOJ last summer. Reuters has the scoop:

By a 2-1 vote, the 2nd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals agreed that the conspiracy violated federal antitrust law, and that the judge acted properly two years ago in imposing an injunction to prevent a recurrence.

“While we want to put this behind us, the case is about principles and values,” Apple said in a statement. “We know we did nothing wrong back in 2010 and are assessing next steps.”

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Here is my latest Tales Fantastic Story. My brother volunteered to read the story and I think he did a great job. You can listen to it on the video or read it below. If you’d rather read it later on your kindle or ipad you can download this story free from smashwords.

 

Ghost Connection

A short story by Manelle Oliphant

I’ve been haunted by two things since I was born, my red hair, and a ghost. This is the story of how my sister Emily’s Halloween obsession helped me become uh… un-haunted.

Let’s start with the ghost. She’d been around from my earliest memories. She was white and glowy. She wore a flowing dress, had long hair, and looked a little old fashioned. She followed me around in a kind of smoke. Her presence brought a feeling of desperation. Like she wanted to be my friend and had to struggle every moment to make it happen.

As a kid, I talked about her all the time. I didn’t realize seeing a ghost wasn’t normal. I told everyone how she looked and things she did. My family called her my “imaginary ghost friend”. The only reason I stopped talking about her was because of my red hair.

I’m the only redhead in my whole family. No one, not even a cousin has a hint of it. When I was eight, my older brother Jake told me I didn’t fit in because I was adopted. Maybe I shouldn’t have believed him, but I did.

I asked my mom about it. She was doing laundry at the time and looked at me with her arms full of dirty sheets, “Of course your not adopted, Clayton. My mom had red hair just like yours.” That relieved me quite a bit, but when I asked more questions, Mom looked sad then shoved the sheets into the washer double quick. “She died around the time you were born. Please don’t ask me anymore about her”.

I was ok with that. I’d heard what I wanted. Triumphantly I told my brother about our dead grandma with red hair.

He laughed at me. “Have you ever seen a picture of her?”

“No.”

Jake smirked “Then how do you know it’s true? I think Mom made the whole thing up to make you feel better. You really were adopted. I remember when they brought you home so I would know.”

At this point, tears threatened at the corners of my eyes. “You were only three. How could you even remember?”

He smirked at me. “Oh, I remember. Trust me. You’re adopted.” Then he ruffled my hair like I was a cat. “Don’t worry little brother, I’m sure they won’t give you up. ‘Course if you keep going on about that imaginary ghost they’ll have to take you to an asylum. Probably the same one where your real mom lived when she had you.”

I kicked Jake’s shin. “It’s not true.”

He just smirked at me, “That’s why she had to give you up you know- because she thought she saw ghosts. Just like you.“

I tried to punch Jake in the arm, but he blocked it. So, I ran to my room and cried. My ghost appeared and tried to comfort me. The gesture didn’t help. Her desperate feelings always overpowered everything else. I felt so angry because the fact that I could see her made me feel crazy. I decided right then I wouldn’t talk about her ever again. I wouldn’t look at her. I would ignore her until she went away.

After that, Jake didn’t tease me as much, and my parents no longer looked at me with worried expressions. My ghost got more annoying than ever, though. The more I ignored her the angrier she got. Instead of gliding she dashed about from place to place. Sometimes she disappeared only to reappear right in front of my face. She made lights flicker, rooms colder, and did everything a ghost could do to get my attention. I ignored this constant ghosty tantrum like a pro. That’s how things stood with us for years. Then came my sister’s wedding.

Weddings are supposed to be fun, but they aren’t. Like I said, my sister Emily was obsessed with Halloween. She loved ghosts, wearing black, and found some guy to marry her who loved that stuff too. Since I actually saw a ghost all the time, I didn’t get what the big deal was but Emily was knee deep in it. As a consequence, she wanted her wedding to be on Halloween in a graveyard. Weird.

Emily couldn’t get permission to have the party in the actual cemetery, but she reserved the park next to it. So, while she “got ready” for her big day, me, Jake, Mom and Dad, and anyone else we could get, set up tables, hung old looking photos in the trees, and put up lights. Then we cleaned ourselves up just to sit through a wedding. By the time we got to the reception, which was supposed to be the fun part, I just wanted to fall asleep.

I found a bench away from everyone where I could be by myself. I slumped down, breathed in the crisp air and shut my eyes.

When I opened them again, my ghost floated in front of me. Her dress billowed out in all directions. The air grew colder, and wisps of ghostly light reached toward me. She stared at me with empty black eyes and wailed. Her feelings of anger, hurt and desperation overwhelmed me. I think Halloween, or the graveyard, or both made her more powerful.

The thing of it is, even though I felt her presence stronger than ever, I was exhausted. I’d seen her throw so many ghosty fits this just felt like one more tactic to get attention. It didn’t work. I stood and walked back toward the party. She wailed louder and whirled around me so fast I felt a breeze. I pretended not to notice. I figured once people surrounded me again she would leave. But it didn’t work out that way. When I stepped into the lights of the party, the band stopped, and everyone looked at me. Then they all freaked because they could see her too!

I’m not sure what happened next. I got caught up in the chaos until I hid under a table with my cousin Ryan. He’d stolen some of the cake. People and a ghost screamed all around us, but I just sat there under the table and ate cake, no point of it going to waste.

Once things had quieted down I crawled out from under the table. Most of the guests had fled. My sister looked delighted by their unexpected wedding guest. Mom sat very still on one of the few upright chairs, and Dad directed anyone still there to start cleaning up.

I walked over to Mom. “Are you ok?”

She looked at me. She’d been crying. “Clayton, I saw a ghost.”

“Yeah, my ‘imaginary ghost friend.’”

“Oh…well, I know who she is.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my mom. She died a week before you were born. Cancer. I’d hoped she’d at least meet you before she died. You are her first and only grandchild with hair as red as hers.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “All these years I’ve tried not to think about how she missed out on meeting you and seeing all you kids grow up.”

I patted her on the back. “Well, she hasn’t actually missed out on all that much. My first memory of her is at my second birthday party.”

Mom smiled. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve always wondered who she was.”

Mom squeezed my shoulders again. “Let’s get this mess cleaned up, and then I’ll tell you about her.”

When we got home, Mom pulled out some old photo albums. Dad and Jake joined us as Mom told us about Grandma. She showed us the wedding photos first.

I pointed at the first picture. “That’s the same dress.”

My mom smiled. “Yes, we buried her in her wedding dress.”

Seeing my ghost in full color was weird. She had the same dress like I said, the same face, and the reddest of red hair.

I smiled. “See Jake, not adopted.”

Jake just laughed.

Relief washed through me. I’d told myself many times Jake had been kidding about me being adopted, but I think I didn’t really believe it until I saw that photo.

We looked at pictures for a few hours while my mom told stories about growing up. By the time we went to bed I felt like I really knew my ghost, and Mom looked happier than she had in a long time.

I only saw the ghost once more after that, she appeared in my bedroom a day or so later.

I smiled at her. “I’m sorry for ignoring you.”

She nodded. The feelings of desperation were gone. I felt connected to her now, even though she was old and dead. I saw her mouth form the words “See you later.” Then she faded away. I don’t know if she meant she’d come back sometime, or if I just have to wait until I’m dead to see her again. I’m good either way, as long as I don’t die for a good long time.

The End

If you enjoyed this story I hope you’ll share it with your friends.

Learn how you can support the creation of more like it at www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

 

Forest Queen is the first tales fantastic story where you can listen to the story as well as read it. The audio version of the story is posted above in the youtube video. The video is called the Tales Fantastic Podcast but it’s not actually a podcast yet. In order for me to host the audio file so you can download it as a subscription on itunes and other podcast platforms it costs money. Currently I’m only $8 away from my goal on patreon that will pay for the media host. If you want to listen to the stories at a podcast I hope you’ll check out Patreon.com/manelleoliphant so see how you can make it so.

To download this story free visit https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/543956

Forest Queen

A short story by Manelle Oliphant

The day started out like any other. I broke my fast in the dim light of dawn and headed into the forest with my cart in tow. Throughout the morning I chopped a large tree, which had been my project during the previous few days. It’s wood only filled my cart halfway. I had a few hours before the market closed and wanted enough wood to sell, as well as keep my own family warm. So, I wandered southward instead of toward town. I’d never been that direction, but the trees looked old. Experience told me older trees meant more fallen branches, and I looked forward to an easy afternoon of work.

As I traveled the trees grew larger. The occasional bits of sun breaking through the forest canopy echoed off the plants below and gave the whole scene a green glow. The fresh smell of wild flowers hung in the air. Squirrels, deer, and rabbits watched me without fear. There were no predatory animals among them. There were many birds as well. They flitted through the trees singing. I never saw a fallen branch or log. The lack of forest litter had me second-guessing my decision to go that way, but the forest looked so old. I reasoned I’d find what I needed before long. I felt safe there, and wanted to linger. I pulled out my lunch and made myself comfortable on a tree’s root.

While I ate I took a closer look at the forest around me. There were still no fallen leaves or dead branches, and the day was wearing on. I realized if I was going to have enough wood by the day’s end I’d have to start from scratch. I looked around at the huge straight trunks. Most of these trees were too big for me to harvest alone. In the distance though, I saw a smaller tree. I could chop it down on my own, and still fill my cart for the next few days.

I pulled my cart over to it’s base. I examined the tree and the surrounding area with my well-trained eye. I saw where to hit, and how the tree would fall. With the plan in place, I raised my ax.

A strong wind blew in circles around me and the bird’s chirped louder. I heard the chatter of other animals too. I lowered my ax. The animals silenced and the wind calmed. The hush after such commotion made the forest feel hollow. I shuttered, but raised my ax again. The animal’s chatter started up at a greater volume than before and a gust of wind blew me against the tree. I shook my head to clear it. Feeling spooked I resolved to leave. As I leaned to pick up my ax from where I’d dropped it, another blast of wind slammed my head against the trunk.

When I woke, I lay on the mossy ground. My head swam as I sat up. I rolled to hands and knees and looked around. An eerie red light had replaced the dancing green one from before, and a thick fog rolled over the ground. Deer, raccoons, rabbits, and every kind of forest beast stood in a circle around me. I saw with dismay wolves, bears, and other predatory animals stood next to their gentler counterparts. I used the tree to help me stand.

“Woodcutter,” said a clear voice from behind me, “why do you enter my forest and attempt to break the pact I made with humans in eons past?”

I turned around. A beautiful woman sat before me on an ancient stone throne. She seemed larger than life; her dark hair fell wild, and branches grew from her head. She looked exactly as the forest queen is described in all our stories. She even held the staff of life with an unbroken egg affixed to it’s top. Powerful forces emanated from it, giving the forest life.

I flung myself at her feet. “Great Lady, I ask your pardon, and plead ignorance. I did not know you protected this part of the forest.”

“All the signs were there for you to see. I even commanded my wolves and bears to leave you alone. They could have eaten you, but I bid them not, as I felt you respected the forest and it’s kind.”

“I’m sorry. In my thoughts for my family’s welfare I neglected to see the signs. My only thought was for the food and warmth more wood could provide.”

She stared down at me. “I know humans often make mistakes. I also know you use wood to survive in your mortal bodies. That is why you are allowed your own portion of forest to do with what you will, but you may not mar the trees in my realm. Many years have made them wise and removing them from this world would be an irreversible mistake. Today you may go, but if you enter my woods a second time you will not live to come out.”

I nodded. “Thank you, I understand.”

As I spoke a soft breeze put me back to sleep. I woke up in a more familiar part of the forest. Pine needles littered the ground and the air felt crisp and empty, unlike the cozy feel of the  air in the queen’s realm. My belongings sat next to me. I fingered the bump where I’d hit my head and groaned. A headache already pounded in my brain. The sun set as I trudged home, and told my wife what had happened.

She examined the bump on my head. “Do you think it was a dream?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll never head into that part of the forest again.”

Since then I am more careful how I get my wood. I seek the ground harder for trees and branches felled by nature. Sometimes, when I pay attention, the wind blows me one way or another. When I follow it, I always find what I am looking for. I believe it’s the Forest Queen helping me keep my family fed, and protecting her forest at the same time.

The End

If you enjoyed this story learn how you can support the creation of more like it at www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

 

The post Forest Queen appeared first on Manelle Oliphant Illustration.

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Hi friends,

Here’s my latest “story”. I put story in quotes because with this one it’s more of an implied story told through the image and the underlying context of a poem. The image popped into my head one day when I was thinking about how it would look if beauty and the beast were reversed. Once I’d thought of it I knew I had to make it.

As always you can download the story free for your devices on smashwords.com Just click here.

Ode to Troll

or The Troll Bride

By a guy who’s been under a spell, 
and is just now coming out of it.

Oh my beauteous troll-y bride,
I sit contented at your side.
I dream of all our lives will be,
And feel my stomach disagree.

You command me body and soul.
For you my heart won’t charge a toll.
My mind, my life I freely give.
It makes me wonder how I’ll live.

Luscious lashes before my eyes.
Draw from me spontaneous sighs.
Your large lips and protruding teeth,
Have me writing my last bequeath.

I stroke your wig and feel your skin.
I plant a kiss upon your chin.
I long to hold your giant hand,
And wonder why I read the banns.

My heart wilts when I think of you.
Crying would, to myself be true.
Annulment is my best retreat.
To flea from you will be a feat.

Oh my beauteous troll-y bride,
I sit uneasy by your side.
I dream of all my life will be,
After I’ve run away from thee.

The End

If you enjoyed this story learn how you can support the creation of more like it at www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

The post Ode to Troll appeared first on Manelle Oliphant Illustration.

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I will get right to it. The update today is to announce the new design of my website.


The goal was to deliver something light and fresh. All of the key points are there and link across a variety of social media. It is an active site which will constantly be updated from the blog, Facebook and Twitter.

One of the most exciting things is the new MillerWords store.


Follow the Order link to connect with the official Square store. Currently, all of my paperback books are available with free shipping and a personalized autograph. We are in the process of adding hand-made jewelry and all of my eBooks. (the link to the store is also at the top right of this blog)

I invite you to visit the links and follow me on Facebook and Twitter. As always, your feedback is most welcome in the comments below.

Thanks for stopping by!

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Goody Alice

A Short Story

By Manelle Oliphant

Goody Alice’s hate began on a sunny day and grew from there. Over the years she’d stoked it with all the anger and resentment she had until it burned like a bonfire, warning others to avoid her at all costs.

She lived in a ramshackle cottage at the edge of town where no one came to visit for fear they’d be turned into a rat, or worse. She spent her time hating herself, her sister Mary Anne, and Yisis. Yisis was a lizard, her familiar, who helped her with her spells. She made revenge spells, and rat spells, but sometimes she got creative and baked a cake. Then she ate it all, and hated herself more.

The day on which this story takes place is also a sunny day. Alice hated sunny days so it made it very easy to take her bonfire of hate and channel it into a new spell. This was her best one yet, and she looked forward to her long-hoped-for revenge on Mary Anne.

She added a few sheep’s eyes and swung the cauldron into the fire. “That should do it. Now we just need to let it boil.”

Yisis scurried up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Very good, very good.”

She flicked his chin with her warty finger, and sat down to wait. She imagined Mary Anne drinking the bubbling brew with delight. If all went as planned Mary Anne’s loving nature would turn upside-down. Then she’d know how it felt to hate and be hated. Alice giggled. This spell would work, unlike her many other attempts.

They heard a small click outside. Yisis crawled up her hat and squinted out the window. “Person approaches!”

Alice growled. Visitors were unwelcome and they knew it. Who would have the gall to come to her house uninvited. She slid off her stool and shuffled to the door. By the door’s frame hung a small leather purse. She grabbed it and held it ready to throw. It was her on-hand spell for turning unwanted guests into rats, frogs, or spiders, and like all of her spells, hate fueled it.

She flung the door wide and glared at the man on her stoop. His body trembled from head to foot. His fist hovered in the air, ready to knock. “A-alice M-marie Cartwright?” His voice rose to an ever higher pitch as he spoke her name.

Alice held her spell at the ready. “Who wants to know?” She would have poofed him right then except she hadn’t been called anything but Goody Alice for over 40 years.

The man held out a sealed letter. The paper flapped about in his shaking hand. “A-a letter has been l-left to you in the will of Mrs. Mary Anne B-brandon.”

Alice’s eyes narrowed. “Mary Anne is dead?”

At her harsh voice the man quavered backward. She could tell he wanted to run but he stood his ground holding out the letter. “I’m j-just the clerk ma’am. I do what I’m t-told.”

Alice glared at him, then at the letter he held out. She recognized her sister’s round handwriting giving the direction to her cottage on the edge of town.

So, Mary Anne was dead. She considered the shaking man for a few seconds more. Turning him into a rat seemed a waste of a spell. She snatched the letter from his hand and slammed the door.

He’d gotten off easy. Ten years before, Goody Alice took great pride in knowing nobody left her yard in human form. Had she become more lenient, or maybe the thrill of watching a face agonize as it turned into some kind of vermin had abated? She wasn’t sure.

Goody Alice stared at the letter in her hands. Her sister’s soft handwriting hadn’t changed over the years. Alice’s handwriting was spiky and hurried. As a girl she often got scolded for it.

She thought about the last time she’d spoken to Mary Anne.

 

The sisters sat on their father’s sunny porch reading. Alice listened to Mary Anne’s clear voice, while she fidgeted with her sleeve and wished they were finished.

A man’s voice broke through Mary Anne’s. “You read very well Miss Mary Anne.”

The young women looked up to see the handsome Jeremiah Brandon. Alice’s stomach flopped. She always felt awkward and hopeful around him. Alice and Mary Anne had stayed up many nights talking about Mr. Brandon’s kindness and good looks. Alice hoped the awkwardness would pass as she got to know him better.

Mary Anne, as always, seemed very composed. “What brings you out our way Mr. Brandon?”

Jeremiah smiled at Mary Anne. “I wonder if I could have a private word with you Miss Cartwright.”

Mary Anne smiled back. “Shall we walk a bit?”

They walked together through the gate and down the street. When they came back they were to be married.

Alice’s heart felt like it melted into the ground. She hadn’t realized during their late night talks that Mary Anne meant to steal Brandon for herself. It was the last day she ever talked to her sister.

In her gloomy cottage Alice sat down on her stool, and broke the letter’s seal.

 

Alice’s insides deflated. Mary Anne had died, and not by her hand. Alice wanted her to suffer in life as she had suffered. She wanted her to feel bad for taking Jeremiah for herself. Sure, she’d gotten sick, but it was none of Alice’s doing. She had still been kind and happy her whole life.

She looked at the spell pot boiling over the fire. Little good it would do now. She screamed and kicked the pot. Green liquid sloshed out and fizzed in the fire. A noxious smoke poured into the room. Yisis scurried away to avoid breathing it in.

Alice screamed again. She stomped to the window and threw it open. The smoke floated from the room and wilted the tree branches outside the window. With another grunt she slammed the window shut and stomped back to her stool.

When she had calmed a little Yisis scurried onto her hat. “She did say she envied you.”

Alice jerked her head up to see him. “What?”

Yisis held tight to her hat so he wouldn’t fall off. “She said she envied you.”

Alice grunted again but picked up the letter from where she’d dropped it in her rage. She read it again. Mary Anne had envied her? Their parents often praised Mary Anne for her quiet patience. Alice always felt loud and awkward. Even so, Mary Anne had envied her.

She thought back through the years of failed spells and landed again on that sunny day when her hate began. Her heartbreak had been the spark, which fueled years of schemes for revenge. She found now, in the wake of Mary Anne’s death, the bonfire of hate she’d built up over the years had died down. Her torso felt hollow. What would she fill herself with now?

Yisis judged his mistress’ mood and decided it was safe to speak again. “She also said she loves you.”

Alice thought for a minute. She reached up and stroked Yisis under his chin. “Thank you.”

He didn’t move for a split second, then he leaned in to her finger and rubbed his face against it. She looked at him and saw a smile. He’d never smiled before. Of course, she’d never said anything nice to him before.

She looked at the remains of her boiling spell and grimaced. Making that spell, all those spells, had been a waste of time. “Yisis, lets clean this up. Today is now a cake-baking day. Maybe, I’ll even share with you.”

The End

If you enjoyed this story learn how you can support the creation of more like it at www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Tea and an Art Thief

A Short Story

By Manelle Oliphant

Download this story free by clicking here.

Tiffanie ran into her father’s office and slammed the door. “Father,” she gulped for breath, “quite by chance I’ve found out the information we need.”

Mr. Barton looked up from the documents spread over his desk. Tiffanie held on to the wingback chair across from him with one hand, while she pressed the other into her side. “Just give me a second.” she wheezed, “ran all the way from Aunt Laurena’s … stitch in my side.”

Mr. Barton looked stern. “You know you aren’t supposed to run on the skywalk Tiffanie.”

Tiffanie glanced at her father and slumped down in the chair. She gave him a dismissive wave. “Don’t be silly. You and your men do it all the time.”

“I and my men are police officers. Sometimes we must chase criminals. You are a young lady. If your Aunt Laurena knew how much time you spend here…”

Tiffanie sat up. “Oh tish Aunt Laurena. Don’t you want to hear what I found out at her house today?”

“I hope you don’t use language like that in front of your aunt.”

“Of course not. I hardly get a chance to speak a word around Aunt Laurena, as you well know. Besides that doesn’t matter right now.” Her voice got louder. “Father, not only did I find out the name of our gentleman thief but I also found out when he and his gang are planning to steal the necklace from Leopatra’s tomb.”

Her father looked nonplussed. He planned a sting operation to catch a gang of gentlemen thieves, but had been missing one crucial bit of information. They knew the necklace on display at the national museum was the target, and they knew the gang’s usual methods for stealing objects in similar environments, but despite the many formally worded textograph messages they’d intercepted, he still didn’t know when the gang planned to strike. He cleared his throat. “My apologies dear. Please, do tell me your story.”

“Well, as you know, I was late.”

“You should make an effort to correct that dear.”

Tiffanie sighed. “I sometimes wonder if I accidentally make myself late on purpose, since I never want to be there.”

Mr. Barton’s mouth twitched up at the corner but he managed not to smile. “What does this have to do with your discovery?”

Tiffanie paused. “Sorry, I got off my train. I shall skip to the good bits, shall I?”

Mr. Barton smiled at his daughter. He was used to her somewhat muddled conversation. “Please do.”

“When I arrived I paused on the stoop to catch my breath. I didn’t want to get scolded, for I did run much of the way, and I was positively gasping. That’s when Mrs. Harrison opened the door.

“She looked quite harassed when she said, ‘Miss Barton, you’re here at last.’ So I knew Aunt Laurena must be in a right pickle at me being late. Which, of course, meant we were having tea with a rich and eligible man.

“Harrison took my hat and gloves and sighed with relief. ‘They are in the parlor miss. You best hurry.’

“Her manner made me ever so nervous, and my stomach flopped about as I walked toward the parlor door. The last time she’d looked that fagged, Aunt Laurena introduced me to the fat duke who was at least 40 and kept buying me all those flowers. You remember him Father?”

“Indeed I do. I don’t know what your aunt could have been thinking.”

“She thought he was very rich, as you well know.”

He frowned. “Indeed. Well, was it a fat duke?”

“No. I had a moment to appraise the back of his head and it was quite well formed. Unfortunately, Aunt Laurena sat in her favorite chair where she could see the doorway so I couldn’t lurk for long.  She scowled at me but quickly went into her simpering impress-the-gentleman attitude. You know how she is. ‘Ah, Tiffanie, you are here at last. Come. Sit. Meet our guest.’ She motioned to the sofa’s empty spot right next to the gentleman. I moved forward, but he turned around and about choked on his tea when he saw me. I admit, if I’d been drinking tea at that moment I would’ve had a similar reaction. Instead, I froze in my tracks and made a noise that sounded like Aunt Laurena’s old lapdog.”

“Well, who was it?” Mr. Barton interrupted.

“It was our art thief of course.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure. I have seen him at least two times you know.”

“Yes. Although I don’t know how you seem to be the only one who ever runs into him. Sergeant Beckstand has only glimpsed the back of his head.”

Tiffanie grinned. “Did he tell you it was well formed?”

Mr. Barton smiled at her joke, “I still wonder how you’ve been the only one to see him.”

“You know both times happened by chance. I was in the right place at the right time.”

“Or the wrong place at the wrong time. You shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“Let’s not go into that again Father.  Do you want to learn his name or not?”

Mr. Barton sighed but motioned for his daughter to continue.

“Okay, well, I sat down. All the while Aunt Laurena scolded me for the dog noise. You know how she is. ‘What is the matter with you child? Such unladylike noises. What will our guest think?’

“She, of course, didn’t notice how ‘our guest’ mopped tea off of his tie with her best Egyptian cotton napkins. It was very hard not to laugh, I tell you. Aunt Laurena was trying to marry me off to a criminal who just spilled tea all over himself. If she only knew!

“Eventually she finished her scolding and saw fit to introduce us. ‘Tiffanie dear, this is Mr. Charles Havendish of the Saagford Havendish’s. Mr. Havendish this is my great niece Miss Barton.’”

Mr. Barton smacked the desk with his fist. “Mr. Havendish! I never would’ve guessed. We knew our thief was gentry, but he’s rich as blazes. I assumed it would be a man down on his luck. How did we not see it?”

“Well. I know how I did not see it. I’ve heard of Mr. Havendish of course, but we’ve never been introduced until today.”   

“He recognized you. Do you think he meant to put you on your guard?”

“No, he was as surprised as I. One does not usually spill tea all over one’s self you know.”

Mr. Barton chuckled. “True.” He paused, “Did you not tell me you found out when they plan to steal the necklace? Please continue.”

“Well, after introductions we sat like civilized people to enjoy our tea. Except Mr. Havendish kept smirking at me. It’s a smile that… that just, rankles. If I was a man I would have punched him.”

“You didn’t!”

Tiffanie looked affronted. “Of course not! Not in front of Aunt Laurena. I do have some sense you know.”

“I’m sorry dear. Although, I do wish those young officers had never taught you the finer points of sparing.”

“Well I didn’t punch him. I only thought about it. Which must have shown on my face, because Aunt Laurena said, ‘What is the matter with you child? You will get wrinkles if you constantly furrow your brow like that.’

I would have responded but Mr. Havendish cut me off, ‘You have a nice painting there on your mantel Mrs. Barton. It looks like a Marnet. Is it original?’

“He was obviously sporting with me. When Aunt Laurena turned toward the painting I sent him my most withering stare. He smiled at me over his teacup.

“I declare, Father, I detest the man. He’s an odious person who cased Aunt Laurena’s house right in front of me even though he knows I’m your daughter. Not to mention he kisses people when they least expect it.”

Mr. Barton jumped out of his seat. “What! He kissed you at your aunt’s house. I’ll murder the man!”

Tiffanie started in her seat. She looked a little abashed, “No, of course he didn’t kiss me at Aunt Laurena’s. Where did you get that idea?”

Mr. Barton stared down at his daughter. “Tiffanie, you just said…”

“Did I? No, I don’t think so.” She smiled and looked down at her hands. “Anyway, he did not kiss me at Aunt Laurena’s”

Mr. Barton sat down with a humph and stared across the desk at his daughter. She glanced up, then away.

“So the man did kiss you. When?”

Tiffanie squirmed in her seat. “It’s of no account.”

“When?”

“Well, if you must know it was that first time I saw him, outside the museum. You’d gone inside with your men, while I waited on the skywalk.”

“You told me he ran up with the package under his arm, doffed his hat in your direction and ran on.”

“Well he did, but between the doffing and running, he kissed me.”

“And you have been protecting him!”

“I have not been protecting him, I’ve been helping you to catch him. Have I not? Besides I didn’t want you to overreact.”

“I am not overreacting. You are my daughter and despite some of your boyish tendencies, and my work here you are a lady of good birth. I will not have you treated thus.”

Tiffanie huffed but after a pause she grinned. “Well, I suppose we better catch him then.”

“Yes, I suppose we’d better.” He shrugged a hand in her direction. “Finish your story.”

“Thank you.” Tiffanie sat back in her chair. “We talked about the painting for a while. Luckily it wasn’t a Marnet, but one of his unknown students. So Aunt Laurena’s house is safe for now. After another bit of chitchat Harrison entered with a note on a tray. She held it out to Havendish. ‘Pardon me, Sir. This message just come for you on the textograph.’

“Havendish read the message and looked pleased. Then he looked at me, and winked! I glared at him. I had to see what that note said. He placed the note in his pocket, stood up, and said. ‘I’m sorry to say I’ll have to cut our tea short today.’ He bowed at us in turn, ‘It was enchanting to meet you Miss Barton, Mrs. Barton.’

“That’s when I made my move. As he walked past me I stood as well. We collided and there was a bit of a scuffle as he tried to extract himself.” Tiffanie giggled.  “You should have seen me. I was at my best. ‘Oh! Mr. Havendish, I do apologize. Let me get that for you.’ and I made sure to brush lots of imaginary crumbs off of his jacket. Eventually he made his escape, and I got what I wanted!”

At this last statement Tiffanie held out a scrap of textograph paper.    

Mr. Barton grinned. “That’s my girl! Got the message off him then?”

Tiffanie nodded.

He took the paper and read it’s contents. “Invitations received and all have RSVP. We are ready for tonight.”

“They plan to hit the museum tonight!” Mr. Barton jumped up. “Why didn’t you say so at once, Tiffanie dear?” He bustled around his desk, grabbed his hat, and ran out of his office yelling, “Operation Gentle-thief is a go. We must act fast. They strike tonight!”  His voice had changed. When talking to Tiffanie he was a doting father. Now he was the Chief of Police commanding his men. Tiffanie followed after him. She planned on being present when they arrested Mr. Havendish.

•••

Tiffanie stood around the corner from the museum with Officer Jensen, her glorified nursemaid. She could give him the slip, but she knew when her father found out it would mean more teas with Aunt Laurena.

She’d sneaked into a cruiser with two younger officers but Mr. Barton caught her before she could follow them inside. So, instead of being part of the excitement she waited, feeling huffy. She found the clue, why should she not be present at the arrest?

Whistles and yelling came from the museum’s direction. A man ran around the corner being chased by a group of officers. Officer Jensen blew his whistle and raced forward. The man saw him coming and dodged around him.  This brought him quite close to Tiffanie. She drew her fist back and brought it forward turning it over at the last second like she’d been taught. The man doubled over, and Tiffanie saw the back of Mr. Havendish’s well-formed head. She’d punched him square in the stomach. He was still gasping as his hands were cuffed and he was shoved into a cruiser.

For a few minutes there was still some commotion as the rest of the gang was apprehended. Once all the thieves were secure Mr. Barton pushed through the crowd of officers to his daughter. “Well done my girl! We caught them red handed. I take back my words earlier. I’m grateful those officers taught you to punch so well. Officer Jensen will take you home now.”

Tiffanie started to protest but Mr. Barton cut her off. “No arguments or I’ll tell your aunt what you’ve been up to.” Her shoulders slumped but she didn’t argue. He kissed the top of her head and left to arrange their caravan back to the station.

Tiffanie looked through the window at Mr. Havendish. When they made eye contact he grinned, gave her a respectful nod, and winked.

Tiffanie stared open mouthed as the cruiser pulled away from the skywalk. She expected a humbled man, who’d been punched by a girl, but he was just as cocky as ever. She smiled to herself. This game wasn’t over yet.

The End

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In my recent story, Cinderella’s Prince, you can read about one Prince Charming’s method for finding love. After I published the story Alabaster mentioned to me Cinderella’s Prince Charming used one of 5 usual methods for finding his love.  I was unaware there were “usual” ways these things were done but was interested in what Alabaster had to say. I imagine you are as well, especially if you are a prince looking for love. Alabaster graciously agreed to write another guest post for us. If you are interested in Alabaster’s other posts they are  5 Tips for Finding True Love and Become a Wicked Stepmother in 4 Easy Steps.

Let me introduce you to our guest blogger Alabaster Daisy.

Mrs. Alabaster Daisy has been studying the residents of the enchanted forest for some years now. She has a FTB (Fairy Tale Bachelors) in the Habits of the Fairy Tale World, and has been featured in Forest Fairy Daily sharing her expert tips on life in a magical land. This is her first post at manelleoliphat.com especially for the genlemen among us. Lets here what she has to say.

 

 

Hello, you wonderful readers!

I’m so excited to share some of my insights on helping all you young Prince Charmings out there find the love you are looking for. If you’re not a prince you can try the techniques but I can’t promise they will work for you. If you are a prince, however, I guarantee one of these methods will bring you the love you seek!

These techniques are listed in no particular order. Each one has been proven successful, so pick the method you think is best for you, and it won’t be long until your dreams come true. (That sentence rhymes like a beautiful poem.)

Alabaster Daisy’s 5 Ways for Prince Charming to Find his True Love

1. Try kissing dead girls

Ok, she’s not really dead just under a sleeping curse. Sleeping curses are famous for being broken by true love’s kiss. This has been a popular technique in the past, however, it’s fallen out of favor in recent years. Probably because it’s sometimes hard to tell if the young women in question is under a curse or actually dead. For some reason the idea of kissing corpses doesn’t appeal to most men. If you’re not faint of heart, however, your chances of finding a girl under a curse are greatly increased these days!

2. Explore a Tower

Beautiful maiden’s in fairy tale lands are famous for hanging out in towers. This could be a castle tower, but if you find a tower in the middle of the woods or other secluded area your chances are very good there is a princess inside. Many times she will be awake and waiting for you, but it’s also possible she could be under a sleeping curse. If the lady is awake you can often find her tower by listening to her lovely singing voice. Tower Maiden’s are one of the most convenient of the five ways to find your lady, but be aware of witches and conniving lady’s maids who will try to keep you from your goal.

3. Be cursed (especially into some kind of animal)

This advice may not appeal to you but, rest assured, given a little time it is %100 effective. When looking to be cursed it is best to be mean to a witch or other magical lady who isn’t fond of men. The nice thing about this method is once you are cursed your work is pretty much done. Your true love will break your curse by falling for you even in your deformed, ugly or disgusting state. Popular animal curses are frogs and bears but I’m sure if were turned into a mongoose or kangaroo you would still be able to find success with this method.

4. Rely on objects to find her

Prince Charming’s the world over have been using this method for generations. There is a %52 chance your royal parents found each other this way.  The most popular objects for finding true love are shoes and rings, but you can use anything this as long as it fit your lady perfectly at some point. Some experts argue this method is unreliable since a shoe or a ring may or may not be enchanted, and could fit on any number of lady’s feet or fingers. Bah! I think the success of the technique speaks for itself.

5. listen to your cat

This method is less popular but like our third technique it has a %100 success rate. It’s also the only method that works if you are a peasant. I personally know of two princes who have not only found their true love by following advice from their cats, but also got their kingdoms this way. This method is different from the others in another way. There are no substitutions. It seems it only works with cats. Men have tried following the advice of pet dogs, birds, and even turtles but they haven’t had success. It’s actually rather dangerous to try with *animals other than our cunning feline friends.

 

Well you handsome princes you, I hope you find this advice useful! Don’t hesitate to contact me by mirror if you have any questions. I’d love to meet your lady loves and hear your success stories as well! Helping people is such a joy! Until next time.

Alabaster Daisy!

 

*Prince Ronaldst Rington Charming tried following the advice of his dog Wilbur and ended up playing fetch for 197 years. It’s a world fetch playing record that’s never been broken. Ronaldst did gain much fame and fortune from his exploits but his body, except for his throwing arm, was too weakened after it was over to be attractive to the ladies. He died a bachelor.

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Cinderella’s Prince

A Short Fairy Tale Retelling

By Manelle Oliphant

Download this story free by clicking here.

The rolling motion of the carriage stops and I jerk awake. My neck hurts. I rub it with my hand and look out the window.  The next house on our list is grand and grey, much like the last one. How did the fashion of grey start among the upper classes of my kingdom? Grey is a boring color.

Servants bustle outside my door, and it opens. I step into the sun and take the box Buffins holds toward me. It’s also grey. I’m as bored of it as I am of the houses. I sigh. I must have been a little drunk or be-spelled when I declared I’d marry the girl who’s foot fit the shoe now nestled inside. It was a stupid idea.

I thought about the ball, where I’d met the nicest, most beautiful, funny girl ever, and my slapdash decree at it’s end. When I’d come to my senses the next morning I despaired of ever seeing her again. Feet don’t come in all that many sizes after all. I assumed I’d be engaged within the week to some random noble daughter. Now, three months later the shoe hasn’t even slipped over a toe. That’s how I know it’s magic. When I first realized this I felt hopeful, but now I imagine I’ll be trying shoes on smelly dainty feet for the rest of my life.

My servants knock. Their servants answer. We are announced and shown into a flamboyant room with three ladies inside. They curtsey. The mother makes simpering small talk as she shows me to my seat. “You are so noble. We are honored. We hope your journey has been comfortable. Would you like tea?” Etc etc.

I’ve heard it all before but this time I’m hungry, so I accept the offer of tea. I imagine her lauding it over her neighbors later. “The prince took tea at my house and said is was ever so refreshing. He didn’t take tea at your house. Oh dear, how unfortunate for you. We can’t all be so lucky, I suppose.”

I sit in an overstuffed chair.  Two young ladies sit on a couch across from me. I try not to cringe when I see them. There is a possibility they are pretty but it’s hard to tell with all the face paint they wear. I paste a smile on my face. “Which one of your lovely daughters will be first?”

Each girl giggles and sticks out a left foot. They strain to get closer to me in hopes of being first. I try not to laugh as one falls off her chair onto her giant bustle.  I kneel before the girl still seated, ignore the aroma of sour foot, and try the shoe. As usual it won’t even slide over her toes. I hold the shoe while she tries to get her foot in from every direction but I know it won’t do any good. When she has exhausted herself I turn to her sister. She is back in her seat pretending nothing untoward happened. She tries her foot in the shoe. After a brief struggle she goes so far as to take the shoe from me to try it her self. I have to wrestle the shoe away.

The first sister squirms in her seat. “Let me try it again, she got a longer turn.”

I look at her but don’t respond as I place the shoe back in the box, and hand it to Buffins.  I’m so tired. I sigh as I sit. These are the least well-mannered girls I’ve met. I wish I’d waited to accept an offer of tea.

A maid enters the room carrying a tray. She sets it on the table next to me. The tea’s smell mixes with the ladies perfume and I feel a little lightheaded. The servant doesn’t leave but stands close behind my shoulder and I feel her staring at me. Even the servants in this house are ill mannered.

The lady of the house waves her hand at the girl. “That will be all, Ella.”

I hear her curtsy. “Yes,  My Lady.”

Her voice. I’ve heard it before. My heart beats faster. I turn but her back is to me and she is almost out the door.

I stand. “Wait.”

She turns around. I want to squeal with excitement like my younger sister does. It’s her, blue eyes, dimples, and a laughing smile. Granted she’s dirty, her hair is covered and her dress is patched, but it is her.

I can’t help staring at her as I speak. “This Lady must try the shoe as well.”

The room is silent. I look around. The lady and her daughters sit with their mouths open. My servants stand unmoving. I motion at Buffins to bring the box forward. “I said this lady must try the shoe.”

He blinks at me. “Your Highness, I… we…”

I scowl at him. “Buffins.”

He stops stammering and hands me the box. I take the servant girl’s rough hand and lead her to the sofa. It’s the same hand I held at the ball. Of course it belongs to a servant. Why did I not realize?

I kneel and remove her left boot. The shoe glides over her foot.

I take her hand. “I knew it was you when I heard your voice.”

“I’m glad, your highness, for if you hadn’t I would’ve let you wander the world with that shoe. It just so happens I have the other one right here”

From her apron pocket she takes the matching shoe. When she puts it on there is a puff of smoke. The dirt and rags disappear. Now she, Ella, sits all clean in an elegant day dress, with her hair arranged in a stylish way.

I take her hands and pull her into my arms.  “Ella, will you marry me?”

She smiles. “Of course.”

I give her smile a kiss. Something, I admit, I’ve wanted to do since the first moment I saw her in the ballroom.  The awful daughters gasp and Buffins’ cries in protest but I ignore them all. I’m going to live happily ever after.

The End

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Stepmothers are a common theme in fairy tales. Sometimes, as is the case with my most recent story The Six Swans, it’s a wicked mother-in-law but the themes and actions of the story are the same. I mentioned this thought to my friend Alabaster (you might remember her from this guest post) and she told me she’s made a study of wicked stepmothers and has some advice for those of my readers who might be interested in taking the wicked stepmother career path. I’m happy to say she volunteered for another guest post.

 

Mrs. Alabaster Daisy has been studying the residents of the enchanted forest for some years now. She has a FTB (Fairy Tale Bachelors) in the Habits of the Fairy Tale World, and has been featured in Forest Fairy Daily sharing her expert tips on life in a magical land. Let’s hear what she has to say.

 

Alright ladies, here is another post just for you! I know not all of you are going to find your true love, even if you follow the advice in my last post. Although I have no idea what it would be like to be alone and miserable, I do sympathize with you because I have a GREAT imagination! Being beautiful and loved isn’t for all of us, if you choose to follow a different path filled with lies and vengeful thoughts, to that I say, “you go girl!”

Here are my 4 tips to become a wicked stepmother

1. Get a stepchild

This is the most important step. Don’t worry if you have children of your own. In fact, you can use this to your advantage by setting your new and old children up against each other. It’s best if your stepchild is a daughter. Girls get a lot more sympathy from crowds. If you are tormenting a girl, your wicked rep will spread like wildfire. If the girl is pretty your chances are even better. Also no need to worry about the child’s father. You don’t have to like him. Seven out of ten fairy tale fathers die within the year after they remarry so chances are you won’t have to put up with him for long!

Note: If you can’t arrange to become a stepmother some women have found much success as a wicked mother-in-law. A good example of this is found Manelle’s story The Six Swans

2. Find a reason to be jealous

Being wicked for no reason at all can bring you some success, but Wicked Stepmother’s who are the most successful have a deeper drive that spurs them through any rough patches they encounter on their climb to ultimate wickedness. If your stepchildren are loving and well behaved, it can be a lot harder to keep your ultimate goal in mind. The greatest solution I’ve seen for this is to keep a burning fire of jealousy stoaked in your heart at all times. Examples of the most common jealousies include: jealousy of beauty, your husband’s attention, or  your drive to elevate your own children above that of your stepchildren.

3. Use your Jealousy to spur you forward.

The actions for this step are a little more vague as what you do depends on what you have decided to become jealous of (see step 2). Being jealous of beauty, for example, gives you many options. Examples include:

a. Have the beautiful child work all day in rough and dirty conditions until she is ugly. Then you will shine all the brighter.

b. Send her away to a horrible place where you won’t have to look at her and where she will be miserable.

c. Do what you can to make her appear rude and haughty. People will look past her beauty and hate her all the more.

d. Or a classic move is to try to dispose of her by “other means” if you get my drift (lol ;).

As you can see, the possibilities are endless. Once you get to this step you are well on your way to becoming infamous for the wicked deeds you dream up. Nothing can stop you at this point…except one thing. That brings us to step 4.

4. Never EVER forgive anyone!

Forgiving even just one time can be a downward spiral into cheerful days full of light and flower gardens. Forgiveness brings a sense of freedom and joy. As a Wicked Stepmother you must not let the temptation to feel these things overtake you. It is very important to feel angry and have the sensation of carrying giant boulders on your shoulders (look that rhymes!). Use these feelings to take action. If you find your self feeling anything such as love, compassion, empathy, or freedom, you must take steps immediately.  Here are some great actions you can take to thrust that happy feeling into the dirt and burry it for all eternity:

a. Yell at servants or minions when they don’t deserve it.

This will make you feel guilty. Guilt is a great way to keep yourself miserable.

b. Stay out of the sun.

The cheerful sunlight can bring a healthy glow to your skin and help clear your mind. Staying in the dark keeps you depressed. An underground lair is best for avoiding daylight but dark heavy curtains can be just as useful in a pinch.

c. Find a support group

There are more of these cropping up in the enchanted forest lately. I hear they are great for your wicked morale and can be full of ideas to keep you on track. To find a group near you visit manelleoliphant.com/wsa/.

That about wraps it up ladies! I wish you all the misery in the world as you pursue your dream of becoming a wicked stepmother!

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The Six Swans

A Short Fairy Tale Retelling By Manelle Oliphant

Text and illustrations © 2014 by Manelle Oliphant

You can download this title for free by clicking here. 

he morning sun warmed my face and I opened my eyes. Blinking, I waited for my mind to wake up. I still felt tired after my night’s sleep. I remembered my long labor and my baby. I pulled the beautiful white blankets closer to me. The baby made a noise. I unwrapped him to get a look at the little perfect face I remembered from last night.

A pig.

It squealed and squirmed in my arms.

I almost cried out but stopped myself. My brothers counted on me. My breaths came quick and heavy like yesterday when I was in labor. I shook Albert awake.

He smiled up at me until he saw my face. He sat up. “What’s the matter?”

Still breathing heavy I shoved the blankets of pig at him. Where was my baby? I searched the bedding. He could still be here somewhere.

Albert glanced from the pig to me as I pulled the blankets onto the cold floor. No baby. My chubby baby boy wasn’t here. My strength failed and I knelt down. Silent tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t make a sound or my brothers would be swans all their lives.

Albert rang for the servants and gathered me into his arms. I felt warm and safe close to him.

The servants entered the room, followed by the Queen and her favorite advisor. “What’s wrong Albert dear?” Her voice smooth, with hard edges.

I pulled my face from Alberts now wet shirt and looked at her. A smile played at the edges of her mouth. This was her latest effort to be rid of me.

Albert let go of me and ran toward his mother. “Mother, our baby is gone! This pig was put in it’s place. We must punish whoever has done this.”

The queen put his hand around her arm, and patted it. “My dear. I warned you something like this might happen. I’m afraid your little mute wife doesn’t have all her wits about her. She’s done this herself.”

They both looked at me. I imagined myself through their eyes. I must have looked crazy with my tear stained face, crumpled night gown, and my worn out body. We stared at each other for a split second. I shook my head. No. No. No. Not me! I pointed at the queen. She did it. I looked at Albert and pointed again. Your mother. She’s the one to blame.

She smiled at me. “See what I mean? If you insist on bringing home waifs from the woods and marrying them you also have to face the consequences.”

Albert looked from me to his mother. Did he believe her? She’d poisoned his mind against me for the last two years. I knew he loved me. I knew it. Why couldn’t he see her sinister intentions?

The queen smiled and met his gaze. “Think about it my boy. If someone kidnapped the new prince why replace him with a pig? I’m afraid your little wife has done this herself.”

The color drained from Albert’s face. He looked at me and his shoulders slumped.

No! I climbed across the bed toward him. I reached out. He mustn’t believe this awful thing of me. He looked at me for a second before he took my hand.

I looked at the queen. She gave me a wry smile. “Albert my dear, you must do something about this. You owe the kingdom more than a crazy queen. What if your children were to inherit her mind? It’s for the best this baby is gone.”

Albert looked at me. I could see through his eyes to his breaking heart. He believed her. My shoulders slumped. How to defend myself without talking? I opened my mouth. I could speak, prove I’m not crazy, but all these years of silence would be in vain. I shut my mouth and slumped onto the bed.

The queen continued. “She has killed her own child and must be tried.” She made a motion with her hand. “Lock her up until we decide what to do with her.”

A guard came toward me. If they locked me up how would I finish the shirts that would break the spell on my brothers? I looked to my husband again and begged with my hands.

He only looked unsure.

The guard pulled me out and toward the the lower floors. No! I needed to finish my work. I yanked my arm out of his and ran the other direction. I heard the queen yell for him to go after me. I found more energy and ran faster. I ran, up, up, up, until I reached my tower room where my work waited. I hurried inside. I locked the door and stood panting. I heard the guard reach the door. He knocked.

“Princess, open the door.”

I wouldn’t of course. I heard the queen’s voice. “I don’t care if she’s locked up here or in the dungeon. Stand guard and don’t let her out. After the trial we’ll decide what is to be done.”

I heard her walk away. The guard shuffled around for a minute until he got comfortable outside the door. Then silence.
I leaned on the door, exhausted. I thought of my husband whom I loved. Would he stand up for me? Where was my baby? I put my head in my hands and cried.

I couldn’t allow myself to wallow for long. My work waited. If they sentenced me to death I wanted my brothers to live as men. I worked through my tears. By dusk I finished weaving cloth I’d need for the last shirt. The bell rang in the square. It echoed off the buildings so anyone nearby would hear. They were about to pronounce my sentence.

At the window I could see the crier far below and people gathered to listen.

“Let it be known, this day, the princess Ingrid was found guilty of murder after killing her young son, the prince of this land! Her sentence is death. She will be burned in the morning!”

I wasn’t surprised. My mother-in-law needed to remove me before I could prove her guilt. I turned around and looked at my little room. My body cried out with pain and exhaustion, but if I didn’t finish by morning what would become of my brothers? I lit a candle and worked on.

Later I heard a knock at my door. I went over but didn’t open it. I heard my husband’s voice.

“Ingrid! I know you are awake. I hope you can hear me.”

I sat down and put my ear to the key hole.

“I’ve tried everything to save you, but we can’t find the baby. I have no power to stop things. Not until I come of age and the regency ends. Mother says I am bewitched by you and my word can’t be trusted. She has convinced everyone the kingdom’s future safety requires your death.”

My heart ached. I still loved him. If I could tell him everything maybe he could do something… but I couldn’t, not yet, not until my brothers stood beside me as humans again.

I heard him move and his voice got louder. “I don’t want to lose you, like I lost our son. I don’t know what to do.”

His voice sounded higher than normal. He was crying. I pushed my fingers under the door. This man, my husband, wasn’t perfect, but I loved him, and I wasn’t going to die angry. After a second his hand touched mine. We sat there for some time, but I needed to finish before daybreak. After a while I pulled my hand back and went to work.

The last shirt needed one more sleeve when the sun’s light shown through the window. I heard a commotion outside the door. Time for my execution. Maybe it would be okay without the sleeve. I gathered the shirts into my arms and unlocked the door. No point being difficult. The queen came in followed by three guards. Albert stood beside her with hair mashed up on one side. Did he sleep outside my door? Our eyes met as the they pulled me away.

Down, down, down to the courtyard where I faced my death. I wasn’t the only one who worked through the night. A thick wooden stake was surrounded by piles of wood and dry straw.

The guards pulled me forward. One tried to take the shirts but I fought him.

The queen stood on a balcony above the courtyard where she could watch. “Leave them. If the little witch wants to hold a bunch of ragged shirts while she burns what’s it to us?”

He let me keep them. I searched the sky. Where were my brothers? Ropes were looped around my legs and middle and were pulled tight.

A hooded man with a torch stepped forward.

They always flew here at sunrise. Why be late today?

He lowered the torch and the straw at my feet caught fire.

Honk. Honk.

Here they were!

Honk. Honk.

Two of my brothers swooped down and scattered the twigs, which had caught fire. They pecked at the man with a torch until he backed away.

The queen shook her fist at the executioner and her guards. “Shoot those birds!”

My other four brothers held a blanket in their beaks. They circled low in the courtyard. When they passed the balcony, where my husband stood behind his mother, they set the blanket at his feet. I saw him bend to pick it up but smoke, feathers, and people blocked my view. My brothers fought now except the two who pecked at my ropes.

Honk! Honk! Honk!

The queen leaned out and shouted more, “What’s the matter with you?” Shoot them! Shoot them!”

A guard ran by with swans pecking at his face. “There are too many, my queen!”

I felt the ropes loosen.
Albert moved in front of his mother. “Quiet!” His voice carried over the crowd. “Halt the execution!” The commotion stopped.
“My son, we have gone through this. She is a murderer.”

He held up the blanket. “If she is a murderer, Mother, explain to me how my son is still alive.”

The queen’s face drained of color. “Still alive?”

The ropes fell at my feet.

I threw a shirt over the swan closest to me and he turned from bird to man. I heard the crowd gasp but ignored them. Again, and again, shirt on swan, bird to man. Soon all six of my brothers stood before me, men during the day for the first time since my birth. I put my hands up to the sun and spoke my first words since I learned of their curse. “My brothers!”

I gathered my human brothers into a big circle hug. My youngest had a wing for his left arm but he smiled at me. “We saved your baby from drowning.” He pointed at the advisor. “That man threw him down a well.”

My husbands voice carried around the courtyard with the authority of a king. “Guards, arrest my mother the queen, and her advisor, for attempted murder of the crown prince, and the princess.” The queen shrunk into herself but she didn’t protest as she was led away.

Albert ran down and put his arm around me. I stroked my baby’s head and smiled at Albert. “Hello.” It was the first word I’d ever said to him.

He pulled me close. “I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder for you.”

“It is forgiven.” Happy tears formed in my eyes. Years of silent lonely work were at an end. I saved my brothers, I could speak, and I had my family close. This wasn’t the time for holding grudges.

The End

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Siren’s Song

A Short Story

By Manelle Oliphant

To Download This Story Click Here

Joseph stood on the ship’s deck where he’d served for the last three years and stared at the miniature painting his wife had sent. The picture showed his smiling two-year-old son in a sailor’s outfit.

“I show him your portrait and tell him about you every day. We are very excited you will be home soon,” her most recent letter had read.

Joseph smiled. The shortcut through the pass would allow them to be home in a few short weeks. He would see his wife and meet his son. Best of all he could now retire from the navy. The crew had made a fortune on this voyage. His percent plus the money he’d saved from his pay was enough to buy a small house.

The ship’s bell tolled and someone yelled, “Amar Pass ahead! Make yourself ready.”

Joseph stuffed the letter and miniature in his pocket as he ran toward the helm. Sailing through the pass required strict protocol. Every sailor must have their ears plugged and be tied to the ship. One man steered the ship with his hands tied to the helm. The pass’s smooth water held few hidden rocks, despite the high hills on either side. The pass itself was safe. Any danger came from the creatures who lived there.

Commander Weldmen would steer the ship, and Joseph’s assignment was to help him prepare. When Joseph arrived Weldmen handed him some rope. “Get on with things Midshipman. We don’t have long.”

“Yes sir.” Joseph took the rope and waited while Commander Weldmen plugged his ears with wads of cloth. Then he tied the Commander’s hands to the wheel. Weldmen nodded and Joseph ran to the main deck.

The pass was in view. The sight filled him with dread no matter how many times he’d seen it before. He took some rope from Billy, another Midshipmen, and tied himself to the railing. He double checked its tightness around his waist, and stuffed his ears with cotton cloth.

The only sound Joseph could hear as they entered the pass was the breathing inside his head. Huge boulders jutted up out of the water on either side of them. He looked toward the shoreline where the sirens sat.

They were ugly. They looked like women but green and blue scales covered their skin. Instead of legs they had long tails, which flopped in the water like a dying fish. When the ship steered close enough they bit at the sailors with their sharp teeth.

All the while they sang a song Joseph couldn’t hear. The song enchanted men to drown themselves. Stories told of only one man who heard the song and survived. His shipmates kept him from jumping overboard and he lived out the rest of his days in an asylum. Joseph shuttered when he thought about it.

The movement loosed the cotton in his left ear and it fell into the water. Horrified he watched it fall into the water, and the beauty of the song wrapped around his heart.

Joseph reached up and pulled the other plug from his ear. Waves of song flowed through him. The water, clouds, and rocks dazzled before his eyes. He looked at the singing women and sighed. Such beautiful women! His heart leaped in his chest when one smiled at him. Her teeth shined like pearls and her scales glistened in the sun. She waved him over. He waved back. He thought about feeling her cold skin and wet tail. He imagined putting his arm around her tiny waist and pulling her close. Would she let him give her a kiss?

He tried to jump over the railing but a rope tied around his waist stopped him. He remembered tying the rope but couldn’t understand the reason. There was no danger here. He grabbed at the knot with his fingers. It wouldn’t budge. Curse his knot tying skill. He pulled a knife from his pocket and sawed at his prison.

Someone grabbed his arm. Joseph looked up. Billy shook his head and reached for the knife. Joseph scowled and jerked it away. Wasn’t Billy his friend? Now, when he thought back, he remembered all the times Billy had betrayed him. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

Billy reached for the knife again. Joseph hit him with its handle. Billy’s nose started to bleed.

Joseph smiled. Serves him right. He finished sawing and jumped into the water.

Cold engulfed his whole body and a current pulled at his legs. The sensations invigorated his body. He’d never felt so alive. He kicked to the surface and looked around. The ship had passed him. He waved at the men who watched him from the poop deck. Silly fools, they would regret not taking this chance. He turned to the shore and spotted the flirt who smiled at him before. He grinned and swam toward her.

He ignored the current pulling at his legs, and imagined running his fingers through her long clammy hair. His muscles grew colder but rainbows danced off her scales as the sunlight hit them. He smiled again. His eyes had never beheld such a feast. He had never heard such a song. He ignored his body’s protests and swam closer. His whole purpose in life was to make this beautiful creature happy.

She was so close now. She smiled at him again with her beautiful arrow-like teeth. Inviting teeth. Oh, to kiss her mouth!

The current pulled at his legs again, he fought it, but his cold muscles protested. His head went under water. He kicked hard and resurfaced. He reached for her. She sang her song. He relaxed and sunk again. He looked up through the clear water. She grinned at him. Water filled his mouth. He didn’t fight. Water filled his nose. He breathed it in. He could still see her smile. He had made her happy. Now he knew every event in his life, good and bad, had happened to lead him to this blessed moment.

November 6, 1895

My Dear Mrs. Hansen,

I understand you have heard the news of your husband’s death. I write to offer you my deepest condolences. I served with your husband on the Greenfly for the last three years. He talked of you often, and was very proud of his son. He showed me the miniature you sent. He looks like a strong healthy boy who takes after his father. I was with him as he went overboard and I know he thought of you ‘til the last. Your husband was a good man, and a good friend. It was an honour to serve with him.

With deepest sympathies,

Midshipman William Smith

 

The End

 

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this book support the author and the creation of other ebooks like this at http://www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

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Ever since last year’s American Academy of Religion/Society of Biblical Literature meeting in Baltimore, the Religion and Bibles team at Oxford University Press has eagerly awaited San Diego in 2014. As we gear up to travel to the west coast, we asked our staff across divisions and offices: What is on your to-do list while in San Diego?

Tom Perridge, Academic/Trade, UK:
I’m looking forward to returning to San Diego, having previously visited for the 2007 AAR/SBL. Oxford is cold, grey, and autumnal at the moment, so some Californian sunshine will be welcome! It’s always a pleasure to connect with both authors and readers and to cook up ideas for exciting new projects.

Don Kraus, Bibles, US:
As part of my task in publishing Oxford Study Bibles, I am meeting with the editorial boards of various projects in order to keep them moving along. I also hope to see some of the scholars I’ve worked with over the past years, just to catch up and have a chance to hear how they are doing. I look forward to meeting, either again or for the first time, as many scholars as possible who have worked on the second edition of The Jewish Study Bible, our brand-new, fully revised and updated revision of a text that’s already a classic.

Steve Wiggins, Academic/Trade and Bibles, US:
I hope to meet a long-lost cousin (literally!), as well as authors I’ve only met by email. Of course, seeing people I’ve known over the past two decades of attending is always a highlight. It’s all about the people.

Sara McNamara, Journals, US:
Though spending as much time outside exploring San Diego’s parks and beaches is definitely a priority, number one on my to-do list is a breakfast event for journals editors I’ve organized with the AAR and SBL. The breakfast will provide a rare opportunity for religious, biblical, and theological studies journals editors to come together to discuss the unique challenges facing journals and their editors. Emceed by Amir Hussain, the editor of Journal of the American Academy of Religion, the breakfast promises to be both fun and informative.

Gina Chung, Academic/Trade, US:
This year will not only be my first time at AAR, but also my first time in San Diego! I’m really excited to meet our authors in person, and I’m looking forward to getting some sun and 70 degree weather in November as well.

Alyssa Bender, Academic/Trade and Bibles, US:
I can’t wait to meet this year’s new batch of authors at the meeting, and hopefully snap some pictures of them with their books. I’m also excited to explore the city and find some fun restaurants! Hopefully at least one with outdoor seating—have to take advantage of the beautiful San Diego weather!

We hope to see you at Oxford University Press booth 829! We’ll be offering the chance to:

• Check out which books we’re featuring.
• Browse and buy our new and bestselling titles on display at a 20% conference discount.
• Peruse our conference ebook promotion (up to 90% off!)
• Get free trial access to our suite of online products.
• Pick up sample copies of our latest religion journals.
• Enter giveaways for free OUP books.
• Meet all of us!

See you there!

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A bubbly woodland party brings out only the very best furry guests. From an upcoming book that I had a wonderful time painting.

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My next story is all about ghosts. It is october after all. But thinking about ghosts led me to think about our histories. Genealogy or Family History has become the second most popular hobby in the US after gardening. I’ve dabbled in it some. Who doesn’t want to know where they came from  after all its a part of who we are.

But we come from more than just our ancestors, and as an artist we have our own geneology. Wether writer, artist. or mathmetician, we can’t help but be influenced by people that came before us. So I got to wondering who were my artist ancestors?

Lets Break it Down

First there is me.

My most influential teachers where Sydney Bowman my art teacher when I was high school age, and my teachers a BYU-Idaho where I got my art degree. Sydney introduced me to Michelangelo which led me to study other artists like Da Vinci, Whistler, The Impressionists and the Pre-Raphaelites.

My college teachers introduced me to the illustration side of art where I became a heavily influenced by more current illustrators like Lisbeth Zwerger, and Trina Schart Hyman,  and the illustrators of the golden age like J. C. Leyendecker, Arthur Rackham, and Kay Neilsen.

I’ve also been influenced more recently by my close illustration friends Shawna JC Tenney, Sherry Meidell, and Jennifer Eichelberger. So I suppose my artist pedigree chart would look like this.

 

Try it yourself. Here is a blank chart you can save and fill out. I’m sure this would work if you are writer, artist, or anything really. If you make one I’d love to see it. Post in comments and send me a link to your image, or tweet the image @manelleoliphant.

 

And don’t forget to download my new ghost story Midnight Ghost. 

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If you loved SCARS, I think you’ll enjoy STAINED–and you may want to get it while it’s deeply discounted. Right now STAINED is on sale for both Kindle and Nook for $1.99–until Oct 31st. I hope you grab yourself a copy.

In STAINED, Sarah think she knows what fear is–until she’s abducted. Then she must find a way to save herself.

Like I did with SCARS, I drew on my own trauma and healing experience to write STAINED.

I hope you enjoy it! And if you enjoy it, or like this deal, I hope you’ll let others know about it, too.

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We can’t keep it a secret any longer!

As of today, We Give Books has a new home at First Book. The online platform, which features nearly 300 digitally-optimized children’s books, enables anyone with access to the Internet to put books in the hands of kids in need, simply by reading online.

This generous gift to First Book comes from The Pearson Foundation along with $1.3M in cash to support We Give Books and help First Book deliver new online programs and services to our growing network of 140,000 classrooms and community organizations serving children in need.

You can get involved too!

Children, parents, caretakers and educators can visit www.wegivebooks.org and select books to read together. Reading on the site also triggers donations of new books to programs and classrooms serving children in need. Launched just four years ago, We Give Books has helped deliver more than 3.25 million books to children around the world.

We could not be more thankful to the Pearson Foundation or more thrilled for We Give Books to join the First Book family, helping us provide even more critical reading opportunities to young people across the United States and around the world.

Learn more about We Give Books joining First Book here. Then check out We Give Books and start reading today.

The post Welcoming We Give Books to the First Book Family appeared first on First Book Blog.

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

To download this story for your devices click the links below.

Princess and Dragon PDf (0)

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Princess and Dragon

A Short Story By Manelle Oliphant

Text and illustrations © 2014 by Manelle Oliphant

 stood under the bridge and clenched my sword tighter. I took a few breaths and tried to relax my hand.

“A sword in an iron grip can’t move.” Keegan’s taunt, from the three short weeks he’d spent training me, rang in my head.

I pushed it from my mind. Here in real life I didn’t see how a relaxed hand would help. My body trembled. I gripped the sword tighter. Iron grip or not the sword would be more useful in my hand than on the ground.

I put my free hand on the damp bricks, and slowed my breaths.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The trembling stopped. I listened.  I tuned out the river and heard It on the bridge above me.

It’s not a big dragon, about the size of a peasant’s cottage. I took another deep breath. It’s not a big dragon, I told myself again. It didn’t help. It meant if he wanted to eat me he’d have to do it in pieces rather than all at once.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Don’t think about being eaten.

I tuned out the water again and listened to the bridge groan every time It took a step. I heard It breathing and It’s tongue slither in and out.

Ssss.

Ssss.

Ssss.

It tasted the air for a princess taste. I hoped the damp covered my sent.

Thump, creak, It stepped closer.

Ssss, he tasted the air again. “I know you’re there princess. We killed your parents. Your brother doesn’t have long for this life and I plan on sending you to join them.”

It spoke the truth. The dragons killed my parents three weeks ago. Keegan lay sleeping in the castle sick ward with burned leg and missing arm. If It killed me and Keegan died, the dragons could claim these lands, and the people in them.

I gripped my sword with both hands and crouched. Another thunk as he stepped closer to me across the bridge.

Breath in.

Breath out.

I stood, ready for an attack from either side.

Breath in, glance left.

Breath out, glance right.

I saw It’s shadow above me. It moved. My heart beat. Dragon face in front of me. Time slowed. My death in his eyes. His big dragon mouth opened and heat surrounded me. Keegan’s training kicked in and my body reacted. I slid to the left  and swung my sword, two handed, strait down on his neck. Hot dragon blood splashed my arms. I swung again.

Thunk!

The head fell to the ground at my feet. I took a breath and lowered my arm.

Splash!

Fizzz.

I jumped and yanked the sword back up. The dragon’s body fell into the shallow river. Water hit my face and arms, cooling the burns from the dragon’s blood. Steamy fog surrounded me. Still holding my sword ready, I peered through it until I saw It’s body. No movement.

I killed It.

My body started to tremble again but I controlled it long enough to climb out of the bridge’s shadow into the sun. I collapsed on the riverbank. My body trembled more. Tears came so I sat up. They gushed up through me and out of my eyes. Unstoppable. I sobbed and sobbed.

“Princess! Princess Nora! Are you okay?”

Footsteps ran toward me.  I turned and wiped my eyes and nose on my sleeve. Bran, our captain of the guard, squatted beside me. He saw my tears and burned arms. His hands, like birds, fluttered around my head and down my arms as he checked for injuries. “Are you harmed princess?  I’ll call the doctor.”

“Bran no, I’m ok.”

Bran nodded but looked me up and down once more. I still held my sword in one hand. I had forgotten about it. He took it from me. I let him.

He noticed the dragon. “By all the saints!” He took a deep breath. “Princess, I’m glad you’re alright! When we got separated I… your brother will never forgive me…I’m glad you’re alright!”  He ran his hand through his hair and stopped talking.

  He sat. Water splashed around the dragon’s body in front of us. I took deep breaths until my body calmed.

He stood, helped me up, and handed me back my sword.

“We’ve driven them back for now, my lady. We’ll have a few days before they attack again.” He looked at the dead dragon again. “I think we should celebrate tonight.”

I looked at it too. It was dead. I was alive.  I nodded at him. “Yes.” We needed to celebrate this small victory.

We’d won the battle, but the war had just begun.

Thanks for reading.

If you enjoyed this story share it with your friends.

Learn how you can support the author and the creation of other ebooks like this at http://www.patreon.com/manelleoliphant

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

Watercolor is my Favorite

If you know what your are doing you can get some really great effects and textures with watercolor. These are great for painting dragons. Below are four tips you can use for your next dragon illustration (or any type of painting really).

Save Your Lights

Value/tone is probably the most important things to pay attention to when creating any kind of art. With watercolor if you aren’t paying attention and you paint something too dark you’ll have a hard time making it lighter. When your painting your dragon make sure you know where your light source(s) are so you know what to keep light and where to put your shadows.

Use the Drys

Controlling watercolor is all about what is wet and what it dry on your paper. Be patient and let the paint dry between steps. Blowdryers are great for hurrying the process along.

Use the Wets

One of the most fabulous things about watercolor is the amazing textures the paint produces all on it’s own. Don’t be afraid to get your paper wet and let it do it’s thing.

Use Salt

Salt is one of my favorite ways to create watercolor texture and it’s great for dragon scales. You’ve probably tried it before but if not watch the video for tips on how to use it.

I recently used these techniques to create the illustration for my short story Princess and Dragon. Look for the short story and mini ebook coming October 9, 2014.

Do you have a favorite watercolor technique? Comment below and tell me what it is.

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Manelle Oliphant Illustration - Illustrator and Writer

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Hans My Hedgehog pdf (15) Hans My Hedgehog epub mobi (7)

Hans My Hedgehog

A Short Fairy Tale Retelling by Manelle Oliphant

year ago I promised my father I would marry a hedgehog. Today I married him.

Father met him when he was lost in the forest. It frightened him to meet a man all hedgehog on his top half, but the hedgehog introduced himself as Hans and helped him find his way. In return, Father promised to give the hedgehog the first thing he met when he arrived home. He thought it would be his dogs or one of the servants but I raced ahead, and sealed my fate.

As a princess, I knew it wasn’t likely I would marry for love. Only, marrying a royal stranger from a distant place to secure an alliance is easier to stomach than marrying someone not quite human.

When he arrived I watched from my tower room. He rode through the gate on his rooster and the guards admitted him to the castle. After about an hour my father sent up a message. All was in order and I was to prepare myself.

I dressed myself, hoping that by doing what’s right and keeping a promise, it would turn out well. I think that’s what faith is, doing what you know is right and trusting in God things will turn out well, even if it seems impossible they could.

Now I wait in my bedroom, wearing my night shift, the fire the only light. Hans enters. I see his silhouette in the doorway until he shuts the door.

“You are my wife now,” he says to me from the dark.

“It is true,” I say

“It is an ugly thing for a pretty girl like you to be married to me.”

I feel tears form behind my eyes but I blink them away. “Not as ugly as breaking a promise.”

I hear a little snort. “You are right, not so ugly as that.”

He takes a step closer. I see his large form in the firelight. I feel faint and place my hand on the mantel for support. He shakes and snorts and I see him slough off his coat of quills. He drops it in front of me. After a minute I kneel down and touch it. The quills are soft. I look up. A man stands in front of me, a normal, not-half-animal, man. I look at his eyes. They are brown and nice and pleading.  The moment stretches out between us but he doesn’t speak. I open my mouth but he shakes his head.

He wants me to do something. I look around confused. I look back to him. He stands still, his brown eyes begging for something. I look at the coat of quills, the fire, and back to him. He looks relieved, and I know what he wants me to do. I grab the quills and throw them into the flames.  As they burn he falls to the floor and cries out. I see his skin turning black.

Have I done wrong? I turn to  pull the coat back out of the fire, but it’s burning fast and hot. The flames light up the whole room. Hans screams again, the black on his skin spreads. I glance around and see the wash basin by the bed. I grab it and pour it over the writhing man. For a second I am surrounded by steam. When it clears Hans is calm and the black has washed away. I kneel down next to him.

Hans groans, and turns his head toward me. “Thank you wife. You have freed me from a life-long curse.”

I smile. “You’re welcome.”

Hans sits up. I help him to the bed and fetch more water. He nods his thanks as he takes it. Our eyes meet. His are still kind. I can see he is a good man and we will have a happy life. I can’t explain how I know this but I feel the truth of it inside me. I smile at him and take his hand. He smiles back.

The End

If you enjoyed this story I hope you’ll tell your friends. 

To support the artist and the creation of more stories like this visit my Patreon page

Prints of the image used in this story are available at http://www.manelleoliphant.com/shop-2

Text and illustrations © 2014 by Manelle Oliphant

Not to be sold without written permission

This short story is based off of the Brothers Grimm tale of the same name. To read the original story visit http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm108.html

 

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