The Tiniest Kitten Wins August 31, 2009

Once upon a time, a wicked man had seven kittens. There were more kittens then he could feed, so he made the rash decision of taking them out into the woods and letting them fend for themselves.

But later the very night he managed to do so, all seven kittens appeared in the windows,meowing and flicking their tails. Kittens, of course, are naturally good at finding their way home again.

The next time, the man made sure to take the kittens out during the day, when they were naturally more sleepy.

And so the kittens woke up later that night without any idea where they were, and most began to panic and fret. But the tiniest kitten told them to shut up, and promised he would rescue them. First, he demanded the other kittens bring him a glass of water, and a nice Hat, with a pretty design on it. Once that had been accomplished, he led them on a long winding trail through the woods, until they reached a cabin.

The tiniest kitten walked up first, and looked through the window until he was certain only a friendly looking woman was inside. Then he mewled at the door in his tiniest voice, until she got up and opened the door.

“Now!” he called, and all of the other kittens ran into the house through the friendly woman’s feet, and hid behind or between various pieces of furniture.

She grumbled quite a lot over the next few hours, but still left some cat food out before she went to sleep.

But the next morning, there was a stomping, and a thumping, and a grumbling that went through the entire house, and the tiniest kitten could just about see a giant bird stomp into the room, and demand a meal of kittens from his mother.

You see, the friendly woman had not mentioned that she had a son who happened to be a giant bird, nor that he enjoyed the taste of kittens above all other foods.

So the tiniest kitten gave the signal, and the kittens dashed through the door again. Some ran very fast, and some hid in trees and bushes and discarded shoes, and some weaved between the giant bird’s feet.

Now, before the giant bird had begun to chase the kittens, he made sure to put on his magical boots, which helped him run very fast indeed, but also made his long spindly legs move in a funny way.

So he sort of pranced along after the kittens, until they reached the woods.

In the woods, things changed.

Birds are the natural prey of kittens, and in the woods, they began to stalk the large bird, pouncing on his boots and saying mean things about his appearance, until the bird was reduced to a weeping mess, and the kittens had his magical boots.

It was decided that the tiniest kitten deserved the wonderful boots most of all, and he sold them on ebay for so much money he was able to buy himself and the other kittens a mansion in the mountains.  They never heard from the giant bird, or his sneaky mother, again.

The End.

Source: Tom Thumb, Brothers Grimm

True Thad August 26, 2009

Once upon a time, a guy named Thad was sleeping under a tree, trying to avoid his dog. He had only slept for maybe and hour or two when he was rudely awakened by someone standing over him and making many obnoxious throat clearing noises.

He was about to be very mad indeed, but he found that it was not his dog, asking him to do the dishes, after all; it was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

In the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, she told him that if he could guess who she was, she would take him home with her.

“Are you…my mother?” he asked, which was really sort of a silly question, as he knew his mother was home with the dog, probably washing the dishes.

“Are you..Madonna?” he asked.

“Do you speak of the Virgin Mary?”

“No, the singer.”

The lady shook her head.

“Are you…the lady from up the hill?”

“Close enough.”

She pulled Thad up on her horse with her, and they galloped away. As they rode, she explained that she was the Queen of Faerie, and that he was very lucky indeed, since she had chosen him to be her mortal lover.

As they rode, she pointed out three paths: the path to Heaven, the path to Hell, and the path they would ride on, which led to Faerie.

“What’s that path?” Thad asked, pointing to an overgrown road next to the one they had turned down.

“That one leads to Creepy Jim’s house.” the Queen informed him. “I wouldn’t go down that path.”

As they rode, Thad was sure they passed through meadows of guts and jumped over gates made of bone. But the lady held him, and told him he would reside in Faerie with her for but seven years, and as long as he ate nothing, nor spoke not a word, he would return home with the gift of prophecy, and the inability to lie. However, if he did eat or speak, he must remain in Faerie forever.

And so they rode into Faerie, where courtiers and horses greeted them with songs and cheer.

As they stopped, Thad reached into a basket of baked goods offered to him and bit into a cupcake. “Hey guys,” he said. “What’s up?”

The Queen of Faerie began to feel as though she’d made a grave error, indeed.

The End.

Source: Thomas the Rhymer

The Hitchhiker Who Needed a Tan August 23, 2009

Once upon a time, a woman was driving alone, thinking about chickens, when she very nearly ran her car right into Something.

When she used the rear view mirror to investigate, she saw only a very pale young girl in a very white dress standing just off the side of the road.

She must be looking for a ride, the woman figured, and backed up to pick the girl up.

For a few miles, they made some attempt at conversation, but the girl gave short answers, and vague ones. Finally, the woman, just managing not to ask her why she was so pale and wouldn’t she like a tan, thought to ask her just where her home actually was.

The girl explained that it was on the hill, just past the graveyard, and then the woman Knew.

And so, despite the girl’s protests that the house was on the hill, and not in the graveyard itself, the woman left her at the entrance to the graveyard, and was too creeped out to watch her make her way back “home”, or, indeed, give her back the sweater she had left on the passenger seat.

But in the light of the next day, things seemed less scary, so she made her way back to the graveyard, thinking to lay the sweater down by the ghost girl’s grave. However, after realizing she did not know the girl’s name or date of birth, she decided instead to take the sweater to her parents.

Two people opened the door, and as she expressed sorrow for their loss, and tried to explain the otherwordly way in which she’d gotten the sweater, she thought she could see the girl behind them, scowling and trying to say something.

The couple mostly looked confused, and eventually, the girl declared that she was giving up, and was going to go back inside and watch TV. Still, the woman felt confident that she had done a Good Thing, and even so, resolved not to pick up hitchhikers without tans ever again.

The End.

Source: The Pretty Girl in the Road, American folktale.

VasiRiesa the Brave, the Conclusion August 19, 2009

A Story About a Doll, a Witch, A Girl, and her Lover (Almost) by Guest Storyteller Marie Selavy.

For the beginning: VasiRiesa the Brave, VasiRiesa the Brave, Tale the Second, and VasiRiesa the Brave, Tale the Third

“Never fear,” said the Assistant of the Evening, drawn up to her full height. “We thank you for completing these tasks, for if she had dined on you, the work would have fallen to us. We shall keep you safe!”

With that, she guided the other two assistants, Vasiriesa, and the doll onto her bookcart, and they took off swiftly and bumpily down the hill, narrowly averting the flames that followed them, joined by a crowd of squirrels, a flock of pigeons, and a hoard of grad students. They rode off far, far from the University, until the flames were a mere blazing mote in the distance. To Vasiriesa’s surprise, when she stood and stretched a large, oblong white object gently rolled to her feet. She picked it up, and laughed as she realized what it was–a gift from the hut, for her devotion.

“Good riddance to that,” said the Assistant of the Day, “Now we shall seek our own fortunes.”

The Assistant of the Evening laughed, “Now that I am a free woman, I will fulfill my dream of working in the Queen’s Library.  If it agrees with you, I shall take these grad students to the palace as a reward for their hard labor.”

“Yes,” said Vasiriesa, “that sounds lovely.”

“And I will go back to the city, and found a library for all its children. If you don’t mind, I’d like if the pigeons came with me, to help with the shelving and deliveries.” The Assistant of the Day smiled warmly, and patted a dove that lit on her shoulder.

“Yes,” said Vasiriesa, “and I will visit the moment you are open.”

The Assistant of the Dawn said nothing, but merely beamed in a dreamy way. Vasiriesa lost all coherent thought, until the beautiful woman spoke.

“And I,” said the woman, “I am still figuring out where to seek my fortune.”

“Shall we seek it together?” Vasiriesa scuffed the ground while the doll hid her face in her tiny carved palms.

The Assistant of the Dawn smiled sadly. “I am flattered, but I am betrothed to a carpenter in the North, amongst the students and gentleman farmers and Green Folk. I have not seen her in nearly a year, and miss her with all my heart. However, I will remember you fondly if you let me take the squirrels, and give them a comfortable home in the forest.”

“Yes,” said Vasiriesa, “And if you ever need help, never hesitate to look for Vasiriesa the Brave!”

The four women parted. The Assistant of the Dawn headed North, was reunited with her lover, and became a University Librarian of great fame and renown. Her squirrel sanctuary was the finest in the land, with a veritable paradise of felled wood designed by her carpenter wife. The Assistant of the Day went west, to a large city with many children run amok. While introducing them to the magic of literature was no small task, the children adored her flock of feathered helpers, as well as the sarcastic, big-eyed, purple-haired poppet who ran the reference desk.The Assistant of the Evening journeyed South, and found life in the Queen’s Library exhausting but fulfilling. The Queen was especially proud of her tireless graduate students, always handy to look up facts or type a letter or just deliver a potted plant to the Duchess.

Vasiriesa went the farthest of all. She took a boat East, all the way across the ocean, where she studied in a very fine University indeed. The hut’s egg hatched into the dearest yellow fluffy dollhouse one could ever ask for, and by the time Vasiriesa had a Doctor of Letters, it had grown into a fine hut, indeed. She settled in the countryside, translated magical tomes, cooked fine soups and pastry, and taught the young people of the village in odd and clever ways. Tales carried across the sea of Vasiriesa the Brave.

The Famous Author was perturbed at the lack of a daughter when he returned from his tour, perturbed enough to write a book about the experience, but not perturbed enough to search for her. The Brilliant Musician made him a happy man, until she reached middle age and he took off with a Mad Violin-Playing Faerie Strumpet. The Beautiful Roadies found themselves groupies of their own, but discovered their care and upkeep was tedious and often disturbing. The youngest Roadie wondered if there wasn’t something to Vasiriesa lighting them on fire.

They all, more or less, lived happily ever after.

The  End.

Source: Vasilisa the Fair, Alexander Afanasev. Also, somewhat inspired by Psyche and Eros.

About our Guest Storyteller:
Marie Selavy might have some experience with demanding graduate assistant-ship, but she doesn’t want to talk about that. She’d rather talk about Australian books, pretty girls, guerrilla art, or how to make a mushroom out of a paper bag. You can find her all over the internet: for her collection of whimsical odds and ends, take a look at her blog, girlsbooksfoodartlove, or for book reviews and more, check out Leaving Shangri L.A. Plus, she’s good at balancing things on her head, and wishes there were a way to advertise that as a saleable skill for librarians.

VasiRiesa the Brave, Tale the Third August 16, 2009

A Story About a Doll, a Witch, A Girl, and her Lover (Almost) by Guest Storyteller Marie Selavy.

For the beginning: VasiRiesa the Brave and VasiRiesa the Brave, Tale the Second

While she gardened in the late afternoon, she spotted another young woman pushing a heavy bookcart up the next hill. This one was small with hair like a wren, smiling genially behind black spectacles despite the immense weight of her cart. Vasiriesa wondered what brought students so far to the outskirts of campus, but wisely decided to hold her tongue.

Baba Yaga returned in the late eve, and nodded with approval at the clean home and fluffy roof. “You’ve succeeded once again, Vasiriesa,” she sighed, “and it’s a shame, because that means you will have to cook supper. However, the last task of all will surely mean meat for my table tomorrow. I have created a list of every student admitted to the university, and every student who has been passed over. Tomorrow, you must write to them and inform them of their luck, or lack of it–and tomorrow, I shall finally have meat for dinner!”

Then she laughed.

The little doll had another good dinner, as Vasiriesa chewed off her fingernails, eying her toes in a manner that disturbed the good doll. “For heaven’s sake, Vasiriesa! You’ll waste away to nothing!”

“But those letters without end! I can understand the squirrels and their sorting, and the birds and their swift delivery, but whoever could help me with such a tedious, thankless task?”

“Trust me, Vasiriesa,” said the doll, wiping tomato soup from her carved nose, “I’ve helped you before, and I shall help you on the third day. Now, if you’re not eating that pie….”

Vasiriesa slept soundly, waking so early that Baba Yaga was still getting ready to leave, chortling to herself in the wee hours of the morning. She glanced out the window, and saw a third woman carting heavy books up the nearest, steepest hill. Though her fair hair stuck up in every direction, Vasiriesa thought her the most lovely of the three girls who had passed on that hill.

“That is my future bride!” she told the doll.

“Oh no. No, no, this is not a good development. At least you’ll make a nice goulash.”

Vasiriesa paid her no mind. The beauty of the third woman stayed with her while she polished every piece of furniture and fed shocks of corn to the quietly clucking house. The doll’s reminder of the third, most impossible task hit her like a thunderclap.

“All those letters!” she cried. “I am goulash for sure!”

“You think after the pigeon bit, you would have trusted me, but such is the life of a poppet.” The doll sighed, and whistled out the window a third time.

Imagine Vasiriesa’s joy as the lawn filled with graduate students!

There were tall students, short students, students of every color and creed. Male students, female students, and quite a few that were something in between. There were centaurs and fairies and even a peaky looking vampire who glimmered dully in the bright sun. All wore open, excited expressions and practical clothing, their arms filled with books and quills and notepaper.

Vasiriesa had a busy day overseeing the grad students’ work, but they were eager to please. All the letters were finished by sundown, and Baba Yaga’s return was hailed with a shower of official white letters, ready to be mailed to students all over the world the next morning.

“Nicely done, Vasiriesa,” she said, settling into an easy chair while the girl served her supper. “Though I was looking forward to a nice stew, this is better than having to finish all those letters myself. In return for your loyalty and hard work, you may ask me three questions. But if you ask the wrong ones, you will grow old and haggard before your time, and people will run from the sight of you.”

Then she laughed.

Vasiriesa thought long and hard about how to plumb the depths of her knowledge, and decided that the simplest questions would be the safest. “If it pleases you, Baba Yaga,” she asked, “who is the tall woman who pushes books up the hill at night?”

Baba Yaga laughed. “She is my Assistant of the Evening, and she is the most cunning and clever.”

“Then, if you please, who is the spectacled woman who pushes books up the hill in the afternoon?”

“She is my Assistant of the Day, and she is the most gentle and kind.”

Vasiriesa blushed delicately at the last question. “Then, if you please, Baba Yaga, who is the woman who pushes books up the hill in the earliest morning?”

“She is my Assistant of the Dawn, and she is the most brilliant.”

Then she laughed.

“Then with utmost respect, most Baba of Yagas,” said Vasiriesa, “I wish for your blessing to court and wed the Assistant of the Dawn, so we may serve you together.”

Baba Yaga did not laugh.

“Blessing? I give no blessings!” Sparks flew from her cloud of hair. “So this is why you come, to take my best and brightest Assistant from me? Begone with you, and if it’s fire you want, fire you shall get!”

Baba Yaga summoned a ball of flame, and Vasiriesa would have likely been barbecued if the hut had not spat her out quickly, sending her flying right into the group of three Assistants, who breaked for coffee together in the early evening.

“You have to help me!” she cried, “Baba Yaga has turned on me!”

The End. For now…

Source: Vasilisa the Fair, Alexander Afanasev. Also, somewhat inspired by Psyche and Eros.

About our Guest Storyteller:
Marie Selavy might have some experience with demanding graduate assistant-ship, but she doesn’t want to talk about that. She’d rather talk about Australian books, pretty girls, guerrilla art, or how to make a mushroom out of a paper bag. You can find her all over the internet: for her collection of whimsical odds and ends, take a look at her blog, girlsbooksfoodartlove, or for book reviews and more, check out Leaving Shangri L.A. Plus, her proudest moment was being chased off the grounds of the Alice Austen House on a date.

VasiRiesa the Brave, Tale the Second August 12, 2009

A Story About a Doll, a Witch, A Girl, and her Lover (Almost) by Guest Storyteller Marie Selavy.

For the beginning: VasiRiesa the Brave

“I smell a neophyte! Fresh blood and untainted mind! Who dares set foot upon the home of Baba Yaga?” she boomed.

Then she laughed.

Vasiriesa quaked in her sturdy, practical boots. The doll took the opportunity to hide in Vasiriesa’s tall, red hair.

“It is only I, Vasiriesa. My stepmother’s Beautiful Roadies snuffed the light in our cottage, and I vowed to bring back the finest light of all.”

“The finest light you shall have,” said Baba Yaga, “But at a price. You will work as my Assistants do, or I shall eat you for supper.”

Then she laughed.

Vasiriesa was put to work immediately. She was ordered to dust the shelves, and varnish the bookcase, and arrange Baba Yaga’s treasured University Almanacs by year.

“You have done well enough,” said Baba Yaga when the girl had finished. (The doll still hid, trembling, in Vasiriesa’s red pompadour). “But you will have to do even better tomorrow. While I am gone, you shall sweep the hut, and trim its toenails, and then you must go into my files of University Records and separate the letters I have sent, and the letters sent to me.”

Then she laughed.

Baba Yaga presently began to snore, occasionally chuckling in her sleep. Vasiriesa fed the doll the few bits she could spare of her meager dinner of chickpeas and beets.

“Thanks, I think. Now, Vasiriesa, why are you snuffling in that unbecoming manner?”

“Because I am frightened that Baba Yaga will cook me for supper–have you seen the records? There must be hundreds of years worth!”

“Don’t worry, kid. I got your back. Go to sleep and dream of something better than this, because in the morning we have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Vasiriesa peered outside, and was surprised to see a tall, strapping woman pushing a cart of books over the next hill. Her hair was as dark as a raincloud, and she wore a look of sturdy determination throughout her Sisyphean task. Puzzled, she settled down to sleep.

In the morning, Baba Yaga left sticky notes on all of the tasks Vasiriesa was to accomplish, so she would not forget a one. Sweeping the hut was not too bad, even though it tended to be ticklish, and cutting its toenails was easy after the doll scrounged a pair of pruning shears. However, the last task nearly set her to tears again.

“You’re awfully weepy today. Didn’t I say I would help you?” The doll leapt from her perch atop Vasiriesa’s head and whistled out the window. “Wait and see who shall come to help with your task.”

Vasiriesa looked out the window. To her wild surprise, dozens of squirrels gathered round the hut, gingerly climbing the giant yellow legs and chittering about the windows and door. There were red squirrels, and grey, and the especially cute kind with tufty ears and big eyes. All were sleek and fat and happy, due to a healthy diet of student leftovers and slow freshmen.

They set to work, carefully separating the official letters sent to Baba Yaga from the ones sent from her hut. (How, you ask? While most of the squirrels couldn’t read, they were quite good at sniffing out the different sorts of wax seals. Though a few had to be dissuaded from nibbling on them, they made short work of the pile.)

“Oh, thank you, squirrels!” Vasiriesa beamed at the tidy files and sparkling clean kitchen. “I will find a way to repay you, I swear it.”

The squirrels waved, and showed themselves out just in time for Baba Yaga to return. She looked round the clean cottage and tidy filing, and nodded in approval.

“I shall not have to eat you tonight, Vasiriesa, and that’s good, for I have more work for you. In the morning, I will need you to clean my hut, and preen the roof, and furthermore, you will need to deliver these minutes to every department on campus!” She swept her arm, revealing piles of thousands of packets from the University’s latest meeting. “And if you cannot finish, I’ll just have you for supper!”

Then she laughed.

Vasiriesa could barely touch her dinner, so nervous was she at the prospect of the morrow’s task. (The doll finished her quinoa and cranberries with relish.) Filing was one thing, but the University spread out as far as the eye could see, and a glance at the department headings revealed that there were countless professors for the most esoteric of subjects. How could she ever deliver them all in time?

“Stop sniveling,” said the doll. “I promised to help you, and help you I will. Now, go to sleep, cause we will work hard on the morrow.”

Baba Yaga had left in the wee hours of the morning, so Vasiriesa was alone once again within the chicken-legged hut. Dusting the little hut was not hard at all, even with all the stacks of parchment about, and the hut crowed in such pleasure at having its roof-feathers preened that Vasiriesa couldn’t help but smile. Her good mood lasted until she remembered the endless piles of minutes to deliver.

The doll sighed. “Haven’t you learned to trust me?” She tossed her long purple braids, and whistled out the window. In the blink of an eye, the sky was filled with–pigeons! Not just the common grey sort, but brown and white and black pigeons, and even the odd lost seagull. They roosted in the nooks and crannies of the hut, but not for long, as the doll and Vasiriesa soon set them to delivering each of the minutes right to the desk of the honored professors, thanking each bird in turn. So swiftly was the work finished that Vasiriesa could pause before supper and trim the bracken-nest.

The End. For now…

Source: Vasilisa the Fair, Alexander Afanasev. Also, somewhat inspired by Psyche and Eros.

About our Guest Storyteller:
Marie Selavy might have some experience with demanding graduate assistant-ship, but she doesn’t want to talk about that. She’d rather talk about Australian books, pretty girls, guerrilla art, or how to make a mushroom out of a paper bag. You can find her all over the internet: for her collection of whimsical odds and ends, take a look at her blog, girlsbooksfoodartlove, or for book reviews and more, check out Leaving Shangri L.A. Plus, the pinnacle of her artistic achievement was hanging stick notes with doodles in the bathroom at the MET.

VasiRiesa the Brave August 9, 2009

A Story About a Doll, a Witch, A Girl, and her Lover (Almost) by Guest Storyteller Marie Selavy.

Once upon a time, there was a young girl called Vasiriesa the Brave. She was not very graceful, nor very beautiful, nor very tall, but she had three gifts from her mother (who died in her youth). One, a clever mind; two, a Book of Not So Useful Knowledge; and three, a doll with a big head, purple hair, and staring eyes.

“If ever you should need help,” said Vasiriesa’s mother, “give her a bite to eat, and a drink, and she will come to your aid.”

When Vasiriesa was of an age where girls packed up and prepared to study Great Subjects at the University, her father–a famous author–married a musician only three years Vasiriesa’s senior. With her new stepmother came Three Beautiful Roadies, a motley crew with tangled hair and kohl-lined eyes that dressed in cast-off bits of the Musician’s finery, ill-fitted as it was (They seemed to prefer it that way). They simpered and sighed around the Musician’s husband but treated Vasiriesa most cruelly for not knowing things such as how to bake without hen’s eggs nor cow’s milk, or play the ukulele, or other fashionable skills.

Now, when one has a house with a Famous Author, a Brilliant Musician, and Three Beautiful Roadies, sooner or later groupies will come to call. Their lovely home was filled top to bottom with scruffy young men and women dressed as peasants with the jewels of kings and queens, warbling terrible songs and painting things on the walls. The Three Beautiful Roadies thought this a cunning arrangement indeed, owing to the comeliness of the groupies, but these odd bohemians had eyes for none but Vasiriesa. For, as you know, there is no surer way to attract the attention of suitors than to insult their existence, ignore them completely, or (in one particular desperate case) set them on fire.

“Enough!” cried the Brilliant Musician. “With my dear husband leaving on yet another Tour, I cannot handle my Three Beautiful Roadies and that mousy little thing, too. We shall rent a cottage up North, among the students and gentleman farmers and green folk, and leave the madding crowd behind us for the summer.”

All was well and good if you were a Brilliant Musician or one of her Three Beautiful Roadies, but as the summer wore on all the hard work of maintaining a cottage fell to Vasiriesa. She did not mind chopping the firewood or polishing their leather demimonde’s boots, or even picking endless beans for their dreary stews, but none of this was getting her to the University. She began to despair of ever becoming a Scholar after all.

One night, everything changed. The Brilliant Musician decided to spend an evening at her friend and rival’s home, where the Brilliant Musician and Sad Drummer would compose a Haunting duet. The Beautiful Roadies mocked Vasiriesa’s cookery, rent her careful mending, and as a final insult, cast out the lights she needed so dearly to study by night.

“If you want to read,” they cackled, “go fetch a light from the neighbor! And don’t hurry back!”

“I’ll show you,” thought Vasiriesa.

“The neighbor, hah!” she said aloud. “I’ll fetch a light from Baba Yaga, and be glad to do it!”

The youngest Roadie gasped, but her elders shushed her. They giggled in mad glee with the prospect of being rid of that distracting step-Roadie once and for all.

Vasiriesa set out at once, carrying her book, her doll, and a bit of bread and butter. As she stormed out in a mad huff, it took nearly till dawn for her to realize that she had no idea where Baba Yaga lived. Remembering her mother’s advice, she stopped at a river to quench her thirst, offering both food at drink to her doll.

With a squeak of the joints and a blink of her huge, staring eyes, the doll sprung to life and glared at her.

“Bout time,” sputtered the doll, wiping away crumbs.

“Right. Since we’re already acquainted, why don’t you tell me how to find Baba Yaga so I can get the light, or meet my untimely death, or both?”

The doll cracked her neck, sending dozens of little purple braids flying. “Follow the river until you find the Traveling University. Baba Yaga holds office there, in a hut on chicken legs. When she is needed to sign a paper, or punish a student, or gather tuition, she picks up and moves her whole hut.”

After a long day of following the river and avoiding advances from youngest sons, brave little tailors, and the odd wooden boy, she came upon a most peculiar university. It could not be less like the grand halls of knowledge in the city she hailed from; each building slid about as if on tracks, or picked up and moved on tiny feet, or disappeared entirely, shimmering into form several yards hence. It was a most magical–and nauseating–effect.

On the outskirts of the university stood the hut the doll had described, roosting in a bit of bracken. As Vasiriesa made her way to this strange abode, she realized that the nest was not only broken branches and swampy plants alone, but woven through with scrolls and parchment. She quite forgot herself in finding something new and interesting to read–indeed, these were the remnants of a thousand failed dissertations.

So intrigued was she that she did not notice Baba Yaga watching her from the front door.

The End. For now….

Source: Vasilisa the Fair, Alexander Afanasev. Also, somewhat inspired by Psyche and Eros.

About our Guest Storyteller:
Marie Selavy might have some experience with demanding graduate assistant-ship, but she doesn’t want to talk about that. She’d rather talk about Australian books, pretty girls, guerrilla art, or how to make a mushroom out of a paper bag. You can find her all over the internet: for her collection of whimsical odds and ends, take a look at her blog, girlsbooksfoodartlove, or for book reviews and more, check out Leaving Shangri L.A. Plus, she knows the location of the Secret Stash, and she’ll only reveal it to people she likes. Sadly…she likes a lot of people.

Fly Takes the Stand August 6, 2009

Once upon a time, a wicked man went into the real estate business.

He had a fair amount of property, you see, which he would rent out to peasants in exchange for most of their crops. However, his true wickedness came from the fact that he made it a point to ask for the rent at most inconvenient of times, such as while his tenants were in the shower, or in the middle of the night. Once, he had even visited many homes during a snowstorm, asking for the rent.

It was just how he got his kicks.

One particularly hot day, he ventured to the house farthest from the trees, and demanded the rent. However, only the child who lived there was home, and it took some time, but the landlord finally had to accept that he wasn’t getting the rent from a little kid.

To make things worse, when he asked the boy where his parents were, he only replied, “My mother is catching the moon in the bathtub, and my father is riding a horse made of cheese.”

“What?” the landlord asked.

But the boy just kept playing his game.

Finally, curiosity got the better of the landlord, and he promised that he would forgive that month’s rent if only the boy would tell him what he really meant. But the boy wouldn’t do it, he said, he was so sure the landlord would lie and deny the conversation ever happened, just so he could collect the rent.

Luckily, just then, a fly happened by, and perched on a barrel next to the boy. The landlord suggested the fly would make an acceptable witness, and the boy readily agreed.

“My father is taking out the garbage. And my mother is out at the store.”

And when the landlord asked him to explain how those actions accounted for the boy’s earlier statements, he simply replied,

“Well, I made that up.”

So the landlord left in a tizzy, and demanded the rent later that night, when the boy’s parents were just getting into bed.

He was just congratulating himself on his handling of the family when his mail arrived. You see, the landlord had been subpoenaed. He was to appear in court the very next day, and defend his right to the family’s rent payment.

He went to bed just fine that night, confident he would win. After all, the only witness the boy could offer was a fly….

And so he went to court, and he was charming and sympathetic, and the boy looked rather foolish. Until…

“I call the fly to the stand”

The judge banged her gavel, and a giant fly wearing a suit walked into the room and took the stand. He described the conversation between the landlord and the boy, down to what the landlord was wearing that day, and how much rent was owed.

And so the landlord paid the family back, and was from then on very careful about who he made promises in front of.

The End.

Source: The Fly, Vietnamese folktale

Velociraptors in the Library August 3, 2009

Once upon a time, a boy went for a walk through town after dark.

As he passed the library, he thought for sure he heard something — a guttering, grumbling sort of sound — but he reasoned that it must be his own stomach, and he headed home for a snack.

But the next day, he heard it again. This time, the sun was out, and other people were walking around as well. But neither the baker nor the funny hat maker, nor the investment banker, seemed to have heard the noise. He decided it must have been his own stomach again, and went home for dinner.

When it happened a third time, though, he had just eaten.

That night, he returned to the library and sat outside in the dark, waiting pateintly for the nosie to begin again. When finally he did, he crawled to the doorway of the library, where the sound was loudest, and spoke as loud as he could:

“Who’s there?”

But all that followed was more grumbling.

The boy was left to assume one thing: there was a sad dragon imprisoned beneath the library, and he had to help the noble creature get free.

How he would do so, of course, did not immediately occur to him. He started out practically: requesting city planning documents, searching the town for any abandoned caves or doorways leading to nowhere, knocking on all the bookcases to see if any were hollow.

But after much searching, he came up with nothing. At that point, it occurred to him that heroes didn’t usually become so through research and analytical thinking–they simply followed their gut. And so, he began to spend nights simply laying on his stomach in front of the library, just waiting for an idea.

And one night, he simply walked into the library, opened the trap door in front of the reference desk, and waited.

But a dragon didn’t come out.

At first, nothing came out. The boy waited for a good fifteen minutes before not a dragon, but a velociraptor emerged, and promptly began to chase him.

He was so busy running from that first velociraptor, in fact, that he hardly noticed the other two dozen or so emerging from the trap door.

The following day, he stayed locked in his room as the velociraptors terrorized his town, made loud dirty jokes at old ladies, and left their candy wrappers everywhere.

But that was no way for a hero to act.

And so that night, he bravely broke into the library, and searched in vain for a book entitled “How to Make A Velociraptor Your Bitch.” He was disappointed when he came up with nothing, but he did find a book with instructions on how to enchant inanimate objects and food, and took it with him, figuring it might be useful.

Outside, he could hear the footsteps of the velociraptors, as well as their terrible off tune drunken singing. Nearby, he found only a pie resting on someone’s window, and a roasted chicken on another. He enchanted both items to the best of his ability, and watched from a nearby alley as his creations went stumbling out into the night.

And then the velociraptors gave chase, and followed the animated pie and roasted chicken from the town. The boy didn’t know what happened to them after that, but he did his research and bided his time, knowing that one day it would be his duty to send the velociraptors back where they had come from.

The End.

© Beatrix Cottonpants Original