Three kings emerged from a swirling storm of sand into 2023. Sand transformed to rain and wind stilled. They parked their camels in front of a cottage to munch sweet grass.
When a woman opened the door, the smell of Gallete du Rois met them. “You came in costume.” It was like they were old friends.
They crossed the threshold and mingled. A babble of languages greeted them: a glass of wine, a piece of cake, a celebration of their gift to a child king, a toast to peace on earth. The magic of it was that all were welcome.
She met him in Classics 101. The Saturnalia party, his idea. The cake hers. Ginny dropped a Roman coin in the corner of the cake pan and marked the batter with food color. She would cut the cake herself and give Leo the piece that would name him Lord of Misrule. She hoped he would carry her away… wasn’t she already carried away with him?
That evening, a dozen classmates gathered in the dorm lounge before winter break for the potluck and gift exchange. Leo tasted like wine and spice when he kissed her. Thus are Saturn’s chaos seeds sown.
The Goblin King’s minion had failed. Hershel tricked him and kept the Hanukkah candles burning.
“The Jew will not win again. No more miraculous nights. Darkness for Donbas.” The goblin exploded into a vortex that sucked up the atmosphere. The synagogue door shattered to splinters. “Behold my power.”
Hershel shook with fear. “I see no one. Light a candle if you’re there.”
The goblin’s pride kept him lighting the candles. He wanted respect.
Hershel led the Goblin King on until the last candle had been lit. Furious, the goblin destroyed the synagogue, but Hershel and the menorah’s light stayed strong.
Inspired by Eric Kimmel’s Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins, with hope for a miracle in Ukraine. Kimmel credits a Ukrainian folktale for his inspiration. It’s turtles all the way down.
The silent Mirror left the Queen to reflect on what she’d done. It refused to speak the truth about her face; lined and aged and dried. Framed in the glass, unchanged was yesterday’s crone who had delivered an apple- a poisoned apple- to her stepdaughter. Once she’d rid herself of her rival, the hate seeped out through her pores.
Perhaps that rivalry was the only thing that had kept her young.
The Queen sat in the chair by her bed. She propped her feet. She slept. It was a sleep that lasted until Prince Charming kissed Snow White alive again.
Drago hated the taste of princesses. So when his friend, Ash, promised to introduce him to one if he promised not to eat her, he agreed.
She smelled like the forest. Quite delicious. But he’d promised.
“The river is a good place to meet,” Drago said. “I mean, in case I burp.”
Ash said, “Drago….” at the same time the princess said, “Don’t you dare!”
“I’ll only fart.”
“Bet you can’t fart as many times as me,” said the princess.
Princess farts are disgusting. Drago held his breath. He flapped his wings, ascending to the heavens. He turned to stars.
“You’re in trouble.” Lars was out of breath. “You’re gonna get grounded.”
“I’ve got to hold back the water.” Hans reached for his phone. “Here, alert the dike patrol.”
Lars took the phone and did as he was told. That was the difference between them. His brother almost never did what he was told. He was always off on an adventure. The younger one stayed home to placate their mother.
“The dike patrol, they’re coming.” Lars saw the strain in Han’s face and, surprised, saw fear in his eyes. “Can I help?”
“Tell mom where we are.”
The boy said, “I’ll hold the water. You call.”
“I can’t eat another bite.” Hansel closed his trick or treat bag.
“Do you think someone cast a spell?” Gretel counted her loot again. There was more now than when she started eating.
“Let’s take it to the witch.” They set off through the forest along a now familiar path. No need for breadcrumbs any more.
The Sugar House Witch welcomed them with fresh cookies and milk. “What’s in the bag, pet?”
“Multiplicative candy,” Hansel said.
“Wish I had that problem,” the witch said. “I’m constantly losing candy decorations.”
The children finished their snack and left behind their ever accumulating treats.
In the shadow of year’s end, a tired dribble of twilight musings unleashes thoughts muddled and unrestrained. They fall on damp forest floors.
The smell of pines might clarify, might of a sudden reveal the intentions of close-mouthed colorful shedding trees.
Autumn cold settles like a fog on layers of soft loam. Earthworms transform decomposing leaf mold into soil.
The worms feel sleep coming on and burrow deeper, warmer. Their heat keeps the planet humming even as cool air portends a slowing.
Spores burst from a deteriorating toadstool. Lacy umbrellas unfurl. The Little People sip warm cider at season’s turning.
Tabitha gaveled in the annual meeting of WG&G (Witches, Ghosts, and Goblins.) “In all the years that I’ve chaired this meeting, there’s never been a time like this.”
Casper Ghost interrupted her. “You always look on the dark side. What about the Salem witchcraft trials? How about Attila the Hun?”
“You think this is better?” Tabitha sniffed. “Anyway, how would you know? You’re on World of Warcraft constantly. You need to be more serious.”
Casper turned pink. “Play calms our fears. Think Halloween. A chance at make believe might distract people from their feuds. Use your words, I say, “Trick or treat.”
“I simply must have those glass slippers.” The Prince was confident they would fit. The dancing lady was nervous.
As the clock struck midnight, as he led her to take a seat and remove the heels, as the spell began to reverse, Cinderella ran. She was oblivious to everything but getting away before her riches turned to rags.
The Prince was dumbfounded. He chased her from the hall, stopping only to retrieve the first fallen pump. When he looked up, a charlady met his gaze.
“Where did she go?”
What he didn’t see was one glinting shoe on her foot.