Phone Calls and Dwarfs – A Snow White Inspired Short Story
Phone Calls and Dwarfs was my first fairy tale inspired short story. It if funny to read it now and see how much technology has changed since 2007. It was inspired by Walt Disney’s film version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. (1937)
“Hello,” she answered her phone for the third time since I sat down. “I told you not to call me anymore.”
I didn’t hear the phone ring once.
Happy, a petite woman in her thirties, moved into my neighborhood two weeks before. Since I had a day off from work, I finally had a chance to walk over and say hello. She introduced herself and welcomed me into her home. I didn’t know what to think after witnessing her bizarre behavior.
The first time it happened, I thought maybe she was deaf and had some special code, like a blinking light or something connected to the phone, so when it rang it gave her some sort of noiseless communication. But the second time she answered, she had seemed to be listening attentively to me. She’d been staring me straight in the eyes when right in the middle of my sentence she said, “Oh, just a minute,” and picked up the phone. That conversation had carried on just about the same way this third call was going.
So, after the second time, I knew something was just not right with this Happy person. I told her I left something on the stove and had to get back home—if she could have imaginary calls, I could have pretend food cooking. However, before I made it to the door, she excused herself, this third time, to answer the phone.
“I have someone—” she stopped mid-sentence and hung up. She looked at me, but I recognized it as one of those blank, straight through a person stares. And then suddenly she smiled and said, “Would you like something to drink?”
I used my stove excuse again and made my exit.
My husband was out of town on business and my children were at school, therefore I had the day to myself. I went to the kitchen and thought about mopping the floor but made myself a pot of coffee instead. Before I had a chance to pour myself a cup, my doorbell rang.
“Mrs. Roberts?” A tall, gorgeous policeman stood at my door—and me with no make-up. Behind him stood a shorter officer who looked aggravated.
“Yes, is something wrong?” I gave my best smile to the handsome policeman and tried not to look at the unpleasant one.
“Do you know a Hillary Glass?” he said, not returning my smile.
“No, sir.”
“Are you sure ma’am? She lives right across the street.” He turned and pointed to Happy’s house.”
“Oh … Happy. I just met her a few minutes ago.”
The policeman frowned at me and then turned to glance at his partner. “Happy?” he said, after he turned back to me.
“Yes, I guess that’s her nickname.”
His left eyebrow made a high arch. “But I thought you said you didn’t know her. Now you’re telling us you know her by her nickname.”
“Yes, I mean, I didn’t know her real name until you just told me. I met her this morning and she introduced herself as Happy.”
They both just glared at me, their mouths slightly open.
“What is the problem?” I asked. “Did something happen?”
“We received a complaint today. Mrs. Glass has been receiving threatening calls and has named you as the perpetrator.”
“What? Me? No, there’s a mistake. Happy, I mean, Mrs. Glass is a little, you know, not quite there. She received three so-called phone calls.”
“She received the prank calls while you were there?”
“No,” I said. “She didn’t receive any calls.”
The handsome policeman stared at me. The unpleasant policeman looked up at the clouds.
Handsome spoke slowly, “You said she received three phone calls.”
I said, “She picked up the receiver on the phone three times and carried on a conversation, but the phone didn’t ring.”
“So she made three calls while you were there.”
“No, please listen to what I’m telling you,” I said, becoming quite upset. “Happy picked up the phone like it rang, but it didn’t, but she talked like it did. It was very weird.”
“Yes, Mrs. Roberts, it sounds really weird. All I know is that she said she has been receiving threatening calls and has named you as the one making those calls.” He exhaled. “Just treat this as a warning. Any more calls and we’ll be back … understand?”
“I don’t even have her phone number. She probably doesn’t even have her phone connected.”
“She’s putting caller ID on her phone today. If you call again, your number will be recorded, and she has the right to press charges.”
“She can put whatever she wants on her phone. I didn’t make those calls, and I will never call that lady.”
“Have a nice day,” the not-so-handsome-anymore policeman said.
After they left, I went back to the kitchen and poured myself the cup of coffee. What was that woman’s problem? Certainly not a problem I wanted any part of. I decided a nice shopping trip would get my mind off the morning.
Make-up and hair done in less than thirty minutes, I opened the front door, and there stood Happy Glass. I stared at her crossly, but her focus was inside my house. I wanted to shout at her. I even had an urge to punch her in the mouth. But I held my tongue, and my fist, and waited for her to speak.
Finally, she said, “Where are you going?” A smiled covered her face.
I could feel my face rising to an abnormally high temperature. I bit my upper lip, and then I bluntly said, “Out.” I practically had to push my way outside. I took my keys from my purse and locked the door, trying it three times, just to make sure.
“Oh,” she said, “I was hoping we could do lunch. I made a couple of sandwiches, and I have a fresh pitcher of iced tea. We can sit outside on my patio, so the phone won’t disturb us.”
“What? Are you …?” No, I wasn’t going to say the word, because obviously she was. Okay, she called the police on me. I wanted answers. “Why did you tell the cops I prank called your house?”
“Is that why the police were over here earlier?”
“Yes,” I said through my teeth. “They told me, you told them, I called your house and threatened you. Why would you say that?”
“Oh no,” she said and put her hand to her mouth in dismay. “They must have misunderstood. I told them you were there when I received the calls. I’m so sorry. Let me call them right now so I can explain the misunderstanding. Can I use your phone?”
“I’m leaving. Why don’t you use your phone at your house?”
She sniffled air as her bottom lip pouted out. “I really didn’t want to go back by myself. I’m afraid the phone will ring again … and please … I’m really spooked.
I felt myself soften to her pitiful eyes. I did want the whole mess cleared up. “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “I’ll make us lunch and that way you don’t have to be alone. Okay?”
“You are very kind,” Happy said. “Thank you.”
I unlocked the door and walked in. Happy followed and said something about how wonderful I had decorated the house. When she asked where I kept my phone, I directed her to the one on the table next to the couch. I heard her ask for Officer Brenter, and then I walked into the kitchen.
After making tuna salad, I went back to the living room to tell Happy to come eat. She was gone, and the front door was wide open. I walked outside just in time to see Happy open the door to her house and go inside. Okay, that was strange. But fine, I didn’t want to have lunch with her anyway.
I decided to go on out for the day and treat myself to lunch. I put the tuna in the trash and grabbed my purse. I couldn’t wait to tell Frank, my husband, all about this when he arrived home. Yes, later this would become a grand story to tell all my friends. The next time they come over, we can stand outside and stare and point at the weird neighbor’s house.
Lunch out by myself is never one of my favorite things. I never know where to focus my eyes. I didn’t want people to think I was gawking at them, and I didn’t want to look lonely, so I picked up a newspaper on the way to the restaurant. As I read the paper and waited for my order of tuna salad, one article caught my attention, “Bashful strikes again!” The story told about a bank robber who would request the money in a shy manner. This made me think of my neighbor, and I laughed to myself. The seven dwarfs—Happy and Bashful made two of them.
It began to shower as I left the restaurant, but the darkness of the sky and the distant thunder divulged a more sinister storm to come. I decided to skip the shopping trip and head home to take a nice long nap. Sleeping in the middle of an afternoon thunderstorm is magnificent.
As I made the turn down my street, I saw rain-blurred blue and red lights. In front of my house were two patrol cars and in front of Happy’s house was an ambulance. My heart began to pound when I thought about my kids. I was relieved when I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only 1:00 PM.
As I pulled up to my usual spot on the side of the road, four policemen immediately surrounded my car. “Get out with your hands up!”
What? I squinted and tried to see out the window. The rain came down in a nasty hurry, but I could still see that the officers actually had their guns pointed at me.
I stepped out into the rain with my hands up. Before I had time to ask questions, the cops had me facing my car, handcuffing me and reading me my rights. My children came to mind again, and I told them I needed to make a call. One of them laughed and said I had made enough calls.
Soaking and freezing I sat in the back of the patrol car with my hands cuffed behind me. I asked what I had done. That’s when I noticed I was with the handsome policeman and his partner.
“As I told you ma’am,” Handsome said from the passenger side, “your neighbor has caller ID. She recorded your phone number today.”
“What? How did she record my number? I didn’t call her.” And then it dawned on me. “Wait a minute. When she came over today, she didn’t make that call to the police … she must have called her own house.”
“Is that when you slit her throat?” he growled.
Despite my wet clothes, I began to get extremely warm. The entire day began to jumble up in my spinning head. I closed my eyes trying to rid my double vision and the feeling of nausea.
“Ma’am. Ma’am.” Someone gently tapped me on my forehead. When I opened my eyes, I saw Handsome’s annoyed face. I was still in the police car but lying down on the seat. He helped me sit up. Both of my arms were still asleep behind me.
“You passed out,” he said, but rolled his eyes. “Do you think you can walk into the station or do we need to get a wheelchair?”
“I can walk,” I said.
The rain had stopped, and the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds. When I stepped out of the patrol car, my clothes clung to me like plastic wrap, but because my hands were cuffed behind me, I had no way of wringing them out or peeling them from my body. My hair, which had been in a neat little bun, was now undone and plastered to my head.
As we walked into the building, the two men were arguing about something and Handsome told his partner to stop being so grumpy. I began to giggle. Dwarf number three. The police officers looked at me oddly but didn’t question my untimely laughter.
I spotted a clock above the front desk and switched gears as I remembered my children. “I need to call my mother. My kids are getting off the bus in ten minutes and no one will be home to let them in.”
“No calls until you answer some questions,” Handsome replied.
“Oh, come on,” said his partner. “I’ve got kids of my own. Look lady, if you give me the number, I’ll call for you.”
I gave him my mother’s number, and he went and sat behind a cluttered desk. Handsome led me to another desk and told me sit down. Finally, he took the handcuffs off me.
I rubbed my wrist and felt like crying. I had actually been arrested. But then a policewoman in the corner of the busy room began to sneeze. She must have sneezed ten times. Handsome glared at me, his expression unnerving enough to yield a confession from the most hardened criminal.
“Something funny?” he asked.
“Dwarf number four,” I said, but I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“Excuse me?” He sat behind the desk violently shaking a pencil. He did not look amused.
I snapped back to reality and ask him what exactly I was being charged with.
“Murder, Mrs. Roberts, murder.”
“She’s dead?” I asked. I knew I hadn’t killed her, but the way he glared at me, I knew that was exactly what he thought. I needed help. My husband? No. A lawyer. I had a right to an attorney. “I would like to call my lawyer,” I managed to whisper.
“You would just like to call everybody, wouldn’t you? You’ll have time to call later. Right now, I need some information.”
I answered a few personal questions, was fingerprinted, and had my picture taken. Handsome led me to a room with a large conference table. He told me to sit down and then sat beside me.
A couple of minutes later, another uniformed man entered the room. “Where is Sergeant White?” Handsome asked the man.
“He said he would be here in two shakes,” the big man said. He yawned and stretched out his arms. Something was definitely wrong with me. I was being charged for murder, and here I was thinking dwarf number five.
Two shakes later, Sergeant White came barreling through the door, but he was not alone. Happy Glass, wearing a bandage around her neck, walked in behind him. My mouth dropped open and my head began to swoon again.
“What is my neighbor doing here?” Happy asked and seemed genuinely surprised.
“There’s been a mistake,” Sergeant White said. “Seems you have the wrong person.” He spoke to Handsome.
Handsome stood up and put his hands on his hips. “No, I don’t. Her number was on the ID.”
Sergeant Woodsman said, “Mrs. Roberts has been telling you the truth. Mrs. Glass told you Mrs. Roberts was at her house when she received the threatening phone calls. And Mrs. Glass did call her own house from Mrs. Roberts’ house.”
“That’s right,” Happy said. “I called your partner, Officer Brenter. He wasn’t in, so I left a message. I then called my house to check the machine. My ex had left a message saying he was sorry and wanted to make it up to me. Yeah, he made it up to me all right.”
“I thought you were dead,” I said to Happy and then looked at Handsome. What a cruel game he had played with me. He didn’t look remorseful.
“Tony, my ex-husband just wanted to scare me,” Happy said. “The doc says I was darn lucky that it was only a superficial cut.”
An uncontrolled deep giggle fought its way to the surface. “Doc,” I screamed and laughed at the same time. “Dwarf number six.”
No one made a move or sound, they just stared at me until I calmed down. And then I said, “When I came over to your house this morning, the phone, you answered the phone … but it didn’t ring.”
“Oh,” she said and smiled. “That phone in the front room doesn’t ring. I can hear the one in my bedroom. It’s a low sound, but I’m used to listening for it.”
***
Sitting here in my psychiatrist’s office, waiting for my turn, it occurs to me that I never found dwarf number seven. And then I realize … it’s me.
The End
Phone Calls and Dwarfs was my first fairy tale inspired short story. It if funny to read it now and see how much technology has changed since 2007. It was inspired by Walt Disney’s film version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. (1937)
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A Big Toe of a Stepsister has been added to the Potion
Hi Friends,
Episode 26 (A Big Toe of a Stepsister) of my series Potion: a witchy fairy tale reimagined is now live on Amazon’s kindle Vella. Hold onto your broomstick because all the setup is about to payoff. This episode starts the beginning of lots of upcoming reveals. I really hope you have enjoyed the story so far, and I appreciate the thumbs up and the crowns so much – they let me know you are with me and cheering on the story.
#WitchesBeBitches
#HocusPocusMeetsMeanGirls
If you haven’t had a chance to start the story, click on this link to see what’s brewing: Potion
Episodes 1-3 are free and if you are a new kindle Vella reader, you get 200 Free tokens to get you started. My episodes cost between 6 and 19 tokens each for episodes 4-26, and there is no obligation – you pay as you go. You can stop reading any of the Kindle Vella stories whenever.
Love, Laughter, and Fairy Tales ,
Dorlana 🙂
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Ghosts + Fairy Tale = Muse (Flash Fiction Thriller)
Muse
by Dorlana Vann
Since Jackson couldn’t channel his frustration onto the blank page, he used his fist to pound it into the desk. “Ahhh,” he cried, swooshing his fountain pen and several loose pieces of writing-paper to the floor.
His caged birds squawked with excitement from the sudden movement.
Jackson stood up, his breaths labored and lonely. “I’m sorry ladies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
He draped a stack of dark sheets over his arm. “Are you ready for your beauty sleep, my Echo?” He covered her and moved on to Valley, giving her several sweet kisses. Continuing his ritual, he covered all twenty birds, leaving Isis as his last goodnight. The two-foot Scarlet Macaw blinked her yellow eyes at him.
“Sleep well, Love.”
He ran his fingers through his slick hair, noticing how dark and stale the room had become. He opened the window, lit a lantern, and picked up the paper and his pen. He thought about writing another letter but knew they were only stall tactics. “I’m a novel writer,” he tried to reassure himself. “Now write something novel!”
But he didn’t know what else to do. He had moved to one of the most crime-ridden areas of London to conduct his research. When observations had stopped inspiring his writing, he had taken his study to the next level. The firsthand accounts had given him dozens of pages: a feel for the weapon in his hands; the reaction on the faces of the women when they knew they were going to die; and the color and temperature of the blood. After each attack, he had sped home and written feverishly. But soon the words stopped, died on the page.
“Why am I still blank?” he said in a sob. “Why?”
Isis began to squawk.
“Shush,” he said off-handedly. “I’m having a difficult enough time as it is.”
“Let me out.”
Jackson turned his head slowly toward the covered cage. He listened. Sure, Isis could talk: “Pretty lady.” “I love you.” But never “Let me out.”
She said it again.
Jackson scooted his chair back and stood abruptly. “Was that you, Isis? Did you learn something new?”
“Open the cage, Jackson. Let me out.”
Jackson shook his head. Obviously, because he was exhausted and tense, he was hearing things. That was all it was. Still, he walked to the cage.
Swiftly, he uncovered Isis.
She sat on her perch, head down, asleep.
“Isis?” he whispered. “Was that you?”
Jackson’s heart thumped when he heard rustling coming from the other cages; the sheet coverings were moving.
Remembering that he had just opened the window, he laughed nervously and walked back over to it. He stared out into the still evening, deciding to take a stroll to clear his head.
When he turned around, Jackson gasped and backed up against the window—arms stretched out and palms wide—trying to keep the walls from closing in on him. All the cages were uncovered, and the doors were open.
It was like morning: birds were inside and outside their cages bouncing, stretching out their wings, walking, and singing. Isis’ eyes were open now, but she still sat on her perch.
Jackson peeled himself away from the window and cautiously moved toward her. “Love?”
“Come closer, Jackson.”
He felt terrifyingly wonderful. Sweat gathered on his brow and above his lips. “Isis? Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
He tried to steady his sudden continuous blinking; he shut his eyes hard and then reopened them. “Why now? Why not before? I have told you my most intimate secrets and feelings and you never spoke an intelligent word.”
“The time was not right. I am here when you need me most. Let me be your inspiration.”
“Oh, Isis! How I do so need someone to talk to. I have many troubles. Thank you for sharing your wisdom with me now.” He put his arm in her cage, enduring the sharp claws he usually protectively wrapped his arm against. He stroked her red feathers. “My beautiful, Isis, what words do you have for me? Do you know what I must do to finish my story?”
“I do.”
“Tell me.”
“You have watched, but you have never felt. In order to achieve realism and depth, you will need to experience the pain for yourself.”
“Yes, yes! I see. I see what you mean. But how? How can I achieve this insight?”
“I will be near whilst you sink the edge of your knife into your skin. Not too deep my dear, just enough to feel a twinge.”
“Marvel upon marvel, you are my muse!” He set Isis on the back of his chair and ran to his bedside table and pulled out his knife. Its long thick blade was still stained from his latest research project. “Where? Where shall I feel it?” He sat on the edge of the bed.
Isis moved her head to and fro with tiny jerks. “The same as you wrote. The same as you gave.”
The coldness of the blade against his neck caused his heart to quicken with excitement. “Just this fills my head with ideas, with words.” He sucked in his breath and pressed a little harder, the sting bringing quiet tears to his eyes. “How absolutely stimulating.”
He heard them before he saw them, but only by a second. All his beauties came at him, Isis in the mix, their feathers, and beaks, and claws causing his hand to yank deeply inward and then slide to the side. Falling backward, Jackson still imagined how his ghastly and perfect pain would translate onto paper.
As the feathers settled and the squawks calmed to a low murmur, Jackson’s last breath was accompanied by his last vision: five female ghostly figures swayed above him. And then he heard the words, “Jack the Ripper, our story ends in revenge,” as his eyes closed.
The End
Muse was inspired by Prince Ariel from, “The Fairy Tales of Madame D’Aulnoy” France: 1697 – It is one of the short stories from my collection: Supernatural Fairy Tales – Which is Free using Amazon KindleUnlimited
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Half of the ingredients have been added to the Potion.
Hi friends,
My serialized story, POTION: a witchy fairy tale reimagined, is now at the halfway point. My girls (Marilyn, Snow white, and Wonder Woman) helped me with the final edits of Episode 25: Two ounces of Five-Day Old Confusion Powder, which is now live.
I plan on publishing 25 more episodes over the next couple (or few) months. Hold on to your broomsticks for some tasty reveals coming up. There will be surprises right up to The End. Or will it be the end…?
Click here to start reading Episode 1: Eight Springs of Time
BTW – Episodes 1-3 are free. So no obligation.
Potion: A witchy fairy tale reimagined by Dorlana Vann
Witches Be Bitches – Lucas and Melrose survived their not-so-fairy-tale childhood and are now trying to live a normal life. But the teens’ dark past is summoned after three new girls arrive at their high school with a wicked agenda. Soon the siblings are lured back into the world of magic where evil witches can distort reality. They must uncover the deception before all the ingredients for a deadly potion are gathered. Or this time, there may be no escape.
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One Golden Slipper has been added to the Potion
Hi Friends,
I now have 23 episodes of Potion ready to read. The latest one, One Golden Slipper. Here is what the story is all about:
A witchy fairy tale reimagined – Lucas and Melrose survived their not-so-fairy-tale childhood and are now trying to live a normal life. But the teens’ dark past is summoned after three new girls arrive at their high school with a wicked agenda. Soon the siblings are lured back into the world of magic where evil witches can distort reality. They must uncover the deception before all the ingredients for a deadly potion are gathered. Or this time, there may be no escape.
Below is a snippet of episode 1: Eight Sprigs of Time. Each episode has something to do with the title (potion ingredient). So it was a fun challenge choosing the best fit for each episode. Hopefully, as you read the story, you’ll be able to see the relationship.
The first 3 episodes are Free and all of them are pretty short and fast. (Episode 23 is 700 words) All you need is an Amazon account and your can read right on your phone or desktop.
Click here to read episode one now
Love, Laughter, and fairy tales,
Dorlana
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Short Story inspired by Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland.
Nora ran, dodging trees and paying no mind to the twigs that scraped her bare arms and legs from shoulder to thigh. Once in a while, the high afternoon sun shone through the density of the woods, and she knew she had better hurry.
When she reached the beach, she admired all her sisters who had gathered for the festivities. The continuous breeze carried the ocean’s scent as it waved through her long, bright hair. She felt powerful and had no doubt that she would be the victor.
“Gather around,” said Mother Mabel. Even without her ceremonial robes she stood with confidence, stripped down to her breast and bottom coverings. She was the oldest and wisest in their community, beautiful and flawless. “It’s time for the first race.”
Considering her competition’s bronzed, muscular legs and stomach, Nora found her to be an equal opponent. She couldn’t recall her name, only that they had known each other for a very long time. Nora smiled, and the woman smiled back, but with more self-assuredness—like it was clear she’d leave Nora in the dust.
“Go!” shouted Mother Mabel.
Nora took off. Her legs were strong and her mind clear. She wanted to win, although she didn’t want the race to end. Her sisters raised their red-ribbon-tied spears and cheered. The further Nora ran, the thicker the sand gathered on her feet, but it didn’t stop her from crossing the finish line first. She took small, effortless breaths as she glanced behind her, but her opponent wasn’t there.
Where did she go? What did she look like? She wondered this as her sisters picked her up on their shoulders and paraded her around.
The moon, blazing orange, seemed to take the sun’s place in an instant. Everyone had gathered for the feast, eager and hungry for it to begin. The fire felt hot against Nora’s face and hands. She wasn’t hungry, but she couldn’t wait for the food. A bird with antlers flew down beside her and pecked the ground and then flew away again.
She watched as a wolf walked out of the forest. He stopped and then began to spin, around and around, in circles. No one else seemed to notice him until he sat down beside the fire. He was hungry. Mother Mabel threw him a crumb and told him to leave. He growled out of the side of his mouth but ran back into the woods.
“Nora,” Mother Mabel said, the fire’s light dancing on her face. “If you feed a wolf, it will leave.” She took a puff from her brass pipe and passed it to the sister sitting next to her.
A storm started brewing, and the wind blew sand over the fire. All was black, except for the light of the pipe, and it seemed to float to Nora. She took it in her hands but hesitated until she heard Mother Mabel say, “I will come with you on your journey. I will always be with you.”
Nora put her lips to the cold pipe and inhaled, feeling the sweet smoke invade her mouth and then her lungs, heavily gratifying.
When awoken by a sudden light and an uneasy rustling, she couldn’t recall ever going to sleep. She was afraid to look, but curiosity forced her eyes to fly open. Where am I? Like lyrics to a forgotten song, but without the sweet melody, she vaguely recognized the room. She couldn’t breathe; the four white walls were stifling. Other people were there, but she didn’t know them.
What did Mother Mabel say to me? “Something about a journey,” Nora whispered.
“Nora? Nora?” asked a lady with silver, stringy hair, wrinkles, and sunken cheeks. “Can you see me? Can you hear me?”
Nora nodded.
The old lady sucked in her breath and put her hand over her mouth. “It’s me … Mabel. Mabel.”
Nora shook her head because the woman didn’t look like Mother Mabel. But there was a resemblance. A similarity. The green eyes, the way she opened her mouth when she smiled. I will come with you on your journey. “But why do you look so old?”
The lady laughed. “Why indeed.”
“What kind of journey is this?” Nora whispered. She tried to stand, but her legs held no strength, and she fell to the hard, cold floor.
“Oh no, are you hurt?” Mabel said, trying to help her, but Nora refused, thinking she didn’t need help.
Nora sat on the floor, legs in front of her, staring at unkempt yellowing toenails that stuck out of dirty, pink slippers. She pulled up the gown she wore, revealing pale, thin legs. “What happened to me? Why am I here?”
“I’m so glad you can talk.” It took her a couple of seconds, but Mabel got down on the floor and sat cross-legged like a little girl. “You are talking, aren’t you?”
“Is there a reason? Is this a lesson? Does this have to do with the wolf?”
Mabel’s eyes widened and in a raspy whisper she said, “Wolf? What wolf?”
“It was by the fire, and you told me to feed it.”
Mabel inhaled, and her hands jittered about wildly. “Right. I told you about the wolf. You did hear me. You could hear me the whole time. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“About what?” Nora asked.
“Right.” Mabel bit her nails.
“Oh, Miss Nora,” a man wearing white from head to toe stood over them. “Am I in trouble!” Without asking, he helped her up and back into her seat. “Here.” He handed her a small container. “I got distracted on my rounds and plum missed you. Woo wee, we wouldn’t want this to get out.”
“No,” Mabel said struggling to untangle her legs. “No, she can’t have those.”
“Miss Mabel, causing trouble again, I see. You know what happened last time Miss Nora was off her meds for too long. She bit you. Remember?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
The man held his hand out, now helping Mabel stand up.
“See,” Mabel said as she stood. “I’m fine. Don’t you see? Nora told me about the wolf. She heard my stories …”
He looked back at Nora and nodded. “Take them, Miss Nora, and you’ll feel a lot better. You’ll go right back to la la land.”
Mabel wiped her eyes. “But the fairy tales, she remembers. And I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
Nora looked at the two little pills in the bottom of the small clear cup.
“No, Nora,” Mabel pleaded. “Stay with me. Stay with me, please.”
Nora couldn’t see the value of her journey. She didn’t know why she had come to the colorless place where she had to be so weak and helpless and where her thoughts were foggy. “If you feed a wolf, it will leave.” As she looked down at the little white pills, the message the real Mother Mabel had given her became clear. In this strange place, she was the wolf. If she wanted to go back to be with her sisters and never leave the beach, she would have to feed the wolf the little white pills.
The End
If you Feed a Wolf, inspired by Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll, United Kingdom: 1865, is one of the short stories from my collection: supernatural fairy tales. Available here!
Love, Laughter, and Fairy tales,
Dorlana
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Elemental Witches Inspired Poem
This poem was included in my original manuscript for Potion. However, since I decided to serialized my story on Amazon’s Kindle Vella, it got cut. In the manuscript the poem didn’t need a title but I feel like I do now. But I haven’t been able to come up with a title I like. Since it was inspired by elemental witches, I thought about naming it that, however, taking out of context, it doesn’t really work. I also thought about Elements or I Am but those seemed boring. I also thought abut using a line from the poem, but none described the entire poem. Now that I’m relooking at it, maybe Same as You Breathe? Hmmm. What do you think about that. Or any other suggestions?
Love, Laughter, and Fairy Tales,
Dorlana
Water will soar through my veins until I die.
Raindrops my solace and thunderstorms my light.
Born without wings but with the desire to fly.
Breezes kiss my dewy eyes saying good night.
Dirty fingers I adore, indoors I cry.
My heart is like foliage, lush and green and bright.
The same as you breathe, fire lives inside of me.
Embers, my soul, burn for eternity.
20 Episodes of Potion have been uploaded to my serialized Kindle Vella Story, read the first three for free!
Dorlana Vann - Author 