Fables and fantasy, p.1
Fables and Fantasy, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
FABLES AND FANTASY
First edition. June 24, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 D.L. Gardner.
ISBN: 979-8201505318
Written by D.L. Gardner.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Fables and Fantasy
THE FERRIS WHEEL
SASHA
POURAKA
THE MAGIC PLUM
DYLAN
THE COBBLER’S DAUGHTER
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Further Reading: Ian's Realm Saga
Also By D.L. Gardner
About the Author
Fables and Fantasy
Collected works by D.L. Gardner
I’VE PUT TOGETHER SOME of my urban fantasy stories, and some of my popular short stories for you to read in one volume. These books can be found as separate novels and most of them in paperback editions, along with my other epic fantasy series. Take a look if you like what you see!
I am an award-winning author and screenwriter of fantasy fiction for young and young at heart folks who like a tall tale and an adventure. I have a series titled the Ian's Realm Saga which some Indie filmmakers and I are currently producing for film. There are six books published in the series and I am working on book seven.
I've written ever since I was a youngster and have led an unusual life having grown up in the sixties, lived in the desert for 30 years in a mud hut, raised horses, sheep, goats and chickens, and seven children. Much of my life experience has morphed into other worlds accessed through portal travel
Winner of two Book Excellence Award for my series, Best Urban fantasy at Imaginarium Convention, and a host of screenings and trophies for my historical fiction screenplay Cassandra's Castle and eight International Best Screenplay Awards for my story Dylan.
I believe a story should endure time and be good enough to hand down from one generation to the next.
THE FERRIS WHEEL
A Short Story
By D.L. Gardner
Copyright © 2015 D.L. Gardner
All rights reserved.
RICHIE BARBER WAS ALWAYS riding his bike. He’d ride his bike up and down the sidewalk in front of our house just to tease me ‘cause he knew I didn’t have a bike to ride. He knew I’d be staring out my window, peering through the old lace curtain in my bedroom on the third floor, wishing I was Richie Barber. Ma didn’t have money to buy a bike. Not with the Depression and all but Richie Barber’s folks, they were landowners, had a big daffodil farm, and Richie had everything he wanted.
“Hey Tommie!” he yelled up to me. “The carnival’s in town!”
He wasn’t telling me nothing new. I saw the painted wagons yesterday rumbling down Meeker Street from the train tracks. I saw all the kids chasing after like a bunch of chickens called out for seed. Richie just wanted to make me feel bad cause I can’t afford the carnival rides. I plopped on the bed and pulled my socks up to my breeches and laced my boots.
“Hey Tommie!” he called again trying to wake the whole neighborhood.
I pushed the curtains aside and yanked the window open. “I hear ya. Ain’t nothing I can do about it. Go on and pick on someone your own size.”
“I’m not picking on ya this time. I’m asking ya to go with me.”
“Get out of here!” When has Richie ever asked me anywhere?
“Uncle Dan’s helping set the rides up,” he said. “Got a bunch of us kids some free tickets. Better hurry though ‘cause I’m not waiting on ya.”
He pushed his bike off and started peddling. I flew down the stairs like a colt being chased by a bumblebee, grabbing my hat off the stair railing as I headed out the door.
“Where you scrambling to, Tommie Benson?” My sister called after me.
“Out!” I answered. Bridget didn’t need to know where I was going. What did she care? She had her book and her apple.
“Be back for dinner. Don’t be late.”
What was she, my ma? Ma was working in the factory today and she wouldn’t be home for dinner.
I high-tailed down the street. Richie had just about disappeared I was so far ahead, but I ran as fast as I could. I knew he’d be meeting the boys at Kupfer’s Corner, so if I lost sight of him it didn’t matter that much. The gang always met there. I slowed enough to catch my breath and then started running again.
Sure enough, there they were. Richie, George, and Al standing around looking like small-scale hoodlums, smoking cigarettes. George leaned against a willow tree, his cap pulled down halfway over his eyes. Not my favorite person, George always told everyone what to do. Usually, he told me to go home. They all had bikes.
“Look what’s coming,” Al laughed at me. The other two just snickered.
“Richie invited me,” I said when I got close.
“Yeah. I heard.”
“Let’s go.” George didn’t say nothing to me. He doesn’t talk much except to boss us.
The three walked side by side pushing their bikes, and I trailed behind. They were older than me so trailing was my place. Least that’s what George told me one time. Told me if I didn’t mind my place he was going to take me to the railroad tracks and toss me on an old freight car. Told me I’d never see my ma again. I didn’t know if he was serious, but I played it safe.
We went up to the baseball field and turned right where the parkway changed to dirt. Richie waved to some kids playing catch and they came running. Pretty soon there was a whole bunch of us flocking to the fairgrounds—me still bringing up the caboose.
My heart started jumping out of my rib cage when I saw the Ferris wheel. It towered way over the barn roofs and the roller coasters. I’ve seen Ferris wheels before. Every year, but this one looked bigger, especially since I was going to get to ride on it.
“We gots to meet Uncle Dan around back,” Richie told us, and we all started running, kicking up dirt and dust. I coughed a couple of times and stumbled once ‘cause there were rocks all over the road.
Richie’s uncle was there, guess he’d been expecting us, and I heard him mumble something about too many kids. He started shaking his head as Richie and them filed by. He held his hand up when me and another kid got to the gate.
“There aren’t enough tickets for every one of you,” he said. Richie and the others were laughing as they dropped their bikes in a pile and ran on into the carnival. I could smell food frying. My stomach gurgled and, boy, I could almost taste the hot dogs. I heard the Carnies barking at George to toss a bean bag into a basket, but he kept on running toward the Ferris wheel. I would have tried my luck if I had a penny. Richie’s uncle kept us back.
“Please Mr. Barber. We just want to watch the show,” the kid next to me begged. He chewed on a piece of grass and looked all nonchalant. I was too awed at all the sites to talk. I’ve never been to a carnival before, just seen them from on top of the hill every year on Sundays while I was walking home from church.
“Well, if that’s all you want to do I guess there’s no harm in letting you in. Just I don’t have any more tickets for the rides.”
He lowered his arm and let us through, slapping me on my back a little rough as I walked by.
“What’s your name?” I asked the kid with the blade of grass in his mouth.
“Frankie. You’re Tommie, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?” Didn’t recollect how Frankie would know me.
“The boys talk about you all the time,” he said. He pulled a can of snuff from his pocket, opened it, and pinched off a wad. When he offered me some, I was going to say no because I’d never done chewing tobacco before, but what the heck. I took a nip, stuffed the shreds into my mouth and started chewing. He laughed.
“Don’t eat the stuff,” he said. “No wonder everyone laughs at you. Put it under your tongue. Like this.” He opened his mouth to show me. I about gagged it looked so gross.
By that time, the tobacco burned my mouth, so I spat everything on the ground. Couldn’t get rid of the taste. He took my arm and pulled me to a refreshment stand. The greasy smell of frying food hit my nostrils and I perked up some. He laid a nickel on the counter.
“Get my friend here a coke.” Then he laid another one down. “Me too.”
“You got money?” I asked.
“Sure, I got money,” he said. “You ain’t nobody without money in this world.”
“How old are you?” I asked ‘cause he acted older than Richie and maybe even George who was fourteen. I wondered why he wasn’t at the front of the line with them to get those tickets.
“I’m twelve,” he said.
“Same as me,” I said. “So, where’d you get your money?”
“Grandpa hires me at the stables. I can get you a job too.”
“That sounds good. I could use money. Maybe then the gang wouldn’t pick on me.”
He laughed. “The gang’s always gonna pick on you. You’re Tommie.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but I wasn’t going to argue with Frankie. Not after him being nice to me by buying a coke.
I swished the cold, fizzy liquid around in my mouth to cool the burning, and then swallowed. After that I drank the rest of the coke in the bottle in one gulp. Frankie’s was already gone. He set his bottle on the ground and I put mine next to his. They looked like buddies, the two coke bottles propped up together. Made me think I had a pal now.
Frankie headed for a big red and white ten
“We really just going to watch the show?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the Ferris wheel. I had to lean back to see the top cause we were directly under it. Richie and George and Al were getting into one of the seats.
“Yeah. Why?” Frankie asked.
“Just wondering.” I didn’t want to seem greedy, asking if he’d buy me a ride so I didn’t say nothing.
“You want to ride that thing?” he asked as if he read my mind.
“Nah,” I lied.
“Ever been on one?”
“Nope,” I said.
“I don’t have enough money for two,” he told me. So, there was the answer.
We dodged into the tent and immediately I felt a hundred degrees hotter. And damp. Frankie pulled up a chair in the front row and I took a seat next to him. There was a crazy man standing on the stage. He wore a top hat like the kind grandpa had, and a black cape wrapped around his shoulders. There were black marks around his eyes and his brows were thick. I thought they were fake they were so hairy. He looked like Dracula. He stared out at the audience which was just me and Frankie and a couple of adults in the back row with their little kid. A girl with a big balloon sat in the back too. I think the man was waiting for more people, but no one else came in. We could hear screams from the rides outside.
He grumbled something fierce and then opened his cape just as an organ started playing a creepy song.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said. I looked at Frankie wondering if we were supposed to be the gentlemen he was talking to.
“You are about to embark on an adventure to the mystical marvel of Monsieur de Moovalle’s Magical Extravaganza!”
He shut his cape closed as he talked and then quick swung it open again and a flock of winged critters flew out of him. I near jumped off my seat and my mouth dropped open. I have never seen a man give birth to a bunch of pigeons like that before. I didn’t even hear the Ferris wheel riders after that.
I watched him perform magic for near half an hour, pulling scarves from his sleeves, tossing rings in the air and they started burning up, and he even put a lady in a box and cut her in half. Only she smiled the whole time. When he was done, she jumped up. Not a scar on her.
The organ stopped playing and Mr. Moovalle walked across the stage glaring out over the seats. I looked over my shoulder and, glory be, the whole tent was filled up with people chewing gum and eating cotton candy and staring back at him.
“I need someone–a daring soul, from the audience to come be my assistant,” he said, pointing at all of us. My heart pounded in my chest because I thought it’d be fun to be his assistant, but I was scared to death he might cut me in half or something. I held my breath, but Frankie jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow.
“Get up there.”
“Me?” I said it too loud and the next thing I know, Mr. Moovalle pointed at me. “Yes, just the young man I need. Come up here son!”
I never heard anyone call me son ever that I can remember. My dad ran out on my mom long ago and mom just called me sugar plum and mushy names like that. The blood drained out of me, and I grew cold. Frankie jabbed me in the ribs again and when I stood up, he pushed me toward the stage while Mr. Moovalle took my arm and helped me up the steps.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I almost forgot. Everyone stared at me eating their popcorn and all. “Tommie,” I whispered.
“Tommie! I want you to do something for me, Tommie.”
I was just getting my senses back when I saw Richie and them take seats in the back row. They started whispering and laughing and I knew they were making fun of me again. I think I looked at them too long, because Mr. Moovalle glanced that way too and then he looked long and hard at me as if I were a squished stinkbug.
“Yes, sir.” I said.
“I want you to hold this hat of mine.”
He took that big old top hat off and I held it with two hands. It smelled greasy like the pomade my granddad used to wear. Dapper Dan is what it smelled like. I held back a sneeze so as not to embarrass myself, but it wasn’t easy.
“Now, hold it steady. Don’t drop it no matter what happens, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” I got scared cause I knew if I wasn’t supposed to drop it I probably would. That’s the way things work with me.
Mr. Moovalle pulled a long black scarf from out of his pocket, held it up for the audience to see, and then stuffed it into the hat.
“Got it?” he asked.
“You go Tommie!” someone called out from the back row where the gang was. I looked and the whole row of them were making faces, waving, and carrying on. I think they were trying to make me drop the hat.
“You know those boys?” he asked me quietly.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to know them at the moment. I just shrugged. Mr. Moovalle grunted.
Frankie still sat quietly in the front with his hands crossed over his chest pretending nothing of interest was going on.
Mr. Moovalle then took a white kerchief from his other pocket and laid it neatly over the black scarf. “Hold it tight,” he whispered to me, wiggling those black hairy eyebrows. He put his back to the audience, looked up at the top of the tent and shouted some magic words that scared the bejeebers out of me. The hat suddenly got heavy and started wiggling. I swallowed. My throat got dry and everything in my gut wanted to drop Mr. Moovalle’s top hat and then run.
“Hang on!” he whispered to me again, his dark eyes scowled, and I could see he was a real man under all that make up.
I swallowed and nodded. He spun back around, did a fancy dance with his cape, and stepped aside, pulling the white scarf out of the hat all in a split second. There in the hat was one big white rabbit that I was holding. The thing must have weighed a ton and it was thumping its back legs something crazy. I was glad Mr. Moovalle had it by its neck or it would have been hopping off the stage.
Everyone clapped. Mr. Moovalle bowed low. He handed the rabbit to the lady he cut in half who was still walking around, and the organ started up. Everyone in the audience got out of their seats and made for the aisles, heading back to the carnival. Richie and George and the other guys left too, and I saw Frankie follow them. I stood there like a doodoo bird not knowing if I was coming or going.
When the tent was empty, Mr. Moovalle took me by the arm again and led me to a chair.
“Tommie, thank you for being brave and coming up on stage with me,” he said. He still looked scary, but his voice had changed. He pulled those hairy eyebrows off and smiled at me.
“Wasn’t nothing,” I said even though I’d been scared out of my gourd.
“You were brave standing up in front of those boys.”
I didn’t think it was brave, because I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice. But I didn’t tell Mr. Moovalle that.
“I always pay my help.” He took his white gloves off and reached in his pocket. “It’s not much. I don’t make a lot of money doing these tricks, but maybe you’d like a hotdog, and a ride or two in the carnival?”
“Wow!” was all I could say when I saw the tickets. “Wow!”
“You earned this. Thank you.”
“Yes sir, and if you ever need me to hold the hat for you again, I’ll be here every day just to do that. Just give me a holler.”
“I’ll do that!” He laughed and patted me on the back when he stood. He had a kindly grin. “Have fun,” he told me.
I shot out of that tent like a bullet from a .45 and headed straight for the Ferris wheel.
You can bet your bottom dollar I rode it twice!
SASHA
COPYRIGHT © 2015 D.L. Gardner
All rights reserved.
This was written as a prologue to the mermaid book Pouraka, which is also in this volume. Enjoy!
Yesterday was Sasha’s birthday and she was a big girl now. Not as big as her sister, but old enough to paint her toes. She dug her freshly polished nails into the crunchy sand, wiggling her feet deeper until they disappeared under the white granules. Thick strands of kelp inched its way on up the beach, nudged by the foamy breakers. Sand fleas hovered over them, a buzzing aura waiting for the tide to ebb so they might crawl in and out of the hollow bulbs of seaweed on the beach.
