Tales after Dusk 01

Introduction of sorts:

It always surprises me when a classic fairy tale is remade--each time there are claims of it being something new but each time I am disappointed as it follows the same script: damsel in distress is saved by a handsome man. These cliche stories have been stripped of their darkness and what we now watch as the animated classics pale in comparison to the brutal reality of the originals.

So, in a fashion true to myself, I chose my favorites to rewrite, taking the key factor and turning it on its head--instead of a helpless dame, it is a man and instead of a handsome Prince it is a savvy and cunning woman who rescues him. I had a lot of fun writing these, taking some of the darker bits from the originals and pieces of the retold tales to add to my own quilt work. Some might include sexual encounters, some might hint at it. I feel that these tales progressed too quickly to add my preferred in depth character development, but as each one was meant to be a 'short' story you will get to read it in its entirety under each title. Hope you enjoy.

AD

*****

CINDERFELLA

The wind softly whips through the tall, browning grass, making its way from the forest up and over the hill and to the distant wheat fields beyond. At the very top of the hill remain several ancient oak trees, towering over the land, branches reluctantly releasing their brown leaves into the wind. Lying next to them are the remains of their fallen comrades, knocked over from the brutal storm weeks previous. A young man stands with his eyes closed, cooling his half naked body in the breeze. His thick, curly, shoulder length brown hair is matted with sweat and sawdust. As he raises his arms above his head, stretching his stiff shoulders while griping his ax, his sun stained skin glistens in the early morning light.

Simon wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm, though it doesn't do much good because his whole body is slick with effort. He cleans the blade of his ax off onto his pants before he buckles the worn leather cover over it. Loading the last few pieces of freshly chopped wood into the cart, he whistles for his horse. The old swaybacked nag—Lady—lifts her head, ears perking up towards her master. Slowly she plods over to him, knowing that it is time to go home.

"Come on, Timber," Simon yells out, looking over to the shade of the nearest oak tree for his one friend. As he straps the cart back onto the horse, he sees the shaggy, grey wolf rise up out of the grass, stretching with a large yawn.

Together the three of them retrace their steps through the small meadow to the bumpy dirt road on the outskirts of the woods nearby. Though fall threatens the onset of winter, the trees in the woods stubbornly cling to their leaves as if they decided as a group to make a stand. Within the dark dampness of the forest, a low fog settles on the ground as it does most mornings, disappearing as soon as the warmth of the sun forces it to recede.

Simon drapes his old muslin shirt over the saddle below him, lying back against the horse's rump so that the cool breeze can flow over his bare, defined chest. With his palms beneath his head he closes his eyes, cherishing the small amount of serenity he is allowed each day.

Just as he teeters on the edge of falling asleep, he hears the worn cobblestones below the horse's hooves. Simon sits up and pulls his shirt over his head, smiling at the wolf that trots next to him, "Better go on then, you don't want to get shot at."

As if he knows exactly what Simon is saying, Timber lets out a little whine before he leaps up and over the short stone fence that surrounds the driveway, disappearing into the woods that encase the old home.

The nag needs no direction, as she has done the chores with Simon since he was old enough to do them himself. Slowly she follows the narrow path that leads to the back of the house where the stable is. Simon sits up straight, stretching as he watches his house slowly pass him by. It is respectfully massive—the beautifully crafted stone walls adorned with seemingly dozens of windows, had once shone bright in the morning sun, but now they seem dull and almost foreboding, having been overrun by vines. The large cobblestone driveway circles a now decrepit fountain; the years of weeds and neglect that have sprouted up between the stones have almost covered them entirely.

Since the passing of his father, the house was on a steady decline. He tried as best as he could but he was only eight then and didn't know much about the world let alone about how to be the master of a household. His beloved mother remarried only a year after his father's death. She was afraid of what would happen to them, what would happen to Simon. Though he could never love anyone as much as he loved his father, he felt some relief when his new stepfather, Baron Benedict Augustine, and his two sons from a previous marriage, Martin and Garrett, arrived at their new home. They were new in town, having come from some distant place that the Baron claimed to have left because it bore too many fond and painful memories of his previous wife. The three looked the part of wealth and good breeding; Benedict, though several years older than Simon's mother, was trim and fit for his age, pale skin having never seen a day of physical work in his life. Martin, though he appeared plump and happy, actually had a cruel streak which he taught to his younger, more well rounded brother. But all in all, Benedict seemed to be a fair man and Simon greatly enjoyed having company close to his own age, even if they were a little snotty.

Things seemed to be going well until within a month of their arrival his mother fell ill. A week later, she died. Then, just as suddenly as he came into Simon's life, Benedict's personality changed. The firm but kind stepfather that Simon was growing to love morphed into a cruel and wicked man. Almost everything of value that belonged to Simon, his mother or his father was sold in town and replaced with things that belonged to Benedict. Simon's room became the Augustine boys' play room and he was sent to live in the drafty, dusty attic. All of the servants were fired, save the old deaf cook and Simon, who was no longer treated like a member of the family but was required to pick up the slack. He had become an outsider in his own home, a burden with no prospects to his name.

Simon breathes deeply, trying not to let the anger get the best of him. Calmly, methodically, he stacks the newly chopped wood onto the pile, losing himself in his work. After he gets it unloaded and the horse into the pasture, he draws a bucket of water from the well. Simon takes care to lean over so that his shirt does not get wet; he dumps the frigid liquid over his head, instantly cooling his nerves. Sweat and dirt stream down his face stinging his one good eye, the right one. He rubs it tenderly. Years ago, when a sickness crossed the country, he lost his left one before he was old enough to know the difference. Simon was one of the lucky few to retain one good eye and one of an even smaller group whose parents could afford to get him a life like replacement, glass one. He always thought that Benedict would have sold that too, had Simon had a normal eye color like brown, or blue. But, like his father, he was blessed with a beautiful, golden green hue that entranced many.

Simon shakes off his hair before walking through the back door that leads into the kitchen. His soft footsteps carry him over to the stove, where he gently lays a hand on Myrtle's back.

"Good morning," he says softly once she turns around.

The old woman smiles gently, before replying, "You smell like a wet dog, boy."

He laughs a little, "Well, I have to give the Baron something to complain about."

She shakes her head, turning back to the stove before she burns breakfast. Myrtle used to be able to hear but around the time that Simon lost his eye, she fell ill as well and lost her hearing. She speaks well and clear and can read lips just fine but after Simon's mother died, she began to play dumb around Benedict. He believes she is a mute idiot and treats her as such but keeps her around because she is a wonderful cook.

Whenever he wants her to make something particular for supper, he shouts and waves his hands before resorting to acting out the type of animal he wants cooked; Myrtle pretends not to understand until he does so. It is one of the few laughs that are afforded to her and Simon.

Simon sits at the plain, worn kitchen table and snacks on a slice of bread and an apple while Myrtle plates up beautiful omelets for the rest of the household. When he can hear them trickle into the adjoining dining room he grabs the two for his step brothers.

Myrtle, holding Benedict's plate, leads the way.

She sets it down in front of the man, along with a steaming cup of coffee. Before Simon can set each plate before the other two, Benedict has already begun to eat.

"Mmm, I do love her cooking," he mumbles to himself. He turns and quickly grabs Myrtle by the arm and smiles before saying very slowly, and very loudly, as if it would make a difference, "This is good, thank you."

She nods and smiles, briefly flashing Simon a look, who has to suppress a smile. Myrtle leaves the room, but Simon, much like a butler would be expected to, stands silently near the kitchen door.

"Ugh, boy, you smell like outside," Martin, the older of his step brothers, complains rudely.

"I was chopping wood this morning, sir," he replies quietly.

"How is the wood situation, Simon? We don't want to run out, like we did last winter..." Benedict says without looking up from his plate.

"I have a good start, Baron, but I don't have enough yet. I was hoping that if there wasn't anything else you require me to do, that I would spend most of this week adding to the wood pile while the weather cooperates," Simon tries to say pleasantly, though he isn't entirely looking forward to the amount of hard work he will have to put forth. The amount of wood he gathered last winter should have been enough but the Augustines are a little weak when it comes to the cold and it was a particularly brutal season.

Benedict insisted on a roaring fire in every room, so that if he were to actually walk into one or past one he would not get a chill. The supply of wood ran out three-fourths of the way through and Simon was forced to cut down several large, live trees close to the house. Since they didn't have a chance to properly dry or season, it left a lot of soot in the house.

"I think that is a fine idea, Simon, in fact we won't be needing much of you at all today. Right after breakfast we will be going to town. We will be back for supper though, you can tell Myrtle."

"Of course, sir," Simon hesitates, "I really hate to burden you but would it be possible, if you get a chance..." he stares down at the floor, trying not to let his face burn red. He despises asking Benedict for anything but in this case it is the only way he can get a hold of it.

"Oh, what do you want, little brother? Candies? Perhaps an apple?" Garret snickers.

Simon bites his tongue, taking offence to his statement especially since he is a year older than Garret.

"Well? What is it?" Benedict says, irritated.

"I am in need of a new whetstone, so that I may sharpen my ax, sir."

"What happened to your last one?" the Baron chastises.

"I—" Simon stammers, "I used it. All." It was the honest truth, too. He had sharpened so many things with it, that he finally wore it down to the point that it broke in half when a small bit of force was exerted on it.

Finishing off the last bit of his omelet and coffee, Benedict replies, "I suppose I could pick one up. I am in need of a new ring, I've grown bored of all of my others. I was going to pay you for your work but since I will have to purchase a new whetstone for you, why don't we just call it an even trade."

"Of course, sir, thank you, sir," Simon says begrudgingly. Benedict has never paid him for anything but instead always manages to find a way to keep whatever money would be due to him. Simon's father was a well-known jeweler and metal smith. Though he was barely old enough, Simon was able to learn a few things from his father before he passed. The rest of his knowledge came from trial and error before his mother remarried. When Benedict learned of Simon's talent he didn't get rid of all of his father's tools, or his shop in the cellar—he left it all alone and rarely ever goes down there. He has turned a pretty penny by exploiting Simon by 'commissioning' a piece of jewelry for himself—having provided Simon with the raw materials, he would repay him by allowing him to remain in the house free of charge. When the Baron grows tired of the jewelry, he sells it in town at five to six times his initial investment and Simon never sees a dime of the profits.

As the Augustines continue their breakfast, chatting about the gossip from their last visit into town, Simon looks them over. Martin, who is now past his twenties, should have moved out and made a name for himself years ago. Simon suspects he is finding it difficult to catch the attention of any ladies; though he could possibly be a handsome man, his gluttonous love of food has ballooned him to the size of two and a half. He shares the same light blonde hair of his father, but his eyes are a plain blue, instead of the dark brown eyes of Benedict.

Garrett, on the other hand, definitely appears to be the definition of male perfection. With beautiful blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, he is tall and slender and was blessed with the natural grace of his father. It is only when he speaks that his true, cruel nature comes to the surface.

The Baron Benedict himself is still attractive for an older man; his blonde hair has long since given way to the grey and his dark eyes appear beady, sunken in almost, in comparison to his pale skin. He has a perfected air of superiority about him and has such cunning with words that he can belittle someone without them even realizing it.

However Simon matches none of them with his dark brown hair and skin tanned from hours of work which has also sculpted his physique, he is more similar of a match to that of a Greek statue. He finds himself quite plain but his mother always used to say that he was just 'simply handsome,' without all of the bells and whistles.

The Baron rises and addresses his sons, "Come along, let us head to town. Be outside in a quarter hour or I shall leave without you."

As the three of them file out, Simon clears the dishes; he scrapes the remains into a bucket for the hogs before dunking the plates into a basin of hot water that Myrtle has ready. While it is her job to wash the plates Simon does them instead, as something to keep his mind occupied until the other men leave. When Myrtle gives him a puzzled look, he smiles and whispers, "They are going to town for the rest of the day and won't be back until supper. I am going back to the woods; would you pack me a lunch?"

She smiles, nodding to herself while she gets out some bread. Simon knows that she can't hear a word he says, but he feels silly just mouthing the words without putting sound behind them. Just as he finishes, the Baron busts into the kitchen.

"Well, boy, hurry up and get the carriage ready, I haven't got all day!"

It doesn't take Simon more than a few minutes to dress up the thick, black steed and guide him over to the open carriage. Though they have an enclosed carriage, Benedict rarely uses it because it requires a coachman to operate. Simon is more than capable of doing it but he suspects that the Baron doesn't like it when he tags along on their trips into town.

As soon as the Augustines are gone, Simon runs quickly to the kitchen, grabbing up his lunch before giving Myrtle a kiss on the cheek. He runs to the pasture, whistling loudly, for Lady. She comes trotting quickly, looking on edge as to why she is summoned after chores are done. Simon slips her a carrot, patting her on the neck while he gets her ready to head to the meadow. He isn't excited about the amount of work that he will do today but he is overjoyed that the Augustines are gone to town. It means that he won't have to do all of the petty, stupid chores that they make up for him—like picking up their clothes off of the floor, shaking out the rugs, or turning the mattresses. It is almost like a game they enjoy playing, every day they manage to come up with some ridiculous time consuming task that he must do.

After affixing the cart, he easily hops up onto Lady's back. Since the timing is off and she is rather confused as to what they are doing, he has to guide her out of the driveway. Once they are at the edge he spots Timber, sitting by the road as if he was waiting for them. The wolf bounces happily a few times before trotting ahead of them. For a small moment, Simon pretends that he himself is headed to town—perhaps to sell his wares, purchase a new shirt or maybe some candies to share with Myrtle. But once he finds himself imagining a life in which the Augustines do not exist, he stops his pretending because more often than not wasting time dreaming of a better life is more painful than living the one you have.

When they reach the meadow, he unharnesses Lady and gets started. Simon makes short work of felling another dead tree. He chops the branches off, stacking them out of the way before he hacks the trunk into manageable pieces. After turning each up right, he swings, getting lost in the repetition, to split each piece. Methodically he stacks the pieces into the cart until he has the whole tree cleaned up.

It is a little bit before lunch when he stops to take a break. Sitting on top of the wood cart, he gets a bird's eye view of the meadow before him. Rolling down into a dip, it curves back up towards the castle in the distance, where the town Northhill lies protected behind a large stone wall. From the mouth of that wall, a road winds down into the dip, where it forks off to either side of the meadow, about a mile away from Simon. The east side leads to another town called Haven, that he has never been to and cannot see from where he sits, while the west side is the road that leads past his house and the few other farms in the surrounding country side. The eastern road winds through the forest, before emerging on the other side to Haven, or so he has heard. While Simon has never been all the way down the road, he has been part of the way. At one particularly large maple tree, if one takes a left and winds amongst the rocks and ravines there is a lovely fresh water spring, overlooked by a small cave tucked into the ravine.

He whistles for Lady. Leaving his shirt behind on the cart, he mounts her bareback and takes off for the spring, Timber following close behind. The road, dark amongst the foliage of the trees, could be somewhat frightening to those who don't know it well.

After navigating the small narrow path, Simon leaves Lady and Timber on the small sandy shore, along with his remaining clothing. The water is cool against his hot body but he finds it refreshing after his hard work. He swims around a bit until his skin prickles against the cold. Getting out near the small cave, Simon slowly walks back to his clothing, letting his body dry in the chilly fall air.

Having redressed himself, he mounts Lady again to return to the field for a bit of lunch before commencing his work. She wastes no time, leaving him by the cart so she can roll in the tall grass. Simon carefully unpacks his lunch, starting with the dried fruit that Myrtle hides from the Augustines.

Before he can get a few bites in, he hears the sounds of horses trotting. He looks up, somewhat worried for a moment before he realizes that it isn't anyone he knows. Two men, rough looking, are heading towards the castle on the eastern road. They don't look like they are from around here, by their dress and appearance—they must be from Haven. Simon continues to eat his fruit, watching them move along the road in the distance, as they cannot see him unless they look behind and up the hill.