I was sitting and thinking on – when there was a ruckus outside my door, a pounding upon the timbers confirmed, and with a splintering crack and rush, they came tumbling in, landing in a heap, at my feet.
I blinked, once, then again, and not to my great surprise, watched as they settled themselves upright. Assembled before me, standing in the twilight, the largest of the lot, cleared his throat, and in a low rumbling, grumbling voice, spoke:
“You’re the stitchwitchy wordy,” and a small, tinny voiced piped in, “nerdy” – “yeah thanks Franklin, that’s all we need right now,” the large one glared at the long whiskered mouse, and turned back to me, “woman, right? We got the right place? And you’re about to re-write another Fairy Tale for a Weaver’s prompt?”
I relaxed, sat back and stretched into my long-necked chair, and carefully considered the group at my feet – 3 mice, one whom I believed was blind, he had dark glasses and a white cane, and 4 fruit, of the rounded, orange and rather large sized kind – pumpkins, which was a bit odd, considering it was Spring and not Fall. “Yup, I’m her, so what’s up fellas? What brings you here?”
They shuffled a bit closer and the largest pumpkin spoke again, “We’re here to tell ya, we’re staging a Wild Cat Strike,” at which 2 of the 3 mice, shivered and squeaked.
“Guys, get a grip, there’s no cat here, so it’a all good.” I looked to the Big Pumpkin, he hadn’t offered his name, and nodded my head, “Wild Cat Strike? Go on – ”
“Yeah, the thing of it is, we’re fed up with all this ditzing about because of Crimparella’s mad whims and flights of fancy, and you know, it’s never cool to be pulled out of the patch by that damn old Hag, and hey, you know, we have rights and feelings, and it’s noted in our trade union’s collective agreement, Section 5.7239, Article 44 dash 88, subsection 6 -”
I raised my hand and waved my pen, wand-like with a flourish, and said, “Look guys, I don’t need the particulars, but what’s this got to do with me. Seems to me you need to take this up with your union rep – and hey, what’s with the name ‘Crimparella’?”
“Hey! Look Lady, we came here in good faith – you’re about to re-write – we need to cut this off at the head – before it gets out of hand – again,” the smallest of the pumpkins pucked up, in a pie-sliced tone –
“Jack, chill man, no need to be so dicey with the fine layyy-dee,” the blind mouse purred in a smooth jazzy voice, which, I admit, did surprise me.
“Yeah, well, as I was saying,” continued the Big Pumpkin, “this whole shtick is running us thin, in the patch, and the mice, they ain’t too happy either. As for Crimpie? See, that’s where you folks on the outside have no clue, none at all, as to the real nature of “your beloved” characters – and us, leather-bound as we are, on the inside? We live the out-takes and scenes, and it ain’t so picture perfect, ya know.”
I cocked an eyebrow and nodded with a sly smile, “I bet. Anyhow, so what do you want?”
“Look, the thing is, Crimpie is throwing another hissy fit, wanting to go to the Spring Ball, but the mice are busy Saturday night and we -”
“Yeah, man, we’re playing the Mouse Trap,” the blind one purred again, “Me and the boys are burning it down on the wrong side of town, and there just ain’t no time for being hitched to this story scene .” The other mice twitched their whiskers and squeaked with delight, humming a few bars to some tune. “I tell ya, the place is going to be s-m-o-king – you come on out and see us honey, tell the doorman you’re friends of the band, – ‘Hickory Dickory Dock’ – and that Rickie issued a p-urr-s-o-nal invitation,” Rickie cooed in my direction.
“Yeah, I was saying,” the Big Pumpkin butt in, ” we ALL have plans – and lives. Me and the fellas are playing the Rolling Rutabagas – ”
I raised my eyebrow, “Another bar?”
“Nope, they’re our rivals – bowling tournament, ya know – it’s a ‘death match’ – and everyone this side of the wild stroll is going to be out, rooting for us. So Crimpie’s latest whim? It’s a total no show – no go – no way – hence, the Wild Cat Strike.”
“So, whaddya say honey, you on side with us?” The Big Pumpkin asked, as 2 of the 3 mice started humming, “we’re not gonna take it, no we ain’t gonna take it” – and before I could answer, there was another crash through the door. An Old Hag, dressed in a red hooded cloak, which was oddly fluttery at her back, landed in a crumpled heap, at my feet.
“Ellie? What the hell happened to you?” The Big Pumpkin asked, “and what’s with the big green frog-wart on your face – and what? lacy fairy wings?”
She hiccuped a breath, looked up through her dreadlocked hair, and muttered, “spell backfired and rebounded , caught myself in the mirror – this bloody overtime and doubling as doppelgängers is murder.”
©2017 Scribbler’s Dipstick
mlmm prompt: tale weaver: reverse/naughty fairy tales