The Asylum for Fairy-Tale Creatures (6 page)

They longed for a child of their own.

Quickly it became apparent they were not going to be so blessed:

Mrs Barber was seventy-two and Mr Barber, well, he did his best.

Mrs Barber cried out loud, “I want a baby, I don’t care if it has a pig’s face.

I want to hear the patter of tiny feet, or trotters, running round the place.”

Mr Barber had an idea, because he loved his wife and was kind.

He decided to make a boy from bits of hair in the barber shop he’d find.

After a week of collecting hair, Mr Barber had bagged enough.

With locks, tresses and manes, a boy shape he lovingly stuffed.

That night Mr and Mrs Barber, from an old tome in Latin, aloud they read,

Sacrificed a goat, had a cocoa, put their teeth in a jar and went upstairs to bed.

It was shortly after midnight when the child of hair was born.

Husband and wife were sleeping,

When woken by a terrible groan.

Something pulled upon the quilt,

Something climbed upon the bed,

The most wonderful gift they had ever received:

A living boy made of hair,

Completely;

Foot to head.

Their hearts filled with delight,

With the future they would share,

They hugged him,

They kissed him,

They loved him forever,

This boy made of hair.

Two weeks later the barber shop remained closed.

The customers were not worried, a well-earned holiday they supposed.

However Mr and Mrs Barber still lay in their bed,

Grinning and happy,

Yet, very, very dead.

You see, it’s quite simple. You have to take care,

Or you may end up choking to death,

When kissing a boy made of hair.

The days were spent in learning. All the children, too many to count, were taken to a vast hall. There were more mirrors placed around the wall. Each with Dr Grimm’s face reflected and reciting over and over again:

ALL GOOD CHILDREN LISTEN,

ALL GOOD CHILDREN OBEY,

All GOOD CHILDREN EAT THEIR LEECHES,

TO KEEP THE MADNESS AWAY.

The room was mainly white and well lit by gaslight; there were no windows at all. In the daytime the un-children would line up and sing over and over again:

ALL GOOD CHILDREN LISTEN,

ALL GOOD CHILDREN OBEY,

All GOOD CHILDREN EAT THEIR LEECHES,

TO KEEP THE MADNESS AWAY.

Thumbeana was surprised to find, not one, but many Mother May I’s. Each as identical as the other.The grinning May Is would join in by waving their hands, trying to keep tune. The guards clapped and groaned and did a sort of shuffle. Thumbeana would look at Thread Bear and Thread Bear at Thumbeana, not sure whether to pretend, or to join the sound of a hundred or so un-children trying to sing with mouths not designed for singing.

ALL GOOD CHILDREN LISTEN,

ALL GOOD CHILDREN OBEY,

All GOOD CHILDREN EAT THEIR LEECHES,

TO KEEP THE MADNESS AWAY.

And so forth and so on again and again and again. The chorus only stopped for the three-times-daily dose of leeches. They all sat in row upon row of dining tables and chairs. There was an atmosphere of fun and anticipation as a Mother May I pushed along a metal cart loaded with the leech tank. Through the glass of the tank they squirmed inside, black and thick and wet with slime full to the brim and spilling over the top. The un-children became excited at the approach and clapped and cheered. Thumbeana and Thread Bear sat as the leeches were scooped out and placed in wooden bowls and placed messily on the table. Some of the creatures managed to slide away and a lucky few attached themselves to Mother May I’s hand and began suckling greedily. The May I did not notice and moved on, serving more un-children. But not before saying,

“A bowl of leeches a day keeps the madness away.”

Thumbeana looked at the bowl; tiny rows of black teeth snapped back at her. She had never had the need to eat and she wondered if this should be her first meal. For guidance she looked at the other un-children on how best to consume leech. The troll sisters sitting to her left had been licking their bowls clean. Bits of the leech dripped on their chins like wet liquorice. The cursed dead boy, who never had truly died but continued to rot, slurped them one by one. Thumbeana could see them passing through holes in his throat. Thread Bear in the meantime was wearing his bowl on his head and was dripping leeches, leaving a trail of slime in his fur. Thumbeana laughed to see such fun and began picking at her meal, one wriggle at a time. Each one she chewed popped black liquid into her mouth; she did not feel less mad so she tried another and another. As she completely forgot to swallow, her mouth simply filled up and when she smiled at Thread Bear, as she often did, the leeches fell down her chin and onto the table in a stream of black slime.

At night, they stayed in a giant dormitory filled with beds as diverse as the un-children who slept in them. For example the troll children slept under bridges, built in the room. The giant children slept upon beanstalks that grew to the ceiling. The puppet children in boxes, the bear children in beds too small, the spider children in spouts and so forth and so on. Again there were no windows; what little light there was cast by dim gas lamps, high upon the stone walls.

Thumbeana lay on her bed and looked up at the impossibly high ceiling. The gas lamps danced yellow shadows on them. They reminded her of people on fire, burning to nothing over and over again in the yellow light.

“I don’t like it here,” Thumbeana said. “I miss the girl. I think we should leave.”

Thread Bear, who lay next to her, pulled on the chain that held Thumbeana’s wrist to the bed. Thumbeana sat up, and looked around. It seemed all the un-children were asleep. They snored and grunted into the dark.

“Don’t worry about this, funny bear.” Thumbeana smiled, indicating the chain and shackle. She pulled at the stich in her wrist with her free hand. It came away with the sound of a boot being unlaced and immediately her trapped hand fell free and dangled on the chain.

“And now,” she said to the bear, “let us rescue the red girl. It will be fun.”

In the night when the un-children slept, there was a squeaking on the cold, hard floor. Thumbeana and Thread Bear, mischief bound, slowly wheeled in the leech cart, sloshing leeches on its way. Pausing in the room amongst the slumbering un-children, they heaved with all their might until the cart tipped and shattered and spilt the screeching creatures, crashing on the floor. Un-children suddenly woke and, to their surprise, saw a thousand leeches crawling before their eyes. They pulled and snapped their chains as they screamed with joy at the midnight feast, braving the shattered glass and greedily gorging at the leeches. Mother May Is and lumbering guards entered the chaos. Thumbeana, carrying Thread Bear and leaving her hand behind, quietly left the room. The pair began to trace their steps from when they were first taken deep into the asylum. Past locked cell doors they went until they had almost made it back to Dr Grimm’s office. Thumbeana held the tiny bear tight as they hid in a shadow.

In the corridor a scrawny man was being held by two of the lumbering guards. His feet had left the ground and he was tiny in comparison to the guards, yet he struggled with a strength that made the guards shake. He wore nothing but rags and his features were obscured by the dim gas-light shadow. Dr Grimm stood in front of the three, attempting to fill a large syringe with a green liquid. The man kicked it from Grimm’s frail skeletal hand. The bottle shattered with a hiss.

The man pleaded, “Lock me up—you need to lock me up.”

“Calm down,” Grimm replied. “You need to take your medicine. This tantrum will not do.”

“It’s too late, too late, lock me up, sir, I beg you.”

“After medicine,” Grimm insisted.

Too late indeed, for the man threw back his head and with a sickening creak his jaw opened wide and split. From his mouth, slowly at first, came a muzzle and thick black fur, then fangs all the better to eat you with and eyes all the better to hunt you with, ears all the better to catch your screams. The scrawny man’s skin flopped to the floor as the guards and Dr Grimm were dwarfed by the huge frame of the wolf. In one swift movement almost too fast for the eye to catch, a claw shredded the guards. The wolf stood on gigantic hind legs as wolf and man merged into something other. It picked up the doctor and held him in a grip so tight, Thumbeana heard his bones snap. The good doctor did not seem to notice, distracted by the wolf’s huge dripping maw.

It spoke with a deep rumbling growl.

“The girl from the forest—where is she?”

The doctor did not or could not reply.

“I followed her scent. Tell me.”

It was at this moment, Thumbeana noted, that all sanity had left Doctor Grimm. Maybe the wolf sensed it too, for it howled a screaming howl of frustration and, in one clean snap, removed the doctor’s head.

And There Was Insanity Forever Ever After

“Then,” continued Thumbeana to Red Riding Hood, “a lot of guards came, lumbering and grunting, tried to fight the wolf, but it did not like that at all.”

“It got angry and smashed the magic mirror in Grimm’s office. It must have been important because it made an awful mess. Nearly everyone escaped. They are harming each other. We searched lots of days and nights to find you,” Thread Bear added helpfully.

“We found keys from a dead-like-a-dodo guard.”

Tears welled up in Red’s eyes; they spilled, rolling down her cheeks, wetting them with bitter stings.

“Then I am not insane? All this happened?”

Thumbeana and the bear shook their heads slowly.

“We brought you something,” the bear said.

“We took it from Dr Grimm’s cabinet,” added Thumbeana.

She placed the folded gift in front of Red. The girl took it and smiled. It was her blood-red hood.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around herself, but now wearing the strait-jacket like a dress.

“The wolf is looking for you—it followed you all the way here. What should we do?” Thumbeana wanted to know.

“We stick together and we should leave,” Red decided and the others nodded in agreement.

The three crept from the cell. First Red Riding hood, followed by Thumbeana with the Thread Bear on her shoulders carrying the metal hoop and asylum keys. They found the asylum even more horrid than when they first arrived. There was darkness now to the place that oozed from the very walls. In the air was the smell of burning and fresh blood. A silence had descended yet in the background a constant chatter of giggles and screams filled the air. Slowly, ever so slowly and following the wall, they descended deeper into the asylum. They stepped past the bodies of Mother May Is and lumbering guards. An inmate or two lay dead or hanging from the ceiling by thick, thick rope, dying. Swinging slowly back and forth like an awful decoration.

“I cannot remember my name,” gibbered a small goblin-like creature curled on the floor.

“It is Rumpelstiltskin—it says so on your strait-jacket,” Thumbeana said as they passed.

“Thank you, thank you,” he sang and went dancing down the corridor.

They came to a figure standing in the centre of the corridor and blocking the way forward. Her long hair was black as raven feather and her skin was snow white. When she spoke she did so through lips of deep red wine. She too wore a strait-jacket designed for restraint. However it was torn and ripped and re-sewn into a long dress. Red Riding Hood immediately spotted the meat cleaver in the girl’s left hand.

“Can you help me?” she cried. “I cannot find my dwarves. Have you seen them?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Red replied. “Myself and my friends are leaving—why don’t you come with us?” She looked at the weapon in Snow White Skin’s hand and she inched forward. “Perhaps I should take that?”

She wants our weapon for herself—she wants to harm us.
The voice came from Snow White Skin’s lips but sounded unlike her previous soft tones. The voice was a male voice, deep and grumpy.
We should kill them before they kill us.

The voice changed and was more pleasant and happy.
Please do not hurt them—we could be friends.
The voice changed again and again, each one separate from the last:

No, kill them.

They’re looking at us—why are they doing that?

I’m tired.

Perhaps they want to be friends.

We should help them.

Help them die before they finish us.

Snow White Skin paced the width of the corridor back and forth, arguing with herself. Each point rose in a different voice. Red Riding Hood counted seven in all.

“Who are you talking to?” Thumbeana asked, her face a patchwork of interest.

Snow White Skin glared directly at the three and began to stalk towards them. In turn Red, Thumbeana and the bear were moving backwards.

“Who am I talking to? Who am I talking to?” she shrilled. “Do you not see? My dwarves. My dwarves.”

“Yes, they are very nice,” Red told her.

“Oh, yes, they are,” she replied. “Which is your favourite?”

“That one.” Red pointed.

“That one?” asked Snow White Skin, stopping and pointing.

“I like his hat,” Thread Bear added.

“His hat? I’m sure he would be pleased to hear that. Except, little bear, there is no one there.”

The blade was lifted and swung; however, Red Riding Hood saw it coming and pushed at the Snow White Skin girl, knocking her into the hard wall. This did not stop the cleaver being swung blindly once again.

Kill them; kill them all!
screamed seven voices all from Snow White Skin’s mouth.

Red Riding Hood barely managed to fall backwards from its arch. It travelled instead hitting the bear on Thumbeana’s shoulder. All of a sudden bear and cleaver were embedded in the wall. The bear flopped against the metal. Whatever life force had animated it was now gone. Thumbeana in anguish screamed forth as she was experiencing sorrow for the first time. It overwhelmed her and she scratched, bit and pulled at Snow White Skin in a flurry of pure viciousness. Red regained her balance and fought to pull Thumbeana away. Snow White Skin lay still.