Throwback Thursday: ENCHANTRESS by Ellie Goss

The enchantress was a
miserable soul, but she had
not always been that way...

Editor’s note: Turning things on their ears, is what this story does. The Enchantress is an origin story that leaves me wanting more in a good way!

Exhausted from her work, the Enchantress turned from the castle she had just visited a curse upon and receded into the forest for the long travel home. She was happy with her recent work, that upstart of a Prince was a lost cause and there was almost no possibility of the spell cast being broken. A beast he was and a beast he would stay. A shame she thought that the household had come to his defense so readily, well they wouldn’t be interfering again anytime soon. 

The enchantress was a miserable soul, but she had not always been that way. Long ago she had been a beautiful maiden, always cheerful and charming. She had lived a simple life surrounded by townsfolk that she called family and friend, but after tragedy struck everything had changed, especially her.  

There had come a stranger to town. A large man who wore a great burly coat. From behind you would think him a bear and so as the rumors flew around town, he was so nicknamed Bear. His arrival coincided with the Winter Festival that had been held for generations and was a year-long in the planning, for each year the festivities grew to new and greater heights. This year there was to be a dance in the great hall with fireworks to follow.   

The night was abuzz with the chatter of the village folk and a band had started playing to welcome all to the festivities. The Enchantress could hear the music playing as she walked arm in arm with Rubin. They planned to announce their engagement this evening after the feast, as was customary and she radiated happiness with a smile that hadn’t left her face since stepping out her front door that evening. Rubin too was happy at the match, thinking the Enchantress the most beautiful girl in the village.  

  

The evening was made even more beautiful as the first fall of snow began to descend upon the crowd, snowflakes touching the glowing cheeks of all those who preferred to remain outside the Great Hall. 

  

It was decided to move the long tables outside and colored lights were strung to capture the magic of the evening. A large bonfire burnt in the center of the square and it wasn’t too long before a great meal was being served. There were trays of meats and vegetables, bowls of salad and fruits and everyone ate heartily. Then following village tradition, the time came for announcements, just as it had for hundreds of years before. 

  

Amber and Leyton were the first to declare of their intentions of marriage, setting the date for the following Spring causing cheers to be sung out amongst the crowd. Then the Enchantress and Rubin stood, but as Rubin attempted to make the speech that would gain the towns blessings and best wishes for the future marriage between them, Bear approached. 

Bear’s theatrics were set to work at once, with all the globes exploding as he walked towards the couple that stood to make their declaration. Squeals rippled amongst the group and several of the men went to stand but they were kept seated by a green mist that had emerged.  

As Rubin hadn’t been seated at the onset of the smoke, he remained standing but as the man known as Bear approached, he began to change form. As the man disappeared, a Bear had taken his place moving towards the couple until he was at a run. At the last moment when the Bear would strike at Rubin, Rubin had grabbed the Enchantress and placed her before him. He had begged to the beast to take the girl and begone.  

  

The Bear had instantly returned to the shape of a man and laughed at the people of the town before sending the fireworks he had promised into the sky. But as the small flecks fell amongst the snowflakes and settled upon their skin, they had transformed into beautiful birds. All except Rubin who had also been touched by the magic, but his curse was to take the appearance of the Enchantress, he had run screaming into the woods never to be heard of again.  

  

The events had happened so quickly that the shock of the scene had caused the real Enchantress to faint. She had spent weeks after that night wandering about until she had discovered that she too had been cursed.  

Elisha (Ellie) lives and works nestled between the Tarkine Forest and Cradle Mountain National Park, Tasmania. She published her first children's book in 2016, 'The Bunyip's Bath', before going on to publish further books and magazine stories.

eligoss76.wixsite.com/elishagoss

FB @1BunyipsBath

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

Check out 

LARRY'S BOOKS HERE

THE FROZEN BIRD by Nancy Holzner

The bird sang of soft golden light
warming the world. When the song
ceased, the old woman wanted to cry...

One day in winter an old woman left her hut to gather firewood. The glare of sunlight on snow hurt her eyes. Her meager shawl offered little protection against the cold that made her bones ache. At every third or fourth step, her foot broke through the crusted snow, and twice she fell and dropped her bundle of sticks.  

When she fell a third time, she stayed on her hands and knees in the snow. Why get up? What difference did it make whether she froze here or in bed, shivering in her shawl and threadbare blanket? Yet she dreaded the thought that someone would find her like this, an ice-bound corpse on all fours, although she couldn’t imagine who would do the finding. It had been so long since she’d had a visitor.

The old woman rose and hugged herself, warming her hands in her armpits. She stretched her cold-kinked spine. When she could feel the blood moving in her veins, sluggish though it was, she bent to collect the scattered sticks.

That’s when she saw it. In a bush a few feet away perched a bird, its head raised as though in song. It was white as the snow, and as she approached it didn’t fly away. It didn’t move. The poor thing was frozen solid. Carefully she pried it from the branch. She cradled it in her hands and admired its perfection: feathers as delicate and precise as plumes of frost on a windowpane, eyes like icy dewdrops. A tiny icicle of tongue protruded from its beak. Perhaps, she thought, if I take it home and warm it by the stove it will sing to me. She slipped the frozen bird into her pocket.

Back in her hut, the old woman built up the fire, then settled the frozen bird near the stove. As she went about her tasks—sweeping the bare wooden floor, peeling a potato for her soup—she kept one eye on the creature. It remained unchanged: white and still, its beak slightly open as though poised to sing. What did its song sound like, she wondered.  

The old woman took off her shawl and fashioned it into a nest, tucking the bird into its folds. She nudged it closer to the stove. The room grew warm; heat reddened her cheeks as she carried her bowl of soup to the table. Yet the bird remained frozen. She lifted it gently and held it on her lap. She dribbled some broth into the open beak. But the bird didn’t swallow. The soup spilled from its mouth and froze into a tiny gem that fell into the woman’s lap. She held the crystal on her palm to examine it. It was beautiful—opalescent and sparkling with internal light, until the warmth of her hand melted it back to a drop of soup.

That night in bed, the old woman tried to count how many days had passed since the first snow. Was winter always so long? She couldn’t remember. She lay conscious of the small white frozen thing by the stove. Had she made a mistake bringing that fragment of winter into her home? She decided that, should it still refuse to thaw by morning, she’d return the bird to the place where she’d found it. With that, she fell into sleep and dreamed of spring.

She awoke to a freezing room and the word No! on her lips. She got up, wrapping her blanket around her, and went to check the bird. Nothing had changed. Of course, she thought. It’s not warm enough in here. She grabbed a stick of wood to build up the fire. A splinter speared her finger. She pulled it out, and blood welled from the wound. A drop fell.

Birdsong filled the hut.

The old woman looked. Her blood had fallen into the bird’s open beak. Its red tongue flitted as notes poured from its throat. The bird sang of soft golden light warming the world, of gentle breezes and sweet-smelling flowers. When the song ceased, the old woman wanted to cry.

The frozen bird sat by the stove, its head angled upward, the red tongue the only spot of color in its body.

The old woman squeezed another drop of blood from her finger.

This time, the bird’s song held memories of first love, of lash-lowered glances and blushing cheeks, of clasped hands and furtive kisses. Tears brimmed, and when she wiped them away they froze on her cheek. She looked at her injured finger. The bleeding had ceased; the wound was sealed by a circle of ice.

The song ended. Pink tinged one wingtip.

That day, and in the days that followed, whenever the old woman wanted a song she cut open a finger and dripped blood into the bird’s mouth. As the beautiful songs multiplied, ice plastered each cut. When ice stiffened her hands, she cut her arms. When her arms grew rigid with cold, she cut her torso. The cuts didn’t hurt, not beyond the first flash of pain. The ice numbed her flesh even as the songs gladdened her heart.  

With each cut, color and life returned to the bird. Its feathers reddened to pink and then a brilliant scarlet. Its eyes grew black and shiny. Only its beak stayed white and cold.  

One morning the woman awoke to soft sunlight streaming through her window. She couldn’t feel its touch on her face, which by now was swathed in ice. She hadn’t listened to a song in days. She couldn’t afford to—the single drop of blood she had left was chambered deep in her heart. She labored to raise her stiff body from the bed. Her limbs creaked like winter trees as she stood and crossed the room. With great effort she picked up the silent bird and held it between her hands. She shouldered the door open and stepped into the sunlight.

The mild air carried scents of flowers and damp earth. The frozen woman raised her face to the sun as she pressed the bird to her chest, directly over her heart. There was pain as its beak drilled into her flesh and through her breastbone. There was emptiness as the little tongue scooped out her last drop of blood. But oh, the beautiful song that filled the woods! One tear escaped, then froze on her cheek as she stood, rapt. She could almost feel the sun’s warmth as it stroked and softened her frozen flesh.

One summer’s day a hunter found an abandoned hut deep in the woods. Its single window was shattered, its door swung from a broken hinge. He peered into the cold, dim interior and saw nothing of value inside. But it was a lovely spot, with a small, clear pond just steps from the door. The hunter drank. The water was icy cold but held a hint of salt. Above him, perched high in a tree, a scarlet bird sang and sang.

Nancy Holzner is the author of the Deadtown urban fantasy series, as well as numerous short stories. Nancy lives in Ithaca, New York, where she teaches in the Ithaca College Writing Department.

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

COFFEESHOP WISHES by Jade Wilburn

"I need to make a wish."
"I can do that for you.
But what are you going to
offer me in return?"

There was a reason Fae did the most business in the wintertime. Being cooped up indoors for an entire season had a way of bringing out the desperation in people when they couldn’t wash away their miserable thoughts and horrid personalities with soothing spring rains, summer rays of sunshine and ever-changing foliage.

Ariadne supposed there were some perks to this time of year when glistening white blankets covered the gray dreariness of sky-high buildings and black-top parking lots. If she had the time, she might’ve even closed her eyes and reminisced about the glory days, when magic was rampant and wild and free from modern sensibilities.

But right now, she had trudged through several feet of snow and was starting to lose feeling in her toes.

“Coffee!” She moaned in relief as she crossed the protection spell laying across the threshold and stepped into the warm embrace of the tiny coffeeshop. There were some delights to be found in this modern era, and the fragrant roasted beans, conveniently found on every corner, were at the top of her list.

Her favorite barista chuckled at her dramatics before grabbing a white chipped mug and setting it on the wooden counter.

“Your usual?” She teased and Ariadne nodded gratefully.

Whipping off her beanie and freeing her pointed ears, the faery slumped into the cracked vinyl stool with less grace than was expected of her kind. The barista snorted and quickly filled the mug.

Smiling toothily, Ariadne cupped her brown hands around the mug, savoring the warmth and rich earthy smell. Sure, she could use magic to warm herself up, but sometimes it was nice to play mundane.

  

“So, what brings you in today?” The barista asked, cocking her hand on her hip as she leaned against the counter. “Wait, let me guess… still got that gremlin infestation?” 

“It’s gotten worse, they keep multiplying!” Ariadne shuddered. “Demanding little creatures! They were driving me crazy with their incessant demands, and I needed to get out of there for a while.”

She tossed her head back and took a deep swig of the beverage, not minding the scorching temperature.  Feeling much warmer, she took a moment to sweep her coat off her shoulders and tossed her damp silver hair out of her face. Her sensitive ears twitched at the sounds of the barista’s inaudible swallow and Ariadne’s lips quirked into a knowing grin.

  

The barista flashed a shy dimpled smile as she played with the fringe of her apron – she was a pretty little thing, Ariadne thought faintly, with rich onyx skin and tight curls that threatened to devour wayward hands that attempted to touch them without permission. 

If they were anywhere but here, she might’ve spirited the girl away, cocooned her in sheets of golden spider silk with a braided crown of dahlias and peonies nestled atop her head. 

Alas, that was labeled as ‘kidnapping’ nowadays and was heavily frowned upon in modern society. 

“Slow night?” Ariadne asked, peering around the empty shop.

The barista gave her a knowing look. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like the shop is super popular in the first place, at least with us humans. Folks aren’t real keen on places that welcome supernaturals, y’know?” 

She rubbed her face tiredly. “It’s been real quiet the last few shifts though. Although, I guess that’s to be expected, what with the new laws and restrictions by the Supernatural Regulation department. The boss even got a witch to strengthen the protection spells around the shop, just in case.”

  

“And, what about you?” Ariadne prompted, her voice tinged with concern. “You know how…unreasonable people can be, especially against other humans. The whole ‘cavorting with the enemy’ nonsense.”

  

“I’m a tough girl, I can handle myself.” The barista smiled wryly and flexed a muscle. 

Contemplating how to spin an offer of an emergency amulet into a date without being too obvious – her race did have a reputation to uphold after all – Ariadne was pulled out of her musings when the door crashed open.

A woman rushed into the shop, struggling with a baby carrier and cursing as a flurry of snow surged around her. Frowning, the faery snapped her fingers and the shop door closed gently behind the new customer while the accumulating blanket of snow on the ground evaporated.

  

The woman immediately looked up, her eyes roving across the mostly empty coffeeshop until her eyes caught sight of Ariadne – specifically her pointed tip ears.  A myriad of emotions flowed across her face: relief, determination and hard-bellied desperation that made the faery’s face twist in aversion.

  

The barista coughed and Ariadne quickly schooled her face into something a little less hostile. It wouldn’t do to scare the human and risk her lodging a complaint with the Supernatural Regulation department – they wouldn’t hesitate to bring her in for ‘questioning’. 

Hurrying over, the woman plopped the baby carrier on the bar roughly and the infant inside immediately began to squall, a waterfall of tears streaming down its plump cheeks.

  

“All you do is cry,” The woman, presumably the baby’s mother, snarled. “just shut up for once!”

  

Hackles rising, Ariadne’s amber eyes flashed gold until the barista all but shoved a newly refilled mug of coffee into her hands. Nodding her thanks, she took a long swig, ignoring the woman’s blatant staring and the indiscreet clearing of her throat. 

“Can I help you?” Ariadne finally asked, utter loathing spilling out of her voice.

  

“I need to make a wish.” The woman practically spat the words, ignoring her whimpering child that the barista was soothing. “I heard you’re the person to come to. That you’re quick and discreet.”

  

Ariadne’s eyes roved across the woman; her clothes were slightly worn but of middling quality, the type found in generic department stores. Her blonde hair was a veritable rat’s nest, dark circles bloomed under her eyes and a formula milk stain stood out on the collar of the woman’s shirt.

  

Against her better judgment, something like sympathy slowly unfurled in the faery’s breast for the visibly exhausted mother – until she glared at her child, eyes simmering with anger and resentment. 

Ariadne’s face hardened. “What is it that you desire then, human?”

  

“My name is Ra-” She snapped her mouth shut with a clang of her teeth and Ariadne chuckled darkly. 

The laws could say whatever they wanted but it was still a bad idea to offer your name to a faery, hence why Ariadne still didn’t know the barista’s name even after six months of regularly patronizing the coffeeshop.

  

“I want to be famous.” The woman began instead, her voice growing in excitement. “I want my name in lights, across billboards and movie screens. I don’t want to live in this boring small town anymore, I want everyone in the world to know who I am.”

  

How mundane.

  

Ariadne smiled at her, a slow cruel thing and the barista looked up from the giggling baby in alarm.

  

“Very well, I can do that for you. But, what are you going to offer me in return?”

  

The woman reached inside her coat and pulled out a checkbook. Ariadne snorted and even the barista covered up her laugh with a cough.

  

“If you’ve come all this way to make a deal, you should know my kind doesn’t dabble with those kinds of payments.”

  

The woman flushed a mottled red, fingers twitching from the reprimand. Her baby let out loud giggle as the barista tickled its side and the woman’s face dawned in awareness. Snatching the carrier away from the startled barista, she shoved it towards Ariadne, her face alit with triumph.

  

“I don’t want the brat with me where I’m going. You can have her in exchange for my wish.”

  

The barista made a noise of protest, but Ariadne patted her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

  

A twist of her wrist and a silver athame appeared in the faery’s hand, the ceremonial blade glistening brightly in spite of the dim lights. Ariadne cut her hand shallowly before offering the blade to the woman. She didn’t hesitate, snatching the athame and slashing her hand open. 

“We have a deal then. The babe in exchange for fame, effective immediately.”

  

The two of them shook, a flash of white light erupting from their joined hands to seal the contract. Moments later, the woman walked out the coffeeshop with a skip in her step and Ariadne sighed, looking at her gurgling new charge.

  

“I can’t believe she gave up her child for fame, of all things. She didn’t even notice that you were intentionally vague in your wording.” The barista scoffed, shaking her head.

  

“That’s what happens when you get too desperate.” Ariadne shrugged. “I get the kid, and she’ll become famous overnight. After getting pulled over with bags of money that just so happen to be missing from the local bank. There’ll be dozens of movie re-enactments and shows with experts trying to decipher how she did it while she sits in jail.”

As if on cue, police sirens sped past the building, rattling the windows. The barista and the faery looked at one another and burst out laughing.

All too soon, it was time to close up the coffeeshop for the evening and Ariadne waited patiently on the stoop, chuckling at the infant’s nonsensical babbling while the barista locked the door behind them.

“Well, that’s it then.” The barista breathed heavily, gazing at the faery with soft expectations. Rubbing her head sheepishly, Ariadne held out a circular disk.

  

“It’s an emergency amulet. You never know when one of those might come in handy.”

  

“What’s in it for you? A faery never does anything for free.” The barista teased. Ariadne’s cheeks flushed red.

  

The barista giggled and took the amulet, ducking down to deliver a quick kiss on Ariadne’s cheek. “I think a date is a fair enough trade. My shift ends tomorrow at three. Say hi to the gremlins for me.”

  

The faery watched bemusedly as the barista pulled off in her car before looking down at her new daughter nestled cozily in the carrier.

  

“Come along now, time to meet your fellow monsters.”

  

Taking a side-step, the two of them re-materialized in front of their home. It was oddly shaped like the letter L, with a sprawling ground level running horizontally while the connected circular tower jutted up several stories towards the sky on the side of the structure. Painted brown to blend in with the forest, it looked remarkably like a giant shoe.

  

“Gremlins, I know you’re still up! Come out and meet your new sibling!”

  

As if on cue, the front door at the “heel” of the shoe-like house opened and a stream of children ran out, their hands and mouths sticky from a late-night snack. They crowded around the newest member of their family, spitting out dozens of questions.

  

“I hope it’s a girl.” The eldest, Moira sniffed, looking every bit of sixteen going on thirty. “You haven’t brought one home in a while, and there’s too much testosterone in the house.” Glaring at the seven boys that outnumbered the three girls. 

“Let’s get her settled first and then I’ll answer your questions.” The girls cheered, glad for reinforcements while the boys groaned. Despite herself, Ariadne grinned as she herded her brood towards the house.

It’d be a pain to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to register her newest kid before the Supernatural Regulation department got into a snit and accused her of spiriting away children – again – but the faery wasn’t too concerned.

She had adopted yet another gremlin and gotten herself a date for tomorrow. Not bad for a day’s worth of work.

A native of Rochester, New York, Jade is currently earning an M.S. in User Experience and Interaction Design at Thomas Jefferson University. In between studying like a good student, she devours fairytales and composes fantasy stories. Follow her on Twitter @_JadeWrites

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

WOLF AT THE DOOR by D. Avery

The white wolf met her blue eyes
with its own. Without hesitation
the girl went with the wolf...

Once there was a girl who lived in a humble home with her father and her stepmother, a pair weathered gray no matter the season. The father and stepmother were doing the best they could. They loved the girl, but distracted by the sadness that steeped between them, did not have much time for her.

The father lived his life as an inadequate apology he struggled to articulate. He could not seem to think beyond a late fall day, so late it might already have slipped into winter with a quick, sharp intake of breath, the kind of fall day whose fallen leaves, brown and rotting at his feet, rebuked him for not having enough laid by, for not being enough; a crisp day whose first brittle snowflakes floated reminders of the death of his first wife. The best he could manage, even now, was to mutter that the wolf was always at the door. The girl knew about the wolf, for she had sometimes seen it lurking about, though when she looked for tracks there were none. But she was never troubled by the wolf and thrilled when it appeared. She did not tell her father and stepmother about her wolf sightings, just kept them to herself like a comforting recurring dream.

The stepmother knew she was the insufficient patch on cloth that, though not quite ripped, was threadbare and worn thin. She had hoped to be more to both the girl and the father. But when she tried to think of spring she could only imagine what it must be like to sink through the thick slush of the melting ice on the lake; a numbing cold, a dragging weight, the sinking shock of realizing the surface will not hold. In silent desperation she clung to her frosty husband.

And so these two, frail under their cloak of destitution and unspoken regrets, did not look up when the girl called out that she was going outside to play. They did not know that the girl had spied the white wolf through the window and had given in to her curiosity. But when the girl did not return by dusk, they were both deeply worried. 

The father bundled up and went out into the fading light, calling his daughter’s name. The wind had risen and fiercely pushed his desperate calls back at him. Sleety snow stung his cheeks like needles of grief. The snow thickened and fell faster, filling his tracks behind him. Searching was futile. He returned to the nervous stepmother while he still could. Snow and wind continued to conspire, entombing their small home. He picked at his latest failure while his second wife loyally tried to assuage his guilt.

After three days the storm finally ceased and sunlight danced on the deeply drifted snow outside. Inside, the father and stepmother were buried in feelings of hopelessness and despair. Their few neighbors joined in the search of the surrounding forest but no sign of the girl was found. Winter settled in around the devastated couple. During fitful sleep, they heard the howls of wolves echoing across the frozen lake.

The girl had gone out when she’d spied the wolf through the window. The storm had not yet begun and the white of the wolf’s fur stood in relief against the dark forest and gray sky. The wolf met her blue eyes with its own. Without hesitation the girl went with the wolf. They romped playfully until the wind and snow picked up. Then they sheltered in the wolf’s den, the girl feeling more at home than she’d ever felt before.

When the storm stopped the girl awakened warm and comfortable, snuggled against the white wolf. She was not at all surprised to see that she herself was a smaller version of this wolf. Just as before, words were said without speaking, and together they dug out into the winter starlight, to stand atop the deeply drifted snow. The girl saw that there was much to learn and she eagerly followed the mother wolf. They came upon some deer trapped in the yard they had stomped out for themselves in the deep snow. She saw that satisfying her own hunger brought some relief to the deer. She ate gratefully.

Night after night the girl wolf went hunting and exploring with the mother wolf. She marveled at just how bright a winter night could be, the night sky a pool she drank deeply from. Moonlight reflecting off the snow blinded her with joy, her delighted laughter coming out as a howl. The mother wolf joined her song with the girl wolf’s. They spent the winter together laughing and singing and enjoying one another’s company.

But as the nights grew shorter and the days grew longer, as the snow became granular and soft underfoot, the mother wolf became serious. Just as the girl had not been surprised to become a wolf, she was not surprised when the wolf mother appeared as her own human mother. Still they spoke without words. Her mother told her how much she had enjoyed spending time with the daughter she missed so much. But their time was coming to a close. The girl thanked her mother for showing her winter’s beauty. She knew that now she would forever see the beauty of both light and dark that any season held. That night when the temperatures dropped they ran together once more across the crusted snow. At dawn the mother wolf trotted silently north, leaving no tracks. The thawing ice of the lake held the girl wolf’s easy weight as she crossed, headed east towards the home of her father and stepmother.

Her stepmother was at the lakeshore testing the edge when she saw the little wolf coming across towards her. She hurried back to the house to tell her husband. He went outside to see the wolf but instead found his daughter, healthy and happy, her smile as bright as a spring day. The morning sun brushed the forested hills across the lake as the girl embraced her father and stepmother. Melting ice on the eaves dripped a steady beat. Don’t be sorry she told them. Don’t be sorry. We’ll keep doing the best we can.

D. Avery blogs at Shiftnshake, where she pours flash fiction and shots of poetry for online sampling. She is the author of two books of poems, Chicken Shift and For the Girls. Her latest release, After Ever; Little Stories for Grown Children, is a collection of flash and short fiction. D. Avery tweets ‪‪@daveryshiftn‪‪.  

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff