The Season of the Wish, By Kelly Jarvis

Editor's Note: We have a delightful essay on wishing today by our very own Kelly Jarvis. She does a deep dive into wishing in popular culture.

Wishing is always in season. When my boys were little, they would run through the fields of late spring and early summer gathering fistfuls of dandelion stalks to use for wishing. Once they had plucked all they could carry, they would blow on the stems, sending their wishes into the air with each downy white seed that flurried across the breeze. On winter evenings, when another form of soft white magic was blown down from the sky, my boys would search the horizon for the first star and wish for a “Snow Day” filled with the hot cocoa taste of freedom from school.

Wishing is always in season in fairy tales, too. While fairy tale variants shape and reflect the cultural conditions of the places they are told, the act of wishing is a universal quality of the stories, emerging in collected oral tales, literary renditions, and 21st century films. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty both famously begin with the wish for a child, and the wished-for children of fairy tales soon grow up to make wishes of their own, even when, in the case of Charles Perrault’s Cinderella, they are unable to articulate exactly what they are wishing for. 

Wishing is central to the contemporary fairy tales of Walt Disney which has turned a genie, a  blue fairy, and an evening star into animated wish fulfillers. Perhaps most famous of all is their unique presentation of a kind-hearted fairy godmother, a construct most recently explored by the film, Godmothered, which attempts to give the donor character of fairy tale fame a turn in the title role. Even Disney soundtracks are full of memorable songs about wishing and wanting, and the theme park’s popular fireworks show, Wishes, ran for an unprecedented thirteen years. 

Although Disney may put its trademark “happily ever after” spin on the act of wishing, many traditional tales, gathered under the Aarne-Thompson-Uther Index 750A The Foolish Wishes, caution against the folly of wishing and imply that wishers often end up worse than they began. In The Three Wishes, a version of the tale collected by Joseph Jacobs, a poor woodcutter is offered three wishes in exchange for sparing a forest tree from his axe. That evening, tired and hungry after a long day’s work, he wishes for a link of black pudding which magically appears before him. When his wife realizes he has squandered a precious wish, she angrily wishes for the black pudding to be stuck to the end of his nose, and the couple is forced to use the third wish to set everything back to the way it was. The variants of this fairy tale have been explored in depth, and its pattern inspired the short horror story The Monkey’s Paw, published in 1902 by W.W. Jacobs. Each version ends by exposing the folly of humanity and the dangers inherent in the act of wishing. 

In spite of the dangers, wishing persists, spurred on season after season by folklore. People have thrown their wishes into wells, tied them to trees with colorful ribbons, and released them into the sky with the soft glow of lanterns. People have imbued ordinary objects with magical powers, turning ladybugs, lamps, clovers, and candles into instruments of achieving desire. Some say wishing should take place at a specific time of the year, like a birthday, when the smoke from blown-out candles carries wishes up to heaven, and others say wishing is best done at random times, like the moment the first red-breasted robin of spring alights on the lawn. New wish-making rituals are constantly being created and circulated within family structures; my older sister taught me to make wishes on watermelon seeds. On the hazy summer days of our childhood, we would each make three different wishes on three juicy watermelon seeds, sticking them on our foreheads to dry slowly in the hot sun. Only the seeds which stayed on our heads the longest would grant us the wishes we had made upon them, and we giggled, our fingers crossed for luck, as the seeds slowly shifted and slid down our sweaty faces taking our little girl dreams with them. 

One October day when my son was four years old, I told him that he could make a wish upon a falling leaf if he could catch it before it hit the ground. A breeze was blustering around us, and my little boy, who loved the wish-filled fairy tale Aladdin, ran back and forth for hours under the plummeting leaves, stretching his hands toward the magic foliage he believed would grant him his cave of wonders. The task was not easy, but by the afternoon’s end, my son had two crinkling wishes clutched tight in his hands, and he leaned close to whisper them into my ear.  His first wish was to have all the toys he had ever dreamed of having, but his second wish surprised me. “I wish for you to have all the beautiful things, Mommy”, he said, unable to articulate exactly what those things might be. The dying sunlight slipped through butterscotch-stained leaves and danced in his amber eyes as he spoke, and I marveled at how quickly his wish had come true; in that precious moment when my little boy used his second wish for me, I was surrounded by the most beautiful things I could imagine.

Perhaps wishing is always in season because we have so few seasons together on this earth. Wishes may seem trivial, but they also give voice to our deepest desires, our innermost longings, and our human yearning for something more than the mortal life we have been given. The act of wishing is an astounding expression of faith in the design of the universe, giving us hope that something as common as a leaf, a seed, or a star in the sky just might be the magical object that will season our days with beauty and make our wishes, and the wishes of those we love, come true. 

Kelly Jarvis teaches classes in literature, writing, and fairy tale at Central Connecticut State University, The University of Connecticut, and Tunxis Community College. She lives, happily ever after, with her husband and three sons in a house filled with fairy tale books. She is also Enchanted Conversation’s special project’s writer.

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

THE BRIDE by Natalia Cwiklinska

A woman without a shadow
sat in front of her. A shadow
without a man sat behind her...

Ila woke up knowing that she was going to die that day. As many other girls from her village before her, she had dreamed of the white beast and the last winter.

She climbed out of her bed and watched the magnificent mountains that surrounded her home. The snow was everywhere, like it always had been since the humans had angered the gods. They were condemned to live in an eternal winter. Ila herself had never known of a single day without the whiteness of the snow.

Years ago, a forever changing world existed. There was spring, summer, autumn and a gentler and shorter winter. Ila's father had chosen to forget it, but her mother still remembered the beauty of the seasons. A world with colors. Some days, she wanted to tell her youngest children all about it, but most of the times she didn't wish to speak or hear a word about it at all. So Ila had to imagine. In her mind, she painted beautiful flowers for spring, a sun shining like fire for summer and a path covered in golden leaves for autumn.

She loved dreaming of a different world, but Ila also loved winter. She was a child of winter and thus, she belonged to the cold and harsh nature of the season. The cool air blowing her hair. The beauty of the snow. The snowflakes kissing her face. The breathtaking view of her beloved mountains. Sitting by the fire with her siblings, thankful for the warmth of the flames after walking outside in the cold. The silence and the quiet. The secrets resting in her tongue, daring to be whispered in the frozen streets at night, when the world was asleep.

When her mother looked at her that morning, she also knew what was going to happen. She made all the preparations quietly and informed her husband and children. The house felt silent, an odd sensation hung in the air. Their lives stopped.

There were two knocks on the door, the ancient spirits had come for Ila. 

Her eldest brother opened the door and like flying snowflakes, the spirits came in. They circled Ila, shining brightly against her skin, touching her softly, like butterflies. The spirits didn't have a shape. They were like dust, white dust glittering like the most royal snow.

Ila tried to touch them, but she wasn't quick enough. They danced around her fast, recognizing her, studying her, until they suddenly stopped. The girl closed her eyes, knowing what was expected of her.

There were two. The spirit of the people of the east and the spirit of those who died west. Both kissed Ila's eyelids, leaving two beautiful marks. The sun on her right eye, the moon on her left eye. She opened her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavier, like she just woke from a dream. Her brown eyes were still beautiful but of a darker shade.

The spirits circled around her. They would guard her during the journey, her only companions until she reached the beast's domains.

The sound of the drums filled the air. The streets burst with people. Silent people waiting, dreading, hoping. It was a clear day and the fourth time one of their daughters was send to the beast. To save them. To lift the terrible curse. To destroy the eternal winter.

Ila walked out of her house, whispering a goodbye to her village and her life. Everybody followed her, like a silent procession. Only the sound of the drums and the sorrowful song of the wind were heard.

When they reached the beach, the girl stopped and breathed deeply. The village's chief was already there, wearing a solemn face and shouting the same words he shouted for the other girls. Ila didn't listen. No one really listened. They just watched her in silence.

She wore a gorgeous white dress, for her wedding, and a beautiful black cloak, for her funeral. She wasn't a human girl anymore, she was Death's bride. A savior. A symbol. A sacrifice.

Her family would be honored for generations. Her parents would be rich and her siblings would have the brightest future in the land. All because of her. Because of her great fate and the strength of her spirit. But as she got into the boat she didn't feel powerful or prepared at all, she just felt scared and cold.

The boat was small, painted in white and decorated with dried flowers. She remembered the first time she saw a boat like that years ago, the one who carried the first girl of her village visited by the spirits, and how she thought that it was a beautiful moment. She was a silly girl then, a child. She only knew old stories who seemed distant as another world, another life. It was the first time she saw them taking shape in front of her.

Now, standing in the boat, surrounded by petals and bouquets, she failed to see any beauty in the it. That splendid boat was only a dreadful piece of wood, whose only purpose was taking her away, straight to the arms of death. 

Her parents and a few of her siblings were looking at her with anguish in their faces, but she would never know that. Ila kept staring into the gelid ocean. She couldn't bear to look at her family. Even though she was the one meeting death, she felt like they were also dying. They were bleeding and disappearing in her mind because she knew she would never see them again. She didn't cry but she didn't smile either. She couldn't lie to her family or to herself.

The boat left the shore and as all the people glued their eyes to her, Ila stood straight and didn't look back. She kept staring at the ocean til she disappeared from their sight. Then she sat down, for she couldn't bear the tremble in her knees anymore. She shivered and clutched her furs tightly around her.

The wind carried her far away into the ocean. The minutes passed. The hours passed. Ila's stomach hurt. Her body and mind were tired, but the worst was the cold. Her hands were almost blue and she couldn't remember how it was to feel warmth. Yet she didn't reach the beast's mythical island. There was only water. The ocean, the cold and her.

Three days passed.

The spirits were still with her. She had tried to talk to them on the first day, but gave up when all her jaw could do was clatter. She didn't cry or scream for help. Her voice was gone. Instead of that, she just curled against herself and waited. She waited for two days. She waited until the only thing in the world that mattered to her was arriving somewhere.

Then, on the second night, she realized something. Her heartbeat was getting quieter and quieter. She was going to die.

She thought of her home.

There had been three other brides from her village before Ila. Girls all across the land were summoned by the beast, but no place had lost as many girls as her hometown. They thought it was because of the ocean. The lakes and rivers where all cursed. Frozen. The big and cold ocean was the only water left and crossing it was the only way to the beast.

Ila remembered them all. She dreamed about them. As the hours passed, their shared fate had transformed them into shadows of beloved friends. She didn't remember her family or how much she loved tasting snowflakes right from the sky into her tongue, only the three girls who had died before her. The only ones who had felt the same as her. The ones that she would never meet. 

The first girl had been an orphan. Ugly and always dirty. Her hair was like a nest of crows. Her tongue was sharp and her eyes clever. She was fifteen and nobody noticed her, but no one could forget her after the spirits came to take her away.

The second girl had been Ila's neighbor. She was fat and pretty. The prettiest girl of her village. She was sixteen and always had the best luck when she played board games. Her parents hid her in their basement but the spirits found her anyway.

The third girl had been a descendant of kings and queens. A princess. She was thirteen and slowly dying. She never said a word, yet everybody talked about her. She cried the most when the spirits came for her, but still didn't utter a word.

The beast killed them all.

It was a monster, a terrible and cruel creature. Like death, it didn't care about anyone.

As life slipped out of her, Ila cried for herself. For the alive Ila and her life. She was fourteen, so close to fifteen, yet she would never reach that age. She would be fourteen forever.

She couldn't remember the look in the eyes of the girls sent to death and that thought haunted her. They appeared dark, boring and dull in her memories. Unreal. Ila wondered if hers were the same, but was too scared to find out. It didn't matter anymore. No one would look into her eyes ever again.

And still, she wanted to be remembered. She wanted the beast to remember the look in her eyes. Even if her parents would forget that look, she wanted someone to remember, to remember her at her very last moment. Even if the only one to remember her was a heartless monster.

But the beast wasn't there. She was alone.

Ila imagined meeting the beast in her dead dreams. Maybe it wouldn't even look at her. Maybe the beast wouldn't have eyes at all. A part of her wanted it to have them, wanted the beast looking into her eyes before tearing her to pieces.

Then, a terrible thought surprised her. Maybe the beast didn't even exist. Maybe the monster was just fear. The nightmare of scared and selfish people. A superstition. The darker side of the everlasting winter.

Ila surrendered and closed her eyes. The moon and the sun in her eyelids looked at the quiet and icy world, and she welcomed sweet death.

A woman without a shadow sat on the boat, in front of Ila. Pale and dressed in grey, with a long silver braid and eyes as black as onyx. Her feet were inside the frigid water of the ocean, but she didn't seem to feel the cold.

She was looking into Ila's eyes.

A shadow without a man sat on the boat, behind Ila. Dark and dressed in grey, with short silver hair and eyes as black as onyx. His feet were inside the frigid water of the ocean, but he didn't seem to feel the cold.

He wasn't looking into Ila's eyes.

They looked like siblings and their presence didn't startle the girl. She knew them. They were always with her. Old and bright. Spirits.

Ila tried to talk to them. She wanted to thank them. She felt safe. She didn't feel hungry, tired or cold anymore. The cool wind against her skin was soft and almost like a caress.

She opened her mouth to talk and then learned the truth.

She wasn't breathing.

She was dead.

The girl looked at her hands. They were so much like they used to be, but they weren't as they should. She couldn't place what it was, but something bothered her while she looked at them.

She caught her reflection in the water and stared at the stranger she'd become. Her long black hair and her olive skin had turned white. Her lovely brown eyes were now a sad grey. She was colorless. A figure without a shadow. A ghost. A spirit. A soul.

The bride stood up and threw her black cloak into the cold ocean water, for she was dead now and the dead never mourned.

Natalia Cwiklinska is a half Spanish, half Polish writer. She loves fairy tales, mythology, slavic folklore and dogs and likes spending her days weaving tales about monsters, hearts and death. She lives mostly in her head and sometimes in Madrid, Spain. You can follow her on Twitter @natalianoir_ or on ofmaidensandmonsters.tumblr.com 

Cover: Amanda Bergloff @AmandaBergloff

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