"Three nasty gnomes, rival warlocks in squat disguise, who'd invented a cottage not a mile away, invading my territory and taunting me with their wild tricks. So my daughter took it upon herself to have a go at them. I tried to stop her, but with her temper up there was no controlling her, and off she went. She was still just a little thing, able to do little more than make her dolls walk or a goat sing like a magpie with a sore throat, she was no match for those hoary freaks, so, though she was able to get her piece said and pull their beards and throw some cake in their glum faces, she became uglier than ever with a fatal curse on her head and belching toads whenever she spoke. I tried everything I knew to undo their devilry, but the toads kept coming. So, the first thing she did was to go back to the gnomes' cottage and unleash such a screaming plague of toads that they had to move to another part of the forest. How could you not love her?" --Stepmother, by Robert Coover
Later Days.
No comments:
Post a Comment