Wait a minute . . . Now you’re probably thinking that this story is going to be about somebody’s annoying little sister. This book is called Guys Read: Terrifying Tales. Not Guys Read: Annoying Little Sisters. And especially not Guys Read: Fairy Tales About Annoying Little Sisters.
Anyway, yes, you’re going to read about someone’s little sister. And you’re going to like it.
The only other person who lived in the great, wild wood was a recluse, a crazy man, a real weirdo. He was a fowler—a bird-catcher. He set sharp wire traps all over the forest, and he would go from trap to trap, collecting the birds that had been caught in them, wringing their necks, and shoving them in his great, big basket. The fowler had wide, bulging eyes and a long beard so black it was almost blue.
None of the three brothers or three sisters knew where he lived, except that it was somewhere in the great, wild wood.
One day, while the three brothers were out hunting, and Marleenken was sitting by her window, daydreaming, she saw a very strange sight.
Her eldest sister was getting water from the well. But as she leaned over to pull up the bucket, the fowler crept out of the woods. He had his big bird-catching basket on his back, and his blue beard shimmered in the morning light. He tiptoed up behind Marleenken’s eldest sister and grabbed her and threw her in his basket. Then he ran away.
Marleenken screamed, ran from the house, and tried to see where he had gone. But he had disappeared, like a bird at the sound of a gunshot. She went to her second sister and told her what had happened. But her second sister didn’t believe her. It was too strange.
Later, when her three brothers came home from hunting, Marleenken told them what she had seen. They didn’t believe her either. “Where is my eldest sister, then?” she demanded.
“She’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” said her oldest brother.
He seems very concerned, doesn’t he? Way to look out for your siblings, dude.
To Marleenken’s great surprise, though, her sister was home soon. That night, at the very moment when the sun was setting and the moon was rising, Marleenken’s eldest sister walked into the clearing where their little house stood. All her brothers and sisters ran up to her to greet her. She smiled at them and told them that the most wonderful thing had happened. She had married the fowler, and she would live in his great house and be rich and happy for the rest of her life.
Okay, kids. Life-lesson time.
There are some good ways to propose marriage: You can get down on one knee; you can buy a fancy ring; you can take a trip to a tropical island; you can go to Paris. Any of those are great. You should absolutely try one of those.
There are also some bad ways to propose marriage. These include throwing your sweetheart into a basket and running away with her.
That’s pretty much the worst way to propose.
Just so you know.
Marleenken and her brothers and sisters were all very confused. They had not known that the fowler was rich. And they were surprised that they had not been invited to the wedding. But their sister seemed happy, so they were, too. All except for Marleenken. Marleenken knew what she had seen. She did not trust the blue-bearded fowler. No. He frightened her.
Marleenken’s eldest sister spent one last night with her family in their little house, and then she waved good-bye to Marleenken and her brothers and the second sister and left for the fowler’s again.
The eldest sister had not lied. His house was very grand indeed. When she returned to it, he was all courtesy, smiling and bowing and kissing her hand. Then he gave her a set of keys. “These keys open any door in the house,” he said. “You may go anywhere you like. Except do not go in the little door at the end of the hall.” He held up a tiny golden key. “If you go in that door, I will be very, very angry.” Finally, he gave her an egg, as blue and delicate as a robin’s. “Keep this egg with you,” he said. “If you can keep it clean, I will know that you love me, and we shall be happy together for as long as you live.” The girl agreed. He seemed like a very nice man.
The first time the fowler left the house, the girl set out to explore every inch of it. Holding the keys in her right hand and the egg in her left, she went from room to room. Never had she seen such a splendid house. The fowler must have been very rich indeed.
But when she had seen every single room, cupboard, and closet, she wanted to see more. She looked at the little door at the end of the hall. She looked at the tiny golden key. She went to the front of the house and peered out, to make sure that the fowler wasn’t about to come home. Then she hurried back to the door and put the key in the keyhole.
The lock turned with a slow click.
The door slowly swung open.
The girl screamed.
I told you this was going to be scary, right? And bloody? And messed up? I wasn’t lying.
If you’ve changed your mind, and you don’t want to read something scary and bloody and messed up, I won’t blame you at all. No sweat. Just go ahead and turn to the next story in this book. I think it’s called “Annoying Little Sisters—A Fairy Tale.”
No? You’re still reading? Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
From the ceiling hung sacks. Big, bloody sacks. Dozens of them. The girl could hear the slow, syncopated drip of blood from the sacks onto the floor.
In the middle of the room stood a great basin, filled with blood. She walked up to the basin. In it, a blue egg bobbed. The girl looked to her hand. She wasn’t carrying her egg anymore. She must have thrown it in the air when she screamed. Now it had fallen in the basin. She snatched the egg from the blood and tried to wipe it clean—but it would not get clean. A nasty red stain spread over the delicate blue shell.
And then she heard the front door open.
She ran to the door of the bloody room. Where were her keys? Where were her keys? She looked down. She had dropped them. She retrieved them from the floor. The tiny golden key was sticky with blood. She tried to wipe it off—but the red stain would not go away.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. She slipped out of the room, closed the door behind her, and put her back against it.
And then she saw the fowler. He was grinning at her.
“Hello, my dear,” he said.
She could not speak.
“Have you had a nice time in my absence?”
She had no breath.
“Did you keep the egg nice and clean, like I asked you to?”
She could not even move her head to nod.
“Let me see it,” he said.
She could not resist him. She did not know why, but she could not. She held out the egg.
The blood had spread all over it, making it mottled, grotesque, and purple.
The fowler looked sad. “And where, my dear, is the little golden key?”
Again, the girl could not resist. She held up the key. It was sticky and red with blood.
The fowler sighed. Then he smiled. “You have gone into my private room once. You shall go in once more—and never come out again.”
He reached into his basket and took out an axe.
And he used it.
Are we okay out there? Probably not. I have had to change my pants twice now while telling this story.
Don’t worry, though. It doesn’t get worse than that.
Of course, it doesn’t get better either.
A few days later, when the three brothers were out hunting, and Marleenken was sitting at her little window, she saw her second sister drawing water from the well. But as her sister leaned over to pull up the bucket, the fowler crept out of the woods. He had his big bird-catching basket on his back, and his blue beard shimmered in the morning light. He tiptoed up behind Marleenken’s second sister and grabbed her and threw her in his basket. Then he ran away.
Marleenken did not scream this time, but she did run from the house to see where he had gone. Again, he had disappeared, like a bird at the sound of an axe against a tree.
When her brothers came
home from hunting, Marleenken told them what she had seen. Again, they didn’t believe her. “Where is my second sister, then?” she demanded.
“She’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” said her oldest brother.
Sure enough, she was. That night, at the very moment when the sun was setting and the moon was rising, Marleenken’s second sister walked into the clearing where their little house stood. All her brothers ran up to her to greet her. Marleenken did not. The sister smiled at them and told them that the most wonderful thing had happened. She had married the fowler, and she would live in his great house and be rich and happy for the rest of her life.
“Wait!” Marleenken cried. “What happened to our oldest sister, then?”
“Oh, she went away. The fool! His house is so grand, and his manners are so fine!”
Marleenken’s second sister spent one last night with her family in their little house, and then she left for the fowler’s.
Again, the fowler gave the sister a pretty blue egg and a ring of keys, and again he told her to keep the egg clean, and that she could look in any door in the house except the little door at the end of the hall. And he left.
Soon, the second sister had seen every room in the house, except for the one at the end of the hall. She tried and tried and tried to resist, but her curiosity was too strong. Finally, she took the little golden key between her fingers and opened the little door.
The lock turned with a slow click.
The door slowly swung open.
The girl screamed.
She, too, saw the floor covered with thick, sticky blood.
She saw the sacks, bloody and ever so slightly swaying from the ceiling.
And in the middle of the room she saw the basin, filled with blood. Bobbing in the blood was her egg.
And also, her sister. Well, pieces of her sister.
She screamed and dropped the key.
Soon, the fowler came home. The axe came out. And the girl went into the room one last time.
Okay, have you had to change your pants yet?
Personally, I had to go to the store and buy a few more pairs. That’s how I’m doing.
Now, when her brothers went out hunting, Marleenken did not have time to sit by the window and daydream. She had to do all the chores that her sisters used to do. Including fetching water from the well. But whenever she did this, she took a little mirror with her, and set it on the edge of the well.
One day, as she leaned down into the well to draw up the bucket, she spied, in the little mirror, a figure emerging from the woods. Marleenken watched as it moved through the shade of the trees. Finally, it stepped into the sun. It was the Blue-Bearded Bird-Man, with his fowling basket over his shoulder. He tiptoed up behind her.
Suddenly, Marleenken spun around. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
The fowler was startled. He stammered a bit. Then he said, “I have come to ask you to be my wife.”
“What about my sister? Isn’t she your wife?”
“She went away,” said the fowler. He did not look Marleenken in the eye.
“Okay,” Marleenken said. “But I’m not getting in that basket. If you want me to be your wife, you have to let me walk to your house beside you.”
The Blue-Bearded Bird-Man grinned. His teeth were rotten. “Oh! Anything you say, my dear!” And he led the way through the forest to his house.
The house was big and old and beautiful, and the fowler was all courtesy, just as he had been with Marleenken’s sisters—smiling and bowing and kissing her hand. He gave her the keys and said, “These keys open any door in the house. You may go anywhere you like. Except do not go in the little door at the end of the hall.” He held up a tiny golden key. “If you go in that door, I will be very, very angry.” And then he gave her the egg, delicate and blue as a robin’s. “Keep this egg with you,” he said. “If you can keep it clean, I will know that you love me, and we shall be happy together for as long as you live.”
Marleenken looked at the egg. “What’s so special about it?” she asked.
The fowler looked confused. “Nothing. I just want you to hold on to it.”
“Well, then I don’t want it,” Marleenken replied, and she handed it back to him.
The fowler frowned. “Fine,” he said. “If you want to know the truth, it is a magical egg. Now, don’t ask me any more questions, or I shall be very angry indeed.”
Marleenken nodded and took the egg back.
“Now, I am leaving you alone for a while. Remember what I’ve told you.”
“Don’t worry,” said Marleenken. “I’ll remember.”
Marleenken watched from the window as the Blue-Bearded Bird-Man disappeared into the forest. As soon as he was out of sight, she started to search the house for her sisters, for she did not believe that they had just gone away. She went in every room in the house, but she could not find them anywhere. At last, she came to the little door at the end of the hall. She glanced at the door. She glanced at her egg. She put the egg in a big pocket of her dress. “Who knows what’s behind that door?” she said. “Maybe the bird that laid this egg. Best to keep it safe.” Then she put the tiny golden key in the keyhole and unlocked the door. She removed the key from the keyhole and put it in her pocket. Finally, very slowly, she pushed the door open.
She gasped, but she did not scream.
She saw the blood, lying thick and sticky on the floor.
She saw the bags, swaying, swaying, swaying from the ceiling.
And she saw the basin of blood, and in the basin, she saw her sisters, all chopped up into pieces.
Hanging from the ceiling just above the fountain, she saw empty bags . . . one, two, three of them.
She closed the little door behind her. She walked to the basin across the sticky, bloody floor. She took her sisters out of the basin—an arm here, a leg here, now an eyeball, now an ear.
She laid her sisters’ body parts on the bloody floor, putting each one where it was supposed to be. Then she took the egg from her pocket, cracked the egg, and rubbed the bright orange yolk all over her hands. Finally, she smeared her sisters with the egg. As the yolk touched their corpses, the pieces of them magically grew back together. Finally, she put the eggshells on their eyes—first on her oldest sister’s eyes, then on her second sister’s eyes. And one by one, the girls came back to life.
WHAT? How did that happen? That makes no sense.
I know. I agree. But it’s a fairy tale. Fairy tales aren’t supposed to make sense. They’re supposed to scare the bejeezus out of you.
On that count, I think we’re doing okay. Don’t you?
The sisters stood up and looked around. Just then, they heard the front door open.
“Shhh!” Marleenken said. “Stay here, and don’t make a sound!” And she slipped out of the little door, locked it with the key behind her, and went to greet the Blue-Bearded Bird-Man.
“Well, my little wife,” he said. “How did you pass the time?”
“I explored every room in the house.”
“And did you open the little door at the end of the hall?”
“Of course not. You told me I couldn’t.”
“Then let me see the key.”
So Marleenken showed him the key. Having been in her pocket the whole time she was in the room, it was as clean and golden as ever.
“Very good,” he said. Then he paused, and smiled with his bulging eyes and blue beard. “Now, show me the egg.”
Do you know what’s going to happen now? Are you scared?
I know I am.
Marleenken drew the two halves of the eggshell from her pocket.
“What have you done?” the fowler shouted. “That is the last mistake you shall ever make!” And he reached for the axe in his basket.
“Why, dear husband?” Marleenken said. “You told me that I had to keep the egg clean! It is very clean!”
“But where are its insides?”
“I got hungry, so I ate them,” said M
arleenken.
The Blue-Bearded Bird-Man stared at her over his long, beak-like beard. “Hm,” he said. And then he said it again. “Hm.”
“Oh,” said Marleenken, as if it were an afterthought. “I got a letter from my brothers while you were out.”
“What? How do they know where I live?”
“Well, I wrote to them first,” said Marleenken.
If I were the fowler, I would have asked, “Wait, since when is there a postal service in the great, wild wood? And how does it work so fast?”
Luckily, though, he didn’t think of that.
He merely asked, “What did the letter say?”
“It said that they suspect you of killing my sisters.”
“WHAT?” The fowler’s bulging eyes nearly burst from his head.
“I know it isn’t true. But they think my sisters’ bodies are here in this house.”
“WHAT?” The fowler began biting his lips until they were as blue as his beard.
“I know it isn’t true. But they said they’re coming here this very day to kill you.”
“WHAT?” The fowler had begun to tremble like a bird in a trap.
“I think that part is true. And they are very great hunters. I would be worried if I were you.”
“What can we do?” the fowler bawled. “Whatever can we do?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Marleenken. “I could tell them not to kill you, but I don’t think they’ll listen to me.”
“So what can we do? Whatever can we do?”
“You could hide somewhere in the house, but I’m pretty sure they would find you and kill you.”
“So what can we do? Whatever can we do?”
“I came up with a plan.”
“Tell me! Tell me! Save me, dearest Marleenken!”
“I think you should cover yourself in honey.”
“WHAT?”
“And then cover yourself in feathers.”
“WHAT?”
“And I think you should sneak into the forest. You will look just like a bird, with your big blue beard as a beak, and you can hide there until my brothers go away.”
The fowler stared down at Marleenken with his bulging eyes. His arms twitched. Marleenken suddenly wondered if he was going to kill her. But then he said, “I have honey in the kitchen.”