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All Characters and Situations Fictitious
No fabulous creatures were harmed in the production of this fairy tale.
Have A Very Happy Xmas
& Stay Away From The Elf Bars
© Freddie Clegg 2007 Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission. freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Deborah Snowdrop was not feeling well.
There are few less attractive sights than a fairy with a hangover and for Deborah, it didn't feel any better from the inside.
It was always the same at this time of year. She'd go to some bar planning on having a quiet drink or two with a couple of girl friends. Then a bunch of elves would turn up having rolled out of some office party, bragging about how they'd all finished painting rocking horses or toy trains or whatever for the year and made their bonuses and now they were going to have some FUN.
Or the pixies would be out on the pull, out of their heads on mushrooms, looking for some of their sort of music which - as far as Deborah Snowdrop was concerned - was repetitive, electronic and involved too many flashing lights. They'd all be busy experimenting to see if a slice of Fly Agaric with an Archer's chaser really did what it was reputed to. They hadn't worked out that what a girl first looked for in a bloke was some level of consciousness.
Even the trolls could be found enjoying, if that was the word, themselves. Let out from what ever dark corners they skulked in the rest of the year, they'd go on skulking together but in the corner of a bar. They'd be working their way disconsolately but efficiently through glass after glass, usually of flat, warm beer while they complained that it wasn't like it was when they were younger – even the young ones – and that even if it was it cost more now.
Somehow Deborah Snowdrop and her friends always seemed to get caught up in things. It wasn't that elves were attractive as such, or that pixies were particularly engaging company, or that trolls were – well anything really. But somehow the season seemed to make them all more persistent.
The elves were the worst. They all used the same chat-up lines. “Why don't we go back to my crib and see if you can make the bell on my hat ring?” was one of the more amusing ones. At least until you'd heard it for the thirtieth time. And, of course, there was always, “You fairies are good with wands, why don't you come and rub mine to see what magic happens?” But they had plenty of money at this time of year – it was always busy in the workshops in December – and they all seemed determined to spend it.
Which was what accounted for the line of vodkas that had been set up for Deborah and her friends and the drinking game and the karaoke session and ...
Deborah groaned quietly at the thought of it. Her headache was certainly not elf sized, but on the bright side she wasn't lying in bed beside a naked elf wearing one of those stupid hats with the bell on the top. And at least her stomach wasn't too bad – she hadn't made it as far as the “let's all get a kebab” stage as far as she remembered.
What did she remember?
Well there was the last vodka and she and her friends had gone to the powder room. She'd wanted a cigarette but they didn't allow smoking in the bar. The fire door at the end of the corridor had been propped open and she'd stepped outside. One of the elves had been out there. He'd given her a light and told her he thought her dress looked nice but would look even better over the chair in his bedroom. He'd staggered back into the club when she told him to fuck off. Which had been something in his favour, Deborah had thought.
Then what?
Oh yes. Oh shit! Then someone had pulled a sack over her head and she'd been lifted up. That had been when she passed out. And how, she guessed, she came to be here sitting on the floor, in what looked like a tiny room, with the silver wreath of flowers that she wore on her head in a distinct state of disarray and the wand that had been tucked into her belt, badly bent and almost certainly, from a magical perspective, broken.
On the positive side she was still wearing the same, possibly too short, silver dress and she still had the little handbag that held her most precious clubbing possessions; credit card, lippy, a packet of condoms (well they said a fairy couldn't get pregnant shagging an elf if he didn't have his hat on, but frankly Deborah didn't believe them and besides there were lots of other things that you certainly could get), a spare pair of knickers ..... and the obligatory bag of fairy dust.
She looked around. The tiny room started to move. It was like she was in an elevator but much more jerky. The movement stopped apart from a gentle swaying that would have been pleasant if it wasn't having the effect of bouncing Deborah's brain around inside her skull.
Light shone into the room as a window opened.
She looked up. A single, blood-shot, eye was peering in at her through the bars of the window. What she could see of the green warty skin around the eye told her all she needed to know. An ogre. She was in some sort of cage and the cage belonged to an ogre.
The eye moved back a bit. She could see all of the ogre's face. It wasn't much of an improvement. What was more when he went to speak the subtle perfume of his breath practically pinned Deborah to the back of the cage.
“What's your name?” the ogre said.
“Deborah,” the fairy answered. Coughing a bit at the fetid smell of cabbage and old cheese.
The ogre shook his head. “No it's not. You're a fairy. Fairies aren't called Deborah. Least ways not outside Fairy Porn. You weren't in Debbie Does The Pixies were you? Hurr. Fairies are called 'Buttercup' or 'Peasblossom' or 'Cowslip'.Though in your case it might be 'Cowsarse' I suppose. Hurr, hurr!”
That's unfair, thought Debbie looking behind her, although the short skirt of her dress did make her bum look a bit big. She called herself Deborah because it seemed a lot more fun than 'Snowdrop'. Deborah, Debbie, Debs,all of those were fine but 'Snowdrop'? It wasn't her at all! It would have to do for the ogre, though. “It's Snowdrop. Deborah Snowdrop. Why don't you let me go?” She tried a winning smile at the single blood shot eye that was staring in at her.
“Hurr, hurr, because I don't want to,” the ogre said. “What's the point in me catching you up in my little sack, putting you in that little cage and taking the risk of you heaving all that vodka all over it just to let you go again? Nah! That doesn't sound like the sort of idea even an ogre would go for, does it?”
Deborah thought about it. He was right of course. Even ogres weren't that dim. “If you let me go, I'll grant you a wish. I can grant wishes. How about that?”
“I dunno,” said the ogre. “Most time wishes seem to turn out wrong. I don't really trust magic. Not since they started letting school kids do it. And that lot that live on that world with the turtle. They're just mad most of them. Naw! I'll stay away from wishes, thank you.”
“Well there's other things that fairies are good at...” When all else failed, Deborah Snowdrop, knew that one of her flirtatious glances and a suggestive word was enough to divert elves, pixies and even, on a good night, trolls. Perhaps it would work on ogres too.
“We'll see.” The ogre poked a finger through the bar of the cage. It was almost as wide around as Deborah's head. She backed away but the finger followed her pinning her to the back of the cage. She squealed. “Hurr,” the ogre responded, moving his finger in a motion which might have been construed as tickling if it hadn't been so large. “Hurr.” The eye squinted in. “Who's a slutty little Snowdrop then?” he smirked.
Deborah, who realised that the ogre's finger stroking across the silk of her dress had left her nipples standing up like, well, like the warts on the ogre's nose, squealed again and put her hands up to cover her breasts.
The ogre chuckled, “Hurr! Not the sort of thing you had in mind? Never mind, I think you can stay anyway.”
Deborah tried to think what she might do to escape. All she had was the few things in her handbag. She hit on a plan. She would get the fairy dust, throw it at the ogre's feet, that would lift him off the ground – because that was what fairy dust did – he'd drop the cage in shock and all she had to do was to flap her wings like nobody's business so that when the cage hit the floor and shattered she'd be flying free.
Perfect!
Well, not too perfect but as good as she could think of. She fumbled in her handbag and found the bottle.
“What are you doing in there,” grunted the ogre peering into the cage.
“This!” said Deborah hurling the bottle to the floor.
It missed the ogre's feet but hit the floor anyway and shattered, showering its contents over the ogre's faithful dog as he sat by the fire trying to work out if it was worthwhile getting up now that a cinder was actually smouldering in his fur. To the dog's dismay it found itself floating above the ground at the height of the ogre's head. The hound yelped disconsolately; the ogre laughed with gusto and Deborah shrank back in her cage disappointed at the failure of her plan.
“Oh dear me,” the ogre said. “I can see what I've got to do with you, darling. Take your stockings off.”
“What? No! You can't tell me to do that!”
“Yes I can darling, I'm a fucking ogre. We're not all jolly, home-loving souls like that smart arsed, bugger Shrek, you know. Some us are still down right nasty and I'm one of them. So get your fucking stockings off!”
“No!”
“Just get them off. Unless you want me to pull the dress off, tear it up and use that? The ogre wasn't prepared to listen to Debbie's objections.
“What do you want them for?” Debbie was struggling out of her stockings and trying to preserve some measure of modesty in her short skirt at the same time.
“I'm going to tie you up,” the ogre chuckled as he prised open the door of Debbie's cage and reached in with one thumb and forefinger. He grasped Debbie as gently as he could between them and pulled her from the cage, squealing with terror, kicking and waving her arms and flapping her wings. Ignoring her cries and struggles, he carried on conversationally. “Every body knows even a fairy can't wriggle out of fairy silk and I'm reckoning your stockings are made of fairy silk. So they should do nicely.”
Debbie looked down, she felt like she was a mile in the air. Way beneath her was the stone flagged floor that had shattered the bottle of fairy dust. Normally it wouldn't be a problem but with the way the ogre was crushing her in his grip she wasn't confident that her wings would be working properly before she fell to the floor. Suddenly wriggling didn't seem like a great idea.
The ogre was carrying her across the room. He put her down on a wooden board on his table, pushing her face down with the tip of his thumb in the middle of her back. She felt a curious pricking sensation. He removed his thumb but she still couldn't move. She looked over her shoulder. Two enormous pins, one through the tip of each of her wings trapped her face down on the board. “Hurr, hurr,” the ogre chuckled as Debbie pounded her fists on the board in frustration as she tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free.
Debbie felt him grip her arms twisting them gently but firmly behind her back. She couldn't see him working away with a pair of tweezers but she felt him pull a stocking around her wrists tying them securely.
“Now I hope you understand how people have got things wrong about us ogre's. We're not all brute force and ignorance. Well not all brute force, anyway,” the ogre said, conversationally but without really expecting a reply from the helpless Deborah. “I mean, take now for instance. Do you have the slightest idea how little difference there is between me resting my thumb here,” Deborah felt a touch between her shoulder blades, “and me going, ooops, squish, sorry!”
Deborah squealed in fright at the prospect.
“Hurr, Hurr, only joking. Just thought you might be getting a bit bored there. I've nearly finished. It's just a bit fiddly.” Deborah tried to pull her wrists apart but the knotted silk of her stocking wasn't giving way. And then the ogre started on her ankles, tying them together as tightly as her wrists. The ogre pulled out the pins, picked Deborah up and stood her on her feet. She found it hard to stand with her legs tied together but eventually got her balance. The ogre had turned his back. She looked around the room wondering how she might escape. She had just decided that she might try to fly up out of the ogre's reach – at least her wings would be working now when there were two loud bangs behind her.
“Hurr, that'll do it,” the ogre chuckled. Deborah tried to flex her wings to no effect. She looked at him. He was holding an office stapler. He'd stapled her wings together. It hadn't hurt her, there weren't any nerves in the gossamer thin membrane, but she couldn't flap them at all. “Its for your own good. We get that Puss-In-Boots round here and you can imagine what he's like with anything that flutters. I've just got your well-being at heart.”
“This isn't fair,” Deborah yelled, “I won't be treated like this, I won't, I won't, I wummmpph!”
The ogre had found her spare pair of knickers. Now they had been pushed between her lips, stuffing her mouth with silk. He'd cut some very narrow strips of tape from somewhere and plastered them across her mouth. “This isn't easy,” he said as he used the head of a match gently to push down a loose end. “It's just as well I used to enjoy making models when I was a lad. Good training for this.”
Deborah hummphed with annoyance behind her gag but without attracting any sympathy.
“Now then, I expect,” the ogre said, in a portentous tone, “I expect you're wondering why I've brought you here. Hurr, that what all the great detectives say isn't it? Hurr.” He peered down at the helpless Deborah who was wriggling on the table where he had left her. Her struggles hadn't achieved much beyond rucking her short skirt up over her hips. She was currently wishing she had worn one of her longer, diaphanous dresses. The ogre's toothy grin demonstrated that he was glad that she hadn't. “Well this is why.”
Deborah squealed as she felt herself lifted up and carried across the room. There was a fir tree in one corner of it and she realised at once what was to be her fate. The ogre set her down at the very top of the tree pushing her up against the thin woody tip. He pulled a short length of wire around her waist and then around the tip of the tree, pinioning her to it.
“There,” the ogre said, with a happy smile, “it's Christmas eve. I'm going to decorate my tree and this year I've got a real fairy for the top of it.”
Deborah squealed and wriggled again. It didn't look like she was going to get free for twelve days at least.
+++ The End +++
© Freddie Clegg 2007 Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
For PDF copies of my tales, join my web group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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