Once Upon Another Time

Once Upon Another Time

Fresh Tales from the Far Side of Fantasy

A.A. Rubin

Mariam Naeem

J. Moody

RC Hopgood

Jack Holder

Adam Knight

Cix & Victoria Zander

C.J.R. Isely

Melissa Rose Rogers

Eric Mosher

Trixie Pereira

James David

Dewi Hargreaves

Independently Published

Copyright of individual works is maintained by the respective writers.  See back page for details.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or as allowed by copyright law.  For questions please contact the authors.

Cover Design: Melissa Rose Rogers

Book Design: J. Moody

1 st Edition

An international production

Introduction & Story Synopses

Fourteen writers from around the globe bring their imaginations to these pages. Their stories are alien, magical, dangerous, demonic, and deep. Each will transport you to a different reality. The writers hope that within this anthology, each reader will find new stories to enjoy and new writers to believe in.

* * *

The Three Capitalist Pigs by A. A. Rubin

Amidst a changing Faerie, The Big Bad Wolf fights to save The Enchanted Forest.

Within Deep Green by Mariam Naeem

Beware a beautiful woman, soldier.

Hansel and Gretel Were Here by J. Moody

To make peace with the past, a salty Gretel returns to the cabin where she lost her brother. The cabin welcomes her back.

The Fairytale of Solana's Real Books by RC Hopgood

No one comes to Solana’s bookstore anymore. No one.

The Calming of Luttrell by Jack Holder

A child king already has enough on his royal platter when a ghost arrives with an ancient grudge.

International Incident, Part 1 by Adam Knight 

Sending a team to rescue him could start a war.  Instead they sent an electric cowboy.

Fulcra: Siren's ReMix by Cix & Vic Zander

A pair of universe-hopping specialists who investigate cosmic phenomena find themselves on a mundane rescue mission. They quickly find out the many reasons why.

Curse of the Beast by C. J. R. Isely

The beast has returned to the village, but the man who knew how to stop it is dead.

The Deliverer by J. Moody

When the water runs out, the Leftovers and the Deliverers remain. We do what it takes to survive.

Veiled Reflections: A Retelling of Eros and Psyche by Melissa Rose Rogers

An unambitious prince faces temptation when a lone Elf Lady appears ahead of a storm.

The Shortcut by Eric Mosher

Graves aren’t the only thing you’ll stumble over in the graveyard tonight.

Kasie's Magical Night by Trixie Pereira

If the shoe fits: a Cinderella story that matters.

A Paladin’s Oath by James David

His mettle having already been tested, a young knight stands before a grizzled holy warrior.

Redcap by Dewi Hargreaves

Where did the People Below disappear to? 

International Incident, Part 2 by Adam Knight

 Sending a team to rescue him could start a war.  Instead they sent an electric cowboy.

Contents

1. The Three Capitalist Pigs

By A.A. Rubin

About the Author

2. Within Deep Green

By Mariam Naeem

About the Author

3. Hansel and Gretel Were Here

By J. Moody

About the Author

4. The Fairytale Of Solana’s Real Books

by RC Hopgood

About the Author

5. The Calming of Luttrell

By Jack Holder

About the Author

6. International Incident

A Story of the Queen’s Guard

By: Adam Knight

About the Author

7. Fulcra: Siren’s ReMix

By Cix and Victoria Zander

About the Author

8. Curse of the Beast

By C. J. R. Isely

About the Author

9. The Deliverer

J. Moody

About the Author

10. Veiled Reflections:

Eros and Psyche Reimagined

by Melissa Rose Rogers

About the Author

11. The Shortcut

By Eric Mosher

About the Author

12. Kasie’s Magical Night

By Trixie Pereira

About the Author

13. A Paladin’s Oath

By James David

About the Author

14. Redcap

By Dewi Hargreaves

About the Author

15. INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT

PART TWO

By Adam Knight

About the Author

Afterword

COPYRIGHT NOTICES

1

The Three Capitalist Pigs

By A.A. Rubin

The wayward wolf wandered the enchanted forest. As the runt of the litter—abandoned by the pack—he had learned to live on his wits. He couldn’t hunt deer, that required a team, and the trolls and ogres were stiff competition for the other carnivorous forest-dwellers like himself. Though he wasn’t proud of it, the wolf sometimes scavenged amongst the humans. He had, on occasion, poached sheep from their farms, and for this, those uppity apes had labeled him Big and Bad. They made up stories to scare their young into obedience—stories that made the wolf shudder. Over time, people came to believe those tales, and he gained a reputation as a nefarious villain. Truthfully, it was the humans—those hypocritical alpha predators—who ate other species’ young. They even, ironically, made a hunter his nemesis in many of their fables.

Still, humanity wasn’t the enemy on the wolf’s mind that evening. No, the real villains were the capitalist pigs who set up shop at the edge of the forest. Those three brothers bought up land at an alarming rate, especially woodland, which contained an abundance of natural resources. Now, deforestation was becoming the most pressing issue for the residents of that enchanted woods.

The wolf, who had always had a way with words, started a petition amongst the forest’s residents. He collected signatures and filed the complaints with the proper authorities, but, alas, his pleas were ignored by the powers that be. It was almost as if the castle was still under the enchantment of the hundred-year-sleep. Truth be told, the bacon had greased the royalty by funding all their charming balls. 

The papers were no better. He couldn’t get any coverage. The pigs’ advertisements routinely appeared in the local periodicals, and it was, therefore, the policy of the editorial boards that the age of magic was drawing to a close, and that the three brothers were pushing Faerie into a new era of progress and innovation. No, he would have to take more extreme measures if he wanted to affect any real change. 

One day, the wolf snuck into the capital and set up his soapbox in the city square. He gave speeches and handed out flyers. Despite all his huffing and puffing, he could do little to sway public opinion. It was becoming clear that, to get anything accomplished, he would have to go directly to the pigs themselves.

 The wolf tried to get an audience with the pigs at the Porker Cooperation Building, but his attempts proved fruitless. He spoke to an endless array of secretaries and bureaucrats, but was unable to secure a face-to-face meeting with any of the brothers. 

As the runt, the wolf was used to rejection. It would take more than a bit of red tape to keep him from his goals, especially once he caught the scent of domesticated boar.

The wolf lurked outside the office building and shadowed one of the pig brothers on his way home. The youngest pig, who liked to talk about how he and his brothers had worked their way up from common farm swine to their lofty positions, had built his house to be a constant reminder of his humble roots. When the wolf arrived, however, he found that the exterior trappings of barnyard life belied the pig’s true lifestyle. He was greeted at the door by the pig’s butler who ushered him through the thatched threshold into the house.

The butler led the wolf to the drawing room and offered him a seat on the second-empire sofa while he waited to see if his master was available to see to his requests. He poured the wolf a glass of rather expensive brandy from a crystal decanter and disappeared down a corridor. The wolf sat for a while, nursing his drink and observing the oil paintings of the pig’s ancestors (whom he knew for a fact had had no time to pose for portraits amidst their workaday lives) which adorned the gilded walls.

Eventually, the butler returned. He informed the wolf that the pig refused to speak to him, and advised him to make an appointment during regular business hours. 

The wolf began to protest that he had already done that. He accused the pig of giving him the run around.

The butler cut him off.

Look, he said. He’s bought the land fair and square. You can’t blame him for being mad you want to take what’s rightfully his.

The sheer hypocrisy of the butler’s statement, combined with the lingering effects of the brandy, made the wolf very angry, indeed. He yelled and screamed. He huffed and he puffed. He blew the house down.

The faux-straw on the thatched roof swirled around in the tempest as the pig, dressed in his slippers and smoking jacket—and with the butler trailing after him, set off at a run, pursued by the wolf, for his brother’s house.

The second pig lived in a house on a hill that, to the wolf’s horror, was built from wood taken from the enchanted forest. The younger brother, at least, had the decency to lie about it. The middle brother flaunted his ill-gotten gains shamelessly. 

The wolf approached the doorway.

Little pig, little pig, he said. Let me in.

Not by the hair on my chin-ny chin, chin.

Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.

The pigs and the wolf were both true to their words. The house collapsed in a cacophony of sticks and logs, which rolled downhill with nearly the alacrity of the two pigs and the butler who booked it for their eldest brother’s home.

The third pig lived in a great, stout house made of brick. The wolf approached and knocked on the door.

Little pigs, little pigs, let me in, he said.

Not by the hair on our chin-ny, chin, chins, came the familiar reply.

Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.

The wolf huffed and puffed, and blew and blew, without affecting the masonry.

Perhaps, the wolf thought, he was tired from all that running. He waited a few minutes, then tried the huffing and puffing routine again, but he just didn’t have enough wind.

Inside the house, the pigs called the city watch, who removed The Big Bad Wolf back to the forest. 

The next day, the pigs awoke to chants of No justice, no peace as a procession of storybook villains, wrestled up by the wolf overnight, marched out of the forest and assembled around the pigs’ house, picketing the perimeter, and demanding to be heard. The pigs cowered inside, scared to leave for work. They tried to call the watch again, but the police informed them that the creatures had the right to assemble there so long as they didn’t commit any acts of violence. The pigs knew better than to offer them the chance.

The standoff went on for days. The menagerie camped out in tents just outside the pigs’ property line. Every now and then, the wolf sent a sheep to the pigs’ door as an emissary, but the pigs had shuttered themselves in and refused to answer. Meanwhile, the pigs’ cellar was well-stocked with provisions, and they were sure they could hold out longer than 99 percent of other animals.

They turned out to be right. Over the next couple of weeks, the camp thinned considerably. Giants left for the end of fall harvest, ogres were worried about bears usurping their dens to hibernate, and, because of a sudden, unexplained baby boom, many of the witches were called away for midwife duty. By the time winter rolled around, only a few, hardcore stragglers remained in the Big Bad Wolf’s pack.

Eventually, the camp dwindled to the wolf, a single troll, and an old hermit who, though he had not played a major part in any fairy stories, had resided in the enchanted forest for a number of years and had appeared in the background of many a tale. The three were standing   around an overturned trash can, warming their hands over the fire, and drinking a bottle of cheap hooch to combat the smell of the burning trash and the chill of the winter air. The wolf, who was no longer feeling so big or so bad, related the litany of his failures to the others:

It’s always bureaucrats, butlers, and security guards, he lamented. If I could only talk to them animal-to-animal, I might be able to negotiate a compromise.

The troll and the hermit murmured their ascent. 

  Who am I kidding? the wolf continued between swigs. That brick is impenetrable.

He tried to pass the bottle to the hermit, who waved it off. The wolf passed it to the troll, too drunk—and too lost in his own thoughts—to notice what the hermit was drawing in the mud with his staff.

I can get you into the house. The hermit grinned toothlessly behind his dirty beard. Take a look at this.

The troll and the wolf leaned in. Two hours later, the wolf sat in the troll’s hand which raised him onto the roof of the pigs’ house.

Wolves, in general, are not climbers, which is why those they chase often hide in trees, and this, combined with the lingering effects of the alcohol, caused the wolf to step unsteadily as he scampered and stumbled his way towards the pigs’ chimney. 

The wolf made a terrible racket. Had he been sober, he may have realized the inevitability of what happened next. He might have seen (my, what big eyes he had) the steam rising from the chimney. He might have smelled the tea that the pigs set aside to brew with the water they were boiling. He might even have heard (my, what big ears he had) the faint snickering of the brothers’ muffled, snorting, laughter. But, as his senses were impaired, he saw nothing but his goal, smelled nothing but victory, and heard nothing but the echoes of the pigs’ prior refusals. 

Eventually—though not by the straightest path—he arrived at the chimney. He grabbed onto the brick, and paused to salute the hermit and the troll before diving down into the darkness.

What happened next is well known. The Big Bad Wolf splashed down into the boiling cauldron, jumped up, screamed, and ran back into the forest with his tail between his legs. He was characterized, first