Thomas Edinborough slid into the pod naked that day, with hardly a clue of what may happen. There were thousands of ideas, of what time travel would be like, lots of speculation, and more theories than were worth sharing. So that day Thomas Edinborough, though he had been ‘trained,’ slid into the pod with hardly a clue of what was waiting for him. He leaned back in a thickly cushioned chair, in front of the main view screen, when a voice came on overhead.

‘Tom, I hope you aren’t too angry about me taking your clothes. You have to understand it’s in your best interest.’ The man laughed despite his pre-launch jitters.

‘Don’t worry about it Hal, I’d rather be naked than torn apart by the space time continuum, or whatever the hell you call it.’ That was one of the theories, that any foreign object would disrupt the timeline. Or something like that. But it didn’t make any sense, since he himself was a foreign object, more precaution than anything.

The man on the other side chuckled in return. ‘That’s what I like to hear…We’re just gonna get the port up and running. So just sit tight for a bit.’

‘Roger that, Hal.’ So that’s what he did, he sat and waited, looking around the empty silver chamber. He, his chair, and the view screen, were the only objects in the pod, the rest was metal.

The pod was a large ball that sat atop of a ramp. When it was time for launch it would be released and roll through the port, which consisted of… Well… large amounts of science and chemistry that Thomas didn’t understand. Really he didn’t have to do anything, or worry about much. In a sense, he was just a lab rat. Just to see if it could be done, the port was where all the action was. That’s the real miracle that’s what made time travel possible. The port. The only problem was they couldn’t decide what year or day they could go back to because they had no idea how to calibrate the thing. The theory was that it would transport its passengers exactly one year into the past from the time that the pod entered the port, but it was all speculation, of course.

‘If you change the past.’ He said slowly, liberally, feeling each word on his tongue, as he quoted page 507 of, ‘Time Travel Theories Through the Ages.’ He turned the view screen on, so the cameras which lined the side of the pod displayed the port. ‘Then there would be no hope for a real future.’ He stared at the port, which was now charging, and beginning to break out in a fusion of electricity and fire. It was all contained and seemed to move with a strange fluidity, bursting with colors, yellow, purple, blue and red. It scared him to death, but its beauty was also somehow reassuring. He swallowed hard and forced out his last words as a mutter. ‘But, I’m willing to take the risk…by God I am..’ He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer.

‘Tom,’ came Hal’s voice overhead. ‘Get yourself strapped in, it may be a bumpy ride.’

‘Roger that Hal,’ the man replied shakily.

‘Tom,’ Hal said again, ‘You okay?’

‘Ya…’ he felt a little queasy, staring at the port through the view-screen, but spoke all the same. ‘Ya just a little…nervous.’ He forced a lonely smile.

‘The count down begins soon.’

‘Gotcha Hal.’

‘Tom.’

‘Ya?’

‘No matter what happens in there, come back to us. I got a victory cigar with your name on it.’

Thomas chuckled. ‘Roger that.’

He could hear the energy field through the steal casings of the pod, bursting, exploding, and reforming. Over and over, again, so that it made a soft buzzing noise through the thick silver walls. He took a deep breath and stared through the view screen as the count down began.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Thomas still stared through the view screen, as he saw the port begin to form some consistency. It began to swirl and all the vibrant colors together, into one large pool of green lightning, that roared louder than before. It collected itself together into a single orb like mass which shone with such intensity that Thomas nearly had to look away from the view-screen. The flashes of light grew more and more intense, until the green shine melted away, until it was a pure white with glimmers of gold sparkling about the edges. It shone almost furiously in his eyes.

Six, five, four, three…

He clenched tight to the arms of his cushioned chair.

Two, one…

The pod rolled forward, as he watched what he had thought of as the floor, loop over his head, time and time again. It was moving fast. He watched the view-screen. The cameras were spinning and sometimes, the port was upside down. But he never lost sight of it, never took his eyes away. The green orb seemed to sneak a smile in at him before it ate him alive.

Thomas Edinborough opened his eyes. It was early in the morning, and his head hurt, it was throbbing and he didn’t know why. Must’ve been the beers last night. He thought beginning to get out of bed, when the phone beside him rang. He answered.

‘Hullo?’ His voice was just as strained as his head felt.

‘Tom!’ It was Hal, and he suddenly remembered why he had gotten drunk the night before… the launch was today! ‘You need to be sterilized by 3:30.’ Thomas glanced at the clock, 1:30am. Exactly 10 hours before he would be the first time traveler. ‘I’ll be right in Hal, you can count on me.’

‘Good man!’ Thomas laughed as he hung up the phone, but couldn’t help and think how long the day was going to be.

Thomas Edinborough slid into the pod naked that day with hardly a clue of what may happen. He was nervous, but he waited patiently, trying to review what he had learned in his head, before Hal came back with the countdown…

‘If you change the past.’ He said slowly, liberally, feeling each word on his tongue as he quoted page 507 of, ‘Time Travel Theories Through the Ages.’ He turned the view screen on, so the cameras which lined the side of the pod displayed the port. ‘Then there would be no hope for a real future.’ He stared at the port, which was now charging and beginning to break out in a fusion of electricity and fire. It scared him to death, but its beauty was also somehow reassuring. He swallowed hard and forced out his last words as a mutter. ‘But I’m willing to take the risk…by God I am…’

And Thomas Edinborough traveled ten hours into the past. Again and again and again and again…

---

M.S. Crawford is a student by day, and a writer by night. He is well known for his non-fiction on prominent authors in the scifi/horror community. (Such as Tim Curran and Jay Lake.) He is currently working on his first novel, The Tears of Amanthane.

Evening at the University.

The last classes have finished. The lights are out in the lecture theatres. Residential students walk in twos or threes. Some are drunk. Some students are always drunk. It makes being powerless despite your youth and education bearable. Girls are in twos; boys are in threes. The few couples amble aimlessly. It is a warm evening promising kindness to drunks and lovers alike.

Evening is when the real work gets done. Here and there lonely lights shine from otherwise blank-faced buildings. Floodlights splash the pathways and patches of grass between the looming buildings. But there are many shadows. Most of the campus is resigned to the darkness.

John Grimm turns from the window looking out from his office halfway up the Physiology block. ‘Fuck I hate students,’ he growls. He drops his cigarette butt into a mug with a splash of coffee left in the bottom. With a hiss, the butt joins the bloated corpses of half a dozen of its fellows. Grimm moves from the cluttered desk by the window towards the door leading to his laboratory. He is naked except for a pair of boots. He clutches a packet of Marlboros in one hand and a silver lighter in the other.

As he moves through the dim clutter of his office he jams another cigarette between his lips and flicks it alight with his Ronson. The flare of the lighter allows him to read the engraving on the side. ‘Professor Grimm, with all my love — Kim’. She’d given it to him when he was awarded the neurophysiology chair six years ago.

She’d given it to him while she was still awake.

Grimm enters the red glow of his laboratory and shuts the door back to his unlit office. The lab has a good pedigree. Victor von Frankenstein built its great-grandsire. But Grimm can see elements from Altered States, The Fly, and Brainstorm. He can’t remember the names of the fictional scientists, but he remembers the actors. William Hurt devolving into an Australopithecus, Jeff Goldblum evolving into a human-fly hybrid, and Christopher Walken peering into the mind of a woman as she dies. He especially remembers Christopher Walken.

Grimm steps past insulated information busses and banks of computer equipment. The white-noise whir of cooling fans fills the lab, and the single bare light bulb spits red light between faraday-cages and black-faced oscilloscopes. Wires and cables coil like nerves and arteries between the stacks of electronics.

The whole lab is focussed on a single chair.

‘Kim. You won’t be alone much longer, hon.’ Grimm settles himself in the chair, and leans back. Most of the wires and cables feed into the base. The chair is lined with a rubbery looking material. It feels warm on his back and buttocks. Like something alive. Like skin. ‘I’m going to be with you, one way or the other.’ Grimm looks at the helmet resting on the workstation desktop in front of him. Beside it there is a gun.

A long drag and a puff.

Smoke billows through red light and wires. Ash drops on an armrest.

Grimm lets the cigarette fall to the floor and crushes it beneath the heel of his Johnny Rebs, a holdover from his biker days before he met Kim. He leans forward and picks up the helmet. His mouth chuckles. His eyes don’t. The shape of the helmet reminds him of his biker days as well. Same colour. Different substance. Matte black rubbery skin, same as the chair. Grimm lifts the visor, and slides the helmet over his head. A single black cable connects the back of the helmet with the base of the chair.

Grimm lowers the visor and his hand gropes blindly towards a keypad on the armrest. He punches in a sequence of numbers and the whole lab pauses for a deep inward breath.

Even the red light bulb dims.

PAIN, as a thousand needle electrodes pierce his scalp and face and eyes. His skin erupts with sweat and his balls shrivel up into the safety of his body trying to escape the…

PAIN as the warm rubber skin of the seat punctures his bare flesh with a million fibres, each one searching out nerve endings to synapse with. He jerks and convulses for a moment. Bowel and bladder both release, but he knows nothing beyond the…

PAIN as the human-machine interface roars to life with the sentient energy of the massively parallel AI tasked with running the system.

Tasked with running the Orpheus machine.

And then nothing. Nothing at all. Grimm floats, his mind blank with the relief of being free from the agony that was everything. Weightless. Sightless. Safe.

A flicker of light.

Grimm focuses his attention on the light and instantly it expands to fill his vision. He is in a room with a hospital bed in the centre, but it is not a hospital room. In the bed is a thin-faced woman. Her hair is neatly brushed, and she is wearing light makeup. It is Kim, as he knows she must be at home. He cannot see the nurse-aide he has hired to look after Kim tonight but there are other things that tell him the vision does not reflect reality.

The walls of the room are green, the way they were before the snakebite that left Kim locked in her own world and him locked out. The ventilator that they sometimes use when Kim goes into respiratory arrest is not there. Nor are the flowers he took in this morning to mark the fifth anniversary of her coming home. Home to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub; / For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, / When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, / Must give us pause…

‘Kim?’

Nothing.

‘Kim, was that you?’ She was an English major, and had a Shakespearean quote for any circumstance.

‘John?’ Her eyes flicker open. He is bodiless; else he would reach out for her. She looks at him. ‘John?’ she says again, but her lips don’t move. Her eyes are like windows on a winter night looking out at the star-studded crispness of the sky. ‘How can you be seeing my dream?’

‘Kim!’ A sob almost unbearable to utter. How can he? He has no voice with which to speak. And yet she hears and her lips curl upward into a smile. He wills himself to move closer, drifting through the dreamscape room.

But her eyes. Her eyes are so large. She reaches out her arms to embrace him, but he can’t stop himself falling faster and deeper into the blackness of her eyes grown now large enough to swallow the world…

And then he blinks. He has weight and warmth. A sheet is pooled around his waist, covering his lower body. He glances down and lets out a cry. But his voice is as wrong as his body. It is a woman’s voice.

It is Kim’s voice.

He swings her legs over the side of the bed, and slides down onto her feet. He puts her hand on the bed to steady herself. Noticeably no penis. The centre of his being is deeper, more… more essential. But otherwise he feels pretty much as he usually does. He is dimly aware of more weight on her chest than he is used to, but the body knows itself and the mind is left to get on with business.

The room is dimmer than when he entered. He hadn’t noticed candles lining the walls. He hadn’t noticed the deep red of the carpet. He hadn’t noticed the shadows and the smoke…

‘They weren’t here,’ he says. ‘None of those things were here.’ Again, it is Kim’s voice that speaks, not his.

‘Sssso sssweet, isss ssshe not?’ hissed in her ear. Honey laced with venom. Grimm whirls her head. On the other side of the bed, the room telescopes into a long stone vault with a thousand candles burning on every inch of the floor. A shadow rushes through them, and in its wake the candle flames are set dancing and guttering.

‘Who’s there,’ he asks with her voice.

‘You mussst love her very much to ssseek her out in her dreamsss,’ the voice whispers in Grimm’s other ear. Again, he whirls her head. The bedroom is gone. The candle-strewn floor of the stone vault stretches in all directions as far as he can see. He stands naked in Kim’s body, one hand resting on…

… a black stone altar. A thick jelly of old blood adorns the top of the altar stone; brown tendrils draping the sides. He snatches her hand away and fights an urge to be sick. The noisome air is thick with the stench of rusty iron and old smoke. The shadow hurtles away from him, the movement of the candle flames marking its passage into the depths of the vault.

‘Show yourself!’ he cries out with Kim’s voice. His breathing is rapid, and he is very conscious of her breasts rising and falling with each gasp. The smoke is thick and chokes her throat.

‘Very well, manling. You ssshow great bravery coming here. You are the firssst in many hundredsss of yearsss. Sssince you demand it, I ssshall ssshow myssself to you.’

The smoke and shadows congeal. Hatred pours from the thickening clouds, and with the hatred two red eyes appear. They stare at Grimm. A long body like a rat the size of a horse draws itself together out of the darkness. Beneath the eyes a toothed crocodile snout snaps and clashes; the gaps between the rows of fangs littered with gobbets of semi-rotted flesh. Webbed paws send candles spilling burning wax over the stone floor. The fur on the monster’s feet catches fire, and the stench of burning hair mixes with the smell of blood and smoke filling the vault.

‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ Grimm whispers. The demon flinches, but then throws its crocodile snout up and laughs.

‘Foolisssh manling, how long hasss it been sssince you believed that?’

‘I believe now,’ he replied.

‘No good! You are in the realm of dreamsss, manling. My realm. And you came here willingly. You only essscape here through me. And you only go through me by offering a sssacrifice.’

‘Who are you?’

Laughter. Knives clashing, or swords striking shields. ‘I am her worssst nightmare, manling. But you and I have met before. I look different for you, but then you ssshould know: you don’t look yourssself tonight either!’ Again, the horrid brass laughter.

‘What can I offer you? I have nothing here. I don’t even have myself.’

‘Oh but you do, foolisssh manling. You have your very sssoul. But I can offer you more than essscape, ssso much more. I would be mossst happy if you chossse to ssstay!’

‘I have come for Kim.’

‘And you have her! You have her here in a way you could never have her in the real world, sssilly manling. Or do you desssire to take her back jussst so you can have her that way again?’

And he is lying on her back, her legs wide. He looks up through her eyes and sees himself labouring over her; he sees his own face contorted with effort — teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut. He feels a hand squeezing her breast roughly. Almost painfully. But most of all there is heat in her belly and a remorseless presence pushing, and pushing, and pushing…

… he is standing in her body beside the altar. The monster has come closer and is lounging now on the black stone; crocodile snout only inches away. A long red tongue flicks over her body and the eyes blaze with undisguised lust. He gasps despite himself and takes a step backwards, knocking over several candles. The pain of the hot wax on her bare feet clears his mind. ‘Not like that! Not for that! I’ve lived with her body for the last five years! It’s HER I want. HER… not her body!’

‘Very well then, manling. I propossse a bargain between usss. I ssshall let you take her from here. You were brave to come. Braver than any I have met for sssuch a long time. But asss you leave, ssshould you look back even once, then inssstead of her you ssshall take me.’

‘I agree.’

‘Then go. And take your woman’sss sssoul with you. If you can.’

And he feels himself pour out of Kim’s body. The smoke whirls and the shadows gather, and ahead he sees a tunnel leading up and away from the foetid vault. He feels himself drawn into the tunnel. Behind him, there is snarling and growling and the hot breath of the creature blowing him up and up. He cries out, despite having no voice.

‘Kim!’ But there is no answer other than the roar of the beast. Ahead, the tunnel grows narrow and the shadowy walls gain texture. By their shape, Grimm can tell that he is moving very fast and seems to be gaining speed. But the monster fills the tunnel behind him with hatred and fear. Of his beloved, he can hear nothing.

‘Kim!’

‘She’s not following. It’s a trick!’

Again, a hot bellow of rage from immediately behind him. Ahead the end of the tunnel is visible. Through it Grimm sees himself lying naked in the Orpheus chair. Blood trickles down from beneath the collar of the black helmet. His white body is bloated and bruised with the nano-technology filaments from the chair that have violated his skin. His penis hangs tiny and limp between his legs, and his breathing is ragged. Only his boots look healthy, perched incongruously on the end of legs threaded through with the black tracery of subcutaneous nano-tech tendrils.

‘Kim!’ he cries out with his silent voice. The beast roars again, inches behind him.

‘I have devoured her. It wasss sssuch a sssimple trick, and you have led me out into the world with you.’

‘No!’ Grimm screams. ‘I’ll not leave you!’ He wills himself to turn before reaching the end of the tunnel so he can go back…

… and he sees Kim; only Kim — one arm stretched out towards him as she is pulled back down the tunnel away from him. Her eyes fill with reproach, and the tunnel shakes with laughter.

Grimm takes a single shuddering breath, and then groans as he lifts a bleeding hand to raise the visor of his helmet. His whole body is bruised and bleeding from a thousand pinpricks. He leans forward and fumbles a Marlboro from the packet up to his mouth. He knocks the gun to the floor as he reaches for his lighter.

‘It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real…’ he mumbles over and over.

But his trembling fingers refuse to operate the wheel of the lighter.

Outside distant screams drift up between the walls of the blank-faced buildings.

_____________________

The last classes have finished. The nightmare rushes through the darkness. The lights are out in the lecture theatres. Residential students walk in twos or threes. Some are drunk. Some students are always drunk. It makes being powerless despite your youth and education bearable. Girls are in twos; boys are in threes. The few couples amble aimlessly. It is a warm evening promising kindness to drunks and lovers alike.

Promises can be broken.

Evening is when the real work gets done. Here and there lonely lights shine from otherwise blank-faced buildings. Floodlights splash the pathways and patches of grass between the looming buildings. But there are many shadows. The nightmare waits between the floodlights. ‘So sssweet,’ it chuckles. ‘Ssso sssucculent.’ A girl walks past–library books clutched protectively over her chest. The nightmare watches as she glances up toward the Physiology block. There is a flash of dim red light in one of the dark windows.

And then as teeth pierce her shield of books, she screams.

---

Bryn Sparks lives in Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand, with his wife Christine and their three daughters. He owns no sheep. Bryn is CEO of a medical device manufacturing company, and is completing a PhD in Medicine at the Otago University, Christchurch School of Medicine.

Bryn’s previous publications include “Wing and a Prayer” in the February 2004 issue of Frothing at the Mouth, “Seven Wives” in the 2004 volume of the award winning Agog! anthology: Smashing Stories, and “Whiskey in the Jar” in the December 2004 issue of Aoife’s Kiss.

---

Bryn Sparks’s short story “On the Shoulder of Giants” appears in the Apex Publications anthology Aegri Somnia. Order your copy today.

“Two minutes to air, people! Two minutes!” the stage manager bawled as he stormed across the stage. “Let’s finish getting the audience in and settled.”

The crew scurried to complete their tasks in the last fleeting moments; their concentration absolute in the cacophony of the audience filling the stage seating to capacity. An electric excitement carried across the whole studio.

The stage manager knocked on a dressing room door. “One minute, Ms. Lynch.”

“Thank you, Harvey.” Monica Lynch came out of her dressing room and smiled at the thirty-something, balding man wearing the wild print shirt over t-shirt and jeans. He wore a headset covering one ear. “How are our guests doing?”

“About what you’d expect?” Harvey said with a shrug.

“They’re not fighting yet, are they?”

“Not yet, but it’s there. They’re saving it for the cameras.”

“Perfect.”

Harvey listened to his headset. “Twenty seconds, Ms. Lynch.”

“Then places, Harvey, places.”

#

The audience went silent in anticipation as Harvey counted down the last few seconds before going live on television. The theme music swelled, and the anonymous announcer introduced the show and its host, Monica Lynch.

The audience went wild as Monica made her grand entrance. She was a stately woman in the prime of her adult life. She was the personification of charm, charisma, and compassion – of which, only part was a complete sham. She paused a moment to bask in the adoration of her audience. Oprah, eat your heart out.

Monica Lynch was the most controversial talk show host on the air. She left everyone else in the dust. Jenny Jones, Dr. Phil, even Geraldo had nothing on her. Her guests and fans were heralded as the “Lynch Mob”, and even acted like it. Monica had made more people cry than Barbara Walters, created more fights than Jerry Springer, and the viewing audience couldn’t wait to see what she would do next.

When the roar of the crowd started to wan, she began her introduction to that day’s show. “Hello and thank you! We have a great show in store for you today. You’ve heard the stories – young girls, wicked stepmothers, and charming princes. It’s a classic combination, but does it always lead to Happily Ever After? Were young girls really innocent? How wicked were the stepmothers? We’re about to find out. This is blended family dynamics at its best – or worst. We’ll meet our first guests right after these messages.”

“And we’re out!” Harvey shouted. “Two minutes, everyone.”

Monica relaxed a smidgen and used the break to settle in her chair. Around taking a sip of water and having her hair and makeup checked, she flipped through her notes to remind herself of the game plan. She would occasionally acknowledge something from the audience, but for the most part, she ignored them.

“Twenty seconds,” Harvey prompted.

Monica put away her notes and put on her mega-watt, camera ready smile, ready for Harvey’s final countdown. “And we’re back. Our first guest needs no introduction. We were captivated by the rags to riches story. We were fascinated by the shoes. Please welcome Cinderella!”

The crowd went wild as the popular blond haired, blue eyed princess glided out on stage. She and Monica greeted each other warmly. Then, when the crowd quieted sufficiently, Monica brought out her second guest.

“Also with us today, a young woman who’s endured multiple attempts on her life by her stepmother. She made her own way in the Dwarfish community and is now also a princess, please welcome, Snow White!”

Again the crowd went nuts for the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty. She gave them her brightest blood red smile as she greeted Monica and Cinderella. She took her place on the guest sofa.

“And our third guest is somewhat of an exception. Though she didn’t suffer at the hands of a stepmother, she was cursed by a wicked fairy godmother. Please welcome Aurora, better known as Sleeping Beauty!”

The second blonde bombshell received a slightly cooler reception, since she wasn’t as well-known or loved as the other two princesses. She waved politely to the audience, greeted the others on stage and took her own seat.

Monica paused for dramatic effect a moment before getting on with the interview process. “As we’ve already mentioned, there is a common thread connecting you all – stepmothers or godmothers. How has that really contributed in your life, and how much was the press blowing things out of proportion? Aurora, why don’t you go first?”

“Well, granted, I didn’t have the same stepmother issue these other girls had, but at least they knew what was happening to them. No one told me about the curse this evil witch put on me when I was born. One day I’m roaming the castle, minding my own business, trying new things, when – BAM! – the next thing I know it’s a hundred years later and there’s some prince standing over me. Fairy godmothers! Bah! Who needs ‘em!”

“Mine was pretty cool,” Cinderella said sweetly. “If it weren’t for my fairy godmother, I’d still be back in my father’s house doing domestic work. And I’ll tell you, Monica, the press didn’t exaggerate one bit with my case. The witch my father married made me a servant in my own home.”

“Oh whine, whine, whine.” Snow White crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “‘I slept for a hundred years’.'My mommy made me mop the floors’. You had it so rough. Yeah, right.”

“It sounds like you’ve got something to say, Snow.”

“Darned right, I do, Monica. When one of these two has a stepmother who not only hires a hit man to have her killed, but tries it herself three times, then I’ll have some sympathy. And they didn’t have to deal with the dwarves.”

“You got to live with seven men who adored you!” Cinderella retorted. “I had to deal with two power hungry stepsisters who undermined everything I did to better myself.”

“Oh, boo freakin’ hoo. You got to meet your prince at a party, dressed up and pretty. I had to wait for mine to stumble onto me in the woods while I was unconscious.”

“You think that ball was easy? You try dancing in glass slippers. They’re cold. They’re hard. And they have no traction!”

“Well, what about me?” Aurora interrupted.

“What about you?” Snow White and Cinderella chorused.

“At least you got to live your lives! I slept through what should’ve been my life. I woke up and everything was completely different! A hundred years is a long time!”

Monica sat back and watched as the girls bickered among themselves over who’d had the rougher life and smiled smugly. She loved it when her guests took over. It made her job a lot easier. She’s let them have their heads – like frisky, young colts – for another minute. A discreet cue from Harvey told her it was time to rein her guests in before going to commercial.

“We have to take a break. When we come back, we’ll hear the other side of the story.” Monica looked at her guests. The cameras followed and fixed on the princesses puzzled expressions. “Stay tuned.”

Harvey led the cheering crowd to new levels of enthusiasm before giving the all clear and a two minute warning. The set was rearranged to accommodate the next set of guests. Hair and makeup people swarmed over the stage – fixing, powdering, and teasing – then melted away before Harvey began his final countdown. The princesses, who’d been chatting amiably in those two minutes, went right back to looking pensive. Monica had to give them credit for being trained to know their roles.

She turned back to the audience and the camera. “Our next set of guests have been pursued, persecuted and vilified by the press and the public, but has it all been a giant misunderstanding? I give you the stepmothers! Cinderella’s stepmother, Blanche; Snow White’s stepmother, Clarisse; and Aurora’s fairy godmother, Lilith!”

The three women came out as Monica said their names. Boos, catcalls, and general unpleasantness greeted each woman as she came out, until Monica introduced Lilith. The fairy’s entrance brought a hushed air of fearful respect. The stage hands kept the crowd controlled enough to keep them from throwing things. No one wanted another lawsuit. The women sat primly on their sofa across from their charges. “Charges” being an operative word – sparks of recrimination flew between the women on stage in a most dramatic moment. Monica drew it out as long as she dared. Then it was back to business.

“Ladies, you’ve heard the girls’ stories while backstage. Now, it’s your turn. Blanche, let’s start with you.”

No one could deny that Blanche was a handsome woman, but with a cold, hard edge. “I did the best I could, Monica. I was a single mother with two girls of my own when I met Cindy’s father. I put the best interests of my own girls ahead of hers. So what? What parent wouldn’t? I did my best with her.”

“Your best?” Cinderella scoffed. “You turned me into a maid!”

“I was trying to teach you life skills! Something to fall back on in case you needed to work.”

“I wore rags and slept in a tiny room off the kitchen.”

“Lessons in humility! I didn’t want to make the same mistake with you that I made with my own girls. Don’t you think I didn’t know my own two girls were conceited and lazy?”

“And ugly.” Cinderella wasn’t smiling so sweetly now.

“That’s uncalled for!” Blanche stabbed a finger at her. “Besides, you have skills that will carry you through the rest of your life! That’s more than I had!”

“Yeah, right.”

“Maybe Cindy is trying to tell you, Blanche, that there might’ve been better ways to get those life lessons across.” Monica was in translator mode now.

Cinderella’s blue eyes flashed. “If this was all for ‘my own good’, Blanche, then explain why you did what you did the day of the ball?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come now, Blanche, this isn’t a court of law,” Monica prodded none too gently. “Don’t worry about self-incrimination. Think of this as your opportunity to tell your side of the story. Clear the air.”

“Yeah, Blanche, tell them about how you wouldn’t let me go to the ball when every woman in the realm was supposed to go! How you had your girls destroy my dress? How you locked me in my room so I couldn’t have gone even if I’d had the dress.”

“You did pretty well with that fairy godmother of yours,” Blanche shot back.

“I didn’t want a godmother! I wanted a mother! Was that too much to ask?”

“You ended up with a handsome prince and a kingdom! What did I get out of all of it? I can’t go anywhere without someone booing me, and don’t get me started on the pushing and spitting. You had that prince of yours turn my girls into statues!”

“The statue thing was his idea, and it was only for a month! Besides, the prolonged clay mask did wonders for their skin! Ask them!”

Cinderella pointed out into the audience. The camera and the audience’s attention were drawn to the two embarrassed young women alternating between trying to sink into their seats and enjoying the attention. The girls were slightly older than Cinderella and plain, but the “ugly” epitaph had been exaggerated.

Monica was immediately on her feet, holding out her hand for the wireless microphone which was slapped into it by Harvey. It had the feel of an experienced surgical team. Before the audience could draw a collective breath, Monica was at the end of the sisters’ row drawing them out.

“Tell us your names, please?”

“Um, I’m Hortense,” the taller, older, leaner sister answered.

“And I’m Maude,” said the shorter, rounder, younger sister.

“And do you have something you’d like to say about all of this?”

Hortense took control of the microphone. “You know, Monica, Cindy was right. Being a statue did do wonders for the pores – even cleared up Maude’s stubborn acne.”

“It did!” Maude beamed for the camera. “At least it had some visible benefit, not like what Mother Dearest wanted us to do.”

“And what was that?”

“When Cindy’s prince showed up with that stupid glass slipper, she,” Hortense indicated Blanche, “wanted us to cut off parts of our feet to make the shoe fit. Do whatever we had to get that prince.”

Blanche jumped to her feet, gesturing emphatically toward them. “I was only trying to provide for you the best way I knew how!” The crowd booed and hissed her back into her seat. “I was just trying to look for my…for you girls!”

Monica sent Hortense and Maude back to their seats and made her way back to the stage. She noticed Cinderella expression was somewhere between smugness and uncertainty. It was an unusual expression, but one Monica knew well. She also knew it was time to switch the focus.

“Clarisse, what about you? Snow White contends you tried to have her killed not once but four times.”

“All the charges were dropped.”

Snow White snorted in a most unlady-like manner. Monica smiled slowly. This was going to be good. She could feel the ratings climb.Clarisse went on. “It’s bad enough to get older, but do you realize the pressure to retain one’s beauty in this world? You gain a little bit of weight, get one wrinkle, or heaven forbid contemplate cosmetic surgery, and the press is all over you! Then before you know it, you’ve been replaced by the next young thing.”

“Is that why the Magic Mirror?” Monica asked.

“How else was I supposed to keep up with my competition? This was my livelihood we were talking about. Then she sprouted. It was one thing when she was an adorable little brat, but when Snow became a teenager… She would’ve had my throne if I hadn’t done what I did.” Clarisse stopped herself before she finished the sentence.

Monica didn’t let the minor curse in the back of her brain reach anything that would come across on camera. She’d come this close to an on-camera confession. She turned her attention to Snow White. The young princess was sputtering wordlessly in her seat. If possible, her trademark snow white skin paling even further.

“That’s what this whole horrid affair was all about?” the young woman demanded when she could speak. “Public opinion?”

“Public opinion is worth more than gold when it comes to politics, my dear. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

“What have I learned? What have I learned? I’ll tell you what I’ve learned…”

The audience growled its approval. They knew the sounds of a cat fight when they heard one. Monica spared a glance their direction, but it was good movement. It didn’t have the feel of anything dangerous. She let them go a while longer.

“Just because you wanted to stay a cover girl, I had to live with seven dwarves? If I was to live at all? Are you serious?”

“What’re you complaining about?” Clarisse demanded. “You’re the fairest one in the land whether you have dishpan hands or not! You have the prince, power, popularity…”

“No thanks to you!”

“Be careful, Snow, you’re starting to sound like me.”

Snow White leapt to her feet. The red tipped index finger on one hand stabbing toward her stepmother. Her other hand clenched in a tight fist. “I am nothing like you!”

“Not yet, maybe, but just you wait until the next young thing comes along, then we’ll see!”

“Never!” Snow White’s voice dropped to an intense, emotion-laden growl. “I will never, ever be like you.”

The princess dropped back onto the sofa with a muffled sob. Monica automatically handed her a box of tissue. Snow White took a couple and daintily dabbed her eyes and her nose, careful not to smear her makeup.

Monica knew a transition when she saw it and turned to the last woman. “Let’s move on to you, Lilith. While you’re not technically a stepmother, but you’ve fulfilled the role traditionally held by them. Why did you put the curse on Aurora?”

“Revenge.”

Monica was surprised by the taciturn, one word answer. She hoped for more, but Lilith folder her hands in her lap and sat back. Monica smiled slowly as she sized the fairy up. Lilith wasn’t the tiny, delicate winged creature most people associated with the word. She was tall, angular with sharp bones and planes. She had a dusky complexion and stormy dark eyes. If Monica didn’t know better, she would swear Lilith was a thundercloud on two legs. Her reticence meant nothing to Monica. She’d dealt with tougher interviews.

“Revenge for what?”

“Her parents slighted me. They invited everyone else to her christening but me.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Lilith turned on Aurora, eyes flashing like lightening. “What do you know about it, you little twit?”

The audience reacted enthusiastically to the interview already dissolving into name calling. Monica had to follow things closely now, to make sure things didn’t break down completely.

“I heard the stories after I woke up. I read the letters. They told me what you did. I bet it really ticked you off when I didn’t die.”

“Sleeping for a hundred years was enough, especially when your parents had to remain awake for the good of the kingdom. Did you think I didn’t know about Callie hiding in the wings? I knew what she was going to do, and either way, I got what I wanted. Your parents suffered.”

“Just because you had your feelings hurt? No one had seen you for decades! You were a legend! You weren’t real!”

“Well, they learned the value of not making assumptions, now didn’t they?”"Didn’t you ever hear of an RSVP? Or a forwarding address? From what I was told, they tried but you didn’t respond! Who knew you were coming? If you got your feelings hurt, it’s your own fault!”

Lilith glared at Aurora as the audience roared its approval of the Beauty’s argument. Monica glanced at Harvey. He was gesturing frantically for her to wrap up.

“We have to take another break, but when we come back we’ll be taking questions and seeing if we can get to the bottom of all of this. Please stay tuned.”

She held her smile and her pose until Harvey released her. Everyone relaxed as the crew scurried about their tasks. Monica’s microphones were checked as she headed out into the audience for the next segment. This was actually her favorite part of the show, the free for all. Anything could happen now, and Monica could count on her “Lynch Mob” to make it happen.

“And we’re back! If you’ve just joined us, we’re talking with the princesses and their stepmothers. Now it’s time for questions from our studio audience.”

Hands went up all over the studio. Monica had a good eye for picking which could be good drama and which were simply people looking for fifteen seconds of fame. She picked a round, enthusiastic matron for her first question.

The large woman in the loud floral print patio dress climbed to her feet and all but snatched the microphone out of Monica’s hand. “All I wanna know is what kinda mama you ladies – and I use that term loosely – think you are? Anybody treatin’ their younguns that way should be horsewhipped.”

“It didn’t kill them, so now they’re stronger,” Lilith responded coolly. “I may not be a mother, but I applaud what these ladies did for the girls. Look at them – strong, independent women who are now are rich and powerful.”

“You gotta to be kidding! How can you possibly justify…”

“You weren’t there!” Clarisse shouted jumping to her feet, stabbing the air with her finger. “You don’t know the pressure we were under.”

“Would you do things differently if you could go back and do it again?” Monica asked, getting into the fray.

“We can’t answer that!” Blanche said.

“Why not?” Cinderella demanded, getting to her feet and into Blanche’s face. “Why can’t you answer that? Because you’d do the exact same thing? You’d do the exact same things all over again? Wouldn’t you?”

“She didn’t say that!” Clarisse jumped to Blanche’s defense – verbally and physically. “We’d do our best for you like we did then.”

“Your best? Your best!” Snow White got into the mix. “You think that was doing your best?”

“You got the prince, didn’t you?”

“Who asked us if that’s what we wanted?” Aurora joined the other girls. “Did you ever ask if we wanted those princes?”

“All princesses want a prince. Everyone knows that.”

“Says you. Did you ever ask?”

Snow White looked at Clarisse. “I never wanted to be fairest in the land. I didn’t ask to be. That was my birth mother’s wish, not mine. Did you ever think to ask what I may have wanted? NO! It’s all about the queen’s wishes – not the princess’.”

“And just what’s so special about a Prince?” Cinderella demanded. “I mean most the time they’re more inbred than half the red necks in Arkansas.”

“Hey!” A trio of similarly outraged voices protested from off camera.

Monica turned with cameras and audience to the three young men storming their way onto the stage. One was tall, virile with the looks of a romance cover model. The one next to him was much the same, except with teen movie idol looks. Monica had no doubt these were the handsome princes.

The third was different. He was shorter, stockier, more “typical” looking with slightly thinning hair, but he had a charisma about him that made people stop and take notice. Monica knew in a flash this was Prince Charming. He would be the most dangerous.The three paragons of male royalty strutted toward their women. Monica had to move quickly to reach the stage in time to meet them. The drama level just shot up another notch. And from the looks on the girls’ faces, Monica was glad they’d gone from chairs to sofas or someone would have something broken by a chair. She quickly inserted herself between the boys and girls, drawing everyone’s attention to herself and the cameras.

“Would you gentlemen care to have a seat and tell us your side of the story?”

“Why sit?” the Fabio-esque prince, Handsome #1, demanded. “When we can say everything we need to say right here?”

Charming stepped forward and smiled in a winning manner. “We’re here, Monica, because we’re tired of getting the short end of this stick.”

“What stick is that?” Cinderella looked him over haughtily. “If anyone’s getting the short stick, I’d say it was Snow.”

The audience reacted loudly to that. Charming’s face froze and his mouth went tight.

Aurora sneered a bit. “Besides, you – all of you – got what you wanted, a princess to carry on your family lines.”

The teen idol prince, Handsome #2, carried on for the testosterone-laden trio. “Oh, yeah, we so got what we wanted. Co-dependent, diva princesses and the mothers-in-law from Hell. Oh, yeah, that’s our fairy tale romance. Why do you think we spend so much time ‘patrolling the borders’? None of us are warring – it was to get away from all your whining.”

Charming turned on Snow White. “We were just as deceived, manipulated, and used as you were, and you don’t see us moaning about it.”

Handsome #2 turned on Cinderella, anger not about to mar his teen idol looks. “Did you really think I wanted to go throughout the realm trying that slipper on every girl? The smell of sweat socks still gives me nightmares. I did it because I fell in love at that stupid party, and it’s what was expected of me! It’s part of our lives, we deal with it.”

Cinderella’s lower lip trembled as she backed down from her prince’s tirade, her big blue eyes filling with tears. Somewhere in the back of Monica’s brain she added up the ratings points this was going to net her.

“We all did what was expected of us. Didn’t you ever think it was strange that I met you in a forest – with my allergies? Come on! Think about it.”

“Well…” Snow White hesitated, suddenly uncertain about a lot of things.

Handsome #1 turned on Aurora, “And you, did you really think I wanted a hundred year old sleeping chick? I was manipulated into being at the ‘right place at the right time.’”

Aurora sputtered.

“So what are you trying to say?” Monica prompted when all three princesses collapsed on their sofa in sobbing puddles.

“We’re saying the party’s over, Monica,” Charming replied. “Either these women get some counseling, or they find some new fairy tales. We’re gonna walk.”

Everyone made shocked and horrified sounds. The stepmothers and even Lilith jumped to their feet in protest. Charming turned on them next. “Don’t get me started on you ladies. We’ve given you all plenty of time and opportunity to straighten this out. You wouldn’t. Now, it’s all or nothing.”

“That sounds an awful lot like an ultimatum,” Monica said.

“Not ‘sounds like’, Monica. It is an ultimatum. You don’t understand what it’s been like, living with this. We have full support of the fathers, too. We’re not leaving without an answer.”

“You dare give me an ultimatum?” Lilith demanded in a voice that sounded suspiciously like thunder. Some of the audience members ducked in their seats.

“Give it a rest, Lilith, or we’ll tell everyone you’re not as scary as you pretend to be,” Handsome #1 said, smiling sweetly.

Lilith glared at him.

“Do the words ‘pink taffeta’ mean anything to you, Lil?”

“Okay, okay, deal.”

“Lilith!” Clarisse and Blanche chorused, horrified.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you ladies,” Handsome #2 said. “We have your numbers too.”

“Give it your best shot, pretty boy,” Blanche said.

“Grandchildren,” Charming said. “And the lack thereof.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Clarisse finally hissed. “You need children, too.”

“There are other ways to do that which don’t involve you people,” Charming said.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Cinderella said, planting her hands on her hips. “We’d take you to the cleaners in community property.”

“It might be worth it,” Handsome #2 said. “Listen, Princesses, we’re tired of the drama and you’re not even queens yet.”

“And if you don’t deal,” Handsome #1 said, picking up where 2# left off. “You never will.”

“So what’s it gonna be, ladies?” Charming asked. “Counselors are standing by.”

The women looked among themselves with expressions mixing apprehension and suspicion. Then in a rush they agreed as one. The audience went wild.

Monica saw they were out of time. “We will check back in with our guests in the future to see how this all plays out. Because, even as the princes have said, the party may be over, but the ever after is just beginning. Whether or not it’ll be happy is anyone’s guess. Just because this shows fairy tales may not always come true, here’s encouraging you to never stop wishing…”

The guests behind Monica were heard repeating, in various degrees of sincerity, “I’m sorry,” while hugging in varying degrees of warmth. Monica didn’t even spare them a glance. “I’m Monica Lynch. Good night.”

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Rhonda Eudaly lives in Fort Worth, Texas with her cat, Dixon, where she is a self-proclaimed “Jane-of-All-Trades”. Her two passions are writing and music.

Her work has been featured in More Stories That Won’t Make Your Parents Hurl; Fundamentally Challenged; Sinister Sleuths; Cyber Oasis; two stories in the Charles Grant Charity Anthology, Small Bites; and the ASFA Quarterly – Winter 2004 issue. She is a writer with the Fort Worth Tribune.

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Rhonda Eudaly’s short story “Dream Takers” appears in the Apex Publications anthology Aegri Somnia. SHARETHIS.addEntry({ title: "Short Fiction: When the Party’s Over", url: "http://www.apexbookcompany.com/2005/03/short-fiction-when-the-partys-over/" });