Tri-color was sooo 1450s.

  The interior of the keep was peacefully quiet, and here upon a raised, dusty dais, lay Beauty. Long, silky blonde hair spilled over the bier and onto the steps. Her pretty peach silk gown had twisted in her sleep and had hiked up around her hips, revealing smooth, perfect legs.

  Charming smiled, strode forward, and adjusted himself.

  She’d do quite nicely.

  But when he moved over to her side, Charming held his nose, daunted. Of course the wench had been sleeping for a hundred years, but her breath was atrocious. It stank of rotten, dead things.

  Luckily for him, all good handsome princes carried breath mints.

  Charming took one out of his pocket and dropped it between her pale lips. When her mouth didn’t move, he put aside his sword and used his hands to force her to masticate the small candy.

  It helped things a little.

  The most dire issue taken care of, Charming decided to examine the goods. A quick peek up her skirt revealed many pleasing things, and her breasts were nicely full. Her face seemed pleasant enough – big, pouty lips perfect for sucking on the princely equipage, ruined only bit bits of moss growing at the corners of her mouth. He frowned and tried to wipe them away, and winced when a large scratch bloomed on her cheek.

  Whoops. Charming licked the pad of his thumb and tried to wipe it away. No luck. Ah well.

  Adjusting himself again to plump the goods, Charming leaned over the princess and lightly brushed his mouth against hers.

  She moaned slightly, but her eyes remained closed.

  “Yeah, you like it, don’t you?” Charming was rather pleased with himself at her reaction. Not only did she bring the entire kingdom with her, but she seemed to be hungry for what he could give her. “Hungry for a mouthful of Charming? Slut.”

  He leaned in again, pressing a more insistent kiss on her lightly slack mouth…and to his surprise, it moved against his.

  It was almost like…she’d tried to bite him.

  Surprised, Charming jerked back, running a hand along her leg.

  Beauty twitched, and her eyes flew open. They were bright red. A bug skittered out from under one of her eyelids.

  “Augh!” Charming fell backward, horrified. He’d put his mouth on that filthy creature? With a lace hanky, he scrubbed at his lips.

  Hygiene would definitely be first on the princess’s To-Do list now that she was awake.

  She moaned again, her jaw flexing. A whisper eased out of her throat. “Braaains…” Her body jerked on the dais, and she sat up.

  Charming took a step backward, nearly tripping over the limp body of one of the courtiers near his feet. He kicked it aside, and turned his attention back to his bride-to-be.

  Something was…wrong with the princess. Her head tilted at an odd angle, and she extended her arms outward, as if reaching for him. “Braiins,” she hissed again.

  Funny, he didn’t seem to recall this part of the legend.

  A hand clasped on his ankle, and Charming jerked, startled. The courtier at his feet had awoken and was trying to drag itself across the floor. Toward him. “Braains,” it said. “Braaains.”

  “Braains,” said another behind him. And then another.

  The princess stood from the dais and began to shuffle toward him.

  Charming grabbed his sword again and affected a manly stance that showed off his shoulders. “Begone, wretches!” His heart sank a little as they continued to shuffle slowly toward him.

  The legend had been wrong. Well, sort of. The story had told that whoever kissed the sleeping beauty on the mouth would awaken her from her hundred-year sleep.

  And she was definitely awake. Along with the rest of the castle.

  And they were hungry.

  Beauty & The Zom-Beast

  She was indeed quite the beauty, the candlestick thought of his master’s new prisoner.

  Beauty had a lovely round face, made sweet by the rosy blush on her cheeks and large dark eyes. Her simple blue and white dress emphasized the lush curves that had made her the toast of the town and the name on every man’s lips. Yet she was here, the forgotten castle in the woods, begging for her father’s life like a dutiful daughter should.

  Resolve was writ into her fine features. “If I stay here, my father will be free of the prince’s terrible curse?”

  “Yes,” said Candlestick, his face sad. “And you must vow never to leave if you wish for your Papa to be safe.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  A distraught look crossed her face. “What if I have to use the bathroom?”

  Hm. Candlestick began to get the impression that the girl wasn’t known for her brains. “You can use any of the twelve lavatories here in the castle.”

  “Oh.” She chewed on her full lip, as if determined to outsmart him in some way and find a way out of her predicament. Suddenly, her face brightened. “This is an enchanted castle, isn’t it?”

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” As if the chatty cutlery hadn’t clued her in until just now.

  But she pursed her lips, scrunching up her face as if a thought had just occurred (and that it hurt to put forth such a grand effort effort).

  “Are you quite all right, miss?”

  “I have an idea,” she told him, seeming rather pleased with herself. “Enchanted castles have princes.”

  “This one does too.” The candlestick resisted the urge to thwap her across the forehead with a taper. “Remember? You agreed to do his wishes and stay here forever?”

  Her brown eyes clouded. “But I thought you were the master here.”

  Candlestick sighed. “No. We’ve been over this twice. The prince is the master here. I am merely his humble servant.”

  “Why isn’t he here to greet me?”

  He only rises from the dead after dark. “He’s a tad…under the weather at the moment.”

  She looked around the musty, cobwebby dining room and wrinkled her pert nose. “If he’s a prince, why is he living in a dump like this?”

  Her chair shifted, and the candlestick knew that the enchanted furniture was resisting the urge to kick her. He knew the feeling. Candlestick cleared his throat loudly. “The master is under a curse, like the rest of us. He has been transformed into a…beast.” His voice cracked at the last part, the big fat lie part.

  You could certainly call the master a ‘beast’, he supposed. ‘Mindless undead’ might be better, but Beauty didn’t seem like the type to handle ‘icky’ things well.

  “Can this curse be lifted?”

  Candlestick winced at the thought. “I suppose it can, yes. Lifting the curse would free us all, even yourself.”

  She brightened. “And I would be free to go to the bathroom wherever I wanted?”

  “Wherever you wanted,” he echoed.

  They were doomed.

  *~*~**~*~**~*~**~*~**~*~*

  He had to give her a little more credit. She didn’t cry a drop when her father left the castle, though she waved a lacy hankie at him and sniffed heavily. When it grew darker, she watched from the window upstairs, pressing her nose against the glass until the sun went down.

  “There’s a way to lift the curse?” she asked him for the eighteenth time that day.

  “Indeed.” Maybe he could foist her off on the clock soon…

  “How do I do it?” She asked, a rare burst of determination and intelligence crossing her face. “How do I lift the curse?”

  Candlestick twitched. “You, ah, have to fall in love with the prince.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  The stupid chit forgot everything. “He’s cursed, remember?”

  “Is he cursed to be handsome?” Her face brightened. “That might not be so terrible.”

  Saints give him strength.

  “He was handsome once…perhaps he would be again if you broke the spell,” Candlestick replied, evasive. Perhaps that would tide her over until the master made an appearance.

  “And would falling in love involve intercourse?”

  If the candlestick had a tongue at that point, he would have choked on it. Good grief. “I really cannot speculate, madam-”

  A low, droning moan interrupted the two of them. At the window, Beauty froze in the pooling twilight, and the candlestick sighed.

  The master was awake.

  “Is that him?” Beauty asked. No, nothing escaped her.

  “That’s him.”

  She picked up the candlestick – as if he couldn’t move on his own or such nonsense – and lifted him into the air to see by. An obedient servant to the end, Candlestick lit the room. Might as well get this over with.

  Footsteps shuffled in the hall, followed by the same low moan.

  The door began to open.

  Beauty straightened her dress and thrust her breasts out, then fluffed her hair with her free hand. “Just intercourse, and then I’m free, right?”

  “Whatever.” He was so done with this.

  She licked her lips and gave her cheeks a quick pinch, then waited.

  The thing that shuffled through the door was the prince all right, but he wasn’t a beast. Or rather, he’d been a beast once…until he’d fallen down the stairs and broken his neck some decade or so ago. What was left was a shambling, monstrous thing that wouldn’t stay dead and liked to eat the flesh of those that came to the castle.

  After all, the castle occupants weren’t free of the curse until a maiden broke the spell.

  Looking at Beauty, Candlestick had his doubts about the whole ‘maiden’ thing anyhow.

  “Oh,” she said, looking at the monstrous thing with the broken neck and the rotting body. “Oh my.” She leaned in close to the candlestick. “I do believe that thing ate our handsome prince.”

  Sigh. “That is the prince, my lady.”

  He expected her to scream at that point. Collapse in a fit of tears as the thing shuffled toward her. Maidens before her had certainly done that.

  But she showed an inner core of strength that surprised him. That little bow mouth tightened in dismay, her face squinching up again as the thing shuffled toward her, arms out.

  She ducked under the Beast’s arm, running down the hall with the candlestick still in hand.

  “Braaaains,” they could hear faintly at the other end of the wing.

  Beauty didn’t stop walking, very purposeful in her step.

  “Where are we going?” Candlestick asked her.

  “I have a plan,” she said firmly, and clutched him tighter in her hand, moving toward the thick, dry drapes at the far end of the hall.

  *~*~**~*~**~*~**~*~**~*~*

  An hour later, they stood on the lawn of the castle, watching the entire thing go up in flames. The candlestick covered his small metal face in horror. If he listened hard, he could still hear the moans of his master from deep inside, along with the screams of the dying furniture.

  Beauty had a hard, fanatical look in those doe eyes as she watched the enchanted castle burn down. She only glanced down at him once, her pretty mouth firm. “If you tell anyone of this, I shall have you melted into a chamberpot.”

  Candlestick promised never to tell a soul.

  Little Red Rotting Hood

  For all that Grandma was one of the most respected necromancers in three kingdoms, she went down without much of a fight in her final hour. Her house was filled with charms and potions, but they didn’t do her a bit of good when a hungry wolf showed up at her door.

  The wolf was pleased. The winter had been long and lean, and it was his first real kill in a few weeks. He feasted off of the old woman’s corpse, but a familiar scent kept intruding into his mind, and once he’d eaten his fill, he searched the house for the source.

  There was a great quantity of fresh meat on the sideboard, and Grandma’s best tablecloth was on the table. It could only mean one thing: guests for dinner.

  Yum.

  The wolf grinned, a plan forming in his lupine mind. She must have been expecting one of the local villagers, all fat and sassy from the recent harvest. His jowls smacked just thinking about it. He pulled Grandma’s cap over his head, and her nightgown (which was a bit more problematic) and set about to straightening the worst of the mess in her house.

  When that was done, the wolf crawled into the bed and waited, mouth watering as he daydreamed of the fat woodcutter down the road. He was lazing off into dreamland when a small scratch came to the door.

  He cleared his throat and tried a feminine falsetto. “Who is it?” The words came out as more snarl than girl, and he winced, wondering if the guest would take the bait.

  A response sounded at the door. Feminine, faint. It almost sounded like a moan.

  The wolf frowned and tried again. “Come innnnnn,” he sing-songed, voice cracking at the high note. Wolf throats just weren’t made for human speech, and he sounded more like a constipated donkey than a Grandma.

  There came another small scratch at the door, but it remained closed.

  “It’s open,” he bellowed from the bed in a snarl. Jesus effing Christ, did he have to do everything himself?

  Another scratch at the door, and another moan. “Braaains?”

  The wolf got up from the bed and ran to the door. Was Grandma’s guest stupid? He opened the door a crack, flipping the latch and then racing back to bed and pulling the covers over him. Grandma had a thick pair of sleeping drapes surrounding the bed, and he pulled those closed too.

  A small, lone figure shuffled in to the open door a few moments later, footsteps slow. Halting. Hesitant. A bright red hood obscured the face.

  The wolf straightened the puffy lace cap atop his head, hiding his ears. “Grandmama is ill,” he called again in the high falsetto. “Come to her bedside and give her some sugars.”

  And let her eat your plump, succulent face.

  “Braaaains?” The girl responded, and the wolf heard shuffling in the main kitchen, followed by the sound of eating.

  Exasperated, the wolf snarled. It was almost not worth eating humans these days, it really wasn’t. Especially with the diseases and all. Still, a quick peek out of the curtain showed that Red Riding Hood’s arms were nice and plump as she bent over the counter, eating. She was a solid little chunk, that grand-daughter. A nice, fine meal if she…

  The wolf squinted. Was she…eating the raw meat?

  Kids these days.

  He waited patiently while she stuffed her fat little face, and tried again. “Come give Grandma a kiss?”

  The girl’s feet began to shuffle across the room once more, and he retreated back under the blankets. A toothy grin covered his face, which he tried to hide. Grandma had been missing most of her teeth.

  The shuffling stopped.

  Fucking A.D.D. The wolf swore under his breath and peeked out of the curtains again.

  Little Red Riding Hood had discovered Grandma’s body under the table and had dragged it out. She was chewing on what was left of the dead woman’s head and making disgusting smacking noises.

  Ugh.

  The wolf made a sound of disgust in his throat, and Riding Hood looked up. The eyes of the little girl were red, her face bloated and round, and rot surrounded her mouth. “Braaaains.”

  Definitely time to check out the fat woodcutter down the lane. Even wolves had standards.

  Rapunzombel

  Prince Charming appeared at the base of the tower and smiled. The beautiful princess Rapunzel was trapped here, just like the legends said. Perfect. For a moment, he paused and envisioned how enthusiastic and excited she’d be at the rescue, and his mouth watered. He’d be willing to bet that she would be very grateful.

  He gave the thick stones a slap with his gloved hand. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. I wish to come up and see you.”

  A brief moment of hesitation, and then a long, thick blonde braid spiraled out of the tower and landed against the wall, the tip of the braid brushing against the grasses at the base of the tower.

  Prince Charming gave the braid a tug, then began to climb, using the braid as an anchor.

  He didn’t get more than a foot or two before a loud, unholy snap echoed in the silent wood. The braid became loose in his hand, and something heavy smacked him on the top of his head. He tumbled to the ground and stared in disgust at Rapunzel’s head, still attached to the now-loose braid.

  Charming was no lightweight, you see, and zombies weren’t particularly made for climbing.

  The Princess and the Zomb-Pea

  When one lived in an enchanted kingdom, there were all kinds of guidelines for the nobility. Which knife to cut one’s venison with, whom one can dance with at a party, and other things of highly important nature.

  Most important of all? Prince and Princess etiquette.

  Everyone knew the stories – if you saw a frog, you kissed it so the prince could return to his natural form. If you found a swan maiden’s cloak, you gave it back. Those were just the polite things to do, and royalty always rewarded their saviors quite richly.

  So when, on a cold and rainy night, when the servants awoke Queen Matilda and told her there was a princess at the kitchen door, she got her eldest son out of bed and dragged him to the kitchens with her. She arrived prepared, The Guide to Royal Etiquette in her hand.

  Behind her, Prince Gerald yawned repeatedly, scratching at his chest. “Mother, I really don’t see why we’re here in the middle of the night–”

  “There is a princess at the door, you fool!” Queen Matilda licked her palm and flattened the stray hairs sticking up from her head. The gray ones always stuck out like wires and lately there had been far too many grays. She glanced over at her son, drool-tracks on his chin and cowlicks in his hair. His sleeping-gown was stained – charming he wasn’t. “Clean yourself up.”

  Gerald yawned again. “Why? She’s probably covered in mud. If she is a real princess.”

  He had a point. Queen Matilda turned her baleful eye on the servants huddled in the corner of the kitchen. “You said there is a princess at the door, in the rain. By herself?”

 

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