Tuesday Tales --Lonely Peter

This marks the final Tuesday Tale.
I hope you enjoyed them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
Thank you for reading me.

Lonely Peter

It was once that a man led a simple life. He worked hard in his fields. He cut his own wood and cooked his own meals for he was a single man. He wanted nothing more than to be married and have someone to look after him that he could cherish.

He was good to his neighbours and to strangers. He helped them in their fields, gave poor families eggs and fowl whether he could spare it or not, and everyone knew if they needed help they could count on Lonely Peter.

He knew they called him that behind his back, but he did not care for it was the truth. He was lonely.

One day he was hewing wood and talking to himself, as he often did. "I don't want to be alone."

He raised the axe high above his head. "I don't care who I marry."

The words were barely out of his mouth when an old woman appeared in front of him.

She said in a thin, crackly voice, "If you give me your firewood I'll will let you marry me."

She was bent over. He thin gnarled fingers clasped the crook end of a staff she held for support. Most of her teeth were missing and what hair she had stuck out at odd angles from her head.

"I will give you some of my wood, old woman. But I have no interest in marrying you."

"Didn't I just hear you say you didn't care? Who else have you got, young one? You're shy. You keep to yourself. If you don't marry me, you'll be alone."

Despite being close to past the age when most young men married he also wanted a family. The old woman offered companionship, but she was past the age of bearing him children. If he couldn't have children, he may as well remain alone.

"You are too old to be my wife. You may take this cord of wood I've split, but I won't marry you."

"You would rather stay alone than marry one such as me?"

He leaned on his axe for a moment, thinking. For as lonely as he was he was not desperate. He did not wish to appear rude, but neither did he want any misunderstandings between them.

"Yes," he answered staring at the ground.

"So it shall be," she said.

The next minute he was standing in the middle of a shallow stream flowing from a small lake. Last year's bulrushes crowded the shores. New growth struggled beside them.

His body felt different. Thin legs ended in clawed feet. Wings and feathers grew on his body. When he bent down he saw a beak protruding from his face.

A shiver coursed through his body. Muscles moved from a  directive beyond his thoughts. His beak pointed upward and his wings opened and closed as his legs moved underneath him in a rhythm both familiar and strange.

The dance took him down the stream and back up again. As his mind grew more used to the sensations he understood: it was the spring and he danced to attract a mate.

But he danced only for himself.

Light dimmed as the sun lowered in the west. Frogs chirruped near him, birds flew above the trees calling to one another, and the occasional small fish or freshwater shrimp caught his attention.

He grew tired yet continued his dance. As dusk deepened he heard a soft trill. Another crane landed beside him.

A voice said, "Hello. You are new here and I see you have no one. Will you dance for me?"

Energy surged through him at her request. He raised his bill to the skies and jumped and twirled, beating his wings in rhythm.

But it was to no avail. The crane shook her head and flew away.

He stood in the middle of the stream. The water rushing over the rocks at his feet seemed to laugh at him, but it didn't stop him. After a short rest the compelling rhythm inside him made him begin his lonely dance again.

Soon another crane approached him, but she was not impressed by his dance and flew on leaving him alone.

The sun was almost gone. The other birds had taken a sleeping perch. Night insects were waking up and announcing themselves.

A shuffling noise in the grass behind him caught his attention. Another crane stood in profile behind some of the dead bulrushes at the edge of the stream.

"Hello," he said. He was tired and his heart ached with disappointment but still he asked , "May I dance for you?"

"It doesn't matter. You won't want me anyway."

"I fear it's you who won't want me," he said. "None of the others did. Please will you give me a chance?"

He jumped and beat his wings again in the strange rhythm as she watched him.

Dimness intensified around them.

"Stop," she said. "I've seen enough."

"You'll be flying away now like the others," he said.

"No. But it's not fair of me to make you continue." As she said it she slowly turned around and stepped out from behind the bulrushes.

She had hair on one side of her head, and an arm and a leg.

"I can't marry anyone, human or crane."

But he didn't care. "I was human until today. I refused a bent old woman. She turned me into this. Please do me the honour of being my wife."

The moon rose above the trees throwing more light over them. She turned her crane side toward him and stepped beside him in the stream.

"I, too, was cursed. An old woman asked for my help, but I refused. She made me only half crane so I would know what it was like to need. The curse can only be broken by someone who still wishes to be my husband after seeing me."

He rested his bill against hers. He was about to speak when a light flashed beside them. It dissipated leaving an old bent woman standing at the edge of the stream.

"Well, isn't this lucky?" she said. "Your curse can be broken, dearie. But what about this fellow? I don't recall giving him any options."

"It doesn't matter. I'm happy as I am and we have each other," he said.

"You've only got half of her, sonny. What'll you do when it's time to fly from winter?"

"I'll do whatever she does," he said.

"She'll be human soon. No place for you then."

"He can stay in my house," she said.

"And your family will taunt you for marrying a bird," cackled the old woman.

The moon rose higher in the sky until the three figures stood out against the night.

"I don't care."

"And you," she said to the crane once known as Peter. "You've got a woman, but you're stuck as a scrawny-legged bird."

"I'm happy. I won't be lonely."

As he spoke the half-crane, half-woman began to change. Her hair shrank into her head. Her arm turned to a wing, feathers sprouted from the human half, and she had changed to a crane completely.

The two cranes stood side by side with their bills touching.

"Bah. Love," said the old woman, and disappeared.

"Darling," said Peter, "May I get you a frog?"

Gratitude Monday -- The Stories Edition

I've been writing short stories lately, and I am having a blast.
It started earlier this month. One idea has turned into an assortment of ten stories to date.
I'm so grateful to have these ideas and to be able to execute them.
As well, I am also grateful I have a blog to post them on in order for others to read them.
I don't know how many stories I have in me. Right now I can hear several clamouring inside for attention.
I am grateful for this clamour.
For as long as they want to be told I will write them.

There's No Such Thing As Dinglemen

If you've ever wondered where the money goes, the following story may ease your mind. Or not.

There's No Such Thing As Dinglemen

"There's no such thing as a dingleman. Stop filling our boy's head with such nonsense."

Ella Fraz bustled about her small kitchen setting the table for their simple dinner. Plates of cheese and cold meats set on one end while four different kinds of bread and five varieties of pickles adorned the other.

In the center were three of her prize yellow tulips. She plucked them at their peak of bloom and nursed them as long possible before their inevitable demise.

Little Handel Fraz looked wide-eyed at his granddad's thick grey moustache. It jiggled and danced as the granddad laughed.

"Oh, Ella. What is the harm in passing on the stories? Hmm? Our grandson should know what everyone else knows."

Granddad Frank leaned toward the young boy and winked. "I'll tell you at bedtime so grandma won't know."

After the meal he pushed back his chair. "A good meal you've put together again, grandma. I don't know how you do it."

"May I be excused, granddad?"

"Or course, boy. Go."

"I am sorry there wasn't so much tonight. I don't know where the money goes."

"We'll be fine, my dear. You didn't have much?"

"Our grandson is a growing boy. He needs more food than an old woman."

"Nonsense, you're younger than me and I'm nowhere near old." He stood up and wiped a few dark crumbs from his moustache. "I will go finish that clock now. The cuckoo is stubborn in that one."

Alone in her kitchen, Ella washed the dishes carefully and put them away all the while wondering how she could save even more money.

They'd never had much. They got by and raised their own son and thought they'd have the older years to themselves.

But it wasn't to be, and now as they neared retirement they had another boy to raise.

Handel was as good a boy as any seven year old could be; smart and happy and full of life. Maybe he made them younger. Or maybe he made them feel their age, she wasn't sure. But as much as she loved him, he was a strain on the pocket book.

Tomorrow was freshmarket day. She could get oranges for a  treat. She counted out the coins from her purse and laid them in stacks on the table. Next she took out the paper money, smoothing each bill as she counted in her head.

She set out exactly what she needed for the next day's shopping and put the rest away.

As she passed Handel's room on the way to bed she heard her husband's voice.

"Tsk, dingleman stories."

#

"Can we get more of pretty red papers, daddy?"

"I don't know, daughter. We'll have to see what we find."

"Ooh, I can't wait."

"Now you be patient. We can only take what's there, and now that the new family's moved in we've less to pick from."

"When are we going?"

"Tonight, we'll check them again. It's been a few days since we tried. Go to sleep."

"But dad."

"None of your 'but dads' tonight. We've to be quiet and quick and see well in the dark to do this right. You won't be wanting to bring home the wrong decorations will you? Rest. I'll be having a nap myself. We'll leave at the knock of 12."

Brogryme tucked his daughter into the one piece wool covering and kissed her forehead.

"Daddy, what do the Big Ones call this?"

"A sock, Grandygirl. They wear them on their feet."

"Ooh, Big Ones must be very big if I can fit all of me in one."

It was a sock from a small Big One, but as he looked closely he saw he'd have to get a bigger sock soon. Grandy was growing. She'd soon be up to his shoulder.

"Brogryme."

"Yes, wife.

"You keep an eye on our Grandy tonight. I'll not have the Big Ones finding her. And I suppose neither you, husband. No new wall paper is worth it."

"So true, wife." He settled in a fat chair by a pleasant fire. "I'll have some pipe first, then I'll shut my eyes."

And he settled more and puffed a bit on the licorice leaves and thought.

"Mogryme, what if I find one of the skyblues? It could take the place of the green by the mantle with the tear in it."

"It was torn when you brought it home."

"Aye. The Big Ones set such store by the pretty papers. Carry them around and trade them for Cloud knows what. You'd think they'd take better care of them."

His eyes popped open on the third knock of 12. He took Grandygirl from her warm sock and gently awakened her.

"It's time."

#

Frank Fraz was up early. He hadn't slept well and was sure someone had gotten in the house. But he'd told his grandson dingleman stories at bedtime and they were in his mind. His mind was already fraught with worry about how to support his family with his meagre clockmaker income.

Few people had cuckoo clocks either in the Old Country or in this new one. Even fewer wanted them.

He could fix any style of clock as long as it had hands. There weren't many of those left either.

It was worry and imagination, nothing more, he assured himself as he set out his tools for the day's work.

"Frank, did you move the banknotes? I had them on the table last night."

"Are you sure, grandma? Maybe you put them back in your purse by mistake?"

"No. I had them set out on the table. There was a twenty-dollar bill and two five dollar bills and--my coins are all knocked over."

"I haven't been near the table. You could have brushed against the coins."

"I didn't. That doesn't explain about the banknotes. I need that money. It's freshmarket day."

"Handel is still asleep?"

"Yes."

"You don't think it was him?" Ella was shocked at her husband's suggestion their grandson was a thief.

"No, of course not. Is some missing?"

"I see only one five dollar note. The others are...oh, wait."

A carefully folded green paper stuck out from underneath the tulip vase. She carefully removed it and smoothed it out on the table.

"I have found the twenty. But how did it get there?"

"I thought I heard something in the night. Maybe the dinglemen were here."

"There's no such thing. We need to search."

They looked under the table and in the refrigerator and everywhere else they thought it might be, and several places where they knew it couldn't be. The missing five dollar note remained missing.

"I guess there's no oranges this week," said Ella as she put the rest of the money in a zippered compartment of her purse.

"What's one more week without an orange? It's nothing," said Frank.

#

"Careful Grandygirl, they've stacked the shiny metal up. They're slippery. We oughtn't leave a trace."

"The papers are out waiting for us. Isn't that nice of them?"

"Do they do that daddy?"

"No, my girl, But sometimes I've seen them left out ready for their trading. It's easier than trying to get into their hiding places. It's a long night's work some nights."

"A green and two blues, daddy."

"Daughter, let's play a trick. Help me fold the green one up. Good girl."

"Now what?"

"See those flowers? I'll push the vase up while you slide the folded paper under it. It will make them perplexed when they find it." He giggled.

"Purplplexed," said Grandy, and she giggled too because it was a funny word.

She stepped back into the stack of coins sending them sliding.

"Oops.I'm sorry,daddy."

"It's okay, daughter, but we'd better hurry away."

Brogryme took one of the blue papers and stuffed it in the pocket behind his licorice pipe.

"That's enough for tonight. Let's go."

#

G'morning granddad."

"Handel, how did you sleep?"

"Okay, I guess. I heard a funny noise in the night. Like a slidy crash noise."

"I did too, boy. The coins your grandmother stacked up were out of place this morning. And you know what else?"

He told Handel what they'd found.

"Was it the dinglemen, granddad?"

"Your grandmother says there's no such thing, but between you and me, Handel, I know it was."

Throwaway Friday Presents – A Littlest Bunny Adventure

This will be my final Throwaway Friday story as it’s the last one from the vault. I’ve really enjoyed being able to show them off. Thanks for reading them and for your kind words in the comments trail.

Bunny’s Winter Friend


It had finally stopped snowing. His father was out scraping away the snow from the door and his mother was busily knitting some new ear protectors for her children when the Littlest Bunny woke from his afternoon nap.
He had a nap every afternoon because he was a young bunny and was always up early in the morning. Most of the time it was the Littlest Bunny who woke everyone else in the household when he sang his morning song to the sun:

Good Morning Mr. Bright and Cheery
I am happy you are here
You make it light and warm and bright
And tickle me, tickle me, on my ears!

He sang this song early every morning as the sun came up because he was a very happy bunny.
He had been up early today, too, even though the sun got up later in the wintertime and the Littlest Bunny sometimes had to wait a very long time to sing his song.
So he had his nap and was ready to go out and play in the new snow when he woke up.
It was crisp and cold out under the mid-afternoon sky. The last few snow clouds were bustling off to rest and refill as the Littlest Bunny stood outside on the freshly cleared path.
His father had swept away the snow all the way up to main pathway through Carrotvale and the Littlest Bunny decided he would go for a hop through the village to see what was happening.

It had been snowing for several days and most everyone in Carrotvale had stayed inside. Now that the sun was out many of the residents were busy outside clearing away snow. Several young rabbits were running and jumping into the big, fluffy piles of snow that were being made as the paths were swept.
“Wheeee.” He could hear them laugh and shout as they as they ran and he heard “Ooooomph!” as they landed in the snow.

He kept going, sniffing the fresh, cool air and looking around.
As he turned a corner he saw an interesting sight head of him. This was new. He’d never seen this path before and it seemed to go to the top of a hill. Maybe he could see all of Carrotvale from the top, he thought, so he decided to climb to the top of the hill to see what he could see.

What he saw surprised him. The Littlest Bunny had only ever been to Carrotvale and Farmer Spudbutter’s garden. This was new and very exciting. From the top of the hill he could see even more hills and they seemed to go on and on and stretch to the end of the world where they met the sky.

He forgot all about Carrotvale. These hills and trees were much more exciting for the Littlest Bunny so he plunked down in the soft, cold snow and watched them.
Soon he began to wonder if there were any more bunnies out on any of the other hills looking at him.
“Wouldn’t it be fun,” he said to himself, “to meet another bunny from somewhere else.”
“Helloooooo,” he shouted with all his might toward the hills.
“Hellllllooooooo” he heard back after hardly more than a second.
It sounded just like another young bunny!
“Where are you?” he shouted. And the answer he got was the same as his question.
“I am over here,” he said.
“I am over here,” came the reply, which the young rabbit didn’t find all that helpful. But it didn’t matter. He had found someone new to talk to.
The sun was sinking very low behind the hills and the Littlest Bunny knew he’d better start for home
“Good-bye,” he shouted and “Good-bye” came back to him, but a bit fainter than before and the Littlest Bunny decided his new friend must have already started for home.


Every nice winter day the Littlest Bunny came back to the hilltop hoping to talk to his new friend and every day his new friend was already waiting for him.
He had a good and faithful friend, but he hadn’t told anyone about him yet. For now he wanted his new friend all to himself.
His brothers and sisters wanted to know where the Littlest Bunny went every afternoon so one day his brother, the oldest in the family and in his third season of bunny lessons, followed him.
The Littlest Bunny went to the hill and started talking to his faraway friend. Soon he heard a noise behind him and turned around find his big brother two tree-lengths down the path with his ears pulled down over his face trying to keep from laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked just a little annoyed that his brother was there.
“You,” said the older rabbit. “You are talking to yourself.”
“No I am not! I am talking to my new friend over there.” And he stretched out a little paw and pointed to a tree-covered hill in the distance.
“That is your echo,” said his big brother. “We learned about them in bunny lessons. Sometime objects like hills and bare trees will bounce your voice back to you when the air is just right.”
But the Littlest Bunny didn’t believe him. “He’s my friend, not my echo.”
“Okay,” laughed his brother, “you can have him all to yourself. But it is nearly time for supper so you’d better come home with me.”
So the Littlest Bunny shouted “Good-bye” to the hills and so did his big brother and they got two “Good-byes” back as they made their way home for supper.

The cold returned and more snow came down. The path to the top of the hill was not cleared again that winter so the Littlest Bunny did not get a chance to go out and talk to his friend any more.
Finally one warm spring day the Littlest Bunny could see the path was open again. He went to the top of the hill and looked all around him.
It looked so different. The bare trees of winter were now covered with their new green suits, a small stream was flowing through the bottom of the valley between the hills and some of the south-facing hills were smiling with red and yellow flowers.
It was a beautiful day in spring and the Littlest Bunny wondered if his winter friend was out enjoying the day, too.

“Hellooo,” he shouted, “how are you?”
He waited a moment or two, listening intently. He heard the chirrups and caws of some birds and a gentle breeze stirred through the new grass, but that was all.
He tried again, “Helllllloooo!”
Only the breeze and birds answered him.
“Oh,” he thought, “he must be busy playing. I’ll try again in the winter.”
And as he made his way down the hill he thought, “Maybe it was just my echo.”

But maybe it wasn’t.

Throwaway Friday Presents – The Littlest Bunny

Here’s yet another story of mine. I have a soft spot in my heart for the littlest bunny. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to convince a publisher that this translates to sales.

Farmer Spudbutter’s Garden

It was once that there was a very little bunny. He was the very littlest bunny in the whole bunny family; in fact, he was the littlest bunny in all of Carrotvale. And he was always getting into trouble.
Now, it wasn’t because he meant to get into trouble, but it seemed to the Littlest Bunny, for that was all anyone every called him, that no matter how fast he hopped, trouble would always catch up and tweak him on the ears.

The Littlest Bunny wasn’t just the littlest; he was also the youngest in his family and sometimes he was all but forgotten in all the hopping and shuffling as his brothers and sisters got ready for their lessons or were excited to go and meet their friends in Farmer Spudbutter’s garden.
The garden was at the far end of a lane that went past Farmer Spudbutter’s house and down through the middle of a long, green yard. The lane was shaded by big, leafy trees with branches that reached out and met one another high above the ground.
One warm summer days squirrels played up and down these branches, jumping from tree to tree and chasing themselves along the length of the lane. The birds who lived in the trees sometimes swooped lazily around the garden looking for some thing to eat and in the autumn they helped themselves to the ripe berries that grew wild along the garden’s outer edge.

His brothers and sisters always said he was too young and too little to play with them and he would get lost among the cabbages if he came along. Sometimes he followed them, but they told him scary stories about the big birds that would come to the garden and carry him away to their nests if he went any further.
The Littlest Bunny didn’t really believe them, but he didn’t want to take any chances of carried off by birds so he always went back home.
The Littlest Bunny really like the birds, and knew he shouldn’t be scared, but he didn’t want to live in a tree for the rest of his life and maybe never taste his mother’s lettuce pie ever again.
But today was a different day. That morning, as the sun’s warmth tickled his whiskers and woke him up, he told himself, “I’m not scared of any birds. I’m going to Farmer Spudbutter’s garden!”

It was very hot in Farmer Spudbutter’s garden and the earth felt very warm on the Littlest Bunny’s feet as he hopped between the cabbage rows. He nibbled here and there, just enough to taste, but not enough so anyone would know he had been there.
He had already tried the carrots, which were very sweet and juicy, and the radishes, too, but they made his tummy feel almost as hot as his feet. He really liked the tender lettuce and he even ate a few peas, although the shells weren’t to his liking at all.
He was having so much fun playing and eating in Farmer Spudbutter’s garden that he forgot all about everything else and he ate and he ate and he ate. But he found his tummy was very full and he was getting tired, so the Littlest Bunny thought he should take the very littlest of a nap before starting out for home.

He looked around the garden for a place to rest and saw that the big yellow sun had disappeared and in its place was an even bigger big cloud. It looked dark and heavy, and a cool, forceful wind had come up.
“Oh,” he thought, “it is going to rain. I will have to stay in the garden.”
So he hid under a big lettuce leaf to keep the rain out of his ears and he fell asleep.

But the Littlest Bunny didn’t sleep very long. A big clap of thunder woke him up and shook the tops of the corn behind him.
He woke up with a start and shivered. The leaf over him bowed under the weight of the rain and now he was getting wet, too.
He was miserable. His tummy hurt from eating too much in Farmer Spudbutter’s bountiful garden, and he was wet and cold and scared and a long way from home.
He shivered some more and began to cry, just a little bit, because he wanted to be home where it was safe and dry. He sniffled and tried to hide deeper in the lettuce.
“I should have listened,” he thought. “They were right, I am too little to be out here all by myself.”

Just then he heard a scratching noise. He peeked out from underneath the leaf and saw a crow standing near his hiding place pecking at the dirt.
He remembered what his brothers and sisters had said about the birds carrying him off and he started to cry even more. Why hadn’t he listened?

“What is wrong little bunny?” asked the crow in a strong, but gentle voice. “Why are you crying? Are you lost?”
The Littlest Bunny wasn’t sure what to do. His brothers and sisters had teased him about birds, but this one seemed nice. “No, I am not lost,” he said. "But I am far away from home and my tummy hurts.”
“And,” he added, getting a bit braver now, and sticking up his fuzzy chin so his ears knocked the leaf away, “I am not just a little bunny. I am the Littlest Bunny.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” said Mrs. Cora Crow. “I didn’t know that is who you were.” And she tried not to laugh because the young, bedraggled rabbit under the lettuce leaf looked so serious.
“Do you live in Carrotvale on the other side of Farmer Spudbutter’s lawn? I live in the trees along his laneway,” said Mrs. Crow. “I often see other young rabbits in this garden in the early morning before Farmer Spudbutter wakes up.”
“Sometimes I have to chase them away,” she continued. “I don’t want to do it, but they scare away the worms and make it hard for me to get enough food for my babies.”
The rain had turned to a gentle shower and the wind had calmed down quite a bit since they started talking.
“You look tired, bunny, and I am sure you would like to be home with your family and not trying to keep the rain away under a lettuce leaf. Would you like me to fly you home?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Crow,” said the Littlest Bunny, for he was very polite and came from a well-bred family of Gentlerabbits who always said “Please” and Thank You.”
“I would.”

So Mrs. Crow spread out her wings and told the young rabbit to stand on her feet and hang on tight to her and to not be scared.
"I'm not scared,” said the Littlest Bunny as took hold of Mrs. Crow. He really was a brave young rabbit, and he was with a friend.
They flew high in the air, or so it seemed to the Littlest Bunny, because he had never been up in the air before and it was all new and wonderful.
They flew past the trees in the lane and Mrs. Crow shouted down “Hello” to her family and the Littlest Bunny tried his best to shout down “Hello,” too.
The sky cleared as they flew high above Farmer Spudbutter’s long lane and over the big farmhouse on their way to Carrotvale.
It seemed to the Littlest Bunny that they were flying so high that they would fly right into the sun, but then Mrs. Crow began to circle and start toward the ground and it was all over.

He was home. His mother ran out of the house to see what all the commotion was and watched as Mrs. Crow delivered her tired, smudged and still wet youngest offspring to her door.
She had never seen a crow or any other bird deliver a rabbit or anything else safely home and she didn’t know what to do except to say Thank You.
“You are very welcome, Mrs. Rabbit.” And she flapped her wings good-bye and took off toward Farmer Spudbutter’s lane.
The Littlest Bunny was very glad to be home and wanted to tell his brothers and sisters not to be scared of birds, but his mother was looking at him very sternly and he knew he should wait until later to tell about his adventures in the garden.