Stories : TALECRAFT STORYTELLING CONTEST
October 26, 2008 Powerbooks Greenbelt
Comedy, Haunted Hero, Music Box
A Day at the Park
Jose Renato Evangelista- Winner
Miranda doesn’t understand what has just occurred. She stands there dumbfounded, cradling a bundle of cloth in her arms. She takes a breath and tries to put her thoughts into order.
It was a beautiful day. Not to be cliché, but the sun was shining and the birds were singing and everything in the world seemed like it was in its right place. So Miranda went to the park, as one does on a beautiful day like this.
She skipped merrily to the park’s center, where a charming stone fountain had been erected so that people may enjoy beautiful days while sitting down on a bench and take pleasure in the tranquil sound of flowing water. There was but one person there to sitting at the fountain that day, however: a tired-looking woman, gently rocking an infant in her arms.
“OHMIGODITSSOCUTECANIHOLDHIMPRETTYPLEASE?” Miranda, loud and giggly, exclaimed to the woman.
“Go right ahead.” Replied the woman; a glint of something in her eyes.
“What’s his na—” As Miranda looked up to meet the Mother’s face, she realized with gripping horror that the woman was already halfway to the exit, and with baby in hand Miranda wouldn’t be able to catch her.
“HE’S YOUR PROBLEM NOW! SO LONG SUCKER!” The Mother cackled maniacally and gave a little jump, all while managing to sprint her way to freedom.
And now Miranda is very confused.
A tap on her shoulder was enough to break her dazed stupor; she turned around to see a portly woman with her graying hair in a bun looking quite concerned.
“Oh, how horrible! I saw everything, the poor thing. What a shameless mother!” The woman spoke in one of those faux-pas British accents. Who does she think she is? Madonna?
Miranda struggled to find words to reply to the elderly woman, although she was almost certain that her mouth was open.
Suddenly, a phone rings.
“Let me hold him then.” The elder takes the bundle from the girl effortlessly. The baby had awakened. It was crying. “Go on, take the call.”
“Richard?”
“Hey Mimi, wanna hit the mall?”
“No!”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It’s awful. I was in the park and this woman she gave me her baby and ran away and now I have the baby and I don’t know what to do.”
“Wait, YOU HAVE A BABY!?”
“Yes, it’s right over—” She turned to the old woman who was now making a desperate dash across the freshly mowed grass, baby in tow. “NOT AGAIN! This can’t be happening…” And so Miranda took chase.
***
Having lost the woman in a city crowd, Miranda can do nothing but take passing glances at the people around her, hoping that one will be able to guide her to the baby-stealer.
Out of the corner of her eye she sees an elderly man; staring at her intently. In his hands he holds an ornate music box. She sighs as he approaches her.
“Listen, mister. Whatever you’re peddling, I’m not interested. Unless it's, you know, weed.”
“I know whom you seek.” He begins in a low groaning voice.
“Really!? I mean that’s pretty Deus Ex—”
“Her abode lies deep within the city.”
“The sewers?”
“No, it’s that pawn shop by the coffee place on 5th.”
“Oh! They have the best macchiatio—.”
“You must take this!” He thrusts up the music box in his hands, almost hitting the girl in her face. “When the time appears, you shall know what to do.”
“M’kay…” She wrestles the music box from his arthritic fingers.
He points one hand towards a dark alley, to which Miranda turns. A resolute thwap breaks the climactic silence as the old man’s hand meet with Miranda’s lower half.
“And may I say you have the finest—”
Miranda hurriedly ran down the dim pathway.
***
“Hello?” Miranda calls into the musty antique store. “Oh wait, that’s stupid, I shouldn’t shout because—AIIIEEEHHH!!” A rotting plank gives way causing the girl to drop down into the basement.
“Oof. Is it me, or do I not get to finish my sentences any—”
“YOU! How did you find my secret entrance?” There the baby-snatcher stands; a pot of boiling water set beside her.
“What secret entrance?” Miranda whines. “You just saw me fall through the ceiling!” The girl lies in a pile, slightly disgruntled but unhurt.
“No matter, I am almost done with my stew and soon I shall add the final ingredient: A DELICIOUS BABY BOY!”
“You’re going to eat him!? I was sure you were one of those crazy old spinsters who steal babies because they can’t get a man.”
“Silence! I will grant you a boon, if only to see you squirm.” She gestured towards a small mat, where three figures lay. “If you can guess which of those three babies is yours, you may take him. If not, I shall eat you too.”
“That’s easy.” She pointed towards the middle figure. “It’s that one.”
“What? HOW?”
“Well, the one on the left is a Baby Wee-Wee Doll and the one on the right is a cat.”
“…”
“I’m not a total idiot, you know.”
“Bah! It doesn’t matter. I’ll boil you up anyway.” The lady cannibal cackles.
“What!? No fair.”
“Life’s not fair, dear. Now get in the damn pot.”
Miranda needed to think and quickly. The music box! Grasping the wooden chest to her torso she thought back to her conversation with the old man.
And may I say you have the finest—
Nooo!!! That’s not it.
When the time appears, you shall know what to do.
“I know what I must do!”
She stands; an indomitable look on her face.
“What could you possibly—” The wood of the music box crunches as it hits the crone in the face, immediately knocking her to the floor.
Miranda scoops up the baby and runs for it.
“So sorry I couldn’t stay for dinner.”
The girl takes her leave; vowing to never have children herself.
The Jester's Quest
Ma. Katrina Lucas
Once upon a time, there was a young man named Russell.
He isn’t a brave warrior with large muscles and a big heavy sword, and neither is he a powerful wizard who can make entire galaxies dance the tango. Russell is a jester who spends his days making the court laugh. And when he’s not making them laugh, he’s thinking of new ways to make them laugh.
So one day, he sat beneath a tree strumming his harp, forming a nonsensical song about talking animals and singing rocks. The wind toyed with his red hair as he plucked a single string, listening to the note it left lingering in the air. When it died away, someone sat down on the grass beside him and tapped his shoulder.
“Hello, Russell.”
The newcomer was Sir Alden, a real knight and at the same time, a real magician, which was quite rare. Knights chose swords over words; according to them, by the time you finished saying those magical spells, you would already be toasted by a fire-breathing dragon. Swords were a lot straighter to the point. But the reason why Alden started taking up sorcery was that he was beginning to get too old for the battlefield, and still wanted to be useful somehow.
“Hello, Father.” The jester’s bright blue eyes lit up when he saw who had decided to keep him company. To him, Alden was more than just a knight and a magician; he was a foster father; despite Russell’s exceedingly amusing job, his history was far from amusing.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Alden, grinning.
“All right, what am I thinking?”
“You’re thinking about being a knight, like me,” said the older man, stroking his beard where it was beginning to turn gray. “I know you. As much as you enjoy being the court jester, you want more out of life. Besides, all the jesters I’ve talked to have felt the same way. But are you really sure you want to become a knight for our kingdom?”
It didn’t take too long for Russell to give his answer. “Of course I am. You know that. Maybe it’s about time I put away my little floppy hat and my harp. No, wait, not my harp. I like playing it…”
“In that case, listen to me, my son. There is something you must do…”
When Alden told him what he had to do, Russell expected an epic journey complete with intense action, real adventure, damsels in distress and using bushes for bathrooms. However, it didn’t even take half an hour for him to reach his destination – a huge cavern beside a slow river and a small patch of forest. Besides those, there was not much else – no people to save, no enemies to fight, no dragons to slay, not even stones to be picked out of his shoes…
“Hey, you in the funny costume.”
On second thought, perhaps he was too hasty. But why wasn’t he told to bring a weapon? Maybe this was part of the test…
“Down here.”
Russell looked down. There was nothing there except for the ground and a rock just big enough for him to sit on. He plopped onto it and sighed. Were his ears playing tricks on him, or what?
“Ouch, get off me, you great big clown!”
Exactly one second later, he leapt off it with a yell, his eyes darting about to see who had spoken for the third time. When he caught sight of his rock, he noticed that it now had two beady eyes and an open mouth. Its teeth were tiny, shiny white pebbles. It frowned at him and let out a sigh as Russell crouched down and gaped at it.
“Did you just…”
“Of course I talked. I’m the spirit of this cave. Didn’t your teachers ever tell you about spirits?”
“Yes – “
“Then I don’t need to explain anything. Just get into my cave and take that stupid box.”
The young man scratched his head; this was all too simple to be a test of bravery, strength and everything else knights needed to be. Then again, all this was meant to make him let his guard down and forget his task.
“Are you deaf or something? Take it!” The rock rolled its eyes – which looked a lot weirder than it sounded. “I honestly don’t know how it got there, or why nobody wants it. Off with you!” It sounded so irritated that Russell quickly sprinted inside.
The cave was just as he had expected it would be – dark, damp and rough. Twice he tripped on the jagged floor. Stalactites dripped water onto his head, and he tripped again – this time, over something that seemed out of place on the cave floor.
Before he bent down to pick it up, he instantly knew that it would have to be the box. It looked and felt a lot like an ordinary box, but appearances were deceiving.
Then it dawned on him that he had done it, he had finished his quest! Sure, it was short and a lot less action-packed than he would have preferred, but it still gave him some sense of achievement. Instantly he bolted out of the cavern and ran all the way back to the castle without even saying goodbye to the rock spirit. It was probably all too glad to be rid of him anyway.
When he reached the drawbridge, Sir Alden was waiting for him, smiling widely. He thanked the jester, took the box from him and sighed wistfully. “Oh…I haven’t seen this old thing in a long, long time…”
“What’s in it?” Russell couldn’t help asking. “Gold? Jewels? A shiny new sword? Something that can bring world peace or at least help me become a knight?”
“Good heavens, no.” Alden opened the box and drew out a small, yellowing roll of parchment. “I’ve finally found my grandmother’s chocolate chip cookie recipe after all these years!”
A Tale of Two Boxes
Erica Gonzales
It was supposed to be another trip to a record store. She was in another city, and in a mall a lot farther from the one she usually went to. She was just taking a tour of the large mall, and steering herself toward familiar territory: a tour of what the record stores were like.
She walked into one of the larger record stores, filled with hundreds and thousands of titles, sectioned off into categories. The ends of each rack had a listening area, with a selection of albums found on the rack. She stopped at a few, and listened to some jazz and some new pop music.
She moved on to another rack and was about to check out the albums when she heard a little voice.
“Please help me.”
It came from the end of the rack. But the only thing there was a music box, the size of half a shoe box, surrounded by samples of rock albums.
“Please help me,” the voice said again. It was a male voice, a baritone.
The girl moved closer to the leather-lined music box. She wondered if she was hearing things, or if she had passed an invisible laser of some sort. Her hand reached for the music box, and reached for its lid.
“WAIT! Don’t open the box!” the voice said.
The girl was now sure that the voice came from inside the little box. She wanted to find out how it was possible. Despite the voice’s desperate protests, she flipped open the lid.
Thereafter the poor princely figure inside began to sing—to rasp and to grate—Crawling in my skin, these wounds they would not heal; Fear is how I fall, confusing what is real...
The girl slammed the lid of the music box shut.
The rasping had been in tune, and did justice to Chester Bennington’s rendition of Linkin Park’s well-known song. But the rasping scratched at the girl’s ears, worse than fingernails scored at a blackboard and amplified on loudspeakers.
“Now you understand,” the male voice rasped from inside. “Whenever the lid is opened, I have no choice but to sing this noise.”
So he was a relatively new cursed music box. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you,” she apologized. “How do I help?”
“There’s a guy like me in the classical music section,” the music box said. “Could you find him? But you’re probably busy…”
“No, no, I’m cool,” she assured the box. Anything to help the poor singer in the box from the torture of his existence. Well, anything to keep people from walking away from a pretty good record store. She placed the music box back onto its table and walked toward the classical music racks.
She heard a small voice as she passed the opera selections. “Hey. Hey!”
She stopped. She was near a table similar to one in the rock section. The voice came from another little music box, silver lined and gothic. “Hey, man, got a gun?”
“Firearms are prohibited,” the girl answered.
“SMB, at least?” the box asked.
“Also prohibited. What’s your sob story, anyway?” She reached for the lid.
“Don’t you dare open the lid!” the music box demanded.
Despite the music box’s protests, the girl opened it and got blasted by a beautiful operatic You raised me up, so I can stand on mountains; You raised me up to walk on stormy seas…which filled her ears and rocked her senses. Josh Groban could not have done better, but this rendition did not send her soaring on the music. Rather, it made her look for a falling chandelier.
She shut the lid. “Let me guess. You hate classical music,” the girl said.
“Gee, how did you find out,” the music box said. “I got switched with this guy…”
“I think I know. What do you mean, ‘switched’?”
“Just get me to where that guy is and we’ll fix things there,” the opera-singing music box said.
The girl did as she was told and brought the box to where she met the rocker music box.
She put both music boxes on the table and opened them simultaneously, letting out a cacophony of classic rock noise. Then she closed them both at once.
“Recognize each other?” she asked them.
“Give me back my music!” the Chester singer box demanded.
“Get me away from those choirs!” the Josh singer box exclaimed.
“QUIET!” the girl ordered, making both boxes silent. “What do I do now?”
“See the plug at the back of my box?” the rocker music box said. “Just attach it to the other guy’s box. That’s it.”
The girl found a short cable running across the back of one of the boxes. She unplugged it and reattached it onto the other music box. She opened that box, and was treated to a beautifully soulful and angsty I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn’t even matter… before she shut the lid.
“Thanks, man, you saved my life,” the rocker music box now said, back in his element.
“But what about…you know…getting back to your normal sizes?” the girl asked. After all, it looked like actual humans were in those music boxes.
“Nah, I’m good,” the real rocker said. “It’s a good life here. Cool music, good people. And I don’t have to spend for food and lodging.”
“I must agree,” the opera box answered. “Beautiful music, all free. I can live with singing that pop tune once in a while…just not that trash…”
“What did you just call MY music?” the rocker cried.
The girl took up the opera music box and walked with it back to the classical music section.
Then she walked out of the record store, before another music box talked to her.
The Unvampire
Michael Emil Luchico
The darkness fell upon the city. Every boy to get his girl is, sadly, trying to be witty. And whilst this endless dance a relatively young one wakes from his trance. A day away from the sun his reserves of blood are now gone. So the young vampire is now awake; so hungry for blood like it was cake. Slowly he opens his coffin whilst his vampire mother is a coughin’.
“Mother, shall we hunt now?” Brimming with gusto and confidence he said, talking to his mother, the vampire undead.
“Hunt?!” Questioned his mother “You?!” She continued to utter.
“Why? Is there a problem?” In his thick accent, he tried to be composed and decent.
“Ever since you lost your fangs, you’re hardly a vampire to me,” she retorted in disdain, even me, the writer can feel her pain.
“Mother, I am brooding as any vampire. I feel pain in the falling of the rain. Sorrow in a flower taken by a crow. I weep for your broken finger tip. Lament about drying cement,” the young vampire wept as his tears fell in contempt.
“My dear…” Mother vampire replied but the young vampire cried.
“I am romantic too! One time I sent flowers to my lover.”
“Oh the marble lady,” Mother vampire sighed
“She was more woman than any real girl,” again the young one cried.
He then picked up an old music box. Opened it and touched the marble girl’s locks. Then he probed his teeth. All is dull, no good for sinking any meat. The box played a sad tune -- making you remember rain in the month of June.
“You’re like a puppy my dear. You bit everything from blocks, rats and even dirty ears,” the mom cried. She lost both hope and pride.
“I even wrote her a song,” the young vampire lost in his own thoughts. He sang terribly like scraping pots. “See I am that romantic. I am a true vampire.”
“But why bite the marble woman? You knew you lacked dental fortitude,” this is what she said -- exactly what was in her head. “Even your dentist, before you became a vampire, knows that.”
“That’s it! I can be a full-fledged brooding and swooning vampire with fangs once more!” he shouted.
“How my dear?! Tell me quick!” Mommy vampire replied.
“I will schedule a visit to my ole dentist. I’ll have her shave me new fangs! And then we’ll have her for supper,” shouted the young one full of hope, you’d almost think he was on dope.
He then swept his mother to dance. Gingerly, was his step it was almost a prance.
But he was met with a slap. His mother not taking well what she saw, his load of crap.
“There are no dentists at night! Have you ever heard of dental night cap? I don’t think so. And besides…she was last night’s dinner. So stop this folly! And stay here while I get you your food. It’s such a shame. I’m a vampire not a nanny. And how are you supposed to be dashing and debonair if you have no fangs? I’d pray to God if only we weren’t vampires.”
In her anger, she stomped her foot on the floor. Vampires are extra strong, so she wedges the wooden floor, as well as the door. The door shatters, splinters start to scatter. However, a large sharp piece of the door, shaped like a stake, is hurtling towards her: I tell you I feel this threat is no fake. Caught in a state of shock, her body was seemingly stuck. A big thud followed, she’s pretty scared and felt a little hollow. She then realized the stake didn’t hit her. Her son stood on the way and took the stake for his mother.
She wept and held her son. She felt him fading and soon, will be gone. Then he buckled sounds like talking, combined with a chuckle.
She said,“Speak not son, rest. Save your energy. You’ve saved me so I’ll save you too.”
“Worry not mother,” he said in between coughs and seems to sound like laughs. “I am a vampire. I die of stakes that are wooden. Not ones that are painted to look like oak.”
“What do you mean?” the mommy vampire said as her son bled.
“I changed the oak door to polyutherane door. It’s easier to clean. You hunt all night for me. I’m paying you back by keeping our home. And plastics are easier to clean. By the way mom, the plastic flooring is due to be delivered next week.”
The mother wiped a tear. She had nothing to fear. A smile crept on her face. They started cleaning their place. And when they were done, the mommy would hunt and be gone. She planted her son a kiss, in her vampiric heart there was peace. He smiled a fangless grin as if to say “Mommy, bring me a homeless teen.”
High-Kicking Adored
Raissa Claire Falgui
“It’s the most memorable birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” Yvonne said, smiling up at Rafael. “Well, maybe except for one.”
“Not another engagement ring, I hope,” Rafael said. He looked uneasy. He was awkward and gangly, quite a contrast to graceful and petite Yvonne. She was a ballerina, he was an accountant; an unlikely pairing, but he had worked for their family’s ballet school for many years and they had grown close in that time.
Yvonne looked down at the ring and smiled. “Don’t worry. It was a gift from my grandmother on my seventh birthday.”
Her grandmother, not long retired from her illustrious ballet career, sent her from Paris, where she’d settled down, a music box with a delicate little dancing girl inside, as harbinger of the child’s destiny.
When she came to visit a month later, she asked Yvonne, “Did you like my present?”
“I loved it!”
Grandmother smiled. “It plays music from Swan Lake. You may dance in that yourself someday.”
“The music is lovely,” Yvonne said politely.
“I’m sure you will treasure the box all your life. You will find it useful, too.”
“Oh, I already did!” Yvonne exclaimed. “I brought it to school for show-and-tell and I found it very useful there.”
“To keep your trinkets in?”
“No, better than that. There was a boy in school who was pulling my ponytail and calling me names and threw a stone at me. So I threw the music box. It flew open and it hit him right on the head and the little dancer poked him in the eye. Was he ever mad! But he’s never teased me since.”
“I was surprised when Grandmother left the room in a huff,” Yvonne laughed. “She took the music box back to keep ‘for when I was old enough to appreciate it.’”
“You became a ballerina after all,” Rafael said. “No regrets?”
“Of course not.”
“You never wished you could be something different?”
“Don’t think so.”
“What about all those Kung Fu movies you ask me to take you to? Don’t you wish you could be like those warrior women maybe?”
Yvonne laughed. “That’s just fantasy! I just really appreciate their smooth flowing movements. Why are you so obsessed with the subject anyway?”
Rafael shrugged. “Just wanted to be sure you were happy.”
“Well I am. I have you and I just got the lead role in Don Quixote.’’ Yvonne was to dance in Don Quixote with a world famous Russian danseur. This was her grand coup. Being just after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the world was anxious to show their support to Eastern Europe. The President and all the ambassadors would be at the gala performance.
But when the night arrived, Yvonne had to struggle to keep up her spirits. She knew Rafael would not be there. Not after their quarrel last night.
Four words was all it had taken to break off their engagement. Yvonne was apologizing last night for being too busy with rehearsals to attend to wedding plans.
“It’s just as well,” Rafael said.
After a shocked silence she flew into a rage. He could see how she must have been when she threw that music box at a bully—he ducked when she picked up her handbag.
But she just opened it and pulled out a tissue to blow her nose.
“Don’t you want to get married?” she asked.
“It’s not that, it’s just…” He admitted he was afraid of the responsibility, that he wanted to find himself first; he never really liked being an accountant only he’d never known what he wanted to do with his life in the first place.
Now he went to the backstage entrance, feeling horrible that he’d made her feel bad just before her gala performance. He had to make sure she was all right.
They knew him well there, so they let him in, just after a guy struggling with armloads of floral bouquets.
Then he stopped. Was that a gun he saw the man extract from the flowers? Yes, there could be no mistake. “Hey, stop!”
The man with the gun started running. Rafael tripped over a coil of rope. When he got up he couldn’t see him. He hurried to stage left, where he knew from the music he heard Yvonne would be, waiting for her cue.
He threw his arms around Yvonne. “I’m so glad you’re safe!” he cried, then gasped as he saw the man at the opposite side of the stage raising a gun to his shoulder.
In the front row, they knew, were the President and ambassadors. He must be aiming at one of them.
“What should we do?” Rafael asked. At that moment, came Yvonne’s cue.
Yvonne leapt onstage. She danced all the way across. With a flying leap, she kicked the rifle out of his hand. As he bent over to retrieve it, she pirouetted and kicked him in the chin. As he fell, she caught up his rifle in her scarf.
Back she flew to the opposite side of the stage with the rifle, which she handed to Rafael just before she went to finish her spirited solo.
Rafael dashed backstage, just in time to point the rifle at the assassin with the cliché, “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
At curtain call, amidst the applause and the bravos, the President rose to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently been informed that a Communist rebel was attempting to assassinate me and the ambassadors to create international distrust of our government and to wreak national havoc. But the assassin was caught before he could carry out his misdeed, thanks to a dancer and her fiancé.”
These days Yvonne heads the family dancing school, to which she’s added a self-defense course she teaches herself, with the help of her husband, whenever Rafael can spare time from his security business. They are happy, pursuing their loves together. They’re definitely not a couple to mess around with!
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