Little Stinker In A Magic Realm

Little Stinker In A Magic Realm:

A Fairy Tale

By Vellumcore

Part One

There was just no denying it - the boy was a Class A stinker of the highest order, he was. There was just too much trace evidence scattered throughout and recorded in the annals of his neighborhood's history for him - or even his parents, were they called upon to account for his misdeeds, as they often were - to deny, before God and Man, that he was anything less than a miserable little stinker. There were too many broken windows, too many stolen cookies, too many scratches on car doors, too many prank victims with bandaged shins or tears of embarrassment, and much too many spit balls gathering like beach pebbles in the corners of his classroom.

No, it could not be denied. The boy was definitely a stinker, a wily scoundrel, plain and simple. Michael Gillam was his name, and Mischief was his game.

One of his favorite endeavors was playing pranks on his buddies, or especially, the uppity girls in his sixth grade class; and really, any kid who lived around his neighborhood, even the older boys and girls. He'd been beat up a few times by the older boys, and chased to the far corners of their neighborhood by incensed teenage girls, but he was a tough little tyke, forever unfazed. He'd often pondered whether or not it was the thrill of the setup, or basking in the aftermath of hurt, anger and embarrassment he wrought which was more enjoyable. He hadn't quite made up his mind yet.

But now, at this very crucial stage in his development as a prankster, he was about to take it to the next level. Upon a dare from his gangley, freckle-faced buddy, Stewart Hemple, another jewel of mischievous malcontent, he was going to set their teacher, Mr Levine, in his sights.

The whole class was gathered before Mr Levine had arrived, as usual. Seated at his desk, surrounded by his buddies at their desks, Mikey tried to calm his nerves and steel himself to go through with the prank. He could feel the familiar, ever present mass pressing upon his thighs as he sat there. He put his hands on top of his bulging front pockets, feeling the contour of scores of marbles he had crammed inside. The tactile feel of their numerous, hard, round bodies had a calming effect on him.

On any given day, when you saw Michael Gillam, you saw a boy with pockets bulging at the seems full of marbles.

Mikey never left home without his marbles. He loved his marbles. He did play marbles - once in a while, had actually become quite good even at flicking them with his thumb to a fair degree of precision; but, to be sure, there were far greater purposes he found for them, not the least of which being how they could be used as tools of his trade. In his mind, they were nothing but smooth, little nuggets of mayhem; and he'd put them to good use as such. He could throw them at windows, or beam them at unsuspecting nerds; he could use them to clog various and sundry objects like printers, blenders or toilets; he could even pretend to accidentally swallow one and cause any one of the little girls in his class to run horrified to the grown-ups to seek aid. Their uses were endless for one such as Mikey, one with a high acumen in mischievous scheming.

At the moment, his buddies were hemming and hawing around him, laughing and punching each other on the shoulders, debating amongst themselves whether or not Mikey would have the nerve.

Mikey would show them. It was go time. Although, this prank would not involve his marbles, for Stewart Hemple had set him on a different tack.

Exhilarated, he made his way to the teacher's desk, noting the abrupt silence which suddenly accompanied his actions that fell upon the classroom as the kids watched fascinated his every move. His eyes darted back and forth between the top drawer and the door, on constant lookout for Mr Levine. He opened the drawer and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. He took one, then closed the drawer.

With the coast still clear, he moved to the teacher's chair, placed the tack he'd just taken onto the nylon-covered seat - point up - then whisked back to his seat.

The air in the classroom bristled with excitement while the kids awaited their teacher to arrive - and the riot soon expected to ensue. Before long, Mr Levine sauntered into the classroom carrying his trusty briefcase. His suit was rumpled as usual, his tie loosened around his neck. His hair was black and short, his complexion olive. He had a serious balding issue which ruffled his middle-aged self-image feathers, upon which he'd taken to leaving the hair on one side very much longer than the rest, and combed it in a sweeping arch up over the balding pate atop his narrow head in an effort to hide his baldness.

C'mon, c'mon, thought Mikey, hurry up and sit! Jeez-o-Pete. It seemed like an eternity for Mr Levine to get settled in. Then, finally, he took his seat.

"OOOUCH!" he screamed.

Mr Levine jumped up out of his chair, his bum flaring with pain, and proceeded to bang his knee on the edge of the desk as he did so. "OOOUCH!" he screamed again. Standing on tip toes, his knee throbbing and aching, his arms bowed back around to rub his wounded rear, his spine arched backwards, belly forward, and squeezing his buttocks tight together in an attempt to help dull the pain, his body took the hilarious shape of a Capital D. Quaking out of his chair frazzled as such had caused his hair to become mussed; the long strands, once combed so perfectly across his pate, loosed and now hung down across his face, frayed and unkempt, blowing back and forth against the puffing of his breath. On stage in front of the class in such a manner, his face haggard and contorted in agony, made for a rather comical image which only added to the devilish satisfaction Mikey and his buddies bristled with.

Continuing to rub his wounded rear, the pain there brilliant in its herculean efforts to sustain spitefully forever, he peered round and around, roused and stun-faced, a search for understanding. Then down went his gaze towards his chair. There, a sparkly glint of light caught his eye bouncing playfully from tiny, sharp metal.

"WHO PUT THAT THERE?" he boomed at the children.

Silence. A few stifled giggles. Silence again.

Mikey and his buddies struggled with great difficulty to keep from bursting out laughing, their ribs huffing in and out as they chortled unbridled inside their chests only.

"I SAID WHO PUT THAT THERE?" Mr Levine bore into the children, studying faces, looking for culprits. His mouth opened wide as he was about to launch into a furious inquiry, but the words suddenly caught in his throat. Very peculiarly, he noticed all eyes were shifting back and forth between him and Mikey Gillam, whom, he noted, was the only one keeping his head down.

I should have known...

He strode over and towered above Mikey. Sensing his teacher's proximity, Mikey glanced up slowly, then cringed, seeing Mr Levine peering down intently at him, a dark pillar of authority arching over him, a scowl upon his face, fists on his hips. Ugh oh.

Seething, Mr Levine stood there a moment saying nothing. He remembered the tack prank from when he was a kid... only he was always on the other end of the prank. He'd never realized, until that very moment, how torturously painful it was.

He'd been quite the prankster himself in his youth. Despite himself, he almost began to feel a grudging respect for the little stinker and his brazen attempt. But you're not supposed to get caught, you moron. His seething diminished, but only slightly. He wouldn't punish the boy...

...too severely.

"I didn't do any..." Mikey began in self defense, but was sidetracked.

It was Kitty Muldune, renowned for being a teacher's pet, who'd stood up, taking the spotlight. "He did it, Mr Levine... Mikey Gillam!" she cried, pointing so strenuously at Mikey that her youthfully supple elbow bent slightly backwards.

With that, she sealed Mikey's fate.

***

I WILL NOT PUT TACKS ON THE TEACHERS SEAT, OR ANYONE ELSE'S.

That was his punishment. He had to sit in the corner and write that inane sentence - not fifty times, not even one hundred times, but a whopping three hundred times! "And I want you to number each line so I can check they're all there."

Hmph, thought Mikey, this ain't so bad. Well worth seeing Mr Levine squirm like that. Mikey giggled, conjuring up the image of Mr Levine's agony.

But he soon noticed an irritation on the first joint of his middle finger where his pencil pressed as he wrote. At line eighty four, a blister became apparent there. It hurt like the dickens as he struggled to continue. Hey, wait a minute... At line one hundred thirty two, his pencil had gone from sharp and pointy, giving his words a dark, crisp appearance on the paper, to extremely rounded and shiny, the lines now fat and light on the page.

At line two hundred and nine, his middle finger burning with pain, the muscles in his neck aching with stiffness, the recess bell rang out in the classroom. Mikey instinctively bolted out of his seat along with the rest of the children.

"Oh no, no, no, Mr Gillam. You're not going anywhere. Get back in your seat and continue. And when we get back from recess, I want to find that paper completed and on my desk... you hear?"

"Yes, Mr Levine."

So Mikey continued on. Word after word, the same sentence over and over again:

I WILL NOT PUT TACKS ON THE TEACHERS SEAT, OR ANYONE ELSE'S.
I WILL NOT PUT TACKS ON THE TEACHERS SEAT, OR ANYONE ELSE'S.
I WILL NOT...
I WILL NOT...
I WILL NOT...

The sentence began to not make sense in his brain, repeated so often as it was; the sound of the words in his mind seeming to metastasize into a foreign language. He let his head slump down into the fold of his elbow, resting his neck muscles as he continued.

He became drowsy.

I WILL NOT...
I WILL NOT...
I WILL NOT...

Soon, left all alone, Michael Gillam unexpectedly embarked on his destiny.

***

Mikey was in a field. It was pleasantly warm and the air was dry and the brightness of everything stung his eyes as he looked around. The grass upon which he stood was too lustrous and shiny, Mikey thought, the green much too brilliant and crisp. The sky was the same way, its great expanse a vibrant, rich orb of deep blueness. Daisies springing up here and there had edges etched too sharply in relief against the backdrop, and the intense yellow of their petals was too smooth, lacking texture. Everything seemed to be presented in water color, artificial.

He made his way along the rolling hills. Huge dragonflies buzzed about him, checking him out before continuing on their way. One spoke to him. "Get to the Keep, Mr Mikey, and to the Keep do get. They're in need of your services, and your services they need indeed."

"Who, me?" Mikey looked the dragonfly up and down, fascinated. "What Keep? And how do you know my name?"

"Silly boy... if you would train your gaze beyond that hill, and beyond that hill, with your gaze so trained, tell me, and me to tell, what do you see?"

Mikey looked off in the direction Mr Dragonfly had pointed. Down in the valley below, he saw a cartoon village, and at its center, a grand castle.

"I see a village and a castle. Is that the Keep you speak of?" Mikey was perfectly okay with the idea of speaking to a dragonfly.

"Indeed that is the Keep, and the Keep indeed that is." Mr Dragonfly hovered with perfect stillness, then zipped up and down and side to side in the flick of an eye with razor sharp movements before coming to hover once again. Mikey saw that it wore a tiny hat on it's head, and the hat had a feather sticking out of the band.

"What services of mine are needed? I'm kinda new here, you know... how could I be any help?"

"Seek Princess Eleen, and Eleen the Princess do seek. She is in need of a Hero, and a Hero you are indeed."

A Hero? Mikey stuck out his chest proudly. He liked the sound of that. It sounded about right to him. "Well..." He considered the rather ponderous endeavor of helping others, but he just so happened to have nothing better to do just then. "Okay. I usually can't be bothered with other folk's problems, but I seem to have some free time on my hands." He looked around at the wondrous, cartoony surroundings, feeling a sense to want to explore. "Yeah, okay, Mr Dragonfly, I'll go talk to the Princess. I'm just not sure how I can help."

"Help you can, and help you will, for now I must go, and go now I will." And Mr Dragonfly darted away.

***

Mikey made his way through the hills and pastures, waving his palms against the tips of the high grass as he strode. He came across many animals on his way; small furry creatures, birds of all sorts, cats and dogs, creepy, slithery reptiles, and not a few snakes. He talked to many of them, and they all seemed to know his name. They held him in high regard and showed him great respect.

He learned the name of the Realm was Arturia, and the village was called Highboro, and that it was the seat of power in the province. Speaking to the animals, he discovered the great calamity which befell the royal house of the realm - that which, he assumed, Mr Dragonfly had beckoned him to address with the Princess. It seemed that the young, dashing Duke Altoon, who had been staying at the Keep in preparation for his wedding to Princess Eleen three days hence, had suddenly disappeared. Rumors ran wild among the friendly creatures of the land, most of them thinking the Duke had lost his nerve to wed, and had skedaddled straight away back to his home province. Princess Eleen was a wreck. She'd heard that rumor, he learned, but demanded such a thing could never be so. She was sure there was treachery involved, and she'd put out a call to all adventurers to come to the Keep and join in the search for her beloved Duke.

Before long, Mikey came to the great wooden doors of the royal keep, their black, iron hinges artfully detailed, coming to sharp points flat upon the surface. The entrance was attended to by two guards dressed in fine studded leather vests, the sleeves of their shirts puffing out wildly at the biceps, striped yellow and blue. Their faces were like that of mannequins, their expressions seemingly painted in place. As Mikey reached for the massive, iron ring-handles on the door, the guards crossed their spears in front of him.

"Halt!" said the one on the right.

"Who," said the one on the left.

"goes," right.

"there?" ended left. They spoke each word alternating between them. They did so in perfect time with each other and such quick cadence that the words strung together in Mikey's ears as a normal sentence.

"Why I am Michael Gillam of Rochester, New York, beckoned by Mr Dragonfly to the aid of the Princess." Mikey's spirited reply reflected his joy and enthusiasm in finding himself inside this living and breathing RPG game - of which he was very familiar - not just playing one. The proclamation came naturally, playfully, the act of role-playing within the confines of this fantastical realm, with its peculiar inhabitants and its water-colored, textureless environs great fun for the boy. Speaking that way tickled him. It reminded him of the fairy tales his mother would read to him when he was but a mere tot.

"Go,"

"away!"

"But aren't you expecting me?" Mikey became chagrined by their attitude, which was so unlike the friendly creatures elsewhere throughout the land. "Don't you know Me? Everyone else does."

"No," said Right.

The stinker in Mikey had a mind to step behind them and give one or the both of them a hellacious wedgie... but he thought better of it. He wondered how he was going to gain access to the Princess with these two goons blocking his way. He sank his hands into his pockets, fingering the multitude of marbles therein. "Hmm..." He began to conceive a plan. A mischievous smirk suddenly birthed on his face.

But then Mr Dragonfly zipped up to them. "Numbskulls of the Equerian Guard, and numbskulls do you be, this is the hero Mikey Gillam, and the hero Mikey Gillam he be. Step aside, and aside do step, for this one is expected, and expected he be indeed."

"You tell 'em, Mr Dragonfly," cheered Mikey.

The two guards seemed unwilling to cross the dragonfly. They seemed to revere him as someone of import. They uncrossed their spears in perfect unison.

"Very,"

"well,"

"Drago."

"You,"

"may,"

"pass."

Mikey glared at the dragonfly a moment, then just shrugged. "I could have handled those two myself, you know... but thanks anyway."

"Time is of the essence, silly boy, and the essence is of time. Your pranks may be useful, and useful they may be, but the Princess requires haste, and haste requires doth she. Your pranks take time, and time your pranks do take, my way is quicker, and quicker's my way indeed."

"Huh?"

"Come, follow me, and me to follow, come."

Mikey smiled at Drago. The strange creature was growing on him.

Together, Mikey and Drago entered inside the great keep. Within, Mikey noted again the high saturation of colors on everything around him and their lack of texture. It reminded him of the computer generated animation movies he loved to watch. They came upon the ornate throne room, strewn about with luxurious tapestries hanging on the walls and splendid additions of fine upholstered furniture. Golden treasures of all sorts decorated the tables and stands, all acquired, no doubt - and quite rightly, thought Mikey - by Magisterial right.

They were greeted by Grand Wizard Jackoby, who's long service to the Royal House had long been appreciated by all. "What do we have here?" He stroked his long grey beard, peering at them down the bridge of his great nose. Beneath the purple hood of his Mage robe, with its swirling, golden embroidery depicting symbols of which Mikey knew not what, the Wizard's eyes were kind and gentle. Yet something about his bearing belied their benevolence. Something seemed off kilter about him, artificial, though Mikey could not put his finger on it.

"A hero come from afar, to aid Princess Eleen, and Princess Eleen, from afar, doth he come to aid," said Drago.

"I'm Michael Gillam. I am told the Princess seeks aid in finding Duke Altoon."

Wizard Jackoby raised an eyebrow. "Hmm... yes, she does, doesn't she," he conceded, though somewhat grudgingly, in Mikey's opinion. With great effort, the Wizard smiled at them. "But how does a lad like you expect to help the Princess?"

"Um... I don't know. But a Hero like me shouldn't have a problem," Mikey added conceitedly, as stinkers often do. "Surely you know of me?"

"Indeed, not," said the Wizard.

A dreamy, serene voice suddenly drifted towards them, and Mikey almost melted upon the sweetness of its sound, though there was a note of melancholy in it as well. "Come now, dear Wizard, of course you know of Grand Stinker Gillam. Have we not reveled in stories of his antics in times past?" Princess Eleen appeared at their side, delicate and beautiful, yet saddened and worried. She dabbed her eyes with her kerchief.

She knows me?!? Mikey's breath caught in his lungs at the breadth of her beauty and poise, nearly making him want to purr in her presence. Just hearing his name spoken from her lips sent waves of delight coursing through his soul, not to mention the thrill it gave him to hear of her reverence for him. Grand Stinker! Now there's a fine title for sure! I bet no one ever called Stewart Hemple that, thought Mikey, and grinned.

Her hair was luxuriously radiant, rich chestnut in color with subtle red highlights, and its loose curls bounced gently upon every movement of her pretty head. Her womanly curves were bountifully abundant, and the little stinker in Mikey momentarily would not allow him to refrain from gawking at the treasures of her figure. Although, he soon recognized that he would never be mean or crude to her, and further, would never deign to ever play a prank on one such as she. And so, he ceased his ogling of her out of respect. It may have been the first time he'd done such a thing.

"I do?" Wizard Jackoby winced inwardly. He didn't know this little lout, nor that he held a stature of high renown in the land - then again, he didn't know much of anything about vapid Arturian fable, removed as he was from that kind of drivel. You fool, he scolded himself, you must play the role better than this. "Ahem... did you say Michael Gillam?"

"I did."

With a smile that nearly broke his face, he said, "Oh my, but of course. Yes, yes, the stinkerous Hero Mikey Gillam, of great renown... come to save the day." He wanted to crush the little tyke just then.

"Jackoby, you surprise me," said Princess Eleen, "I've never known you to be so forgetful." She blew daintily into her hanky. "To be true, you don't seem yourself of late, dear Wizard. Are you feeling alright?"

The Wizard tried his best to beam charmingly at the Princess. "Oh yes, dear Princess... it's just that the disappearance of our young Duke has... um, greatly perplexed me."

Princess Eleen turned from him nonplussed. "Come, come, Mr Drago, have you brought forth this Hero to my aid?"

"The young Mr Gillam has come as beckoned, and beckoned, has come, the young Mr Gillam." Mikey loved Drago, it was decided just then.

I have come to help you, Princess Eleen," said Mikey. "I have learned from the creatures of the Realm that you seek to find your fiance, Duke Altoon."

"Tis' true," she said with a sigh. The tears in her eyes began welling up again. "There has been great mischief brought to bear upon my handsome Duke. I don't know why, or by whom, but I feel it in my bones. The Duke has fallen to nefarious misdeed."

"But how can I help?"

"Are you not a stinker of the highest degree?" She became incredulous, losing her melancholy but for a moment. "Is there anyone else who has wrought as much mischief throughout the lands as you have done? Your scandalous deeds precede you, oh scoundrel of high renown."

"Well... yeah...," he conceded. "I guess." Mikey formed a crooked grin, feeling quite proud of himself just then.

"And who better than one who thinks like a scoundrel to flush out a scoundrel?"

"Good point."

Up above, flapping about the rafters on high, a black raven swooped around this way and that. "Caaw, caaw," it belched out its cry. Wizard Jackoby hunched over upon the sound, scowled, then bristled angrily at it. Mikey noted the Wizard's reaction. Odd. He looked up at the raven appreciating its regal bearing. It returned his gaze. It watched him intently a moment while flying in gentle circles above them before finding a perch on a rafter and folding its wings to nestle at its chest. Mikey thought it nodded at him.

"So, esteemed Stinker Gillam, will you help me," pleaded Princess Eleen. "I do so fear for the safety of my Duke."

"I will, Princess, I will indeed." Though Mikey really had no idea how he would breach this mystery.

He and Drago departed then. Mikey thought he would begin by querying the populous around the village. What else could he do.

***

Fairy Tale Part two  (E) A Young boy goes off to a magical realm. Part two. #1943869 by Vellumcore

Word count: 4015
Word count all parts: 11844