Tag Archives: Fairy Tales
The Restaurant: Ragdoll Chronicles 1.15.18
Ragdoll Chronicles 01.15.18
"Throw him down the chute!" The five merged on Chase who was trying to get out what appeared to be the front door but was in fact a door to nowhere. The storm he had come through was not visible through the glass, nothing was. Just as they were about to grab him a mist formed in the room and when they all turned to see what was the cause they found a crow that stood as tall and as broad as any of them present.
"What the hell?" the raccoon shouted. "Where did that come from?"
The crow looked around himself. "Where is the pond? Where is the glen?" He stepped towards the others who were backing up to avoid contact with the bird's sharp beak.
"Who are you?" the mouse asked while trying to hide behind the orangutan.
"Priestly," the crow replied stiffening up quite regally. "Andy who might you be?"
"This has to be Runa's doing," the brown bear said. "We need to get clear of this or we will be sucked into this mess as well."
"I say we toss both of them down the chute," suggested the mouse trying his best to not be seen by the crow. "We need to get shut of this before the inspectors arrive."
"Inspectors?" the crow asked while stepping closer to the five who were doing their best to find an avenue of escape, but the crow, as large as it was, blocked them and held them there with the boy shoved up against the wall behind them.
January 15, 2018 Gordon	blogging, death sentence, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, writers, Writing	Leave a comment
RUNAWAY: Ragdoll Chronicles 01.03.1918
NOTE THESE ENTRIES ARE THE DRAFT OF A BOOK I AM WRITING AND THERE WILL BE ERRORS.
Ragdoll Chronicles 1.13.18 @ 0515 © Gordon Kuhn All rights reserved.
"Get away from the pond," both Starter and Cawkin shouted while waving their wings and hopping up and down. But it was too late. One stepped up and placed a foot in the water, quite accidentally actually, but accidentally sometimes doesn't matter and in this case it did not.
"What?" the crow called back.
"Get away from the pond," the pair again shouted. But it was too late. They could do nothing but watch as the other crow at the pond melted away in the mist rising from the waters at its feet.
"She has him," Cawkin said.
"Can't we do something?" Started began to flap his wings and move forward anticipating a run to the where the disappearance had taken place.
"No. We have no idea where she might have taken him and besides, that's just her way of teasing to come closer.
"But what about Nouveau? They found rags over there."
"It's a trap. She is showing us the rags to get us over there. She has him too."
"But where?"
"God knows. I don't."
"Can we go after him?"
Cawkin looked at Starter for a very long moment of silence. "We can but…."
Robert made a dash to his car through the stinging rain. However, he had to stop short of the vehicle because as he approached it he discovered it actually was floating several feet in the air and at each attempt to grab hold of a door handle the car just moved higher. Finally, he set off on foot in the direction of the small local lake where he and Chase were planning on going fishing later that day.
Chase had a good lead on his father as he had already walked several blocks pursued by a strong wind that pushed him forward. Every time he stopped and thought about turning back he was slammed with gusts that knocked him down. Behind him was a wall of rain that was coming ever closer. Then, ahead, he saw the lights of a small restaurant and he ran for it hoping to get inside and out of the weather.
As he stepped into the lighted diner he was suddenly aware that he had never been there before and, actually, he had never known of this place but the smell of cooking hamburgers lured him further in. At first, it appeared to be like any other small restaurant. There were several booths and a small counter with five stools. But Chase sensed that something was odd about the place and then he saw that the people seated at the counter weren't what you would expect. Four looked like very large animals with one human seated there and all were eating breakfast.
The opening of the door and the rush of wind and rain that accompanied Chase had drew the attention of the five and they all turned to look at him.
"Ah, look what we have here," the man said pointing at Chase. "A human child."
"A child? A boy child?" a very large brown bear seated at the end of the counter spun on his stool and asked staring in disbelief.
"No. Really?" a small creature resembling a white mouse seated next to the man spoke in a very low voice and looked to others for an answer. "It cannot be here. We must make it leave."
Next to the mouse was a raccoon appearing creature and to his right sat an orangutan with bright red and long fur. The two grunted agreement. The racc00n picked up a piece of toast from its plate and, holding it between his hands, offered it to Chase, "Come boy, are you hungry? If so, eat and then, by the blessed ground hog, please leave."
"No sir," Chase replied softly. "I'm not hungry. I — I came in from the rain."
"Well then," joined in the large brown bear seated at the end of the counter, "why are you here. This is a restaurant. And, rain? You say, you came in from the rain? I don't see any rain."
"Uh huh," Chase said glancing around, "it's the strangest restaurant I have ever been in. And look at me, I'm dripping wet."
"From what?" asked the brown bear. "Did you stand in your shower with your clothes on and then come here?"
"What's that?" asked the mouse. "I couldn't hear what he said." He shook his head.
The orangutan snickered.
"Did you pour water over yourself?"
"No, it's raining outside."
"Outside, where outside? I see no outside." The brown bear questioned.
"What?" asked the mouse. "Oh damn, I can't hear either one. He turned to the raccoon as if to ask for help.
"Turn you hearing aids on you dope," said the raccoon and slapped the mouse on the back of the head.
"I have them on," the mouse protested rubbing the back of his head.
"Well, turn the volume up."
"It is up."
"Here," the raccoon said, "let me see them." He jerked one out of the mouse's ear.
"Ouch," complained the mouse. "Don't just jerk them out. They are costly and if the queen even knew I had them I would pay dearly, perhaps even with my life."
"Oh, for Thor's sake, do you have to bring up the queen?" The orangutan knocked over his cup of coffee spilling the hot liquid all over the counter and his newspaper.
The brown bear raised its hand, "What's that?"
"What?" said the mouse.
"I hear bells ringing."
"I hear nothing," said the mouse.
"Of course you don't you idiot, you didn't have any batteries in the hearing aids," the raccoon told angrily.
"They are growing louder," the brown bear stood up and looked around for the source.
"It's getting closer," the man said. "It must be the queen or her guard.
"GET RID OF THE BOY!" They all said at once.
"How," the orangutan asked.
"Throw him down the chute!" the man said grabbing at Chase.
"YES," the others all agreed. "Throw him down the chute!"
January 13, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Literature, poems, Poetry, Poets, Writing	Leave a comment
Chase Seeks Refuge from the Rain. 01.10.2018 @ 0312
Denise staggered to the front door in a daze. She turned the knob and the wind flung the door free of her grip.
"Jesus!" Robert stepped inside, his face contorted with anger and concern. "Where is the boy?" He grabbed his former wife by her shoulders. "How could you let this happen?"
"I had no way to stop it," Denise went limp in his grip. "She came and went so fast I didn't have time to react to her. I never expected her to—"
"That's the problem; you never expected anything, not from me, not from her, from Chase, from anybody and know we are forced into a corner."
"What I should have done years ago. Find her, get Chase back, and then kill her."
"What are you nuts?" Denise turned on him with anger, spit flying. "You can't kill her." She pushed him away. "She has been alive for centuries and you think you, Mr. Robert Langdon, the famous do-nothing drunk from Havinerty Township can kill her?"
"I'll not shut up. Just what the fuck are you thinking?" Denise wrapped her arms about herself and closed the front door. "You think you can just walk up and kill her?" She threw her arms up in the air. "How the fuck do you know she's not here now and listening to you? You don't, do you, dumb ass?"
"Well—" he started unsure of what to say and then added angrily, "Well, I don't know what else to do. We have to get Chase back and the only way we can do that is to kill her."
Denise walked into her kitchen and sat down at the table burying her face in her hands. "You can't kill her," her voice was muffled. She sat back and looking at Robert shook her head. "Do you hear me? Even if you could, and you and I both know you can't do it. You can't kill her."
"He'll never forgive you."
"He doesn't need to know."
Denise stood and went to the stove where a coffee pot sat warming on the flames. "You know he'll know it and you will cause such a stir in her world that they will come and take him and God knows what they will do to us. Even if you could somehow kill her and I don't think it's possible." She poured herself a cup and stared at the stove while stirring in creamer, her hands trembling.
"There has to be away."
"He's her son," Denise said softly with tears running down her face. "There is nothing we can do." A hand swept the trail of water from her cheeks. She sighed and lifted the cup to her lips. Robert stood behind her. There was nothing he could think of to say, but he knew, he knew it was true.
Finally he put his hands on Denise's shoulders from behind. "Maybe," he began, "maybe she doesn't have him. Maybe he ran out and….and had gone someplace to hide. It's a shot."
"Uh huh," Denise said and lowered her head. "She's got him."
"Not necessarily. Look, give me time, an hour, before you start any incantations, and let me go look."
A tremendous flash of light lit up the whole house inside followed by a roll of thunder that shook everything.
"She knows," Denise said. "She knows but maybe you are right, maybe she doesn't have him." She turned and faced Robert. "Go, now, I'll wait."
But Robert was already at the door. "That lightning bolt told me she doesn't have him. I think I know where he's at." With that he was out the door and into the rain which suddenly had grown more violent.
January 10, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, Online Writing, Poet, writers, Writing	Leave a comment
The Pond: Ragdoll Chronicles Cont. 1.9.2018 at 0315
"Nouveau!" the entire Murder of Crows called out. Some took to the air to scan the surrounding area as the Clowder of Cats spread out also searching.
Cawkin stood still as all about him searchers called out to the Rag Man. "The Gypsy Girl," he turned to Starter. "Did anyone get her name?"
"Yes," Starter replied. "And you aren't going to like it I'm afraid."
Cawkin stepped up to stand in front of Starter. "Is it," he hesitated, "Runa?"
Starter moved in closer to Cawkin to conceal his voice, "Yes. I recognized her from the air, but—"
"Shit," Cawkin kicked at the earth with his right foot. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well—uh—I didn't think it mattered just then."
"Mattered? Runa didn't matter?"
"I found some rags," a voice called out.
Cawkin stared into Starter's eyes. "Please tell me that they are not going to where the pond used to be."
Before Starter could answer a startled collection of voices called out to one another, "Where'd this pond come from?"
"I don't recall this pond being here before," someone said from on wing above.
"Nor the river. Look at how blue and clear the pond is."
Cawkin turned as did Starter and both shouted, "Stay away from the pond." But it was too late, several had moved to within a few yards of the sparkling yellow sand that surrounded it.
"The ground here is very warm and I hear bells," the closest crow called to its wing-mates.
"There are rags in the water," another crow called out.
"And over here on the bank," another responded.
January 9, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, Literature, Poet, Writing	Leave a comment
Aleen; The Ragdoll Chronicles 01.08.2018
https://jangork.files.wordpress.com/2018/01/bcc-031814-warm-piano-ballad-891.mp3
01.08.18 Ragdoll Chronicles Cont.
He sat up high on the hill above the city of Ilandia His six foot wingspan had been closed and wrapped securely around him more for warmth than stealth and concealment. He sat alone, disliking being near the others who were mostly newlings out for their first hunt and kill mission. They were all several hundred feet below him babbling about how lucky they had been too fly with such a master.
"Master," he snarled to himself after overhearing one of their comments. "What do they know of Masters. They are too young to know the virtues of such as Anloch the Strong who took out a thousand Betweens on a day many called 'Judgement Day.'" He snorted and tightened the grip of his wings upon his body.
"Still strong," he looked down at himself, at the muscle structure of his arms. "After all these years, still strong," he sniffed in pleasure and recalled his first mission.
"They are missionaries, not unlike us, but of different beliefs and that is the danger," Anloch had said in a snarl, his gargoyle like face close to Aleen's. "Kill them swiftly, little one. Surprise those of your kind larger than you. Surprise them at your strength and keep in mind," his voice dropped low and his lips touched Aleen's ear, "there will come a day when you will have to those you serve as well. And, yes," the others voice was close in his ear and he could feel the hot breath on his neck, "there will come a time when you may even have to kill me."
Aleen stiffened at the thought and then remembered watching Anloch struggle as surprise swept over the other's face and he grabbed for the open wound on his throat trying to stop the spray of blood as it rushed up and out from the fatal slash Aleen had provided him. Aleen had stepped back from his master as the teacher died before him struggling to grab Aleen just as he turned and with a jump was airborne and slipping into the night sky. "Traitor," Anloch shouted, his voice bubbling from the rush of blood ,and then Aleen's teacher, guide, his best friend, died from the mortal wound Aleen had delivered.
January 8, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, gypsy, Military, writers, Writing	Leave a comment
A Prophesy Regarding Aleen from Book One of The Ragdoll Chronicles 01.06.18 at 0307
A Prophesy
"The Great Winged Assassin Aleen sat like a large boulder perched on the side of Mount Bastion across the valley from where The Castle Ur stood. His vantage point overlooked the Sea of Rife and the Companion Halls of Medore. He took a deep breath in and listened as his leathery skin expanded and then exhaled slowly, meditatively. Then, again, a slow inhale, then slower exhale.
He had been practicing this form of breathing for years before a kill as it relaxed him and placed him in a state where little affected him. He drifted outward and inward at the same time moving away from his central core to a point where he was no longer attached in spirit. Time would pass and he would breath in deeply and then slowly allow his wings to unwrap from around his bat-like body startling those nearby at the unexpected exposure of a muscular frame hidden there concealed beneath a skin so black that he could stand silently and without movement during the night next to a victim or military guards and never be seen until he struck.
He was deeply feared as an assassin and plan for his removal had been in place for over a year, but he had struck first leaving not one council floor covered with spilled blood, but three of them. He had moved so quickly that those killed were never able to leave any message to alert others of his actions. He was a master of treachery and his intended kills sat nearby completely absorbed in a juvenile conversation about how famous they would all become in the near future. Not one realized their future would end that night.
January 6, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Literature, Poet, Writing	Leave a comment
Ragdoll Chronicles at 1619 on 01.05.2018
The phone rang in Robert Langdon's apartment just as he was stepping out into the rain. "Oh," he groaned, "now what."
With little speed he approached the ringing device and picked it up.
"Robert," Denise's shrill voice made him move the receiver from his ear. "Robert! Where are you?"
"I am right here on the phone with you. Damnit Denise, what is it now? I am on my way over there."
"He's gone."
Silence on Robert's end.
"He's gone, damnit didn't you hear me. He's gone. He's gone."
Robert listened as Denise's voice tumbled as if a cliff into hysterical crying. "He's ——he's gone, Robert."
"She took him."
"She? Who is she? I don't understand. Just a minute." He dropped the phone onto the couch and crossing the room in a bound closed the front door then back to the phone. "What the hell are you talking about Denise?"
"She—she took him."
"Stop crying and talk to me. Who is she?"
"Runa."
Robert's face went white as the phone slipped from his grasp and landed on the sofa.
January 5, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Literature, Writing	Leave a comment
Ragdoll Chronicles Continued Post at 0821 on 01.05.18
Denise returned from a trip to the garage where she had a second refrigerator keeping several trays of cookie dough setting up and waiting to go into the oven. "Coffee," she said to herself softly with a sigh as she took a small rag from her pocket and wiped her brow, "I simply need either a nap or a good stout cup of coffee."
"Then you shall have one, a cup that is, but I need to take the boy with me." It was a young girl's voice that seemed to come from within every object in the kitchen including her own self.
She stopped still. Her hand went to her throat. Trembling she said, "Wha wha what? Is someone there?"
"Come now Denise, did you forget me? Has it been so long? Don't you remember playing in the orchard by the glen near the river that crossed through and came to a small lake that was a brilliant blue and clear as the air?"
Denise stepped back, her hand tightening on her throat. "No. Stay away. You can't have him."
"But a deal is a deal."
Denise felt a gust of wind and heard the sound of a hundred tiny bells ringing. Then came the touch of a small girl's hand on her arm. Without looking, Denise asked, her voice quivering, "Runa?"
"If you recall that name. Yes. But I have many names given me over the centuries, but Runa is fine. It means secret, whisper."
"You can't have him." Denise turned and stared down at the gypsy child next to her. She was fully clothed in a historical gypsy dress, the same as when Denise had last seen her. She looked as if age 12 but was far greater in age than that.
"Oh but I can and I will." The girl smiled up and nodded. "I already have." She pointed to where the boy had been hiding and then to the plate of cookies. Both were gone.
"NO!" Denise grabbed for the girl but she was gone. She then turned back to where Chase had been sitting. "Chase," she shouted reaching under the table, hoping to grab onto the boy. "Chase!"
But he was gone.
January 5, 2018 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Fiction, Gordon Kuhn, Literature, Poet, writers, Writing	Leave a comment
1.3.18 Ragman Chronicles
There were cookies, enormous ones, brown, thick, with melted chocolate chips oozing flavor from the inside out sitting on a large plate, covering the entire surface sitting atop a table near the fireplace. The boy had been watching them for hours; his tongue tasting them while trapped inside his mouth for such was his desire to sink his teeth into one…..no two or three at least.
"Don't even think about them," Denise warned as she passed by where the boy hid up under the table near the fireplace where he could easily have grabbed at least say, oh, one of them. "Don't even think about it," she said, pausing in front of the table. These are for tonight. They need to cool. Your father," he caught the grind in her voice upon the use of the word "father", "will be here to get you out for fishing in a bit."
Chris could tell she was working on her makeup using a mirror perched on the mantle above the fireplace. A shoed foot suddenly prodded him, "Did you hear what I said."
"What part?"
"Ma'am?" she issued a correction and he knew she had stopped brushing her hair and was in a very good position for a nasty kick if he didn't respond correctly.
"Sorry." His voice sounded close and low.
"What?" she demanded.
"I said I was sorry, ma'am!"
Silence from above. Perhaps he had been too loud with his response.
"Are you being smart-alecky?"
Confirmation.
"No ma'am."
"Are you ready to go fishing?"
"It's raining."
"You're going," she replied bluntly. There was no pause, no, oh I'll look and see. No, do you have a coat, a rain coat. No, just … you're going.
"So," he decided to dare, "you have company coming?"
Silence. Again the sound of stoppage of grooming from above. The hair brush came down and was placed on the table above his head. Then her face appeared below and near his. "What I do when I do it is my business, little man. If I want company over then I will have said company, do you understand?"
Chris hung his head and agreed in a very low tone.
"Yes," he said much louder while looking at the floor.
RAGMAN CHRONICLES 12.18.17
The Ragdoll Chronicles: I Am Nouveau
As the two stood in the Glen they suddenly noticed they had been passed over by a shadow. In fact the sky above them had shifted from a light blue to a growing and respectfully ominous gray. The sudden increasing darkness caused them to look up, and there they found that the flock of crows that had ascended with Cawkin had turned back earthward after noticing he was missing from their formation.
Searching for their friend from high up among the clouds they quickly spotted him on the ground engaged with what appeared to be a pile of brightly colored rags. Concerned and curious at the same time, they wheeled as one and headed down in mass, their bodies closing upon one another, wings tucked in tightly, blocking out the sunlight causing the sky to turn from light blue to gray to almost a worrying black.
And then, magically it seemed, Cawkin and Nouveau, were suddenly surrounded by a mass of at least 100 crows all of them as tall as Cawkin was at 6 foot. One hopped up close to where the two were standing and said, "Sir, is there a reason you left the formation and may we be of some assistance?"
Cawkin replied, "There is no need for concern, Starter. I spotted my newfound friend standing alone here in the Glen and I decided to speak to him."
Starter glanced at the oddly constructed ragdoll man next to him. "Do you mean this gentleman?" He nodded in the direction of Nouveau.
"Yes," a third crow broke in. "Who is this—this creature?"
Cawkin cleared his throat doing his best to remember to be calm and yet he knew the others would not understand. "He is who he is."
"And that is?" A chorus of voices rose up around the pair. He felt the slow crush of feathers as the group moved closer.
"Nouveau! That is my name," Nouveau proclaimed proudly.
"He is but a pile or rags," another said in a complaining voice.
"Yes, Nouveau, that is your name. Do not be afraid, my friend." And with that Cawkin lowered his head and said into the surrounding blackness of wings, "He is my friend."
The crowd of crows stepped back and the 2nd crow moved closer. "Cawkin," her female voice had softened from her first try. "He is a pile of brightly colored rags. Can you not see that?"
"Of course I can see that, Tinder," did you think that I have gone blind?
"No," she stepped closer. "He began his life here in this Glen. Gypsies I saw them." She leaned in closer. "It's was a young girl, she did magic. I heard them tell her to do the laundry, to wash the rags, but she chose to do magic. I saw her. She dumped the rags out on the ground from her washtub and spoke to them. I saw that Cawkin."
Starter pushed his way into the conversation. "And yet you said nothing? You said nothing to the rest of us of the Gypsies doing magic in the Glen?"
"I— I— I didn't think that—"
"That is a problem Tender," another voice broke in. "You never think."
12.18.17 Copyright Gordon Kuhn All rights reserved.
December 18, 2017 Gordon	blogging, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, writers, Writing	Leave a comment