He was very old, and he had seen it all at one time or another in his life. Even so, never in a million years, could he have imagined that the Princess would grace his humble table. "I am certainly delighted and honored to extend my hospitality to you, your highness,” he said graciously, bowing from the waist. It had been ten years since he had even seen her. She had grown into a comely young woman. Her hair was the color of fine spun gold, lacy and delicate to the touch—an ethereal banquet for his long, sensitive, somewhat knurled fingers, he thought as he slowly and gently brushed the hair from her lovely milky face. It gave him a secret chill to touch her young skin, which was as soft as butter and warm as the summer sun to his quivering, wrinkled hands.
With some degree of surprise he felt a familiar nuisance, swelling up hard. Just a tad prideful, he reached to his brow, just below the hairline, and squeezed the massive boil on his forehead. The things normally found in a boil sprayed from it, raining down upon the young girl. Her perfect face, was now speckled with fluids from his infection. Of course she said nothing, nor moved a muscle; she was after all, a Princess . . . and tied up.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower in tone, and his words excruciatingly slow. He leaned in closer to her, "oh my . . . my . . . my . . . I'm terribly sorry," he whispered. He never took his blood-shot eyes off her, as he backed up and sat down on a chair next to the table. He rested his elbows on the table surface and with his face nestled between his hands, smiled at the Princess, his every movement taking an eternity. Wetting his swollen lips he bent over close to her and inhaled deeply. He could smell her royal blood; sweet and innocent. He leaned in and licked her baby-like face with his thorny tongue, swallowed hard, and sighed. "Mush. . .I mean (he swallowed hard) much better." A tittle of laughter escaped his dripping mouth, as he slurped in the goo that hung from his lower lip. With a slight grunt, he rose from his chair, clanging his spoon on his crystal chalice. "I have an announcement," he said comically, "a toast!” as if to a room full of people, “I welcome this wonderful princess . . . this . . . this exquisite creature, to our happy home." He looked down at her lying, trussed up on his table, and winked. "Welcome my dear."
He raised the glass of wine, smelled it’s wonderful and subtle bouquet, smiled widely, lifted it to his lips and downed it; bursting out in horrendous laughter as he smashed the chalice to the floor. In the next swift motion he lifted the meat cleaver from its place on the table and brought it crashing down with tremendous strength upon the girl’s soft, butter like throat, cleanly severing her head from her shoulders with no more effort than one lifts a finger. The head rolled over and fell off the table to the floor with a dull sounding thud, leaving a trail of blood. Without a glance, he lifted his boot and brought it down on her head, stopping it from rolling any farther. "I hope you enjoy your stay as much as we will!" His laughter was so robust that he coughed up a mass of gray mucus, which he spit onto the floor beside the girl's head.
"Wife!" he yelled, as he reached down to pick up the head by it's hair—he was suddenly very serious, "prepare the cooking pots, while I carve her into healthy portions. We will feast for days on this plump princess—this pudgy pudding girl." He began to go to work, in a graceful and seemingly effortless dance, on the body with his cleaver, cutting it up into meal size portions. He was fast and accurate, not missing a beat. The sound of wet, meaty chopping, echoed from their humble cabin and throughout the forest, as the poor unfortunate girl went to “royal” pieces.
Old Uncle Jackson smiled as he closed the old worn book and set it down on the wooden nightstand, next to a burning oil lamp. He paused for a moment, looking at the old leather cover on the book. A smile came to his wrinkled face—a warm familiar smile. Many were the times he had enjoyed listening to his grandfather read aloud from the same book of scary stories.
Uncle Jackson had a look about him of old comfortable love. Kind and generous was his countenance with a hint of precocious humor seasoning his personality and evidenced by the warm twinkle in his eyes. He was a gentle man, generous of nature, who could not hurt a soul, even if his life depending on it. He was a man who truly enjoyed life and laughter, and especially the wonderful aura of children.
He looked down at his niece, through the dim light, with as serious a face as he could muster. "So, my dear, do you like that little story so far?" The little nine year old girl was shivering equally from fright as from chill. She had her blanket pulled up nearly covering her face, her little green eyes darting to and fro, surveying the room carefully from underneath her tussled, light brown hair.
When she spoke, it was in a whisper. It was as if she were afraid that the characters in the book might hear her, and jump out and attack. "I think it was . . . awful, uncle Jackson, just awful—was it for reals?" the petite, green eyed beauty’ asked, through her horror. Old Uncle Jackson smiled, and bent down, so close; Janice could feel his whiskers; "what do you think? Go to sleep now, pumpkin. I'll stay awake for a awhile to ward off the evil spirits." He gave her a kiss, puffed out the lamp, and went lightly from the girl's room.
"I love you, pumpkin," he whispered quietly over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.
"I love you too Unc," she whispered, snapping the covers back up over her face so she would be safe from the night. He shuffled down the dark hallway, lingered for a moment, then went back to little Janice's room.
"Pumpkin?"
"Yes Uncle Jackson?"
"I'm sorry you go to bed this night with only porridge on your stomach, I wish I had more to offer you."
"Oh it's alright, I love porridge. Anyway, you can't beat porridge, topped with a great scary story."
"Thank you princess, I know you didn't bargain for this when you came to visit, but we'll do the best that we can with what we’ve been given, by the Man Upstairs. Maybe tomorrow there will be something in one of my traps; then we will eat like kings! I love you honey."
"I know Unc, and I love you too."
Jackson smiled. It filled his heart with warmth, to hear his niece call him Unc, just as if it were a magic spell. The combination of her innocent faith and her love, freely given, all rolled up into one endearment, once spoken, had the power to refresh and comfort his very soul. She was such a delightful girl, and he loved her so. He was, of course, not happy in his half-sister’s untimely death, he just prayed, every night, this wonderful girl would be allowed to stay with him always. He knew he could not replace her parents, but he would love her like his own child, which of course, he had had none.
Old man Jackson retreated to his rocking chair, by the fireplace. The cabin felt a little cold, and he considered whether the chill warranted another log on the fire . . . he decided not and rocked off to sleep. Better to save as much of the wood as he could, in case of a bad winter, he thought to himself, as he pulled a light blanket over his legs.
Two weeks later, the storms came. Jackson had hoped he would trap some food before the winter set in. Sadly, it seemed that this would not be the case. The first storm of the season was turning out to be the worst storm he had ever witnessed. The winds were fifty to sixty miles an hour, and it was snowing heavily. The snow blew across the landscape like a wet sandstorm, piling up everywhere it fell. Luckily, he had cut and stacked a great deal of firewood before the first sign of weather, and his frugal nature meant he had a goodly amount stored up of oil and other supplies.
We should be just fine, he thought, the whole winter, if the season's not too long.
"Uncle Jackson?" He heard Janice's voice faintly, from her room.
"Yes Pumpkin?" he called.
"It's time for my story now—I'm clean and dry."
He smiled knowing she had only been in the bath for three minutes and could not have sufficiently cleaned herself, but he would play along, "did you wash behind your ears?"
"Yes sir."
Jackson rose from his chair "I'll be right there, Princess. Put on your warm jammies, and crawl into bed."
"Yes Uncle, but hurry, I'm already getting sleepy eyes, and I don’t want to miss story time."
Old Uncle Jackson reached up to the top of the woodpile retrieving two logs. Throwing them both onto the fire he shuffled down the hall toward Janice's room, his old knee giving him a bit of pain. He, not one to ever complain, warmed it with a rub, and made his way into her room.
"What story do we want to hear tonight?" he asked as he entered her room.
"How about the story, The Ogre and the Orphanage?”
"You have a fascination with such scary things my dear."
"I love to be scared, besides it's not so frightening as the one about the princess."
"Oh well, maybe I should just read you an even better story—better than either of those two!"
"Better than The Ogre and the Princess?" Now she was intrigued.
"Much better!" He sat down on the chair next to Janice's bed, and picked up the book opening it to the very last story. Blowing dust from it's pages, he began reading.
“Once upon a time, there was a . . . by the way did I tell you that this story is true? . . . anyway, once upon a time there was a small village, nestled in the smokey hills of Cancaroon, (Janice snuggled deeply into her pillow and smiled. Jackson continued) and in that village lived a family of forest workers. The towns people called them tree-ers, as they cut down hundreds of trees each week for lumber and firewood. Seven men in one house with one women, the youngest of the six children, named Cerise. (Jackson looked down at his niece with a smile on his face as he continued the story from memory.) The men of the family were all very handsome—handsome and single, even the father, had been single for six years since his wife had died from a fever. The women of the town had always been interested in the young men; courting them with letters and baskets of food. The men were the pride of the town; the only single men for miles around.”
“One day the youngest boy and his sister went into the town of Woo, which was three miles from their cabin, to get some supplies—”
Suddenly a tremendous crashing sound from the yard, interrupted the story telling.
"What the?" Jackson hurried as fast as his old legs could carry him, out and down the hall. He called behind him, "You stay put, young lady!"
"Unc?" She called after him, suddenly very frightened, beginning to shake. She heard her Uncle go out into the living area, and then open the front door of the cabin. "Unc? . . .hello? . . .Uncle Jackson." Then she heard him scream, her heart jumped. Then nothing but silence. "Uncle Jackson . . .please answer me!" She was really scared and didn't know what to do. She heard him scream again, this time however it was different.
"YaHoo!" Janice heard him jumping up and down and carrying on.
"What is it Unc please!?"
"Quick! Come out here and help me . . . YaHoo!"
Janice jumped up out of bed, threw her slippers and pretty pink robe on, and ran as fast as she could down the hall and out the front door into the scary night.
There, in the front yard, she found her uncle bent over one of his traps. Could it be? Did he catch something to eat?"
"There you are princess . . . go get my club, it's not quite dead. YaHoo! Hurry now, I'll watch it to make sure it doesn't get loose. The Lord has blessed us tonight! YAHOO!”
Janice jumped for glee. She hurried to the shed, so excited she did not even notice the cold, or the scary shadows, or spider webs, or complete darkness in the shed.
"Here you go Unc." She yelled as she ran back and handed him the big wooden club. It was then that she could see the beautiful catch. They would be able to eat for days on it. Jackson had tossed a rope around it's neck for extra safety. He threw the other end of it to Janice.
"Hold on tight, princess, in case it comes to. My what a big fat one!"
There at the other end of the rope was the biggest and fattest human girl-child Janice had ever seen. One leg was caught in the trap, and broken.
"Eeyuu! Hurry Uncle, I hadn't remembered how scary these humans really look in person."
"Don't tell me your afraid of a human girl-child?" He laughed.
Janice shook her head, stubbornly but not confidently in negation. Uncle Jackson took the club and cracked it over the girls head, a little too hard.
"Well that did it!" Janice teased.
"It's alright, we usually make stew out of that part anyway, and I don’t like stew. Jackson smiled at his niece, she always looked at things in such a positive light. The body had stopped moving around. Jackson released the steel trap from it's leg.
"Let me help, Unc," she said as she jumped right in and tossed the body over her shoulder, "I can carry things pretty good you know!"
"Yes, pumpkin I guess you can." He smiled, pridefully. His little niece was only a scant eight foot tall, yet she was as strong as many ogre children twice her size and age. Janice thundered playfully into the house, taking out a good seized chunk of the doorjamb. Old Uncle Jackson laughed to himself, he remembered when she was a scant six feet tall. Right then she peered out of the house, back at her Uncle, "It's pretty heavy, Unc, how much will we get out of it?"
He reached up and pulled something gross and wormy looking out of his thorny nose, thought for a moment and said, "Several great meals, honey, and a even few light snacks." He laughed at their unexpected blessing, as he reached up and popped a huge puss wart on his chin and then hurried inside slamming the door behind them.
