the Tempting of Princess Pasty

an excerpt from my novella-poem, 'Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons'

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fingers of fog clutched the Curmudgeons' cottage,

a rancorous vapor, spiteful at its core

as the craggy old hag menaced the entrance

and rapped her palsied hand on the makeshift door.

she wasn't prepared for the petulant hat rack

brandishing hooks and itching for a fight

poking past the princess in her rose-pink wreath,

beaming a smile that could banish the night.

"good morrow, madam.  come in and rest a spell."

Pasty curtseyed, a twinge tinging her brightness.

for its part the hat rack clearly had doubts

this leering bag of bones warranted politeness.

"that's just like you, dearie!  cordial to a fault!

it's the reason i've come, though i mustn't stay.

i've brought a small token to express my thanks.

once i've given you that, i'll be on my way."

she hobbled in, clinging tightly to her basket,

a mouldering stench trailing in her wake.

the battlerack swaggered back to its corner,

puffing out its hoods for appearances sake.

a few of the self-starting candles blazed

staving off the haze in its steady, seeping creep,

independently sparking and dousing

like lazy twinkling lights in intermittent sleep.

the bearskin watchrug snarled round a corner

its gritted teeth bearing an inscrutable air.

at the crone's approach the couch shuffled backwards

so she seated herself in a wary chair.

as Sludge White asked "and did you find your daughter?"

the drapes were pestered by a persistent breeze.

wresting her attention from the furnishings,

the hag looked startled and vaguely ill at ease.

"your directions were right on the mark, dearie,

leading straight to my son-in-law's humble farm.

i've brought you these apples from their orchard,

a new variety called Anastasia's Charm."

placing her baubles in front of her feet,

she handed the juiciest jewel to Pasty.

"it's just the thing for tarting up a pie.

have a bite of this one.  they're ever so tasty!"

a gust of wind tossed the billowing curtains

angrily snapping as they flapped through the room;

kicking up a dusty, blustering ruckus,

shaking the shadows that clustered in the gloom.

as the clicks from the clock swallowed the silence

and the walls resettled their self-dusting shelves,

Sludge White reached for the shiny red apple

and the candles held their breath, steadying themselves.
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- Evan Hawthorn, the 27^th of October, 2015