Flat Fax And The Book Of Doors Illustrated

By P. S. Wright

Most boys like robots but very few become robots. This is the story of one boy who did.

Warning, this fairy tale is badly infected with science fiction.

Granny Which Witch is the editor-in-chief and author of every character, village, and thing in her domain. Someone has been making changes. And Granny is not happy about it.

Flat Fax, an invisible fairy, and an ogre named Klutz face The Authority, Lord Terrier of the Terrible Trees, and Mistress Why on their way to the birthday party Flat Fax is sure his mother has planned for him.

Uncle Whatchamacallit realizes Flat Fax is a creature of science and of fiction. Is he the answer to the erasures, or the cause of them?

Full color illustrations. Approx. 200 pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P. S. Wright
• Release date: Dec 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465718624

P. S. Wright

Hi folks. So you want to know more about the author?I have long felt like an old curmudgeon trapped in a young person's life. Now that my chronological age has caught up with my mental age, life has become a lot more fun. I have a passion for fixing up my home; currently I am remodeling our nice little 1950s ranch house which is sorely in need of a little love and attention. My son and I love to visit amusement parks and plan to sample every one eventually. But as this is an expensive and time consuming hobby, I am forced to find other ways to entertain myself between trips. I enjoy touring by car and visiting the landmarks and historical sites wherever I go and am not above posing beside the world's largest frying pan or with my head in the holes of ye olde stockes. I have traveled to or through or even lived in twenty-eight states and four countries other than my native USA. I have yet to visit Europe and consider that a terrible failing on my part. I am a true American, mongrel through and through, one quarter German or maybe Dutch, one quarter Scotch Irish (we think), half Native American (but even that half is from two different People). I come from hill folk, hillbillies to you city slickers. But I escaped that fate and have been trying to recapture my heritage ever since. When my son and I are not out traveling, attending college, or working, we like to hang out with our neurotic but lovable dog, Jake and his sidekick Kat, the cat.I have always been an obsessive reader. Somebody once compared readers who turn to writing to drug addicts who turn to dealing. Well, you have to support your habits somehow. As my mother would tell you, I often was late to school because I was reading the back of the cereal box. It is all Doctor Suess' fault. I once attempted to steal The Happy Birthday Bird from the St. Louis Library. My mother let me read it "one more time" before making me return it. So she is partly to blame not only for that little indulgence but the many hours of great story telling we begged off her as kids. Of late I have found writing to be an interesting way to kill time while in forced isolation in places like Camp Spyker, Iraq, Sharana, Afghanistan or Clovis, New Mexico. I mostly find time to write while away from home, but that may change now that I am staring down the barrel of retirement. Hope you enjoy reading my drivel; I am going to be prolific.

Book preview

Flat Fax and the Book of Doors

PS Wright

Published by PS Wright and Splot! Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 PS Wright

Discover other titles by PS Wright at smashwords.com

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 Wherein a boy, an ogre, and a fairy embark on an adventure

The Song I Wrote While Playing With Rocks-By Klutz Ogre

Chapter 2 Wherein Klutz’s story diverges, Flat Fax makes his escape, and the fairy’s illness is revealed

Chapter 3 Wherein a new villain is discovered, one love is lost and another found, and Flat Fax learns his true nature

Chapter 4 Wherein Granny gets edited discovers Flat Fax’s nature and the Invisible Fairy finally gets a starring role

Chapter 5 Wherein the matters are set to rights

Chapter 6 Wherein Flat Fax makes a decision

Epilogue

Prologue

Focus your attention on the lone woman in the hospital corridor, a dumpy, ordinary woman in working class clothing and wearing a worried expression. See how it changes to determination as she sits in the uncomfortable metal chair and balances the battered old laptop on her lap. The woman looks her age. Where will she get the money? Beside her looms a darkened doorway from which a faint electrical glow is emitted. A quiet steady beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor is punctuated from time to time by the higher pitched and longer tone of the automated intravenous fluid pump notifying the nursing staff it has run dry again. Their shuffling footfalls do not disturb the woman bent over the glowing screen for whom all sound and activity is drowned out by the constant tick-ticking of the keyboard. Frantically, furiously, she forces the words to appear on the screen.

Most boys like robots, but very few become robots. This is the story of one boy who did.

Flat Fax In Uncle Whatchamacallit's Laboratory Office

Chapter 1

Wherein a boy, an ogre, and a fairy embark on an adventure

Granny Which Witch

The boy woke and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Despite a good scrubbing, his vision remained fuzzy. He shook his head to clear it. Still, the picture before his eyes was unfocused. The boy covered one eye. The room sprang into focus. Ah, that was it. One eye was not carrying its load. The harder working orb showed him an oval mirror hung on the right wall. The boy stepped in front of it to examine his eye’s lazy twin. As he moved the covering hand aside, the eye beneath was revealed as the lens of some sort of camera. The problem, he realized, was that he was trying to use the same force to control both lenses but the electronic mechanism was extremely fine. He was over controlling. Carefully, he relaxed the muscles on that side. At first he could not discern any effect. Then suddenly, everything was clear and sharp, in fact, clearer and sharper than he had ever seen before. This thought brought the boy up short. Clearer than before? When? He searched his memory but could remember nothing of his life before this moment. He could not remember who he was or where he came from. Nor could he remember how he got here, nor even where here was. And now that he was thinking about it, he was pretty sure something had changed, several things in fact. For one, he was sure boys do not normally have a television screen where their tummies ought to be. Though he could not recall a single boy he had ever known, he had a good mental picture of a boy prototype. The prototype had flesh and blood legs, not slinky springs; it had meat arms, not telescoping metal tentacles. The boy waved his upper appendages, appreciating their fluid motion, much better than bones and joints could accomplish. He might have spent even longer watching himself, but his gaze wandered downward momentarily. That was when he noticed the silver letters across the top of the television cabinet. That is my name! It has to be! Flat Fax is the perfect name for a boy like me. But that made him wonder what kind of boy was he? Who was he? And where did he come from? Clearly, since he had never existed before, (otherwise, he would have remembered) today must be his birthday! This revelation made him anxious to share his special day with someone. He cast his eye, and lens, about the room for someone to tell.

The room was crowded with scientific paraphernalia, beakers and test tubes, cannibalized radios, glowing computer screens, and scattered everywhere, scraps and sheets of paper. An old fashioned blackboard covered with indecipherable formulae blocked one end of the laboratory. Flat Fax peeked around the board. That must be my father. Flat Fax stared at the grey haired gentleman lying on the workbench. He was wearing a rumpled white lab coat and funny paper shoes. Then Flat Fax looked down at his body and amended his assumption. Or maybe my creator.

The man was sleeping on a low wooden bench alongside a high metal table. Flat Fax was torn between wanting to talk to someone, and a desire not to disturb him. From the look of things, the man had worked long and hard and was probably quite exhausted. He put a tentative hand to the sleeping man’s shoulder. There was no response. Flat Fax cleared his throat and tapped with one finger. When this had no effect, he gave a little bit harder nudge. But the man’s undisturbed sleep continued. Annoyed, Flat Fax stamped his heavy shoes and shouted, Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Still the man slept. Flat Fax’s frustration level rose alarmingly as demonstrated by a red bar that appeared on his monitor. The word Frustration was displayed under the growing red bar, already overtopped by the green Happiness and yellow Fear. Flat Fax jumped up and down, his heavy leather shoes thumping on the wooden floor, the force of each stomp made more powerful by the oscillations along each spring leg. The jumping and oscillating caused all of Flat Fax’s moveable parts to rattle. He increased the din by blaring Reveille from his stereo speakers and clapping his hands. The noise caused spiders hiding in the rafters to fall from their webs. Dust sifted down from the ceiling and the windowpanes rattled in their sills. But the man still did not wake up. Flat Fax felt deflated. What could he do? Today was his birthday. Yet he had no one to share it with. He searched his onboard memory for references to birthday. As he thought about it, the red bar began to shrink in direct proportion to the blue Sadness bar. In fact, he began to pity himself a little. After all, no one had even baked him a cake or bought presents. No one had come to play pin-the tail-on-the-animal or sing the Happy Birthday Song. No one had woke him with breakfast in bed or asked him what he wanted for his special dinner. No one had taken him shopping for a new outfit or hung a piñata or taken his picture or jumped out and shouted Surprise! Flat Fax felt like crying. A picture of billowing grey clouds appeared on his screen and began to rumble ominously. His reference encyclopedia clearly indicated in circumstances like this, the boy's mommy is supposed to intercede. I want my mommy. Flat Fax boo-hooed. Where is my mommy?

Then it occurred to him. Maybe his mother had planned a party and all of his family and friends were waiting for him and he was late. He had been wasting time here. He hurried out the door, shutting it carefully behind him so as not to wake the sleeping man. He must be exhausted indeed not to have awakened despite Flat Fax’s efforts.

Flat Fax had no trouble discerning the path he should follow. There was only the one. It was obviously well tended with little flowers planted along the sides in bands of color. Each band corresponded to a length of paving stone. Violets appeared along a stretch of purple stone, buttercups alongside yellow, and bluebells alongside blue. Tea roses edged a particular pink shade of stone. And periwinkles winked from the side a paler shade of blue. Flat Fax found the color show amusing for a while. But after he had traveled past black hearts, crimson glories, and some blossoms that matched green, orange, and silver stone, he grew bored of it all. What was the point of it? He wondered. It was about this time that he came to an appalling sight. The pretty pink flowers in this section had been torn and squashed on one side of the path, the petals strewn about on the greenery beyond. Dirt had been flung up in clods onto the walkway. Flat Fax shook his head ruefully. Obviously someone had been rather careless, someone quite large, someone who's large barefooted prints led right up to the edge of the walkway. There was a long, muddy slip line, as if somebody very clumsy had slipped right off the smooth pavement and into the flower border. But why were there no prints leading back? Didn’t the oaf want to continue on the well maintained path? Flat Fax readjusted his lens for a wide angle view. He was still getting the hang of such visual adjustments and they did not come automatically yet. At first he saw only the pleasant rolling countryside. Then he spied something incongruous on the lawn. He thought it was one of those hideously ugly lawn ornaments, like a cross between a dwarf and a gargoyle until it moved. It was picking fruit from a mixed fruit tree and stuffing them into its huge maw as if it were starving. Flat Fax employed the internal math coprocessor he had not even realized he possessed before, and calculated the creature had to be just over six feet tall, or roughly twice his own size. While Flat Fax was watching the creature, the creature spotted him. It began to wave its arms, gesticulating wildly. Flat Fax thought he heard it calling to him. Yeah sure! He called back. You just want to eat me too.

Indeed, the beast looked ravenous, as if he had not eaten a juicy boy in weeks or months even. The creature shook its oversized head and appeared to be speaking to him. Flat Fax could not understand, but it did not seem to be threatening. In fact, the creature seemed to be trying to warn him about something. Flat Fax strained to comprehend. But the creature was too far away and spoke unclearly. Flat Fax bent toward the sound, one hand to his one human ear. The creature’s waving grew more frantic. Compassion and curiosity overcame caution. Flat Fax stepped closer to the creature and beyond the edge of the pathway. Now the words carried clearly to his brain. The creature’s voice was graveled and dull. What a difference the distance of a single pace! Flat Fax marveled at this new clarity and only belatedly attended to his message.

Not one toe, off path go!

Flat Fax thought this a strange warning, particularly as he had already left the path. Though he had no desire to come too near the creature, it was at least another voice, perhaps a friendly one and Flat Fax was weary of the pastoral scenery. He approached until he stood in the creature’s shadow. Why should I not leave the path?

The big head shook and fruit flies buzzed angrily. Walk-way, go away.

But how can a walkway go away? Walkways are paved with stone. They do not move. The people on them move. Flat Fax felt it was necessary to lecture a bit as his new acquaintance was obviously a little slow.

This time the thing shrugged, sending the flies into new fits of fury. Me stub toe. Path go.

Flat Fax remembered someone had tripped, scuffing out the edge of the path. But that was just the edge, not the whole walkway.

Stay by tree, not for me. Flat Fax’s confusion must have shown on his face. The creature clarified with what was for it, quite a long speech. Where get on, is own begin. Where get off, that is end.

You mean, once you get off, you cannot get back on?

Can, if you find. Have to start one more time.

Start all over, at the beginning?

The creature nodded sadly and the flies merely grumbled their discontent.

But that is ridiculous! I will just… Flat Fax turned slowly. The path was gone, not damaged, but completely obliterated. No trace remained. Flat Fax felt his mouth go dry. I will just… just… But he could not think of a single thing.

The creature sighed and gently thumped him on the cabinet. We talk. We walk.

Flat Fax agreed. At least now he was not alone. As far as he could see in every direction there were rolling hills with interspersed trees. As they strolled along, the beast introduced himself and explained their predicament as he understood it. At first it was hard to understand because of the rhyming. But as the bare bones grew, the succeeding bits were easier, fleshing out the tale.

The creature was an ogre. Ogres, like most flesh and blood people, are born in cabbage patches. Ogres though, are usually found under skunk cabbages. In their village of Under the Bridge, a mad scientist had lately moved to town. His experiments in gene splicing and cloning were having mixed results. Where he had managed to make ogres both smarter and more attractive, his successes always came along with some odd side effects. The ogres did not mind terribly because having two heads, or a humped back, or webbed fingers and toes added to their intimidation factor. So when a baby ogre turned up with ten thumbs instead of fingers, and two left feet instead of one of each, the lucky parents were overjoyed. But it soon developed that he was forever tripping over one or the other left foot. And while he was very good at bashing things and holding things; thumbs were not very good for the more delicate tasks. Soon the adolescent ogre had earned the name Klutz. He was never very popular with the girls because he couldn’t do the Ogre Stomp. And his mother forced him to wear a bed pillow stuffed down his shorts to cut down on the bruises and sprains. None of the other ogre teens even wore shorts. Despite these failings, one girl did have a crush on him. In a desire to impress her, he climbed the fence surrounding the rose garden of the old seer woman down the road. Of course, one of his huge, hairy, left feet caught in the fence and tipped him head first among the flowers. Ragged rose thorns pierced his thick ogre skin and caused him to howl in pain. As he attempted to extricate himself, his shorts got caught on the thorns while trailing vines ensnarled his arms and legs. He thrashed wildly, uprooting whole plants and stripping leaves from their stems.

That is exactly how the old seer found him when she investigated the commotion. She was understandably furious; her rose bed was in ruins. Living in an ogre village had always come with a certain amount of inconvenience. But most of the ogres had sense enough to avoid the gypsy's wagon. This intransigence had to be punished. Where would gypsies be if the young had no respect, no fear? Why, witches would be nothing more than old women in quaint clothing who smelled of cabbage and pipe tobacco. This insult was not to be borne. So, the old seer woman cast a suitably awe-inspiring curse upon Klutz Ogre. He would be insatiably hungry, but be unable to satisfy his hunger no matter how much he ate or how full his stomach. Immediately Klutz experienced a hunger pang of such magnitude, he was nearly doubled over. The gypsy was not a cruel person however, and almost as soon regretted the overly harsh punishment. As she helped Klutz disengage himself from the thorny vines she questioned him and learned of his birth defect. When she heard about his desire to impress the love of his young life, she was suitably touched. Though she wanted to undo the harm she had done him, curses tended to be one-way things. She could not abate it. But she thought there might exist some way. She told him she would enhance some gift which he already possessed, enabling him to discover his own solution.

Klutz had been so relieved to receive such consideration after his brutish behavior that he forgot to ask which talent she had enhanced. Driven by his insatiable hunger, he began to wander away from his village, careening from bush to tree to garden row in search of his next meal which never seemed to come soon enough. After several days of such wandering, Klutz began to notice odd coincidences were occurring with unusual regularity. It seemed every time he thought a question, such as where the next purple fruit tree might be, he would discover the answer by some mysteriously coincidental and accidental blunder. He had tripped into a pool of watermelon and fallen over a cliff into an ostrich nest full of eggs. He had bumped his head into a rock maple and discovered maple rock candy at its base. When he desired a place to rest for the night, he would tumble head over heels and wind up at the mouth of a cave or abandoned hunter’s shack. Thus he had wandered more or less aimlessly, filling his belly as he went, for another hundred days. Then it had occurred to him that he could use his new talent more wisely if he concentrated on finding a way to finally end the curse. So it was that he had fallen into the back of a hayrack, then out of it onto a conveyor belt, into a crate, which slid down a hill, was dumped into a river where he grabbed onto a log which rolled him over a waterfall which fed into a river which became a stream which ran under a bridge. When he dragged himself onto the bank he discovered a sign which identified the bridge as a starting point of a story about trolls. As luck would have it, some prankster had lined through troll and wrote in ogre. Now it was the start point for an ogre story. Klutz happily took up his journey on the path, confident it would lead to his happily ever after.

Now Flat Fax understood the ogre’s predicament but not how it had happened. Klutz related through further tortured rhymes that he had become bored of the long trek and had begun to wonder about the meaning of the bands of color. His talent had thus come into play, helping him to accidentally discover the answer. After stumbling from the path he noticed a change of scenery. Before, a bit of scenery would sort of merge into the next, creating a slowly changing panorama. But now as he looked about, the view was never changing. Slowly rolling hills of pastureland dotted with fruit trees spread out in every direction. But nowhere was there a sign of the path. Chagrined, he realized too late the nature of the colored bands. Each represented a single scene or stopping place. But only at the designated entry or exit could one get onto the path. He had left the path prematurely. He had no idea where the entry was for this scene. It was not his scene. He had been afraid to leave the spot where he had gotten off for fear of being unable to find it again in the dreary same landscape.

Flat Fax felt embarrassed. The ogre had blundered off the path due to the intervention of his magical gift. Flat Fax had made the same mistake through mere carelessness. He projected a picture of an ostrich poking its head into the sand on his screen. Then he had a second thought. The ostrich’s head popped out of the sand. Your talent found the way once. Maybe we could find it again the same way!

Klutz shook his head stirring the cloud of fruit flies anew. Several rhymes later he managed to explain how he had already tried without success. The entry just was not near enough to find that way.

Maybe there is another way. What if you did not look for the entry directly? What if you looked for something that would help you locate the entry?

The ogre looked thoughtful, clearly a stretch for the creature. Though he was intellectually superior to the other ogres, he had little experience exercising his mind. At last the full implication sunk in. He nodded, sending the flies into furious aeronautics. Then he concentrated. What could help him find the entry to the path? But nothing happened.

Are you really thinking hard? asked Flat Fax.

Klutz nodded. It was easier than rhyming for simple answers. Then his tummy rumbled.

Flat Fax had forgotten the curse. The ogre’s tree was looking a little bare. There were only a couple of shriveled up figs and one kiwi that might have originally been a lime. Fuzzy or wrinkled, neither looked very appetizing. We had better find you another tree.

Klutz looked alarmed, Tree over there. But path stay here.

Well, I will help you keep track of where you have already been. If only we had a map!

Klutz pointed at Flat Fax’s middle. What me see? Pictures on boy’s tummy?

That is my television screen. Flat Fax demonstrated. Then he struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. Of course! We do have a map!

Why boy slap? No see map.

Flat Fax created an image of the part of the path he had already walked, ending with this pastoral scene.

Oh boy, what toy!

Flat Fax was not sure he liked the sound of that. He did not want to be a toy for an ogre. Nor did he want the brute taking him apart for the fun bits. So he quickly pointed out he was a person, albeit a strange one. My television probably would not even work if I was not here to think up the pictures. he added, just in case.

Next Klutz pointed out that Flat Fax’s map only showed the places he had already been. It would not help them find the path entrance.

Flat Fax said, Well, you could fill me in on the parts you have seen. Then we will add more, as we explore. Now the ogre’s annoying rhyming was starting to rub off on him. He hoped it would not become a habit. He concentrated on not rhyming and continued. That way we will not get lost because we will always be able to find our way back.

Klutz agreed and the two headed over the nearest hill and angled for the next mixed fruit tree. As they walked, Flat Fax told his tale, short as it was, to the ogre.

Klutz Ogre

Klutz seemed eager to help, especially when Flat Fax mentioned cake and ice cream. He was tiring of fruit. Soon the two had become friends and worked themselves through dozens of fruit trees. There had been some really interesting varieties, banana, apple, plum, and lemon-lime. Klutz had really enjoyed the mixed nuts tree. And Flat Fax had been amazed at the reds tree. He had seen oranges before, but these were prettier. Flat Fax had even considered eating some but he had not been sure what they might do to his delicate inner components. So he decided against it. Flat Fax’s map grew and grew, but mostly consisted of trees and hills. Now most of those trees were bare. Klutz was decimating this region.

Flat Fax realized his friend’s problem was serious. If they did not find a cure soon, the ogre would wreck the environment. The friends were pausing at a fruit pie tree. Klutz had been delighted to discover mince-meat pies among its varieties and was savoring a particularly meaty specimen. Ogres were partial to meat after all. Flat Fax used the break to cogitate on their problem.

Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way. You said each section is a story, right? Klutz nodded, not wanting to empty his mouth long enough to speak. So what kind of story takes place in a setting like this? There is no action, no danger, nothing of interest at all. We have not even seen another living thing since leaving the path.

Me spy… Klutz waved one juice coated hand in an irritated fashion. fruit flies.

Yes, but who writes stories about fruit flies?

Story-snorey. Klutz spat out a seed hitting a fat fruit fly with splat accuracy.

Flat Fax grimaced. As rhymes go, that was ogrishly bad. Well, maybe it is not what it seems. Maybe we are looking at it all wrong. Suddenly a light bulb appeared on his screen.

Me see, you idea.

See. Exactly. See. Flat Fax cupped his hand around one of the dizzy fruit flies.

It had tried to bite the ogre and gotten a whiff of ogre perspiration. Weeks of a strictly fruit diet had caused his sweat to turn mostly to fermented fruit juice. The flies that flew too close were getting intoxicated from the fumes. No wonder there were so many. Klutz was a mobile fly party. Flat Fax extended his telephoto lens as far out as it would go and squinted his people eye. Now he could clearly see the tiny stitches in the fingers of his gloves. He raised his cupped hand to his eye piece and slowly opened it just enough to see inside. Then he gasped and almost let it go in his shock.

What see, TV?

Flat Fax looked up in annoyance. He was more than a walking television! But he could not stay angry. He was too eager to share his discovery. So he concentrated on relaying the signals from his telescopic lens to his video screen.

Klutz was bowled over and he took a moment to right himself. There in Flat Fax’s hand, was an exquisite example of a winged fairy. Those flying pests had not been mere flies at all. As they watched, the little creature made a fist and shook it at them. It spoke, but to Klutz it merely sounded like the angry buzzing of an insect.

What fay say?

This took some time for Flat Fax to decipher. Then it took a moment more for him to consider. It had sounded exactly like insect buzzing to him too. But if he could close up to see tiny or distant things, maybe he could also amplify and slow down the fairy’s speech to make it intelligible. This took both concentration and coordination, as it involved more than just extending a telescoping lens. But after a bit of trial and error, he succeeded. Flat Fax could not actually hear the fairy’s speech any more than Klutz could. But he could pick it up with his distance sensors, then process it digitally, then channel it to his projection speakers. Then he could listen just as Klutz did. After a couple of minutes he was no longer even conscious of all the work. He just did it as you would play an instrument, automatically.

The fairy was furious at being captured and held against her will. But when Flat Fax offered to let her go, she would not hear of it.

Thou knoweth not, once thou have captured a fairy in thy grasp, the fairy oweth you a service for her fair release? The fairy angrily buzzed.

Flat Fax and Klutz shared a glance, twice. What?

Don’t you know once you’ve caught a fairy in your hand the fairy owes you a service for her release? She obligingly clarified.

Flat Fax apologized and explained they were only trying to discover the nature of this setting so they could leave it.

This mollified the fairy somewhat. But, she said, I can’t help you with this.

Why, fly? Klutz demanded.

The fairy swelled its tiny bosom. I am a member of an ancient and mighty people, I’ll have you know!

Ho-ho-ho! Little mite wanna fight! Klutz clutched his belly, which was shaking like a fruit preserve spread with his laughter.

Please excuse my friend. Flat Fax interjected, stopping the fairy mid-curse. He has almost no experience with people and is under a curse.

The fairy appeared to consider that. Well, he who lives in a glass house shouldn’t throw stones.

What? Klutz and Flat Fax said together.

Oh dear, that’s my curse. said the fairy. You see, that’s why I can’t really help you. I’m cursed to only appear where I am not needed, and give advice that is not wanted.

That is terrible. Flat Fax meant it for more than one reason.

For more than one reason. the fairy said, seeming to read his mind. You see, this is my story you two have blundered into. I was supposed to happen upon a human on a quest, be captured by him, grant him a service, and thus be released from the curse. But now you’ve wrecked the story line. I’ll have to go back to the beginning and get a new one.

Back to the beginning? That's perfect. We'll just follow along and rejoin the path at the entry. And this time, we will stay on it until we get to our own endings. Right Klutz?

The ogre nodded so energetically, a whole battalion of fairies were sent spinning off for parts unknown.

Oh no, you don’t. The fairy stomped one tiny foot and shook her finger in his face. You’re not running off before I can give you my service. I’d never be able to show my face in a fairy tale again. When I think of all the years I served in bit parts, character acting, supporting roles, all for a shot at my starring role. And you two walk in and muff it all! Now I have become a supporting cast member in your stupid story. Blech!

But taking us to the beginning could be your service.

The fairy rolled her eyes. Hello? What have you heard me say? I’m cursed, right? I cannot help you with your trivial little quest because I must appear only when not needed and give only advice that is not desired.

Flat Fax thought she had done a splendid part of that last. He certainly did not want to hear this! "But then we are in a catch twenty-two. You need to go back. But you cannot take us. And you cannot leave