Recrafted: 2018 – Group One – Heaton Extension Writers Anthology

By Beaulah Pragg

What if Red Riding Hood had been the hero of her own story? Imagine Aladdin, living in Lumsden, New Zealand, or Sleeping Beauty, cursed with iPad addiction, instead of eternal sleep. Welcome to Recrafted, an anthology of seventeen reimagined fairy tales by children from Heaton Normal Intermediate School in Christchurch, New Zealand.

Stories included:
Cloak Like Blood - Rātā Shaw
A Feast of Good and Evil - Jenny Song
Crooked Beaks and Crooked Hearts - Ed Leonard
Little Grey Racing Wolf - Niamh Matthews
The Power of Roses - Scarlett Robson
Little Lady Red Dress - Emily Cotton
Tamati and My Wakahuia - Thomas Tracey
The Spy and the Seed - Caitlin Roberts
The Goose Girl & The Golden Goose - Meg Bowman
Effect of the Forest - Cleo McLaughlin
Red’s Boring Grandma... - Henry Wilson
The iPad’s Curse - Isabella Bailey
Imprisoning Love - Issie Matson
At the Tuna’s Behest - Elle-Roze Ilkiw
Cage Made of Mirrors - Abbey Fairbairn
Fairy Houses - Emily McVicar
The Tale of The Sleeping Prince - Emelia Scott

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beaulah Pragg
• Release date: Oct 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463273081

Beaulah Pragg

Beaulah works for Christchurch City Libraries, as well as teaching creative writing and independent publishing. She is a founding member of the Christchurch Writers' Guild, a free and accessible space for new writers to find encouragement and support. Her novel, The Silver Hawk, is the first in a science fiction / fantasy trilogy for young adults.

Book preview

Introduction

Welcome to this anthology of recrafted fairy tales by students at Heaton Intermediate School in Christchurch, New Zealand.

Over ten weeks, students learned about the history and structure of fairy tales, along with how to craft a short story.

They then chose a fairy tale to recraft, using one of three approaches. First, they could pick a different point of view—eg. tell Beauty and the Beast from the Beast’s point of view. Second, they could change the role of the main character—eg. make Red Riding Hood a daring warrior instead of a frightened girl. Finally, they could change the setting—eg. set Rapunzel in modern-day Spain.

The class spent many weeks writing, story editing (making sure the plot made sense), and then copy editing (checking spelling, grammar and tense). After the course ended, Fran and Beaulah edited and proof-checked the stories, in preparation for publishing.

We were both deeply impressed by the willingness of these students to return to their stories again and again over so many weeks, patiently working through layer after layer of feedback to make their work shine.

We are proud of the stories they have produced and hope you enjoy reading them.

Beaulah Pragg and Fran Atkinson

Cloak Like Blood

by Rātā Shaw

A shrill wind whistled between the tree trunks, causing Little Red Riding Hood to pull her blood red cloak closer around her. The young girl trudged along uneasily, her path enclosed by gnarled oaks on either side of the track, their boughs looming overhead.

A dark form, camouflaged among the deep shadows of the forest, shifted between the shrubbery. Snap. The girl glanced around warily, before continuing on her path in a more hurried manner, eager to be out of the forest and at her destination.

As she hastened down the trail, the contents of her basket clinking together, she saw a tenebrous figure dart through her peripheral vision. She spun around, brandishing her basket in defence. The path stretched out behind her until it was masked by trees, completely empty. She shivered, and not from the harsh wind.

Spinning back round to continue on her way, she was met with a truly alarming sight. Sure, she had seen the occasional wolf skulking in the distance around these woods, but this was a petrifying specimen. Towering above the poor little girl was a mass of flea-ridden fur with claws like daggers.

Where would you be going in such a hurry? growled the wolf, flicking his long, bristling tail.

I’m delivering supplies to my grandmother, who lives in a cottage at the end of this trail, said the girl sounding bolder than she felt, as she side-stepped around the wolf.

And why would your grandmother need supplies? Is she ill?

I’ll have you know my grandmother doesn’t get ill. She is an extremely powerful witch who’s practically immortal, so if you’ll excuse me, good day to you! the girl proclaimed, before turning on her heel and storming away, though she was shocked by her own outburst. The wolf rushed around to block the girl’s path again.

How about you pick some flowers for your grandmother? I’m sure she would be terribly pleased, he smiled, gesturing to the colourful array of wildflowers blanketing the forest floor. The girl paused, seeming to ponder whether or not to take up this offer.

I will, she announced finally. Because I want to, not because you told me to.

The flower heads lolled back and forth in the wind, their petals fluttering gently. She crouched down on the forest floor and began collecting bright pansies for her bouquet. As her back was turned, the wolf smiled, then turned around and bolted down the path.

At the end of the path, in her little wooden cottage, Grandmother opened her eyes, banishing the vision she was having. She immediately set to work barricading the house. She knew that the wolf would arrive any minute because it wasn’t a very long path. She had almost no magical aid to her advantage, because her granddaughter, Little Red Riding Hood, was coming to restock her supplies today, and, from her vision, she knew she was currently delayed picking flowers.

Fortunately, the old woman was a gifted seer, so she didn’t need enchanted assistance to perform clairvoyance. Unfortunately, this was not going to do well against a wolf. She opened the top cupboard, searching for her emergency magic supplies.

Hmm, she said to herself. Healing potions won’t help at all either. The cupboard door’s hinges rattled as she slammed it closed.

She locked the front door, and shoved a weighty armchair in front of it, using the strength she had earned from years of spell-working. She awoke her nocturnal familiar, an old horned owl.

Aster, alert me of any activity outside the house, she commanded as she ushered him out a window, before she closed it and locked the shutters.

Grabbing her staff, just a plain walking stick without her magic, she faced the door, sick with apprehension, and waited.

There was a click of claws on the cobblestone path.

The wolf prowled around the perimeter of the house looking for a way inside. As he approached the front door, he saw a solitary old owl open its beak, as if to cry out. He gulped it down before it even had a chance to utter a single hoot.

He could tell the house had been fortified as tight as a stronghold, judging from the closed shutters and locked door. Carrying on his course to the back of the house, he saw the back door. The wolf nudged the door with his nose, hoping that the old witch’s mind had forgotten about it. Annoyed to find it locked, the wolf decided that he had to find some other way in, without alerting her he was there.

Scaling a nearby tree, he crept carefully down a branch that was overhanging the roof. Once he had lowered himself onto the shingles of the roof, he prowled towards the chimney, careful to tread on the pads of his paws so as not to make a sound. When he peered down the chimney stack, he could see the soft glow of a lit hearth emanating from the base.

Now knowing the only way to get in was by force, he returned to the ground. He decided that to come through the back door was the best option, since the back of the house was less likely to be closely guarded.

Weighing up his options, the wolf concluded that he should attempt to pick the lock with his claws, rather than knocking the door down, so that he could maintain the element of surprise. After a few failed attempts of lock-picking, he moved onto prising the hinges from the door. Once free, the door fell down into the house with a loud bang. The wolf winced at the sound, praying it had eluded notice.

He padded down the hallway towards the main entrance. He saw the witch seated facing the barricaded front door, staff in hand. She didn’t seem to have heard him come in. The wolf was delighted at such an easy meal, so he crept up behind her chair and knocked her unconscious with a swing of his paw. He swallowed the grandmother whole without thinking to chew.

With a full stomach, he decided to sleep off his snack while waiting for Little Red Riding Hood to arrive, but not before quickly shoving the armchair out of the way and unbolting the door so that she could get in. Seating himself in a comfortable chair, the wolf quickly nodded off.

A while later, Little Red Riding Hood knocked at the door. She knocked again when there was no answer. It was unlike her grandmother to not answer the door. Strangely enough, when she had arrived the door had been ajar. Her grandmother wasn’t the careless type. As she pushed the door open, the house just seemed to prickle with wrongness. An armchair had been pushed on its side near the door, standing out like blood on snow compared to the order and neatness her grandmother worked to maintain in such a small household. Taking another tentative step into the cottage. Little Red Riding Hood looked through the house to see the back door astray from its hinges, lying flat in the doorway. This only added to her unease.

Hearing a noise in one of the side rooms, she clutched the handle of her basket tighter, damaging the freshly picked bouquet in her hand.

The wolf was startled awake by the sound of a knock on the door. He recognised the girl in the red cloak standing in the doorway and knew he had to disguise himself. He flung one of the witch’s long fur cloaks around himself, then seated himself in the rocking chair beside the bed.

Grandma? called Little Red Riding Hood anxiously through the silent house.

I’m in here, dear, rasped the wolf, putting on his best old woman impression. The little girl walked into the room, and immediately she knew there was something wrong with her grandmother.

Are you alright Grandmother? You look very strange… she said warily.

Oh, it’s just the result of a spell gone wrong dearie, croaked the wolf, thinking on his feet. It’ll wear off in a few days.

Oh, okay then, said Little Red Riding Hood relaxing a bit, but there was still a hint of nervousness in her voice. Here are your monthly provisions. She smiled brightly, handing her basket over to the grand-wolf.

The wolf smiled, constraining himself not to tear the basket open, eager to obtain this rare magic. But since wolves don’t possess opposable thumbs, he was having quite a bit of trouble with the latch. Seeing that opening the basket would be hopeless without using his claws, and thus giving himself away, he placed the basket aside.

I’m ever so tired dear, my memories all wrong, said the wolf turning back to Little Red Riding Hood, involuntarily swishing his tail. When he saw the look of fear on the girl’s gaping face, he knew he had blown his cover. He pouncing forward and swallowed her whole, then sighed at having to eat his meal in such a rush.

Little Red Riding Hood opened her eyes. She didn’t recognise her surroundings, and she was having trouble breathing. She was in an enclosed place, with dull lighting. Her memories were blurry and troubled, and her head ached like it had been compressed into a jar. Something hard and wooden was jabbing her in the ribs painfully. She could barely move, but she managed to turn her head to look around, and to her surprise, she met a familiar face.

Grandma! she exclaimed, but her voice sounded distant and muffled, as if she were speaking through a fur coat.

Her grandma’s face was pallid, and she looked unconscious. Her glasses were askew, and she clutched her staff to her chest. The little girl managed twisted around a tapped her grandma on the shoulder.

Grandmother? she asked uneasily. When she didn’t answer, Little Red Riding Hood manoeuvered herself so she could better get her bearings. Pressed against her left arm, she saw a bedraggled pile of feathers, which she recognised as her grandmother’s owl familiar. She poked the bird, and it trembled in response, obviously finding it hard to move in such a tight space. Aster’s feathers drifted near her nose, causing the little girl to sneeze. Suddenly, she was struck with an idea. She plucked some of the owl’s feathers, provoking a squawk from the poor animal. Then she set to work on her escape plan.

The wolf had been attempting to sleep off his lunch, but was awoken continuously by his upset stomach. He concluded that the culprit of such disturbances was the result of him overeating. He concluded that a nap would have to wait, so he turned eagerly towards the basket on the floor. Using his claws, he tore the lid right off of the hamper, revealing rows of jars and bottles gently illuminated from the array of bright colours they possessed. He was about to reach in to examine the wonders he beheld when he had a strange feeling in his gut. Something was irritating his throat and he felt like he was going to burst into a fit of coughing. His nose twitched, and he could feel the overwhelming urge to sneeze well up in his chest. Achoo!

As she saw the light, Little Red Riding Hood grabbed her grandma, by the neck of her robe. They were both thrown onto the wooden floor with a thud, accompanied by a puddle of digestive fluid. When her head hit the floor, the old witch came to, looking around bewildered.

Where am I? What happened? she uttered, sounding very perplexed. She then saw the wolf, who was glaring at his regurgitated meal in disgust. She whistled to her familiar for defence, but the owl didn’t come swooping in to her aid like she planned. She turned to her granddaughter, frantically.

Where is Aster? she asked, distraught.

The little girl gasped in shock remembering the dishevelled bird still inside of the wolf’s gut. He was at the mercy of the wolf’s stomach, and the wolf's stomach didn’t have much mercy to supply. She took her grandmother’s staff out of her frail hands, then turned towards the wolf. Using the sceptre as a bludgeon, to the wolf’s dismay, she whacked him in his stomach causing him to cough up a ball of wet feathers. The poor bundle crashed into the cupboard, causing the decrepit door to fall off its hinges. The healing potions inside rattled against each other, before falling to the ground with a smash of splintering glass. One jar smashed onto the head of the old owl collapsed on the floor. The glowing liquid seeped into the animal’s feathers, and they began to grow longer and stronger, renewing their former glory. The witch's familiar leapt into flight, a new bird. He fluttered around the appalled wolf’s head, pecking at the fleas in his fur.

Go away you stupid bird! the wolf complained, flapping his paws uselessly in front of his face.

Throw me my staff! Grandmother called to Little Red Riding Hood, who was chasing after the wolf while waving the stick threateningly. The girl skidded to a halt, then spun around to toss it towards her grandmother. Catching it with one hand, the witch raised her other hand and whistled. Aster ceased his pecking and swooped over to perch on his mistress’s hand. Now that there wasn’t an owl tormenting him, the wolf turned towards the witch. She picked the basket up from where it sat and selected a round bottle brimming with what looked like liquified amethyst. She uncorked it, then tipped her head back, downing it all in one gulp. The staff in her hand began to glow with purple light. Raising the staff above her head, she spun it around before slamming it down on the ground, making the floorboards flare to life with lavender sparks.

As his hair crackled with magical electricity, the wolf began to feel very strange. His fur grew shorter, and his sharp claws retracted up into