Twisted Fairy Tells: The Untold Truths

By William Moore

Every story. Every tale has a history. A background that differs from the narrative that has been shared with the world. But every story has some basis in truth created from the mind of someone with a purpose—a motive. Many millennia ago, the Wellington family was blessed with the curse being the keeper of the stories. Blessed to know the truth and dissimilarly cursed to live in solitude to safe keep a history that the world was not ready to acknowledge indeed existed beyond their imaginations. History is a butterfly effect of events intertwined between the lives of many prominent figures and people.
What you know is not necessarily the truth? And what you are not aware of does not prove that it is not so. Behind our reality's veil is a world of mystery and lessons that a higher being hopes to learn from us as much as they attempt to teach us. Where old Saint Nick may not be as jolly, and Pinocchio just wants to be as Real as any other boy. The Yellow Brick Road is not only laid with gold and hopes and dreams, and the Easter Bunny only wanted to enjoy the peaceful serenity of his family. What if fairy tales and children's stories were equally part happy endings and part tastes of hell. If the original stories were leaked for profit, but the Wellingtons feel now is the time to expose the untold truths behind the Twisted Fairy Tells.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665520850

William Moore

William Moore, celebrated poet, 5-star rated author of Sparrow’s Valley and the Twisted Fairy Tells series (www.twistedfairytells.com), has spent the last two decades as one of New York’s top software and writing consultants – a master of words. Moore created two nonprofit organizations focused on the arts both in-school and after school, in New York. He was born and raised in New Orleans. Growing up in a single-family household, Moore spent most of his youth sharpening his mind through writing and mastering his body through martial arts and competitive sports. William spends his free time developing the future of mobile and the web, through his company Mojavie (www.mojavie.com).

Book preview

© 2021 William Moore. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  05/21/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-2083-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-2084-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-2085-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021906078

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are from the Holy Bible, King James Version

(Authorized Version). First published in 1611. Quoted from the KJV Classic

Reference Bible, Copyright © 1983 by The Zondervan Corporation.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Kringle, The Christmas Kingpin

Haré, The Easter Bunny

Pinocchio, The Real Boy

Not So Wonderful Wizard of Ounce

Three Not So Little Pigs

Goldie’s Locks and the Three Bears

Rapunzel

Puss In Boots

The Fox

Robert ‘Rumpel’ Schneider

Frog Prince

The Guardians

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Writing has always been my passion since a very young age. There are many moments, events, and circumstances in life that push you towards doing what you believe that you need to do instead of what you want to do—working to survive rather than working to fulfill your life’s purpose. Firstly, I am eternally grateful for my family that has been there since day one. My mother, Rose Woods, has supported my passion and encouraged me to go against the grain even when the path I chose was not the typical journey but was a destination that I was destined to pursue. My brother, William Eugene, who has always looked up to me and kept me true to myself, so even in difficult times when I wanted to give up, reminded me that I had an obligation to uphold myself and the people who held me to a certain standard.

I want to thank my little brother, D’Son Blackcloud Woods (RIP), who showed me that no matter what I am going through, I can focus on the light at the end of the tunnel and push through any and all struggles with a smile. You are always on my mind. I know you are looking down on me, and I promise to make you proud. I want to thank my son, Elijah Devante Woods, whom I love with all my heart.

I want to thank my best friends Edward Mesa, Chesney Snow, and Sebastian Rothwyn, who has always been in my corner to help me through all my relationships, businesses, life experiences, and challenges. When I doubted my ability, you were always there to snap me back to reality that writing has always been my God-given talent. And not pursuing what I was destined to do would be my biggest regret.

A special thanks to my mentor and business partner, Luis Cuneo, who is always there with words of wisdom and advice to tell me what I need to hear and not what I want to hear. Through the fighting and screaming is always patient with me as a friend and confidant, ensuring that I do anything that I will not be able to live with later. To my girlfriend, Rosalba Niebles, that was patient through all the sleepless nights researching, writing, and building my business and career. Who has loved me through all the good, bad, and the ugly and reminded me every day that I needed to work just a little bit more even when I didn’t feel like it so that I eventually finished this book. You passionately read every chapter to encourage me that what I was writing was worth reading. I would also like to thank Salvatore Gaetan and Carlos Lopez for creating my book cover and the Twisted Fairy Tells logo.

And last but not least, I have to give a genuine and heartfelt thank you acknowledgment to Moka Blast and Octave Vince Rainey IV for sitting me down and forcing me to look within myself and dive headfirst into this new journey. You both made me rethink how I thought about and viewed myself as a very talented individual that everyone saw my worth but me. Without my conversations and sit-down meetings with you both, I cannot say that I would have ever written this book or believed in myself enough to take the first step and go all in and leave my comfort zone.

Thank you all for being there for me when I was not there for myself. Being honest to me when I couldn’t be honest to myself. For pushing me when I could not get out of my way.

92231.png

Every story ever told hides a hint of elaboration to entice you to want to know more. The story our parents read to us that we later learned to truly understand when we read between the lines. Then…there is the truth. I am Charles Wellington, the Third. But everyone calls me Wellington. The telltale. The talebearer. Welcome to my humble estate.

Wellington, as grey as the experience that evolved through his many years of wisdom and histories that were passed down by his esteemed grandfather, walked with an air of nobility across his living room to an antique fauteuil à la Reine armchair. On any given day, he unwinded for hours smoking through his favorite reading pipe. His long stemmed Church-Warden allowed an unimpeded view of his writings. It hindered the smoke from forming near his eyes, allowing him to look down and read for extended periods without any burning sensations. His seat lay stationed between two library bookcases of classic novels angling towards a wood-burning fireplace encased in multicolored brick. It created a cozy, rustic atmosphere along with the therapeutic smoky scent. Many that knew of Wellington considered him a very eccentric soul. Wary of most people, he lived in solitude deep within the remote regions of the wilderness, hidden away from civilization. He liked to consider himself…

A historian.

A keeper of truth and forgotten gospels.

To some, his stories and documented narratives were merely myths and folktale. But no one could deny his vehement passion for the archaic relics that were stored and revered in his home. Even to someone that adamantly abhorred his stories as falsities, you could not deny that spending any amount of time with Wellington would make any skeptic doubt their disbelief.

He stood from his comfy seat and strolled over to his prized bookshelves. Running his finger across a line of books at eye level, scanning for a specific title.

There we are. Nicholas Kringle. Jolly ole’ Saint Nick as you all may be familiar.

Wellington gently placed his index finger on the top of the book’s spine, angling it outward and pulling it from the shelf. Resting his wrist behind his back along his waist and firmly trapping it between his left arm and ribcage, he strutted with his mature dignity towards his workspace. Even though Wellington lived alone, he took pride in his appearance. One of the few things that could cause him to lose himself beside his writings.

He stopped before his large full-length mirror to admire a man that could grasp the attention of any room. Brushing off the last stray lent from his lavender single-breasted suit, he placed his reading pipe into its smoke stand and grabbed the book from his side, opening it to the prologue before laying it open at the center of his desk. Wellington pinched both corners of his black butterfly bowtie, swiveling it slightly to align it entirely in the mirror’s view.

Perfection!

Wellington turned from the mirror to face his desk and stepped to his brown leather office seat. He was very old fashioned. Borderline paranoia forced him off the grid. Using limited access to modern power and a rotary dial telephone that was inset in the wall directly facing his desk. His office took advantage of the natural light that passed through the faintly tinted glass ceilings and two candles, each stationed at the far corners of his desk away from his manual typewriter.

The collection of books could not be found in any library or archive. This was an archive of original works.

Original by any standards.

Each book had been typed up, and each completed story was manually bound and alphabetized on the shelves. But the stories were not from his vision. Only inspired and left to him, inscribed within the mystical scroll deep within his estate. Closely related to the biblical retort that it was not written of man but inspired by God.

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: [17] That the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works. ~ 2 Timothy 3:16-17

This library of original works had been passed down to him from a source that could not be debated or denied. He was chosen as the successor to continue the lineage because of generations of bloodlines rather than being some form of a prophet. He had never met them. Only that they went by the name.

The Guardians.

The stories were merely entrusted to the Wellington family for many generations. But over the past several hundred years, a handful of the stories were appropriated to create a level of generational wealth. Charles’ great-great grandfather was tired of living in secrecy and not benefitting from his family’s blessing.

They deserved retribution?

So the truths had been leaked. Spreading like wildfire throughout many strategic landmarks and locations around the globe. Over the years, the stories had been altered to interpret those that had found the Untold Truths.

Where should I begin? Where did this all begin? Why and where, I suppose? I guess I will start where the world first came to know of these stories. They first came to be known to the world as ‘Les Contes des Fees,’ French for Fairy Tales, in 1697. Coined by Marie Catherine d’Aulnoy, Wellington informed laughing very light-heartedly at his audiences’ naivety.

You probably never have and never will hear that name again. These were supposed to just be tales. Story of legend. Fairies. Mystical talking animals meant to entertain and scare children into being good little boys and girls. Take Nicholas Kringle. There are so many different versions. Saint Nicholas, for instance, was a combination of several different tales. An obese man with a deep and jolly persona who lived in the north pole’s cold, nether regions? Or the Christian Bishop from Lycia? You probably know it as Turkey. He was born somewhere around 280. Nick was known for assisting and giving gifts to poor and sick members of society. There are many contrasting light and dark stories of who they are and where those stories came from. But behind every tale is what we’ve heard, what we’ve read, and the untold truths. I believe that the time has finally come for me to shed some light and clear all the misconceptions and share the original stories that have been passed down for generations in my family. Do the Guardians exist? What was their true purpose for creating and blessing us with these stories that people have twisted, profited, and learned from for all these years? Hopefully, if you believe you know the truth, I can and will open your eyes to focus the blurred line between fantasy and reality. Hope you have an open mind because not everything is as it seems. Come sit with me as I share the real fairy tells.

Wellington slowly sunk into his seat and licked his finger, preparing to turn the page to the first story. He reached out and took hold of his reading pipe. The tobacco was burning very lightly. Taking a deep puff to reignite the fire, he smirked mischievously, knowing that what he was doing broke every rule of his family. The smoke lifted, slowly fading as it rose higher and higher. But for a split moment, you could almost swear that if you look closely.

Very closely.

The smoke had taken form.

Something not of this world. Breaking the rules. Breaking the physical laws of his family and the spiritual laws of the Guardians. Unveiling a doorway to a place that was never meant to be open to our world.

A perilous place if taken lightly.

The shadowy figure within the smoke seemed to resemble…

96266.png

KRINGLE, THE CHRISTMAS KINGPIN

‘T WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, when all through the house.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Milk and cookies were placed on the table with care,

Hoping that St. Nicholas would never come there.’

Nicholas Kringle, or Nick the gift kingpin, was surrounded by an aura of fear and trepidation. For several generations, this infamous legend held a stronghold of corruption around the knowing population that knew the power and scare tactics that he utilized to ensure that parents around the world understood the rules.

Pay the price.

One way or another.

Santa sat in his royal throne, the golden wooden frame with a high backrest in red suede material. The intricate design was accented with gold and silver highlights so bystanders could admire from up close and afar. It was more of a statement of unparalleled power rather than just a mantelpiece to decorate his home. Over the years, he continued piling on weight, gluttonously stuffing his face with sweets. His favorite part of his staple diet was milk chocolate cookies and a cold glass of whole white milk. So simple but so meaningful to the world.

Hey, big daddy. How you doing today?

Hoe Hoe Hoee! Santa yelled out towards his wife’s, Crystal, direction. Bitch. Where is my ‘cold’ milk?

He grabbed the glass filled with room temperature milk and swiftly jerked his hand in her direction, abruptly pulling back so that the milk flew from its confinement across the room onto his wife’s sheer outfit. Her entire wardrobe consisted of sexy lingerie and skimpy undergarments. Santa had not allowed her to wear any clothing that covered more than a quarter of her body. Luckily, their home was warmed with heated floor panels and top of the line insulation because she would not survive outside of the Kringle’s residence stationed deep within the North Pole.

No one knew how this grossly overweight personage of a man could have attracted this goddess of sexuality. Her ever movement exuded sensualness and erotic pleasure.

Come here, baby. You know big daddy loves you, he tried smoothing over his outburst with comforting words.

Crystal had an energetic and fluid stride that always lightened Nick’s mood. But her aloofness always found its way under his skin. Once she was in arm’s reach, he grabbed her by her hips and flung her over his lap.

I know you’ve been good, but I also know that you have been naughty. What does my little girl want from St. Nicholas this year?

Crystal still had traces of the lukewarm milk spilling down her large buxom cleavage. They were each other’s fetish. Nick’s wife was entranced by his size, power, and insatiable sexual appetite, grinding her hips into her husband’s groin. She could feel his rise.

You know what I want. ‘Big’ daddy. Crystal said in a low sexual undertone, opening the white fur lining of his designer custom Versace Santa suit to expose his overly obese frame. She ran her small hands over his chest, massaging his rolls of fat as she took her opposite hand and scooped up a tablespoon of milk from her body to lick her fingers. She leaned over Nick’s chest to drizzle the milk over his man boobs. Give it to me. The corner of his lip raised, slightly closing his eyes to absorb the moment. For a moment, he let go of his usual persona to enjoy his beautiful wife. But he had things to do. Like Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde, he switched back to the godfather, and any remnant of humanity left his eyes.

Later Bitch. I have shit to do. You know what tonight is? Collections! Call the round table.

Nick shoved Crystal off his lap and reached for his candy cane walking stick from beside his throne. He knew that he needed to focus on his weight and eat better, but he didn’t plan to live a long and prosperous life. Only a prosperous one. He was stricken with diabetes, and each chocolate chip brought him one step closer to that glorious day, where he would eventually leave this legacy to the next generation.

How is Nick doing?

He’s in his room eating dessert. Milk and cookies.

That’s my boy.

Crystal strolled out of the room to allow Nick to get into character. As the ruler of this domain, he had to command his dominance with an ironclad fist displaying that any disloyalty or disrespect came with dire consequences. His pride and joy that continued to instill fear in his demonic elves were in the form of his family insignia that lay at his feet.

The Grinch.

The original Consigliori.

92586.png

The Grinch was the right-hand man who helped Nick’s great-great grandfather create this legacy striking terror into all of his subordinates. But any disloyalty at any level of the organization was met with unmitigated discipline, cultivating a culture of absolute allegiance. Grinch had developed the first bookkeeping system and trust in the Kringle lineage. But the Grinch’s greed overshadowed his financial genius in trying to steal from the Kringle trust fund. He was the trustee and, through some creative accounting, had been overcharging for legitimate services that did not cost what the trust was being charged—possibly a simple oversight. But OG Kringle knew better. Grinch was too meticulous to make such a mistake.

He had to be made an example.

At the Collection’s meeting.

Nick entered the room, making way for the head of the table. The Grinch sat to his right and the remaining 11 seats surrounding the large rectangular table with his senior elf management staff that watched over the day to day of the machinery and assembly lines that developed the massive toy production. They were each holding a tall glass of Eggnog spiked with several shots of rum, telling each other stories about their individual crews down on the assembly line floor.

Let’s get down to business, Nick declared as he stood behind the Grinch. He massaged the Grinch’s shoulders as he continued speaking. Everyone here knows the rules. My rules! At the end of the day, we all eat. Would you all consider my decisions fair and just in regards to compensation?

They all replied, Yes in unison.

Nick’s grip slowly tightened on the Grinch’s pressure points in his neck.

What is my number one rule?

Do not steal from you, one elf responded.

Exactly. So what is the punishment for stealing from me? Because stealing from me is the same as taking food from the mouth of my son, Lil Nick.

Corporal punishment, another elf responded shyly.

Without warning, Nick grasped the side of Grinch’s head and violently twisted counter-clockwise, turning the Grinch’s head 180 degrees until he was facing him. He glared deep passed