Nightmare Fairytales

By Alan D.D.

A book of magic, fantasy, romance, and adventure. But without happy endings.

 

A collection of tales that reimagine and reconstruct the popular fairy tales that made famous the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, various folk tales, along with original dark fantasy stories.

 

Ghosts, vampires, assassins, shape-shifters, necromancers, immortals, and doomed souls come together to answer a single question: Who saves the prince when he's in trouble?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan D.D.
• Release date: Nov 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201890766

Alan D.D.

Español Soy un autor, blogger y periodista de Venezuela que ha estado enloqueciendo el mundo desde 1995. Empecé a leer siendo adolescente, aunque desde niño me gustaban los cuentos de hadas, los mitos y leyendas. Creo que por eso tengo una fijación por los retellings. Como escritor, escribo romance (casi siempre paranormal) y fantasía, con un poco de terror y drama, pero tocando temas sociales como la diversidad sexual, el abuso, acoso, la búsqueda de la identidad y la adolescencia. Como periodista, he trabajado reseñando libros, cómics, música, películas y cualquier otra cosa que capte mi atención. 99% de las veces, es algo sobre brujas. Actualmente busco un proveedor de chocolate 24/7 y agradezco cualquier información que pueda ayudarme al respecto. English I'm an author, blogger and journalist from Venezuela who has been driving the world crazy since 1995. I started reading as a teenager, although as a child I liked fairy tales, myths and legends. I think that's why I have a fixation on retellings. As a writer, I write romance (almost always paranormal) and fantasy, with a bit of horror and drama, but touching on social issues such as sexual diversity, abuse, bullying, the search for identity and adolescence. As a journalist, I have worked reviewing books, comics, music, movies, and anything else that grabs my attention. 99% of the time, it's something about witches. I'm currently looking for a 24/7 chocolate supplier and I appreciate any information that can help me in this regard.

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Cover image: Peter Pang, taken from Pixabay.

Cover Edit: Alan D.D.

All rights reserved: Alan D.D. 2020.

White Opal

Once upon a time, in a very distant kingdom, there was a prince turned fright.

Much further back, years before, the White King married a foreign queen, a woman who had never set foot on the territory of his kingdom before, after the tragic death of his wife, Queen Snow.

Both had long reigned in a just, honorable and generous manner. Both the King and his Queen were held in high esteem by their people, the Kingdom of Niveria. The high mountains that broke the clouds were as white as the skin of the heir who was born one night in the royal bed, a night that the Prince wore in his dark hair.

However, the happiness of the sovereigns would not last long. The Queen's labor pains did not stop after giving birth to her son, much less did the blood flow from her entrails, staining the sheets and the floor.

His Majesty's pain ran through the castle, shaking its walls and foundations, and some peasants who passed near the royal abode wept upon hearing his laments. There was no time to call the doctors, the healers, and the witches.

With one last agonizing screech, Queen Snow bid farewell to the waning moon that crowned the sky, without a single drop of blood within her, finally releasing her pleading husband's hand. Since that day, the sun hid behind dense black clouds.

The pain caused by such loss and the circumstances of it caused the monarch to lock himself away for a year without leaving his rooms, admiring the last painted portrait of his beloved. There he took care of the little one, received visitors, meals, and attended to his duties.

A year and a day later, the castle servants saw the King's face again, still in his dark robes. Day after day, he commissioned either a portrait of his wife, the construction of a sculpture in her honor, or the composition of a ballad by the most renowned artists at Niveria.

The image of Queen Snow would never be forgotten, such was the King's goal, and as the little prince grew in body, so did his longing for new knowledge.

Years passed, and although those feelings were always kept secret, they increased in silence, day after day, after every question that the mind of the successor could conceive, named White Opal in honor of the Queen's father.

When Prince Opal was seven years old, the King announced that he would marry again, and after a long time he chose a woman whose conditions were the same as his. Queen Nigredo had lost her husband without having been able to have an heir, and it was hoped that with the union of both their kingdoms would also unite.

Although the White King was pale and his eyes gray, Queen Nigredo was totally devoid of color in her entire being, except for her black hair, almost as dark as that of His Majesty's son.

However, the blood flowed again in the royal room when the newly betrothed slaughtered her husband after consummating the marriage. In silence, the blood gushed out again, staining not only the sheets, but also the floor of the room.

That same night, the soldiers of the new sovereign captured those of the King, took possession of the castle, and Queen Nigredo herself entered her stepson's room, ready to take him to the guillotine.

Within a year, the King's son would ascend to the throne, the day he would turn eighteen. But the Prince knew exactly the kind of woman his stepmother was when he met her eyes that morning.

He didn’t even try to warn his father, for he knew the deep wound that still throbbed in his chest from the mother he only knew through the art of others, so he took a locket with small portraits of both, one in each half, and escaped down the sewers after setting his room on fire.

White Opal lived in the forests that surrounded the castle for several days, avoiding all contact with anyone, despite the fact that his silhouette was glimpsed by more than one. The legend arose, a local belief, that the spirit of the Prince, the legitimate ruler of Niveria, lived among the bare trees, a legend that reached the ears of Queen Nigredo.

The new sovereign was also an evil witch. When she was the age of the heir, she sold her soul to the sea demons that were said to inhabit the depths of the sea east of Niveria. They had given her a mirror in which one of the demons lived, irrefutable proof of the deal.

As soon as she heard the rumors, the second queen consulted her mirror. It turned black at her very presence and upon hearing her command, to know the whereabouts of Prince White Opal, heir to the throne of Niveria, the entity enclosed in it showed him the image of the boy, running in the darkness of the forest.

Just as he was, in constant motion, she could not stop him, so every day, at dawn and dusk, the witch asked to see her stepson. He was always in a new area, a different corner of the forest. Ravaging the entire area was a tantalizing prospect, striking enough, but she preferred to be there to watch it burn in front of her.

One day, when verifying that White Opal was still alive, almost a year after his escape, closer and closer to the day of his eighteenth birthday, she assembled a group of hunters. Her mirror could tell her exactly where he was, but not where he would go, so the hunters surrounded the area, leaving the heir with no escape.

Seeing himself cornered, the Prince entered a cave and advanced silently, not knowing that inside he would meet seven deformed dwarves, much less expecting them to be kind to him, closing one of the tunnels to avoid being followed and entering the depths of the earth.

By the time they got back outside, the eight found it was night. The silence was total, and it enveloped them like a divine cloak. Carefully, the dwarves led the Prince to their cabin, hidden in a mountain, a dormant volcano that everyone believed was still active.

Fearful of the Queen's wrath, the hunters stormed a village, took whatever they could and left with the heart of a young man similar to Prince Opal, confident that the ruse would be successful.

As soon as the Queen had the villager's heart in her hands, the mirror revealed the truth to her, and she sent all the hunters to die at the stake. The smell of scorched flesh filled the realm and cries of pain were heard once more, plaguing the night with nightmares for those close enough to hear the barbarism.

However, still dissatisfied and enraged, the witch transformed her appearance into that of a decrepit old woman. Her eyes bulged out of her stunted face and her now dry gray hair framed a yellowish face.

With a knife hidden in her clothes, the witch set out on her horse that same night after seeing where the dwarves' abode was located.

The hours ticked by even as the steed galloped hard. By the time she reached the home of the seven miners, the witch approached, careful not to make the slightest noise. Once inside, she counted the necks she slaughtered, one after the other, until only one was missing.

As she was about to look for the last one in the outskirts, Prince Opal entered, after looking for wood for the fireplace. So easily had he obtained help, and so easily had Queen Nigredo taken it from him. As soon as he saw her face, he recognized the red color, still bright in her eyes, a red thirsty for blood, power and revenge.

The cry that came out of the Prince was the same as that proclaimed by his mother years ago when she gave him life. A scream that froze the veins of the witch, her blood, froze the rocks of the house, the mountain and solidified the very air around her.

The mountain had become an ice grave, a frozen iceberg where seven severed bodies and a usurper rested.

In silence, Prince Opal decided to live in the woods. His kingdom would have already forgotten his image, his history would be questioned, and the royal guards, faithful to the memory of his father and not to the words of a stranger, would condemn him to death as soon as he dared to call himself heir to the throne.

White Opal happened to be the name of an icy specter that roamed the surroundings of the castle, close enough to be seen, and far enough to keep its face hidden.

The legend that he was the lost prince, legitimate heir, became increasingly popular, until the then King, a nephew of the White King, forbade all mention of his history, considering it a strategy of enemy kingdoms to destabilize his own nation.

Time passed, hour after hour, day after day, and as all those who called the name White Opal were executed, his legend was falling into oblivion, until some nights, when no one else saw it, an entity white as snow, hair black as night, and lips blue as his blood, he was seen for just a second.

The Boy in the Red Trench Coat

The forest was still dark when the boy in the red trench coat woke up.

He had been walking for days, hoping to bring a package of food to his grandmother. He knew the way perfectly. He had been there more than once, but it was the first time he had ventured a slightly different route.

The day before, he had walked with a hunter who helped him find a river where he could wash his face and drink water until, shortly before sunset, they went their separate ways. He liked the company, although he was already used to going alone at all times. He felt guilty relief when he found himself on his own once more.

The singing of the birds, the leaves swaying to the rhythm of the breeze and the few animals in the area almost broke the silence that existed. This, along with the ever-present smell of wet earth and fresh air, was a delight to the boy's senses.

When he recognized the path he used to go, he decided to take it, encouraged by the realization that in a matter of minutes, perhaps less, he would be with his grandmother. He thought that the best thing would be to speed up his pace and get there as soon as possible. He was getting more and more anxious to get there, plus he could rest.

Although it had been a little adventure to change the route, even if it were only a little, the terrain turned out to be more uneven than usual. More than once he fell to the ground, while by the traditional path he could have walked with his eyes closed.

As expected, he arrived at his grandmother's cabin when there was still enough light. Sunset was several hours away, or so he imagined as he approached.

Since he was a child he had gone to visit his grandmother, always with his mother when he was very little, until he was old enough to start going alone from time to time. He always helped her take care of the garden, keep her cabin in order, cut the wood for the fireplace, he had even learned to cook with her, although his mother would not let him practice at home.

His grandmother, on the other hand, encouraged him to try new recipes, both for meals and for desserts. The boy was surprised to see one day that he was good with a knife, whether it was chopping vegetables, meat, or herbs to flavor dishes.

They had also played several times to hide and see who found the other, trying to make as little noise as possible. He almost always won because his grandmother gasped when she was tired, but he made any other noise to keep the game fair. He was pretty sure she knew, but she had never said anything to him.

He entered without warning as always, giving a surprise to the old woman, who was washing the lunch dishes. She hugged him lovingly after a short scare and told him how much she had missed him since the last time he was there.

She made him a quick meal, and he gave her the rice, flour, bread, dried fruits, and seeds that he had in his bag. They talked for a while, telling each other what they had done since the grandson's last visit, and then staying in the garden until dark.

The old woman always had the guest room ready for those surprise visits, so she only had to change the sheets and sweep a bit before the boy went to bed after a shower.

Before falling asleep, his grandmother applied a cream she made with herbs from the garden to his wounds. According to what she said, they would serve to reduce the swelling and help heal. Although it burned for a second, as always, the annoyance passed. With a kiss on the forehead for him and one on the cheek for her, they both said good night.

His grandmother's scream woke him up a couple of hours later.

When he left, he found that the wooden door to the room was shattered and with claw marks. As he entered, he saw the hunter again, or so he thought at first.

It rose, revealing an elongated head, covered in gray fur. Its clothes hung like rags, torn by the misshapen body it tried to cover in vain. All of its limbs were much longer than he remembered, and blood dripped from its jaws.

The old woman's bones, intestines, and stomach were in plain sight.

An arcade forced him to look away, returning what he had eaten that afternoon. Dizzy, he collapsed into his own vomit. He hit his head as the creature ran past him on all fours, dragging his grandmother's corpse.

The boy forced himself to run, following the blood trail. He jumped over the tables and pushed them to block the hallway that led to the front door, where the creature had entered, just as it was crossing to exit.

His mind shut down, and he went into a frenzy.

The beast left his grandmother's body, now covered in blood, and leaped towards him. The boy lunged to the side, hitting the wall. He bit back a groan as he ran into the kitchen.

As soon as he was there, he blocked the door with a chair. A thrust made it sway. He pulled out the drawer where the cutlery was, and took the two meat knives that his grandmother had. With a second thrust, the creature entered the kitchen, licking its reddened snout.

As if moving in slow motion, the boy crossed to the side, drawing the beast, then went in the opposite direction and ran towards the entrance. The creature lunged at him and bit his leg. The boy dropped one of the knives, but with the other he managed to cut the face of the beast.

When it recoiled, he tried to get up, but with a pained growl the creature dug its claws into his chest and tried to rip his neck off. With the remaining knife, the boy tried to do the same, wanting to remember where the jugular was, while the beast smashed his arms with each attempt.

Fangs dug into his free hand. As he stabbed the wolf in the face, it ripped off three fingers, along with a squeak of pain. The boy squirmed, clutching his injured hand with the other, hyperventilating more and more with each passing second.

The beast did the same. When he managed to see it, he realized that the knife was buried in his ribs and that it couldn’t stand. With an agonized cry, the boy stood up and searched desperately for the other. He was already gasping for air and was beginning to see blurry.

Next to the kitchen door, which was dislodged after the attacks, was the second knife. The creature got up then, but backed away, as if considering what to do next. The boy did the opposite, and began to chase it, until it rammed him full, slamming him against the dishwasher.

His lungs were out of air in a second, he collapsed to the floor and watched the thing come out of the kitchen. He tried to get up, but his strength failed him for a moment. After several attempts, although he was still dizzy and had a hard time seeing where he was walking, he reached the entrance.

Seeing the trail of blood and guts leading into the forest, the boy collapsed where he was, crawling toward the exit. He felt the icy breath of the night like blades cutting into his face.

Something moved to his right, and he turned suddenly, hitting his head again, this time on the splintered doorway frame. Next to him was the red trench coat his grandmother had given him when he turned seventeen last month.

Cinders Rain

Not far from where there was once a stream, of which there was only a dry path with rounded stones, there was an old house, where no one came near.

A specter was said to dwell within its walls, crying and groaning as the day approached, screaming as the sun reached its highest point. When day turned into night, songs and laughter were heard, along with a mad laugh as the moon reached its zenith.

Some time ago, the boy's parents were devoured by a pack of wolves, being left in the care of his