Fairy Tales and Nightmares: Entangled Nightmares, #2

By A. F. Stewart

Sometimes happily ever after just means surviving...

Nine fairy tales reimagined within the worlds of horror, history and mythology.

 

What if the Wicked Queen fell in love with Snow White? Or if Sleeping Beauty's curse came with a beast? And how far would someone go to avenge their family or escape to freedom? 

Gone are the damsels in distress and the heroic princes, this is the grim world of folklore where monsters roam or a princess can be the champion of her own fate. No one is coming to save these characters, but they'll fight their way out of madness and terror or die trying.

 

This book upturns your favourite tales and retells them with a horror spin, weaving them into such diverse historical settings as feudal Japan, the ancient Roman Empire, and Celtic Ireland.

 

Fairy Tales and Nightmares is an electrifying collection that harkens back to fairy tale origins and will haunt your dreams.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. F. Stewart
• Release date: Oct 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215215333

A. F. Stewart

A steadfast and proud sci-fi and fantasy geek, A. F. Stewart was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada and still calls it home. The youngest in a family of seven children, she always had an overly creative mind and an active imagination. She favours the dark and deadly when writing—her genres of choice being dark fantasy and horror—but she has been known to venture into the light on occasion. As an indie author she’s published novellas and story collections, with a few side trips into poetry and non-fiction.

Book preview

Fairy Tales

and

Nightmares

Book Two

Entangled Nightmares

A. F. Stewart

Fairy Tales and Nightmares

A. F. Stewart

Copyright © 2023 by A. F. Stewart.

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This book was not AI generated and was fully written by the author.

In addition, the author expressly prohibits any entity from using this copyrighted work for the training of artificial intelligence (AI) technologies for any purposes whatsoever.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Book pirating is a crime and a copyright violation.

Editing by Partners in Crime Book Services

Cover design by A. F. Stewart

Original cover photos and interior artwork fully licensed by Adobe Stock Photos and Shutterstock

This book exists because of Christie Stratos who wanted a sequel to Visions and Nightmares. Without her this collection would not exist.

I’d also like to thank my beta readers, especially authors Jennifer Shelby and A.K.M. Beach who were exceptional in helping me shape this book.

Contents

The Sleep of Death

White as Snow

The Choice of Kindness

Red Wolf

Violet Brides

Thieves and Slaves

The Witch’s Apprentice

Winter’s End

Cruelty

List of Fairy Tales Included in the Book

Also by A. F. Stewart

Content Warning

The following stories are fairy tale retellings told through the lens of the horror genre. They contain disturbing scenarios and may cause triggering in some people. There are scenes and situations of violence, exploitation, and abuse.

Author’s Note

Some clarifications on content.

While I set some of these stories in definable historic settings, I used some artistic licence to be vaguer about others, although every story pulls from either history or a specific folklore for their environment. Also, the name Baba appears in two different stories, for a male character and also a female character. While that may seem confusing, it is accurate to their original tales. And in both cases, I've used it as a term of endearment or a nickname. If you wish to see what original fairy tales I used for each story, I have a list at the back of the book.

The Sleep of Death

a kiss

to seal one fate

sleep among the ruined rose

ONCE, BEYOND THE FACADE of perception and impermanent memory, past the stone spires and the shadowed forests, a solitary kingdom existed within the leeway of time. Nestled deep within the mountains, a sovereign castle towered against the crisp sky and housed a grandiose court steeped in whispers and magic. Haunted by the night wolf’s howl, it stood as a bastion against the malicious and benighted, a beacon against the tick of the midnight hour. Yet, even within this stalwart protection, darkness crept among the cracks and murmurs, waiting for an opportunity.

For it came a time, with joy drifting among the buds of spring and the warming wind, that a princess was born, and the kingdom rejoiced. Such splendid fortune of a sweet-tempered and beauteous child, dark of hair and fair of smile, her soft green eyes always happy. Beloved by all, guests flocked to her naming ceremony, the celebration attracting nobles and princes in their gilded carriages, diplomats and courtiers with their words and manners, all to gaze upon the princess and bestow the finest gifts. They feasted and drank, and gathered in the throne room, extolling toasts to a wondrous future.

However, amid the splendour, one uninvited soul, a shadow servant of fate and fortune, arrived on the breath of the waning moon. The air stilled at her entrance, frost circling her skin as the light dimmed to a dusky hue. Floating across the marbled floor with the swish of black cloth and lace, she transfixed every eye and silenced the chattering voices. Hushed breaths waited, attention riveted toward the throne as the creature moved to face the king and queen. In her cradle, the baby whimpered.

The King demanded, Who are you? How dare you interrupt our celebration!

I am but a messenger of little consequence, but you may call me Ruzena. I bring a gift for your child, and a warning. Looking towards the child, Ruzena smiled before she spoke. Great evil stalks the princess, tainting her life in blood and death. When this babe reaches her sixteenth year, a curse will fall upon this kingdom. Beware the child of doom.

Thunder shattered the sky beyond the castle, booming against the wind rattling the windows, and a burst of sizzling magic illuminated the throne. Amidst the screaming distractions, Ruzena drew a shining sword from the fabric of air, slashing downward to slaughter the child. A hair’s breadth from success, she screamed as another blade, the weapon of a king’s guard, ran her through. Ruzena stumbled against the cradle, and, with her final breaths, she touched the edge of the baby’s forehead. A symbol of a briar rose thorn etched itself into the child’s skin.

Thus, once upon a darkened heart, began the story of Briar Rose...

ONE BRIGHT SPRING MORNING in her sixteenth year, after a long and tedious breakfast, Princess Briar Rose snuck away from her pampered existence to roam the castle. Stifled by the royal rules, she fled to the old eastern tower which beckoned with its mystery and illusional promise of hidden secrets. Warnings of rot and disrepair only kindled her curiosity and the thrill. So, with the need to explore tickling her senses and prickling her skin, she set out to have an adventure.

With a light step, dark curls bouncing on her shoulders, she skipped along the brightly painted passages and climbed the stairs to the oldest part of the castle to be met with reality. Wood creaked beneath her weight and her dress snagged on the rough walls as ancient dust stirred against the wooden stairs, her footsteps scraping up puffs of grime. She coughed from the detritus, and grit filthied her skin as she steadied herself on the bannister. Her adventurous impulse seemed less appealing the further she climbed, but pride held her from retreating. Subsequently, she wandered into an unused sewing room in the last attempt at salvaging her escapade.

Sunlight from an arched window spun against the plastered stone walls, open shutters letting in a warm light that illuminated the nearly empty room. No spinning wheels or spindles greeted her, just a handsome, dark-haired man. He sat in a plush chair by a table, next to an open bottle of wine and two glasses.

Hello, my dear Briar Rose. I am Andrei. I’ve been expecting you.

Bereft of speech, Briar Rose stared in fear and wonder, and the thorn-shaped scar on her forehead itched. Her mind screamed ‘run’, but she remained rooted in the open doorway. What should she do? Her parents never allowed her to be in the presence of a man without a chaperone. This was an adventure she had not yet sought.

Who is he? Why is he here? How does he even know me? Is he a suitor?

That thought titillated her, while the powerful impulse to flee still plucked at her. She stared at him, appreciating his rugged beauty, and his eyes held her in a mesmer’s gaze, her soul drowning in their deep ocean blue.

Come to me, my Briar Rose.

His husky voice shivered her skin and her feet moved without cognition or will. The stranger beckoned her into the room, and she went to him, the door swinging shut behind her. Andrei laughed, a soft, satisfied lilt, and her breath caught in her throat.

He is magnificent.

Andrei poured wine into the glasses. Come, sit, my sweet girl, and drink with me.

Her shoes scuffed against the wood, and the princess settled in the chair opposite the stranger, her fingers curling around the glass. Andrei stroked her hand, his touch ice cold.

Briar Rose jerked her hand away, jostling the glass, a shaft of fear slicing through her. I shouldn’t be here. I need to go. Yet she didn’t rise, every muscle rooted to the chair.

Nonsense. You will do as I ask.

Andrei smiled, and she compulsively reached for the glass with stiff marionette movements, drinking the wine. Its sweet taste infused her with a warmth and a somnolent languor that drained her fear. All she saw were Andrei’s sapphire eyes and the fullness of his grin.

Reaching out, he caressed her chin, tilting her head ever so slightly. Will you allow me a kiss, Briar Rose?

She nodded, leaning forward to taste his inviting lips.

It would be her everlasting mistake.

ROSES, VINES, AND HAWTHORNS enveloped the eroded walls of the outer bailey, a mesh of leafy green, dark umber, and red petals entwining a thick barricade over and through the crumbling stone, their roots plunging deep into the soil. Sturdy shoots plaited across the stout wooden gates, weaving past iron bands covered in rust and coiling through the cracks to hold the rotting wood in a clenched grip.

Prince Florin pulled his steed to a halt on the castle’s drawbridge, in front of the overgrown gate. Shivering, his eyes darted to the decayed corpses and skeletons hanging within the network of gnarly spiked vegetation, sporadically impaled with thorns; a putrid stench wafted into his nose, laced with a hint of floral sweetness.

Mother of God, what evil lives in this place?

A skeleton dangled at the edge of the gate, caught by a vine wrapped tightly around its neck with long, barbed thorns embedded into the bones. A gust of wind rattled those bones and his horse bucked, backing up a few steps.

Easy, boy, easy. There’s nothing to fear. His hand moved to his sword, resting on the hilt. The walls are old, the gates rotting. They are nothing. The prince swallowed, straightening his back, but his eyes glanced at the bodies suspended from the walls. What are a few thorns?

Yes. I came here to be a champion, to make a name for myself. Not to be a coward.

Florin studied the obstacle in his way as the breeze blew cold, the fluttering leaves pulsing, almost glowing in the sun. Dried blood coated the edges of the vegetation, with some thorns two inches long and sharp as daggers. The wall creaked and clacked from the bones, as if speaking a warning to stay away, to turn back. Florin glanced behind him, gazing down the winding path that led home.

Home, he whispered. Forgotten as the youngest of Father’s sons, destined to be nothing. He turned his head back to the gate. This is my chance to be seen.

So Florin remained on the drawbridge as his horse pawed at the wood, splintering the surface. Raising his gaze beyond the fortifications and the foliage, he saw the top edges of the slowly crumbling castle keep.

Castle Moarte. The vines quivered as the bitter words touched their razor-sharp thorns. A shimmer of emerald light rippled underneath the fibrous tendrils, snaking over the drawbridge and along the hillside where the castle was perched. Florin made the sign of the cross, again sorely tempted to flee, but a glimpse of his prize beckoned to his pride.

I am no coward, to tremble at the sight of vines! He shouted his bravado to the air and the rustling leaves. A rush of wind answered, sounding much like a gentle, faint laugh. Florin bristled. Do you mock me, evil? I will show you!

He slid from his horse, snatched a wood axe from his pack, and rushed to the gate, swinging. The blade sliced through the thick vines, but the severed ends whipped around, springing at him. Ducking, Florin cut again, and vines caught around his arm, digging thorns through cloth, mail, and into flesh. He yanked the plant backward, slashing himself free, and attacked the spiked barrier in a frenzied charge. Blood and vegetation splattered the gates as he hacked, greenish sap oozing, and flashes of light obstructing his vision. Sweat slathered his face, the salt stinging his eyes, and he grunted as his muscles ached from exertion. Thorns scratched and slashed at his skin, but Florin eventually opened a way through, and the vines withdrew.

He raised the axe with a triumphant smile. I will not retreat!

Bruised and bloodied, Florin kicked open the unlocked gates and made his way through the outer bailey, leading his horse past the secondary gates and into the inner walled courtyard. He tethered his mount to a post near the ramshackle stable block before crossing the unkempt ground, heading towards the keep.

His sturdy boots crunched against the gravel, strong strides announcing his presence, and shadows darted in every direction as he moved. A frigid wind whipped dust and dirt against his face, and Florin spit grit back to the ground. He drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the sunlight, his every sense wary of attack.

Have you come to save the princess?

A disembodied voice, indulgent and husky, floated within the confines of the mouldering courtyard walls, scattered along the stale air and reverberating against perception. Its neutral pitch and tones held an unnatural quality, stilted and mocking, making it impossible to discern much from the timbre or inflection. The prince tightened his grip on his sword.

Show yourself! Are you the fiend that guards this wretched place?

Perhaps. To find out, you must climb the steps to the keep entrance and meet me. I would love to welcome you. I get little company these days. A deep, baleful laugh scratched against the sunny morning. Come explore. You may find me in the kitchens, or the great hall. Perhaps I sit in the throne room or await you in another chamber. I invite you in freely, good sir, to seek me out.

Florin growled and marched to the outer stairs, dashing up the stone steps. Halfway, something brushed his shoulder and Florin whirled, his foot slipping on the