Fairy tales are such wonderful creations. The works of fanciful fiction allow the reader to become completely immersed in a magical, make-believe land of gingerbread houses and candyfloss trees, where fantastical creatures dwell, and handsome princes marry beautiful princesses. They offer pure escapism for enchanted children and doting adults alike, a sumptuous sanctuary where happily ever after rules the day. But, they often harbour a much darker side to their seemingly perfect paradise, a shadowy underbelly where demons take shelter.
The downtrodden scullery-maid may well end up in the loving embrace of her ideal man, and the croaking frog might just be a cursed prince, waiting for a gentle kiss to break his wicked torment, but at what cost? Is there a limit to the number of blisters that can adorn a woman’s aching foot, or times that she can break her ankle while wearing ridiculously impractical glass slippers that would rip her Achilles tendon to shreds if they broke, in order to ensnare a member of the Royal Family who has a secret shoe fetish? How many warts must the tender red lips of the gorgeous girl have to endure as a result of kissing an endless procession of slimy toads until one of them turns out to be the amorous amphibian of her dreams?
Aside from the flamboyant characters dressed in the finest outfits, the lavish kingdoms paved with gold, and the almost infinite number of possibilities that can be created by the imagination of the writer and reader alike, there is always a moral to the story. Whether it be something simple such as sticking to the road so that a nasty witch or a big, bad wolf won’t gobble you up, or something more profound about not being consumed with envy or vanity, there is inevitably a deeper meaning to each tale.
Despite his best efforts to regale a story - that surely sounded like the ramblings of a spaced-out junkie - in a succinct and believable manner, Stonehouse was slapped across his chiselled face with a predictable response. When Finley asked: “what does this mean?” how on earth was Stonehouse supposed to reply? He didn’t really know what was supposed to happen now, what would transpire when the next page of the mythical leather-bound book titled Tall Tales of Harper Rock was turned. Would there be a happy ever after ending or not? As with many of the folk tales that had been passed down from generation to generation, there was huge ambiguity in the Englishman’s story, several interpretations that could be made of his chosen course of action.
The problem with fairy tales, the problem with any story that has been shared between communities over a lengthy period of time, is that they change. They evolve, are often embellished with additional information to make them more appealing to the audience. People generally prefer a happy ending to a sad one, so narratives can become twisted, contorted versions of their original form. Nowadays, before a movie is released to the general public, there are frequent test screenings to gauge the reaction of the crowd. It’s not uncommon for a final scene to be modified, altered to make it more pleasing, so that the clientele go home smiling. Stonehouse, ever the salesman, had not only needed to make his wacky story sound plausible, but he should have also ensured that it excited the ears and imagination of its recipient.
When the Brothers Grimm adaptation of Little Red Riding Hood was written, they gave it a great, heart-warming ending. Although the young woman, with her scarlet cape and picnic basket filled with delicious treats, had been duped by the Big Bad Wolf, and was taken in by his charm and wit, the heroic hunter arrived in the nick of time to save the damsel in distress. The ravenous animal had already swallowed Little Red Riding Hood whole, but the powerful huntsman managed to chop open the belly of the beast with a swing of his mighty axe, allowing the girl and her equally ill-fated grandmother to escape. This was the approach that Stonehouse had intended to portray in his recollection of the previous night’s escapade. Finley was Little Red Ridding Hood, straying off the beaten track, blown off course by an alcohol-fuelled wind, and the sweating, sneering men in the bar were, collectively, the Big Bad Wolf, eager to plunder her hamper and get their grubby hands on her goodies. That scenario, of course, meant that Stonehouse was the brave huntsman, rescuing the endangered heroine, and leading her to safety and a new life, her emergence from the wolf’s innards symbolizing a rebirth, in this case as a vampire. Finley’s confused line of questioning about Stonehouse having to save her by killing her wasn’t correct. He had saved her, but it was the sleazy wolf, the greasy blokes in the bar, who had been the architects of her death.
Surely, this was both a desirable and highly believable plotline? In answer to Finley’s questions about whether or not he’d simply send her on her way, Stonehouse would take a stance of responsibility, and offer a virtuous hand of companionship to his new “friend”. Stonehouse was many things, but reckless wasn’t one of them. He would take ownership of his actions; manage his latest project with the care and attention that Finderella deserved. Yesterday evening had effectively morphed into a warped one-night stand, with a somewhat unconventional exchange of bodily fluids. The resulting “child” was equally as unconventional, but that wouldn’t prevent a strangely pragmatic Stonehouse from doing what could only be deemed as “the right thing”, and standing by his unearthly creation. Or was that simply a case of a normally redundant, romanticized portion of Stonehouse’s brain attempting to justify and rationalize his actions?
There are other versions of the Grimm’s classic tale. The earliest known printed edition had been put together by a Frenchman called Charles Perrault. His interpretation was more closely linked to old folklore, and carried a more sinister and moralistic overtone than the rendition penned by the German brothers. There is no happy ending in this particular incarnation of the story, no last minute appearance of a saviour. Instead, the wolf takes the vulnerable Little Red Riding Hood to bed, where it subsequently devours her, satisfying the greed of the ferocious lupine beast. Was this a more truthful recollection of the events that had unfolded, one that conveyed a harsh message to be learned? Don’t talk to strangers, and definitely don’t let them take you back to their apartment, or the consequences will be bad?
Stonehouse was greedy. He always wanted more; he wanted it all. Was the wannabe knight in shining armour really nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, claiming the drunken woman as his own, dragging her back to his lair where he would have his wicked way? In the earliest variants of the tale, the wolf was downright devilish, eating Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, but offering the unsuspecting girl a monumental meal upon which she could dine that consisted of her dead relative’s blood and meat, effectively turning the innocent young woman into an unwitting cannibal. The delighted deviant wolf then takes his bloody, defiled companion to bed, feasting on her flesh to his cold heart’s content. Perhaps this sounded more like the truth? Feeding the innocent Finley with blood, sullying her very existence by transforming her into a blood-sucking beast?
But there was one huge, gapping error in this specific scenario: Stonehouse, the gluttonous wolf, hadn’t dined on his guest like a B-movie version of Hannibal Lecter. Had Finley made a comment about what big fangs he had, Stonehouse’s reply would not have included the words “all the better to bite your neck with”. Stonehouse had done the right thing; he was the huntsman, not the monstrous wolf. Whether Finley wanted to believe him or not, Stonehouse knew that if he spoke with enough authority he could at least convince himself that he had planted his flag of good intentions firmly in the moral high ground.
Stonehouse trusted his powers of persuasion. His self-assured hubris would not be shaken by this bizarre situation. Perhaps Beauty and the Beast was a better fairy tale metaphor for these circumstances? In Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve’s original classic, the hideous “Beast” holds a merchant’s beautiful daughter captive in his castle, but she eventually grows fond of the creature, like a magical version of Stockholm syndrome, a psychological condition that often causes hostages to develop sympathetic sentiments or bonds of trust and friendship towards their captors. The narrative describes the outwardly terrifying beast lavishing gifts on the young woman, allowing her the freedom of his home, in essence making her mistress of the castle in all but name.
Yes, that was it! That was the plan! Stonehouse would treat Finley like a princess, for now at least, until he had fully gained her trust and loyalty. She could be the mistress of his citadel, his urban apartment in the magical kingdom of Harper Rock, while he would take on the mantle of the master. This was nothing more than a glorified business deal, and it would be a truly formidable partnership!
Just as Stonehouse was about to offer answers to Finley’s numerous questions, and relay his epic strategy to his as yet unknowing partner in crime, Finley’s soft hand slipped from his grasp like an eel wriggling free from a fisherman’s net. In a flash, the tall, slender frame of the recently turned vampire made her way towards the bedroom window. Was it a dose of claustrophobia - both physical and mental with all the information that had been shoved into her undoubtedly throbbing head - that was driving Finley towards the great wide world outside the glass barrier? It mattered not. All that genuinely concerned a suddenly panicked Stonehouse was the fact that his blackout curtains had been yanked apart like a chubby kid ripping open a bag of Doritos. In the almost unfathomable commotion of the last few hours, Stonehouse had lost all track of time, and couldn’t be sure of the strength of the sunlight that potentially awaited Finley’s delicate, exposed skin, were she to prize open the frosted glass of his window.
Springing into action like a jack-in-the-box, Stonehouse launched himself headlong towards the woman in the manner of a father attempting to pull his wandering infant daughter out of the busy road as a lorry hurtled towards her.
“Finley, no!” yelled Stonehouse. “Don’t open the window!”