CAROLE THE CRONE
Carole the Crone cackled evilly. She was on her way back home through the forest to her cottage after having successfully managed to poison Sleeping Beauty with a botex O.D. Nobody with three brain cells would have been fooled by the addition of a headscarf as a “disguise” and would have easily recognised Carole the Crone’s characteristic bulging eyes, fifties-style, diamante encrusted specs and fag hanging from the corner of her mouth, but not the Dozy Bimbo. Oh no! The Paris Hilton of Fairyland had only two brain cells and now both were in La-La-land thanks to the botox, so Carole the Crone was now skipping along the path as merrily as her rheumatism would allow, congratulating herself on getting rid of her arch-enemy (they fancied the same handsome prince) at last. Or at least until the effect of the chemicals wore off or until some interfering do-gooder tried to resuscitate her. And with a bit of luck, since the princess usually had a pretty blank expression on her face at the best of times, it would take weeks before anyone noticed she was in bimbo-limbo.
Suddenly, Carole the Crone spotted movement behind a bush. A dark shadow of a large wolf fell across the path.
“Oh my….mmm….where are you going, my dear?”. The voice was husky, gravelly and hungry.
“Oh, please d-d-d-don’t hurt me. I’ve heard ab-b-b-bout you.” Fear made the words come out in stutters.
“If you have heard about me, then you’ll know there’s no escape. You might as well avoid wearing yourself out by trying to run away and struggling. It’s pointless. You know that, don’t you? Now come here where I can see you better. Oh my! What a fine handsome furry beast you are!”
“Be g-g-gentle with me, Crone”, whimpered the wolf.
“Please…call me Mistress Crone”, hissed Carole, as she lassoed the beast’s thick, muscular neck with a studded leash she always kept looped through her belt.
The animal yelped as the leash tightened round its neck. The Crone yanked the leash viciously every step of the way back to her cottage and once inside, opened the cellar door in the floor of the stone-paved kitchen and pulled the terrorised wolf down the dark steps to her dungeon.
The animals in the woods that night huddled, trembling in their dens, as the howls of pain and tortured whines echoed through the dark. The lashes of the whip and the cold clank of iron chains were the only sounds which interrupted the howling and moaning of the wolf….and the Crone.
Only at daybreak did the shiver-inducing sounds of the Crone’s pleasure cease, as she staggered towards her bed on unsteady, slightly bowed legs. Soon a satisfied snoring could be heard and the forest animals breathed a sigh of relief.
The Crone awoke refreshed and with a crooked grin on her face many hours later and, after having partaken of a light lunch composed of five bacon sandwiches, threw some stale bread, half a rancid hamburger and a handful of vitamin supplements down into the dungeon, fearful that the furry beast might not be able to perform again that night due to a lack of nourishment. Just as she was closing the cellar door, she heard a knock on her front door.
The Crone peeked out from behind her curtain and spied seven very short, but otherwise perfectly formed and really rather study little men. Seven! She scurried to the door, smoothing down her hair before swinging it open.
“Why, hello, big boys”, she crooned, hand on hip, eyebrows wiggling provocatively.
“Well hello there, beautiful. Is your mum in?” asked one of the dwarves.
The Crone giggled and blushed. “She’s just popped out to the shops. Maybe I can help you? All of you….”, she twisted her face into a lascivious wink.
The dwarves looked her up and down and sniggered, the leader murmuring, “I bet you could, babes”, as he pushed in past her into the cottage. The others filed in after him, the last one pinching the Crone’s bum as he passed.
The cottage door slammed shut.
For five hours the cottage trembled and creaked. The wooden beams shuddered and released billows of ancient dust. The wolf in the dungeon, huddled in a corner, trembled as the insatiable witch tried out a never-ending combination of meaty midgets. Suddenly all was quiet. The poor beast, convinced that the lustful old witch was about to come and drag it upstairs to “meet” her new friends, hid behind a strangely shaped wooden trunk.
In actual fact, the Crone and the dwarves were having a ciggy break but the wolf could not know this and wondered if inside the trunk would be a better hiding place. Its furry paws tore at the lid, but a couple of large nails held it in place. Panic and desperation lent the animal great strength as it tried to lever the lid open. A sudden creak signalled the nails giving way and the wolf jumped inside. Onto something soft. Something soft which cried out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You weigh a ton. Gerroff!”. The wolf scrambled out of the trunk as a black-cloaked figure sat up and rubbed sleepy eyes. “My gawd, that was a good snooze! I really needed that! That randy old dame really wore me out!”. The pale-faced creature looked at its digital watch. “Bloody hell! It’s October!!! I’ve been in there for three frickin’ months!”.
“Erm…the lid was nailed shut…”, murmured the wolf.
“You’re kiddin’ me?? That ungrateful old cow! After the good time I gave her! What a liberty!”, the creature smiled, revealing two pointed fangs. “I’ve a good mind to teach her a lesson. Want to give me a hand?”.
“I’m…erm…chained up…”. The beast shook the chain to demonstrate its plight.
The vampire scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s a bit of a problem as she’s probably got the key on her. Probably in her undies and no way am I going back in there after that last time. Lemme think. There must be a solution.”. The vampire cocked his head and looked the wolf up and down. “How do you feel about becoming a werewolf? Werewolves have enormous strength. You could snap those chains in a jiffy.”
“Well…couldn’t you just snap them?” asked the wolf.
“Nah. Vamps aren’t strong. We’re good at flying and stuff but a bit on the wimpy side, to be honest.”
“I see.” The wolf considered the alternative. “Okay…I’m up for it. What would it entail exactly?”
“Well, I bite you, suck a bit of blood and that should set in the whole thing in motion, if I remember correctly. It’s a pretty good lifestyle, actually. You get a super toned body. Wouldn’t get anything like that by working out. You get laid loads. Females of all species love big hunky beasts. You’re not a vegetarian, are you? ‘Cause you won’t fancy salads and whatnot much after. That’s about it really. New look. All meat diet. And loads of action. Ain’t bad at all, frankly.”
“Actually, it sounds very appealing. Let’s do it!”, the wolf proffered its hairy neck.
“Oh dear. A bit of a woolly mouthful. You don’t happen to have any fur-free bits, do you?”, asked the vampire.
“Well, I do, actually.” The wolf looked pointedly downwards and coughed.
“Oh my! I don’t usually do that sort of thing. Well, if we don’t count that time in the locker-room when I played five-aside in the Transylvanian Suckers Championship…but I’d bitten a binge-drinker and was sozzled… Oh well! What the hell! It’s all in a good cause!”.
An hour later (yes, I know, the transformation didn’t need a whole hour, but the less said the better…), the Crone’s cellar door crashed open and an rabid, salivating giant werewolf sprang out, its fangs glinting, its eyes burning red, followed by a slightly flushed vampire, flapping its cape.
The tangle of bodies on the floor quickly unravelled as the dwarves and the Crone tried to make their escape, but the werewolf leapt on each little man devouring him in the blink of a bloodshot eye as if nothing more than an amuse-bouche. Only the Crone was left quivering in the corner.
“Oh, no! Now you’re both going to have your wicked way with me!”, she cried hopefully desperately.
“No bloody way!”, growled the wolf and got ready to pounce, its jaws wide open.
The Crone realised the werewolf’s intentions were more culinary than sexual and began to panic. “Please, Vampy, spare me! I’d do anything – and I do mean anything – if you tell the wolf not to eat me!”.
The vampire placed a hand on the wolf’s straining muscled shoulder. “Hang on a sec there, Wolfy. I quite fancy a bit of permanent female company up at the castle. And this old broad is highly entertaining in a perverse sort of way. I think I might transform her into one of us undead. You know, having her around would liven things up a bit. And if she doesn’t behave, I’ll have her put out of the castle in broad daylight”.
The Crone brightened up. “Undead? You mean I would stay young and beautiful forever???”. The vampire looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
“Well…erm…let’s put it this way. You won’t get any worse. This arrangement okay with you, Wolfy? Seeing how you and I are very good friends now, I think you have to be on board with this idea.”
The werewolf blushed under his fur at being reminded of how close they’d been. “Well, I suppose so. She’d have to be good, wouldn’t she?”.
The vampire laughed. “Gawd. I hope not! I was kind of hoping we’d all be very bad! In a fun sort of way, of course…but I get what you mean. She won’t be bothering you ever again. That I can promise you.”
The werewolf shrugged. “Well, in that case, be my guest!”. The beast stepped aside.
The vampire raised its cloak and descended on the now eager-looking witch. He sank his fangs into her right knocker and sucked enough blood to ensure the transformation. The Crone swooned as the teeth punctured her flesh and the vampire’s mouth clamped down on her bewb. “Oh my…”, she moaned, “I think I’m going to like this..”.
A short time later, the three figures – the two vampires and the werewolf swept through the forest headed in the direction of the castle. The forest animals watched their departure with enormous relief and from that day onwards, peace and quiet reigned in the leafy wood. Up at the castle was another matter altogether and no matter how much the neighbours complained about the wild parties, the antics of the terrible trio became legend. But that is quite a different story altogether…
