Fee fi fo… oh, bother.

Posted: January 4, 2011 by writingsprint in Fantasy, postaday2011, postaweek2011, Weird
Tags: , ,

A giant named Herbert came home to his castle. His axe, which was the size of an oak in the land of men, rested on his shoulder. He whistled a merry tune as he entered the front yard. He planted the axe in a nearby stump, and went into his house.

Something was wrong. Herbert, who had a nose that was large even among giants, breathed in smells of leather, horses, cows, sheep, and worst of all, tea. “Fee, fi, fo, fum!” he shouted. “I smell the blood of an Englishman…”

“I know, I know,” his wife said. She walked into the castle foyer holding a goose under her arm. She kissed him on the cheek and patted his face. “You say that every time I visit the people down on the Earth. That’s what we get for having a castle over Sussex. It always smells like the English.”

“Did you bring one back with you?” he bellowed.

“And I can hear you just fine. You don’t have to shout.”

The giant lowered his voice to speaking loudly. “This is as low as I can get.” His wife half-smiled. It was, and it made those romantic whispers hard to enjoy sometimes. But she loved the big lug, loud voice and all. “What were you doing down on Earth?”

“I was pulling up a beanstalk. One grew up in the back yard.”

“Again?” he shouted. His wife tapped her foot. In a more normal tone, he said, “Again? What do I have to do, kill everyone in the town below? All I want is a normal lawn.”

“Oh, come on, honey. There’s no need to kill anyone. I took care of it.” She waved at the beanstalk which had the roots cut off, and was now decorating the kitchen door like a holly wreath. What neither of them saw was the pesky little human named Jack holding on for dear life between two ropy twists of beanstalk.

Herbert picked up the wreath and gave it a sniff. He was in a bad mood now that the room smelled like tweed. He almost saw Jack’s legs swinging out from the bottom of the wreath, but just then he saw Florence — his wife — watching him very closely. He remembered that his she just took a course on flower arranging, and part of that included shaping a homemade wreath. “Um…,” he bellowed, “It’s very nice. It smells like holly.” Florence smiled. Herbert put the wreath back on the door. He missed the hook and tried again. Two more times and it finally caught. Herbert’s sense of smell was excellent, but his sense of hearing wasn’t so good, because he couldn’t hear Jack shrieking and calling for his mommy.


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