How to Rescue a Dead Princess (14 page)

Jack, who was somewhat lacking in both haggling skills and rudimentary intelligence, hopped off the cow and took the beans from the woman. “What do they do?” he asked.

“If you eat enough of them, you can clear out any room within minutes,” the woman replied. “But they have an even greater use. If you plant them, an enormous beanstalk will grow, stretching all the way to the sky. If you climb up the beanstalk, you will find yourself in the castle of a terrible giant.”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“It'd be something new.”

Jack thought for a moment. “I guess you're right. Take the cow.”

“Actually,” said the woman, “These beans are worth a whole lot more than just that sorry-looking cow. Give me your sweater, too.”

“But I'll catch my death of cold!”

“These beans will magically provide warmth during your journey home.”

“Just how foolish do you think I am?” Jack demanded.

“You're not foolish at all,” insisted the woman.

“Why, thank you,” smiled Jack, flattered. “Here, take my sweater.”

And so Jack began the walk home. The woman, of course, had lied about the beans providing warmth, but Jack decided that didn't necessarily mean they wouldn't sprout a tremendous beanstalk leading to a giant's castle.

As soon as he arrived home he proudly walked up to his mother. “Mother, guess what I've done!”

“If you didn't do what I said I'm gonna kick your butt so hard that whenever you open your mouth you'll moon someone.”

He held out his hand and showed her the five beans, waiting for the look of joy and pride that would no doubt be crossing her features at any moment.

“You dumb little cretin nerd-like twerp!” she screamed. “These are
magic
beans! If we eat them, we'll have a beanstalk growing out of our stomachs!” She smacked them out of his hand, and due to perfect wind conditions the beans flew right out the window.

Jack was sent to bed without supper or even a decent story. He slept, and his dreams were a whirlwind of nightmare images: the old beggar woman, a giant wanting to eat him, Morty the Unfriendly Woodchuck, and others too terrifying to mention. There was also a rather nice image involving the cow and its udder.

The next morning, Jack looked out his window and saw that a huge beanstalk had indeed grown outside. His mother stormed into his room. “Great, just great,” she muttered. “As if we didn't have enough problems, now there's a beanstalk on top of my garden. I should've kept the cow and sold you into slavery.”

But Jack was excited. He rummaged through his closet, got out his climbing equipment, and immediately ran outside and began to work his way up the beanstalk. It wasn't long before he had made it all the way above the clouds and was greeted with the glorious sight of the giant's castle. It was so impressive that Jack momentarily forgot what he was doing and slid the entire way down, collecting several thorns where he'd much rather have none.

But he was undaunted. He climbed all the way back up, then hurried over to the staircase that led to the giant's front door. Realizing that the doorknob was far out of reach, Jack began to knock. “Let me in!” he called out.

A thundering voice responded. “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!”

Jack began to knock again. “Avon calling!” he shouted. The door swung open, knocking Jack back down the stairs, back down the beanstalk, and about three feet into the ground. It hurt.

Jack was daunted this time, but still not very bright. He climbed back up the beanstalk and realized that the giant had left the door ajar. Jack squeezed inside and found himself in the giant's living room. The giant sat on his couch, looking at the biggest centerfold Jack had ever seen. Then the giant began to sniff and look around.

“Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

“This guy's poetry needs some work,” thought Jack.

The giant saw Jack, and snarled. “I'll grind your bones to make my bread!”

“Oh, that's gonna taste really good. You think that just because bones and bread have the same color that they're interchangeable? You need yeast, flour, all that stuff. And I think the marrow will significantly affect the texture.”

The giant started to say something, but halted in mid-"Duh” and sat back down on the couch. Within moments he was asleep. Steroids tend to have that effect. Looking around, Jack noticed a large bag that was overflowing with gold coins. Unable to believe his good fortune, Jack grabbed the five coins he would have gotten for the cow, removed the foil, and ate the chocolate inside. His appetite sated, Jack took a couple more coins to get his mother off his back, then returned to the beanstalk and slid down.

“Look, mother,” he said. “I took these coins from the castle just for you.”

His mother looked stern. “You little klepto. Didn't I teach you any better than that? Not only are you a thief, but I bet you left fingerprints all over the place. Now get that hot merchandise out of here—I don't want to be involved when this all goes down.”

Saddened, Jack ate the two coins without removing the foil. The only way to impress his mother was to bring her something even better than the coins. He'd noticed an oversized fruitcake (Momma Helga's Super Deluxe Fruitcake With Extra Green Chunks) that she was sure to love. And so Jack scurried back up the beanstalk once again.

He went over to the castle door, slipped inside, then gasped the gasp of the truly surprised as he realized that the couch was now bare. The thundering boom of the giant's footsteps grew louder, and he heard the giant say “Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!” The giant entered the room, picked up the pungent vial of Englishman's blood that rested on the table, and poured it out into the sink. Jack immediately hid behind a table leg and watched as the giant picked a goose that was resting in a basket.

“Okay, goose,” said the giant. “Lay me one of your golden eggs.”

The goose looked up at him. “This ain't the immaculate conception, buddy. You want golden eggs, you better be getting a gander up here pretty darn quick.”

“Lay me a golden egg now!” demanded the giant.

“Maybe
you
should walk around with a big lump of gold inside you for a change. You think it's comfortable? Gold's a little heavier than yolk, you know. You feel all bloated, you can barely keep your balance, it feels like passing a kidney stone when you finally lay it—believe me, I've got better things to do.”

The giant was not accustomed to having so many words spoken to him in one sitting, and so sat there with a blank look on his face for a moment. Then he growled and reached out to kill the goose.

Jack leaped out of his hiding spot and tried to yell “Stop!", but before he could the giant scooped him up and swallowed him whole. He slid down the giant's throat, passing a formerly handsome prince who would eventually be kissed in another fairy tale, and landed in his stomach.

“This,” Jack decided, “is really nasty.”

Basic human decency dictates that the actual contents of the giant's stomach not be described. But Jack did not become Stomach Acid Surprise. For the giant possessed the type of belly button known to the general public as an “Innie” rather than an “Outtie.” It was perhaps the deepest “Innie” in verifiable history, deep enough that Jack was able to squeeze through to safety.

The giant had by now fallen asleep. The goose was also asleep in its basket, and since Jack had already fallen down the temptation-laden path of criminal behavior he decided to steal it, figuring the freak show at the circus would pay at least five pieces of gold for it.

Tragically, he dropped the goose on the way down, and had to content himself with a decent meal. But the next day, Jack set off to climb the beanstalk yet again, because by now thievery was an addiction. He snuck into the castle, and watched as the giant picked up a magic harp that was in the shape of a Miss Generic Fantasy Land model.

“Play me a song, magic harp that's in the shape of a Miss Generic Fantasy Land model,” demanded the giant.

The harp began to play a lovely melody. “ROCK ME, BAY-BEE! I WANT YOUR SWEET LOVIN’ ALL NIGHT LONG! YEAH, YEAH, YEAH! BOOP BOOP A DOOP!” As the harp continued to play and sing, the giant was lulled into a sound sleep. Jack hurried over to the harp, grabbed it, and began to run for the door.

But the harp was a snitch. “Yo, giant! This little punk's stealing me! Let's get a move on, willya!”

Jack got out of there as fast as he could, with the giant in hot pursuit. As he slid down the beanstalk, he saw his mother tending what was left of her garden. “Mom!” he shouted. “Fetch me an axe, so that I might chop down the beanstalk before the giant reaches the bottom!”

It was, of course, a genuinely pathetic example of self-delusion. Jack didn't get two steps from the bottom of the beanstalk before the giant's foot came down, squashing him like a wad of chewing gum.

Everyone else, however, lived happily ever after.

“INTERESTING HOW you manage to die at the end of your own story,” Randall remarked.

“I guess the chewing gum simile was a bit exaggerated,” Jack admitted. “He did break four of my toes. Then he filed a formal complaint against me. The king got me for breaking and entering, theft, and unwarranted vegetation creation. So I'm here. Have been for days.”

“Any way to escape?”

“Do you think I'd still be here if there was?”

“I don't know, I've just met you. Lots of idiots in existence.”

“Good point. No, there's no way to escape. Well, there's one.”

“What is it?” asked Randall, excitedly.

“Let them execute you.”

Randall buried his face in his hands. “Aw, what's the use? Even if I did escape, I'd be a fugitive. They'd hunt me down in an hour.”

“Indeed they would. But I would give anything for just one more hour of freedom. One more hour to gaze at the sun, to bask in its light.”

“I just saw the sun ten minutes ago. I don't miss it yet.”

“You will.”

Randall waited a few seconds. “Nope, not yet. Oh, wait, there we go.”

“Do you mind if I ask how it feels to know you'll be killed at dawn? Or would that be too much of a mood-dampener?”

“It's going to happen,” said Randall. “No sense avoiding the issue. But I'd prefer that decomposition be alluded to rather than stated directly.”

“I understand,” said Jack. “Nasty business, decomposition. Not even the most beautiful princess in the entire land is worth gazing at once decomposition has taken its toll. It's just plain rotten. It spoils everything.”

“Thanks for the merriment.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“I'm not sure,” Randall admitted. “With my luck I'd come back as a vagrant who likes wearing the clothing of very large women.”

“What I'd hate is to come back as a bowel.”

“If reincarnation exists, I don't think it lets you come back as individual body parts. That would mean that all of our body parts used to be somebody else.”

“So we're made of dead people?” asked Jack, uneasily. “My dreams are really going to suck tonight.”

“What if you came back as the one thing you hated most?”

“I'd come back as an iguana.”

“What have iguanas ever done to you?” Randall asked.

“What have iguanas ever done
for
me?” Jack countered.

“I think I'd come back as an octopus. I don't know why, but whenever I see an octopus something inside me just says ‘I hate that thing.'”

“Does this hatred stretch to all mollusks?”

“No. Just octopi.”

“Not even squid?”

“Squid are fine.”

“That's weird. Well, here's hoping you don't come back as an octopus, then. Did you know they have beaks like a bird?”

“Didn't know that.”

“It's true. And if you put an octopus in a bottle with a mouth just as big around as its beak, that sucker can squeeze right out, no problem.”

“Any special reason you put an octopus in a bottle?”

“I don't remember. Probably a dare.”

“Dares are so pointless.”

“
AAAAHHHH
! THERE'S AN OCTOPUS ON YOUR SHOULDER!!! No, just kidding.”

“What if there's no such thing as reincarnation?” Randall asked, thoughtfully. “What happens to you when you die?”

“Probably that thing you only wanted me to allude to.”

“Yeah, but I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about the spirit within your body. The real you.”

“You know what would be creepy?” asked Jack. “If your spirit left your body, but you could still feel what was happening to it. So you'd be standing out there in the netherworld, but you'd get this feeling like worms were eating your guts and stuff like that.” He shivered. “The people who chose to be cremated would sure be miffed.”

“I just wish I had some tangible evidence of what was going to happen to me after I die.”

“Well, I don't mean to be Mr. Bum The Mood here, but you'll find out pretty soon. Want to hear what I really think happens when you die?”

“Is it cynical?”

“Not too much. Okay, let's say that for whatever reason, heart attack, horse crash, appendix malfunction, you die. Poof.” He snapped his fingers, emphasizing the point a little too clearly for Randall's comfort. “You start to feel like you're floating, but there's no water or mushrooms around. You're in a long tunnel without a trace of graffiti anywhere. At the end of the tunnel is a bright light, like what you see when you get struck by lightning. And you hear a voice saying, ‘Come closer, and all will be well.’ You float toward it, and at the end of the tunnel is a big termite.”

“A termite?”

“Yeah. I mean, have you ever tried getting rid of those things? There has to be some kind of divine intervention at work. So the termite asks you if you're ready to enter the afterlife. And you say, ‘Mind if I float a little longer? This is really neat.’ But the termite says that time is short, and says that you may enter the afterlife, but first you must perform an act of penance.”

“Such as not trying to stomp on the termite?”

“Well, it's a big one. You wouldn't want to stomp it with your bare feet. Anyway, the termite says that to show your penance, you must rub your belly and pat your head at the same time.”