Limited Edition

/50

Chenopodium

Once upon a time there was a small village nestled within a large forest. Within this village there lived a

woodcutter and his wife, who were desperate for a child. The woodcutter and his wife lived next to an enchant-ress, who kept a spectacular garden. The garden could be seen from the couple’s bedroom window, and they delighted in viewing it. Time trickled by and the couple realised they were soon to become parents. Meanwhile, the enchantress’ gardens grew more beautiful and more bountiful by the day.

One evening the woodcutter’s wife spied the enchant-ress’ quinoa, blooming fantastically in a raised garden bed. She developed a longing for the grain, and begged her husband to acquire it. He loved his wife greatly, and so endeavoured to gain access to the enchantress’s garden, only to find no way in, as the garden was sur-rounded by high brick walls. As his wife refused any food but quinoa, the man was desperate to gain access to the garden. One night he finally managed to sneak in, climb-ing over the brick wall from the bedroom window.

The woodcutter landed in the garden, and quickly made his way to the quinoa, harvesting as much of the grain as he could carry. Turning around to leave, the woodcutter found himself facing the enchantress, who was standing before him.

“How dare you enter my garden, thief! What right do you have to my garden’s bounty?!” She questioned angrily.

“Please be merciful,” the woodcutter begged, “my wife is with child and spied your incredible quinoa. She has been wasting away for want of it.”

The enchantress took pity on the woodcutter, saying, “Take as much as you want, with one condition; when your first child is born, I will have it as my own. I shall care for it and cherish it, as any mother would.”

Paralysed with fear, the woodcutter agreed, and was allowed to return home, quinoa in hand.

Weeks flowed by, and the woodcutter’s wife gave birth. The enchantress appeared, and took the child as her own. She hid the child away in a tower, deep in the woods, where the evils of the world could not reach it. She reared the child, teaching it art, mathematics, music and a little literature.

The child displayed an aptitude for literature, and began writing poetry, composing and reciting works so beautiful the forest would fall silent to listen.

One day many years later, a handsome prince rode through the forest, and heard the beautiful words echoing through the trees. Following the sound he found his way to the tower, and chanced upon the enchantress standing at its base.

“Child, my child, let down your hair!” the enchantress cooed, and a plait of the most beautiful hair the prince had ever seen was cast down from the tower, which the enchantress promptly climbed. Supposing that such hair and such beautiful verse must belong to a beautiful maiden, the prince vowed to return and gain access to the tower himself.

The prince returned the next day and stood at the base of the tower. Mimicking the enchantress, he called out to the tower’s window.

“Child, my child, let down your hair!”

A plait of stunning hair cascaded down, glistening and pure in the midday sun. Grasping it with both hands, the prince ascended the side of the tower, climbing into the room which held his beautiful maiden.

Instead he was shocked to find, not a young maiden, but man with a luscious and long beard, which was now coiled neatly on the floor. He wore a flannel shirt, and was adorned with many ink markings. He looked at the prince, slightly startled.

“You are not my mother,” he stated to the prince.

“And you are not a beautiful maiden,” replied the dumbstruck prince, “who are you?”

“I am Chenopodium,” the man replied, “Chenopodium Q.”

“I had thought such beautiful hair, and such beautiful verse must have been the work of a young maiden!”

“Life is not what you expect,” the other man replied. “Can I offer you some coffee? After all, I am a poet and a barista.” N

Bone Wight and the Seven Corpses

It was market day in Queens Grove, a small farming village that once made up a sizeable portion of the late

Queens’ holdings. This created a crush of people scram-bling for the best produce, for the merchants that came to Queens Grove these days were few and far between. Stalls for fresh meat, grain, sweetened wines and ales, amongst other assorted goods choked the streets. The already hot morning sun beat down on the merchants and village people alike, for summer was in full swing. The events of ten years ago, no longer haunted the minds of the people that remembered it, a joyous aura hung over the village that day. Except for one stall, that sold neither refreshments nor food stuffs, for the haggard being that inhabited it sought to nourish the mind. Masses of chil-dren and even some adults gathered; sitting, standing, anywhere within earshot of this man hunched at a low counter that lay bare. This group ignored the clamour of the market and sat silent, with bated breath as the town seer, a storyteller of age unknown, continued his tale.

“…and so the Prince fell for the Wight’s ploy, for when he kissed that seemingly beautiful face of the girl sleeping, he awakened a transformation. From that pretty jawline erupted what we know to be the Bone Wight. It tore her open from the inside, casting flesh and muscle aside, its true form revealed as a mess of bone and black shadow. It threw itself at the Prince who had freed it, wailing a language not of the living; it tore him to shreds, painting the stony floor red with tooth and claw. The Wight then made its way to the castle that once stood proudly on that hill there.”

The storyteller cast his hand to the east, where all knew that the blackened stone of the castle ruins could be seen, even from Queens Grove. The audience was enraptured.

“…and there he murdered our late Queen, who had so desperately sought to imprison the beast. The Queen was flayed from the battlements as a warning, for upon its passage to the castle, the Wight had not killed a soul, for none tried to impede it, and so none were cast down. The next three nights were filled with a cacophony of violent

explosions and the Wight wailed, none here in Dunshelm could sleep. On the dawn of the fourth day, the castle crumbled and broke completely, the collapse of stone and timber audible for miles. Two men arrived that same day, they announced they were monster slayers; that they specialized in death. Many in Dunshelm warned them against trying to defeat the Bone Wight. For they feared retribution, the wrath of a creature that WAS death.

“They were never seen alive again. Only one of the men’s horses was spotted, crawling across the fields, its hind legs ripped off, its rump a mess of muscle and blood. Shortly after, the Wight arrived at Queens Grove; Towns-folk ran to their homes, hid their children, their valua-bles. The Wight summoned black wraith like figures, and like a plague they swept over the fields and the orchards. Everything turned to ash, there were no flames, nor heat, but everything they touched died. One orchard owner tried to intervene when his orchard was consumed. He died much like his precious apples, his body turning to ash with a single scream that left the village silent. The Wight and his disciples left again, leaving two heads dec-orating spikes amongst the ashen fields.”

And now the seer looked only at the children of the group, some trembling.

“The last known movement of the Bone Wight was five years ago, when a miller’s son went to explore the ruins, alone. The boy foolishly came too close to the resting place of the Wight; parts of the boys’ skeleton can still be found amongst the stones today. The Wight does not like to be disturbed, for any reason. It does not seek out our deaths proactively, for no such event has occurred since that day. Even still, some say they can hear the rattle of bones on the wind at night, the dying screams of horse and men alike, and the high pitch squealing of a boy too curious…” N

Big Bad WolfAllow me to tell you a story that was once told to me

by my grandmother.

Once upon a time in a land not overly far away—you could easily drive there on one tank of fuel—there lived three little pigs. Each of whom was a master builder in their own right, and had set out to build themselves a house. One made of straw, one of wood and lastly one of brick.

They gathered all their supplies and set out to build the houses of their dreams. Little did they know that the whole time they worked a sly old wolf watched and waited. You see, the old sly wolf had become bored with how easy it was to hunt little pigs—he liked a challenge. So he watched as they built the houses they believed would keep them safe.

After 4 long weeks of work, through sunshine and rain, through hail and snow, the 3 little pigs finally fin-ished their houses. This suited the wolf well, for as he watched he had become very hungry.

Knocking on the front door, the pig asked from inside;

“Who is it?”

“It is the big bad wolf, may I come in?” the wolf replied.

“NO, GO AWAY!” Screamed the pig.

“Now that’s not very nice.”

The wolf inhaled one giant breath and with all his might blew the house of straw down. The pig, upon seeing the wolf, fled away to his brother’s house. Instead of chasing him the wolf casually strolled behind him. What is better than one pig? Two pigs, he thought with a laugh.

As the wolf arrived at the house made of wood, he heard the pigs inside arguing. Again he knocked on the door.

“No don’t answer it Melvin, it will be the big bad wolf again,” screamed the first pig.

“Come now Leroy, you’re being crazy,” barked Melvin.

“Oh no, he’s not,” said the wolf, “it is in fact me and I am here to eat you up, now let me in.”

“NO!” screamed the pigs in unison.

“Fine, I will just blow this house down too.” And with that, the wolf sucked in one giant breath and blew with all his might.

But no matter how hard he blew the house would not move, it was just too well built out of wood.

“Ha!” Melvin said, “My house is just too sturdy for you to blow over so I guess you won’t be eating us tonight.”

The wolf growled in annoyance, he glanced around looking for something to use to get in. When his eyes fell upon two rocks, he smiled inwardly and picked them up. Walking over to the house he bent down and hit the rocks together, again and again he did this until finally a spark jumped of the rocks on to the base of the wood house. The wolf watched with a giant smile on his face as the wood house went up in flames.

“Mmmm cooked bacon,” he said.

Just as those words left his mouth, the pigs burst out the front door, running as fast as their little legs would carry them. They ran right past him and over the hill to the last little piggy’s house.

The wolf smiling inwardly as he walked towards the last house. Knocking on the front door as he arrived.

“Go away!” screamed the three pigs, the other two pigs having told the third what was happing.

“I just wish to talk,” The wolf replied.

“Not going to happen, you smelly wolf.”

“Fine,” the wolf snapped. Sucking in another huge breath he blew with all his might. But the house did not move, still holding the rocks from before he bent down and sparked them together. But no matter how hard he tried the house would just not catch fire!

Snarling in annoyance as his tummy grumbled, the wolf thought hard but was just not sure what to do. How could he get in? This house was a fortress. Smiling, a thought came to the wolf, he stood back up and again knocked on the door.

“Go away mister wolf, you are not getting in,” said Melvin the pig.

“I’m not the wolf,” said the wolf, making his own voice sound sweet.

“What? Who are you then?” Asked the pigs.

“I’m the ice-cream man, and here to sell ice cream.” Upon hearing this, the pigs tore open the door in a rush to get their sweet treats. As soon as they opened the door the wolf leapt in knocking over the pigs and in three big mouthfuls ate them whole.

Walking home from the pigs’ houses, the wolf was picking his teeth with the bone of one of the pigs when all of a sudden he got a sharp pain in his arm, “Owwww” he yelled out, just before he grabbed his chest and fell to the ground dead.

You see, the big bad wolf had just eaten way too much bacon! He had died from a heart attack from all the fat! And that is why you must be careful around bacon for it is just too good, but will kill you if you eat too much! N

— By AdriAn Aloi—By John dyson

— By WAde leighton

For submissions:Email: collective@courthouse.org.au

www.courthouse.org.au

Opposite page — “Queen of Hearts” by Jessica Blackney.

Above — “Apple” by Owen Rowe.