Goblins and Ghosties by Maggie Pearson Page B

a swarm of angry bees.

    â€˜We’re free!’
    â€˜Free!’
    â€˜Free at last!’
    â€˜Now to get our revenge on that selfish boy!’
    â€˜We’ll teach him to keep us prisoner all these years!’
    â€˜I’m the story of the enchanted well. He’s bound to be thirsty on such a hot day. If I position myself right beside the road, one sip of my water and he’ll fall into a sleep from which…’
    â€˜What if he doesn’t drink? Remember me? The story of the poisoned strawberries. One bite and he’ll be turned into…’
    â€˜And if that doesn’t work,’ hissed another voice, ‘I’ll be lurking under the mat set down for him when he steps off his horse in the form of a poisonous snake.’
    â€˜Stop!’ cried the old man. ‘Stop! Come back!’
    The story spirits were off and away down the road in pursuit of the young master, who wasn’t a bad boy at heart.
    What should he do? What could he do? The wedding procession was well under way. Even if he could make it stop long enough to listen, warn them of the dangers, would anyone believe him?
    Still, he had to try. His legs were aching and his heart was pounding by the time he caught up with the procession but he was not a minute too soon.
    A servant was offering up a cup of water from a roadside well for the young man to drink. The old man dashed it to one side, seized the reins of the young man’s horse and limped off again along the road.
    Everyone was too surprised to do anything but follow.
    The young man was still thirsty. When he spotted a field of strawberries, he called out to the old man to stop.
    â€˜Stop! Stop! A handful of sweet strawberries would quench my thirst even better than water.’
    The old man didn’t stop. For all the notice he took, he might as well have been struck stone deaf since breakfast time.
    So they arrived safely at the bride’s house, where a ceremonial carpet had been laid down for the bridegroom to step onto.
    Imagine everyone’s surprise when the old man let go of the horse some distance away, rushed over to the carpet and whisked it up … to reveal a snake rearing its poisonous head!
    Luckily there were enough well-armed men around to make short work of the snake.
    â€˜You saved my life, old man,’ the young man said. ‘But how did you know the snake was there?’
    So then the old man, having got his breath back, got his chance to explain about the snake, the well and the strawberries, and who could say what other dangers which might be lurking in the days to come.
    â€˜I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ the young man said, ‘to try to keep these stories all to myself.’
    The old man bowed his head. ‘Stories are meant for sharing,’ he said. ‘We storytellers only borrow them for a while. The stories I told you when you were little, tell them to your children and your children’s children. And they’ll be content.’

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