Frostine Winter and the Dejected Dwarfs by Vivien Teasdale

Once upon a time, there were seven dwarfs who lived happily together in their little cottage in the wood.

 

‘Well, I don’t think it’s fair,’ snapped Cranky. ‘Our cousins’ve got one. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have one, too. We could lead a life of ease, like they do.’

 

‘But what would we do with her, if we had one?’ asked Doleful.

 

‘Oh, stop being so negative. She could do our washing and keep house. She’d be a better cook than Dumpy. He usually eats more than reaches the table.’

 

‘But how can we get one, Cranky? Just how many mothers do you know who want to kill their daughters?’   Burpy asked, accompanying the question with a loud belch.

 

‘Most of ‘em, at some point. We just have to catch them at the right moment.’ Awful answered.

 

‘Oh, you are rotten, Awful,’ Weepy said. ‘Or just awfully rotten. Come on, time we were at work.’

 

The seven filed out, collecting their little picks on the way and singing their unhappy little song. After a hard day’s work, they filed home again, more slowly, still singing their song, but accompanying it with a dejected scuffing-shoes beat.

 

‘Who left that door open? Who was last out?’ demanded Woeful. ‘It was you, Dumpy. I’ve told you before -’

 

‘Woe, I closed it. I bet Awful went and pushed it open again. Sort of thing he would do.’

 

‘Of course I would do it. If I’d thought of it. There’s someone in there.’ Awful pointed towards the front room window, darkened by the shadow of a large human form.

 

The dwarfs swung their picks from their shoulders, holding them as weapons. But just in case, they pushed the twins, Weepy and Woeful, to the front.

 

‘But … but…’ they cried.

 

‘Oh, shut up.’ they others yelled back and thrust them into the cottage.

 

Woeful stopped. So did Weepy. The others cannoned into the twins, sending them staggering forward until all were inside, squashed together like a bowl of Red Delicious.

 

There in front of them was a female. A large female. A well-built female, with unruly, cropped hair and a deep frown.

 

‘If you’re the rabble who live here, you should be ashamed of yourselves. I’ve never seen such a mess. You, what’s your name?’

 

‘I’m Dumpy.’

 

‘I can see that. Put that pick down and get in the kitchen and scrub the floor.’

 

Dumpy just stood and stared at her, his mouth open.

 

‘Er, who are you, miss?’ Doleful bravely asked, before she had a chance to punish Dumpy.

 

‘I’m Frostine Winter. You can call me, ‘Ma’am’.’

 

Weepy let out a sob and tried to back out of the door. Before he’d moved more than an inch, the female grabbed his right ear and pulled him forward. ‘Shut that before I give you something to cry about. Those beds need making, so get on with that and see you do it properly. Take your duplicate with you.’ She pushed them towards to stairs and turned on the others. They cringed.

 

‘Right, there’s going to be some changes round here,’ she announced. ‘That vegetable garden needs a good digging over. You two, you with the biggest picks. Get on with that. And you can dig me a rose garden while you’re at it.’

 

Burpy and Doleful stared at her in dismay, but as she stamped her foot and began to move her rather large right arm upwards, they left the cottage hurriedly.

 

Everyone was given their own special task, which involved quite a lot of labour, before they finally were told they could have a bath and some supper.

 

So began their life of dis-ease. To their little ‘dig, dig, dig’ song was added another. This one they sang in rounds. Two continued their ‘dig, dig, dig,’ another two began with ‘scrub, scrub, scrub’ and the final pair sang ‘dust, dust, dust’. Doleful added his fine baritone voice, singing the base line of ‘work all day and work all night, before she lets us have a bite. Make the beds and clean the loo, do the blinking gardening, too.’

 

Fortunately, they sang in dwarvish, so Frostine thought they were singing her praises.

 

‘Where’s the prince, then?’ Frostine asked one day.

 

‘Er, prince? We dwarfs don’t have anything like that.’ Cranky explained. ‘We just work together, we’re friends.’

 

‘No, you’ve got to find me a prince. If my cousin, Snow White, can get one, so can I. Now get out and don’t come back without one.’ She bundled them out of the door and bolted it.

 

After a huddled conference, Awful led the way into the woods. The path went deeper and deeper until they reached the enchanted forest.

 

‘This is the only place we’ll find a prince,’ Awful reminded them as some of the dwarfs hung back. Swallowing their fear, they continued until they came to a large pond. Across the surface were lots of lily pads. On the lily pads were lots of little frogs, all croaking away happily together.

 

Taking a little box from his little rucksack, Awful went to the water’s edge. He found a long stick and poked the nearest frog that looked a bit royal. It leapt into the water. Trying again, Awful moved the box nearer and the next time caught a frog in the box. The dwarfs returned home.

 

‘It’s a frog! A slimy, croaking frog. I said -’ Frostine gave them an icy glare.

 

‘Yes, but you know that prince’s have a tendency to turn into frogs. This is one of them. That’s why he’s all blue, except for that lovely golden crown on his head. All you have to do is kiss him and he’ll turn back into a handsome prince.’

 

Frostine glanced suspiciously at the dwarfs. They looked innocently back. She took the frog from the box and kissed it.

 

It choked, leapt back into the box and writhed in its death throes.

 

Frostine watched it. Then she dropped the box, grasped her throat and began to choke, too. Her muscles contracted as she dropped to the floor, squirming just as the frog had.

 

After a couple of hours, the dwarfs buried her in the back garden, just where they’d dug a nice plot for the roses.

 

Then, they cooked themselves a lovely supper and relaxed with their own special cocktail: a Martini Bianco on ice. 

"2015/365/95 The Versatile Pickaxe" by cogdogblog is licensed under CC BY 2.0.