By FoxFaceStories
When an entire college literature class is transported to a fairy tale world while studying folklore, they soon find themselves living out actual famous fairy tales! But these various friends, groups, and even professors must now contend with the world starting to change them. After all, Puss in Boots wants a wife, the Big Bad Wolf is looking for a mate, and the Goldilocks bears have laid a transformative trap for the next unwelcome visitor to their home . . .
Fable 1, Part 1: Puss in Boots
Spencer Hughes coughed up a hunk of grass shortly after waking. The massive, broad-framed and muscular jock rose to his feet, tipping just a little from a strange tingling dizziness in his head. For a moment, he thought he’d simply fainted for some reason, but Spencer Hughes didn’t faint. Not at the sight of blood, not in the face of the enemy team on the (football) field of battle, not at anything. Which meant that something else had knocked him unconscious . . . except then why was he out on the campus green all of a sudden? It would be the only explanation for the grassy field beneath him and . . .
Wait.
His vision cleared, allowing him to see into the distance. This wasn’t the campus green, far from it. He was in some kind of meadow, one that had patches of colourful flowers that looked like something out of a vibrant painting. The field ended several hundred feet into the distance, giving way to a large forest with impressively wild and tall trees. The depth of the forest was impossible to judge, as it disappeared into darkness thanks to the sheer cluster of the trees.
“What the fuck!?” Spencer exclaimed. He rubbed a hand through his short brown hair, frowning at this strange circumstance. He looked around, and saw that there were mountains upon the far horizon, white-capped and immense in size, as well as numerous other forests that he could see thanks to the gradual dip in the land before it rose again to those huge mountains.
“Where the hell am I?” he murmured. The muscly footballer looked around, and noticed a body in the grass about twenty feet away, nestled among the blue-petalled flowers. He ran to it, hoping it was someone who could help him. Even better, he hoped that it was Abigail; she was a hot fucking chick who was smart as hell. She’d know what to do, and he could spend some time convincing her to finally have some private fun.
Unfortunately, the unconscious figure turned out to be the exact person Spencer wanted to deal with the least: the scrawny, tiny, spindly, and most of all nerdy figure of Norman Otis.
“Oh, just my luck,” Spencer groaned, before shaking the man perhaps a little too violently. Norman instantly snapped awake, making a series of shocked gasps as he tried to make sense of his bearings.
“Jesus, that was a pathetic display.”
Norman turned and narrowed his eyes. “Spencer, is that you?”
“Who do you think it is, moron?”
“M-my glasses. I can’t see without them. Are they on the ground? Are we on the campus green? Oh God, did I faint again?”
Spencer rolled his eyes. He picked up the man’s glasses, but noticed that they were broken in the middle. He chuckled, and passed them to Norman, who winced as he realised the fault.
“I’ve got tape in my pocket. For emergencies.”
“That’s so fucking nerdy, man.”
Norman took a deep breath as he looked around. He coughed on some flower spores, and hurriedly applied his inhaler as well, taking two puffs. Spencer scoffed a little; was there anything about this nerd that wasn’t weak?
“Wh-where are we?” Norman finally said.
“No fuckin’ clue,” Spencer said, shoving past the man despite the sheer abundance of space he possessed around him. “Are we even near Somerset College at this point? Goddamn it, now we gotta find a highway or something.”
But Norman, who was far more intelligent and astute, was already noticing more than Spencer, and consequently he was starting to worry more. Spencer saw something was off about the short, spindly man and gestured for him to speak.
“Go on, spit it out. What’s going on here?”
Norman scanned the horizon. “It’s just . . . there’s no modern technology that I can see. No radio towers. No car roads. No buildings or signage at all. Not even fences.”
“So . . . what? Someone kidnapped us and put us in a national park or something?”
Norman shook his head. “What national park can you think of that gives the moon a face?”
He pointed up into the midday blue sky to where the moon was positioned. It was full and round, but its craggy side had a face on it. Almost like . . .
“The Man in the Moon,” Norman almost whispered under his breath.
“That’s fucking weird,” Spencer said, looking up. “Is it like a hologram or something? Wait, what’s the Man in the Moon? Where have I heard that from?”
“F-from our class!” Norman said, adjusting his half-broken glasses. “And it was in the fairy tale tome that the Professor showed us before we . . . blacked out, or something. And it looked exactly like that. Spencer! What if the words inside that hidden page were true? What if we’re stuck in a fairy tale world? What if we’ve travelled to another dimension of existence?”
By this point, he was actually clutching Spencer’s much thicker, musclier arm, so excited was Norman getting.
“Dude, get away from me!” Spencer said, shoving the smaller figure aside. “You’re talking crazy shit. We just . . . well, I don’t know how the hell we got out of here, but I’m gonna find the way home.”
“But - but I could be right!”
“Sure thing, loser. Now try to keep up. Because I doubt you’ll be able to.”
Spencer picked a direction and started walking. He figured if he could see all the way to the mountains, then that was probably not the way to go. Which meant the forest it was, then. It looked rather dark and imposing, but there was nothing Spencer was afraid of. Besides, the twerp was pretty smart. If they got hungry, he could send him out to find the right berries or something.
“C’mon, hurry up!” Spencer yelled to Norman even as he marched to the treeline.
“Are you s-sure we should go this way?” Norman stammered.
“Why? Scared of a bit of forest? Worst case scenario, we come back the way we started from!”
“It’s just that lots of fairy tales have forests as places of danger, and -”
And adventure. Just the sort of thing a man who wanted to win a princess would need to perform in order to be worthy of her. Norman’s features shifted to that of excitement, and he raced to keep up with Spencer.
“Nevermind, ignore me!” he said, marching on ahead.
Spencer just rolled his eyes. “Like I always do,” he whispered under his breath, and then the pair continued forward, marching on towards their first fairy tale without even realising it.
***
They finally reached a road, but it was not the kind that either man expected. Spencer had already been bickering with Norman, and while the nerdy redhead wasn’t quite the anxious puddle that George Eustace was, he did find the massive footballer quite intimidating, especially since the whole way through the forest trek he kept on mocking Norman’s obvious lack of experience and his need to constantly use his puffer. Norman had hoped that the road they found would finally set them on the right path, but instead it only piqued his curiosity further about what a strange place they had landed in.
“All right! Finally, a road!” Spencer shouted.
But Norman shook his head. “It’s not a road, at least not for cars. Look, it runs through a forest, and there’s no bitumen.”
“So? It’s a dirt road. I thought you were smart, Nerdy Norman.”
But Norman shook his head. “If it was a dirt road, it would have trails and divots where wheels have gone over this. This is just one track, and thinner than most dirt roads. It’s the kind of road used only by horses and wagons, not heavy modern vehicles.”
“So we find a fucking horse farm and use their phone, then!” Spencer groaned. “Can’t we just pick a direction and move it, nerd?”
Norman was about to reply, when something glinted against his glasses. He looked up, curious as to what it might be, only to suddenly scream in horror. Spencer threw him to the ground immediately.
“Dude, don’t shout like that, Jesus Chr-”
Thwit!
Suddenly, an arrow landed on the ground just where Norman had been. This time Spencer screamed, and he jumped backwards just in time to dodge two more arrows which landed upon the ground near his feet. Suddenly, two figures jumped down from the tree branches; two figures wearing green and brown camouflage. Only they looked like they were dressed up for some sort of ren faire, given they were wearing leather armour and were brandishing bows, which they were now hurling to the side in favour of swords.
“What the fuck!?” Spencer cried, scrambling backwards. “What the fucking fuck!?”
One of the men, a sneering fellow with scraggly facial hair and a cruel scar down one eye, raised his sword. “Got a potty mouth on this one, Daven. Think he’d make a good recruit with muscles like those?”
“Would do,” the one called ‘Daven’ replied. “Only with a build like that, I’d not be too confident he wouldn’t let it get to his head, Jarn.”
The one named Jarn cackled. “Yeah, you’re right, I s’pose. Better to slit him from nose to navel and be done with it, ‘specially since this lot ain’t got no treasure.”
Norman had no idea what to say. He was terrified, but something told him that this was real. He really was in some strange fairytale world, and these brigands were just that, actual brigands. Spencer was backing up, the tall footballer not wanting to come up against real blades despite his pretension that he had no fear. But already Norman’s mind was racing, heading back into the land of fantasy as he imagined the fate that could lie in wait for him.
What if this was a test? What if he had to show his heroism in order to win a beautiful princess’s hand, just like he’d always secretly fantasised about?
This was his chance. This was his chance.
He leapt to his feet, half-stumbled, and then righted himself. The bandits clearly saw Spencer as the bigger threat, but he knew that he had to change that. The short, asthmatic young man grabbed a rock and pelted it at Daven’s back, catching him between the shoulder blades. The man turned with a vicious snarl.
“Oi!” he yelled. “Stay down, shrimp!”
“Make me!” the man yelled. “See if you can catch me!”
Spencer looked at this scene with total disbelief. The brigand darted towards Norman, but the wiry man was already running into the forest.
“You coward!” he shouted, as Jarn was already forcing him back. “You fucking loser nerd, leaving me to die! You little bitch!”
But Norman was doing anything but. He’d been observing the forest as he’d walked through with Spencer, and they’d come across a muddy patch they’d had to circle around; Spencer had cackled when Norman had nearly fallen in. His asthma was flaring up, but he managed to find that patch and then leap over a segment of it. Daven burst through the tree line, waving his sword.
“I’ll kill you, you little - nghh!”
He fell into the mud right up to his waist, his sword dropped, and he instantly began struggling. Norm grabbed his inhaler and took two puffs, then stole the man’s sword. This was the most heroic he’d ever felt or been, and he made it all the way back to Spencer and Jarn.
“Oi!” he called out in his best brigand voice. “Don’t kill ‘im yet!”
Jarn rolled his eyes and turned. “Why not, Daven? I’m just gonna - the hell!?”
Norman thrust out the sword, but his limits of athleticism finally caught up with him. He doubled over, coughing and wheezing, unable to land a blow. Jarn laughed, levelling his sword.
“I’ll be. A cunning little wiry fella. But time to meet your maker mate!”
The sword came down, and Norman clenched his eyes shut. Even Spencer didn’t want to look. But faster than the wind, an orange shape darted down from the tree branches the brigands had been hiding in only moments ago. There was a flurry of silver, and suddenly a new individual had joined them.
“The fuck!?” Spencer gasped.
“En guarde!” the figure exclaimed, thrusting out a sword and parrying the coming attack by the surprised brigand. The foul man stepped back, struggling to defend against the onslaught by this latest entrant, which took the form of a veritable hurricane of thrusts, parries, feints, swings, and playful flourishes of his silver blade. In moments he was disarmed, a swordpoint at his throat.
“P-please, don’t k-kill me!” he gasped.
The orange figure smiled, and both Spencer and Norman realised the impossible in that moment. The figure was a cat. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was a cat person. Short, perhaps only 5’4 in height at best, and shaped in a humanoid fashion. He wore a regal princely costume, complete with a blue half-cape and a tabard over his armour which displayed an orange paw over a light blue background. But his face was feline in appearance, tabby-furred and with captivating green eyes. The hand clutching the sword was more like a paw, complete with some rather sharp claws that had extended, and a furry orange tail was situated behind him, currently rigid while in the heat of battle. The thing even had whiskers, white and prominent, but despite its inhuman nature, its face was very expressive, as if it were a mix of human and cat. It even had something arguably dashing about it.
“I won’t kill you, though a knave you be,” the cat man declared in a voice that was a romantic-sounding British accent, like some dashing Robin Hood hero figure would be expected to talk. “But I shall relieve you of all that you possess, and leave you to chance your life on what comes next. Seek spiritual improvement, and the wilds may not take you. If not . . . well, there’s ogres in these woods who like to prey on defenceless souls, much like you evidently do. Now remove everything down to your tunic and begone afore I change my mind, whelp!”
The man scrambled to do what he said, and then he fled to the hills. With a flourish, the cat creature put away his sword and turned to Spencer and Norman, a charismatic smile upon his feline face.
“I apologise, good sirs. These are my roads, and thus should be better protected. I shall make sure to invest wisely in guards who can patrol these areas. Alas, the Puss in Boots can only do so much.”
It was then that Norman realised that the cat man was wearing boots. Yes, he was wearing armour, and a half-cape and all the rest, but it was the boots that seemed to stick out to him. They were old, worn leather things, clearly patched up repeatedly, and not at all in keeping with the resplendence of his outfit.
“P-Puss in Boots?” Norman managed. “You’re the Puss in Boots?”
The feline individual grinned and gave an impressive bow, his hand extended dramatically before he rose again. “The very same!” he stated. “But alas, you have me at a disadvantage, sirs. Might I inquire what a strange pair of individuals such as yourselves, in such foreign dress as you possess, are doing upon my lands?”
Spencer had finally managed to pick his jaw up off the ground. “You - you’re a cat.”
“Indeed I am, sir. I should think that most obvious.”
“You’re a fucking cat!”
The figure calling itself Puss in Boots raised an eyebrow. Well, his face was entirely furred, but it conveniently had some lighter fur there to provide a more human-like expression.
“Sir, I ask that you refrain from such vulgar language. I can say from experience that we can all strive to become greater.”
“But you’re a fucking freakin’ cat! What the hell is going on here!? Where the fuck are we!?”
The cat cocked his head to one side. “You are in the land of Fairy Tales, sir. Where else might you be?”
Norman blinked. His intelligent mind was putting it all together. This wasn’t their reality anymore. It wasn’t some hologram, not just some strange Man in the Moon. They were no longer on Earth, or if they were, it was the Earth of fairytales, myths, and famous fables. A land of Aesops become real.
“Spencer,” he said. “We’re not in our dimension anymore. We’re in a different reality. This is a land of fairy tales!”
“I believe that’s what I just said,” Puss in Boots stated. “Are you from another land? Perhaps beyond the sea?”
“You could say that,” Norman said.
Spencer was freaking out. “This isn’t making any sense to me! No fucking sense at all!”
But now Norman was the more confident one. His excitement was growing. His fantasy of finding a princess and finding greatness could well come true. Perhaps a Frog Princess he could kiss and make real again? Or the Puss in Boots could introduce him to a beautiful noblewoman?
“Mr Boots,” he said. “We are from far away. We landed here due to a magic book, and we don’t know where we are or how to get home. I think . . . we might actually be stuck. Is it possible that there’s a shelter nearby?”
Puss in Boots grinned. “Shelter? Let it be known that Lord Boots has much more than a shelter now, ever since I aided my master, the Marquis of Carabas. I was gifted my own lordship as a kindness, and a castle to go with it! Come, I shall take the pair of you to my estate and grant you rest and succour.”
“Thank you ever so much,” Norman said.
Spencer gestured out with his hands. “But he’s a cat!”
“Shhh,” Norman hissed. “We’re in a fairy tale land now, Spencer. We have to adapt. Besides, the Puss in Boots is a hero of legend, a crafty and guileful individual who outsmarts dangerous foes and performs great deeds. We couldn’t have been luckier to find him.”
At this, the cat half-turned and regarded Norman for a few seconds. “Kind and generous words, sir. But I must note that you showed guile and craftiness that impressed me greatly just now. You brought the brigand to the bog and stuck him there, and would have gotten his fiendish friend had you not suffered an attack. A cat could grow fond of someone like that.”
“Oh, um, thank you. That means a lot coming from a legend like you!”
“Alas, some legends grow lonely after success.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Yeah,” Spencer mocked. “He’s never even had a girlfriend.”
Puss in Boots bristled a little. “Do not mock your friend, sir. He has shown bravery and intelligence and cunning, all traits I admire. All traits I would see in a mate, could I ever find one.”
Norman found himself drawing closer to Puss in Boots as they walked down the road, leaving Spencer a little behind. He whispered in the feline ear of the short lord. “I, uh, feel the same, p-personally. I mean about finding a girlfriend. A mate. Someone I could be with who appreciates me. I’ve never found anyone who appreciates my intelligence. Maybe this place will be better for that.”
At this, Puss in Boots flashed a brilliant smile. “Well, perhaps our meeting was fortuitous. You see, I once outsmarted an ogre who could change his shape. His cellars showed me the source of his power. Perhaps we could help one another out . . .”
***
Spencer had no idea what was happening. He’d barely paid attention during Professor Style’s course, and had mainly spent his time trying to impress Abigail Edgerton or check out that sexy Asian assistant, Lori Suzu . . . something. Now Norman was having to explain to him, as they arrived at a rather impressive castle - an actual medieval castle, stone walls and keep and moat and all - the tale of Puss in Boots.
“So what, he doesn’t fight anyone? But he just did all that swordplay?”
“He outsmarts everyone. He invents the title of the Marquis of Carabas for the miller’s son, then uses his cunning to make him look impressive for the king, and then outwits a shapechanging ogre by daring him to become a mouse. Well, cats eat mice, so Puss in Boots does just that, and voila, the Marquis of Carabas now has his own castle, and the king is so impressed that he allows the former miller’s son to marry his daughter, the princess.”
“And a fine girl she was too!” Puss in Boots declared as the keep opened to allow him in. Human servants and guards nodded and bowed to the cat as he entered, making for an amusing sight. “My master was very happy, and so in turn gave me this castle and lordship as thanks. Of course, life has been a little lonely since. The Prince has less time for his cat now that he has babes of his own to take care of, not to mention the lovely Princess. And as you can see, I am a rather unique cat. I’ve been looking for someone with intelligence, wit, and derring-do to be a worthy partner for a few years now. Someone who knows what it is to be small and underestimated, and yet who dreams big and takes her chances. Strange, how you have arrived at the right moment!”
“Perhaps we can help you find a princess of your own,” Norman suggested. “And in return, you can help us find a home.”
“I think you’ll do both! Come, I must prepare supper. I’ll be using some special ingredients that the ogre left behind when I took this very castle, which then belonged to my master and then was given to me when he took his residence in the capital. Please come, sirs! I wish to hear more of this other realm of yours!”
Spencer felt like he’d hit his head on something. “He’s a fucking cat,” he hissed when Puss in Boots was gone and they were given their own rooms. He had marched straight to Norman’s in a huff.
“He’s a cat person, really. Bipedal. And besides, he’s legendarily intelligent and cunning. He can help us.”
“This is a fucking joke. I can’t believe I ended up with a wimpy nerd.”
Norman shrugged, enjoying the loose blue tunic he’d been given, the one that Spencer refused to wear his own version of. “Arguably, the Puss in Boots is a wimpy nerd, or at least he was. But he ended up on top, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, this is real life, not some fucking fairy tale.”
At this, Norman laughed. “Where do you think we are? You better be careful, Spencer. Bullies and meatheads don’t end up well in fairy tales.”
“Please, at least he knew how to use a sword.”
“Ah, but didn’t you notice that even that was a lot of performance. The brigand could probably have taken down Puss in Boots, but instead our fairytale friend was all performance and show, leaping down from above to surprise like they did, using their tactics against them. It was guile.”
Spencer just scoffed. His opinion didn’t improve during supper, where the Puss in Boots had laid out an extravagant dinner for them. The servants removed the cloche covers to reveal a sumptuous banquet of pork, chicken, beef, duck, as well as lentils, potatoes, carrots, and turnips all cooked to perfection with herbs that added to their individual flavours. They talked - well, mostly Puss and Norman - about all sorts of things, from geography to literature to their own shared short status and weaker limbs, and how people often underestimated them. Spencer wanted to just die listening to it, and was grateful when the alcohol was served up.
“Please, enjoy the wine!” Puss in Boots declared, holding up his cup from the other side of the expansive table. He looks quite small from his position. “Norman, sir, I have provided for you a vintage most fitting! Pray tell, as we dine together, tell me what you wish to find in this land!”
Spencer was quick to answer. “To get out of it, obviously!”
But Norman hesitated, and the Puss in Boots, clearly insightful, noticed this. “And you, Norman? Please, I would like to know more about such an intelligent guest.”
“Well, um, it’s a little embarrassing,” Norman said, “but I’ve always dreamed of fairy tales such as this one, and being like your master; going from an ordinary man to someone who could live a royal life and meet a beautiful princess.”
Spencer scoffed. “God, it just gets more pathetic and weird.”
“Neither pathetic nor weird, sir,” the cat said. “Dreams are beautiful things, but they must be coupled with ambition. Norman, if you had a chance at a royal life, at a hand in marriage, at living in a place such as this . . .”
He gestured to his grand hall.
“. . . then would you take it?”
Norman’s eyes lit up. “I absolutely would, Lord Boots. In a heartbeat. And if I had to be cunning to do it, just like your story, I’d do that, too.”
“I am most glad to hear it! Then drink of your special vintage, and it shall be so.”
Norman paused. “R-really?”
“Really. Drink up, and you will be on your way to the life one as smart as you deserve.”
Norman tried to hide his enthusiasm, and then decided to smile anyway. This wasn’t Spencer’s world anymore, he decided.
“Let’s get me a princess,” he murmured under his breath, before taking the goblet before him and taking his first sip of the wonderfully sweet wine.
Spencer frowned. He was hating all this alien weirdness. He looked at Puss in Boots, and noticed that the creature’s ears had pricked up at whatever Norman had just whispered. The cat was smiling.
***
Norman had never slept so wonderfully. The expansive bed in the guestroom was much nicer than the pathetic little apartment he had back in the so-called ‘real world.’ Norm had lost his parents when he was young, and bounced from foster home to foster home, not always nourished particularly well but always pushing his education and pursuing his curiosity. Fantasy had been a comfort at times when he needed it.
And now fantasy had arrived for him.
“Meowwww,” he moaned as he stretched his limbs upon waking. “That was the most marvellous sleep. Oh God, I feel amazing.”
He couldn’t quite remember the dreams he’d had, but they had left him a little aroused, oddly enough. Something about fur . . . and women . . . and dresses . . . and Puss in Boots had been there. He had looked rather cute, oddly enough.
Norman chuckled. “Crazy. This is so fantastically, brilliantly crazy. I want to find out everything about this place.”
He leapt out of bed. And that was a literal leap. Norman was startled, but not nearly so much as when he noticed that something had changed about him.
“Wait . . . what!?”
His arms were furry. Not hairy. They were furry. Bright orange fur too, just like his hair. More fiery than the tabby colouring of Puss in Boots, but comparable. Smoother though. Silkier. His palms were likewise furry, and when he pulled up the pyjamas he’d been given, he saw that his calves were too.
“I’m growing cat hair!? I don’t - oh God, my ass!”
He lowered his hands back to his rear. He had grown some fur there too, but the young man’s real concern was what was happening just a little above it, at the base of his spine. Something had grown out there, something prominent and . . .fleshy. But with bone within it. And hair on the outside.
“It can’t be,” he murmured. He ran to the mirror which was located on the other side of the extravagant guest room. He nearly fell over; his legs felt so much more springy and fit. It took him a moment because he really was more fit. His thighs were more muscular, and his arms too. Not beefy, but his spindliness was gone and replaced by a lithe strength. Supple yet oddly . . . beautiful.
“No, no! Not beautiful!” he said out loud. “Don’t think crazy thoughts, Norman.”
He made his way to the mirror, adjusting his stance a little. His legs felt oddly oriented, or perhaps it was because his feet were a little odd; stumpier than usual. A little . . . paw-like. But he quickly forgot even that bizarre change when he looked in the mirror and saw the changes to his face. He hadn’t even realised until now that he hadn’t put his glasses on, because the world was crystal clear. His eyes, normally a grey-blue, were now a vibrant ocean blue, with vertical slits for pupils, just like those of a cat. His ears were also pointier, and thinner, and coated in that same orange fur. Even his nose had changed! It had a soft inverted triangle appearance. And from his cheeks were little dots, five on each side. There was an odd pressure there.
“What even are those?” he murmured to himself. He prodded his cheeks, particularly the areas closer to his nose. “Wait . . . are those going to be . . . whiskers!? Oh God, this can’t be real. This can’t be real! I’m turning into a cat? Or a catperson!? How is this going to get me a freakin’ princess?”
He scratched his chest, then rubbed it a little more with both hands. There was a pressure there as well, and his nipples felt weird. Several points below felt odd as well, like little pinpricks trying to push out.
“I need to see Puss in Boots. This is not what I thought he was offering!”
To Be Continued . . .