Wishing Eel and Other Grim Tales

Gill Macdonald

Description

"Wishes can be as slippery as fish and they can't be unwished," said the Eel, "so think carefully".Loosely based on traditional Grimm fairy tales, this is a book of contemporary stories that weaves myth, magic and realism with as many twists as an eel's tail. And who knows, perhaps after reading it you'll discover what you should really wish for.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: GemAspect
• Date de parution: 12 octobre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781909270527
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WISHING EEL
AND OTHER GRIM TALES
By
GILL MACDONALD
© 2012 Gill Macdonald Gill Macdonald has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by GemAspect First published in eBook format in 2012
eISBN: 978-1-909270-52-7
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
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CONTENTS
FACTS
1. THE WISHING EEL
2. A CAT CALLED ROVER
3. THE PRINCESS AND THE PEN
4. HARI AND GITA
5. A COOL DRINK
6. MADALINE AND THE MAGIC PANTS
7. A MAGICAL TEA PARTY
8. THE REFUSE COLLECTOR AND HIS WIFE
COVER AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY LOTTIE WOOD
FACTS
Common Eel (Anguilla Anguilla) Also known as the European or Silver Eel
The Common Eel has a fascinating life-cycle; breeding in the sea and migrating to freshwater in order to grow before returning to the distant Sargasso Sea to spawn. This is a long-lived species with a known life span of up to 85 years. Eels can survive out of water for several hours and may travel overland on dark rainy nights.
Due to pollution, over fishing, habitat degradation and climate change, the population of the Common Eel is under threat. The European Union is currently funding research that aims to halt this decline.
Wishing Eel (Anguilla Optatio) .
The Wishing Eel is believed to share a similar life cycle to that of its cousin the Common Eel, breeding in the sea and migrating to freshwater before returning to the Sargasso Sea to spawn. Also long lived, distinguishing features are the larger more colourful fins. However, very little data exists about this rare species and there have been so few sightings in recent years, it is feared it may be extinct.
http://www.arkive.org/species/ARK/fish/Anguilla_anguilla/more_info.html
1
THE WISHING EEL
Joe loved fishing, it was more important to him than anything even eating and sleeping. Even girls. At fourteen, though no one had ever taken the trouble to tell him as much, he was a good-looking boy. Something to do with the combination of dark brown hair and striking blue eyes, but he was also shy. Though undoubtedly aware of the female of the species, he had not yet had the luck or confidence to get close to one. So for the time being it was the hidden underwater world of fish that captured Joe’s imagination and occupied every moment of his free time.
On the whole his mother didn’t object. When not at school it kept him out of the house, which wasn’t large. Teenage boys have a way of filling space with their own particular brand of chaos, so as long as he kept his smelly rods and bait in the garden shed, it was fine by her. On this point though Mrs Roberts was adamant; nothing, not so much as a float was allowed in the house.
It was the maggots that did it, returning after a two-week holiday in the sun to find her home infested with hundreds of fat, black, buzzing bluebottles, and all because of a carelessly closed bait box in Joe’s fishing bag. The voracious little pinkies, aptly named not just for their colour but their resemblance to fleshy, finger like projections, had wriggled their way to freedom with a speed and determination that might have been admired in a less reviled life form. They secreted themselves in dark corners of the house, under furniture, rugs and chairs, patiently transforming into tiny, bullet shaped, golden-shelled casters, a deadly, pupating invasion force waiting to explode.
Had she come home to clouds of beautiful, coloured butterflies, perhaps Mrs. Roberts would not have taken it so badly. A minor inconvenience to open the windows and watch them float away like a dream, but the ugly, intrusive, creatures, which finally erupted from their armoured shells were nothing short of a nightmare. For days the house reeked of evil smelling fly sprays and resounded with the thwack and splat of rolled up newspapers against soft black bodies.
But bluebottles were not the only creatures expelled for their unsavoury habits. Mr. Roberts also had to go. Unlike his wife who enjoyed nothing better than to collapse in front of the TV of an evening to watch her favourite soaps, he required more out of life than a passive relationship with a piece of electrical equipment. If no social interaction was to be had at home then he went looking for it elsewhere, more often than not at the pub. Like his son he spent less and less time at home, although it wasn’t fish but the beguiling barmaid at the Slug and Lettuce who captured his attention.
When Joe came home from school one afternoon to be told his father no longer lived with them and that his name was not to be mentioned, it came as no real surprise. He saw so little of him anyway, what difference would it make?
Some parents become embarrassingly youthful and irresponsible when freed from the constraints of marriage but not Mrs. Roberts. No unsuitable clothes, no dating or clubbing for her, she was no butterfly. Left to her own devices what had been a natural love of order and cleanliness soon became an obsession. A connoisseur of cleansing fluids, mops and rubber gloves, housework was her consolation. If cleanliness was truly next to godliness, Mrs Roberts was destined for sainthood.
Increasingly, when he entered the house Joe was made to feel like an infidel invading hallowed ground. "Take your shoes off, hang your coat up and wash your hands," became her mantra. Fold yourself up neatly and put yourself away. He would retreat to his room, his twelve square feet of unconsecrated chaos, a last bastion of resistance in this immaculate zone, zone being a more appropriate word than home; another reason why Joe spent so much of his time out fishing.
On this particular morning Joe had set up his rods on the canal bank not far from where he lived. Even though it was half term none of his friends were about yet and the weekend fishermen were all at work so he had the place to himself, which on the whole was how he liked it. Lacking his dedication his friends tended to tire easily and get bored if the fish weren’t biting but Joe was an intuitive fishermen; he seemed to possess an extra sense, which told him where the fish would be.
He’d been doing well: several carp, one a nineteen pounder and a couple of bream. He took great care with his fish; he’d reel them in, carefully remove the hook, weigh them and take a photograph if they were sufficiently large, then gently, almost lovingly lower them back into the soupy, green water. Stunned by the near death experience, the fish would revive suddenly as water filled its gills and tail thrashing in an ecstasy of relief, swim away as fast as it could.
Having just caught and released a fine mirror carp, Joe had settled down to eat his sandwiches when his line twitched and the bite alarm went off again. This time though it wasn’t a carp or a bream. From what he could see of the length of the body and the way it was thrashing about at first he thought it must be a pike. Legend had it there was an infamous specimen so large, it could swallow whole ducks. As he struggled with the beast determined not to loose it, Joe’s mouth went dry with excitement at the thought that he might be about to make angling history but when he finally landed the catch, he was surprised and not a little disappointed to find it was something altogether different.
"An eel!" he exclaimed out loud, "a Common Eel!"
He’d heard of eels being caught in rivers or lakes but never before in the canal. Nearly a metre long with a sinuous black and silver body and unusually large fins, which shimmered in a mesmerising array of rainbow colours, it was also extremely slimy. Joe had to be careful to avoid its sharp little teeth but after a struggle he managed to remove the hook and was about to put it back in the water when the most peculiar thing happened, the Eel spoke to him.
"There’s nothing common about me young man!" it declared in a small but surprisingly clear, reedy voice, "quite the contrary in fact. If you live to be a hundred you won’t see a finer specimen, though I do say it myself."
Still struggling to keep hold of the slippery creature Joe felt a cold shiver pass down his spine but then he began to laugh. Of course, he wasn’t that stupid! Someone was playing a trick on him, trying to wind him up. He turned to look behind him, searching the bushes that grew along the towpath. For a split second his grip slackened and the next thing he knew the Eel had wriggled free. Instead of diving back into the canal as you might expect, it took a bite out of one of his sandwiches which were in a plastic box beside his chair.
"Ummm, tuna and mayonnaise my favourite," enthused the Eel.
As Joe inched towards it, it took another bite and then another.
"Forgive me," it said at last, pausing for breath. "I haven’t eaten anything decent for months stuck in this filthy canal. The greed of those ducks and swans beggars belief. As it is I have to fight for the few bits of soggy bread that come my way, otherwise its fish or snails every day. I suppose you don’t have any prawns do you?"
Joe opened his mouth to reply then shut it abruptly. You couldn’t have a conversation about food with an eel it was too weird. Perhaps he had been spending too much time on his own lately?
"Deaf are we?" the Eel did a cunning back flip as Joe attempted to make a grab for it. "This isn’t a trick. There are no hidden cameras. You’re not being filmed for some daf