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The strangest fairy tale of them all to date.
The Three Little Pigs danced around me singing their favourite song: “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf - the big bad wolf - the big bad wolf - who’s afraid of the big bad wolf.” That’s all I can remember about them from that terrible night. Even now I ask myself if they were really there. And every time I give myself the same answer - yes - they were there because I didn’t turn into a large flesh eating werewolf that faithful night. But there were other things that I do recall - elements from my childhood and my ultimate connection to the Stranger and his cause.
But first, as I lay by the side of the road bleeding profusely with the damn werewolf virus coursing through my bloodstream corrupting my body and slowly turning me into the beast that did this to me in the first place, the last thing on my mind were the Three Little Pigs. Yet as the Stranger bluntly pointed out to me that the only way to combat the virus was to inject me with liquid silver, which we didn’t have on hand, plus we only had a few hours before it would be too late for me, so our list of options was thin to say the least.
“Don’t let me turn - please - if it comes to it do me in,” I begged him. He just looked me in the eye and said two simple words. “I will.” And he meant it. I was grateful - death was the preferred option as far as I was concern. But the Stranger wasn’t ready to give up on me just yet and with no other course of action open to him; he did the only thing he could do, he summoned the Three Little Pigs - the arch nemesis’ of the Big Bad Wolf. You see not all the creatures of fairy tales produced by the Dreamer follow its doctrine, some have sworn to fight the Dreamer and at times ally themselves with those that do battle against it - like the Stranger for instance - and the Three Little Pigs are one such group.
Far and few in between I might add though.
How the Stranger summoned them I do not recall and afterwards he would not elaborate on the matter. I think that it pained him greatly to call on those forces that are his sworn enemies. I suppose it doesn’t really matter because what happened then is still nothing more than just fragments in my memory. But what I do remember as I slipped in and out of consciousness were the Three Little Pigs standing upright on two hooves and dancing around me, each playing an instrument, one a flute, one a lute and the third beating a small drum. All the while singing that blasted song: “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf - the big bad wolf - the big bad wolf - who’s afraid of the big bad wolf.” As long as I live I will never forget that cursed song for once it gets in your head it does not go away.
And yet that silly rhyme saved my life.
As they sang and skipped around me they began to wrap my body in a vibration field of protection that would allow my immune system to fight the deadly virus within me. For you see the Three Little Pigs in their silly sailor hats, coloured tops and no pants, are really powerful shamans whose magic operates on a level, which seems childish to us, but is in actual fact powerful arcane knowledge. The fairy tale of the Three Little Pigs and their houses of straw, stick and brick, is in fact a defence incantation against the powers of the Big Bad Wolf and all the terrors associated with it. As they continued to build their mental house of bricks around my being I began to feel the blood in my body bubble and boil beneath my skin as it fought to overpower the resilient strain of the werewolf virus that was attempting to take me over.
I screamed and yelled in excruciating pain. I felt as if my blood was on fire and that it was about to burn away my flesh from within. I struggled to break free - to run away from the pain - but my body was held down by restraints. I had no idea where I was or what time of day it was.
All I knew was that I had to escape the terrible pain that was assaulting me. So my mind fled into my subconscious and the barriers between the two broke down and it was then that I began to vividly recall things from my past. Revelations from my childhood that I had long forgotten and blotted out from my memory and there was one particular disclosure that would shatter my entire being forever. That night was the worst in my life. The pain, the revelation, the realization, the truth of my past, it was almost too much to bear and yet the truth does indeed often hurt, but it’s the lies that leaves the scars.
I survived that night.
The shamanism of the Three Little Pigs worked. I didn’t become the next Big Bad Wolf. The virus was burnt clean from my blood. When I awoke again it was several days later in some beat up roadside motel in the middle of nowhere. I was as weak as a new born babe but I was alive. It would take me several more days to regain my strength fully before the Stranger and I could once again hit the road. Yet as I lay in that stifling room healing I still remembered the truth that was revealed to me - the truth of my childhood - the truth of my adoption. It haunted me. The Stranger knew something was up and he prompted me to tell him what I had learned. In truth I think he already knew and that is why he allowed me to join his crusade and why it has always felt to me that this was the right thing to do.
So I told him.
I told him that I was a love child, the off spring or half breed of a union between a human and a fairy tale.
Copyright March 2014 © Peter Jessop
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never stop writing
m
Ron