The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror(44)

“If you were sitting on the well and not just near it,” his father said, “then you must keep your promise.” Just then there came another knock at the door.

“But I did not really promise it,” the youngest daughter said. “It made the promise for me, and to itself, and I did not really ask it to get the ball. It volunteered.” He scrunched down low in his seat, too late to escape notice. He really was a very unlucky daughter.

His father said only: “You should not have sat on a well that was not yours. Go and open the door, and let the frog in.”

He went back to the door and opened it, and the frog hopped inside, then followed him back to his chair. It sat at his feet a moment and then said, “Lift me up next to you.” He did not move until his father insisted. Then he did it.

The frog sat next to his hand on the table, and said, “Now push your plate closer to me, so we can eat together.” Its breath smelled like old coins, and the youngest daughter shuddered but brought the plate closer. The frog did not mind that he shuddered, only that he did as instructed. Everyone else could see that he did not want to eat, but no one said anything, as they were not the ones in trouble. The frog ate everything with a hearty appetite.

“Eat,” his father said, and he ate, too.

Finally the frog said: “I have eaten everything I wanted to eat. Now I am tired. Carry me to your room and put me in your bed, so that we can go to sleep.”

The man’s youngest daughter began to cry. This time no one said anything about his being too beautiful for tears. “Maybe you would prefer a little bed of your own,” he said. “Mine is—starched, and dry, and you might not be comfortable in something so clean. I could make you a little nest, or put some water in a bucket nearby, or—”

“Put me in between your knees,” the frog said. “I will be warm there, and the only thing that will get dirty is you, and you can wash.”

At this the youngest daughter shook his head and shrank back in his seat. His father grew angry and said, “You took help when it was offered, and you flinch now at repayment; do not make use of someone else’s property, and do not offer someone your beauty, if you do not intend to repay them in kind.”

Now the youngest daughter wished that he could throw his ball back in the well and never see it again. “I would rather have a punishment than receive a favor like this again,” he said.

“Rather all you like,” his father said, “only, stop making me tell you to do what you already know. I have other daughters to manage, not only you.”

So the youngest daughter picked up the frog with two fingers and held it out before him. His skin puckered wherever it touched him. “What about my chores?” he asked, knowing full well he was stalling.

“You have your chore before you,” his father said. “Everything else can wait.”

He carried the frog upstairs and set it in a corner of his room, where it sat and stared at him. Next he got into bed without looking at it, but as he was lying under the blankets, it came creeping up to the foot of the bed. The frog said, “I am tired, and I want to sleep, too. Pick me up, and put me in bed with you, or I’ll tell your father.”

This was one request too many, and the youngest daughter became violently angry and shook all over. He threw back the blankets, picked up the frog, and flung it against the wall as hard as he could. “Here is your payment, and here is your thanks—now keep your peace!” The frog slid down to the floor and began to croak. It croaked louder and louder until his father filled the doorway, and picked the frog up himself, and placed it in bed with his daughter. Then he left, closing the door behind him without saying a word.

The frog was all the softer for having been thrown against the wall. It crawled underneath his legs, cold and close, and pressed a lipless kiss against the back of his knees. The daughter wished that all his skin was dead and gone. By and by the frog fell asleep, and the boy lay awake and staring all night, and for many nights afterward. He was very unlucky.





ELEVEN

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

Once there was a fisherman who lived with his friend, and they lived quite happily together in a little house by the sea. Every day he went out and fished, and every night he came home to his friend and they had dinner together. One day the fisherman went out and cast his hook as far as it would go. It sank down and down and when he pulled it back out, he saw that he had caught a large flounder.

The flounder said, “Fisherman, let me go. I am not an ordinary flounder; I am something else.”

“Could you be more specific?” the fisherman said. “‘Something else’ could mean anything.”

“That’s a very personal question,” said the flounder.

“More personal than being eaten?”

“That is a fair point,” the flounder said. “I am not a fish at all, but the son of someone very powerful. I have fallen under an enchantment through no fault of my own. It will do you no good to eat me; I would turn to ashes in your mouth.”

“A fish might say that,” the fisherman said.

“A fish might,” the flounder agreed, “but a man might say it, too. Put me back in the water. Let me go, and I promise I’ll do something for you that no one else can do.”

“I’ll have to speak with my friend first,” the fisherman said. “I cannot think of anything I want at present.”