Once, there was a hideous and fearsome giant. He had goliath-blood in his veins and his enemies trembled at his name. 

He had no friends. 

The giant’s name was Reprobus and he searched the Earth for someone stronger than himself. But no one could defeat him. He broke legionary spears and shattered cataphract shields. Even the wild beasts were no match for the giant Reprobus. Lions broke their teeth upon his sword and bears cowered under the mighty blows of his fists.

Eventually, Reprobus came to the court of the greatest king in all the world. By the king’s command, armies marched and nations rose and fell.

“Surely,” said Reprobus, “here is one stronger than I.” So, he vowed to serve the powerful king.

One day, Reprobus saw the king cross himself at the mention of the devil.

“Why do you cross yourself?” he asked.

“Because I fear the devil,” replied the king.

Reprobus was amazed. The devil must be stronger than even the most powerful king. 

“I will serve the devil,” said Reprobus.

Reprobus did not have to search far to find the devil.

“You are stronger than any king,” said Reprobus, “I will serve you.”

“Fool!” said the devil. “All sinners serve me. You were always my slave!” Then, seeing how tall and strong the giant was, the devil climbed onto Reprobus’ back. The giant carried the devil and the devil whipped his back wherever they went. 

Reprobus was strong but even he struggled under the hideous weight of the devil. He stooped so low that his chin nearly touched the ground.

Eventually, they came to a thunderous river. Its black waters boiled and churned.

“Many have died trying to cross this river,” said the devil. “Carry me across.”

Reprobus grew afraid. He was the most hideous, most fearsome giant in all the world but he did not think that even he could cross such a river with the devil on his back. “If I try to carry you then I, too, shall die!”

“What is that to me?” sneered the devil. “I have many slaves. If you die, I’ll just find another one.”

Then Reprobus saw a child on the riverbank.

“Will you carry me across the river?” asked the child.

The devil became agitated and cried, “you can’t carry us both! Abandon this child and maybe you’ll live.”

“Who is this little child that even the devil fears him?” thought Reprobus and he picked up the child in his arms and waded into the swollen river. As he did, the waters rose. The child became heavy in the giant’s arms, even heavier than the devil. The water rose past his chest. It rose past his neck. It rose past his head so that Reprobus had to raise the child high and hold his breath.

“I am going to die,” thought Reprobus. But he did not stop.

The waters sank. Down past his head, his neck, his chest. He had made it to the other side.

Reprobus set the child down on dry land and said, “never have I carried such a burden. I felt as if I was lifting the whole world. But where is the devil?” For the devil was no longer on his back.

“The devil fled as soon as you accepted me,” said the child. 

“But all sinners are slaves to the devil! Even kings tremble at his name!” cried Reprobus. “How did a little child like you free me?”

“Because I am the child Jesus and I washed away your sin in the river. I carry the whole world on my shoulders and you carried me in your arms. But now you will carry me in your heart and your burden will be light.”

Reprobus was overjoyed. So great was God’s power that, even as a little child, He was stronger than kings and demons. 

From that time on, the giant with goliath-blood was no longer Reprobus. His name is Christ-bearer. He is a fearless warrior of God and fights, even now, to free the devil’s slaves for the child Jesus. 

We know him as Saint Christopher. 

Once there was a dragon named Fidget who hadn’t any gold.

This was peculiar for, as everyone knows, dragons hoard gold. They toast peasants and eat princesses until they have a glittering mountain of the stuff in their lairs to lounge upon. 

But Fidget didn’t like the smell of toasted peasants. 

Princesses upset his stomach.

And lying on piles of gold gave him a rash.

So Fidget tried hoarding stamps instead. But they went up in flames when he caught a cold.

He tried hoarding cats. But they wouldn’t stay put.

He tried hoarding gerbils. But they smelled funny and left little presents everywhere.

When he hoarded pots and pans they made such a clatter that, when he tried to sleep he tossed and turned, which made them clatter even more.

He tried hoarding baked goods. But, when he lounged upon them, they soon became squashed goods.

Fidget despaired. 

There was cat hair in the cakes. There were gerbils in the pans. A few rogue stamps fluttered across the floor.

With nothing to hoard, Fidget molted, shedding his skin like a snake. He was a little smaller without his skin. 

Then Fidget molted again and shrank to the size of a horse. Then to the size of a dog. Then to the size of a cat. Finally, he grew so small he was hardly larger than one of the fairy folk who make their houses out of toadstools and set sail in eggshells. 

That’s what happens to dragons without a hoard. They deflate like a balloon without air. 

When an adventurer came to his lair, Fidget knew he was done for. 

“Who has come to challenge me? Einar the Destroyer? Vagvold the Terrible?” Fidget trembled in fear.

“It is I. Fred!” A boy in a kitchen apron and brandishing a fire poker entered Fidget’s lair.

“Are you a knight?” asked Fidget.

“No,” said Fred.

“Then perhaps you’re a wizard? Could you be a trickster?”

“I’m the spit-boy.”

“The what?”

“The spit-boy. I turn the spit to cook the meat. But an evil dragon has raided the king’s kitchen and stolen all the pots and pans. Now the royal cook can’t make dinner and he’s sent me to slay you.”

Perhaps I have a chance after all, thought Fidget, stepping out from behind a stalagmite.

And Fred thought, perhaps I have a chance after all, seeing Fidget, hardly bigger than a mouse.

“I will toast you now and gobble you up,” said Fidget.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m allergic to fire.”

“What happens when you’re set on fire?”

“I die.”

“Oh,” said Fidget. “That’s a very bad allergy. I’d rather not toast you, anyway. Smoked peasant smells dreadful.”

“Burning alive can’t be any better,” agreed Fred.

So the dragon agreed not to toast Fred and the spit-boy agreed not to skewer the dragon.

“Take the pots and pans back to the cook, and take the gerbils while you’re at it. They make such a mess,” said Fidget. So Fred did.

The next day, Fred returned.

“Hello spit-boy,” said the dragon. “But where’s your kitchen apron?” Instead, Fred had a breastplate and sword.

“I’m not a spit-boy anymore,” said Fred. “For returning the pots and pans, the king has knighted me Sir Fred of the Kitchen. But an evil dragon has stolen all the baked goods from the king’s pantries. Now the baker can’t make the princess’ birthday cake and he’s sent me to slay you.”

“Take the baked goods,” said Fidget. “Although they’re a little squashed. And take the cats with you, too. I think I might be allergic.” So Fred did.

The next day, Fred returned wearing a silver crown on his head.

“For returning the royal baker’s baked goods, the princess has offered to marry me. But an evil dragon has raided the king’s post office and stolen all the stamps. Now the royal postmaster can’t send the wedding invitations.”

“And he’s sent you to slay me?” asked Fidget nervously. The stamps were all burned up. Would Fred slay him now?

“I can’t send your wedding invitation by mail,” said Fred. “So I’ve come to give it to you in person.”

“Thank you,” said Fidget, relieved. “And I wish you good luck. In the meantime, I’ll stay here and wither away to nothing.”

“Why would you ever do that?” cried Fred. 

“Because dragons need something to hoard or they perish. I’ve tried cats and gerbils and stamps and pots and pans and baked goods. Nothing has worked! Now it’s all gone and I’m alone.”

“But you’re not alone! You have me.”

“That’s very nice of you. But I can’t hoard Freds.”

“What about friends?” asked Fred. “The cook is grateful to the fairy lizard who found his pots and pans. The baker has his baked goods. And the princess loves all her new pets. The postmaster will forgive you eventually, I think.”

So Fidget agreed, leaving his empty lair to join Fred.

And Fidget never felt the need to hoard anything other than friends ever again.

Hi, I’m Sophie.

See that girl over there? That’s Tiffany.

She’s my Mortal Enemy.

When she told me that I looked like Mr. Cheddar, the class goldfish, everyone laughed!

“Those glasses make your head look like a fishbowl! And your mouth is toooo big. We should call you Missus Cheddar,” she’d cackled.

I was so mad my eyes bulged and my mouth gaped. I wanted to scream! I really did look like Mr. Cheddar then.

My stomach churned and my belly boiled. I felt the words rising like an electric fire up, up, up! Up my chest! Up my throat! Until they sizzled on my tongue. I clamped my mouth shut and tried to hold it in, I really did. I was going to explode!

I didn’t mean to do it. But I couldn’t help it. 

I SPOKE THE MAGIC WORDS.

Uh oh. Oh no, No, NO! I’d said the Magic Words, said them good and loud.

I’d told myself I would never say the Magic Words again. Not after what had happened at my last school.

After the Magic Words come out I can’t take them back.

All I could do was watch in horror.

Tiffany just stood there, shocked by what I had just said. No one said a word. No one even  moved.

We all stared as Tiffany’s face turned orange. Then her head swelled and her eyes bulged out, bigger and bigger. Her mouth opened and closed with a glup glup sound.

Everybody screamed! 

“What’s going on here!” It was our teacher, Miss Fleck.

Well, she took one look at Tiffany and she knew exactly what had happened.

“Sophie you horrid little beast! How could you do such a thing?”

I tried to tell her it was an accident. That I didn’t mean to. At least, that’s what I would’ve said but, when I opened my mouth—

—I SPOKE THE MAGIC WORDS.

Miss Fleck didn’t like that, no not one bit. She shouted. She yelled. Her face got red, and sweaty, and she was hot with rage. Oh, she let me have it!

Then her hair caught fire.

She really did shout then! Louder than ever.

Tiffany dumped Mr. Cheddar’s fishbowl over her head, glup glupping the whole time.

Poor Mr. Cheddar.

I ran out of the classroom—and crashed right into Mr. Brown, the principal!

I didn’t even think. I just opened my mouth and—

—I SPOKE THE MAGIC WORDS.

Mr. Brown began to shrink before my very eyes!

He grew smaller, and smaller. Until, I realized, he wasn’t just growing smaller; he was growing younger. 

Waaaaahhh! cried the baby from inside Mr. Brown’s clothes, piled on the floor. But I was already running out the door.

The police tried to stop me. I slapped my hands over my mouth. But it was too late!

I SPOKE THE MAGIC WORDS.

I was horrified! I couldn’t bear to look. I just kept running, all the way home.

When my mother opened the door she asked what happened.

“Tiffany looks like a goldfish!” I cried.

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” said my mother.

“And Mr. Brown is a big baby!”

“Now Sophie,” said my mother. “That’s not nice.”

“And Miss Fleck caught on fire!”

“Oh,” she said. “Did you speak the Magic Words?” But she knew that I had.

We didn’t say anything for a long time. She hugged me, and made hot chocolate, and sat me on the couch.

Then my mother SPOKE THE MAGIC WORDS.

But she didn’t turn me into a goldfish or set my hair on fire. She talked, slowly and gently. And the more she talked the more my anger drained away. I didn’t feel like I was going to explode anymore. The Magic Words weren’t boiling in my throat, trying to get out.

Mom said I didn’t have to keep the words bottled up inside. I just had to control them. She said it wasn’t easy, that I’d make mistakes. But the more I practiced, the better I’d get.

The next day I went to school. Tiffany was there, face still like a goldfish. 

I spoke the Magic Words. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it. At first, nothing happened. Then, Tiffany’s eyes slowly shrank back into her head, the orange left her skin, and she didn’t say glup glup anymore. 

“I’m sorry, too,” mumbled Tiffany. After that, she wasn’t my Mortal Enemy anymore. We weren’t friends, exactly. I don’t know if we ever will be. But we never made fun of each other after that.

It’s hard growing up with the Magic Words always trying to get out and I couldn’t fix everything right away. Mom says that takes time.

But it’s a start.

There once was a farmer with three pigs named Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner—and if you don’t know why they were named that then perhaps you’re better off reading some other book. 

Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner were wallowing in the mud. None of them were particularly passionate wallowers but it was what was expected of them. You must maintain a certain reputation as a pig. Pigs are expected to wallow. So they wallowed.

“Today is my birthday,” said Breakfast proudly.

“Why,” said Lunch, “what a coincidence! It’s my birthday too!”

“And mine!” exclaimed Dinner. Dinner was quite forgetful and he wasn’t sure if it really was his birthday but he didn’t want to be left out.

“Of course it is,” said Breakfast. “We’re all from the same litter so we all have the same birthday.”

“Oh!” said Lunch. “How lovely.”

“We must celebrate,” said Dinner.

“No,” said Breakfast. “We must escape.”

Lunch and Dinner were so surprised that they forgot to wallow. They just stood there, not wallowing.

“The Farmer has given us yellow corn and rich grain and scraps from his own table. We have given nothing in return. Do you know why?” asked Breakfast.

“Because he likes pigs?”

“Because he feels sorry for us?”

“No!” cried Breakfast. “Because he is going to eat us! We have grown big and fat and now that we are one year old it’s time for us to be turned into bacon, honeyed hams, deli meats, and other horrid things!”

“Whatever shall we do?” cried Lunch and Dinner. “We don’t want to be eaten!”

“Dinner is the biggest,” said Breakfast. “So Dinner must break the fence.”

So Dinner broke the fence. “Well,” he said. “That was easy. Why didn’t we do this before?”

“Because,” said Breakfast, “before today there wasn’t any need to.” And then Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner left.

And if that were the end, it would be a very happy ending indeed. But it was not the end, as we shall see.

It was in the dark forest that the big, hungry wolf found them. 

“I’ve never seen three pigs as big and fat as these,” said the wolf. “I will take them home and make them into bacon, honeyed hams, deli meats, and other wonderful things.”

“Breakfast!” cried Lunch, “you are the smartest. Save us!”

Breakfast thought hard. He pondered. He mused. He thought until his eyes watered, and his brow sweat. He thought until steam billowed out of his ears. But he could not think of a solution.

And if that were the end, it would be a very sad ending indeed. But it was not the end, as we shall see.

“Run!” cried Breakfast. So they ran. 

Now, you’ve never had to run from a wolf as it sought to eat you and crunch on your bones. If you had, then you wouldn’t be alive today to read this book. You’ve never known the terror that Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner felt as they fled, although perhaps you can guess.

It was at the wood’s edge that they found the boy. He was pretending to be a gallant knight and was cutting the heads off the dandelions with a stick. 

“What’s that?” asked Dinner.

“That,” said Breakfast, “is a human child.”

“It’s so pink, and soft, and cute,” said Lunch.

“Like us!” cried Dinner.

“But someday he will grow up into a farmer,” warned Breakfast.

Then the wolf caught up. “This is the Farmer’s son,” exclaimed the wolf. “The Farmer hunts me and lays traps for me. I hate the Farmer, so I will eat his son.”

Breakfast and Dinner were relieved. If the wolf ate the Farmer’s son then maybe the wolf wouldn’t eat them.

But Lunch, who was the kindest, said, “We must save the Farmer’s son!”

“Why?” asked Breakfast.

“Why?” asked Dinner.

“Because,” she said, “it’s the right thing to do.”

“I am the biggest,” said Dinner. “So I will do it.”

“But we will help,” said Breakfast and Lunch.

The pigs had eaten the Farmer’s yellow corn and rich grain and scraps from his own table and it had made them big and strong. A single wolf was no match for them. They hadn’t the courage to face him before but sometimes it’s easier to save someone other than yourself.

So they beat the wolf black and blue until he ran deep into the woods with his tail between his legs.

“Look!” cried Lunch. They looked. The Farmer ran across the fields towards them. He was too late to fight the wolf himself but he’d seen the whole thing. 

“I’ve given these pigs yellow corn and rich grain and scraps from my own table. And in return these pigs have saved my son!” he cried, overjoyed. 

So he decided that he would never turn them into bacon, honeyed hams, or deli meats. Instead, Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner lived the rest of their days as the Farmer’s guard pigs and the wolf never bothered them again.

And if that were the end, it would be a very happy ending indeed. 

And it was The End.

Lucy was the oldest child and therefore very bossy. 

This was only natural. As all oldest children know, parents can’t be trusted and it’s up to the oldest to ensure that little siblings are parented properly.

When her siblings couldn’t stand it anymore, and her father couldn’t stand it anymore, and her mother couldn’t stand it anymore, Lucy got sent to bed without supper.

“I don’t care,” she said. “I’ll just go to sleep. I’ll dream I’m a queen with subjects, and minions, and sycophants (that’s a fancy word for minions), and I won’t even miss any of you.”

But she didn’t sleep. The monster under her bed kept scratching her bedpost, promising to eat her.

“Stop that,” Lucy commanded. It stopped that.

But still she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t sleep because the only thing worse than hearing monsters scratch your bedpost, promising to eat you, is not hearing them do so and knowing that they’re still there.

So she said, “monster, tonight you’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep under it.” 

The bed springs squeaked as the monster climbed into Lucy’s bed.

“Hello,” said the one-eyed doll, picking cobwebs from her hair.

“Hello,” said Lucy, and nothing more. She’d never met a monster before and didn’t know what else to say.

“Hello,” said the one-eyed doll, emptying her pockets of fossilized cereal.

“Hello,” said Lucy again.

“Hello,” said the one-eyed doll a third time, pushing her stuffing back in through a split seam.

“Why do you keep saying ‘hello?’”

“Because. I’ve never met such a bossy girl before and I don’t know what else to say.”

“Say, ‘I promise not to eat you,’” ordered Lucy.

But toys go wild, neglected under the bed without anyone to love them. So the one-eyed doll said, “No. I promise I will eat you, unless you tell me a story, and fluff my pillow, and tuck me in.”

Lucy, like most children, did not like being eaten. So she told the one-eyed doll a story, and fluffed her pillow, and tucked her in. 

Then Lucy donned her plastic tiara and crawled under the bed.

She crawled through darkness but, where the corner of her room should be, there was nothing.

She crawled on, and on, until she found she could stand. Stars glimmered above and what she’d thought was her carpet was now long, gray grass that rippled in a wind she couldn’t feel.

“Hello,” said a deep voice into Lucy’s ear.

“Hello,” said Lucy, and then, because she was now accustomed to meeting monsters and knew what to say, “who are you?”

“I’m the Wilder Beast,” said the voice behind her.

“Do you eat children?” she asked.

“No,” said the Wilder Beast, and then, “I only eat bossy eldest daughters out past their bedtime.”

“Oh my,” said Lucy.

Then the Wilder Beast ate her, and she found herself in the cavernous pit of its stomach.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait here until I starve,” she said.

“You certainly will,” said the princess Victoria.

“As do we,” said the infanta Maria Teresa.

“Off with her head!” said the tsarina Vasilisa.

For there’s no shortage of bossy eldest daughters who stay out past their bedtimes amongst the nobility. 

Then the princess, and the infanta, and the tsarina all bowed.

“Why are you bowing?” asked Lucy.

“Because they think you’re a queen.” A girl in rags stepped forward, pointing at Lucy’s plastic tiara, still upon her head.

The three ladies scowled at the girl in rags.

“Wash my dress!” said the princess Victoria.

“Carry my palanquin!” said the infanta Maria Teresa.

“Trample her with horses!” said the tsarina Vasilisa.

Then they attacked, kicking and punching and biting with their perfect, white teeth.

“BE STILL!” commanded Lucy, and they all had to be still, because Lucy was a queen. “I forbid you to touch her.”

“But she’s an urchin,” said the princess Victoria.

“A guttersnipe,” said the infanta Maria Teresa.

“Break out the thumbscrews!” said the tsarina Vasilisa.

But Lucy ignored them. She took her plastic tiara and placed it on the head of the girl in rags.

“There,” said Lucy. “Now these nasty girls must wash your dresses and carry your palanquin.”

Perhaps the tiara had some magic in it, or perhaps it was Lucy’s kindness that cast the spell. 

The girl’s rags changed to robes of lapis lazuli and the plastic tiara became a crown of stars upon her head.

“Any silly girl can play a princess,” said the once-poor girl who was now a queen. “But true princesses are pure of heart. For your kindness I’ll grant a wish.” 

Lucy thought of all the impossible things only a wish can provide. Then she thought of how her siblings must miss her already, and of how lost her parents would surely be without her help. Besides, wishes were no good as long as she sat pickling in the Wilder Beast’s stomach.

“I wish to go home,” said Lucy.

The Wilder Beast’s belly convulsed until Lucy shot up its throat, slid down its tongue, and was off running through the long, gray grass that rippled in a wind she couldn’t feel.

Nothing followed—except the sound of three ladies wailing in despair from the Wilder Beast’s belly, gnashing and grinding their perfect, white teeth.

“How was it?” said the one-eyed doll when Lucy returned.

“I never knew so much could fit under such a little bed,” she said.

“Well, until next time.” And the one-eyed doll dove under Lucy’s bed and was gone.

It’s good to be home, she thought as she curled up in her still-warm bed. And she fell fast asleep.