Some of the readers of this site will know that this story is the original piece of material behind Candlelight Stories. Back in 1994, I sat at a very flimsy folding table in a Los Angeles apartment with a box of pastels, crayons and ballpoint pens to scratch out a pile of illustrations that vaguely added up to some kind of Christmas tale. I still have all those original drawings in a big department store box. The interesting thing about the illustrations for me is the series of actions that they caused which led me directly into the various skills and technologies that I have used and made a living from ever since. After finishing the illustrations and creating a large bound book to give as a Christmas gift, I scanned the pictures and decided to try to put them into a slide show. I had an early version of the Mosaic web browser and soon realized that I could use my AOL account to post things in a folder that could be accessed by the web browser. Having done that and been very impressed with myself I showed it to my non-technical friends and received some half-hearted congratulations and was asked how I could ever hope to make any money that way. Within a few months I received a letter in the actual mail from the USA Today newspaper requesting permission to put an illustration and a web link in a listing of good things on the web. So I said they could and they printed their thing. So I began to add new things to the web site as I could.

It’s pretty much the same today. You just make a little thing and stick it on the web to see who likes it. But back then it was a little like magic. My web experiment grew quickly and when the higher-speed DSL technology first came into Los Angeles I jumped on it and got myself a Digital Alpha server and put it at the end of a DSL line in my own home to serve the web site. According to the company which was the first one up and running in L.A., I was the first person to attempt running a web server over the DSL technology in Southern California! They gave me totally free ISP service for several years in exchange for a little advertising. I’d actually have late night conversations with their engineers – sometimes from their cars as they made their way to hubs and switches in the dead of night to fix something. Imagine that kind of technical support today with your blog host! Won’t happen! This all worked well for a time. But then the DSL technology began to fail and I quickly realized it was a dead-end technology with too many players involved on the back end who could not adequately maintain the service without blaming each other for failures. But my point is that during that time, with that kind of approach, one could really get a sense of being visited by the world. I could watch the lights blink as people came onto the server to visit. There were times, during serious outages of some sort or other, when I’d throw the big Alpha server into my car and drive it to some other location for a temporary connection. Amazing. Fun.

It’s still fun today. That’s why I still post this odd little story every Christmas. It’s the original first thing of this site.

By Steve Bynghall

Steve Bynghall lives in London, England. Other poems about Brooke and her useless Dad appear on Smories.com.  Visit http://www.smories.com/author/steve-bynghall/ for more details.  If you want to be notified when a new Brooke story will be appearing please email brookesortsitout@gmail.com.

The End

“Brooke and the Ramshackle Ship” Copyright © 2010 by Steve Bynghall, All Rights Reserved

By Mark L. Glosser

The Ketchup Bottle Genie

“Hey,” Eric yelped as he watched his younger brother Ian shake a huge glob of ketchup onto his sandwich. “You emptied the bottle. What am I supposed to put on my hot dog?”

“Mom got another bottle,” Ian mumbled as he stuffed half the sandwich in his mouth, Go look in the refrigerator.”

Eric stomped to the refrigerator and pulled out a weird shaped-bottle. “Genie Ketchup Company? I never heard of this brand,” said Eric as he unscrewed the lid.

A moment after the lid came off; all the ketchup in the bottle squirted to the ceiling, and started to spin like a tornado.Eric and Ian dove under the table.

A flash of light momentarily blinded them.  When their vision cleared they saw a man with long, black hair floating in mid-air. His red pants barely fit over his bulging belly, and his white shirt was splattered with ketchup.

Peeking out from under the table Eric asked in a trembling voice, “Who are you?”

The strange visitor floated down from the ceiling and looked under the table. “I’m the Ketchup Bottle Genie. Haven’t you heard of me?”

“No,” said Eric.

“Why are you living in a ketchup bottle?” asked Ian. “I thought genies lived in magic lamps.”

Wiping a tear from his eye the genie said, “One day at genie school I accidently said the wrong spell and turned the principal into a frog the size of an elephant. To get even, when I graduated from school, he gave me a ketchup bottle to live in instead of a magic lamp.  People laugh when they see me come out of a ketchup bottle.”

Pausing, the genie blew his nose in a large, blue handkerchief. “I wish I was famous like the genie in Aladdin’s lamp.  Then people wouldn’t laugh at me. That hurts my feelings and makes me angry.”

Without thinking, Eric laughed, “Maybe you can get a job selling ketchup at a supermarket.”

The genie jumped to his feet and pointed his finger at Eric, “I told you I don’t like being laughed at.  You’ll be sorry.”

The genie disappeared into the ketchup bottle.  An instant later a puff of smoke surrounded Eric’s head.  When the smoke cleared, Eric’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw his face in the mirror. His nose had turned into a big, green pickle.

In a trembling voice, Eric spoke into the ketchup bottle, “I apologize for laughing.  Please turn my pickle back into a nose.”

The genie stuck his head out of the bottle, “If you want me to give you back your nose help me become famous so people won’t laugh at me.”

Eric said, “What if we take you to school.  You can tell everyone there about your adventures.”

“Okay,” said the genie.  The next morning, a moment after Ian, Eric and the genie walked  in the school door, a voice said, “Hold it right there!

They spun around. Miss Lambert, the meanest teacher in the school, scowled over the top of her glasses and stared at the genie. “You don’t belong here. You’re not a student, and you’re not Ian’s and Eric’s father.” Go away!”

The genie glared at Miss Lambert and walked out the door muttering some strange sounding words.

Moments later Miss Lambert crinkled her nose and said, “What’s that awful smell?  Something smells like rotting garbage.”  For the rest of the day, Miss Lambert tried to figure out where the smell was coming from. No one dared say it came from her.

“Your idea didn’t work,” the genie grumbled to Eric when they got home.

“I hope you like pickles because I’m not giving you back your nose.  Maybe the next time you meet a genie you won’t laugh at him. I’m leaving.”

Eric absentmindedly scratched his pickle and thought fast.  Then he had a brainstorm.  But, he would need the genie to grant him one wish to make it happen.

When the genie heard Eric’s plan he knew he would be famous.  No one would laugh at him anymore. The genie was so excited he immediately gave Eric his nose back, and granted Eric the one wish he needed for his plan to work.

A few minutes later, Eric and Ian walked to the window and waited.  Eric smiled when, just as he had wished, a truck from the television station parked in front of the house and a famous reporter climbed out.

His plan was working.

A few weeks later Eric and Ian turned on the television to watch the new hit show everyone was talking about.

The show was called, The Adventures of the Ketchup Bottle Genie.  Now everyone in the world knew about the Ketchup Bottle Genie. He was famous.  No one laughed at him anymore.

The End

“The Ketchup Bottle Genie” Copyright © 2010 by Mark L. Glosser, All Rights Reserved

by Moon

The End

“Chubby’s Mommy” Copyright © 2001 by Moon
Illustrations Copyright © 2001 by Moon
All Rights Reserved

by Tyler Van Wynsberghe

The End

“Slim Hick – The World’s Only Singing Cowboy Ant” Copyright © 1996 by Tyler Van Wynsberghe
Illustrations Copyright © 1996 by Tyler Van Wynsberghe
All Rights Reserved

by Bonnie Blake (Canada)

Hop…step…hop went Beth up the driveway. She flung open the wooden gate and galloped into the backyard.

“Please go to the store for me,” said her mother. “I’m not done planting the tulips.”

“What are we having for lunch?” Beth asked.

“I haven’t decided yet, but we need bread.”

Slap…slap…slap went Beth’s pink running shoes on the way to the store.

“I love raisin bread,” she thought. “But we haven’t had corn in a long time. Hot buttery corn!”

Bump! A tall girl in yellow striped spandex shorts skated past. Click…swish went her wheels.

“Wow! I wish I could rollerblade that fast!” thought Beth.

As she ran along the cement, Beth pretended to zoom down steep hills in her striped yellow shorts, around sharp corners, and past all the slow people.

Beth ran into the market.

“Hello, Mr. Mike,” Beth said. She called all the men Mr. Mike and all the women Ms. Mike who worked there. After all, it was Mike’s store. Beth scanned the candy shelves.

“I’ve come to buy…” Beth stopped. “My mother wanted… Uh, I can’t remember.”

“Was it something to eat?” the storekeeper asked.

“Yes. It was for lunch. I was thinking how much I loved raisin bread and then this awesome girl whizzed by in bright yellow shorts. Wait! I know! It’s corn!”

“Good for you,” the storekeeper said. He handed Beth four ears of corn.

Beth tore into her house. Her mother was drying her hands.

“Corn!” cried her mother. “I didn’t want corn. I wanted bread.”

“Oh…sorry.”

“Yes, well, back you go.”

Scrape…scrape…scrape went Beth’s feet down the sidewalk. She dragged her toes over the cement.

“I like raisin bread but I wish we were having brown beans too,” she thought. “Hey, what’s that?”

A leaf jumped in the grass. She tip-toed closer to the ragged leaf. Again it moved! Beth giggled. It was clamped in the mouth of a green bug.

“It isn’t jumping by itself,” she thought. “That would be weird. Just like Mexican jumping beans.”

Beth daydreamed about hopping leaves, somersaulting flowers and twirling trees.

Beth whirled into the shop. The bell jangled sharply.

“Hello, Mr. Mike.”

“Hello again, Beth. What would you like to buy this time?”

“Please may I…” Beth stopped. “I forget what I wanted.”

“Was it for lunch?”

Beth nodded. All she could remember were leaping leaves and flipping flowers.

“Yes,” Beth said hesitantly. “I think it was beans.”

When Beth returned home she called out, “I’m back!”

Her mother pulled cooking pots from the stove drawer. She looked into the bag.

“Beans!” she cried. She shook her head. “No, no, Miss Forgetful. I wanted bread.

Pant…pant…pant went Beth as she raced back to the store. She would be too quick to forget this time.

“Raisin bread! Raisin bread!” she chanted. “But we need something to go with it,” she thought.

A fire truck zoomed by, the siren smothering her thoughts. Beth watched it flash down the street.

The red lights gleamed like hothouse tomatoes.

“Wow! I’m going to be a firefighter! I’d make a great firechief,” Beth dreamed.

She wailed like a siren all the way to the store. In she charged.

“Hello, Mr. Mike,” she called.

“Hello again, Beth. You sure are a busy girl today.”

“Yes. I would like to buy…”

She couldn’t have forgotten again! Beth chewed the end of her hair. She remembered striped yellow shorts, hopping Mexican leaves and red fire engines.

“Oh, no,” she sighed. “This just isn’t my day.”

“Well, let’s see,” said the storekeeper. “Last time it was beans and before that it was corn. What does your mother like to have with corn and beans?”

“Tomatoes!?” exclaimed her mother. “Beth, I don’t think you are trying to remember. I’m going to write you a note.”

“What did you want from the store?” Beth asked.

“Bread. Any kind of bread you can manage to buy.”

“Oh yeah! I remember now,” shouted Beth as she raced out the door.

“Wait! You forgot the note!”

Beth thought about bread. Bread as toast. Bread and peanut butter. Scrambled eggs on bread. French toast. Bread stuffing. Bread with jam. She kept her eyes straight ahead. She didn’t stop to pat the puppy on a front lawn. She didn’t join the girls skipping rope. She ran out of bread ideas just as she reached the store.

The storekeeper laughed. “Beth, you are my best customer today, but couldn’t you buy it all at once?”

“This is my very last trip.”

“If you say so.”

Beth marched home with her bag and stamped into the house.

“Here it is, Mom.”

“Here is what? Never mind. Whatever it is, it will do.”

At lunch, Beth told her brother, “I made four trips to the store for Mom. I was a big help!”

Her mother chuckled as she placed Beth’s food on the table.

Beth sighed happily. “Beans, corn, tomatoes and raisin bread! How did you know it was just what I wanted?”

“I can’t imagine,” said her mother. “Somehow, it just came to me.”

The End

“A Trip to the Market” Copyright © 1997 by Bonnie Blake
Illustrations Copyright © 1997 by Bonnie Blake
All Rights Reserved

by Karen Lewis (Canada)
illustrated by Kelly Dorman

Once upon a time there was a little black and white kitten named Wendy, who didn’t want to be a puss in boots. “I’m tired of wearing boots all the time,” she told her mother. “I want shoes, red ones. They would match my jumper.”

Wendy had first seen the shoes she wanted, in a shop window on her way to school. They were a lovely shade of cherry red, with shiny black soles and silver buckles. But her mother would not listen. “A nice pair of new black boots will wear longer and be warmer in winter,” she stated firmly. “And you can even step in puddles with them.”

But Wendy didn’t care about any of that. All she knew was that she wanted those pretty red shoes, more than she had ever wanted anything else. And although she had been saving up her pocket money for months, she still didn’t have nearly enough to buy them.

“Maybe if you’re really good and help with the dishes and everything, she’ll change her mind,” suggested her friend Jill, a cheerful orange kitten.

However, Wendy wasn’t sure about that at all. Her mother had been very definite about those horrid old boots. But nevertheless, she followed Jill’s advice and as well as helping wash and dry the dishes, she tidied up her room and even mopped the bathroom floor.

And every day, on her way to and from school, she would stand in front of the shoe shop window and gaze at the perfect red shoes for a very long time. They were just the right size too, for one day she had plucked up enough courage to go into the shop and ask.

“Would you like to try them on?” the nice lady had asked. And Wendy had fairly trembled with excitement as the lovely shoes had slipped so easily onto her feet. Then she had looked in the mirror, turning this way and that admiring the shoes and how good they felt. And she never wanted to take them off again.

But although she pleaded with her mother to change her mind about the boots, it was all in vain. “You’re going to be a puss in boots, not in red shoes,” she had replied in her sternest voice.

Then one day as Wendy arrived as usual at the shop window to gaze at the shoes; she was horrified to find them gone.

“They’re not there anymore, someone must have bought them,” she wailed to Jill, who did everything she could to console her.

“Perhaps it was your mother?” she suggested. “Maybe she changed her mind and bought them for you as a surprise?”

“Gosh, do you think maybe…?” Wendy replied, brightening at the thought, and she could hardly wait for the bell to ring, so she could hurry home and see.

However, there were no pretty red shoes waiting for her when she arrived, breathless from having run all the way. But there was a sensible looking pair of black boots with heavy soles and laces.

“Oh no,” Wendy sobbed, swishing her tail in disappointment. Where, she wondered, were the lovely red shoes?

And the next day at school she found out. For there was another kitty, a sleek little Siamese named Zoë, traipsing around the playground wearing them.

“Oh don’t take on so,” Jill said, patting Wendy’s arm. She hated to see her best friend so unhappy. “Things are going to work out, you’ll see.”

“How?” Wendy sobbed. “I’m never going to have the red shoes now…not ever.” And she kicked at the school wall with the sturdy black boots.

Then a few days later she noticed that Zoë was no longer wearing the red shoes. “They pinched my toes,” she explained. “And the shop won’t take them back, ‘cause they’ve been worn.”

“Can I buy them from you?” Wendy asked excitedly. “I do have some pocket money saved up. Would your Mom agree?”

So it was that Wendy finally had the red shoes that she had wanted for so long. And she purred her pleasure every time that she wore them.

“They do look good on you honey,” her mother admitted, but she was determined to get the last word about the boots. “They’ll come in handy for wet or snowy days,” she insisted.

And so they did. For the very last thing that Wendy wanted was to ruin her beautiful red shoes by wearing them in bad weather.

The End

“A Puss in Boots Wants Red Shoes” Copyright © 2006 by Karen Lewis
Illustrations Copyright © 2006 by Kelly Dorman
All Rights Reserved

a Brazilian myth
written and illustrated by Maria Lucia Guimaraes Maier

When the earth was very young the night and the animals didn’t exist.

There were only trees, plants and people. During this time, the sun shined very brightly. The people were always very tired because they didn’t sleep well. The trees were faded because of the hot weather.

Only the Big Snake who was a witch could make the night appear.

She was a very big snake who lived near a river. She kept night on the bottom of the river, inside a coconut.

The snake enjoyed seeing the people very tired and asleep. The indians implored her to give them night, but it was useless.

One day, the snake’s beautiful Indian daughter married. Like her mother, she didn’t need the night to rest. But her husband and the other people of the village were always tired. She didn’t like to see them suffer. So she told her husband that she would ask to her mother to give her the night. Her mother never refused her requests.

Her husband had three faithful servants. He sent them to take the night from the witch. Immediately the three indians took a boat and went to meet the Big Snake.

Although the three men were very tired they rowed fast.

When the trees saw the scene, they asked were the Indians were going so fast. When the trees learned that night would come they started to dance and shout wih joy.

The three servants arrived at the place where the witch lived. They told her why they had come. She didn’t like the idea about giving them night, but she couldn’t refuse her daughter’s request.

She gave them the coconut with the night inside and told them that only her daughter must open it. If another person opened the coconut, the darkness would cover the earth forever. The servants agreed and returned to the village. During their return they heard strange noises from inside the coconut. They were the sounds of toads, crickets and other animals of the night.

They became very curious. They could wait no longer and opened the coconut. When they did it, they were astonished. The animals and the darkness escaped. All was very dark. No one could see anything . All the things without life seemed like pieces of wood or stones. Leaves changed into fishes, birds and insects.

Far away at the village, the witch’s daughter told her husband that his three servants had opened the coconut. He was shocked and very disappointed because he thought they were faithful. How could the people live with the darkness?

But his wife had powers and thought of a solution. She had a way to control the darkness. She took a string of her hair and cut the sky with it. Soon the dawn appeared. Now there would be both day and night.

The three foolish servants tried to explain what they had done but it was useless. The witch’s daughter turned them into three monkeys.

The End

“The Creation of the Night” Translation and Illustrations Copyright © 1997
by Maria Lucia Guimaraes Maier
All Rights Reserved

by Hans Christian Andersen

Once upon a time there was a woman whose only wish was to have a tiny little child. She had no idea where to get one, so she went to an old witch and asked her: “Please, old witch, tell me where I can get a tiny little child.”

“That is not so hard,” said the witch. “Plant this seed in the ground and see what happens.”

The woman paid the witch twelve gold coins and went home to plant the seed. No sooner was it in the ground than it started to sprout. A big beautiful flower grew up. It became a tulip that was ready to bloom.

“What a lovely flower,” said the woman as she kissed the red and yellow petals that were closed so tightly. With a snap they opened and became a real tulip. In the center of the flower sat a tiny little girl. She was so beautiful and so delicate, and exactly one inch long.

“I will call her Thumbelina,” thought the woman.

The shell of a walnut became Thumbelina’s cradle, the blue petals of violets her mattress, and a rose petal her cover. Here she slept at night; in the daytime she played on the table by the window. The woman had put a bowl of water there with flowers all around it. In the water floated a tulip petal on which Thumbelina could float from one side of the bowl to the other.

Thumbelina would float and sing more beautifully than anyone has ever sung before.

One night as she lay sleeping in her little bed a frog came through the window. She was big and wet and ugly. She jumped down onto the table where Thumbelina lay sleeping under the rose petal.

“She will make a lovely wife for my son,” said the frog. She grabbed the walnut shell in which Thumbelina slept, leaped out through the window and into the garden.

On the banks of the stream, where it was muddiest, lived the frog with her son. He was just as ugly as his mother. “Croak…Croak…Croak!” was all he said when he saw the beautiful little girl in the walnut shell.

“Don’t talk so loud! You’ll wake her!” scolded the mother frog, “She could run away and we would not be able to catch her, for she is as light as the feather of a swan. I will put her on a water-lily leaf. It will seem like an island to her. Then we will get your hole in the mud ready for your marriage.”

Out in the stream grew many water lilies. All their leaves seemed to float on the water. The biggest of them was far out from shore. Upon that lily the old frog put Thumbelina’s little bed.

When the poor girl awoke in the morning and saw where she was she began to cry bitterly. There was no way of getting to shore at all.

The old frog was very busy down in the mud hole, decorating the walls with reeds and flowers that grew on shore. She meant to make a very pretty wedding. After she finished, she and her ugly son swam out to the water-lily to fetch Thumbelina’s bed. It was to go in the bridal chamber. The old frog curtsied, and that is not easy while swimming; then she said, “Meet my son who will be your new husband. You will both live very happily in the mud hole.”

“Croak!…Croak!” was all the son said. Then they took the walnut shell bed and swam away with it. Poor Thumbelina sat on the water-leaf and wept, for she did not want to live with these ugly frogs. The little fishes swimming by in the water heard what the old frog had said. They poked their heads out of the water to look at the tiny girl. When they saw her beauty it made them sad to think of her with the frogs in the mud. They decided they would do something and gathered around the stem that went from Thumbelina’s leaf to the bottom of the stream. They nibbled and nibbled and soon the leaf was free. It drifted down the stream, carrying Thumbelina far away from the ugly frogs.

As Thumbelina sailed down the stream, little birds sang, “Oh what a pretty girl.” Farther and farther floated the leaf down the stream, taking its little passenger to strange new lands.

A white butterfly flew around in a circle and landed on the leaf. It had taken a fancy to little Thumbelina. The girl laughed, for she was happy to have escaped from the frogs. She tied one end of the silk ribbon she wore around her waist to the butterfly. The other end she tied to her water-lily. The butterfly flew and pulled Thumbelina quickly down the stream.

A big May bug flew by. It spied Thumbelina, swooped down and picked her off the leaf and flew up into a tree with her. The leaf and butterfly went on down the stream without Thumbelina.

Thumbelina was terrified of what would happen next. The May bug put Thumbelina in the tree and gave her honey from the flowers. He told her she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen, even though she didn’t look like a May bug at all. Soon all the other May bugs of the tree came calling on their little visitor. Two young May bugs wiggled their antennae and said, “Look at her. She has only two legs! How disgusting!”

All the other lady May bugs agreed. The May bug who had found Thumbelina still thought she was lovely, but as the others kept saying how ugly she was, he soon believed it too. Now he didn’t want her anymore, and put her down on a daisy at the foot of the tree and told her she was free to go wherever she wanted for all he cared. Poor Thumbelina cried. The thought it was terrible to be so ugly that not even a May bug would want her around.

All summer long Thumbelina lived alone in the forest. She made a hammock out of grass and hung it under a leaf so it would not rain on her when she slept. She ate honey from the flowers and drank the dew from the leaves each morning.

Autumn passed. Then came winter. It was long and cold. All the birds flew away, the flowers died and the trees lost their leaves. Thumbelina was terribly cold. Her clothes were in tatters and she became thin and delicate.

Thumbelina was bound to freeze to death. It started to snow and the snowflakes were big and heavy upon her. She tried to wrap herself up in a dried old leaf, but it gave her no warmth. She shivered in the cold.

Not far from the forest was a big field where the dry stubbles of grain poked up from the frozen ground. It was a stubble forest to Thumbelina and she wandered into them and soon came to a hole in the ground. It was the home of a field mouse. Deep down the mouse lived in warmth and comfort, with a full larder and a nice kitchen. Like a beggar, Thumbelina stood by the hole and asked for a grain of barley to eat. She had not eaten for days.

“Poor little wretch,” said the field mouse, for she had a very kind heart. “Come on down into my warm house and dine with me.”

The field mouse thought Thumbelina a fine little girl. “You can stay for the whole winter,” she said. “But you must keep the house tidy and tell me a story every day, for I like a good story.” Thumbelina did what the kind old mouse asked, and lived very happily.

“Soon we shall have a visitor,” said the mouse. “Once a week my neighbor comes. He lives even better than I do. He has a drawing room and wears the most exquisite black fur coat. If only he would marry you, then you would be well taken care of. He won’t be able to see you, for he is blind, so you will have to tell him the very best of your stories.”

But Thumbelina did not want to marry the mouse’s neighbor, for he was a mole. The next day he came visiting dressed in his fine black coat. The field mouse had said that he was both rich and wise. His house was twenty times the size of the mouse’s; and learned he was, too. He did not like the sun or the flowers. “Abominable!” he would say because he could not see them. Thumbelina sang for him and he did fall in love with her because of her voice. The blind mole never showed his feeling though because he was clear-headed and never made a spectacle of himself.

The mole had recently dug a tunnel from his house to the field mouse’s and he invited Thumbelina and the mouse to use it as often as they liked. He said not to be afraid of the dead bird in the tunnel. It had died a few days before and still had all its feathers.

The mole took a piece of hot glowing coal to light the way in the tunnel. When they came to the dead bird, the mole made a hole up through the earth to let the sunlight in. Now Thumbelina could see that the bird was a dead swallow with its wings pressed close to its body. Its head was tucked under one wing. The poor bird had frozen to death. Thumbelina was very sad. She had loved all the birds that had sung for her in the forest.

The mole kicked the bird with one of his short legs and said, “It has ceased its chirping. What a misfortune. Thank God I am not a bird.”

“Yes, that’s what all sensible people think,” said the field mouse. “What does chirping lead to? Starvation and cold. I suppose birds think it all romantic.”

Thumbelina said nothing, but when the mouse and mole turned their backs, she leaned down and kissed the closed eye of the swallow. “How much joy you might have given me,” she thought.

The mole closed up the hole through which the sunlight came and took the ladies home. That night Thumbelina could not sleep. She rose and wove a blanket out of hay. She carried it down the dark tunnel and covered the little bird with it. She tucked small bits of cotton under the swallow to protect it from the cold earth.

“Good-by, beautiful bird,” she said. “Good-by and thank you for the songs you sang when it was summer and the trees were green.”

She put her head on the bird’s breast. Then she jumped up! Something was ticking inside. It sounded like a little watch. Thumbelina tucked the blanket closer around the bird.

The next night Thumbelina sneaked down into the tunnel again and found the bird had opened its eyes just enough to see her in the dark.

“Thank you, sweet little child,” said the sick swallow softly. “I feel so much better. I am not cold now. Soon I shall be strong again and fly in the sunshine.”

“Oh no,” she said. “It is cold and snowing outside. You will freeze. Stay here in your warm bed. I will nurse you.”

She brought the swallow water on a leaf. The he told Thumbelina his story. He told her of how he had torn his wing on a rosebush and could not fly fast enough to keep up with the other swallows. He had been left behind and had fainted from the cold. That was all he could tell her for he had no memory of how he came to be in the mole’s passageway.

The swallow stayed there all winter. Thumbelina took good care of him and grew very fond of him. She breathed not a word to the mole or the field mouse. She knew they did not like the poor swallow.

When spring came and the warm sun could be felt under the ground, the swallow said goodbye to Thumbelina, who opened the hole that the mole had made. The sun shone down. The swallow asked her if she would like to come along; she could sit on his back and he would fly her out over the great forest. But Thumbelina knew that the field mouse would be sad and lonely if she left.

“I cannot,” she said sadly.

The bird thanked her once more. “Farewell…Fare thee well, lovely girl,” he sang as he flew out into the sunshine.

Thumbelina’s eyes filled with tears as she watched the swallow fly away. She knew that soon the grain would be tall and she would not be able to see the sunshine.

“This summer you must spend getting your trousseau ready,” said the field mouse. For the mole had proposed to her in his velvet coat. “You must have good woolens and linen when you become Mrs. Mole.”

Thumbelina spun night and day and the field mouse brought four spiders to help weave. Every evening the mole came for a visit, but all he said was “Goodness, how nice it will be when summer is over.”

He didn’t like the way the sun baked the earth; it was too hard to dig in. When fall came they would get married. Thumbelina thought the mole was dull and she did not love him. Every day, at sunrise and at sunset, she tiptoed to the entrance of the field mouse’s house, so that when the wind blew and parted the grain, she could see the blue sky. She thought of how light and beautiful it was out there and she longed for her friend the swallow. “He is probably far away in the green forest,” she thought.

Autumn came. “In four weeks we shall hold the wedding!” cried the field mouse.

Thumbelina wept and said she did not want to marry the boring old mole.

“Fiddlesticks!” squeaked the field mouse. “Don’t be stubborn or I will bite you with my front teeth. The mole has a fine velvet coat and will make you a splendid husband.”

The day of the wedding arrived and Thumbelina thought she would never again see the bright sun.

“Farewell, you beautiful sun!” Thumbelina lifted her hands toward the sky and stepped out upon the field. She touched a lonely red flower that grew in the hard ground.

A gentle breeze touched her shoulder and she heard a sound above her.

“Tweet…Tweet”

She looked up. It was the swallow. He chirped with joy at seeing Thumbelina.

“I am flying to the warm country for the winter,” he called to her. “Won’t you come with me? You can sit on my back and we will fly far away from the terrible mole and his dirty house. We will cross the great mountains and find the land where the sun shines brilliantly and the loveliest flowers grow. Fly with me, Thumbelina.”

“Yes, I will come,” cried Thumbelina, and climbed up on the bird’s back. The swallow flew high into the sky, above forests and lakes and over high mountains that are always snow-covered. Thumbelina crawled under the swallow’s warm feathers and stuck her head out to see the beauty below.

They came to the warm country. The sun shone brilliantly and the sky seemed higher. Along the fences grew lovely green and blue grapes. From the trees in the forest hung oranges and lemons. Along the roads, beautiful children ran, chasing many-colored butterflies. As the swallow flew further south, the landscape became more and more beautiful.

Near a forest, on the shores of a lake, stood the ruins of an ancient temple. Ivy wound around white pillars. On top of these were many swallows’ nests and one of them belonged to Thumbelina’s swallow.

“This is my house,” he said. He then flew over to a lovely white flower and set Thumbelina down upon it. “This shall be your house.”

As Thumbelina looked into the flower she saw something move. It was little more than a shimmer of light. To her astonishment, she saw that it was a little man. He was like glass that glowed. On his head was a golden crown. On his back were wings. He was no taller than Thumbelina. In every white flower all around lived such a tiny angel. This one was the king of them all.

“Oh, how handsome he is!” whispered Thumbelina to the swallow.

The little king took off his crown and put it on Thumbelina’s head. “Would you like to be queen of the flowers?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Thumbelina. From every flower all around came a tiny angel to pay respect to the new queen. They brought her gifts and the best one was a new pair of wings.

The swallow sang the best songs he knew.

“You shall not be called Thumbelina any more,” said the tiny king. “You shall be called Maja.”

“Farewell!” called the swallow as he flew back to the north, away from the warm country. He came to Denmark and made his nest above the window of a man who could tell fairy tales.

As the swallow sang, the man listened and wrote down the whole story.

The End

“Thumbelina” adaptation Copyright © 1996 by Alessandro Cima
Illustrations Copyright © 1996 by Candlelight Stories
All Rights Reserved

By Joshua Ingram

In the deepest jungle of Africa, there lived a family of monkeys. There was a Mama Monkey, and a Papa Monkey, and they had a young daughter named Hannah.
The monkey family lived very happily swinging and playing in the trees and vines. But unfortunately, it wasn’t all play. Papa Monkey had to make sure their home in the canopy was warm and protected.

Mama was responsible for the sewing and cooking of the family’s meals. Hannah helped with the cleaning, but her main chore was to collect all the bananas and other fruit for the monkey family’s meals.

One morning, Mama Monkey said to Hannah, “Tomorrow is your Papa’s birthday. I want to surprise him with his favorite, Banana Rama Lama, Tootie Fruit Cake. I need you to gather all the special ingredients.

Hannah smiled at her mother. She was excited about going on an adventure. “Okay, Mama, what do we need?”

She was so happy that she could barely sit still. Mama pulled a small piece of paper
out of her apron. It was a list of ingredients for the cake.

“Try to be back before the moon goes down,” Mama said. Hannah took the list and kissed her mother. She creeped around her sleeping Papa and disappeared into the jungle.

Hannah Banana swung through the trees from vine to vine. She was a very quick little monkey, and she gained speed as she climbed. Hannah pulled out the list and read the first ingredient. She needed three Wala-Wala Berries from the Great Wala-Wala Tree. She knew the jungle quite well from traveling with her father and reached the Great Wala-Wala Tree in just under an hour.

Wrapped around the tree was a huge snake named ‘Seth’. He was munching on the Wala-Wala Berries as Hannah came near. Hannah grabbed a branch and started to pick a few berries. She pulled and pulled, but the berries would not come off the branch. “Stop, says I,” whispered the snake.

“Please, sir,” pleaded Hannah, “I need three Wala-Wala Berries for my mother’s cake.”

The snake squinted at Hannah. “Swell,” said Seth, “Certainly showing some singing skill should salvage some delicious, succulent berries from Seth’s stock.” Seth started to sing and Hannah repeated… “Sweet Wala-Wala Berry Tree… Sweet Wala-Wala Berry Tree… Won’t you share a song with me? Won’t you share a song with me? Swing your branches, make it funky. Swing your branches, make it funky. Drop three berries for this monkey.”

As they finished singing, the wind started to blow and the branches at the top of the Great Wala-Wala Tree began to swing. Three plump berries fell from the branch above Hannah and landed in her pouch. She smiled at the sly snake and said, “Thank you for your help, good sir.” The snake smiled at her. “Sure, sister. Singing silly songs has saved your celebration snack. Safe travels. So long.”

Hannah waved to the snake one last time as she swung away through the trees. She looked at her list again. Her next special ingredient was a handful of Tiki Grass which she knew only grew at the bottom of the Great Tiki Lake. The lake was only a few miles away, so Hannah raced through the jungle as fast as she could.

The animals were all waking up as Hannah climbed. All around her, she could hear the colorful birds singing, and below her, the tigers were growling and the frogs were croaking to each other. When she reached the Great Tiki Lake, she heard loud roaring and big splashing. It scared little Hannah Banana at first, but then she saw that it was just a family of hippos bathing and playing in the lake. The hippos were diving down into the depths to reach the long bushels of Tiki grass that
grew at the murky bottom. Hannah walked up to the shore and all the hippos stopped playing and stared at her. A very large, very grumpy hippo floated over to where Hannah was sitting. “How dare you disturb our…” The hippo paused and rolled his head back in the water, roaring, “RAARRR! My tooth! The pain! It hurts!” The huge hippo glared at Hannah and rubbed his mouth.

But Hannah, being a very smart, very crafty little monkey, saw a way she could get some Tiki Grass from the bottom of the hippos’ lake.

“Please, sir,” said Hannah Banana, “Maybe I can help your tooth if you do me a favor and get me a mouth-full of Tiki Grass.”

The hippo squinted at Hannah and started to laugh. “Ha! How can a little monkey help a big strong hippo? Ha, ha!” The hippo continued to laugh with his mouth wide open. The other hippos laughed with him.

Hannah suddenly jumped into the mouth of the big hippo. She immediately saw the tooth that was causing so much pain and she pulled it out, using all her strength. When the tooth popped out, Hannah flew backwards into the water. The huge hippo roared in pain, but once the sting was gone he had no more pain at all. The wet monkey climbed out of the lake and shook herself dry on the shore. She put the big hippo tooth in her pouch and turned around to see five hippos with mouths full of Tiki Grass. They dropped the bushels of grass in front of Hannah. One hippo said to her, “Thank you so much, little monkey. Our father has been complaining about that tooth for many months.”

Hannah grabbed a handful of Tiki Grass and set out on her way, waving goodbye to the happy family of hippos.

The third and fourth ingredients were easy for Hannah to find. She grabbed twelve bananas and plucked fifteen flower petals from some Papola Plants. The last ingredient was a stalk of Bona Cane, the special sweet sugar that could only be found at the top of the Great Mount Conanai. Little Hannah Banana was afraid because of all the scary bedtime stories she’d heard about the Mountain from her Mother and Father. The sun was setting and the jungle was getting darker and scarier. Hannah grabbed her pouch and started to move. The sounds she heard in the jungle were much creepier than those she’d heard earlier in the day. After traveling a few miles, she reached the base of the Great Mount Conanai. It was a very steep climb. She knew she couldn’t take too long or she’d miss her Father’s birthday. For twenty minutes, she climbed straight up. After a while, she became tired, being a small monkey and carrying three juicy Wala-Wala Berries, a handful of thick wet Tiki Grass, twelve plump bananas, and fifteen Papola petals.

When she reached the halfway point, she looked up into the sky. The moon was rising over the Mountain. A colorful parrot with a long beak flew down and landed on a branch near Hannah.

“Would you like a ride to the top?” asked the parrot.

“Yes, please,” said Hannah with appreciation.

“I’ve been following you all day, young one. Your mother asked me to watch out for
you.”

Hannah was happy to see the bird and she grabbed his feet. They slowly flew to the top of the Mountain. At the summit, there was ample sugar cane growing everywhere. Hannah cut off some Bona Cane and stuffed it in her pouch. She said to the friendly bird, “That’s the last ingredient. Now we can go.” Just as the bird was about to speak, a loud buzz came over the Mountain.

The colorful parrot immediately flew away, as well as all the other birds on the Mountain. The buzzing got louder and closer. It seemed as if the inside of the Mountain was buzzing. Suddenly, a swarm of giant bees came up from the ground. It appeared as if the whole top of the mountain was one big beehive. Hannah was terrified. She ran into the thick of the sugar cane and hid her pouch.

“BUZZZZ…bring back our Bona Cane. BUZZZZ! Little monkey, how dare you steal our sacred crop? BUZZZ!” Hannah came out from her hiding place.
“Please sir,” she cried, “I need just a small amount of your special sugar for my Father’s birthday cake.”

The Chief Bee scowled at little Hannah Banana. This time, the monkey’s polite manners would not be enough to convince the giant bee clan. So she started to think about a crafty way to get out of her bad situation.

Suddenly, the bees’ buzzing was drowned out by a great chirping and flapping of wings as every bird in the jungle rose over the Mountain to help little Hannah. They were led by the friendly parrot who had helped Hannah up the mountain. Five small birds flew down and picked up Hannah. The other birds attacked the army of giant bees, and the red parrot snuck into the sugar cane thicket and snatched up Hannah’s purple pouch. The birds carried Hannah high above the jungle.

She saw the Great Tiki Lake, but the hippos were all asleep. She saw the Great Wala-Wala Tree, and the snake was singing himself a lullaby and having a bedtime snack. Finally, they reached the monkey family’s canopy and the small birds dropped Hannah onto a branch above her home.

She climbed down and tiptoed around her sleeping Father. Mother was waiting up for little Hannah Banana.

“Welcome back, my child,” her Mother said. But Hannah did not smile.

“I failed you, Mother. All the ingredients are stuck on Mount Conanai.”

But her Mother pulled from behind her back Hannah’s empty pouch. A tired bird sat by the oven, helping to bake the cake. He said to Hannah, “I forgot to tell you, little one, that Banana Rama Lama Rootie Tootie Fruit Cake is my favorite too. I get the second largest slice after your Papa!”

Hannah Banana yawned a little monkey yawn, closed her eyes, and fell fast asleep.
When she awoke the next morning, they celebrating her Father’s birthday. The colorful parrot handed her a piece of the special cake and it was the best thing she had ever tasted.

The monkey family enjoyed the birthday thanks to Hannah Banana. They lived happy monkey lives in the deepest jungle of Africa.

THE END

“Hannah Banana” Copyright © 2001by Joshua Ingram, All Rights Reserved