Pixie Buys A Castle

Snicker. The blog is named after him.

                    By Valerie L. Egar

             Pixie Smith, (otherwise known as Regina Hatchmore Smith), began her acting career at the age of four, in a TV commercial for Silly Cereal saying, “It tastes like bananas, Mommy.” Then, she starred in a car commercial, pretending to drive a red pick-up truck while a chorus of chipmunks frolicked in the back singing, “Driving in the Rain.”

Movie roles quickly followed. Pixie was nominated for an Oscar for her portrayal of a saucy waif in A Slice of Bread for Sarah and again, the following year, for the sensitivity she brought to the role of mean girl Kristal in Charm School.  Shortly after, she wowed Broadway singing and dancing her way through Spider Baby.

           By the time she was nine, Pixie Smith was very rich and so famous, she decided she needed a castle far from Hollywood for some privacy.

She flew to London in her private jet with her white poodle, Doodles, and a suitcase full of peanut butter crackers. She did not want to be recognized, so she wore movie star sunglasses and a yellow dress, a color she never, ever wore in movies or on TV.

 “We don’t usually have children shopping for castles,” sniffed the mustachioed real estate agent, Buford Cash. “Castles are adult real estate, and rather expensive. Perhaps a small flat near a school would better serve your needs.”

Pixie sniffed in her sniffiest way and pulled her sunglasses down to look him in the eye. “If you have no castles to show me, just say so. Doodles and I will look elsewhere.”

        Pixie had a list of what she expected in a castle. Though it didn’t need a moat or a dungeon, she definitely expected a turret or two.

She wanted a library with lots of shelves, because she loved books. 

Most of all, she wanted the castle to have a ghost.  A ghost would be good company, perhaps even entertaining. Pixie thought an apparition that materialized on command might be handy when nosy gossip columnists hid in bushes.

        The first castle had turrets, but when Pixie climbed to the top, all she could see was the castle next door. Not private enough!

        The next castle was all moats and dungeons, perfect for a metal band, but not for Pixie.

The last castle had turrets that looked out upon fields of sheep and a library with leaded glass windows and shelves so high, you needed a ladder to reach some of the books. Best of all, Pixie noticed the ghost of a butler wandering the halls.

When Mr. Cash walked by the ghost he shivered, but didn’t see him. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?” he said.

Pixie wondered whether if the ghost would measure up. “Show me what you can do,” she whispered.

The ghost bowed. He raised his ghostly hands and all of a sudden, windows and doors opened and closed in time to music blasting from the radio.

Mr. Cash looked surprised, but smiled. “As you can see, this castle has automatic windows and doors.” He looked around. “Radio controlled.” Pixie laughed.  

“Do something else, please?” she asked the ghost.

As they walked through the library, the ghost drifted to the top shelves near the ceiling, and a book floated to a near-by table.

“Anne of Green Gables, my favorite!”

“Yes, this castle has an invisible book retrieval system. I’m not sure how it works, but it’s very expensive,” said Mr. Cash.

“Actually, there’s a ghost.”

“No such thing!” said Mr. Cash. “You’re old enough to know better.” With that, the ghost screamed and a mighty wind blew through the house, scattering papers everywhere.  Mr. Cash shivered. “It is a bit drafty, though, even for a castle.”

Pixie winked at the ghost. “I expect a significant discount for drafty.”

With that, Mr. Cash agreed and Pixie ended up with a castle that had two turrets, a library full of books and a ghost who was sure to become a good friend.

Published December 11, 2016 in The Sunday Journal Tribune (Biddeford, Maine). Copyright  2016 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author. 
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The Truth Test

                          

                              By Valerie L. Egar

           

When it came time for Princess Regina to marry, she discussed the matter with the King and Queen. Together they decided her husband didn’t need to be a prince or handsome as a movie star. He didn’t need to have enough gold to buy the princess diamonds. Someday, the man who married the princess would be King, and in a leader, truthfulness was more important than lineage, looks, and wealth. The man who married the princess needed to be truthful.

            A notice was sent throughout the kingdom for all 

eligible males to apply. By the end of the week, hundreds of young men crowded the castle gates. The royal scribes interviewed them and most were quickly eliminated. One said he had no allergies, but his eyes puffed shut when he pet the royal cat. Another bragged he was an ace with the cross-bow, but every arrow missed the target. Still another swore he loved licorice, the princess’ favorite candy, but gagged when he ate a piece.

             When the scribes finished, only three candidates 

remained.

          The first, Edgar Evans the Fourth, spent the day with the royal family. They sailed on the lake and picnicked on the beach. That night, Princess Regina and he danced until midnight. At bedtime, Edgar was shown to his bedroom.

           Poor Edgar!  The royal chambermaids sprinkled the bed with itching powder, as the King directed. All night, he itched and scratched, tossed and turned. He didn’t sleep a wink.

            At breakfast, the Queen asked how he’d slept. Edgar 

didn’t want to be impolite. Though his eyes were red and he was yawning, he said, “ Very well, Your Majesty.”

         “A lie!” shouted the King. Out the door went tired Edgar Evans the Fourth.

         Rufus Alfred was next. He entertained the princess with stories about his world travels. He laughed a little too loud at the King’s jokes, but the King knew his jokes were funny and overlooked it. When it came time to dance, Rufus gracefully whirled Princess Regina around the ballroom.

            When it was time for bed, Rufus Alfred was shown to a bedroom, specially prepared for him.  The mattress, filled with nails and bolts, was lumpy and hard.

            Rufus Alfred slept not a wink. He thought the floor might be more comfortable than the bed, but he didn’t want to ruin his new silk pajamas, so he tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress all night.

            At breakfast, the Queen asked Rufus how he slept.

            “Awful!” he said. “The mattress was so hard, I slept on the floor.”

        “A lie!” shouted the King when the royal chambermaid reported the silk pajamas were spotless and showed no evidence of having been on the floor.

          The castle door slammed behind poor Rufus Alfred.

          Bixbe Denderderby presented a bouquet of yellow roses to Princess Regina and smiled politely when the Queen showed him the family photo albums. When the princess and he played tennis, he didn’t let her win, because pretending he didn’t play very well would have been a lie. He could hardly dance, but didn’t mind the princess showing him how.

 When it came time for bed, Bixbe was shown to the haunted bedroom. The bed was large and soft, and Bixbe was soon fast asleep. “Ooooo!” A terrible howl came from the closet. “Woooooooo.” Another came from under the bed. Bixbe sat up. “Ghosts,” he commanded, “Stop the racket!  I’m trying to get some sleep!”

            The howling and moaning continued.  Bixbe shrugged. “All right, party on,” he said. He stuffed cotton in his ears so he couldn't hear them and went back to sleep.

          In the morning, the King and Queen inquired about how he’d slept.

            “Quite well,” he said, “once I put cotton in my ears. The room is haunted and the ghosts were rather noisy.”

            At that point, they knew Bixbe was not only truthful, but brave and resourceful, too. They decided he would make a fine husband for the princess and someday, an excellent king.

If you like the story, please consider feel free to share it on Facebook,  and "Like" my Facebook author's page. Copyright 2016 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission form the author.