martinsmithstories

Image credit: BarelyDevi from Pixabay

Luckless Larry slept until late the next day. He woke feeling, well, if he had to be perfectly honest with himself, a tad lucky. Somehow, he just knew this would be his lucky day—indeed, his luckiest day. He rose, and with a jaunty gait he strolled out the barn. And there, before him, rose the gold beanstalk. ‘This is it!’ he said. ‘Third time lucky.’ What riches lay atop? he thought. Please let it be neither bird nor banjo but a bundle of boodle.

Up and up and up he climbed, above the barn roof, above goldfinches in late afternoon flutter, above a brilliant sky, until the beanstalk thinned, and he stepped out onto a road paved in golden bricks. Far in the distance, a golden castle glimmered under the late afternoon sunlight.

‘Follow the yellow brick road,’ Luckless Larry said, and he headed off at a skip.

He soon stood before the castle, which to his surprise only rose to his waist. A pair of golden arches protected a doorless entrance, and Luckless Larry licked his lips in anticipation of the prize that awaited him inside.

A deep voice said from within:

‘Fee-fi-fo-fum

I smell the blood of the Chosen One.

Be they simple or be they wise,

I bid them “Enter” to claim their prize.’

‘I don’t mind if I do,’ Luckless Larry said, and he bent down and entered.

As he stood within, he beheld a grand hall cloaked in a muted light. Walls of stained glass stood sentinel around a silhouetted pile of blackness that reached upwards towards the dome towering far above, and the late afternoon sun yellowed the stained glass before dissipating to a feeble, speckled light within the great hall.

‘Welcome, Chosen One,’ the deep voice said. ‘… Chosen One … One …’ echoed about the great hall.

Luckless Larry looked about but saw only the silhouetted pile before him.

‘The golden prize is yours … golden prize is yours … prize is yours … is yours … yours …’

‘Where are you?’ Luckless Larry said.

‘Down here … here …’

‘Where?’

‘Before your great fortune … your great fortune … great fortune … fortune …’

A golden light beam broke through a glazed window and illuminated the hall floor before Luckless Larry, and a golden ant, the size of a small pig and wearing a golden crown, stepped into the light.

‘Greetings, Chosen One,’ it said, followed by a long, low and majestic bow.

‘Hello,’ Luckless Larry said. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Aurum. King of the Ants and Guardian of the Gold. Your arrival has fulfilled the prophecy.’

‘Prophecy?’

‘Yes. It is written that on the last daylight hour of the third day after the great opening of the Three Bean Mix, the Chosen One shall arrive to collect his prize. Behold, Chosen One, your prize awaits.’

Aurum stepped aside and raised a foreleg. A great light burst through the windows and filled the hall with a golden radiance. And the black pile turned into a mountain of gold coins that glowed with a great lustre and lit up Luckless Larry’s gleeful face.

Luckless Larry jumped in the air and released a fist pump. His prize! His golden prize! Jackpot! Bingo! Bazinga! This! Is! It! No, not it or It or It!, but IIITTT! He was rich! Filthy rich! He was swimming in moolah: freestyle, backstroke, butterfly, breaststroke, even doggy paddle. You name it, he was going to be tumble-turning in it. No more belt tightening for him. He was going to let it all hang out. Debauchery, here he comes. Why, he’d buy himself a mansion; no, even better, he’d buy his own casino and mingle with high rollers for the rest of his days.

A polite, regal cough brought Luckless Larry’s attention back to the great hall. ‘But beware, Chosen One, for the prophecy of the Three Bean Mix comes with a warning.’

‘A warning?’

‘Yes. It is written that if any of the golden prize remains in this great hall when the last beam of sunlight disappears below the horizon on the third day, all shall turn to dust.’

Luckless Larry looked to the west and saw an orange half-disk resting upon the horizon. ‘Oh God!’ he said. His prize. To turn to dust if he didn’t get a move on. But how could he move such a mountain? In so short a time? With a shovel? And a wheelbarrow? Maybe a quick swap with a molehill? No. Think, William, think, he implored himself.

‘Chosen One,’ Aurum said, ‘I see your dilemma furrowed across your brow. But fear not. Help is at hand. My people are weary and yearn to return to the rich soils of their forebears. I shall call upon them to aid you in your time of need.’

Aurum lifted his regal head and raised his antennae and began a semaphoric wave. The floor about Luckless Larry turned black, and a torrent of ants flowed around him and swarmed towards the mountain of gold. Ten ants raised each coin. A hundred coins formed a row. And thousands upon thousands of rows formed behind the front row.

‘Lead on, Chosen One,’ Aurum said. ‘I will wait until the last of your prize is lifted and carried forth. Then I will let the sun shine its last ray upon my weary body before I, too, rejoin my homeland.’

Luckless Larry rushed from the hall, through the golden arches and out onto the yellow brick road. He ran forward to the top of the gold beanstalk and turned and willed the ant army to make haste and transport his fortune beyond the golden arches. Still row upon row of carried coins exited the great hall. ‘Hurry!’ Luckless Larry called out. On and on the ants marched, bent under their burden but ignoring Luckless Larry’s pleas. To the west, the tiniest segment of sun peaked above the horizon, and Luckless Larry looked down the line of coins, back, back all the way, dreading the pfft of his gold turning to dust, until he saw Aurum standing below the golden arches, facing the sun and basking in its last ray. His prize was out of the great hall! Lucky Willy.

Down, down the beanstalk Luckless Larry climbed with the couriers of his golden prize following him. Below the twilight, below the goldfinch nests in the treetops, below the barn roof, until he set foot on the ground outside the barn. He looked up and saw the beanstalk glittering with gold. He let his eyes follow the beanstalk all the way to the top, and still the ants descended in their tens, bringing down his booty, coin by coin.

Above him there came a groan and a crack, and the great beanstalk swayed. Gold coins sprinkled from the sky. Good God! Luckless Larry thought, she’s teetering. He stepped back further. Another crack and this time a shower of gold coins fell from the sky. Holy hell! he thought, she’s going down. Rustling came from above, and as the great beanstalk began to keel over, gold coins rained upon him. He shuffled back a few steps and looked up. It was coming down. On him. He turned and ran. Crack! Whoosh! He veered left and turned to look up, hoping he had steered clear of the stalk, but the mighty stalk twisted in its descent and followed him. He swerved right and ran, and his lungs screamed and his heart pounded. Crack! Whoosh! He looked up and screamed. Another trunk twist and it was almost upon him. He stepped forward but tripped. Whoosh! He rose to his hands and knees and crawled forward. Whoooosh! His arms gave way and he face-planted, and his mouth and eyes filled with dirt and fear. Whoooosh! Boooom!

Luckless Larry sat and spat dirt and cleared his eyes. Before him lay the great beanstalk. Its apex lay beside his boot, and piles of gold coins lay about. He’d done it. A quick clean-up, and he could spend the night collecting his coins and storing them inside his barn. He stood and dusted himself down. He stepped forward and picked up the nearest coin and bit into it to test its authenticity.

The earth groaned and shook, and a great fissure formed along the length of the beanstalk, and it and all the coins sank into the earth. The fissure closed, leaving Luckless Larry with a gape on his face and a single gold coin in his hand.

‘And that was that,’ Luckless Larry said. Well, at least he had his life, his health and a gold coin. Time to head down to the pub to wet his whistle and have a punt. Why waste his lucky streak?

He flicked the coin in the air, called ‘Heads’ and caught the coin. Tails. ‘And that was that,’ he said. ‘Oh well, on to the pub.’

Whooooooosh! Luckless Larry looked up and thought he saw a flying pig, but he never completed that thought, for a flying ant, regal and gold, dropped from the sky and struck him on the head and brought to an end the life and lucky streak of Luckless Larry.

And that was that.