East, In Her Shoes by M. H. Ungar ©2024

You may have read L. Frank Baum’s slanted stories about Oz. Most of you watched the notorious film version—enter ‘innocent’ Dorothy and slam-bang, one perfectly-wicked witch down, another awaiting her doom. I ask you, what did the Wicked Witch of the East do to deserve her dreadful death? Hear my little story and decide who wronged whom.

“Merrow!” A heavy body landed on the featherbed. Tiggery, a Cat named for flaming fur and dramatic tiger stripes poked his agitated mistress with a wide paw. “My glorious witch! What’s twisting your tail?”

Two-hundred-year-old Enitty, young for her breed, shoved Tiggery off her chest and threw down the coverlet. Tears streaked over her perfect, unlined face. “Brooms and balefire!”

Stumbling on her bad leg; long before, a spell rebounded to ruin her shapely left knee, Enitty threw her knotty cane across the room. It tore white lace curtains and took out a blown-glass window.

“When!” she screeched, “When does this happen to incredible, fantastic me?”

Sweeping her arm across a table, its wildflower vase smashed with dramatic effect.

“Who’s behind this? That prattling goody-goody Glinda? It can’t be that meek little mouse from up north, Locasta!”

“What are you mewling on about?”

Ignoring her constant companion, Enitty pulled on a fresh day gown and brushed her long dark locks so violently that sparks flew. Wincing with familiar pain, she tugged on her treasured silver slippers.

“Still tight,” Tiggery hatefully observed.

They were always a tad too snug. Streaming light entered her sprawling cottage’s windows. Enitty’s home had every comfort; pillowed furniture, huge fireplaces, and antique mirrors reflecting her stunning self—and who deserved them more than the Wicked Witch of the East? No one.

She adored her luxuries. Even the wild forest dared not crowd her lavish gardens. Magically prolific herbs, vegetable beds, flowers, and fruit trees provided for Enitty all year. Her manservant Carmody’s magic bow and arrows bagged game for her table—she suffered no others in the dark woods from which she ruled Munchkin Land.

Secret paths Carmody, Tiggery, and herself trod wound through the malevolent trees charged to attack outsiders. Panthers prowled after anyone foolish enough to fight off her first defenses. If not eaten, they ended up in her forest’s hidden sinkholes.

Stumping outdoors without her cane, Enitty commanded, “Carmody! Where is my breakfast tea!”

Youthful, handsome Carmody stepped around the cottage holding a steaming teapot. “Where you always take it, in the back garden, Mistress.”

This Carmody was in her employ for a year—when his bloom faded, he would hire a younger version to take the name and work for Enitty—each Carmody left richly rewarded for loyal service. Sipping tea, Enitty’s clever brain whirled while Tiggery quietly lapped cream.

Smoothing his whiskers, Tiggery fixed his great yellow Cat’s eyes on her. “What bit your bottom this morning?”

Shivering, Enitty whispered, “A waking nightmare, the day every witch must dread…I woke with foreknowledge of the manner of my death.”

Tiggery’s hackles rose.

Swallowing hard, Enitty continued. “After all I’ve done for those churlish little Munchkins—why, who keeps that twisted Wicked West at bay? And this is my reward! If only I could pinpoint when or where it all goes down.”

“Then you must never leave your forest or Munchkin Land. Ever since you saved me from those crocodiles, I’ve stuck by your side. What would I do if I lost you?”  

Enitty gave Tiggery a tight hug and let him go. “I won’t let that happen, but I must know who dares to do this to me.”

 Could it be Munchkins? None had protested since she set herself up as their wonderfully Wicked Witch. Of course, she took taxes to keep West from blighting their carefree lives. If they only knew. Enitty isolated herself from their petite villages to protect them. Carmody coughed. She looked up.

In his hand was a folded parchment. “Flying Pig,” he explained.

Wend Fallows Flying Pig Airmail Service had magic enhancements that bypassed her wood’s traps. Enitty snatched the parchment and snapped the letter’s wax seal—Glinda’s blot of red wax fell on her silver slipper. She kicked it aside. ‘In two weeks, our annual Witch’s Moot will meet in the Kiamo Ko before neutral Emerald City. We who hold great powers over Oz must discuss reasonable ways to govern. Fair guidelines will allow us to share Oz’s bountiful resources. Signed, Glinda the Good Witch of the South, Quadling Country, Oz.’

Enitty crumpled the letter and tossed it saying, “Marvelofie!”

It burst into flame and fell as ashes. “Not on the slippers,” she muttered, shining the silver toes on the hem of her gown. “I ruined my left knee to snag these. Their magical properties make me more powerful than that tatty little North. I outmatch that nasty narcissist West too because I possess these slippers!”

Tiggery’s whiskers twitched. “That simpering Glinda might undo your craftiness, but she will not bend magic to overtly bad uses, so you’re safe from her do-goodness.”

“Huh. Good for whom? That devious baggage pushes for more control of Oz. She will pressure North or outwit West to gain concessions. Glinda plays a dangerous game with our craft.”

Enitty rose and stumped to her wildflower beds. Tiggery slashed the chosen flowers, and her basket filled with blooms. Back in her bedroom, Enitty commanded the vase, glass window, and curtains to unbreak with her magic word, Marvelofie! She filled the vase with fresh flowers. Then, she settled by her sitting room’s crackling fire. Tiggery placed his bulk on the plush cushion beside her.

“The last thing I need right now is Glinda and West in the same tent,” Enitty said. “I would send you as my emissary, but my sister witches will not admit you. I hate it, but I will go.”

Tiggery yowled. “But foresight does not tell you when your doom falls, or where! You must stay in your smartly defended woods.”

Enitty stood, her chest heaving. “Witches were sent to Oz with a mission. The mistake was giving us four too much power.”

She limped about the cottage and suddenly stopped dead. “I shall magic up a protective umbrella! One nothing can flatten. When those witches see me, their legs will turn into water, making them more useless than my warped knee.”

Nothing could persuade Enitty to stay in her woods, though Carmody’s teary gaze followed her everywhere. Tiggery’s fur swelled, and his tail stood up, but Enitty scoffed at his mute protests. Her cunning outmatched her enemies’ designs.

To prove this, Enitty twirled her shielding umbrella as Carmody pelted it with heavy rocks. They slid off. Tiggery dropped lead weights from trees onto it, and Enitty stayed untouched, raising everyone’s faith in her. The day of the Moot finally arrived.

Tiggery and Enitty flew on her broom beneath her magic umbrella until reaching the sunny Kiamo Ko. Glinting green, the Emerald City crowned its fields. A white tent sat before it studded with Glinda’s snapping red banner, North’s purple flag, West’s yellow-tailed standard, and Enitty’s deep blue pennant.

Glinda opened with flattery. “My fellow witches! You have grown in power and consequence each year we have inhabited Oz.”

 Glinda placed her seat between Locasta and West, who smoldered in the left end’s chair. After subtle maneuvering, East shot down Glinda’s suggestion that her famous girl soldiers run Oz’s only railroad, which moved goods all over Oz. Having escaped that gauntlet, the rest of the moot’s resolutions were adopted. Ennity flew toward Munchkin Land with her umbrella covering their retreat.

Tiggery merrowed. “How long will it take before West violates this agreement? A day, two?”

“West pretended to engage with the Moot,” Enitty said. “But while it’s still three witches against that one, Oz’s power is balanced.”

Enitty kicked up her silver slippers. They just safely passed into Munchkin Land. It was a perfect day, she was divinely beautiful, and her knee had not twinged all morning.

Tiggery meowed. “A rabbit! Haven’t given chase for days.”  

Enitty swooped lower. Tiggery hopped off. The flight snagged her hair on an umbrella spoke. She untwisted it free. Enitty was idly finger-combing her locks when a rising wind spun her umbrella across the grass. Before she could Marvelofie it back, a shadow appeared. Moving fast, it blotted everything before her. The wind whipped to a gale, twisting her hair into a dark halo.

Whistling with a horrific pitch, it plastered her gown against her body. Enitty’s nightmare twirled toward her; a shabby farmhouse ringed by torn shutters and shingles blotting sky and sun. A ringing thud ended its wildly extended fall.

 The dust settled. The wind died. One good leg, one bad, stuck out from under the farmhouse, the celebrated silver shoes still glinting. Horrorstruck, Tiggery stared as the farmhouse’s front door dropped off its hinges. A hulking hound shot out, plopped on its rear, and scratched its flea bites.

Next stepped a girl with straw-blond hair in a calico flour-sack dress. Wide-eyed, she said, “Who’d believe it, Toto? Took a flying house to clear us out of Kansas. Just point me to this West fella. Got to thank him for mailing me that what’d you call it…that uh, spell.”

For an answer, Tiggery caterwauled at the girl’s prairie-reddened face. Yowling the sad songs of Cats for his flattened witch, he slunk back to East’s lonely cottage. Once there, he mourned his glorious former mistress, that Wicked Witch, in her blighted forest for the rest of his nine lives.

My little story hit its mark—try to view Oz with L. Frank Baum’s rosy spectacles now.

RED

BY M. H. UNGAR 2024

Everyone said it was the color for sin, but Lily liked it.
“Must you wear that red hat?” Agnes asked.
 Lily tossed her dark curls. “The color sets off my hair.” 
Agnes harrumphed. “Bring rain gear. I sense a storm.” 
 Lily smirked. “Careful, Agnes. You’re sounding like someone’s mother.” 
Bertold, married to Lily’s mother Agnes, was a mild paternal figure. Lily’s brother, who culled trees and sustainably replaced them with seedlings, treated Lily with indifferent care. Her family held liberal views, so the hat was a false flag that Lily liked to tease. 
 Agnes said Lily did it because of her hormones. Lately, Agnes labeled everything Lily did due to her blossoming. Worse, Bertold agreed. Only Sophy took Lily seriously. Lily was taking a rural trail through fields and forest to Sophy’s place. Others imagined fierce bears or wildcats, where Lily saw chipmunks and squirrels. Despite the warnings, she often went there alone. 
Bustling over, Agnes handed off a backpack. “Can you handle it?” 
Lily adjusted the weight. “It’s fine.”
Agnes frowned. “There’s water and Sophy’s groceries—she listed blue cheese. Sophy should give up such indulgences.”
“Don’t fuss at her, too,” Lily said.
“I don’t like you walking alone. Call a friend.” 
“Agnes, I’ve gone alone since I was seven.” 
Agnes pulled her to a mirror. “Ten years changes things.” 
Pleased by her womanly figure and dark red mouth, Lily shrugged. “So?”  
Agnes snorted. “At your age, I went nowhere without my brothers or my parents to protect me.” 
 Lily didn’t need guarding. “Sophy expects me, got to go.” 
She ran down the steps. 
“Phone later,” Agnes said. 
“Sure,” Lily said. 
Thirty minutes later, Lily picked a wildflower bouquet, and lay among their cousins with her red hat acting as a pillow.  
“Enchanted,” a man’s voice said.
White-blue eyes above sharp cheekbones studied Lily. She rushed to sit up, spilling the flowers. 
The striking stranger wore a silk shirt with a cashmere sweater, wool trousers breaking above his leather shoes. “Might I introduce myself?” 
 She nodded.   
“Anton Bardolph. Don’t ruin my fantasy and tell me your blooms are for a sweetheart?”
Suddenly warm and too aware they were alone, she said, “Lily, I’m Lily…they’re for a friend.”
“Your blush competes with those petals. If you aren’t fey, you’re the first human I’ve come across today.”
She smiled. “Most times, you see a nature buff or a jogger.”
“What category do I fit?” Anton asked.  
Hot, but Lily said, “I couldn’t guess.”
He laughed. She scooped up her flowers, he reached for her hat at the same moment. Their fingers brushed, and an electric charge ran from him to her. 
“Well,” she said. “Goodbye.”
“May I?” He said, capturing her hand, drawing it toward his beautiful mouth. 
“Enchanted,” he said as he kissed it. 
Then his soft lips grazed her bared arm, yet Lily did not protest. His mouth was on hers next, her flowers fallen, her red hat lost in the grass. 
***
When Lily reached the woods, dark clouds already piled high. The downdraft made her shiver up goosebumps. There was a sudden, sharp animal yip. A stick cracked. Spooked, Lily ran. 
 Sweat beaded and her breath quickened. The staccato from tree, to shade, to open area stuttered by until she spotted the gate at the path’s end. Lily raced around it and let it bang shut. Halfway to Sophy’s cottage, hail pelted. Lightning seared the sky. Boom: the thunderous report sent shock waves up her legs. 
Sophy’s door swung wide as she called, “Hurry!”
Inside, Lily panted. Sophy greeted her in sleek slacks and a satin blouse that made Lily’s jeans and tee look cheap. Her shining hair held a flip. Dark lips, Lily’s shade, highlighted her lively eyes. She laughed when they spotted Lily’s hat. 
 “So, Red, when will you stop using that to mock your parents?”
“Now,” Lily said, hanging the hat in the entry before stepping into the kitchen where a beckoning fire was kindled.  
The table held a basket of wild strawberries. 
“Agnes sent the wine?” Sophy said. 
“I didn’t tell them you let me drink,” Lily said. 
Sophy huffed. “Better to learn when young what’s worth your palate and what’s no better than vinegar.”
She sniffed the cheese Lily handed off. “Excellent. We’ll have supper.”  
She sliced bread, and Lily added marbled meat from a sausage. Sophy scooped blue cheese, uncorked the bottle, and filled glasses. 
Lily sipped. “I love this wine with strawberries.”
Conversation faltered as they finished the wine, strawberries, and half the sausage. When done, they cleared the table.
“The rain hasn’t let up,” Sophy said.  
“I’ll call Agnes,” Lily said.
“Go ahead,” Sophy said. “The storm—ˮ 
A sharp knock on the door interrupted. A shadow wavered beyond the curtains. “Sorry to bother,” a man called. “The weather caught me unaware. Might I use a phone?”
Lily started. That voice! She was more startled to see Sophy slide the cheese knife into her pocket before she went to the door. 
“There’s no point shutting you out,” Sophy said, an odd way to receive a stranger. 
When the door opened, Anton Bardolph’s sensuous mouth held a provocative smile. Lily blushed to her roots. 
“You’re too kind,” he said, stepping in. 
If he were in the rain, his shirt was dry. The cashmere sweater was absent, and Lily flushed, recalling the last place she’d felt it. Did he follow her? Why did Sophy let a stranger into her cottage? 	
“Would you like wine?” Sophy asked. “The phone will be out, but you knew that.”
“Wine would be lovely,” Anton said. “I hardly need to ask if this child’s a relation. She’s the image of you, Sophy, at that age.”
Rocked, Lily glanced from Sophy to Anton. Did he know Sophy so long ago? 
Sophy’s eyes narrowed. “You met him on the trail?” 
Her tone stung. 
 “Today,” Lily said.
Sophy’s face went white.  
“I could not resist the child, or should I say, a young woman now,” Anton said.
Sophy looked faint.  
“You dragged her into this, Anton?” Sophy said. 
“What, Sophy?” Lily said.
“He made love to you,” Sophy said. 
Lily couldn’t speak. 
“Could I resist?” Anton asked, with a casual shrug. “She is you all over, Sophy, in every charming detail.”
“Animal,” Sophy said. 
Shame flooded Lily. It was terrible that Sophy knew, but how could Anton compare Lily’s sixteen years to Sophy’s sixty? Lily flashed on his body, which appeared to belong to a man of twenty-eight or nine. Sophy handed Lily wine.
“After Anton, it will be hard to settle for less,” Sophy said, as she lifted her glass. “To Lily, a woman now, so you must act like one. If only, well, too late for that.”
Lily didn’t know what to say. 
“You’ve mellowed, Sophy,” Anton said. “Yet, your allure hasn’t. I love your hair this shade.” 
He lifted a silver lock. “There’s never been another woman like you for me.” 
“Then why didn’t you come for me, Anton? Why take her?” Sophy asked in a sorrowful tone. 
Anton shrugged, but his eyelids fell. “My needs are primal.”
Lily did not understand or like the intimacy they shared. 
“I don’t deserve that from you,” Sophy said.  
Anton’s eyes flashed. “And what I got, that was just?”
“It was a risk we both undertook,” Sophy said. “But that doesn’t answer why her?” 
“Because if anyone can break this cycle, Sophy, it’s you. I’m weary of being,” Anton said, “First the hunter, and now the hunted. Let’s team up again, Sophy.”
 Anton leaned forward. 
“This is why I returned, not for her,” he said and gave a dismissive glance in Lily’s direction. 
“Luscious, but an appetizer compared to you,” Anton said. 
“What does he mean, Sophy?” Lily asked. “How can he talk about me that way?”
Sophy grasped her hand. “It’s his nature now.” 
“Forget her,” Anton said. “Remember what we had, what we remain for each other.”
They shut Lily out. 
Anton’s smile was feral. “I waited, darling, hoping time would decide for you. Do you feel it? Stealing the heat from your bones, bleeding the color from your life? My bite can inject immortality, Sophy.” 
He drained his glass. “Be with me, like me. What can’t the pair of us accomplish?”
Sophy appeared radiant with anticipation. “Do we still fit?”
He went to Sophy. “May I?” 
Nodding, Sophy stood. His hand at her waist, her arm about him, they moved to an interior music over the floor. Anton appeared enraptured, while longing was writ in Sophy. Lily recalled those desires Anton stirred in her and anger boiled up. Did he prefer Sophy to her?  
“Sophy, your behavior is foolish,” Lily said.
Anton laughed. “You’re not the woman Sophy is.”
Sophy brushed Anton’s cheek and said, “If you’d left her out of it, Anton; if only you’d done that.”
Sophy sunk the cheese knife into Anton’s chest. 
Howling, Anton broke away, an inch of silver handle visible.
“Sophy!” Lily screamed. “You’re mad!”
Sophy swept up a chair and smashed Anton’s head. He dropped. Showing extraordinary strength, she dragged Anton across the floor and snapped, “Get the door.” 
Lily obeyed. Sophy shoved Anton outside, slammed the door, and locked it. 
“Bar the shutters,” Sophy said. 
New thunder and lightning resounded as the wind rose. Sophy jammed a chair under the door’s knob.
“What are you afraid of?” Lily said. “You’ve killed him.”
“Agnes and Bertold warned you, but it wasn’t enough,” Sophy said.
Lightning sparks burst over the yard as the ozone scent intensified. The front door shook. Sophy pulled a silver gun out of a drawer. 
“Bullets!” Sophy shouted, shoving the gun into Lily’s hand. “In the crock next to the tea, go!”
Sophy hefted a fireplace poker. A blow fragmented the front door, and the chair flew—forepaws in front, a massive wolf, balanced on powerful hind legs. Saliva dripped from its fangs. It swept the room with white-blue eyes. Lily’s stomach heaved. Anton! 
Sophy jabbed the poker at where a bloody wound still oozed. Lily swayed, feeling faint. 
Sophy yelled, “Don’t go girly now, Lily.”
A paw knocked Sophy into the cabinet. Glass shattered. Fear propelled Lily. She shoved the gun into her waistband, grabbed the fireplace shovel, and slammed the wolf’s head. It felt as if she struck a stone, but shocking Lily was how her arms absorbed the energy without ill effect. Still, Lily hesitated as Sophy staggered to her feet and slashed the poker, splitting the wolf’s snout open. Where did she get such strength? Growling, the wolf leaped onto Sophy’s chest, banging her against the floor. Get bullets, Lily’s brain screamed. 
Limbs trembling, Lily found ammunition in the pantry and loaded the gun. Sophy! Lily feared the worst. She had to get to Sophy, but the electric power chose that moment to fail. Could Anton see in the dark?  Hands clenched about the gun, Lily took five steps. She collided with a chair, and her heart ricocheted. She froze, but nothing happened. Lily made herself inch forward.
Any moment, she expected Anton to tear at her throat. She swept ahead with her foot, while inwardly, what she had done punished her. Anton’s words and touch were honeyed, but that seemed a feeble excuse now. Their coupling turned from her parents to her worst nightmare. Her toes connected with something. Finger on the trigger, Lily let her foot explore a leg, small, Sophy’s. Lily knelt and felt for a pulse, alive!
 “She’s remarkable.” Anton’s voice was rough. 
“She damaged me,” he puffed. “Light a candle, go ahead, I can’t bite.”
Lily kept the gun pointed, found the lighter, and flicked, its flare briefly blinding. Anton had transformed into the man she met, what seemed forever ago. His ravaged nose dripped blood, his torn chest exposed bone and muscle; he was a gruesome mess.  
Anton whispered, “I didn’t want her hurt. Not Sophy, but instinct takes over.”
Lily tore her gaze from him. There, by the shattered cabinet, lay Sophy, a bruise discoloring her temple. “Sophy!” 
Silver hairs clung to the iron poker; he could have fractured her skull. She had to get help. Anton coughed. Jarred, Lily turned—the animal gleam frosted Anton’s eyes. Saliva moistened his red mouth, which quickly crowded with jagged teeth. His nose grew, his ears were elongated and furred. With the changes, his wounds knitted closed. 
 “Shoot him,” Sophy gasped. “Now! Do it!”
Anton’s haunted eyes filled with unshed tears, a howl ripped from deep inside of him. “Sophy, no!  You and me, forever!”  
Lily shriveled. “I…can’t.” 
“Lily,” Sophy said. “Don’t act like a girl. You see what he is, why there’s no choice. Do it.” 
“She won’t,” Anton said, as he threw off the beast and reclaimed his manly form to stand proud in his magnificent nakedness. “She’s thinking about us together. She can’t imagine I have it in me to harm her, not after that.”
Dots distorted Lily’s vision.  
“Like thousands of silly girls, she’ll be meat,” Anton said, “And you, Sophy, will be my kind, whether it’s your will or not.”
 He bent toward Sophy, his body shifting back to the wolf again, and warned Sophy as his human speech coarsened, “This will hurt like hell.” 
 “She’s my kind, Anton,” Sophy said.
 “And you’ll be mine, Sophy,” Anton’s last syllables ended in a whine.
 “No, she won’t,” Lily said, the choice made as she aimed. 
Anton suspended between man and wolf, his back, hind legs, head canine, arms, and torso muscular male. Those unchanging eyes slid to Lily’s, widened, registered the mistakes made this day, and squeezed closed when her gunfire found his heart. At the same moment, a tall figure stormed the room. With a slash, an ax lopped the wolf’s head from its man-body. The head bounced. 
“Henried,” Lily cried to her brother. “You’re here!” 
Henried checked Sophy’s wound and called an ambulance with his cell phone. While they waited, he explained. “Agnes worried when Sophy’s was the only phone with no service. I saw the ruined door and grabbed the ax from my Jeep. Grandma, when did you come out of retirement?”
“I didn’t.” Sophy heaved a bottomless sigh, glanced away from the gruesome wolf’s head.
Her gaze locked onto her grandchildren. “Once embarked on, were-killing is a tough career to put behind oneself. Be warned. Word of what you two have done will get out to the right circles. It always does, even if the facts get distorted. You’ll have to prepare. Future challengers will sniff you out. Don’t pretend to be outraged, Lily. Your granny will teach you all her trade’s tricks.”  
 
 
 *Little Red Riding Hood is an old familiar story. In 1697, Charles Perrault wrote his version. I include the end part of Perrault’s moral to his story here: 
 
‘The Wolf, I say, for Wolves too sure there are
of every sort, and every character.
some of them mild and gentle-humored be,
of noise and gall, and rancor wholly free;
who tame, familiar, full of complaisance
ogle and leer, languish, cajole and glance;
with luring tongues, and language wondrous sweet,
follow young ladies as they walk the street,
even to their very houses, nay, bedside,
and, artful, though their true designs they hide;
yet ah! these simpering Wolves! Who does not see
most dangerous of Wolves indeed they be?