famous99 (famous99) wrote,
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Once Upon a Time in a Cabin in Vail

So I'm trying something a little new and a little different. I started writing this for brandywine421's death challenge. But in the middle, the advent challenge came and this would work, so I decided it would be okay to kill to birds with one stone.

So this is for the advent challenge and for the big table of death.

A big thank you to both rose_in_texas and loracj for their outstanding beta work. I don't remember the last time I sent anyone a fic rife with so many errors.

Title: Once Upon a Time in a Cabin in Vail

Genre: Fractured Fairy Tale/Humor

Summary: A Snow White Fractured Fairy Tale.

Note: I referred to the following site: http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/sevendwarfs/index.html for the original (or at least not the disneyfied version) of Snow White. There are actual lines lifted from this version of the fairy tale.

Disclaimer: I do now own Surlalune fairy tales or the O.C. I just play.

Once upon a time, in a cabin in Vail, a woman sat gazing out the window of her cozy wood cabin. From the outside, it looked like Lincoln’s log cabin, but it had window frames made of black ebony. As she watched, the snowflakes were falling like feathers from the sky. She sat, doing her embroidery, because while she wanted to knit like all the Hollywood starlets, she just couldn’t get the hang of it. Suddenly, she pricked her finger and three drops of blood fell upon the snow that had accumulated just inside the window frame. The red looked pretty upon the white snow, and she thought to herself, if only I could have a child as white as snow, as red as blood and as black as the wood of the window frame.

Soon after, months after her vacation in the mountains of Vail, she had a little daughter whose complexion was as white snow, and whose lips were as red as blood and with hair as black as ebony. She called her Summer, because no child in Newport was called Winter, and Snow White was too a ridiculous a name for a child of Newport, California.

When the child was 13, on yet another trip to Vail, the woman fell in love with a ski instructor and abandoned Summer and her father, who was a plastic surgeon. A year passed, and the divorce was finalized, leaving the doctor with his finances intact. So the doctor took for himself another wife, but that woman left him when he would no longer support her addiction to prescription drugs.

The good doctor, who hated to sleep alone— this was Newport Beach, California, after all— spotted a Fine Lady in need. She was the mother of Summer’s best friend, Marissa, who had fallen on hard times. But she was sexy and full of curves in all the right places. She had flaming red hair and big round brown eyes that could beguile, charm or make them pitiable like a puppy dog’s eyes. She was with beauty so great it bewitched the old man, for she was well versed in the art of wheedling her way into a man’s heart. The doctor was too blind with love to see that Marissa’s mother was just a good old-fashioned gold-digger.

She was a beautiful woman, but proud and haughty, and she could not bear that anyone else should surpass her beauty. She had a wonderful looking-glass, and when she stood in front of it and looked at herself in it, and said —

“Looking-glass, Looking-glass on the wall,

Who in Newport is the fairest of all?”

The looking-glass answered —

“Thou, O Fine Lady, art the fairest of all!”

Then she was satisfied, for she knew that the looking-glass spoke the truth.

But Summer was growing up, and grew more and more beautiful; and when she reached her seventeenth year she was as beautiful as the day, and more beautiful than the Fine Lady – her name was Julie – herself. And once when Julie asked her looking-glass —

“Looking-glass, Looking-glass on the wall,

Who in Newport is the fairest of all?”

It answered —

“Thou art fairer than all who are here, Fine Lady.

But more beautiful still is Summer, as I ween.”

Julie was shocked, and turned yellow and green with envy. From that hour, when she looked at Summer, her heart heaved in her breast, (they were ample, but not that big) she hated the girl so much.

And envy and pride grew higher and higher in her heart like a weed, so that she had no peace day or night. She hired a hooligan from Chino – he was blond with blue eyes and abs that rippled — and said, while caressing his thick biceps, “Take the teenager away; I will no longer have her in my sight. Kill her and bury her where no one will find the body. But bring me proof that she is really dead.”

The hooligan obeyed, and took Summer to an abandoned warehouse, but when he drew his handgun, a Browning 9 millimeter, and was about to shoot Summer’s innocent heart, she began to weep. She said, “Ah, dear hooligan, spare my life! I will run away into the wilds of Los Angeles and never come home again.”

The hooligan took pity on her, for she was so beautiful. Though, in the back of his mind, he admitted that he really just wanted to shag her. “Run away, then, you poor thing.” Eventually, he thought, some madman will kill her in the big city anyway. Why should he serve 10 years to life in a maximum security prison – as the body was sure to be discovered – it always was on T.V.

On the way back to the mansion where the Fine Lady was waiting, the blond-haired hooligan with finely toned muscles, six-pack abs and hooded eyes, stopped at a butcher shop and fired his Browning 9 millimeter into the carcass of a beast. He then dipped the shirt he had ripped from Summer’s back in the animal’s blood.

He showed it to the Fine Lady, who screeched and jumped back as he waved the Dolce & Gabbana sweater in front of her and blood dripped on her dress. “Do you know how much the dry cleaning bill will cost for that? If they can even get it out? The money for this dress, and it was a bloody fortune – no pun intended – will be deducted from your final installment!”

The hooligan shrugged. He knew the Fine Lady was prone to hysterics. Frankly, he was relieved that Julie had fallen for his lame deceit. Obviously, she wasn’t a reader of the Bible.




Now the poor teen was all alone in the wild, unruly land of Los Angeles, where gangs ruled the roads, ladies of the night roamed the streets, and their skeezy pimps patrolled the territories. She was so terrified that she hugged her tattered, thin shirt to her chest and skulked down the streets, studying the graffiti that marred the walls of established business. She admitted to herself, that some of it looked nice, and the tags were kind of creative, even if it was kind of rude to decorate without permission.

She heard a noise like a gunshot, though it was probably just an old car backfiring, and she began to run over uneven sidewalks and cracked pavement while the thieves and crooks ran past her, but did her no harm, because the cops were in pursuit. She ran as long as her feet would go until it was almost morning. She was exhausted; the bottoms of her feet were blistered and bleeding. Her chest ached as her heart beat rapidly against her ribcage.

She saw a little house sitting in the middle of a tiny yard. She thought she saw seven little wicker chairs upon the porch. Surely, the people living there wouldn’t mind if she rested. So she entered the small yard. When she climbed the three steps onto the little porch and peered into the window the house looked dark and empty. She nudged at the door, and to her great surprise the door swung open.

Everything in the house was small, but absolutely appallingly disgusting. It looked as if a maelstrom of dramatic proportions had hit the place. The casual pink-striped tablecloth that was supposed to cover the table was half on and half off. The seven little plates, and on each plate was a little spoon – obviously from Crate & Barrel or the Pottery Barn — were heaped together in a haphazard pile in the middle of the place as if it had been dumped there in a storm. There were seven little knives and forks, and seven little mugs, some on the floor and some on the seven little chairs around the table. On the second floor stood seven little beds side by side, and covered with snow-white counterpanes.

Summer was so hungry and thirsty that despite the squalor, she bolted down some vegetables and bread from the table and drank the dregs of wine left in each of the mugs, for no one mug had enough to satisfy her thirst. Then, as she was so tired, she plopped down in one of the little beds, but none of them suited her; one was too long, another too short, but at last she found the seventh one was just right. She said a prayer – Not being religious, she remembered a friend who had ingrained in her the power of Prayer to Moses and Jesus – and went to sleep.

When it was quite dark, the owners of the little house came back; they were seven hapless men, all originally from Newport, but ousted from the community for one reason or another. There was Sandy, the wise leader of the bunch, with big bushy brows that gave him an air of intelligence. Seth, his loquacious son, was quite used to being told “Shut up.” Caleb, Seth’s grandfather, was the grouch of the group, but wielded the most power and money, so they put up with him. Luke was the dopey jock, who sang off key, shaved his chest to play water polo and reminded most of a Golden Retriever. Zach had too long hair, and could match Luke’s athletic abilities and Seth’s obsession with comics. Then there was Johnny who just was. Even if no one knew why he was there. Finally there Matt, who somehow manipulated his way into the house, though no one knew why he had really come to Newport in the first place, though everyone knew he was ousted for trying to outsmart an unsavory crowd.

They fumbled to find the seven light switches, and as soon as it was light within the little house, they saw that someone had been there, for everything was not in the same order in which they had left it. And yes, they had order in their mess.

“Who has been sitting in my chair?” asked Sandy. As head of the house, he felt no one should mess with his chair.

Matt said, “Who has been eating off my plate?”

Luke said, “Who has been taking some of my bread?” With all his exertion playing water polo, he needed his carbs.

Zach, who knew the importance of the food pyramid, said, “Who has been eating my vegetables?”

Finicky Caleb said, “Who has been using my fork?” He wasn’t finicky enough to actually wash his fork between uses.

Seth squinted and eyeballed his cutlery and said, “Who has been cutting with my knife?”

And Johnny, who no one cared about, for they had all already left to explore the rest of the house, said, “Who has been drinking out of my mug?”

Sandy inspected the rest of the little cottage. He took the steps to the second floor two at a time and saw there was a little hole in his bed, and he said, “Who has been getting into my bed?”

The others came up and each in turn called out, “Somebody has been lying in my bed too.” But Seth, when he looked at his bed, saw little Summer, who was curled up in a little ball under his covers. Only her ebony colored hair spilled over the blanket, and her snow-white nose and eyelids peeked out from out of the covers. He called to the others, who came running up behind him, and they cried out in astonishment, and brought their seven little flashlights and let the light fall on her.

“Oh, heavens! Oh, heavens!” cried they. “What a lovely teenager.” They were so glad to see the beautiful little thing that they did not wake her, but let her sleep on in the bed. Seth slept with his companions, one hour with each, and so got through the night.

When it was morning, Summer was frightened to see the collection of seven odd men. But they were friendly and seemed harmless – even the grumpy looking dude with the ring of white hair around the back of his head. So when they asked her what her name was. She answered, “My name is Summer.”

“How did you come upon our house?” Matt asked.

She told them that her stepmother had hired a hooligan to have her killed, but that the hooligan had spared her life, and that she had run for the whole day, until she had at last found their dwelling.

Caleb, who was a shrewd opportunist, called a little confab with his fellow housemates. Then he turned to Summer and said, “If you will whip our place into shape, and then take care of it, cook, make the beds, wash, mend and knit – like all the latest Hollywood starlets — and if you will keep everything neat and clean, you can stay and you shall want for nothing.”

Summer wasn’t sure she that she knew much about mending and cleaning. Daddy always had a maid to do those types of chores. Looking around, she wasn’t sure that this dump could ever be turned right side up, but it was worth a try if it gave her a safe place to stay. So with her all her heart, she said, “yes.”

Meanwhile, Julie, believing that she had seen Summer’s blood on a wasted Dolce & Gabbana shirt, could not but think that she was again the first and most beautiful of all; and she went to her looking-glass and said --

"Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,

Who in this land is the fairest of all?"

And the glass answered --

"Oh, Fine Lady, thou art fairest of all I see,

But over the hills, where Sandy, Seth, Luke, Matt, Caleb, Johnny and Zach dwell,

Summer is still alive and well,

And none is so fair as she."

She was astounded, for she knew that the looking-glass never lied. Julie growled and gnashed her teeth as she thought of the hooligan who must have betrayed her. Summer must still be alive. She made a mental note to find him so she could punish him severely. She would enjoy doing so. She pictured the torture she could inflict on him while pleasuring herself. But then she turned her mind to more important things. Summer who must live no more.

She thought and thought again how she might kill Summer, for so long as Julie was not the fairest in the whole land, envy let her have no rest. When she had at last thought of something to do, she donned the dress of a trailer trash woman, with a too small halter top that barely grazed the top of her jeans and a pair of beat up sneakers from Payless. She enlisted the best make-up artist to make her face look like she had lived a hard life, so that no one could have known her, and made sure she was wearing gobs of makeup applied badly. In this disguise, she sauntered through the streets of Los Angeles until she came upon the house of the seven hapless men, and knocked at the door and cried, "Pretty things to sell, very cheap, very cheap."

Summer looked out of the window and called out, "Good day my good woman. The men are all gone, and I don’t swing that way.”

Julie laughed. She had to admit, Summer was clever. But she wanted the teenager dead. So she took a deep breath and continued, "Ah, but I have good things, pretty things," she answered; "lipsticks of all colors," and she pulled out a color sampler.

Summer knew it was not safe to open the door to strangers, but a melancholy had set in with the boys away for most of the day. The idea that someone wanted her dead did not help raise her spirits. So she unlocked the door, keeping the chain on, and talked to the woman through the door. Dressing up and feeling pretty again seemed like a wonderful idea.

"Child," said the trailer-trash woman, "what a fright you look; come, I will do your face up for you." Summer knew she should be careful, but had no suspicion that this could be her stepmother, so she hesitantly opened the door and let the woman in. The woman pushed her into a seat and whipped out a box, unfolding the layers to reveal a myriad of cosmetics.

The trailer-trash woman started with the eyes, and the cheeks, and finally the lips. She pressed down hard on Summer’s blood-red lips until Summer lost her breath (of course, the lipstick was laced with rat poison) and fell down as if dead.

"Now I am the most beautiful," the Fine Lady triumphed and ran away.




Not long afterward, in the evening, Sandy, Seth, Luke, Matt, Caleb, Johnny and Zach came home, but how shocked they were when they saw their dear little Summer lying on the ground, and that she neither stirred nor moved, and seemed to be dead. Seth bent down and felt for a pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a faint one. So they picked her up and ran to the nearest clinic.

The doc revived her, skeptical of their story. What were seven men doing with a young, unconscious girl? But he couldn’t determine if this was simply an allergic reaction or something more sinister.

Finally, Summer came to. She told them all, including the doc, what happened. When they heard what her story they said, "The trailer-trash Avon woman was no one other than the Fine Lady – your stepmother; take care and let no one come in when we are not with you."




The wicked woman when she had reached home went in front of the glass and asked --

"Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,

Who in this land is the fairest of all?"

And it answered as before --

"Oh, Fine Lady, thou art fairest of all I see,

But over the hills, where Sandy, Seth, Luke, Matt, Caleb, Johnny and Zach dwell,

Summer is still alive and well,

And none is as fair as she."

When she heard that, the blood rushed to her heart with fear, for she saw plainly that Summer was again alive. "But now," she said, "I will think of something that shall put an end to you," and by the help of witchcraft, for Julie had practiced Wicca as a teen, she made a poisonous comb. Once again, she disguised herself, taking the shape this time of a Miss December type; blonde poofy hair, ample boobs that sat pert and perfect, and dark luscious red lips that rivaled those of Julia Roberts and Angelina Jolie.

She trekked through the wilds of Los Angeles and knocked at the door, and cried, "Good things to sell, cheap, cheap!"

Summer opened the door a crack through the chain and called, "Go away; I cannot let anyone come in."

"But you can look," said the old woman, and pulled the poisonous comb out and held it up. Summer’s eyes lit up with joy. Her hair had been gnarled and ratty since she had arrived in L.A. The boys just didn’t have what she needed to give her hair the shine and luster it once had. Though Zach did take pride in his own luscious hair, he wouldn’t share his hair products with her. A comb would surely help. It pleased the girl so well that she let herself be deceived, and opened the door.

When they had made a bargain the old woman said, "Now I will comb you properly for once."

Poor thick Summer, once again, had no suspicion, and let the ditzy model do as she pleased, but hardly had she put the comb in her hair than the poison in it took effect, and the girl fell down senseless.

Julie cackled as she saw Summer’s lifeless form on the floor. “You are done for now.”

It was almost evening when the seven boys with dwarfed emotions came home. When they saw Summer lying as if dead upon the ground, they at once suspected the stepmother. They looked and found the poisoned comb. Scarcely had they taken it out when Summer awoke.

Sandy sighed with relief, not sure how he would have explained another mishap to the ever suspicious doc. Fortunately, Summer was awake and lucid, regaling them all with a story about a blonde model and her comb. When she finished, they warned her once more to be upon her guard and to open the door to no one.

At home, Julie, went in front of the glass and said --

"Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,

Who in this land is the fairest of all?"

Then it answered as before --

"Oh, Fine Lady, thou art fairest of all I see,

But over the hills, where Sandy, Seth, Luke, Matt, Caleb, Johnny and Zach dwell,

Summer is still alive and well, and none is so fair as she."

When she heard the glass speak she trembled and shook with rage.

"Summer shall die," she cried, "even if it costs me my life!"

This time, she locked herself in her room for days, using her most advanced Chemistry books (of course she had to solicit the help of George the pharmacist) and came out only when she had the shiniest, most luscious looking poison apple. She called the make-up lady to work her magic and disguised herself so that the brainless teenager wouldn’t recognize her. She trekked back to the little house with the tiny yard and the seven wicker chairs on the porch.

She knocked on the door, but no one came. She knocked harder and harder, practically causing her knuckles to bleed, until finally, Summer came to the door. Julie couldn’t imagine how this young pup could be considered more beautiful than her. She had her ebony colored hair tied up in an old rag. Her skin looked pale and unhealthy, her shirt was wet and tattered, and she was wearing a pair of slacks borrowed from one of her male friends that she had rolled up to her knees while she was elbow deep in housework.

“I’m busy! What?” Summer yanked the door open. Then with a fright remembered she had to be careful, and started to slam it shut.

But Julie was quick and stuck her foot in the door. “I live over on the next road and was picking apples from my backyard. I had so many; I thought I would offer it to my nearest neighbors.” Julie innocently peered inside. “I see my seven friends are not here. Perhaps I could interest you with a few delicious apples?”

But Summer, after her two near misses, was wise to her stepmother’s antics. “I know who you really are,” she said. “You can fool me once, maybe twice, but three times, and I deserve what I get.”

She tried harder to push the door close, but Julie held her position.

“It’s just an apple.”

“Then you taste it!”

Julie shrugged. She knew she only had one apple that was poisonous. She would eat a good apple and give Summer the one laced with the poison. She held out the shiny luscious apple to Summer and took one for herself. While Summer watched, Julie bit into the scrumptious red fruit. She took a second bite and a third. Before she could finish the third bite thought, she fell to the floor dead. She had eaten the wrong apple.

Summer sighed with relief, nudged Julie onto the porch, and then closed the door. She would call the hooligan who spared her life and ask him to dispose of her stepmother’s body. Then he could move in with her seven hapless friends and they would all live happily ever after.
Tags: advent, death challenge, fanfic, oc
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