The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Sixth Annual Collection

THE BEWITCHED BURR Grozdana Olujic

When the deviltries of Devilkin finally got to be too much for even his own mother, the High Council decreed that he must be sent away to bedevil folk in the Upper World. They said, “Let him make them miserable until he grows a bit older and quieter—he’s already raised enough hell here in Hell!”

But Devilkin wasn’t willing to forsake the fun he was having with his good old friends. Whatever could there be for him to do on Earth, for heaven’s sake! Men would know what he was as soon as they laid eyes on his horns and his curly little tail. They’d skin him alive and pack him off back home. Let them send someone else to the Upper World. The little one tucked his tail in and hid himself away in the darkest corner of Hell. But who can conceal himself from the Boss Devil?

“Come out of there, or I’ll pull your ears off!” thundered the Head of the Underworld, the oldest and dingiest devil of all. “Look at this brave critter—some hero he is, running away!” the old devil laughed, his belly bouncing.

Devilkin went stiff as stone as the Head Devil patted his cheek and said, “'Lake this burr with you. Anyone you touch with it will instantly grow a tail and horns, for this burr is bewitched. Soon there’ll be so many horned and tailed people that nobody will even notice you. Skip along now!” The Boss Devil placed the bewitched burr on Devilkin’s palm and warned him to watch out: If the burr touched someone who cared for another’s good more than his own, it would turn into a rose. All horns and tails would vanish, and Devilkin would have to run for it as fast as he could, or they’d surely flay him right there. But, not to worry, chortled the Boss Devil, “One’s own skin is nearest and dearest to men and devils alike!” and waved his hand. Before you could even wink, Devilkin popped out on the busiest street in the city.

Right away he threw the burr at the first man passing by, and a huge tail adorned him. Another got a tail, and horns too. Oh, oh, oh! People hooted with laughter. “Hoo ha ha! Look at your horns!” one fellow yelled at his friend. “What great big horns you have! Oh, hee hee hee . . . !”

“You’d better take a look at your own fat tail!” sneered the second, slapping his friend’s face, as he grabbed at his horns. Slap, smack! Biff, bam! And they began to fight, while a bunch of idlers gathered around them. “Hit him! What are you waiting for!” they guffawed, and egged them on.

“The Boss was right!” thought Devilkin. “These Upper Worlders are no better than we are!”

“Bing! Bang! Bing!” Devilkin hurled his burr here and there. Oh my, how the town quaked. Neighbor assaulted neighbor, son struck father, husband beat wife. “Me oh my,” sighed Devilkin with pleasure, “if my folks could only get an eyeful of this!”

No one went to work. Instead, people were setting fire to their neighbors’ homes. Quicker than you could clap your hands, the first house exploded in flames. Then the first street was burning. Fires crackled and roared everywhere. The Mayor was horrified: What was to be done? If this went on, there soon would be no city left!

The Council of Sages convened. Nothing came of that. “Maybe old Tataga could tell us what to do,” someone said, remembering the oldest citizen of them all, who’d outlived six kings and seven wars—or was it six wars and seven kings? “She knows the language of the birds and the grass. ”

The old woman only shook her head. “For this you need another tongue altogether!”

Wilder and wilder, the strange dance whirled on. Devilkin would toss the burr, and people would shove each other at it, giggling with glee. “Watch this!” shouted a horned fellow going by while madly riding a tailed man, as the tailed fellow twisted his tormentor's horns and yelled, “Who do you think you are to snigger at me!” The tailed man punched out the horned man, and got pummeled right back.

“The Boss sure was telling it true,” Devilkin grinned: “Everyone’s own skin is nearest and dearest of all!” People tore at one another: they broke each other’s noses and cracked each other’s heads. Hospitals overflowed with the injured. Yet they went right on fighting.

“This is some sort of plague!” an old woman muttered, as the burr flashed about the city like wildfire. No wonder neighbor gave neighbor a wide berth. Yet the toll of wounded grew ever greater. What could anyone do? Finally, it occurred to some that their troubles were all the fault of that flying burr. But no one was bold enough to try catching it, and certainly they all were much too cowardly to try to scotch it. People ran about helter-skelter, all the while telling themselves, “Maybe it won’t hit me!”

Like a great golden bee, the burr buzzed around town. Whiz! it flew. Zing! it hit. Housewives stopped cooking and washing. Teachers shut their schools up tight—but they sprouted horns anyway. Bakers refused to bake bread. Hunger and filth spread like autumn fog. Who paid any attention to Old Tataga when she warned that dirt would bring disease? Who cared anything for tomorrow? Garbage lay heaped knee-high. But no one would lend a hand to cart it away.

Horns? Tails? Nonsense! Travelers hearing the tale from far off laughed. But as soon as some of them saw the miserable city, they began to avoid it. Tataga was right. Even the wild geese had no chance to fly away south: the town was caught by the plague. Streets and boroughs were dying out. Hatred alone lived there. Horns and tails abominated each other. But they loathed those without tails and horns even more. Their eyes would glint with glee as they caught and pushed new wretches at the burr.

Devilkin jumped for joy. If only his brothers could see this! Whee! Heigh ho! How happy they’d be! Hip, hop, hip! hopped Devilkin, as the town emptied. Here and there an occasional homeless person waded through refuse, hunting for something to eat. “Boy, the Old One sure had it wrong when he told me someone might spoil the magic!” Devilkin thought.

Just then a little girl carrying her baby brother stepped from a dilapidated shack. Devilkin took one look at her and burst out laughing so hard the tears streamed down his cheeks. The little girl was lame, and a hunchback to boot. Devilkin stared at her and thought, “I’ll bet she’s stepped out to find a scrap of food.”

Limping comically, the little girl struggled through the garbage, hugging her baby brother to her. Zing! the burr went whizzing at her. The little girl stood stock still, frozen with fear. “Oh Mamma,” she cried, “now I’ll have horns too!” Instantly the idea came into her head: she could avoid the burr by holding the baby out in front of her! But she was even more appalled by that thought. For the lovely baby was so innocent. “I’m the one who ought to catch the plague!” the little girl sighed, and thrust her little brother behind her. The burr flew right at her chest.

“Can this be?” Devilkin could not believe his eyes when he saw the burr bump into the hunchback girl . . . and turn into a golden rose. “Oh my!”

Before you could have clapped your hands, the hump had dwindled away, the twisted legs grown straight. “What is this? Am I dreaming?” Devilkin rubbed his eyes. Instead of a crippled little hunchback creature, before him stood a lovely girl holding a rose in her hand. She lifted it to her face and then held it out to the first person who came along for him to smell.

Devilkin groaned, “What the devil! Where’s his tail?”

The news of this magic blew through the town faster than the wind. One after another, horned and tailed citizens marched into the tumbledown shack—and stepped out again with neither horns nor a tail.

What more is left to tell you?

When twilight came, there was but one little person with horns and a tail standing in the middle of the town square. Then he vanished into thin air. The rose disappeared too. Except that the perfume of the rose lingered around the girl for a little while longer. Then it too faded away.