Death and Taxes

Even in fairy tales death and taxes go together.  This is the story of the people who go to work after the ‘happily ever after.’     The witch was dead.  For most people this was cause for celebration, for me, it just meant more work. I bet you never even thought about what happens after the ‘happily ever after.’  Hint, it involves paperwork, lots of paperwork.  Do you have any idea how long a dragon’s hoard can be stuck in probate court?  I bet you’ve never even thought about the fact that wicked stepmothers often file civil suits for defamation of character.  Well, it’s all true and it makes tons of work for us little guys.  Don’t even get me started on the whole Snow White v. The Prince paternity case after their first child was born with dwarfism.  Yeesh!  I digress. Where was I?

The witch was dead, and along with having a taste for children’s flesh, she had also neglected to make a will.

The trouble started on a Monday like any other.  I was typing away at my type writer, I’m very proficient, three hundred words a minute with eighty-nine percent accuracy, when my boss appeared, looming over my desk.  “O’Malley?  What’s going on with Witch Atherton’s place?”

I blinked up at him while his halitosis washed over me.  “Witch Atherton,” I scanned my files.  “Oh the one who was killed by the two human children, Hansel and something?  I have posted the required notices so there is nothing to do until after the three month waiting period for next of kin to come forward is over.”

“Three months?” He bellowed.  My boss was a complete troll, literally and figuratively.

“Yes, if no kin is found after the three months then the court can declare the property over to the region and we can liquidate the estate.”

“I want it taken care of now.”  He declared this while pounding the corner of my cubicle causing my fairy swimsuit calendar to fall down.

“The relatives have to have time to come forward.”  I said, stooping to pick up the calendar.

“Have you ever known one of these evil witch types to have relatives?”

I paused thinking.  “Wasn’t there a big debacle in Oz, about shoes of all things?”

My boss snorted.  “Everyone knows Oz is a backwater.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  Oz was probably the furthest thing from a backwater.

“That house is made of candy.  It’s attracting vermin.  There are rumors The Three Blind Mice Gang was seen in the area.  It also backs up to Rumpelstiltskin’s straw fields.  Do I need to remind you how much tax revenue comes from his businesses?  He also donates to my campaign.”

“Oh…” I gulped.

“He practically pays your salary and mine. It’s an election year, I want this done Saturday.”

“But that’s not even enough time to have a wizard come from Merlin’s Consortium to make sure there’s nothing dangerous in the house.”

“An election year.” He snarled.  “Now get it done.”

“Y-yes sir.”

What else could I do?  Especially after the Blind Mice Gang had broken into Old Mother Hubbard’s Convenience Store!  So a public auction was held immediately.

Things were actually going pretty well.  We’d sold some fondant candle holders to Jack B’Nimble and a large lot of jewelry to Peter P. Eater for his wife’.

I was merrily logging in the sales when the auctioneer called out. “Now we have this set of very nice baking supplies.  Please feel free to come and peruse the merchandise.”

Goldie Locks picked up a measuring cup and began to examine it.  “I think I could make my porridge just right with this.”  She was looking at the inside when she let out a horrid scream.  The cup fell from her hand and clattered to the ground spinning, and then it toppled over a rock and landed upside down.

The old woman who lived in the shoe, whose name I forget, was standing next to Goldie and said, “For Grimm’s sake girl, what’s the matter?”  Goldie didn’t answer as she had dove under the table.  The old woman walked over to the measuring cup and nudged it with the toe of her shoe, knocking it back over.  “It’s just a…”  Her words died out as tiny creatures swarmed from the cup.  She tried to knock them off of herself but there were too many.  They crawled over her until she was a brown, undulating woman shaped mass.  Her screams were choked out and then the swarm of brown creatures collapsed, leaving nothing of the old woman but a few scraps of clothing.

The whole episode only lasted a minute or so.  I stood unmoving staring at the brown creatures still licking up every last bit of the old woman.  What were they?  Then the critters scattered towards the rest of the auction goers.  Poor Goldie and the auctioneer didn’t stand a chance.

I began running with the rest of the crowd.  I felt a bite on my neck and swatted it away.  The stupid little thing bit and held onto my hand.  I glanced down and saw it was a little gingerbread man.  Holy Hans Christian Anderson, we had released a swarm of zombie gingerbread men.  I shook it off and then heard a cackle.  “Auction off my daughter’s belongings out from under me, will you?  Die!”  I dove to the ground as the witch on a broom dive bombed the fleeing crowd.  I got up shaking free from more evil gingerbread men. “This is what happens when you breach protocol,” I thought as I ran.

Later, the Royal Card Guards of Wonderland were sent out, along with some knights from Camelot, to slay the witch and dispatch her hordes.   That fateful day became known as, The Great Auction Massacre.  Needless to say, my boss did not get re-elected.  I lost a pinky finger and my job.  I have my resume up on SpelledIn.  So, if you know anyone who needs a bookkeeper, let me know.  I’m a leprechaun down on my luck.