Bruce and the Daisy
Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash
Once upon a time, Bruce hiked through the little woods behind his house. He carried a stick perfect for whacking this plant or that one over there. He stopped at familiar bushes to check on their flowers or berries. He paused at familiar trees to see if their pecans and acorns were turning brown with the fall weather. Little red squirrels chatted with him from high in the branches. Cardinals and chick-a-dees called to him as they darted through the underbrush. He even caught sight of the shy tufted titmouse and the even shier red-bellied woodpecker.
Almost every day after school let out, Bruce adventured in the little woods. The badgers no longer hid when he came by. The birds and squirrels didn’t wait in silence for him to pass. Mrs. Hedgehog even introduced her children to Bruce. The foxes learned that sweets lived in his pockets, wrapped tightly so they didn’t stick to his books, which also lived in his pocket.
One day, rain hammered the schoolhouse roof until the bell rang for the end of day. With the sounding of that bell, the rain raised her skirts and raced away. The sun came out. All was warmth and mud and water droplets on leaves and branches. Bruce squelched through the mud to his favorite reading spot only to find it a small lake with a little river, instead of a dell nestled up by an old tree.
“Now where should I go read?”
“Sir Bruce, Sir Bruce,” Mr. Owl hooted.
He landed on a nearby branch, stamped his feet, rocked first to one and then the other before he ruffled his feathers and stood still.
“Mr. Owl,” Bruce said, “how are you today?”
“Wet, sir. Very wet.” Mr. Owl puffed his feathers again.
“Let’s go see if anything has changed with the rain.” Unable to sit and read, Bruce set off for all his normal haunts. Mr. Owl followed after him. Soon Jack the Raven with his black beak and one eye joined them, along with Gus the mouse in his little vest.
After much exploring, oooh-ing and aaaah-ing at the way the rain had formed little puddles and gleaming lakes, Bruce ducked under a branch weighed down with ivy and stepped into a glade. It snuggled between the trees in the center of the little forest. The sun shone with all her might through the naked branches onto the green grass and one perfect daisy.
Bruce glanced around. If he’d ever seen a place faeries might live, this was it. The glade was a perfect circle and one white flower lived in it protected by the strong trees. Surely faeries and pixies danced here at night. Every story in the world said so.
Tightening his grip on his trusty stick, Bruce gave a nod to Mr. Owl, Jack the Raven, and Gus, and stepped into the glade. Everything felt normal. But for all he knew, Bruce had just stepped into a place where time stood still. When he left, everyone he knew would be dead. Or he might have just sprung a trap that would turn him into a frog until some princess found him and kissed him. Gross.
Not feeling like a frog or like time sped past him, Bruce approached the daisy. She nodded her head at him. The yellow in the middle reflected the sun. The white of her petals shone as pure as snow. The flower’s loneliness touched Bruce. Why had she bloomed so late after all her family had already come and gone? Worried the flower might be sad, Bruce plopped down in the wet grass, dug out his book, and started to read aloud.
Bruce came and read to the flower every day as the fall passed. To his surprise, she didn’t wither and fade but continued to sit in the middle of the glade. Winter rushed in on biting winds, and the daisy stayed. Snow fell. The daisy’s white petals gleamed brighter than ever. Gus, Jack the Raven, and Mr. Owl took turns guarding the daisy anytime Bruce couldn’t be there. The daisy no longer looked sad. She waited for her friends every day. Spring arrived and the little woods burst with life. Green flashed on every branch. Mommy and Daddy birds built nests. Little babies started to race here and there around the trees and bushes. Water giggled down rocks and through gullies. Winter coats were shed, and everyone danced the day away, happy to be free of winter’s chill. Bruce continued to visit the daisy expecting more daisies to grow and bloom around her, but none came. Mr. Owl, Gus, and Jack the Raven reported to him: not a single other daisy, only the one. So, Bruce read to the daisy every day.
Spring bowed out to Summer, who covered everyone in a hot blanket until Autumn made him go away, and then Autumn danced with Winter in a tumble of temperatures, until an ice storm offended Autumn, and she went to bed. Winter’s heart really wasn’t in the weather that year, and Spring came early. Faithfully, Bruce visited the daisy and read his stories aloud for her to hear.
The daisy didn’t change.
“I’m sure I’m right,” Bruce said one morning during spring break to Mr. Owl, Jack the Raven, and Gus as they hurried to the glade. “Magic has to be involved. Why else would Daisy grow in this one spot for so long?”
“Sounds like rascally faeries to me,” Jack the Raven agreed.
Bruce pushed through branches covered in vines and stepped into the small clearing. A bent old woman with a crooked nose hunched over his perfect little daisy. Jack the Raven gave a warning KAW!
The old woman plucked the flower.
“No!” Bruce rushed forward, stick raised.
The old woman eyed him with a black eye through her matted hair and raised her hand.
With a woosh and a wamp, Bruce turned into a bear.
The old woman disappeared taking the daisy with her.
+++
Time swirled around Bruce the Bear and his three companions. He lost his boyness as the bearness took over his mind. He loved honey and berries and fish. When winter came, Bruce slept in a small cave as the snow fell, ice froze, and the wind howled. Bruce forgot the white daisy, his books, and his family. He was all bear.
Mr. Owl, Gus, and Jack the Raven shook their heads and worried. How could they get the boy back? They searched high and low for help. Jack the Raven with his one sharp eye saw the faerie first, but he and Gus let Mr. Owl speak to him.
The faerie stood on a holly branch testing out a new holly leaf hat for Christmas in a little hand mirror. Mr. Owl approached him and bowed low, his yellow beak touching his toes. The faerie bowed back and Mr. Owl told his tale. He explained the glade, the daisy, Bruce’s kindness day after day, the ugly old lady, and Bruce’s current state of bearness. The faerie paced up and down the holly branch intent on the story.
“This boy has been a friend to this little wood for a long time, has he not?”
“Yes,” cawed Jack the Raven, “ask any of the birds, squirrels, Mrs. Hedgehog, or even the foxes.”
“Everyone knows Bruce.” Gus took a deep breath. “Everyone listened to him read his stories to the daisy.”
The faerie stopped his pacing and snapped his fingers. “I know this ugly old woman you speak of. She is a witch of the worst sort. You must take the bear that was Bruce to the Old Forest. He must find the witch and kill her. That is the only way to break the spell.”
“The Old Forest is so large. How will we find her?” Mr. Owl ruffled his feathers.
“You will have to find someone to show you. I do not go there.”
With a sad hoot, a forlorn squeak, and a mournful croak, the birds and mouse flew off to the bear. They waited and waited for him to finish his winter nap. Spring finally came. With some nudging and coxing, they led Bruce the Bear from the little wood, through the rolling valleys, and into the Old Forest.
+++
Dark, dangerous, ancient trees towered over Bruce the Bear and his three friends. The trees blocked the light of the sun and left the forest floor shrouded in a green shadow and dusk. Deeper and deeper, the four friends pushed, but how could they find one old lady amongst all the trees? Jack the Raven, Gus, and Mr. Owl argued back and forth about the best way. Bruce the Bear lumbered along, hungry and wishing for honey.
After days and days of poking their noses here and there in the Old Forest, and getting very, very lost, and very, very hungry, Bruce caught the sound of singing and the smell of honey on the wind. He turned and charged through the trees, his tummy rumbling.
They came to a stop by a small creek. A girl with long yellow hair wearing a white dress sat beside the gurgling water. She spun a jar of golden honey into a creamy froth.
Bruce sat back on his haunches and raised a paw, not wanting to startle the girl.
The girl jumped up, clutching her jar. Bruce waved.
The girl laughed. Bruce waved again.
With a knowing glance at her jar, the girl stepped across the stream and set it down in front of Bruce. Bruce stuck his whole nose down into the delicious, sticky honey. The girl dug a heel of bread out of her pocket and shared it with Mr. Owl, Gus, and Jack the Raven.
Having licked the jar clean, Bruce washed his nose in the stream. The girl giggled behind her hand, watching him, then shrieked as he shook his head and showered them with water. Fed and clean, the four forest creatures started off to continue their hunt, but the girl stopped them.
She sang a song of spring and sunshine. Bruce the Bear swayed with the song. The girl curtsied to him, took his paw, and led him in a dance as she sang. Around and around they went by the bubbling creek. Mr. Owl, Gus, and Jack the Raven spun around them, expanding the dance. The girl’s voice rose and rose. Soon the creek’s naiad and a few of the tree’s dryads joined them.
A party ensued as the setting sun turned the creek to glinting, liquid gold. The birds, beasts, feys, and girl danced until it grew dark, and their feet were sore and tired.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” the girl whispered in the bear’s ear, “If you’ll be here?”
Bruce the Bear tossed his shaggy head. The girl kissed his nose and hurried off into the trees.
“She kissed you!” Gus laughed.
Mr. Owl and Jack the Raven laughed with him, but Bruce, with a little less bearness in his eyes, watched the girl go until even her white dress disappeared amongst the trees.
+++
Spring made her way across the land and summer followed. Every day, they waited on the edge of the creek watching for the girl’s white dress and yellow hair to flit through the trees and bring them some new treat. She brought jars of honey, fish, or a pie to the bear and his friends. They ate, sang, and danced until the sun went down.
For a time, Bruce, Mr. Owl, Jack, and Gus forgot their hunt for the old woman. The four rested and waited on the girl.
One day, as summer started to turn a little orange around the edges, the girl didn’t come. Bruce stared into the wood on the other side of the creek, but no girl.
“Go check it out, Jack and Gus,” Mr. Owl said.
Jack the Raven took Gus up on his back, spread his dark wings, and flew off through the trees. He went this way and that way, watching with his sharp eye.
“There!” Gus shouted and pointed.
In the hollow of a large tree perched a red-roofed house. An odd, greenish smoke sifted up from the chimney. Lights gleamed in the window. Jack circled the house a few times before setting down on a windowsill. He cocked his head and peeked inside with his good eye.
An ugly face stared back.
Jack started with a loud KAW! Too late. A gnarled hand darted out and caught him. Jack flapped, pecked, and scratched. The hand tightened.
“I have you now, bird!”
The ugly woman dragged Jack in through the window and tossed him in a small cage.
“I think blackbird pie sounds perfect.”
Gus, who’d been knocked to the ground in the short pitch-battle between the old witch and Jack, shook his head. How could he help Jack? How could he reach Bruce and Mr. Owl? It was too far back for his little feet. What could he do? As Gus struggled between choices, he heard a clear voice singing a sad song.
“The girl?” Gus hurried off around the treehouse chasing the wistful sound.
+++
Mr. Owl paced back and forth on a branch.
“What is taking them so long?”
Bruce growled and huffed. He laid his large head on his paws, facing the way his two friends had gone. The day set, the sun said goodnight, and Mr. Owl and Bruce knew something was wrong.
The moon rose. Bruce’s nose twitched. He lumbered to his feet and growled. The smell of honey sifted by on the wind. Honey? He didn’t want honey right now. He wanted his friends and the girl in white.
Honey.
Honey.
Bruce’s tummy rumbled.
“Now Bruce,” admonished Mr. Owl, “don’t let your stomach be your master.”
Honey . . . and a hint of . . . raven . . . and a hint of . . . mouse . . . and a hint of . . . daisy. Bruce released a thundering roar. The moon trembled. The creek stopped bubbling. Everything in the Old Forest hid, except Mr. Owl, who cheered.
Bruce the Bear charged through the Forest. Not a tree or bush or bramble stood in his way. He followed the scent of his friends on the breath of honey-ed wind. Mr. Owl flew silently after him on out-stretched wings.
“Watch out!” Mr. Owl warned.
Bruce skidded to a stop.
Before them, the Old Forest opened up around an elderly hollow tree. Its dead branches reached naked fingers to the sky. The red-roofed house peered down at them, each window a lighted eye. Bruce kept to the shadows under the trees as he made his way around it.
“Bruce and Mr. Owl?” A small voice squeaked from a stump. “Took you long enough.”
“Gus!” Mr. Owl swooped down to the stump. He patted the head of the mouse. “I’m glad to see you are uninjured.”
Bruce lowered his nose down to his little friend. Gus ran up it, tickling Bruce, and perched on Bruce’s head by his ear.
“It’s the old woman’s house,” Gus said. “She has them both. Jack and the girl. Go round to the back. There’s a hole in the tree. You can see inside.”
Following Gus’ suggestion, Bruce continued around the treehouse. At the back, a tiny blade of golden light stabbed through the armor-like bark. Bruce pressed his small brown eye up to it.
A bright fire burned in a gleaming, open cast-iron fireplace. Herbs, spices, and dried flowers hung from the rafters. Bits of cloth bound up loaves of bread and cheese. Jars lined the far shelf. Everything look comfy, cozy, and normal. Bruce pulled back, blinked, and looked again.
Bleached bones hung with the drying leaves. Insect shells rattled together beside the flowers. Spiders skittered over the bread, and the jars held bits and pieces of this and that, not fruits and veggies. Green, sickly flames threw off little heat, and what they consumed, Bruce didn’t want to know.
He shuddered. Jack and the girl were in this horrible place?
The boy-bear pressed his eye tighter to the hole. Grrrrr. A growl rumbled in his throat. In the corner, between the noxious fireplace and the jars hung Jack the Raven in a cage. The cage was so small, Jack’s feathers poked out here and there, all akimbo. He hunched his shoulders and his beak pressed uncomfortably against the bars.
A rope rasped.
Bruce shifted to the side to see what made the noise. Opposite Jack, the girl sat with a pot of honey, singing softly, and spinning the honey into cream. A thick rope, knotted to her ankle and anchored in the wall, rasped as she moved.
The growl rumbled and rolled deep inside Bruce. This witch had plucked his daisy, caged his friend, bound the girl, and turned him into a bear. The growl turned into another mighty roar.
The tree shook.
An evil, long, cackling laugh sounded behind Bruce.
The three friends spun.
The ugly, bent old lady, with black eyes and matted hair, stood before them.
Gus slipped away and wiggled through the hole.
“You will all be my servants, bent and broken to my will, until I’m hungry for bear or owl. But first, blackbird pie.” She snapped her finger and caged Jack appeared in her hand. The witch grabbed him by the neck to snap it.
Bruce charged.
Mr. Owl swooped.
A sickly green shield flashed between the witch and Bruce. It punched him back. Bruce charged again. The shield sent him spinning. It flung Mr. Owl into a tree. Bruce clambered to his feet. He threw back his head in a drool-laced roar that shook the treehouse to its roots. Inside, jars of honey and other things smashed to the floor. The evil witch smiled and bent Jack’s head back. Jack cawed in a panic. Bruce dug his massive claws into the earth. He hurled himself at the witch.
The bound-girl stood, and the rope fell away. She threw her pot of honey into the fire, dousing the strange flames.
The green shield disappeared.
The ugly old witch gasped and clutched her heart.
Bruce ended her with one swipe of his paw.
With a woosharang and a wampawoza the witch’s spells crumbled to dust.
Bruce turned back into a normal boy.
The cage fell off Jack the Raven.
Mr. Owl and Jack gathered around Bruce, laughing and dancing for joy at the end of their adventure. Out of the treehouse ran the girl in white with Gus in her hands, a bit of rope stuck in his teeth. She threw her arms around Bruce and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I was the daisy!” she said. “Thank you, thank you for saving me! That mean, old witch put a spell on me, but you made me happy even though I was just a little flower. The witch would have none of that, so she brought me here to be her slave. You found me! And saved me.”
Bruce was very happy to have rescued his daisy, even if he wasn’t sure about the hug and the kiss. From the treehouse poured all manner of people until a whole town gathered around them. A man with a beautiful gold watch on a long gold chain stepped forward.
“I’m Mayor Rose, and not only did you protect my daughter, you saved the whole town of Forestwalk with your courage. We’ve all been living under the witch’s spell, but thanks to you, we’re free. We shall carve a statue in your honor, give you the key to the town, and you and your friends can visit any time. This treehouse will be your new home.”
Bruce, Mr. Owl, Jack the Raven, and Gus bowed low. They were quite embarrassed by the hugs and kisses the town now smothered them with, but they were glad they had broken the spell and freed the poor, enslaved townspeople. Treehouses appeared all over the Old Forest. Everyone went happily back to their homes. One day, a statue of a bear, owl, crow, and mouse appeared in the town square. Bruce and his friends visited often and stayed in the old treehouse. One day, when he was much older and had had many more adventures, Bruce married the daisy-girl.
They lived happily ever after.
The End
I wrote this story ages ago as a birthday present for my nephew. He’s taller than I am now and learning to drive. Someday, I hope to share this with his children.
If you enjoyed that little fairy tale, I’d love for you to check out my gritty and cozy debut novel. Click the image above to order, or read it as a serial over on Substack.
Thank you, as always, for the edits!
