A Fractured Fairy Tale

By Wynn Montgomery

Hello out there, you puny humans. I am here to set the record straight about a story that perhaps all—and certainly most—of you have heard. It is one of the most famous folk tales of all time, and most of what you’ve been told is just plain wrong.

First off, I want you to know my name—because I do have a name even though the folks who have passed this story along never mention it. They tell you the name of that boy, who was no more than a common thief. They even name the vine he used to rip me off. But they never mention me by name; I’m just “The Giant.” Well, just like you, I have a name, and I’m proud of it. I am Hugh—Hugh Mungus—and don’t you dare forget it!

Now that that’s out of the way. I need to set the facts straight. You need to know that I don’t hate humans (Englishmen or any other kind) and I certainly don’t eat them. In fact, I am allergic to humans. If one comes near me, I have a sneezing fit, and if a human touches me, I break out in a terrible rash. That’s why I moved as far away from humans as possible and settled in The Community in the Clouds with other big creatures like me. I never expected to see another human, and I didn’t see one for years.

Then one day, as I was leaving my house for a long weekend at the annual poker tournament, which I never miss, I noticed a bit of greenery in my front yard that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but I found out later that’s how that little rascal got up to my house. I had a wonderful time at the tournament, which we call the “Big Deal” because you must be at least 12 feet tall to enter.

I was a big winner at the Big Deal. I came home and tossed a large sack of gold on the kitchen table. Of course, I was really happy, but I also knew that something was wrong. My nose began to tingle and my eyes began to water! I was sure there was a human nearby, and I shouted:

E-I-OH-UMM… I’m gonna sneeze!
Any human here must leave—please.

Nothing happened. The house was totally still—until I sneezed—sneezed so hard that I blew the door off the kitchen cupboard and out hopped this scrawny boy, who snatched my bag of gold and ran like a jack-rabbit straight to that new vine, slid down it, and disappeared. I was too tired to chase him, but I did cut that vine and hoped he couldn’t come back.

The next day, I got up early and met the other members of my band to practice for a gig. As you might imagine, giants like me have trouble finding a musical instrument that’s big enough for our large hands, but we managed. There were several upright basses, a huge timpani, and a grand piano, but most of us played the instrument that gave the band its name—Hot Tuba!

When I returned home, I leaned my tuba in a corner and dropped into my favorite chair. I needed a nap, but once again I felt a sneeze coming on. Once again, I shouted:

E-I-OH-UMM… I’m gonna sneeze!
Any human here must leave–please.

Once again, nothing moved until I sneezed. This sneeze blew the curtains off the dining room windows, and I could see that scrawny little fellow who had been hiding there. He sped past me, snatched my tuba, and slid down that darn beanstalk, which must have grown back. I cut it again, and this time I bent the top so it would grow down toward where it came from.

I thought that trick had worked because that puny thief didn’t come back the next day. Then one fine afternoon, I was sitting in den in my easy chair playing with Big Ben, my pet bullfrog. He got that name not just because he’s the biggest durn bullfrog you ever saw, but also because his deep bass voice sounds a lot like the bell in that famous London clock tower. Ben’s special in another way, too. If you chuck him under his double chin in just the right spot, he spits out gold coins.

So, I was sitting there, chucking Ben under the chin, collecting gold coins, and dropping them into a big sack when my nose started to tingle. That boy was back, but I didn’t bother asking him to leave. You see, I had been planning for this moment. I glanced around the room and saw a pair of greedy, beady eyes peeking through the slats in the pantry door.

I carefully put Big Ben back in his carrying case, closed it tight, and took it and the sack of gold into the back room. I locked the gold in my safe and put Ben in his play-pond. Then I put my pet bulldog, Goliath, in the carrying case and went back to the den. I was delighted to see that my wife had returned from the baking contest and had left a plateful of her award-winning Troll House cookies and a Big Gulp from the Heaven-Eleven on the table beside my easy chair.

I wolfed down those goodies, looked at the carrying case, and said: “OK, Ben, rest up. After I take a short nap, we’ll make more money. Then I pretended to doze off, stifling the sneeze that was building up inside me. Fortunately, it didn’t take the boy long to do what I knew he’d do. He raced out of the pantry, grabbed that case, and headed for his famous beanstalk. I gave him time to get down, because I didn’t want to hurt him. Then I grabbed that vine and yanked it as hard as I could. I tore it right out of the ground and pulled it up to me. Nobody was ever gonna climb up that vine and rob me again.

As for that boy, I never saw him again…but I do wish I could have seen his face when he opened that stolen case. I know you’ve heard that he stole a hen that laid golden eggs, but he was just ashamed to admit that he tried to steal a money-making bullFROG, named Ben, but instead got a boy-biting bullDOG with jaws like a crocodile and a disposition to match, who was meaner than usual because he hated being cooped up in that case.

The story also says that I was killed when he chopped down the beanstalk. That just isn’t so. As you can see, I am still here, living the good life—playing cards in the Big Deal, playing the tuba in my band, chucking Big Ben under the chin, pigging out on Troll House cookies, and wondering if Goliath is still chasing old man Jack.