Bayou Curse - A Twelve Dancing Princesses Story

Even though I've been a part of Fairy Tale Central for a few months now, I've yet to participate in Arielle's fairy tale themed writing prompts. Since this month is all about the Twelve Dancing Princesses, I decided that I had to do something.

For some reason, 1920s New Orleans was stuck in my mind when I tried to think up a unique setting. The big steamboats floating along on the water, with lights shimmering everywhere... it just seemed like a perfect spot to stick a 12DP story. I don't know all that much about that particular part of history, so forgive me if the following scene is terribly inaccurate. 

And this is just a scene -- not a full story. You should know by now that I have terrible trouble keeping stories short, and so there'd be no way I could get a whole fairytale down in about 1,000 words. 

This month's prompt... (response image not included because I'm lazy...) 

Bayou Curse

            “Just one night. Can’t we sleep for just one night and forget all this?”

            I shook my head. Whining Bart was at it again. I ignored him, focusing instead on the lights at the end of the dock, throwing shimmering sparkles over the water. Any time now. Besides, I knew there were enough hotheads in our group to silence Bart’s complaints soon enough.

            And just as I suspected, Philip threw a response at him. “Sounds great. Except for the part where we’d all wake up as ghosts.”

            “Pshaw,” practical Simon said quickly. “You know the old man wouldn’t murder us.”

            “Of course not,” Philip replied. “At least, not until he gets what he wants. And then we’d be ghosts.”

            The bickering was something I was used to hearing. But what else could one expect from twelve odd-aged boys, thrown together since their infancy, and all stuck on the biggest, flashiest boat in New Orleans?

            Matthew sniffed. “I have no intention of becoming a ghost.”

            Judas spoke up, the youngest of us, but never one to relish having his opinion glossed over by the others. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

            Philip snorted. “And how would you know? You haven’t seen the haunted streets and harbors of this town enough to believe in one.”

            It was odd, the fact that we’d all been named after the twelve apostles from the Holy Scriptures. It was the only sign of anything religious our master had let slip into his endeavors. I’d never considered myself anything like Peter, especially after I’d heard a preacher on the Diamond Queen – the only preacher ever allowed on our master’s steamboat – say he had a temper and made quick decisions. As the oldest, I was more of a peacemaker and field captain. Typically, the other boys listened to me. I had the strongest fist – they had to listen to me. Everything would fall apart otherwise.

            James and John, the next in line after me, were twins – and very hard to tell apart. I suspected they switched spots every few nights just for fun, but so far no one had been able to call them out for doing so.

            Andrew loved food, especially when the chefs on the Diamond Queen served up a regular Creole banquet. He always got sick eating shrimp, but he ate it anyways.

            Philip, number five, argued every chance he got. He knew the best ways to get under everybody’s skin.

            Bartholomew was the largest in our group, and heard about the size of his stomach often. He complained enough that I didn’t mind letting the other boys rankle him about it.

Matthew, the seventh, didn’t talk much, but he liked to think everything he said was important. Thomas was overly bookish and tried to do everything Matthew did.

Since the name James had already been taken by a twin, boy number nine had gotten stuck with the disciple’s father’s name: Alphaeus. He was the girls’ favorite, skinned darkened from the sun and the best dancer among us.

Thaddaeus hated his name, the water, gumbo, and anything else that threatened to make him smile. Simon didn’t follow in his footsteps and chose to be optimistic and practical – which ultimately proved as annoying as Thaddaeus’s temper to the rest of us.

Judas was the last of us, the final number twelve. His curly hair and twinkling eyes should have catapulted him into the wiles and thrills of feminine favor, but his limp made him an awkward dancer. Unless a girl took pity on him, he was always the last picked.

I could hear James – or maybe John – trying to shush the argument behind me. If it’s one less fight I have to stop, the better. My eyes were too focused on the lump of land and road beyond the edge of the dock. Not one of us had ever stepped a foot past the wooden dock onto land, and if our master had his way, none of us ever would. Our whole lives were wrapped up completely in the Diamond Queen.

The sound of giggles fell on my ears over the sound of my brothers fighting, and I flung out my hand with a hoarse shout. “They’re coming!”

Immediately, a hush and a gentlemanly reverence fell over the boys. Ghosts or not, they knew what was expected of them.

The first feminine form to reach the light of the dock was one I knew well. Mildred Larue always wore a black and gold ensemble, alternating the two colors on her shoes as they wore out each night. She was typically my partner, as she always seemed to be the leader for the other girls.  

Behind her, the girl in pink caught the tiny heel of her dancing slipper between the boards of the dock. I tried not to snicker as she wildly careened, whacking two other girls with her arms as she tried to pull herself free. Doris had never been known for her gracefulness.

Mabel’s laugh preceded her, and I prayed she wouldn’t beat Mildred to the end of the dock. Typically, the girls didn’t care who they ended up with – even though a few of them fought over Alphaeus – but getting stuck with Mabel as a companion all evening was nothing short of a horror for me.

Helen, Mary, Jean, Lucille… the other girls’ names floated by me. Some of them I could pin to faces, but most of them I had to rely on my brothers’ talk of who was who.

Mildred tripped lightly to the end of the dock and smiled up at me. “Ready, Peter?”

I forced a smile. “Enchanted as always to have you at my side, ma cherie.”

The jazz music was already trickling its way down the dock from the Diamond Queen. The spice of New Orleans was thick on the breeze, and I knew Andrew was already thinking about the chefs’ work gracing the banquet tables.

Mildred squeezed my arm as she took it. “Isn’t this fun? I can’t believe how generous Mr. Jerome has been to allow us to come here every night.” She giggled. “The best part is, my father has no clue!”

Of course, she would say that. She had no idea who our master really was, what his plans were. To her and the other girls, it was all part of a game; dancing the night away on the upper deck of the Diamond Queen amid electric lights and soft jazz was the stuff of fairytales.

Only my brothers and I knew it was only part of our curse.

~*~

Let me know what you think below! Where would you set a 12DP story?

God bless!