The Frog Prince

The Frog Prince

The pub was a shambles. The door was damp with rot and mildew and the sign, reading The Broken Wand, was splitting in half. Inside was no better. The drinkers’ heads were shrouded in thick acrid smoke from cigars or pipes or whatever else the gathering of fairytale ruffians might have been puffing on. The place smelt of beer and sweat. It was a miserable place for miserable people, and I was about to join them. Again.

“A pint of the strongest stuff you’ve got,” I muttered at the barman, throwing down a silver coin. A grimy glass was slid along the tabletop, a suspicious looking beverage slopping over the rim. I drank it down in one, trying to avoid tasting it.

“Back so soon, your Majesty?” the barman growled as politely as he could (he was an ogre after all).

“Yeah,” I slurred. I was pretty drunk already, having emptied the entire palace wine cellar down my throat over the past few days. I was not having a good week. Alcoholics Anonymous would be ashamed.

“This is my only friend you know,” I said to the barman, cradling the re-filled pint glass in my hand, “My only friend in all the world.”

Suddenly I heard a cackle from somewhere by my waist. A tiny old woman dressed in shabby grey clothes was grinning at me.

“Girl problems?” she asked. She clambered up onto the stool beside me, and sat down huffing and puffing from the effort.

“Princess Problems, actually,” I corrected.

She laughed again and then broke out into a hacking cough.

“Dear me,” she wheezed, “Not as young as I used to be.”

I drank down the rest of the pint and signalled to the barman for another.

“Why don’t you tell old Granny Bess what the trouble is, eh?” she said.
I had no excuse not to. A lonely little old woman would probably enjoy hearing my problems. All lonely little grannies do. They can smell misery from a mile off.

“Alright,” I said.

“Ha! See I knew there was a problem. Old Granny Bess can smell misery from a mile off.”

I looked at her. I was already in a fix; nothing worse could happen if I told her about it, even if she did seem to be a bit of a mind reader.

“I’m a prince,” I said, “Prince Charming.”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled, “Quite the ladies’ man, so I hear.”

“Not really,” I said miserably, “The thing is, I’m supposed to be getting married in three days. But my princess-” I broke off, embarrassed.

“What is it, dear? Is there another man?”

“Not exactly,” I said, and I could feel my face blushing red.

“Well what then?”

“It’s frogs. My princess is in love with frogs.”

I could tell the old granny wanted to laugh. A princess chooses frogs over Prince Charming. It made a good laugh, but a fool of me.

“You know what happened in Austria the other month?” I said, “Where the princess kissed a frog and he turned into a prince? Well, my princess has got it into her head that she wants to marry a frog prince. A genuine, magical frog prince. She won’t settle for anything less.”

“Oh dear,” Granny Bess said, the laugh still caught right behind her teeth, desperate to come out.

“We’ve been betrothed since we were six years old!” I told her, “She never had a problem with it before! Now suddenly, some slimy green creature turns into a member of the royal family and I’m only second best! “

Granny Bess sighed sympathetically. It probably wasn’t genuine sympathy, but it sounded real enough to make me feel a bit better.

“All she’s been doing for weeks is sitting by the Lilly Pond and kissing every amphibian that hops into sight, be it frog, toad or newt. Newts!” I finished my pint in a desperate glug and rocked my head in my hands.

“Oh dear,” Granny Bess said again.

“It’s a disaster! In three days I’m supposed to be making her my wife. I’ll be the laughing stock of the kingdom.” I put my head in my arms and groaned.

“Come lad, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” Then she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Anyway,” she whispered in my ear, “I think I can help.”

I scowled at her. “How?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, eh?” she grinned, “I’m a witch.”

It should have surprised me. Really, it should have. Witchcraft wasn’t just unfashionable in those days, but it was illegal in most parts of the kingdom. But there was something about the way her skin was almost a shade of green, the way even her lips were wrinkled and her teeth were all missing that wasn’t quite natural. If she’d only been wearing a pointy hat she would have been the typical stereotype of an old hag.

“So you think you can help me?” I asked, only slightly uncertainly.

She cackled and suddenly I was amazed that I hadn’t known she was a witch all along, with a laugh like that.

“Just you follow old Bess,” she said, sliding off the bench, “And you’ll have your princess back in no time.”


Her cottage was perched on the edge of a wood. The trees in her garden had started to develop mysterious characteristics: one with blue bark, one with pink leaves, one that didn’t grow apples anymore but instead swollen yellow fruits that were filled with purple seeds. The pond at the front was an endless chasm filled with oozing black water. As I went by it, something in it moved and there was a screeching sound before a ripple past over the surface. Then it was completely still again, like a pane of black glass. I shuddered.

We went into the house; the room we entered was like a studio for witchcraft. The whole place was spotlessly clean; its scrubbed wooden floors were immaculate, the sink gleamed and the table was polished to a shine. I’m sure even the walls would’ve sparkled if you could have seen them. Instead they were entirely filled with shelves, crammed full of books, jars, bottles and magical instruments. So much wall space was dedicated to these shelves that there was only one window to make room for more. When Bess walked in. some of the witchcraft aids started making noises: one metal contraption started clanking like it had a nervous twitch, a jar of pink liquid started boiling, and a mirror started flashing images of a screaming faces.

There were only three pieces of furniture in the room: a table, chair and a huge iron cauldron. I walked to the table. A magazine called Women and Witchcraft lay on top. I flicked through it. There were various unnerving sounding articles about how to spot the best quality meat in children. A book called Transmogrification Made Virtually Painless and Other Spell Hints and Tips lay beside it. I had definitely entered the witch’s lair.

I shuddered at the pictures on the front of the magazine. If anyone had even an inkling that I, Prince Charming, had been fraternising with a witch, I would have been in so much trouble. Possibly worse.

“No need to worry about being seen here, duck,” Bess said reassuringly, stopping the metal thing from making a din, “No one will know you’ve been here. And I’ll certainly not tell anyone.” She took a leather bound volume down from one of the shelves. “It’s such an old trick, the frog prince spell,” she said, “I don’t know why it’s only just come to attention. Mind you,” she added, “That’s mainly because of the Fairies.”

“How?” I asked, trying to keep as far away as I could from anything that might be magical, which meant I was standing rigid in the middle of the room like an awkward looking lemon.

“Well,” Bess said, looking up pages in the book and then fetching dangerous looking potions and powders from her shelves, “The Frog Prince spell is a combination of two spells. A Frog Spell, to turn people into frogs, and a Kiss to Reverse Spell, where the effects of the first spell are reversed with a true love’s kiss. We witches never found the use in combining the two. But Fairies… Now, they like to teach lessons. So the two spells compliment each other very well in that way.”

“And, I ,er ,don’t suppose,” I said, eyeing Transmogrification Made Virtually Painless rather warily, “These spells, don’t er… hurt do they?”

Bess cackled and I felt my knees began to tremble.

“You may feel a slight discomfort, I’m afraid.”

My knees nearly gave way beneath me. A slight discomfort. In doctor speak that always meant that it would hurt like crazy and that you would be in agony for about the rest of your life. So I was terrified at what it meant in witches’ speak.

Bess grabbed several glass bottles, one definitely containing something that had once been human. I felt my stomach churn and tie itself into knots. A yellow powder went in that made the cauldron shake and rumble.

“You need to give me one of your hairs,” Bess said to me.

“Really?”

She came over and yanked one from my head. That went in the pot too, and the cauldron belched a pungent yellow-green smoke. My mouth by that time was completely dry, my nerves torn to shreds.

“I don’t suppose you have a gin?” I asked her, “Or anything stronger?”

“Over on the shelf,” she said, and began adding more syrups and oils to the mixture. I looked behind me.

“Which one?” I muttered. However, the bottle of rum was undoubtedly the largest vessel in the room, not including the cauldron. I took it and popped the cork with shaking hands. I had barely swallowed one burning mouthful down when she came to me with a small bottle of poisonous yellow liquid.

“There,” she grinned, showing all her rotting black teeth, “Just you drink that right down when you’re at the Lilly Pond and when your princess kisses you, you’ll become a prince again. I’ve also put some valium in there, to help with your nerves.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my nerves!” I snapped, snatching the bottle from her withered old hand.

“Yes, and it’s a shame there’s nothing to help with your drinking,” she growled. I ignored the comment.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked her, pocketing the potion and getting out my money bag.

“Two hundred gold pieces,” she said, outstretching her hand.

“Two hundred!” I exclaimed, “That’s ridiculous! I could buy eight doses of that from the Fairies for half that price!”

“The fairies are certainly not going to help you, and I’d like to meet anyone else with a flesh tree!” Bess pointed out, snatching the money bag from my hand.

“Yeah, well thanks,” I muttered, “I’m going to be a bankrupt, alcoholic prince whose princess would rather marry a frog.”

Bess cackled and showed me the door.

“Remember,” she said, “It only lasts for twelve hours. After that time, you’ll be stuck as a frog forever.”

Turning into a frog was the weirdest experience of my whole entire life. Not to mention the most painful. But before I bought the potion anywhere near my mouth, I got really, really drunk back at the Broken Wand. I told myself it was to build up my courage. Then I rode back to the Lilly Pond and paced around anxiously, sipping at a bottle of whiskey. When the morning came, and dawn’s eerie yellow light reflected on the pond, I opened the potion. It smelt foul, like rotting meat, and had the texture of watered down mashed potatoes. I didn’t want to know what the lumps were. Finishing the bottle of alcohol, I downed the entire potion in one.

It felt as if my skin was growing too small for my bones. I couldn’t breathe. Then it was as if all my bones were snapping at once, and shrinking and melting into new ones. Then there was what felt like an earthquake inside me and when I look around I was about three inches high and hidden behind a clump of pond reeds. I was a frog.

It wasn’t long before the princess came to the edge of the pond. From my height, she was a blur of golden skin and golden hair and a blue dress, with a pond reed going right up the middle of her face (I had a bad view from behind the plants). I hopped around a bit, trying to press through the foliage. Then, to my surprise, I hopped straight into another frog. I tried to say, “Oops, sorry mate,” but all that came out was a disturbing kind of croak.

There was a whoosh and a shadow as the princess turned to the sound. It surprised me how slowly she seemed to move. From an animal’s point of view, humans are the slowest, clumsiest looking things in the world. She batted her eyelids at us a couple of times. Come on! I though, this is it! Kiss me, princess, kiss me!

Then, her hands swooped down and she scooped up the other frog! I gaped at her for a moment, as she brought the frog up to her face and kissed it on the head.

To my complete horror, something happened. In a slow motion whirl of fairy dust, the frog swirled in mid air. His limbs began to grow, and his slimy green body dried into human skin. He grew in every direction, until gradually the fairy dust stopped. Before me stood a handsome prince. A handsome frog prince.

The princess let out what must’ve been a shriek of delight. To me it sounded like a resounding boom of doom. My froggy legs gave way under me. I couldn’t even manage a croak. The frog prince swept her up into his arms and gave her romantic kiss. They were the picture of bliss. I had never felt so gutted in all my life.

That is Sod’s Law. Really. What are the ruddy chances of bumping right into another frog prince? I actually couldn’t believe it. I still really can’t.

Unsurprisingly, no-one else kissed me that day. When the sun fell and the moon rose that evening, I had to accept the truth. I was now a frog.

I’ve been a frog for a while now. It’s not too bad, I suppose. After a couple of days of feeling very sorry for myself, I decided to pull myself together. I stopped moping by the Lilly Pond and started to head towards the Broken Wand. I’m here now, sitting in a mug of beer, getting very drunk. The land lord is going to change the name of the pub to the Drunken Frog. He’s adopted me as the pub mascot. I get drinks on the house.

I suppose it’s alright, being a frog prince, but you never know…Maybe that old witch will come back, and give me another potion to turn me into a prince again…Or maybe a fairy will come and wave her wand and I’ll be back to normal… Maybe my princess will decide she prefers frogs to frog-prices and come and find me…

Maybe I need another drink….