SHORT STORIES FOR KIDS Project 14
Angelina Cofré Sáez
The Selfish Giant By Oscar Wilde
Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden. It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. “How happy we are here!” they cried to each other. One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden. “What are you doing here?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away. “My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant; “any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.” So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board. He was a very selfish Giant. The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. “How happy we were there,” they said to each other.
Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. “Spring has forgotten this garden,” they cried, “so we will live here all the year round.” The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. “This is a delightful spot,” he said, “we must ask the Hail on a visit.” So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice. “I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,” said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; “I hope there will be a change in the weather.” But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none. “He is too selfish,” she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees. One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out. What did he see? He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In
every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children’s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. “Climb up! little boy,” said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny. And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done. So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. “It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were going to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen. All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye. “But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the tree.” The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him. “We don’t know,” answered the children; “he has gone away.”
“You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,” said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad. Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. “How I would like to see him!” he used to say. Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.” One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting. Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved. Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, “Who hath dared to wound thee?” For on the palms of the child’s hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet. “Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant; “tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.” “Nay!” answered the child; “but these are the wounds of Love.” “Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.
And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.� And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.
The frogs’ race By Dulce Rodrigues
One day, a group of frogs decided to make a race and get to the top of a high tower. A lot of people came to see them and give them their support, but the race had just begun and everybody was already saying that the frogs would not get there: « It doesn’t make any sense going on! You’ll never reach the top of the tower! » Little by little, the frogs felt disappointed and discouraged, except for one of them that continued to run. And everybody cried out: « Give up! Give up! You’ll never get to the top! » Listening repeatedly to these negative words led the frogs to abandon the race after all, except for the one frog that, despite what people were saying, and though alone and with great pain, continued to run and finally reached the top. Deeply astonished, the other frogs wanted to know how she had managed to do it. They came to her and asked her what her secret was. And it was then that they found out that… she was deaf! Take a healthy life attitude: Never to listen to people who are negative in their intentions. Be deaf to discouraging words and always follow your dreams to the end.
Midnight O’clock By Nathan Oser
Whenever there are monsters in the closet or under the bed or lurking in shadowy corners just out of the nightlight’s reach, I do what any smart kid would. I hide under the covers. Before long I’m sound asleep. But that doesn’t mean I’m safe. What if I suddenly need a glass of water or there’s a storm rapping at my window or I pop awake from a nightmare? And what if it’s midnight when I do? I’ll tell you, you don’t want to be awake when midnight rolls around. That’s when all the really bad stuff happens. Think about it. How many scary stories have you heard happen in the morning or afternoon? It’s always the dead of night. And there’s no deader time than the stroke of midnight. I’m just glad my clock isn’t set to military time. Otherwise it would read 00:00. But even 12:00 has two zeros that might as well be evil red eyes staring at you from the across the room. Of course I’ve never seen either because I do what any smart kid would. I clench my eyes shut and count to 60. Once that minute’s up, I’m in the clear. Midnight-oh-one isn’t nearly as ghastly as midnight o’clock.
It was a little after nine when I finished my glass of milk and went to bed. Warm under the covers, I conked out to the muffled sound of the television down the hall. I travelled through dreams and deep into the night. Then a slithering noise drifted in on the breeze outside my window. A train was heading down the valley, and I knew I was awake when I heard the whistle blow and echo softly through the air. I sat up and looked about my room. My gaze slipped past the clock, and my breath caught. 11:59. I clapped my eyes shut and covered them with my hands just to be safe. Counting off the seconds, I imagined all the scary things that had to be happening now that it was midnight o’clock. The red spots and purple swirls in my vision swam together and twisted into hairy monsters with ten glowing eyes and five huge mouths, each a pincushion of teeth longer than sabertooth tiger fangs. Then black clouds swept in overhead and shot down golden lightning with a zap zap zap! Three knotty, gnarly trees sparked electric. They sizzled and fried and came alive, plucking their roots from the ground and walking, curling their limbs and branches like a million hands and fingers reaching out to grab hold of me. I clenched my eyes tighter. The monsters and trees faded like mist, and a wavy splotch of yelloworange blazed up into a roaring fire. I turned away from the flames and was suddenly stomping through quicksand. I reached for a big rock but it was really a gooey eyeball! I reached for vines but they were really hissing, slithering snakes! After sinking through the bog I landed back on my bed. But it wasn’t my bed! The sheets were a big, pink tongue and the headboard was a big, green goblin face. I squirmed and squiggled to get away but slipped on the slimy tongue. I fell and tumbled down the goblin’s long, cavernous throat and into its stinky belly. Plop It was dark again. Pitch black. I finally opened my eyes and gasped for air. The clock read 12:01. The room was back to normal, the monsters all gone. Schwew! Midnight o’clock was over! As soon as my heart stopped racing, my eyelids grew heavy again and I snuggled into my pillow. And before I fell back to sleep, I thought–just for
an instant–that maybe I wouldn’t have seen all those horrible, scary things if I’d kept my eyes open instead.
Recipe For a Happy Day By Johnny
Gruelle
One morning Marjorie’s Mamma called to her several times before Marjorie answered, for her pretty brown eyes were very sleepy and would hardly stay open. “Come, dear! Please hurry, for I want you to run to the grocery before breakfast!” Mamma called from the foot of the stairs. “Oh dear!” exclaimed Marjorie, “I don’t want to get up!” and keeping her head on the pillow just as long as she could Marjorie crawled out of bed backwards. Her clothes were scattered about the room and her stockings were turned inside out. Her dress would not fasten and she cried, so that Mamma had to come upstairs and dress her. So you see Marjorie’s day began all wrong, for everything started topsyturvy. “Now hurry, dear!” Mamma said as she handed Marjorie the basket. Marjorie slammed the door as she went out and she was so cross she did not notice the beautiful sunshine nor hear the pretty songs which greeted her from the tree tops.
“It’s so far to the old store!” Marjorie grumbled to herself, as she pouted her pretty lips and shuffled her feet along the path. “Hello, Marjorie!” laughed a merry voice. Marjorie saw a queer little elf sitting upon a stone at the side of the road. His little green suit was so near the color of the leaves Marjorie could scarcely distinguish him from the foliage. He wore a funny little pointed cap of a brilliant red, and sticking in it was a long yellow feather. Two long hairs grew from his eyebrows and curled over his cap. He was hardly as large as Marjorie’s doll, Jane. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” Marjorie cried, for she thought him the most comical little creature she had ever seen. “Why, I’m Merry Chuckle from Make-Believe Land!” replied the elf. “And aren’t you very cross this lovely day?” “I did not want to get up!” cried Marjorie, “and I just hate to go to the store! It’s too far!” She dropped her basket on the ground and sat down beside the elf on the large stone. “Isn’t it funny?” laughed Merry Chuckle. “There are hundreds of children just like you who make hard work of getting up when they are called in the morning and who remain cross and ugly all day long!” “I really do not mean to be cross, but I just can’t help it sometimes!” Marjorie said. “Oh, but indeed you can help it, Marjorie!” the elf solemnly said as he shook his tiny finger at her nose. “And I am going to tell you how. First of all, when you awaken in the morning you must say to yourself, ‘Oh what a lovely, happy day this is going to be!’ then raise your arms above your head and take three long, deep breaths. Jump out of bed quickly, always remembering to put your toes on the floor first. “For,” continued Merry Chuckle, “Old Witchy Crosspatch is always waiting for children to get out of bed backwards. And when they do, she catches them by the heels and turns everything topsy-turvy all day long; but when you get out of bed toes first, I’ll be there to start you on a pleasant day
and Witchy Crosspatch will have to return to Make-Believe Land and hide her head!” “Sure enough, I did crawl out of bed backwards this morning!” Marjorie said.
“I know you did, my dear!” Merry Chuckle giggled. “And every time you do old Witchy Crosspatch makes everything seem disagreeable!” “But I hate to run errands, Mister Chuckle!” cried Marjorie. “The old road is so dreadfully long and tiresome!” “But the longer the road the more happiness you can find along the way, my dear!” Merry Chuckle replied, quick as a wink, his little eyes twinkling brightly. “If you look up at the blue sky and the beautiful sunshine and sing with the birds as you run along you’ll find the road seems too short and you’ll be back before you notice it. Just try it and see.” So Marjorie looked up the road with a smile and, sure enough, it did not seem so far to the store, and when she turned around, she was sitting upon the stone alone. The little elf had suddenly disappeared. Marjorie picked up her basket and skipped down the road singing at the top of her voice and
before she had time to think about how far it was she was back home telling Mamma all about the queer little elf from Make-Believe Land. “You haven’t been away long enough to stop and talk with anyone on the road!” laughed Mamma. “Are you sure you have not been dreaming?” Marjorie wondered if it really had only been a dream, but the next morning when the golden sunshine peeped through her bedroom curtains, Marjorie did as Merry Chuckle had told her the day before. First of all she woke up and cried, “Oh what a lovely day this is going to be!” Then she took three long, deep breaths and then she jumped out of bed quickly, right on her toes. And, sure enough, old Witchy Crosspatch had to go back to Make-Believe Land and hide her head, so Marjorie spent a lovely, happy day with Merry Chuckle. “I hope all children will hear of my recipe for a joyous day,” said Merry Chuckle, “so that each day for them can be filled with sunshine and happiness!”
Princess Rose and the Golden Bird By Sergey Nkolov
Many, many years ago, in a kingdom far, far away there lived a beautiful princess. She had long red hair and loved roses so much that everyone called her Princess Rose. Every evening after dusk, Princess Rose went out on the balcony and clapped her hands. A golden bird came flying out of nowhere and alighted on her shoulder. Instantly, the princess’s hair began to shine, ablaze with brilliant red light. When the bird started to warble an enchanting tune, Princess Rose joined it in a song, and everyone in the kingdom fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn. Thus passed the years. Every evening Princess Rose, along with the little golden bird, sang a loving lullaby, so that all people fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn. Until one day something terrible happened. A wicked witch learned about Princess Rose and decided to curse her. “Abracadabra, Sim-Sala-Bim, may the rose’s color dim!” the witch said, and Princess Rose’s hair instantly turned as black as tar. That evening, too, Princess Rose went out on her balcony and clapped her hands. But when the golden bird appeared, her hair glowed black instead of red. The bird warbled its enchanting melody, and Princess Rose sang her lullaby. Everyone in the kingdom fell asleep, but that night they only had bad dreams and nightmares. On the following day, the saddened princess asked the bird, “Tell me, golden bird, how can I make my people’s dreams so sweet again till the break of dawn?”
“Black hair in rose water,” the bird chirped in reply. The princess wondered at this counsel, but abided by it, nevertheless. She filled up a basin with water and sprinkled rose petals on its surface. Then, she dipped her hair into the rose water, and it instantly turned red again. That evening, when the bird perched on her shoulder, the radiant red glow of her hair lit up the night sky once more. The princess sang her lullaby, and everyone in the kingdom fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn. The wicked witch was so very angry that her curse had been broken that she decided to cast it again. “Abracadabra, Sim-Sala-Bim, may the rose’s color dim!”And the princess’s hair turned as black as tar again. Only this time the witch also picked up all of the rose blooms in the entire kingdom. “Let’s see how you’ll break my curse now!” she sneered, filled with rage. Once again, the saddened princess asked the bird, “Tell me, golden bird, how can I make my people’s dreams so sweet again till the break of dawn?” “Black hair in rose water,” the bird chirped in reply. “But where should I find a rose?” “Black hair in rose water,” the bird chirped and flew away. The princess didn’t know what to do. So great was her anguish that her eyes filled with tears, one of them falling to the ground below. At that very moment, a young and handsome prince, who had stopped under the balcony of the princess, took out a little box and a single red hair from within it. He bent down and placed the hair atop the princess’s tear. And then, a miracle happened. Suddenly, the red hair turned into a red rose.
The prince picked the rose and took it up to the princess. Upon seeing the rose, she immediately brushed off her tears and plucked its petals to add to the water in the basin. Then, she dipped in her hair, and the curse was broken. Everyone gasped in astonishment, and the King asked the prince, “Young man, where did you find that red hair?” “When the princess and I were both children, I picked a single strand of hair from her head as a sign of my loyalty to her. And she did the same to me, pulling out a strand of my own hair.” “It’s true, father,” the princess confirmed and took out a little box. She opened it to reveal a single hair from the prince’s head inside. Everyone was delighted with this news. The prince and Princess Rose got married on that very same day. Upon learning that her curse had been broken again, the wicked witch’s evilness swelled so much that she exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. Eventually, rose blooms sprang up in every garden in the kingdom once again. And so it went: each evening Princess Rose sang her loving lullaby, so that all people fell asleep and had sweet dreams till the break of dawn.