Fred

For a while, things were wonderful. They were all delighted with their freedom and they did all the things that they had never been able to do while under the control of the Storytellers. They confessed to one another all the secrets they had held close to themselves for so long, afraid that these feelings might be tainted by the Storytellers' use of them in their stories if ever they were to find out about them. And in the midst of all this untrammeled emotion and expression, they all began to follow their own whims and fancies, without the slightest hindrance, something which was quite unfamiliar to them all.

For a time, all that was wonderful. But then, it began to seem boring. After all, they all liked stories. And the sign, saying "Stories told here at 7:00" still stood, as if the whole world was waiting for them to begin telling stories again. And so they unanimously decided to do so.

But, to tell stories, they needed a Storyteller. And when Fred raised that question, there was silence for a long moment as they all considered who among them could possibly tell stories for them.

"Well, I think that the answer should be quite obvious," Jenkin said finally, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Albert nodded, agreeing with Jenkin for once, "there's really only one person who could do this."

They were all staring at him, and Fred knew who they must be talking about. "No, no, I couldn't," he stuttered, "I'm sure someone else could do it better than I could. Bethany, you'd be good at it! Or Wally, you were always creative. Or Talitha…" But they all shook their heads. Finally he turned, desperately, to Nell, "Nell, wouldn't you…"

She only smiled at him. "Flavius, you know that this is your place, and I wouldn't take that away from you. Remember, your story freed us from the Storytellers."

After all that, Fred couldn't do anything but tell a story as they wanted him to. And so he, though he was terrified that he would do something wrong, walked to the three chairs that had remained empty for all the time of the Storytellers' absence. And he sat down in the chair where Great Aunt Repetitus had once (it could have been long ago; time had no meaning in their world) sat.

He didn't hear a voice, no longer booming, but now quiet and scared, coming from Kevin's Keyboard, whispering, "Beware."

The power corrupted him, as he should have known it would. His intentions were always good, of course, and at first he tried to make sure that his stories made all the Players happy. He would give Talitha a part as the romantic lead, or make Samuel and Ashley best friends. And all his stories would have the most lovely happy endings. But it was all too easy to fall into the habit of the awful things that the Storytellers had done. When Jenkin was rude and haughty, or Camelia was irritatingly inquisitive it was all too easy to make sure that something bad happened to them. Not awful, mind you, he didn't send anyone to be tortured, but the lines of what was moral and what was immoral were all too blurred.

Nell hated it. Though the others still saw him as one of them and laughed when he humiliated Jenkin, she saw clearly what was happening to him. "Stop telling stories, Fred, please…" she begged him in between the stories, holding him protectively as if to protect him from the cruelty in his own nature, "You're becoming like them, Fred, don't you see?"

"I'm not," he told her, "Don't you trust me?" But such words never reassured her, and she continued to ask him to stop, not realizing how much danger she was putting herself into.

It all fell apart during a rendition of "The Seven Swans," when Nell stopped in the middle of her line and asked him to tell the story slightly differently.

If it hadn't been for Nell's constant arguments earlier, Fred would probably have remembered her smile when she had kissed him that first time and would have done nothing. But he was still too irritated at her, and the idea of punishing her for even suggesting that he was anything like those horrid Storytellers was quite attractive.

And so he didn't give her even so much as a look, though he heard her frantically trying to get his attention, and looked out at the audience that might, in another world, have existed, and said, "Tragically, the Queen did not finish sewing the shirts for her brothers, and the King burned her at the stake for witchcraft."

For a moment they all looked at him in amazement, and then they found themselves compelled to drag Nell to the stake that was never supposed to be used in the proper ending of the story, and set her on fire.

And, as Nell screamed, the other Story Players looked at Fred, in his shirt which was the same color as Repetitus' shawl had always been, in the very place where she had always stood, and they understood what they had gotten themselves into. But, by then, it was much too late to do anything about it.

If Repetitus had been still existent in their world, she would have laughed at the irony.