L. Frank Baum & Ryan C. Thomas Read online

  L. Frank Baum & Ryan C. Thomas

  THE UNDEAD WORLD OF OZ

  1 - The Cyclone

  2 - The Council with the Munchkins

  3 - How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow

  4 - The Road Through the Undead Forest

  5 - The Rescue of the Tin Woodman

  6 - The Cowardly Lion

  7 - The Journey to the Great Oz

  8 - The Deadly Poppy Field

  9 - The Queen of the Field Mice

  10 - The Guardian of the Gates

  11 - The Emerald City of Oz

  12 - The Search for the Wicked Witch

  13 - The Rendezvous

  14 - The Battle of the Winged Monkeys

  15 - The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible

  16 - The Magic Art of the Great Humbug

  17 - How the Balloon Was Launched

  18 - Away to the South

  19 - Attacked by the Fighting Trees

  20 - The Dainty China Country

  21 - The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts

  22 - The Country of the Quadlings

  23 - Glinda the Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish

  24 - The Battle for Oz

  25 - Home Again

  1 - The Cyclone

  Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar-except a small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole.

  When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else.

  On some days Dorothy felt she was living in a graveyard rather than a farm. Where the charred land no longer grew, patches of deep gray dirt stretched to the horizon like a slab of cement. What could grow on such land, she wondered. There were no living roots under the soil, just worms and other insects looking for their own food.

  When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled now, and her eyes had gone as sallow as the setting sun. Every morning, after fixing a meager breakfast, she would shuffle about the house, moaning, hoping the land would become fallow once more. Dorothy avoided her on these days, for her aunt looked like something near death, and the sound of her hungry, smacking lips, desperate for food, made Dorothy's spine tingle.

  When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter that she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she could find anything to laugh at.

  Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke. Deep blue veins cut across his forehead like tiny rivers; tiny rivers that Dorothy wished would cut through the gray land around her home. Maybe then there would be crops. Maybe then she wouldn't have to stare at her aunt and uncle's thin frames and hungry bellies.

  It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray and depressing as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.

  Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes.

  From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw ripples in the grass coming from that direction also.

  Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up.

  There's a cyclone coming, Em,” he called to his wife. “I'll go look after the stock.” Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and horses were kept, all of them as thin and gray as the land they grazed off of.

  Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of the danger close at hand.

  "Quick, Dorothy!” she screamed. “Run for the cellar!"

  Toto jumped out of Dorothy's arms and hid under the bed, and the girl started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the trap door in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small, dark hole. It was down there that Aunt Em slaughtered the pigs, when they were big enough to eat. Even now Dorothy saw the blood stains on the walls in that basement, and dreaded entering it. She saw a cleaver hanging near the trap door and wondered what would happen if it flew off its hook and caught her in the throat.

  "Dorothy, hurry!” Aunt Em shouted.

  Dorothy caught Toto at last and started to follow her aunt. When she was halfway across the room there came a great shriek from the wind, and the house shook so hard that she lost her footing and sat down suddenly upon the floor.

  Then a strange thing happened.

  The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through the air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon.

  The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very top of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and miles away as easily as you could carry a feather.

  It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but Dorothy found she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls around, and one other time when the house tipped badly, she felt as if she were being rocked gently, like a baby in a cradle.

  Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there, barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to see what would happen.

  Through the trap door she could see things spinning in the cyclone beneath her. A bicycle, a small cow, a wheelbarrow and even a person. The person was nothing but a skeleton now, wrapped in torn clothing, long since dead. Dorothy knew that early settlers buried their loved ones in the ground all around Kansas. Uncle Henry had told her this. The cyclone must have wrenched this one from a low grave.

  The body flew closer to the trap door, the arms waving as if alive. Its teeth clicked together as the wind gusted through its jaws. I
ts gray skull smacked the underside of the house and then was gone.

  "How terrifying,” Dorothy said, and hugged Toto for safety.

  The house continued to twirl and the wind continued to howl. Eventually Dorothy set Toto down and lay on her belly, watching the storm through the trap door.

  Once Toto got too near the open trap door, and fell in; and at first the little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw one of his ears sticking up through the hole, for the strong pressure of the air was keeping him up so that he could not fall. She crept to the hole, caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into the room again, afterward closing the trap door so that no more accidents could happen. Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright; but she felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly all about her that she nearly became deaf. At first she had wondered if she would be dashed to pieces when the house fell again; but as the hours passed and nothing terrible happened, she stopped worrying and resolved to wait calmly and see what the future would bring. At last she crawled over the swaying floor to her bed, and lay down upon it; and Toto followed and lay down beside her.

  In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.

  2 - The Council with the Munchkins

  She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the little room. She sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran and opened the door.

  The little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her, her eyes growing bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she saw.

  The cyclone had set the house down very gently-for a cyclone-in the midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely patches of greensward all about, with stately trees bearing rich and luscious fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees and bushes. A little way off was a small brook, rushing and sparkling along between green banks, and murmuring in a voice very grateful to a little girl who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies.

  While she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful sights, she noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest people she had ever seen. They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been used to; but neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown child for her age, although they were, so far as looks go, many years older.

  Three were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They wore round hats that rose to a small point a foot above their heads, with little bells around the brims that tinkled sweetly as they moved. The hats of the men were blue; the little woman's hat was white, and she wore a white gown that hung in pleats from her shoulders. Over it were sprinkled little stars that glistened in the sun like diamonds. The men were dressed in blue, of the same shade as their hats, and wore well-polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the tops. The men, Dorothy thought, were about as old as Uncle Henry, for two of them had beards. But the little woman was doubtless much older. Her face was covered with wrinkles, her hair was nearly white, and she walked rather stiffly.

  When these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing in the doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if afraid to come farther. But the little old woman walked up to Dorothy, made a low bow and said, in a sweet voice:

  "You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the East, and for setting our people free from the horrible plague she has beset upon us."

  Dorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the little woman possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying she had killed the Wicked Witch of the East? Dorothy was an innocent, harmless little girl, who had been carried by a cyclone many miles from home; and she had never killed anything in all her life.

  But the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so Dorothy said, with hesitation, “You are very kind, but there must be some mistake. I have not killed anything."

  "Your house did, anyway,” replied the little old woman with a laugh, “and that is the same thing. See!” she continued, pointing to the corner of the house. “There are her two feet, still sticking out from under a block of wood."

  Dorothy looked, and gave a little cry of fright. There, indeed, just under the corner of the great beam the house rested on, two feet were sticking out, shod in silver shoes with pointed toes.

  "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried Dorothy, clasping her hands together in dismay. “The house must have fallen on her. Whatever shall we do?"

  "There is nothing to be done,” said the little woman calmly.

  "But who was she?” asked Dorothy.

  "She was the Wicked Witch of the East, as I said,” answered the little woman. “She has held all the Munchkins in bondage for many years, making them slave for her night and day. And just the other day, to show that no Munchkin could ever escape her even in death, she set a plague upon us."

  "What sort of plague,” Dorothy asked.

  "The Wicked Witch of the East has raised all of the dead Munchkins from the land. Now they attack their former friends and families. It is most horrible!"

  "From the dead? But why do they attack?"

  "For our brains,” said one of the little men in blue. “They want to eat our brains."

  "The Wicked Witch has given them an insatiable hunger,” confirmed the next little blue man.

  "How gross,” Dorothy replied. “But then, I'm not sure who you mean by Munchkins."

  "They are the people who live in this land of the East where the Wicked Witch ruled."

  "Are you a Munchkin?” asked Dorothy.

  "No, but I am their friend, although I live in the land of the North. When they saw the Witch of the East was dead the Munchkins sent a swift messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North."

  "Oh, gracious!” cried Dorothy. “Are you a real witch?"

  "Yes, indeed,” answered the little woman. “But I am a good witch, and the people love me. I am not as powerful as the Wicked Witch was who ruled here, or I should have set the people free myself."

  "But I thought all witches were wicked,” said the girl, who was half frightened at facing a real witch.

  "Oh, no, that is a great mistake. There were only four witches in all the Land of Oz, and two of them, those who live in the North and the South, are good witches. I know this is true, for I am one of them myself, and cannot be mistaken. Those who dwelt in the East and the West were, indeed, wicked witches; but now that you have killed one of them, there is but one Wicked Witch in all the Land of Oz-the one who lives in the West."

  "We should not stay outside long,” said one of the other small men. “The undead are close by. They will eat our brains if they see us."

  "Too late,” said his fellow wee man in blue. “Here they come!"

  Dorothy watched as several Munchkins, each as gray as her aunt and uncle, shambled forward from the river bank. They held their arms out as they moved and whined with high-pitched voices that made her think of the way Toto whined when he was hungry.

  "Braaiins,” they moaned. “Small braaaiiins."

  "Let me handle this,” said the Good Witch. She raised her wand and let a bolt of light shoot forth from the tip. The light hit the shambling dead Munchkins and blew their heads clean off. Dorothy stifled a squeak as brains and gristle streamed through the air like birthday party favors.

  "But there are more,” cried the Munchkins next to Dorothy.

  And they were right. When Dorothy turned to look behind her, a collection of shuffling gray Munchkins crested the tin
y hill between the small homes, trampling the beautiful flowers as they came. From their tiny Munchkin mouths dripped ribbons of red. Toto barked and started to run toward them, but Dorothy grabbed him. “No, Toto, you stay with me,” she said. “He's always trying to protect me."

  "This way, my dear” the Witch said, offering her hand. Dorothy grabbed it and together they floated on a cushion of air to one of the tiny dome-shaped houses that lined the narrow streets. They entered and Dorothy noticed how tiny all the furniture was. It was almost like a big doll house. The Witch of the North raised her wand and created an invisible shield around the house. Only when Dorothy touched it could she a tiny sparkling that told her where it was. The Witch touched it as well, as if admiring her own handiwork, and then she leaned against it, looking a bit tired. “This shield is powerful, but it drains me for some time. Alas, we will be safe here for now."

  From inside the house, Dorothy watched as many more Munchkin men appeared from the surrounding homes, each holding a small rifle.

  Tiny as the guns were, the blue Munchkins managed to hold off the advancing wave of gray, rotted Munchkin corpses. Many bullets hit home in the delicate skulls of the miniature undead, and there was much blood on the ground now. Dorothy was sad when she saw one of the Munchkins who had greeted her get taken by surprise from behind by a rather fat undead Munchkin. The beefy walking corpse sank its rotted yellow teeth into the nice man's neck and tore loose a cut of meat that would make Aunt Em salivate.

  "Do not let me turn into-” the little man shouted, but his voice was cut off as one of his friends shot him in the head. Everything about them is so small, Dorothy thought. Their guns, their hands, even their body parts, which were strewn about the sidewalks in little puddles of Munchkin stew.

  The battle was over very quickly, as tiny Munchkin bullets tore the tiny heads off of the undead. When it was over, the blue Munchkins were very sad, and dragged the dead bodies of their friends down to the river and began to bury them.