Magic Beans

Jack came home shouting, “Beans! Beans!”

Mother looked up from her rocker. “What’s that?”

“Beans, Mother! I traded the cow for magic beans!”

“What’s all this racket?” Father asked, all sweaty and smelly from a long day in the field.

Smile as wide as a carved pumpkin, Jack turned to his father and showed him the cloth pouch in his hand. “An old lady from the market gave me these magic beans in exchange for the cow.”

“A gypsy woman?” Father demanded. His face transformed into a mask of rage.

Mother dropped her sewing needle and wailed, “Dear God, we’re going to starve.”

Father knocked the beans out of Jack’s little hand. “Damn you, boy! I’ll teach you…”



Alone in his room, Jack tried not to move. Every time he did, his entire body ached. He was covered in bruises, and his left eye was swollen shut.

He must have blacked out once or twice. When he came to, Father was still at it, beating him, calling him stupid and a good-for-nothing son.

In the moonlight, Jack stared at the handful of beans he had brought home. Ordinary-looking with their shiny exteriors, they certainly didn’t look magical. Just a bunch of plain, old beans, and nothing more. How could he have been so stupid?

He hurled them out the window and winced as red-hot pain shot up his arm. Tears streamed out of his good eye.

How he hated them. Father, who continued hitting him after Jack had begged him to stop. And Mother, who cried and did nothing even when he called out for help. He wished they were both dead.

He cried himself to sleep.



Jack woke up with a start. He was having a nightmare, but already, the memory of the dream was slipping away.

He got out of bed slowly. His body still hurt, and his chest ached with each breath he took.

That’s when he noticed it. At first, Jack thought it was a snake that had somehow managed to enter the house, and he almost cried out. But then he noticed the small leaves along the slender, green stalk.

Jack stuck his head out the bedroom window and sure enough, a vine had grown on the spot where he had thrown the beans last night. The words of the gypsy woman from the market came to him.

“Take these beans, my sweet boy. They’re magical.”

Jack looked back at the bedroom floor. The vine had crept its way into the house. He followed it outside his room, too caught up in wonder to remember his body’s pain.

The stalk continued into the hallway and disappeared under his parent’s bedroom door. That settles it, Jack thought and smiled. Now Mother and Father will believe that the beans are magical. Jack pushed the door open, quietly, in case his parents were still asleep.

The room was like a jungle. Vines crawled up the walls and hung from the ceiling. Thick leaves pressed against the windowpanes, blocking the sunlight almost completely. And on the bed, roots wrung necks and limbs. Spear-like thorns plunged into bodies that were once warm.

Jack fell to his knees and threw up. In a haze of nausea, he heard the voice of the hag.

“ Take these beans, my sweet boy. They’re magical. They will make your wishes come true.”