~~ Oz ~~

 

Amidst the deep and dark woods of Munchkinland, the silhouettes of two figures glowed eerily in the moonlight.

 

Between the gnarly branches of the forest trees one could make out two dark figures; one with a distinctly pointed hat, and the other with two neat braids. A steady cry of agony and frustration rang out as the girl struggled in her binds. Circles of rope constricted her wrists and ankles, and a handkerchief covered her jaw.

 

“Quiet, girl. No amount of moronic shrieking can snap you out of your confinement.” The evil cackle of the wicked Witch thundered through the woods. “You’re trapped, darling.”

 

Dorothy was defiant and refused to back down. She opened her mouth to shriek at the villain, but the gag muffled her scream.

 

“Quit flailing about. Your happy ending won’t come for you, Dorothy. No one’s here to rescue you; not any of your pitiful friends, not the good Witch Glinda, not even the great Wizard.”

 

More stifled cries of anger erupted from the victim.

 

“Admit your destiny, fool! If you hadn’t killed the Witch of the East…”

 

A lone crow cawed through the night sky, and Dorothy shuddered.

 

“... you wouldn’t have to suffer the same fate.”

 

~~~

 

“The body of the famous Dorothy Gale has been discovered in an obsolete crop of forestry in Munchkinland.” The Chief Ozian had gathered his people to deliver his daily announcements. “She was found unconscious and effectively dead.”

 

Gasps and caterwauls of outrage surrounded the Chief, and he hurried to calm the infuriated mob. When the waters were calm at last, he continued with his roll of news.

 

“Of course, this case will be further investigated at once by the most skilled and wise workers in the Land of Oz.  Dorothy’s death will not go by us unnoticed; she will be properly avenged, just in good time.”

 

The manner in which the Chief concluded the matter with two emotionless sentences angered a particular worker. With a metallic complexion and steely flesh, the man was composed by tin cans, held together by magic.

 

The tin man was a quiet man; meek and reserved, he usually kept to himself throughout the day. He was rare-spoken, and when he occasionally raised a hesitant idea, he was subtly brushed off by his peers.

 

Although introverted and an outcast, the tin man knew both the wicked Witch and Dorothy quite well. The former had cursed him to a life of metal, while the latter had befriended him.
He owed Dorothy for the heart he possessed now. Without the girl, he would no longer experience sensations from joy to depression; from contempt to compassion.

 

The tin man secretly mourned her death, but he knew he mustn’t spend time in idle sorrow. He would find a way to locate the Witch and force her to get a sniff of her own potion.

 

~~~

 

The dilapidated bark of the aging trees were stained crimson, as if splattered by scarlet rain. The nearby ferns and reeds were mercilessly trampled, but no pawprints can be seen on the parched ground.

 

“Unruly bears,” A scratchy voice emerged from the surrounding trees. “I can see how the word ‘bearbearian’ was derived - they’re are such rough and dirty creatures.”

 

With threadbare rags and a broad summer hat, the man had stalks of hay poking unpredictably out of his ears and garments. The scarecrow placed an unsteady glove on the wine-red bark and shook his head.

 

“Look at these berry stains! It seems as if they eat by tackling their food into trees.” The scarecrow continued his meaningless ramble for a while, then noticed a peculiar object half-hidden in a nearby bush.

 

He approached with small and slow steps, then scooped up the unfamiliar object with a tentative swipe. “A piece of fabric…?”

 

The straw man held it up to the sun and examined it in great detail. “It seems to be a fashion accessory! Something that adorns one’s wrist!” He exclaimed in pure delight, then smoothly knotted the green cloth onto his wrist.

 

The square handkerchief was grass-green in color and as soft and smooth as silk. The edges were bedazzled with lovely swirling frills. But when the scarecrow turned his wrist, he noticed a patch of scarlet stains sprinkled across the middle, and quickly concluded it as part of the design. “It adds a splash of color to this!” he said in approval.

 

Suddenly, a mighty roar shook the forest. The scarecrow cupped his hands around his delicate ears and shuddered as a majestic lion bounded magnificently into the clearing. The straw man glared coldly at the intruder, who was still madly howling in outrage.

 

“Quiet, lion! I’m right here, you big doofus,” He scolded, and the lion immediately closed his mouth obediently. “You really shouldn’t be so bothersome to the other forest inhabitants.”

 

The lion whimpered guiltily and did not talk back to his friend, his tail drooping in sadness. “I-I was just practicing my war-cry; I didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

 

He began sobbing in regret, and the scarecrow sighed in exasperation. The hay man smacked his forehead with his glove and cursed himself for going too far. It was so easy to upset his sensitive friend; the “mighty” lion would crumble beneath his fearless façade under the smallest provocation.

 

“There, there… don’t cry, will ya? Your warcry is just as impressive as any other lion,” The scarecrow comforted. He patted the lion’s golden mane and urged him to stand. “Just because you’re lacking in bravery doesn’t make you worthless. Nobody's perfect.

 

With two hands, he forcefully pulled the sorrowful lion up to his feet.

 

“I don’t even have a brain!”

 

The lion wiped one last tear from his cheek. “And I don’t have any courage. If we weren’t such dunderheads, maybe Dorothy would still be alive.”

 

The two friends had overheard the tragic news from a group of Ozians patrolling the forest. Dorothy Gale, their dear friend, had been mysteriously murdered.

 

The scarecrow opened his mouth, perhaps to further comfort his friend, but he was interrupted by an agonizing creak. Turning around, the two saw a majestic oak teetering on the edge of its severed stump. The tree remained still in a precarious position, then collapsed on its side, bringing several other neighboring trees with it.

 

One by one, the forest trees tumbled on top of each other in a horrifying domino track, threatening to demolish the two friends beneath them.

 

~~~

Two figures approached the catastrophic scene with silent footsteps. After observing the havoc brought onto the crop of forestry, the duo exchanged skeptical glances. The forest was obviously thrown into a pitiful state of disrepair, but they wondered if they had achieved their true intention; it’s an effortless task to cause devastation onto a few trees, but their mission was far beyond a small feat.

 

“The autumn foliage looks absolutely lovely, don’t you agree?” the witch merrily sing-songed. With a flick of her wrist and a whimsical swoop of her wand, she swept the auburn leaves away with the chilly autumn zephyr. Without their garments, the trees laid bare and naked; exposed and vulnerable to the two companions’ gazes.

 

Her partner merely grunted in response, much to her disapproval, and pointed to a general region among the copse of fallen trees.

 

The witch quizzically followed his line of sight to a particularly distinct branch. Hooked awkwardly onto the tip was a peculiar sleeve stuffed with hay. The very end was decorated with a bizarre square of cloth that resembled a handkerchief more than a bracelet. The two strolled curiously to the object of fascination and examined the hay arm.

 

“The straw man, it seems. One of Dorothy’s acquaintances?” With a tentative hand the witch cautiously removed the piece of cloth from the wrist. She held the handkerchief for her accomplice to scrutinize, then pocketed it for future reference.

 

“Then it appears that the mission was a success.”
Without another word, the witch slithered away from the cataclysmic scene, her gown glittering enchantingly in the sunlight. Her companion followed soon after.

 

~~~

 

The Chief was a patient man known for his unique method of gradually baiting out criminals within a long period of time. Although not foolproof, his special technique has presented the Ozian prison with quite a number of new members. He planned on utilizing the same process to trap the wicked witch.

 

However, he wasn’t too certain of his time-based approach to crimes. The Chief was an elderly man and lacked in strength and endurance. He had begun to depend on his wisdom and cleverness to outwit offenders, but such a daring strategy may fail on the cunning witch.

 

As if to rub salt on his wound, a steady stream of comments had pulsed in about how to take on the situation. From letters illustrating battle tactics to blueprints of intricate traps, the Chief was flooded with suggestions that he couldn’t even process.

 

His audience required comfort and soothing. They were still scarred from Dorothy’s death, and the Chief understood that only the river of time can repair the wound of a tragedy.

 

“Welcome, my dear workers. Today we have gathered to further discuss the popular case of Dorothy Gale,” the Chief addressed his underlings. With his booming voice and intimidating stature, he was a fearsome leader that many admired and respected. But regarding Dorothy’s conflict with the witch… he didn’t feel as confident as he appeared to be.

 

Anonymous workers yowled furiously within the crowd. “We must kill the witch!”

 

“Boil her in her own cauldron!”

 

“Burn her with her own potions!”

 

“Whack her in the face with her own broom!”

 

The Chief cleared his throat, a hearty crackle of thunder that swiftly silenced the room, then resumed. “Before we take immediately actions, we must identify all aspects of the murder. Why did the Witch kill her? How did she kill her? When did she kill her?”

 

Anger once again burst from the group of workers, but the Chief wasn’t about to be interrupted.

 

“Only then we can form a proper plan to attack the wicked witch - and hopefully - kill her for Dorothy.”

 

~~~

 

The wounded scarecrow limped along on the dirt path, his shoulder supported by his loyal friend. The terrified duo scuttered sluggishly from the wrecked remains of the forest with the scarecrow occasionally groaning in agony.

 

The injured straw man halted and collapsed onto the ground, his body trembling in agony. His left arm hugged the empty joint from where his right arm used to be. Instead of a sleeve, tufts of dry hay protruded from his shoulder blade. The lion nudged him forward, his claws soft and sheathed to prevent further damage to his friend.

 

“C’mon, you can do it, scarecrow. Yo...You wouldn’t die, would you…? We’re almost at the Munchkinland capital,” he gently encouraged. His golden eyebrows furrowed in concern as he tried to pinpoint his friend’s pain.

 

When the forest had fallen, the two friends had tried to flee to safety. The lion, with his vast knowledge of the meandering forest paths, swiftly evacuated the danger zone. On the other hand, the absentminded scarecrow had lollygagged meaninglessly around a bramble bush before taking note of the disaster around him. When an oak plunged towards him, his newfound bracelet snagged on a twig, thwarting his chance to escape.

 

The hayman didn’t budge from his awkward position on the road. “I don’t want to… don’t need to… it’s comfortable here. Like a warm bed… of goose feathers… and fluffy cotton candy...”

 

“You’re not thinking straight…. it’s just because of the shock from the pain. You can’t give up!” the lion confidently told him. The furry beast heaved the scarecrow onto his feet with a grunt and dragged him along the road. The scarecrow’s knees scraped mercilessly against the dirt until the lion had to let go.

 

The scarecrow’s eyes fluttered wildly as he bobbed between the border of consciousness. “Leave me be. It would be wonderful to die on the Golden Brick Road…”

 

With a sigh, the cat bent down to look at his fallen friend and shook his head. “Are you really happy this way? Vul...Vultures could eat you when you’re weak…! You can’t die! It’s not even the golden brick road!”

 

He waited for a moment but realized his friend wasn’t intending on responding; the injured scarecrow had closed his eyes as if slipping into a deep slumber, and only the rising and falling of his chest showed any sign of life. The lion heaved himself up and reluctantly backed away, his steps sluggish and forced.

 

“B...Be safe, my friend… the tin man is working for the investigation nearby… I’ll go find him and we would be able to carry you together!” The golden cat turned and stumbled away but didn’t even reach the next turn before a familiar figure blocked his path.

 

The tin man stared at him for a while, not recognizing his old friend, before the lion embraced him. “Oh, thank the Wizard! You’re here! You saved the day, tin man!” the lion cried in joy. The sunlight flashed magnificently on the tin man’s metallic complexion, and he beamed in delight.

 

“I heard you two when I was scouting the forest, so I hurried on over. What happened to scarecrow?” inquired the tin man. With a smooth scoop, he effortlessly lifted the scarecrow and propped the decapitated man on his shoulders. “You okay?”

 

“Mary had a little lamb…. little lamb…” mumbled the half-conscious scarecrow.

 

“He’s badly hurt. We need to get him something for his torn arm,” said the golden lion urgently. “I’ll tell you the whole story on the way.”

 

The tin man shook his cylindrical head and pivoted his wrist, angling his axe towards the lion and the horizon line behind him. “We’re not going back to Munchkinland. He can endure the pain for a little while. The wicked witch dwells in the east, and I was planning on a visit.”

 

~~~

 

The trio’s little adventure didn’t go unnoticed with the wicked witch; very little did.

 

With her eyes trained on her crystal ball, she rubbed her hands together and cackled gleefully. Her wicked laughter echoed eerily as it bounced off the stone walls of her castle. At the sound of her undisguised delight, her winged minions gathered around her.

 

“The heartless tin man, the cowardly lion, and the empty-brained scarecrow,” the wicked witch introduced the three friends to her pets. With each name, she pressed her gnarly, wrinkled fingers to her crystal ball. “It seems like they decided to drop by to have a nice chat with me.”

 

The witch tapped her chin thoughtfully as she scanned the group for the missing member; the three were near and dear friends of Dorothy. Without the oversaturated girl they seemed incomplete, fragmented, a ragtag crew of misfits. Where was the little girl?

 

Her furry minions excitedly nudged the crystal ball with their grimy primate paws. In their primitive way of communication they hissed to each other in anticipation for the witch’s next scheme. Three friends had just volunteered as the witch’s next lab monkeys and they couldn’t wait to see her experiment.

 

Impatiently shooing her monkeys away, the witch occupied herself with necessary preparations. Snatching bubbling vials of goo and miscellaneous jars of animal organs, she began a new motley of ingredients in her cauldron. Whatever the reason for the trio’s visit, she was going to take full advantage of the opportunity to test out some of her newest brews and mixes.

 

~~~

 

“We’re going to see the wizard; the wonderful wizard of Oz…” the dizzy scarecrow hummed on the lion’s back, his voice off-tune and weirdly-pitched. The lion and tin man cast irritated glances at each other, then shook their heads; although the scarecrow’s singing wasn’t exactly angelic, at least he was still alive, and barely, too.

 

The tin man took in his surroundings. Around the trio, the forest appeared eerily sinister compared the Munchkinland trees. The tangled branches weaved through each other seamlessly, blocking out any sunlight from above. What is supposedly the forest canopy seemed to be a dark blanket of leafless branches that gave off a feeling of claustrophobia.

 

Overwhelmed by the intimidating environment, the three hurriedly scurried towards the general eastern direction. None of them were sure of the location of the witch’s home; even the group’s leader and guide, the tin man, steered the group according to his intuition.

 

“Ar...Are we there yet? The scarecrow is getting tired, and it’s almost d-dark....” the lion nervously inquired, shivering at the thought of nighttime. The tin man wasn’t concerned about the beast’s apparent nyctophobia; his mission was to reach the witch’s castle as quick as possible.

 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, we’re be fine as long as we stick together. There’s strength in numbers.” No bothering to check whether his reassurance was in any way reassuring, the tin man quickened his pace.

 

The group abruptly halted, and the lion almost let go of his grasp on the scarecrow. In front of the trio was a fork in the a path, and neither the lion or the tin man had a clue of which route to embark on.

 

The tin man stepped up to the wooden post in between the two paths. Two crudely carved arrows pointed to each direction; neither of them contained any information about what each road led to. A large square board of wood sat on top of the two arrows, and a blurry message was written on the surface.

 

The black smears of ink on the board caught his attention, and he leaned in to decipher the text on the paper. “Wikked Which of the West ahed. Proseed at yor own risk.” Whoever had composed the sign wasn’t particular literate, but the tin man could make out the first two sentences. The rest was erased away into a unsightly pool of ink; perhaps smudged by the rain or wild animals.

 

Curious, the lion appeared by his side and repeated the message on the board. “A-Are you s-sure you want to do this, tin man?” The golden cat shivered and hunched his back in fear. “I-It says to proceed at our own risks…!”

 

The scarecrow on top of him cheerfully chirped another crooked tune, “Ding-dong, the witch is dead; the wicked witch is dead…” He merrily croaked a few verses, then fell into silence again in exhaustion.

 

The tin man pondered for a moment, contemplating his options. Each path was identical to the naked eye; there stood no difference between the left and right route except for perhaps a pebble or stick in the dirt. There also isn’t any way to traverse in between the two roads; a copse of trees stood menacingly between the forked paths, blocking any trail in between.

 

The metal-faced man pointed his axe at a path, and the trio resumed their journey in silence, with the scarecrow occasionally bursting into song.

 

~~~

 

The silhouettes of a flock of birds descended from the night sky into the dark forest. With a graceful swoop they dove below the horizon line, then reappeared with their prey in their talons. A cry of outrage rang across the sky as their prey wailed pitifully for help, but their efforts were futile; with cheerful squawks of triumph the flock glided away into the night, firmly clutching their prey with their claws.

 

The witch giggled as she watched the hunt end. The last of the flock had disappeared into the stars, and she waved farewell as if they were close friends. Her companion snorted, but the witch didn’t let such a small gesture, however rude, suppress her mood.

 

“The winged monkeys have certainly gotten more proficient with kidnapping, haven’t they?” She smiled at the sky, and the twinkling stars seemed to repeat the gesture back. “They used to be so easily distracted; as much as a squirrel could divert them from their duty.”

 

She chuckled, recalling the infuriated cries of their victims. “They’ve done their job surprising well today; captured all three of them, in fact, and even found the little gift we’ve left for them. The wicked witch would be delighted.”

 

The crescent moon shone brilliantly, its magnificence washing over the two companions like a cool blanket of snow. With the silver moonlight glimmering enchantingly over the dark forest, it seemed like a night brimming with magic.

 

“Well, come on now. We’ve done what we’ve had to do, and now it’s time to leave the scene.” The witch beckoned for her companion to follow, and the two backed away with the moonlight glittering at their trails.

 

 

~~~

 

The witch extended a wrinkled hand towards the ladle in her cauldron. With a magician’s flourish and pride, she violently stirred the boiling concoction. The tin man, scarecrow, and lion all observed silently behind heavy bars, unable to disturb her bizarre ritual.

 

Muttering a string of undecipherable enchantments and adding bottles of colorful powder, the witch coaxed her wild brew to mature. The potion bubbled angrily and swayed from side to side, threatening to break free of its confinements. Gradually, an eerie cloud of smoke began to rise from the cauldron.

 

Tendrils of black fume meandered toward the imprisoned trio, and the three flinched in fear. The potion, now tumbling in turmoil, was changing colors; originally a semi-pleasant shade of pale baby blue, it had transitioned to a deeper, more saturated cobalt. Although not repulsive to the point of regurgitation, it wasn’t exactly appetizing.

 

Cackling, the witch withdrew an empty glass vial from her threadbare cloak and brandished a metal ladle from the shadows. With a swoop, she spooned a generous portion of her finished creation into the glass container. The trio’s gazes were fixed on the bubbling liquid, marveling and shuddering at the same time about what potential powers it might possess.

 

When the witch turned to insert the last ingredients before the potion cooled, the three friends huddled to discuss an escape plan… well, at least one of them were. The lion was still petrified, an understandable aftershock from being ambushed and dragged around by rabid winged monkeys, and the scarecrow still wasn’t past his obsession with nursery songs.

 

That left the burden of finding a way out on the tin man, and although his metal shoulders could withstand astounding weights, he was a bit more than stressed at his circumstances. The trio was stranded in the wicked witch’s castle. With any luck, the Chief Ozian should notice his absence, put two and two together, and deploy a rescue squad to save them…

 

 

The tin man fearfully glanced at the witch’s back and the vial of bubbling goo she clutched. He gulped nervously and shivered.
… but he wasn’t sure their lives would last long enough to find out.

 

 

~~~

 

The witch was notorious for her magical concoctions. Side-effects from consuming her wretched brews could range from a light nuisance such as excessive gas to torturous conditions. A story spoke of a girl who crossed paths with the witch and returned home red-skinned and bald; the witch had presented her with cursed shampoo that made her hair spontaneously combust.

 

The little brat had received her gift with reason. If she hadn’t tried to smuggle a winged monkey home as her pet, the witch would have opted to leave her alone. Conjuring a new potion takes pricey ingredients and precious time, and if the witch had any other way to frighten the girl, she would have tried.

 

Burning her hair was the last resort, and she shouldn’t be blamed for her perfectly justifiable actions.

 

Recalling her past deeds, the witch stopped in her potion-preparation to ponder about her new prisoners. Dorothy had already killed her sister; there was no doubt that their next target was her. But their leader was missing and there had been no signs of her reappearance… what were they planning?

 

Anticipating a surprise, the wicked witch deployed a squad of monkeys to patrol the outskirts. Their orders had been simple: if any suspicious party was to be spotted among proximity of the castle, they were to be captured or deceived into entering the part of woods where flesh-seeking bears slept.

 

Still perturbed by the possibility of an ambush, the witch added the finishing touch to her potion and brought her creation before her prisoners. The trio cowered and shuddered in her presence and she sneered maliciously. Without the pesky girl, the group of friends were little more than the three little pigs without their brick house; helpless and almost adorably afraid.

 

The witch slowly brought the potion before them in an arc, letting the repulsive fumes seep into their pores and bloodstreams. Created from the innards of sea-dwelling monsters, consuming this wicked brew will pressurize the blood of the unfortunate victim, creating painful and sadly permanent bubbles in their blood vessels.

 

“What a happy bunch you three are; strolling merrily through the woods to my castle as if you didn’t know what you would get yourself into,” the wicked witch paused in her speech to shake her head in mock pity. “But alas, potions don’t function properly on winged monkeys, I’m afraid. They have already developed too many immunities… You three, however…”

 

The tin man gently nudged his companions, giving his cue to start the escape plan. The lion discreetly shoved the scarecrow from behind, and he toppled over dramatically. His left arm swung outside the prison bars and smacked into the witch’s hand. Her potion fell from her grasp and shattered on the castle floor. The foul liquid sizzled and steamed as it seeped into the cracks and disappeared.

 

“You wretched brat!” shrieked the wicked witch as she leapt back to avoid stepping on her spilled potion. “Precious time and hard work all gone with one swoop of your hand!”

 

The tin man and scarecrow pressed their faces to the bars to examine the mess while also effectively blocking the witch’s line of sight. In the back of the cell, concealed by his two friends, the lion furiously pawed at a loose stone. Once it gave to the lion’s strength, he began to carve out a tunnel while the others distracted the witch.

 

“Ooh… You’d have to make another potion now, don’t ya?” the tin man mocked, and the scarecrow giggled beside him. “Without a potion or your winged monkeys, you can’t do anything to us.”

 

The two wagged their tongues at the wicked witch, and she became more infuriated by the second. Shoving a gnarly finger in their faces, she exclaimed, “Don’t be so happy so soon, boys. I’ll be back with another sample in a snap!”

 

The wicked witch stormed back to her cauldron to prepare another dose of her potion. The tin man and the scarecrow peeked around the corner and made sure she was gone before rushing back to check on the lion’s progress.

 

Just as expected, the lion had already finished carving out the majority of their escape route. In the dark corner of the cell, behind the loose stone, was a tunnel about four feet wide and three feet tall. The trio could make out light at the end of the short tunnel, and the exhilaration of successfully fleeing from the wicked witch made them giddy.

 

Behind them, the witch gathered her ingredients for the new potion and sprinkled them into the cauldron. Seeing her creation come to life made her chuckle, and her wicked cackles echoed off of the castle walls. The trio shivered.

 

“She’s almost done. We must hurry!” the tin man warned. The others nodded, and the lion crawled head-first into the hole. The tin man quickly followed, and the two quickly made progress until they noticed the absence of their third group member --- the scarecrow.

 

Half-conscious and not grasping the urgency of the situation, the hay man was lying face-down on the cell floor, humming an indistinct melody. The tin man beckoned for him to join them in the tunnel, but the scarecrow was too feeble to move.

 

“I-I’ll keep going and finish digging the way out,” said the furry lion. “You go back and bring the scarecrow along.”

 

The tin man nodded solemnly, determined to escape, and the two parted ways. The lion kept pawing forward, while the tin man inched back to retrieve the scarecrow.

 

However, the hay man refused to budge. Exhausted and suffering from pain, the scarecrow didn’t have the strength in him to stand, let alone walk. The tin man dragged him towards the tunnel, then resorted to carrying him on his shoulders. The duo could barely fit inside the beginning of the tunnel with the scarecrow on top of the tin man.

 

“I’m back darlings! It didn’t take that long, did it now?” called the wicked witch. Alarmed, the tin man shifted his grip of the scarecrow’s arm and rushed into the hole. Darkness enveloped them as they slowly moved forward. The lion was nowhere to be seen, and the tin man assumed he had already finished carving the rest of the tunnel and was waiting for them at the end.

 

But as the two trekked deeper and deeper, the tunnel grew smaller and smaller, until the tin man couldn’t move forward anymore with the scarecrow. The tin man could keep going, but only if he left the scarecrow behind. And he knew his friend couldn’t make it out in by himself before the wicked witch found him.

 

“That blasted lion didn’t dig the tunnel wide enough,” he cursed under his breath. The tin man gently set the scarecrow down, then crawled on by himself. “I’ll go find him, and we’ll get you out when I come back, okay?”

 

The scarecrow didn’t reply.

 

The tin man hurried forward, leaving the hay man on his own.

 

~~~

 

“How could I let them escape right under my nose?” muttered the wicked witch. “They dug a tunnel right out of my prison cell!”

 

She paced back and forth in front of the nearly empty cell. When the wicked witch returned with her new potion, she had discovered the cell empty. After scrutinizing the cell, the witch found the secret tunnel and the scarecrow in the middle of it. He was brought back, and the escape route was patched up, but the other two prisoners were nowhere to be seen.

 

“It could have been much worse…” the wicked witch glanced disgustedly at the figure in front of her. “Well, to be honest, it really couldn’t”

 

The scarecrow, unfortunately, still haven’t snapped out of his daze. But he noticed something missing from his wrist. He raised his right arm to admire his bracelet but realized it was torn away. “My handkerchief! Did you take my handkerchief? Give it back!”

 

The witch was puzzled for a moment, but recalled something that her winged monkeys had found with the three friends. She slithered over to her table and brought a square of cloth to the cell.

 

“Do you mean this?” inquired the wicked witch. She teasingly swung the handkerchief in front of the scarecrow face, then retracted it as soon as he reached for it. “Well, I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to get it, darling. It’s mine now.”

 

To emphasize her point, the witch pressed a green finger to a corner of the fabric. With her magic, she imprinted two letters, WW. She presented her work to the aghast scarecrow, then set it aside.

 

“But before you can find another chance to get away, let’s test my potion right now…” suggested the witch. With one hand she snatched the arm of the scarecrow, and with the other she slowly poured her potion onto him. The liquid sizzled and steamed and the hay in the scarecrow’s arm began to wilt and dry, until his whole left arm lay limp and useless.

 

“And how about some over here?” The witch brought her potion upon the scarecrow’s legs. The hay man shrieked in pain, but the wicked witch wasn’t the type to show mercy. She emptied her creation on his torso, then watched contentedly as his flesh slowly deteriorated and died.

 

With one last dying scream, the scarecrow vanished in a cloud of steam.

 

 

~~~

 

“Halt!”

 

The golden lion froze in his tracks, and an axe struck the trunk of the oak in front of him. He slowly pivoted his body until his face was next to the metallic one of the tin man. With a startled gasp, he stumbled back into the tree.

 

“W-Well, hello, tin man. Didn’t need to waste any fancy greetings like that on me, did ya?” stuttered the lion. He hesitantly extracted the axe from the oak and handed it to its owner. “Here.”

 

“You’re coming back to the castle with me,” the tin man stated, and without waiting for an answer, he gripped the lion’s arm and rushed back. “You made the tunnel too narrow for scarecrow and me to both cross. We have to go back and get him.”

 

The golden cat resisted and freed himself from the tin man’s grasp. The furry beast shook his head. “I’m not going back there! Did you see the wicked witch’s potion? I’m not risking my life, and if you want to, then go alone.”

 

Without another word, the lion dashed away into the forest. The tin man opened his mouth to call him back, but he knew it was futile. The lion wouldn’t sacrifice his life for another, not from selfishness or self-preservation, but simply from fright of the pain of death.

 

The golden cat sprinted blindly into the dark forest, not bothering to look ahead or behind him. He just wanted to get himself as far away from the wicked witch as possible, and he didn’t realize he was surrounded until it was too late.

 

A group of armed men gathered in a circle around him. The group dressed exclusively in shades of green, and the lion depicted a gemstone on each of their cloaks. An emerald.

 

“You’re the Ozian Militia,” the lion identified them, looking at the menacing figures in front of him. “I think you’re looking for the wicked witch. She’s over there, so don’t mind me!”

 

The beast began to sprint away, but one of the men stepped in his way. He turned around to head in another direction, but the Militia seemed to have other plans. Wherever he stepped, one of them blocked his way.

 

“Oh, don’t go just yet,” one of the men snarled in a deep, gruff voice. He stepped towards the lion and picked him up by his neck. “You seem to know a lot about the wicked witch.”

 

The Ozian took an axe from his cloak and rested it on the lion neck. The cold edge of the weapon made the cat shiver. “Mind telling us some more about her?”

 

 

~~~

 

“Blasted monkeys!” yelled the tin man in outrage. “Why can’t you leave me alone for once!”

 

The winged monkeys hung in a hissing and screaming cloud above him. Shrieking wildly, they clawed and griped at the tin man’s metal skin, but their efforts had no effect. Then resorting to a more direct method of annoyance, the vermins clutched the tin man’s limbs and began lifting him towards the wicked witch’s castle.

 

“Bring him down!” cried an Ozian. The Militia emerged from the woods with the lion in tow. The leader raised his axe and pointed it towards the nearest monkey. “Or would you like to see what would happen when I take monkey flesh and cut.”

 

The creatures squealed in fear, immediately backing away from the imposing weapon.

 

The Ozian grinned, satisfied that he would have his way. “Good. Now let him down and we could talk.”

 

The monkeys didn’t loosen their grips. They knew the consequences of not fulfilling the witch’s demands. And even with their petite primate brains they knew a swift death would be better than one that lasted for days.

 

The Chief’s anger rose and his booming voice increased in volume, “You heard what I said? Let him down.”

 

The winged monkeys refused to oblige.

 

“Let. Him. Down.” commanded the Chief. The monkeys hesitated, and for a moment the Chief thought they were going to comply with his demands, but instead they bared their fangs and hissed. The majority of the monkeys pounced and attacked, while a small group carried the tin man away towards the castle.

 

“Don’t let them get away!” ordered the Chief, but a black haze of screaming, yelling, hair-pulling pests surrounded the Ozians and pushed them back into the forest.

 

The Ozians unsheathed their blades and readied their axes. With a gallant warcry, they charged into the fray and met the monkeys in combat. Primates and humans clashed, and the battle seemed to stay locked in a standstill until the monkeys pushed forward. Screeching and shrieking wildly, the winged monkeys unsheathed their claws and dove onto the green men.

 

The Ozians were in shock from the monkey’s sudden attack and barely regained their composure before the rabid beasts retreated back into the night sky with the tin man. Panting heavily, they counted their numbers and discussed plans to invade the Witch’s castle before one of them realized the absence of their prisoner.

 

“The lion!” he shouted. “the lion is missing!”

 

The Militia split into search patrols and scoured the forest for the missing beast. They shouted his name into the dark night sky and searched for his majestic golden mane. He was nowhere to be seen; not perched in the gnarly branches of the forest trees, not hidden below the thorny bushes that bore toxic fruits, not behind the jagged rocks that lined the shore of the poisonous stream.

 

“Over here!” a militiaman called, and the rest of the group quickly gathered to his beckoning. He pointed with his lantern at a dark puddle in the middle of the battlefield, and they squinted to see the tuft of golden fur that floated on top of it.

 

But it didn’t rain that day. Or the day before. One of them drew a finger across the puddle and scrutinized the liquid.

 

It was as dark as the starless night sky and the silhouette of the Wicked Witch’s castle, and as red as autumn leaves and rose blossoms. Dark and deep and crimson.

 

The man drew back from the pool of blood and stumbled into something behind him.

 

He carefully turned around and examined what his heel had collided him. It was cold to the touch but as bright as the morning sun. The militiaman would have described it as gold.

 

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he dragged the lion’s dead body into the clearing for everyone to see.

 

 

~~~

 

“How tragic! It seems like your little merry band of friends are no more.” the wicked witch mocked the tin man. “Even after such a magnificent escape plan, all three of you ended up back in my grasp… or dead.”

 

The witch paced in front of her prisoner. The tin man was once again stuck in the cell, but this time his four limbs were constrained by rope. He suffered in silence while the wicked witch retold the story of his friends’ deaths.

 

“First, it was the poor little scarecrow. Met his end brain-dead and abandoned by his closest friends… what a pitiful way to perish.”

 

The tin man grinded his metallic teeth in annoyance, but the witch enjoyed his show of irritation. “Then it was that heartless lion, who was doomed as soon as he turned craven and ditched his friends for his own survival. Pity that he was killed in that little skirmish between my monkeys and the Ozians.”

 

The tin man admitted that his friend betrayed him when they depended on his help, but he didn’t deserve to meet his demise so soon. He wistfully recalled his initial goal: to avenge Dorothy’s death and kill the Wicked Witch. Not only were two of his friends brutally murdered by the Witch’s doings, but he was imprisoned with no way to escape his confinement.

 

Suddenly, with a thunderous boom, the door of the wicked witch’s castle were thrown open. A band of green-clothed men trampled in, armed to the teeth with blades and bludgeons. The tin man made out two letters stitched on their leaf-green collars. O-Z. Oz.

 

The green garments, the emeralds on their cloaks, and the word Oz embroidered on their cloaks confirmed the witch’s suspicions. “The militia… How did you get past my monkeys?”

 

With an angry swipe the witch snatched her crystal ball from her shelf. Her winged monkeys were scattered around the dark forest miles away, all of them triumphantly carrying a tuft of golden fur.

 

“We took the lion’s fur and spread it around the forest,” the Chief explained with a smirk. “Your little monkeys were more than eager to retrieve parts of him to win your favor.”

 

The Chief snapped his fingers, and his men stealthily moved into position around the wicked witch. Defenseless and vulnerable, the witch had nothing to fend herself with except for her old broom. She stuck it towards the men, threatening to poke them if they approach any closer.

 

“You don’t want to mess with me,” the witch snarled, desperation bleeding through her cracking voice. Her eyes darted around with undisguisable fear, and the militia smiled triumphantly. “I-I could do horribly thing to all of you, you know! Terrible potions and brews that will make your skin crawl with fear!”

 

Her empty threats didn’t frighten the men. Without her little primate minions, she didn’t have anything to guard herself.

 

With a mighty cry, the Chief raised his axe and swung it down towards the wicked witch.

 

With a blood-curdling shriek, the witch dissolved into nothingness.

 

 

~~~

 

The tin man stretched his metal arms, his body stiff from being constrained just moments ago.

 

“You have my gratitude,” he nodded towards the militiaman that had freed him. “I never thought my absence would be noticed.”

 

The green-clad man was expressionless. “Our orders were simply to execute the wicked witch. Had you been any harm or annoyance to us, you would have been exterminated as well.”

 

The tin man flinched from his cold response. “Just like the lion?”

 

According to the wicked witch, the lion had been killed in the battle between the winged monkeys and the militia. However, she had never mentioned which side did the deed. He just assumed that the monkeys were the ones who cold-heartedly murdered his friend… but now he’s having second thoughts about who to trust.

 

Much to the tin man’s despair, the militiaman nodded and strode away without another word. Their robotic and emotionless demeanor startled the tin man. They seemed to act like assassins; stealthily dispatching their victims before silently retreating.

 

Butterflies fluttered anxiously in his stomach, and he felt an uneasy sense of dread. Something is off here… should I be worried?

 

The tin man shook his head off from his disturbing thoughts and decided to the thank the Chief himself. But no matter what how many shaky breaths he took or how many unsteady exhales he made, he couldn’t get rid of the anticipation in his stomach.

 

 

~~~

 

The tin man flew back from the blow and crashed against the witch’s shelf of ingredients.

 

He lifted his forearm and grimaced from the sight; his limb was bent at an unnatural angle, and black oil leaked from a deep dent. He had thought a metal body would spare him from human pain, but agony rippled from his injured arm.

 

The Chief Ozian stood before him, his axe now stained with a line of oil. His eyes were were rolled back and white froth lined his mouth.

 

What had come over the Chief? Does he not recognize me? wondered the tin man. Is it the wicked witch’s doings…? Or… something… else…?

 

Before he had time to react, the Chief brought his axe down and struck the tin man’s leg. The tin man clenched his teeth, not willing to react from the pain. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he kicked the Chief back and called to the rest of the militiamen, “The Chief has gone insane! Help me!”

 

The militia took up their arms and slowly approached, but the tin man quickly realized they weren’t considering helping him. With hostile glares in their eyes, they circled around him and snarled viciously.

 

The tin man glimpsed some familiar faces from the ring of men, but the recognition didn’t seem to be mutual. His head spun as he pondered of ways to escape, but he was hopelessly surrounded.

 

Maybe… He glanced towards the prison cell nearby. I could lock them out of the cell and get out through the tunnel…

 

He shook his head at his foolish idea. The militia could easily go around through the castle entrance and catch him before he could reach outside.

 

Suddenly, the tin man noticed an object on the ground. He squinted and made out a green square of cloth. The scarecrow’s handkerchief…

 

As slowly as he could without attracting the attention of the militia, he scooped up the cloth and examined it. On the corner sat two newly-stitched letters, WW. The wicked witch used her magic on this handkerchief…

 

His mind spun with possibilities, but the Chief noticed the handkerchief in his hand. He stepped aggressively towards the tin man and raised his axe. The rest of the militia repeated the gesture, and soon the tin man was enclosed by a circle of gleaming weapons hungry for blood.

 

“Chief, come back to your old self! This isn’t you!” The tin man desperately yelled. Something powerful had taken control the kind and wise Chief he had once idolized… and he knew that he couldn’t be brought back.

 

The militia simultaneously brought their weapons down, and the tin man closed his eyes and cried in fear. He instinctively raised his arms to protect himself and held the handkerchief in front of his body like a shield.

 

The weapons magically halted in the air in front of the green cloth. The tin man slowly opened his eyes to see the handkerchief glowing magnificently with light.

 

The witch’s magic… He realized with a hesitant smile. Wherever she might be right now, she used her powers to save me… but why?

 

Infuriated cries from the militia brought him back to reality. He watched, mouth wide open in awe, as the light from the cloth encircled the green-clad men like a bubble. The tin man covered his eyes from the light as it intensified, and when he opened them again…

 

… the Ozian militia was gone.

 

 

~~~

 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be the end of your troubles,”
The tin man spun around to see a familiar face. Dazzling brilliantly in a snow-white gown, the good witch of the north waved her fingers in greeting. Trailing behind her was another familiar figure.

 

“Toto!” the tin man cried in joy. When news of Dorothy’s death had spread around Oz, he was worried about her little dog’s whereabouts. He had thought the wicked witch had ended his life as well, or took him hostage in her castle.

 

He kneeled down and opened his arms wide. “Come here, boy!”
Toto raised his doggy eyebrows at him and didn’t budge from his position.

 

“I’m afraid he doesn’t consider you as friendly as you think,” The good witch sneered, an expression the tin man found shocking from her. Toto barked in agreement.

 

The tin man was taken aback. “Are you feeling well, your grace? You’re… not usually like this…”

 

Suddenly, realization hit him like a slap to the face. The Ozian militia… the Chief… and now the good witch… all of them were controlled in some fashion…

 

But who was the culprit behind this mind-controlling?

 

The wicked witch?

 

The wicked witch’s personality and magical prowess fit the description flawlessly, but all clues point away from her. Even though she was Dorothy’s murderer, she wouldn’t manipulate the militia to kill herself.

 

The wizard of Oz?

 

It made perfect sense for the wizard to control his minions to do the dirty work for him. He would never leave the Emerald City himself just to kill the wicked witch himself.
But if he was the mastermind behind all of this, why did he attempt to kill the scarecrow and lion in the forest? Why would he command the Chief to murder the tin man? No, it couldn’t have been the great wizard. But who else had the power?

 

Toto barked, a jubilant woof that echoed throughout the castle.

 

Snark and triumph, the tin man interpreted. Freedom and joy.

 

Snark. Triumph. Freedom. Joy.

 

The tin man collapsed to the floor and shuddered.

 

Toto had never enjoyed Dorothy’s company. He had always strayed from her when walking along the Golden Brick Road. Always wanted to frolic in the perilous Poppy Fields. Always got lost in the Emerald City.

 

And now that Dorothy’s gone, he would have his freedom. He could slowly meander along the Golden Brick Road. Could roll around in the Poppy Fields. Could run around the Emerald City as much as he wanted to.

 

Toto… oh, Toto...

 

The good witch’s eyes rolled back and white froth lined her mouth.

 

The poor militiamen, who always wanted to do good for Oz… the poor Chief, who always aspired for justice for his people… the poor good witch, who had too kind of a soul to resist Toto’s sinister intentions…

 

The pieces of the picture frame snapped together, and the tin man weeped in regret. He had always assumed he had the sight of the big picture, yet he never considered scrutinizing the missing frame.

 

Dorothy had been heartlessly murdered. But not by the wicked witch. Not even the good witch… but by Toto, and his nefarious mind-controlling magic.

 

The scarecrow and lion had almost met their ends in the forest. But the culprit wasn’t who it seemed. The waters were muddled, but now it’s pristine. And through the waves lies Toto’s selfish, malevolent, canine goals.

 

The tin man mourned for the wicked witch, who didn’t even murder Dorothy. Who didn’t even deserve to meet her end so soon. Who saved the tin man’s life when she could have had his death.

 

The good witch raised her wand and struck the tin man, but he didn’t resist. Wouldn’t resist. Couldn’t resist.

 

“Toto…” he cried, hot tears streaming down his face. “Toto, why…”