Griff's Fairy Tales, Part 3: Mary's Child

There was this time, where some parents were poor, and they had this daughter and they gave her away. Rather than go through standard adoption channels, they decided to give their baby daughter to Mary. Jesus' mum.

So Mary took this girl, let's call her Judy, to Heaven to live. Actual Heaven. And that was fine.

When Judy was a teenager, Mary went on a journey, a cruise, and left Judy in charge of the thirteen secret keys and the twelve allowed doors and the one forbidden door.

'You can open the twelve allowed doors, with their respective keys,' said Mary, 'but woe betide you should you open the thirteenth door with its key, which is on the same keyring as the others. You mark my words!'

'I don't even wanna open that door anyway,' said Judy, which was a lie.

'Don't lie,' said Mary, as she swooshed her blue head dress behind her shoulder, picked up her suitcase and left to join her cruise for single mothers in the Bahamas.

Twelve doors later, Judy was extremely bored. Behind each door had been some extremely evangelical old men who'd called themselves 'the Apostles'. She got enough of that with those Jehovah's Witnesses, all banging on the gates of Heaven trying to tell her how to get in to Heaven, from the outside of Heaven. She never let them in.


Judy looked at the thirteenth key, and then at the forbidden door, and then at the key, and then at the door, and then at what was behind the door, which she had just opened with the thirteenth key.


It was just God, or the Trinity of God, or something. Judy was never quite sure about how that all worked. The Trinity was pretty, certainly, and felt very omnipotent, but was more or less the same kind of thing one always found in Heaven, and did little to quench her boredom. She began to feel guilty.

Mary returned from her cruise tanned and refreshed. The moment she saw Judy's face, she knew something was wrong.

'Did you open the thirteenth door, Judy?' she asked.

'No,' said Judy, staring at her fingers which were fidgeting mercilessly.

'Yes you did.'

'No I didn't.'

'Did.'

'Didn't.'

'Did!'

'Didn't!'

'Didn't.'

'Did! Oh. Balls.'

Mary was not pleased.

'You get of my Heaven, this instance,' she said, pointing her finger to the Pearly Gates.

Judy left Heaven, and went back to the earth that spawned her. She lived on the mean streets of London for a while, surviving purely on her wits and heavenly beauty.

One day a TV producer happened to pass by and, stunned by her beauty, an idea formed. Suffice it to say, she was the subject of a very successful transformational reality TV show and soon became a gossip magazine staple, bagging herself a footballing spouse in the process. Unusual among footballers, her husband Dean was a doting husband, and exceeded even his own faithfulness expectations. They decided to start a family.

On the birth of her first son Chesney MiddleName Sprouse, Judy was visited by Jesus' mum, Mary.

'You're a grandma,' said Judy, as she handed the baby over to Mary.

'Judy,' said Mary, 'can you admit that you opened the thirteenth door?'

'God, Mum,' said Judy, blasphemously, 'I wasn't even going to bring all that stuff up, I thought Chesney would, like, reunite us or something. No, I didn't open that bloody door. If I had, I would have told you, without you tricking me into saying it.'

And with that, Mary disappeared, Chesney in tow. Judy realised she may have made a mistake.

The tabloids were all over it. The police were suspicious. Judy and Dean's marriage hit the rocks. A year on, they tried again and had another boy, and they called him Nine Jeff Sprouse.

Once more, Mary appeared at the hospital.

'Where's Chesney?' asked Judy.

'He's in Heaven,' said Mary, 'not opening doors. Speaking of which, are you willing to admit now that you opened the thirteenth door, and we can put this whole sorry mess behind us?'

'No, because it didn't happen!'

Mary disappeared. Judy looked over to Nine's crib, and knew before she saw. Nine was gone.

'But I didn't blaspheme,' she said.

Again the police and the press were intrigued. Criminal investigations were launched. Suspicion turn from potential stalkers to Judy herself. Dean didn't look at Judy the same way again.

Somehow, another child was conceived. The baby was delivered in the presence of guards, who then stood outside Judy's room, peeping in through the door frequently. Nevertheless, Mary slipped in.

'What's her name?' asked Mary.

Judy shrugged.

'Judy,' she said.

'That's rather plain,' said Mary, scooping the baby Judy into her arms.

'Didn't seem much point,' said adult Judy, as she prepared for her third baby to disappear.

'Judy,' said Mary, 'stop being a whiny little bitch. Just tell me.'

Judy, knowing exactly what Mary wanted to hear, but finding herself so very full of rage and shame, said nothing. It was the silence of realisation, and that realisation was this: she had nobody to blame and couldn't bring herself to make things right.

Mary disappeared with baby Judy.

Adult Judy was arrested, there was nothing anyone could do. She refused to speak when interrogated, refused to profess any innocence, and eventually that convince a jury of Guilt, and it set a precedent.


As she was lead away to the cells, stripped of all her clothes and given the prison garments, she whispered, under her breath:

'I opened the thirteenth door. I'm sorry.'

She woke up in bed, her own. Beside her were three babies, and she recognised them all, despite their uniformly baby-like Winston Churchill faces, as Chesney, Nine and baby Judy. They were all a day old. Dean lay beside the babies. They had a very big bed.