Author: Oz Admin

This unfinished story was used in contests at Oz Club conventions in 1979 and published as a contest in our journal, The Baum Bugle. While no author is credited, it was likely written by Fred M. Meyer. The long-time Secretary of the Oz Club, Fred was instrumental in the Club’s founding and subsequent growth. Submissions to early convention contests were given to him, he judged them himself, and he announced the winner. It was always his goal to use personal correspondence and engaging activites to get more members actively involved in the Oz Club. We are delighted to continue that tradition at TeslaCon 2026!    Scraps and the Magic Box  Or   Queen for a Day Ozma was sitting on a silver bench under an amethyst arbor in the south lawn of the Royal Palace. The Palace was in the Emerald City at the center of the Land of Oz. Every now and then, Ozma liked to sit quietly in a peaceful place like this to reflect upon the magical country she ruled and to plan new ways to make its happy people even happier. “Your Highness!” her thoughts were interrupted by a voice approaching her. “Your Highness” puffed the voice again. Ozma recognized the voice at once. It belonged to the Royal Gardener. He puffed as he came nearer for he was short and rather plump. “What may I do for you?” asked Ozma with a smile. “Oh, your Highness,” said the little man as he removed his cap respectfully, “it’s the mendus trees. They have grown so large in the last month, they are shading the green roses and I don’t think they will ever bloom!” “My goodness!” exclaimed Ozma. “No green roses! What shall we do about that?” “Well,” began the Gardener, twisting his cap, “the mendus trees are beautiful and I should not like to cut them. I wonder if your Highness”—here he hesitated for a moment—“I wonder if your Highness could use your magic to set them back about thirty feet, to that clear space over there?” The Gardener waved to an open expanse of lawn. “Of course,” Ozma readily agreed. “I’ll attend to it at once.” She clasped her hands to her slender waist and started to whisper a command to the Magic Belt which she customarily wore. Instead, a puzzled look crossed her face for the belt was not there. “Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I’m not wearing the Magic Belt just now. I must have left it in the Palace.” At that moment, a girl in gaudy colors dashed down a nearby path as fast as she could run. Her dress and the girl herself were fashioned from a crazy quilt. It was Scraps, the Patchwork Girl. A magician had brought her to life so she could work for his wife but Scraps quickly ran away to the Emerald City where she could play all day. Work was one thing the Patchwork Girl did not like to do. Just now she was playing tag with an Emerald City insect. “Whoop-te-doodle-do!” she shrieked in laughter. “Fluttering, I’ll soon catch you!” However, the flutter bug darted through a chinaberry plant, causing the berries to tinkle musically as the brushed against each other.  “Scraps,” called Ozma from the arbor, “come here quickly. I need you.” At the sound of the little Queen’s voice, the Patchwork Girl broke off the chase immediately. With three cartwheels and a somersault, she landed in an untidy heap at Ozma’s feet. Ozma could not help smiling at the irrepressible girl’s antics.  “Scraps, dear,” began Ozma, “would you please go to my private rooms in the Palace and bring the Magic Belt? It is on the table beside the fireplace in my sitting room. “ With a jump and a bounce, the Patchwork Girl was on her way to the Palace, but she was not happy. “Why must I stop and run errands?” She grumbled to herself. “I was about to catch that fluttery.” However, she was on an errand for the Queen herself, so she hurried. She passed Eureka asleep under a breakfast bush and Betsy Bobbin and Trot having a quiet tea party on the veranda. “Why didn’t Ozma ask one of them to fetch her belt?” she thought a bit crossly. Soon Scraps entered Ozma’s private rooms and found the Magic Belt on the table. No one else was around as she picked it up. She hesitated a moment, then wrapped it around her own waist. Her cotton stuffed fingers were too clumsy to fasten the belt but she held it in place on each side and looked in a long mirror. She was pleased to see that the bright jewels in the belt clashed nicely with her colored patches. “All the same,” she muttered, “it’s no fun doing work for other people. If I were a queen like Ozma, I wouldn’t have to do errands. I wish there were some way to avoid that.” Then, remembering that Ozma was waiting, she grabbed the belt in one hand and ran out the door. Here she stumbled and fell headlong over a small box on the floor in the corridor. “It wasn’t heart a w hole ago,” she declared, still in a dark mood. “I wonder where it came from?” She picked it up, put it in her patch pocket, and delivered the Magic Belt to Ozma without further mishap. Then she retreated to a quiet corner of the garden where no one could disturb her. She sat down, pulled the little box from her pocket, and looked at it closely. It was a small and green, except for one red button on the one side and one black button on the other. An engraved message on the lid then caught her attention. Her button eyes squinted carefully as she read: The Choice Box Do you have trouble making up your mind, want to find out what will happen with no consequences? State what you want to the Choice Box and push the red button. Find out what will happen if you make that choice. If you do not care for what happens, push the black button. Immediately all will be as it was before you made the choice, then you may choose again until you make the best choice for you. EDUCATIONAL! HARMLESS! FUN! “Fun!” the Patchwork Girl’s pearls teeth flashed in a broad smile. “That’s for me! Now, what do I want? I know, I don’t want to work any more. If I were queen instead of Ozma, I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do! I would like to try that—for a while, at least. Then I can push the black button and everything will be back as usual. What a grand idea!” And Scraps pushed the red button on the box. At first, nothing seemed different. Scraps was a bit disappointed. “That box is probably a fake,” she pouted. Then, putting it back in her pocket, she jumped up and ran over to Ojo and Button-Bright who were walking down the path.  To her astonishment, both boys bowed deeply as she approached. “Your Highness,” Ojo said with great respect, “the ceremony is about to start in the Throne Room.” As soon as it is convenient for your Majesty to go there,” Button-Bright added. Scraps was amazed. What did this mean? Was she really a queen? If so, where was her crown? She put her hand to her head and lifted off something so light she had not noticed she was wearing it. Her eyes stared in disbelief: she was wearing Ozma’s crown! She really was a queen—the Queen of Oz itself!     With a loud whoop of laughter, Scraps ran up the steps of the Palace  and took a long, running slide into the Throne Room. The celebrities of Oz were assembled there, awaiting their queen—the Cowardly Lion, Dorothy, Tik-Tok, Jack Pumpkinhead, the Wizard, and many more. All bowed low as Queen Scraps entered the room. Her long slide took her nearly to the Throne of Oz, but at that point, the irrepressible maiden tripped on the bottom step of the dais and pitched forward. As she did so, the Choice Box fell from her pocket.             Tik-Tok, who was nearest the Throne, stepped forward to help her. “Your High-ness,” he ticked worriedly, “let me as-sist you to your feet.” His copper eyes were upon the fallen Queen and not on this feet. Crunch! One large heavy copper foot came down on the Choice Box, smashing it to pieces.   “Oh, Oh!” screamed Scraps in distress and snatched up the shattered box. Vainly she pushed the black button, but nothing happened. The box was destroyed. With despair, Scraps sank down in the seat of the great emerald Thone of Oz—Ozma’s Throne. “What have I done?” she moaned.  *** What will happen? Where is Ozma? Will Oz ever be the same?  Please keep your work at less than 2,000 words. Submit your original ending by Sept. 15 as either a .doc, .pages, or .pdf by emailing your attachment to: Convention@ozclub.org.  You need not attend TeslaCon 2026 to enter. But if you do, we may ask you to read your story. Based on the number of submissions, all or at least selected story endings will be read at TeslaCon. The IWOC is a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization incorporated in Illinois.