Prologue
of books. Books are tactile things – you should hold a book,
experience the particular crinkle of its pages, guide your
hand along its spine and inhale its scent. Musty-odor’d books
take me back to the long upstairs hallway in my grandmother’s
house where the stories my mother read as a child still
adorned the shelves.
In my early adulthood I was taught to make books – to stitch
together their pages and correctly measure their covers. I
was taught this in the basement of a university library -
libraries have a regal, almost mythical air to them. Handling an
individual book offers the sensation of connecting to something
precious, likely to last much longer than yourself. So here -
in a virtual room - the term ‘bookshelf’ is poorly used to describe
masses of typed out text slapped onto a screen. In real life these
stories exist as mini-books – carefully encased in cloth and paper
binding. Pages are designed to break at suspenseful moments,
and the ultimate ‘THE END’ is inked via black felt tip pen.
I wish you could visit these stories on a true bookshelf – but, here, this is the best I can do.
A Fall Afternoon Story
The family crossed the yard, heading towards the horse shed. The boys kicked up leaves as they ran, their cheeks slightly pink from the crisp fall air.
“I don’t know how long we can be out here,” Dylan’s mommy said. “I’m expecting a very important phone call.”
Dylan ran ahead to the horse shed. He wanted to get there first so that he could be the first to pet Bailey, the big horse. He’d let his brother Brandon pet him second, but Dylan wanted to be first.
“Dylan, don’t run!” his mother called, “and be careful around the fence!” Dylan slowed down to a fast walk, but thought his mommy was a little silly for warning him about the fence again. They’d had the electric fence for over a year now and he’d never hurt himself on it.
Dylan’s mommy was walking behind the boys, carrying Delaney in her swing. Delaney, for once, was not crying. Dylan and Brandon hadn’t realized that getting a new baby sister meant that she would cry all the time. Dylan’s mom had told him that he should tell Delaney a story about the horses, about how to ride them and what they liked to do. But Dylan didn’t think Delaney would be too interested in the horses – she wasn’t interested in much besides her bottle.
“Can I hold my sister?” Brandon asked, running over to Delaney as Dylan’s mom set her down outside the door to the shed. “Wait until we’re back inside,” she replied. She turned the swing on and gave it a small push so it would rock back and forth.
“Mom, hurry up,” Dylan said, eager to get in the shed. He wanted to pull the door open himself but his mom was standing in the way and he couldn’t reach. He was very eager to see Bailey. Bailey was a beautiful, tall reddish brown quarter horse and Dylan loved petting him. His mom didn’t spend much time with the horses anymore since Delaney had been born, and Dylan missed petting and feeding them.
Just then, the phone rang. The house had a loud bell on the outside so you could hear the phone from anywhere in the yard. The ring was so loud Brandon seemed surprised and jumped a little, startled. “Oh shoot, there’s my call,” Dylan’s mom said, looking towards the house.
“Mom, get it later,” Dylan moaned. They were so close to seeing the horses! He didn’t want to wait anymore and knew he wasn’t allowed to go in the shed without her. “Please don’t answer the phone,” he begged.
His mom looked at the house, then at Dylan, Brandon, and Delaney, then back at the house. You could tell by the expression on her face that she was going to run back inside. She grabbed both of the boys and quickly said, “You guys stay right here. Do you understand? Stay right here and watch Delaney. I will be right back. I’m just going to pick-up the phone, then come back outside. Promise me you’ll be good.” She held the boys arms firmly, in a way that made them both say “I promise” quietly and stand really still. They watched her run towards the house, hurrying to get to the phone.
“Oh shoot,” Brandon said after she was gone, and kicked at the ground. “Now we have to wait to pet Jack and Bailey.” He made a sad pout and kicked at the dirt again, toeing a small rock with his gym shoe. Dylan looked at the door to the shed, wishing his mom had opened it just a little so he could have snuck inside. He looked beyond the shed to the large field where the horses were kept. He couldn’t see either of them, so he guessed they must be inside the shed. Knowing that made him feel a little bit sadder, since he couldn’t even see them until his mom came back.
Delaney made a small sound like a whimper, and shook her arms. She shook her arms a lot – Brandon said it made her look like she was waving. Dylan thought she looked more like she was hitting herself in the head. Dylan knew that if Delaney started crying then his mom would take them all back inside the house, and he’d never get to pet Bailey. So he gave Delaney’s swing a little push the way his mom did and said, “Hush, don’t cry.”
Delaney waved her arms some more, and scrunched up her face until her eyes her just little sad specks above her tiny cheeks. “Don’t cry Delaney,” Brandon said. He looked at Dylan. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “We’ll have to go inside if she starts crying!” The boys looked over to the house, where Dylan’s mom was opening the door and ducking inside. She didn’t hear Delaney’s whimpers.
Dylan remembered what his mom said about telling Delaney a story. “Let’s tell her a story about the horses,” he suggested. He pointed towards the horse shed and said “Look! Delaney look, look at the shed. That’s where Bailey and Jack live. They’re horses. And you can pet them.” He made his voice sound very excited, so Delaney would understand how much fun the horses were, and wouldn’t cry. Brandon joined in the story, “And we can’t touch the fence,” he added, “or else you’ll get an ouchie and maybe have to go to the hospital.”
“Brandon!” Dylan said, “You don’t have to go to the hospital!”
Brandon replied, “You might have to if you touch the fence too long. My daddy said so.”
Delaney whimpered again. Her brothers thought she sounded a little louder now, and realized this was because the phone had stopped ringing in the background. Delaney sniffled and looked as thought she was about to wail. Dylan didn’t know what to do. He grabbed one of her little hands so she’d stop waving them around. “Delaney, please look at the shed,” he said.
As he said that, Dylan turned to look at the shed again, hoping that maybe one of the horses had come out. He glanced at the wall, and noticed something he did not remember seeing before. In the bottom corner of the wall was a small hole. A tiny stream of light seemed to be coming through the hole, catching the dust particles dancing in the wind.
For a moment, Dylan stared at the hole, wondering why he’d never known it was there. He was so entranced that he didn’t notice Delaney had stopped fussing. He looked at the dust, and thought the light was beginning to grow slightly brighter, and began to look a little orange like a sunset.
“Dylan – what’s that?” Brandon asked, pointing at the hole in the shed. “I think it’s getting bigger.”
The boys looked at each other. Dylan slowly let go of Delaney’s hand. Together, the two brothers walked towards the shed in order to get a better look at the light streaming through the opening.
As they approached, Dylan noticed that not only was the hole getting bigger and the light brighter, but the dust particles themselves seemed to be growing and moving around more quickly. Some of them appeared to be buzzing around the light, instead of just softly floating. The brothers knelt down and Dylan stared at one of the particles, trying to figure out what it was. It looked like something.
“It’s a - bee,” he said. But that didn’t seem quite right.
“It’s a leaf,” Brandon replied. He had a point – the particle looked like a small fall colored leaf, swirling about. But even that wasn’t quite right either.
“It’s a . . .” Dylan concentrated, trying to guess exactly what the thing was. “It’s a . . .person,” he said.
By now the shape was about as large as one of the boy’s hands. It did look like a small person, wearing clothes that looked like a leaf. It was impossible to say if the person was a boy or a girl – it had short hair and shiny dark eyes. It also might have had wings – tiny ones, the color of a spider web.
“It’s a fairy,” Brandon said. Dylan knew he was absolutely right; they were looking at a fairy.
The fairy buzzed around, circling the bright orange light. It seemed unaware the boys were watching it, and seemed to be looking for something. It paused in mid-flight, and seemed to bounce slightly as though it was bobbing on water. Dylan felt like he should say something, but couldn’t think of the right words. He had seen strange creatures before, but never anything like this, certainly not in the middle of the day. Just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, Dylan rubbed his eyes. People in movies rubbed their eyes all the time, usually whenever they saw something they couldn’t believe. But after he was done rubbing his eyes the fairy was still there, bobbing up and down like a hummingbird. Dylan wondered if the fairy knew he and Brandon were there, since it didn’t seem too interested in them. In fact, the fairy appeared to be looking for something; its eyes darted around the yard.
The fairy’s crabapple-sized head slowly turned, and Dylan could tell it was now staring right at Delaney’s swing. It flew over to the swing, and disappeared from sight.
“It’s going to Delaney!” Brandon said, jumping to his feet. “Dylan, come on!”
The boys ran over to their sister, and found the fairy hovering just above Delaney’s chin. It was staring very intently, almost as if it was trying to figure out what she was. The boys couldn’t be sure, but the fairy might have been tapping its tiny little foot against the air. Delaney was focused on the fairy, her round blue eyes opened wide, as though the sight fascinated her.
“What do you want, fairy?” Dylan asked. He felt like maybe he should swat at the fairy, to get it to fly away from his sister. But he also didn’t want to be rude.
The fairy didn’t respond.
“That’s our sister Delaney,” Brandon said. “You better not make her cry.”
The fairy fluttered closer to the baby girl, and came to rest right on top of the side of her swing. Delaney watched the fairy, and smiled a little. The fairy smiled back. Delaney laughed. The fairy laughed too, a laugh that sounded like wood breaking in a fire.
“Ooooh, she looks like fun,” a voice said from behind the boys.
Dylan and Brandon spun around. Standing in front of the horse shed, illuminated by the glowing orange light, was a small boy standing about as high as Brandon’s knee. Although it was warm outside, he wore furry little boots and a long coat. Dylan recognized the boy instantly. “Furfoot!” he exclaimed.
“Who’s Furfoot?” Brandon asked.
“He lives in the woods near Papa’s,” Dylan explained.
Furfoot walked closer to the brothers. “Not really,” he replied. “I live where ever I want to live. Today I was following the Fall Fairies and wondered what this one was looking at.”
Furfoot scurried over to Delaney’s swing, and climbed up one of the bars to look at the baby girl. He said some words to the fairy in a language Dylan and Brandon didn’t understand.
“You shouldn’t be so close to Delaney, you might scare her,” Dylan said.
“She doesn’t seem scared, does she?” Furfoot asked. “I think she likes me. Maybe she’d like to live in the woods with us. I want someone to play with.”
Dylan didn’t like the sound of that. As much as Delaney cried, he didn’t want her to go and live in the woods. “She’s too little to play,” Brandon said.
“She’s as big as I am,” Furfoot replied. “And it doesn’t matter how big you are in the forest. I bet the sprite king could turn her into a fairy. Then she could fly. What do you think?” Furfoot asked the fairy. The fairy responded with some sounds like crackling and a low purr.
“She can’t go in the woods,” Dylan said, “She’s my sister.”
Furfoot and the fairy were chattering back and forth, not paying any attention to the brothers. Delaney waved her arms at the fairy. She gurgled slightly, making what her mom called a ‘happy noise.’ It sounded similar to the noises Furfoot and the fairy were making, and Dylan felt for a moment like his sister was talking to them. He was upset that he couldn’t understand.
“She says she wants to come with us,” Furfoot announced. He raised his arm to grab Delaney by the hand.
“No she didn’t!” Dylan yelled. He didn’t like Furfoot pretending to understand his sister.
“Don’t touch my sister!” Brandon huffed, kicking a rock at Furfoot. “Or my dad will get mad!”
Furfoot looked at Brandon, crossly. He picked up the rock Brandon kicked as if he was going to throw it. But at that moment, Delaney shrieked, startling everyone. Furfoot dropped the rock. Dylan looked at his sister and saw that the fairy was now pulling on her ear, as if it was trying to lift her by it. He was pulling very hard, and Delaney was crying.
“Stop it!” Dylan said, reaching out to swat the fairy away.
“Let’s take her to the sprite king,” Furfoot said. “She’ll make a great new friend.”
Furfoot grabbed Delaney by her foot and started pulling on it. Delaney kicked her little baby legs, continuing to cry. Dylan tried to push Furfoot away, but realized he couldn’t swat the fairy and handle Furfoot at the same time. He turned to Brandon to ask for help.
“It’s not going to work!” Brandon yelled. He sounded very grown-up, like his dad sometimes sounded when he was angry and trying to explain something to the boys. Brandon was staring at Furfoot and the fairy, and had an expression on his face as if they were both doing something incredibly silly. Furfoot, the fairy, and Dylan all stopped what they were doing, waiting to hear what Brandon would say next.
As Delaney quieted her crying, Brandon again said, “It’s not going to work. She’s too heavy for you to carry. Only grown-ups can carry her.”
“We can carry her,” Furfoot protested. “She’s very small.”
“No, you can’t” Brandon said again. “Right Dylan?”
“Right,” Dylan agreed.
Furfoot stuck out his tongue.
“Be nice,” Brandon said, “And maybe Dylan and I will help you.”
“Brandon!” Dylan said. He couldn’t believe his brother was going to give Delaney to Furfoot and the fairy.
But Brandon continued. “Dylan and I will help you carry Delaney, but first you have to pass a test.”
“What test?” Furfoot asked. The fairy chattered something the boys couldn’t understand.
Brandon looked thoughtful. He pressed his lips as if he was trying to make a difficult decision. “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think you could win the test even if I did tell you.”
Furfoot looked eager. “I could pass the test,” he said quickly.
“I don’t know,” Brandon said. He looked over at his brother. “What do you think, Dylan?” he asked.
Dylan didn’t know what Brandon was talking about, but decided to pretend that he did. At least Furfoot wasn’t pulling on Delaney any more. “I don’t know,” Dylan agreed, “it’s a pretty hard test.”
“Tell me what the test is,” Furfoot demanded.
Brandon pointed at the fence. “You have to climb to the top of that fence,” he said. He folded his arms across his chest. “If you think you can.”
Furfoot looked at the fence. “I can do that,” he said. “That’s not hard. I climb trees in the forest all the time. I can climb higher than you.”
“Maybe,” Brandon said. “But I bet you can’t climb that fence.”
Dylan couldn’t believe it. Brandon had actually tricked Furfoot! The small creature strode over to the fence. The fairy flew over near him, cackling away like dried fall leaves.
“And if you don’t climb the fence,” Brandon said, watching as Furfoot reached out to touch the fabric . . .
. . . “You have to go back home.” Dylan finished, smiling at his brother.
“Right,” Brandon nodded.
Furfoot dropped his hand, and gave the brothers a haughty look. “I’ll climb it in one jump!” he boasted. Then, he crouched down, and leapt on to the top of the fence. He paused for a moment, then, fell to the ground, shouting and wildly waving his legs.
“Ow ow ow!”
“You lose, Furfoot!” Dylan said. “You have to go home now.”
Furfoot rubbed the bottoms of his feet. His boots were singed, like paper in a fire. “I did not,” he replied. “I climbed the fence.”
“But you fell off,” Brandon pointed out.
The fairy made angry sounds, shaking its tiny fist in the air. It flew over to Delaney and grabbed her ear and gave a harsh tug. Delaney howled.
“What is going on out here?” Dylan’s mom shouted, storming out of the house, the phone in her hand. “Why is your sister crying?” She started running across the yard. The boys saw her say something into the phone, then drop it on the ground.
Furfoot and the fairy froze. Furfoot looked at Dylan’s mom like she was a ghost. His eyes grew very wide, and his mouth fell open. The fairy let go of Delaney’s ear, and its wings stopped beating. For a couple seconds, they stared at Dylan’s mom as she ran towards them, as though they were unable to move.
Then, the fairy zipped towards the shed door, and disappeared in a small puff of orange light.
Furfoot scrambled after the fairy, and in a split second he too was gone.
Moments later, Dylan’s mom reached the boys and grabbed both of them by the elbow. “Tell me why Delaney was crying like that,” she demanded. “You’ve been alone with her for less than 30 seconds, what could possibly have happened?”
The boys looked at her, wondering what to say. Brandon looked tongue-tied, and Dylan could not think of anything believable to reply.
Delaney whimpered. Her mom turned to her and picked her up out of her swing. She promptly quietly down.
“I asked you boys a question: why was Delaney crying so much?”
Dylan turned and looked towards the shed door. The opening was completely gone now. Dylan didn’t think his mom would ever believe what had happened. He looked back to her.
“I wasn’t bothering her, mom.” Dylan said softly.
“I wasn’t either,” Brandon added.
She looked at both of them. “Is this true?” she asked.
The boys nodded their heads.
She sighed. Delaney waved her arms, and breathed like she was falling asleep.
“Look, boys, I don’t know what was going on here. I asked you to watch your sister while I ran to the phone, and I heard her crying like someone was pinching her. All I did was pick up the phone, then turn around and come back outside. And you tell me neither of you were bothering her.” She looked sternly at the boys, who wondered how they could explain what had occurred. It felt as though she had been gone longer than that, but then again, Brandon thought, maybe time moved differently when fairies were involved.
Dylan’s mom shook her head. “But,” she continued, “You both say you weren’t bothering her, so I believe you. Who knows, sometimes strange things happen during the fall. So, if neither of you was bothering Delaney, that means you were both being good. And, in that case,” she paused, with a small smile in her eye, “Well, then, I guess we should go see the horses.”
Both boys grinned from ear to ear. Dylan ran to the shed.
“I get to pet Bailey first!” he called. As they pushed open the shed door, he looked over towards the fence. There, on the ground, he spotted a series of tiny footprints. He looked up at his mom, but she was too busy to notice. So he quickly ran inside, and waited for Bailey to come over to the rail. As the tall horse approached, the brothers reached out their hands to pet him.
The End
started: August 27, 2004
ended: October 7, 2004
-copyright acr
A Winter Bedtime Story
- for our nephew - Christmas, 2002
Once upon a time, in a small town in the North, lived a young boy named Dylan. It was midnight, two nights before Christmas, and Dylan could not sleep. He was in corner bedroom of his Papa’s house, and did not know what had woken him from dreaming, but knew he had been lying restless for a while. He turned his head to look out the window. The shade was open slightly so he could see the winter night sky. Dylan looked up at the stars; they were easy to see against the darkness. He thought one of the stars was twinkling very brightly. It grew brighter and brighter until it seemed so bright it was almost as if he could reach out and touch it. Then, he realized the bright light was not a star at all, but a candle on the windowsill flickering to life.
Gramma kept a lot of candles in the windows at Christmas, but he knew she blew all of them out when it was time to go to bed. He had helped her blow this one out himself, and remembered seeing the flame rush away into a gray ribbon of smoke. He was surprised to see it burning again.
Dylan sat up in bed, to get a closer look at the candle. It was shining very brightly now. So brightly, in fact, the glow made it difficult to see the night sky through the bedroom window. But Dylan was a clever young boy who noticed many things, and even with the burning candle he still caught a quick movement outside the window. He stood on the bed and pressed his face to the glass to get a better look.
It took a moment for his eyes to recognize the familiar things in Papa and Gramma’s yard. At first everything looked a little different in the night, but after a short while he could see the driveway up to the house, where his mommy would park her car when she came to get him in the morning. Past the driveway he could see the small shed, where Gramma’s pony Lucy rested for the night. On the far side of the shed ran the rows of pine trees, which Dylan had never been allowed to walk through by himself. Gramma always held his hand, saying he was “too little to walk by himself through such a large forest.” Although he could not see it, he knew on the other side of the forest was the lake where he and Papa liked to go fishing in the summer.
Near the edge of the forest he saw it again – a quick scuttle-like movement. He looked over towards the shed to make sure Lucy had not gotten out. She was still there, her head bowed and tail swishing slightly in the breeze. Looking back at the forest, he tried to see if maybe a deer was coming through the pines.
Next he saw the movement a little closer to the house, near Gramma’s flowerbeds. He squinted his eyes, to see if anything had left tracks in the snow. But it was too difficult to see clearly through the bedroom window, so he decided to move to the living room. He thought he’d be able to glimpse more through the great big windows there. He picked up the candle, then very carefully climbed down off the bed. He didn’t want to turn on any lights, lest he wake Gramma or Papa. Dylan had to walk slowly with the candle, so it wouldn’t blow out.
As he came into the living room, he could hear Papa snoring. He had fallen asleep on the living room couch again. His book was lying on the floor. Dylan froze when he realized Papa was sleeping there – then tiptoed around the couch very, very quietly to get to the windows. He knew if Papa woke up he would carry Dylan back to bed – and Dylan was too curious about what moving around outside to go back to sleep.
As Dylan reached the window he carefully set the candle down on the floor, making sure it would not tip over. He looked out the big window, trying to see where the moving thing was now. Soon he spotted something under the tree right outside the big window. As he watched, the thing moved closer and closer to him, until finally Dylan saw clearly what it was.
Standing outside, just on the other side of the window, was a very tiny boy. He was standing on top of the snow, wearing furry little boots and a long coat. He held his own teeny tiny candle, and looked at Dylan as though studying him, trying to figure out what he was.
The boy appeared only as tall as Dylan’s knee. He wasn’t wearing a hat or mittens, but didn’t seem to be cold. Dylan and the tiny creature stared at each other for a few minutes. Dylan at first felt afraid, but the boy looked so surprised and so harmless the scared-y feeling soon went away. Besides, it seemed silly to be afraid of something so small.
Dylan put his hand on the glass, as if trying to touch the boy. After a moment, the tiny creature put his hand on the glass too, as though to see how small his hand looked compared to Dylan’s. Dylan thought the boy’s entire hand wasn’t quite as big as his normal sized thumb.
Dylan wanted to get closer to the boy. He wondered where he had come from, and why he was so small. He wondered if he had a name. He wondered if he would come back in the daytime. He wondered if his Papa knew about the tiny little boy.
Moving slowly, so as not to startle the creature, Dylan stood up. He slid the window open. The tiny boy creature moved back a bit, but he did not seem afraid. As Dylan stepped through the window, he could feel the winter air blowing around him. He had not put on slippers so his feet were instantly cold. As he moved to place his first foot down in the snow, the tiny boy suddenly jumped forward –
Dylan was so surprised he yelled “Hey!” and fell the rest of the way out of the window. Landing in the snow with a soft ‘thud’, he saw the boy running away, back towards the forest. He heard him laughing, as though he was playing a game of chase. “Come back here!” Dylan called, getting up to run after him.
As soon as Dylan entered the pine forest, he knew he was seeing things he had never seen before. The trees themselves appeared different – almost as if they were dancing. The snow seemed so white it was almost glowing, and all around him Dylan sensed other creatures were moving, but so quickly he could barely see them. He heard something that sounded like faint music – a soft tune played on whistles. Dylan’s eyes darted around, trying to find the tiny boy creature. He found him just in time to watch him jump on to a tree, like a frog. Dylan ran toward the tree so he wouldn’t lose the boy creature, but suddenly out of nowhere a girl appeared, blocking his path.
The girl had the most beautiful face Dylan had ever seen. She was almost as tall as he was, but she wore a strange dress made of feathers. She had the friendliest blue eyes, and the warmest smile. Instantly Dylan knew not to be scared. He noticed around her neck was a red charm that looked like a ladybug, and tucked behind her back – although he could not be sure – appeared to be small feathered wings.
“Hello Dylan,” the girl said. “What are you doing in my forest?”
“It’s Papa’s forest,” Dylan answered. “I was chasing the little boy who bit me.”
The girl smiled, and looked over at the tree to which the tiny boy creature had jumped. “Tonight it’s our forest,” she said. “We’re enjoying the snow, my friends and I.”
“Don’t mind Furfoot,” she continued, referring to the tiny boy; “He was just playing with you. He thinks it’s funny to bite people on the toes.”
Dylan stared at the girl. He wondered how she’d known his name. Then, a wind blew around them, chilling him right through his pajamas. He felt very, very cold. His feet, covered in snow, were starting to hurt from the sting of the winter air.
But the girl did not look cold at all. She smiled again, and held out her hand. In it was a tiny pinecone, which looked about half-closed. “Hold this,” she said, offering it to Dylan. “It won’t work for very long, but it will help a bit.”
He took the pinecone from her and immediately felt a little warmer. His feet didn’t hurt quite so much. He felt the pinecone shudder slightly in his hand, and saw it close a little tighter. Dylan knew pinecones could close up when cold and wet, so he guessed when this one shut all the way then he would feel the full force of the winter night again. The girl must have given him a magic charm, to help him keep warm.
“Thank you,” Dylan said; “But won’t you be cold now?”
“Oh no,” the girl answered. “I don’t need it – the snow doesn’t bother me at all. But I know human children get cold in the winter. You shouldn’t stay out here anyway,” she continued. “Your Papa will be waking up soon.”
Dylan remembered Papa sleeping on the couch, and the candle he’d left burning near the window. He knew you were never supposed to leave a candle burning by itself because it could start a fire, so he hoped everything was okay. He knew he should probably go back to the house, but he didn’t want to leave the girl and everything else in the pine forest. As he was thinking, the pinecone in his hand shuddered again, and closed even tighter.
“Can you come back to the house with me?” asked Dylan. He wondered what Papa would say if he saw the little girl.
She laughed. “No, silly – we’re not supposed to leave the forest. Furfoot does sometimes, but he gets in trouble for it. I wouldn’t want to leave anyway - I like it here.”
Dylan stomped his feet to keep them warm. Then, he had an idea: “If I go and put my boots on, will you stay here?” he asked.
The girl shook her head. As she did, he noticed her hair fall from around her ears. One of them peaked out – it appeared crinkled, almost like a raisin. “I’m sorry, Dylan, but we are playing all over the forest tonight. Soon my grandfather with start telling stories by the lake, and I want to listen.”
The girl turned to go. Her feather rustled as she moved, and this time Dylan was sure he could see her small wings. “You’d better hurry home,” she said, “Before your pinecone closes all the way.”
Dylan couldn’t believe she was going to leave. Around him he heard loud crackling through the trees, and in front of him he saw something slink from one branch to another, as if heading towards the lake. Something hopped by his shoulder, with a gentle “swish.” The small movement made him gasp, and he realized that all at once everything had begun to move, as if all the creatures of the forest wanted to go with the girl and hear her grandfather’s stories. Dylan’s feet started stinging again, very badly. He did not think he had ever been so cold before.
The girl said one final thing: “I’ll ask my grandfather about you, Dylan. He may have seen you before. You should watch for him,” she suggested with a smile, “The next time you and your Papa go fishing.”
Then, she was gone.
The pinecone in his hand was nearly completely shut. Dylan felt the winter air biting his hands and face. The commotion of the forest around him swelled as creatures of all shapes and sizes danced by, until their noise was so loud it sounded like a thundering train. The whistles shrilled in the air and tree branches crashed left and right. Dylan thought about following the noises, but knew to get to the lake took a very long walk through the trees. Snow blew around his body and he grew bitterly cold, and he realized he had no choice but to get back to the house, or risk possibly freezing in the winter night. Dylan turned, and ran as fast as he could out of the forest.
As he ran, he began to grow sleepy. As he neared the living room window he noticed his eyes were growing heavier with each step, but he kept going until he was right outside Papa’s house. Because the living room window was so big the bottom of the window was very close to the ground, so he was able to easily step through. But as he lifted his foot something outside seemed to catch it, scratching his toe, which surprised him. This caused him to stumble through the window, knocking the candle over. It landed with a “clack.” The candle flame vanished into a ribbon of smoke, and Papa jumped up from the couch with a loud “What’s going on?”
Dylan froze, hoping Papa wouldn’t see him and ask why he was out of bed. Then, he remembered the window was open, blowing cold air into the room. Quietly, he shut it.
Papa turned and saw him. “Dylan!” He exclaimed. “What are you doing up? It’s past midnight!”
Dylan looked at Papa. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to ask if Papa knew about all of the creatures in the forest, but he wasn’t sure how to begin. He wanted to ask how the feather-girl knew he liked to go fishing. He wanted to ask if Papa had heard of a “Furfoot” before. His head felt very heavy, and he had to open his eyes very wide to keep them from blinking shut. But Dylan had so many questions on his mind; he did not want to fall asleep.
“Were you watching out the window?” Papa asked. “Were you looking at the forest?”
Dylan nodded his heavy head. Maybe Papa did know about the girl and the strange music played with whistles. Maybe he and Papa could put on their boots, and go back outside, and . . . .
Papa picked him up. Dylan put his head on Papa’s shoulder – he felt warm and safe. And immediately realized how good it was to be back inside, where he could snuggle up in his cozy bed. He forgot about his boots, and hugged closer to Papa’s sweater.
“Your mommy used to watch out the window sometimes too, when she was a little girl,” Papa said. “Sometimes she’d sit there all night, looking to see what was going on outside. She was a curious little kid – just like you are.”
Papa carried Dylan out of the living room. “We’ve got to get you under the covers, mister,” he said. “You feel so cold from being on that floor, with no slippers on.”
“Papa,” Dylan said, as Papa tucked him under the covers in the warm bed. He held out his hand, showing Papa the pinecone.
“My goodness! A pinecone! Where on earth did you find that?” Papa asked. He took the pinecone from Dylan’s hand and placed it on the windowsill. “Here, I’ll put it right here next to the bed, so it will be the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning.”
Dylan pressed his cheek into the pillow. He closed his eyes as Papa kissed him on the forehead. He could not open his eyes again, and knew he’d have to wait until morning to ask his questions. “Good night, Papa,” he murmured.
“Good night, Dylan,” Papa answered. “Sweet dreams.”
As the door closed, Dylan could hear him saying “A pinecone, eh? Where do children find these things?”
His eyes firmly shut, Dylan thought about the forest. He thought about the dancing trees and the fast moving creatures. He thought about the beautiful girl, and wished he’d asked her name. Then, he recalled what she’d said about her grandfather. She had said to look for him, the next time he went fishing. It was a long way until summer, but maybe Papa could take him ice fishing tomorrow, and they could look for the storyteller together. This seemed like a good idea, and it made him feel very glad.
And then – warm, content, and exhausted from his night’s adventures, Dylan fell asleep.
- The End
Summer Story
- This was written for our nephew and his new step-brother summer, 2003. Un/fortunately, at this age their imaginations are so big they find the story too scary to finish. Perhaps next year . . .
. . . (later) yay! As of Christmas, 2003 the children had sat through the entire story. One reported funny dreams the following day.
Once upon a time, a young boy named Dylan lived in an old farmhouse that stood in the middle of a large field surrounded on three sides by tall trees. Dylan had recently moved to the old farmhouse with his mommy, their dogs and horses, Dylan’s new stepbrother Brandon and Brandon’s father Mike. Dylan loved his new home, especially swinging on the wood swing in the front yard, and eating the strawberries that grew in his mother’s garden. When Brandon was over he and Dylan would have contests to see who could eat the most strawberries, until Dylan’s mom would call to them to “save some for later.” Brandon liked the farmhouse too, except for one thing; at the top of the driveway sat a large stone gargoyle – a scowling beast with a heavy chain around its neck. Brandon didn’t like to go too near the gargoyle, since it looked very fierce.
Ever since moving into the farmhouse, Dylan’s mom had been very tired. She spent less time with Dylan playing outdoors, and at night would put him to bed earlier saying she needed to rest. Dylan’s mom had explained to him that moving sometimes made people tired, because it took time to get used to a new place. Dylan didn’t feel sleepy, though. So when his mom would put him to bed he spent time sitting up playing with his toys – quietly so his mommy wouldn’t hear.
One night, when Brandon was staying over, he and Dylan both sat up in Dylan’s room playing with cars. Mike was working and Dylan’s mom had told the boys to go to sleep ‘right away’ because she was exhausted that evening and didn’t want them to keep her awake. The summer sun was still peeking over the edge of the sky, casting long arms of red and gold across the clouds. The round moon was rising, but it made only a faint impression on the sun-cast sky. Normally in the summer Dylan didn’t go to sleep until it was dark out, and he could count the stars shining overhead. So he and Brandon did not feel like sleeping – instead they played with their cars and trucks as quietly as possible so Dylan’s mom would not wake up.
“Dylan,” asked Brandon, “why is your mom so tired all the time?”
“She’s not tired all the time,” Dylan said. He knew that wasn’t really true, but he didn’t want Brandon to say things about his mom. Dylan could sense that her being so sleepy was kind of a bad thing, and he didn’t want there to be anything wrong with her. He wanted her to love the new home as much as he did and to be happy all the time like she used to be.
“Dylan,” Brandon said, running his truck across the length of the bed, “why did your gargoyle move today?”
Dylan wasn’t sure if Brandon was being silly or serious. “The gargoyle’s isn’t alive, Brandon.” Dylan said. “Only things that are alive can move. It’s a statue.”
Brandon squished up his face. He tilted his head and looked directly at Dylan. “It DID move. I saw it. It took off its chain.” Brandon sounded like he was serious, but Dylan felt confident that the gargoyle at the top of the driveway was still wearing its chain, just like it always had. However, he didn’t want to argue with Brandon – then his mom might hear them and be mad that they were still awake. So Dylan decided to change the subject. He said; “Hey Brandon, I bet I can roll my truck all the way across the room.”
“I bet I can too,” Brandon challenged, and the two boys leaned over the side of the bed to push their trucks across the floor. They continued to play with their toys, seeing who could push their trucks farther or faster, until they eventually fell asleep.
Later that night, Dylan felt something shake his arm. “Wake up, Dylan,” Brandon said, “Wake up.”
Dylan rubbed his eyes. “Be quiet, Brandon,” he said. Dylan hated to wake up – in the summer sleeping always felt so nice and cool.
“Dylan,” Brandon whispered, very loudly, “get up.” He kicked Dylan in the shin.
“Owwww;” Dylan whined in a sleepy, soggy voice. “What is wrong with you? Go to sleep.”
Brandon hissed again; “Listen,” he ordered.
Now Dylan was fully awake. He wondered why in the heck Brandon was acting so strangely. He opened his eyes – the room was pitch dark, except for the faint stream of moonlight shining in through the window. Outside he could hear frogs gulping and crickets chirping. Was that why Brandon had woken him up?
“They’re just crickets, silly” Dylan started to say, but then he heard what Brandon must have been talking about. Directly outside his window, Dylan noticed a sound other than the soft chorus of frogs and crickets. “What is that noise?” Brandon asked.
The noise was a scratching sound, like one of the dogs pawing at the door. But it seemed to be coming from right next to Dylan’s bed – on the other side of the wall. It sounded as though something was climbing up the side of the house. Dylan wondered if maybe it was a squirrel, or a raccoon.
Brandon was on his tiptoes, looking out the window. “I can’t see what it is,” he said, and then suddenly his whole body froze, as though he had spotted something that startled him.
“Let me see,” Dylan said, and started moving towards the window. But as he got up Brandon yelled, and quickly ran back to the bed, knocking into Dylan on the way. Brandon was shaking. “It’s the gargoyle!” he gasped.
“It is NOT the gargoyle. Stop telling stories,” Dylan scolded. Although he didn’t want Brandon to know, he was a little scared – but not much. He knew that the gargoyle was just a statue. The noise must be something else.
“It IS, Dylan!” Brandon insisted. “The gargoyle was climbing up the side of your house! It’s going to climb in your window!”
Dylan quickly turned back to the window. The glass was open, but the screen was closed. Maybe whatever it was could rip through the screen . . .. No, now he was being silly. He told himself not to be scared.
“It’s in the attic!” Brandon yelled, pointing to the ceiling. Sure enough, the noise was now coming from above their heads – as though something was clawing across the floor of the farmhouse attic. The sound was very loud; as if whatever was making it had heavy footsteps. The clawing steps walked across the floor of the attic – until they stopped in the far corner of the room.
“What is it?” asked Brandon. He was huddled right next to Dylan, and his stepbrother could tell he was still shaking. Dylan was shaking a little too, now, but he hoped Brandon didn’t notice.
“It’s . . .” Dylan said, trying to think of something that could have possibly climbed up the side of their house and into the attic. It was probably something which normally lived in woods around the farmhouse, like a . . . a . . . his mind raced. Finally, he thought that it must be a squirrel. That made sense; the squirrel had probably gotten lost in the dark and had climbed the farmhouse thinking it was a tree. Now it was even more lost, stuck up in the attic. “It’s just a squirrel, Brandon,” Dylan said, trying to sound sure of himself. “We’d better go up to the attic and let it out. Otherwise it will wake up my mom.”
“Are you sure it’s a squirrel?” asked Brandon, sounding like he didn’t think Dylan was right.
“What else could it be?” Dylan said. He climbed down from the bed. “Come on, Brandon, I’m going upstairs to let it out.” Dylan wanted Brandon to go with him, but he didn’t want to ask – otherwise it would seem like he was scared. Which he wasn’t – Dylan was almost four years old, and he thought that was too old to get scared.
“Okay – if you’re sure it’s a squirrel,” Brandon answered, climbing off the bed. “But you better be right.”
The two boys peered up the stairs leading to the attic. They had tiptoed slowly and quietly from their bedroom so as not to wake Dylan’s mommy – so far they hadn’t heard her move at all. The door to the attic was heavy and creaky, so they had both had to work to pull that open as silently as possible. At one point the door had made a loud CREE-EA-KKK and both boys had frozen in place, sure Dylan’s mom would awaken. They stood so still they didn’t even breathe, until they were sure that she hadn’t heard the noise. Now, they were at the bottom of the stairs, looking and listening intently to see if there was any sign of the creature in the attic. There was none.
Maybe it went away – Dylan thought. He considered telling Brandon they should go back to bed, when Brandon said, “So – are we going upstairs or not?”
“Of course we are,” Dylan said. He paused a moment longer, then began climbing the stairs. The stairway was wide enough for the two boys to walk together, and he and Brandon moved side by side up to the attic. As they got to the top they were able to look around to see if they could find any signs of a squirrel among the boxes and old furniture Dylan’s mommy had stored up there. As they reached the last step they saw something move ever so slightly in the far corner – something too big to be a squirrel.
Dylan and Brandon stepped on to the attic floor. The something in the corner stood up, and looked right at the boys. It had a grin on its face, which was illuminated by the bright moonlight.
“It’s . . .” Brandon gasped, his eyes wide with staring.
“A cat,” Dylan finished, wrinkling his nose in bewilderment. He had never seen a cat near his house before. How had one climbed all the way up to the attic?
Dylan walked towards the cat. Maybe he could keep it as a pet. It was in his attic, after all – he thought it was only fair that he be able to keep it. He knew his mom was allergic to cats, but maybe she would let him have this one if he promised to take care of it himself. He wondered if the cat was friendly; “here, kitty,” he called.
“My name is Long Ear,” the cat replied, with a faint snarl.
Later on the boys could not have told you why, but at that moment neither one was surprised to hear the cat speak. Maybe it had something to do with the moonlight. The moon was beaming like a milky lantern in the sky – shining so brightly it almost blotted out the stars. Its light was pale and eerie, and its light made anything seemed possible. Even a talking cat.
“Long Ear,” Dylan said – it was a strange name. But he had met creatures with strange names before – especially in the forest, outside his Papa’s house. “Here, Long Ear,” Dylan said, calling to him as though he were a pet.
Long Ear snarled again, his lip curling back over one of his pointy teeth. “Why don’t you come here, Dylan,” he said. “You can come too, Brandon.” Long Ear miaowed, his long tongue licking across his nose.
“Don’t go, Dylan,” Brandon warned, holding out his hand to keep his stepbrother back. “He’s not a friendly cat.”
Dylan looked at Long Ear. The cat was black from head to toe, with the exception of a white stripe of fur that ran along his belly. His ears seemed to be tipped with white, but Dylan couldn’t tell if they actually were, or if it was just a trick of the moonlight.
“Brandon, why are your nervous?” Long Ear purred, stretching his back. “Dylan should be happy to see me – I bring good luck.”
Dylan took a step towards the cat. “Dylan, don’t,” Brandon urged. But Dylan was too curious not to move closer. “Good luck?” he asked. “For my new house?”
“Yes,” Long Ear replied, his voice dragging a little, like a rusty chain. “You are a very lucky boy, Dylan. I bring good luck to anyone who finds me in their house.”
Dylan took another step towards Long Ear. He realized that the cat smelled foul – like old vegetables rotting in a compost heap. Brandon moved so he was right behind Dylan, and tried to grab a hold of his hand but Dylan shook him off. “Don’t get closer,” Brandon said. Then he pointed at Long Ear; “You stay there!” he ordered.
Long Ear hadn’t moved. “I don’t know why you don’t like me,” he murmured. “Dylan is coming to pet my back.”
Dylan wasn’t sure that he wanted to pet Long Ear. The closer he got the worse the cat smelled. But he thought that it would be neat to have a talking cat as a pet. And if he did bring good luck then maybe his mommy would let him keep Long Ear. Maybe she would even stop being so tired all the time.
“Come and pet me, Dylan,” Long Ear purred. Dylan reached out his hand – he had just a few more steps to take until he reached the far corner of the room. The moonlight in the attic flickered, as though it was light coming from a candle that was being gently blown out. “He’s not going to pet you!” Brandon yelled, and stamped his foot. Dylan was surprised to hear Brandon sound so angry – normally he did not get mad about anything. Why was Brandon so upset over a cat? Dylan didn’t stop walking – as he approached Long Ear he noticed his fur was hard looking and clumpy – as though it had been covered in dried mud.
Long Ear slid towards Dylan. Dylan was so surprised to see him move that he quickly jerked his hand backwards. At the same moment, a great noise filled the room – a thunderous cackling and drumming sound. “Watch out!” Brandon exclaimed.
Fast shadows fell across the walls. The drumming turned into flapping – the beating of two powerful wings. Dylan looked around and saw a crow landing in the attic – on the floor just between him and Long Ear. “Get back!” screeched the crow.
Dylan jumped, falling into Brandon. Long Ear also leapt away, and cowered against the wall.
“Long Ear,” the crow bellowed, turning on the cat. The crow raised its magnificent wings, and towered above the cringing animal. “You do not belong in this house!”
Long Ear hissed, and slashed out at the crow with his claw. “You are too late Banderscratch,” he hissed, “The boy wants to keep me as a pet!”
“The boy didn’t touch you,” the crow cackled, beating his wings again. “Unless he touches you, the spell is not broken. Now I command you to leave this house!” With that the crow rose up, flying above the cat, thundering its wings like a storm. Long Ear let out a rattling breath, and slowly pulled apart into a vapor. He drifted away in a black, slimy mist. As he disappeared the rotting smell lessened in the room, and the crow landed on the attic floor.
Dylan and Brandon struggled to sit up. “What happened? He brought good luck!” Dylan asked.
Black Beak looked sternly at Dylan. “Long Ear was lying to you,” the crow said. “He is an evil creature, who haunts old houses and brings illness and misfortune on their owners.”
“You saved us!” Brandon said. But Dylan still wasn’t sure what was going on. “Who are you?” he asked the crow.
“I am the leader of the crows that have been given the duty of protecting humans from creatures like Long Ear,” he replied. “I also have the power to keep the curse that was placed on him. He will not bother you any more.”
“Where did he come from?” Dylan wondered. He wasn’t convinced that he believed the crow and wanted to hear the whole story.
“Long Ear is very old,” the crow stated, “And spent many years inflicting sadness and suffering on people. If a person takes him in as a pet, then the person will never know happiness for the rest of their lives. Their family will suffer from strange illnesses, and fall into despair. Years ago the good creatures of the forest cursed him so he could not continue to do harm to people. But once every two hundred years Long Ear has a chance to break that curse- if someone pets him on the back, then the curse will be gone forever. Then Long Ear will be able to bring misfortune to people again – unless a crow is able to stop the curse from being broken.”
“So if Dylan had pet him, then the curse would have been broken?” Brandon asked.
“Yes,” Banderscratch answered. “But Dylan couldn’t help what he was doing – Long Ear can put a spell on someone, to try and free himself.”
“What is the curse?” Dylan asked the crow.
The crow blinked before answering. “If I tell you, you have to understand that Long Ear can not even try to break the curse for another two hundred years. You are completely safe from him now.” The crow paused a minute as if he was trying to decide whether or not to continue his story.
“It’s my house – I want to know,” said Dylan.
The crow seemed to smile. “Well then - we turned Long Ear into stone, and placed a heavy chain around his neck. The chain is what binds him as a statue. When the chain is broken, then the crows know that that night Long Ear will try to free himself from the curse again. So far, he has tried four times – and never been successful. As long as there are crows, we will keep him from harming another person.”
Dylan stared at the crow. He wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure exactly how to. He wanted to ask if Long Ear’s curse was to stand as a gargoyle statue at the top of the farmhouse driveway.
“I need to leave now,” Banderscratch said. “Remember, Long Ear can not try to hurt you again. You should go back to bed – and try to get some sleep.” The crow flapped its wings, and flew over to the attic window. Before he left, he turned back to the boys; “Should I tell Furfoot you said ‘hello,’ Dylan?”
Dylan grinned. He hadn’t seen Furfoot in a long time, and was glad to hear that the crow knew his tiny friend. “Okay,” Dylan replied.
“Good night, then,” the crow cackled, and flew away into the moonlight.
“Who is Furfoot?” Brandon wondered. “Is he a crow too?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Dylan said. He didn’t feel like telling Brandon the whole story right at that moment. Besides, he felt like they should do what the crow said, and go back to bed.
“Tell me tomorrow, okay?” Brandon asked. The boys stood up. “Okay,” Dylan answered, walking towards the attic stairs. He figured he could tell Brandon tomorrow while they were outside, eating strawberries. That seemed like a good idea.
The two boys walked slowly across the attic floor, trying not to make it creak too much. Dylan’s mommy was still asleep, and they certainly didn’t want to wake her up. She would wonder why they were up in the attic, and neither boy was exactly sure how to answer that question without sounding like they were making up wild stories
“I told you I saw the gargoyle take off its chain,” Brandon said. “I’m glad Banderscratch came along.”
“You’re right,” Dylan responded. He was staring to feel groggy, as if he were sleepwalking, or waking from a deep dream. “I guess we were lucky after all.”
The next morning Dylan woke up to a smell he hadn’t awakened to since before he’d moved into the farmhouse. Excited, he jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. His mommy was in the kitchen, cooking eggs and bacon at the stove. Brandon sat at the kitchen table with Mike, drinking a glass of milk.
“Mommy!” Dylan exclaimed, running to her.
“Dylan! How you doing buddy?” she called back, stooping down to give him a hug. “I’m making breakfast – I hope you’re hungry.” She smiled, and her eyes looked full of sunshine.
“Are you tired, mommy?” Dylan asked. She didn’t look tired, but he wanted to be sure. Maybe, he thought, she would feel better now, that the curse had been put back on Long Ear.
“Nope, I’m not tired at all,” his mommy said, kissing him on the nose. “I think last night was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”
“That’s good,” Mike said, from the table. “I was getting worried about you.”
“Me too,” Dylan confessed, relieved that mom now looked happy again.
“Oh Dylan – there’s no need to worry,” mommy said, “You know sometimes it just takes time to get used to a new house. But I think I’m used to it now, and I don’t feel tired at all. In fact,” she smiled, pinching Dylan on the tummy, “I think today I could eat more strawberries than either you or Brandon – what do you think about that?”
“No you couldn’t!” Brandon yelled. He squirmed in his chair; “I’m going to eat the most strawberries!”
“After breakfast, we’ll see,” Dylan’s mommy said. Dylan pinched her on the cheek, and smiled at her. She looked very happy, and Dylan was glad.
“I love you, mommy” he said.
“I love you too, Dylan” she replied. “Why don’t you get a seat at the table so you can eat your breakfast.”
Dylan crossed the room to the table, and climbed up into an empty seat. He was glad that things seemed to be getting back to normal. He wondered if maybe what had happened the night before had all been a dream. After all, he thought, who ever heard of a talking cat?
“You know what I saw when I got home last night?” Mike said to Dylan’s mommy. “It was the strangest thing – there was this big crow sitting on the roof, looking down at the house. It was like it was watching for something. It didn’t even get scared when I walked by, just sat there.”
“A crow, huh?” mommy said. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing. I remember learning when I was a little girl that crows bring good luck.”
Dylan and Brandon looked at each other. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all.
Mommy put some eggs on Dylan’s plate. “Eat them all up,” she said.
“Okay,” Dylan answered. He looked out the kitchen window and saw a crow sitting in a tree. Dylan smiled, feeling safe and happy. He loved his new home. He knew he would be happy in it for a long time.
“You know what else?” Mike asked. “That gargoyle at the top of the driveway looks pretty scary in the moonlight. That thing looked like it was staring right at me – and it looked creepy. Maybe we should get rid of it.”
“Oh, I don’t think we have to,” Dylan’s mommy said. “We should be fine, as long as we’ve got a crow to protect us, right Dylan?” She winked at her son.
Dylan smiled back at his mom. He wondered if she knew about what had gone on in the attic the night before. But, she couldn’t have, he thought, she hadn’t even woken up. Sometimes, his mommy seemed to know things that surprised him. He wondered how she did that.
He decided not to think about it. His food smelled too good to ignore. Just before he shoveled a spoonful of eggs into his mouth he turned to Brandon. “You’re wrong,” he said; “I’m going to eat the most strawberries.”
And, later in the day, he did just that.
And they all lived happily ever after.
The End