An Ordinary Fairy

by John Osborne

  How did I set the timer? For ten minutes? Twenty?

  Please, Goddess, let it be twenty.

  Willow swam a few more minutes, then climbed out and walked up the narrow rock path to the ledge, Shadow following close behind. Her wings appeared to be like a dragonfly’s, but hung loose down her back, spread about half open. They were transparent and glistened with water droplets. Willow spoke to Shadow while they climbed, words Noah couldn’t catch. As soon as they reached the ledge, the big dog again shook nose to tail, showering Willow.

  “Two can play that game,” she said, and she vibrated her wings for a few seconds, showering the dog in turn. He barked, and her sweet laughter floated across the water.

  Noah smiled at their antics and fought off a giggle. Willow picked up the robe and dried her face and hair as she left, leaving her body and wings to dry in the air. She showed no discomfort, despite the fifty-degree air temperature, and could have been out swimming on a summer day for all she appeared to care. She turned toward the path. Shadow as usual bounded ahead.

  Noah found her rear view quite charming … even with wings.

  I wish you would stay longer.

  At that moment, Willow stopped and turned halfway towards the pond, listening again, head inclined. Her wings rose, twitching slightly. After a few seconds, she turned away and disappeared into the trees. Her voice rose in singing for a few seconds then all sign of her faded. The birds left, the water stilled, and the pond returned to slumber. Noah’s buoyant heart sank into shadow as well.

  Five seconds later, the camera shut off with a whir and a beep.

  She has wings!

  Noah stumbled through the woods. He had packed the equipment in record time, taking no pictures, anxious to get away from the pond, blood rushing to his head. Leaves rustled under his feet, silencing the already lazy crickets. Gathering gloom hid the trail from his searching eyes. The camera bag caught in the brush and wrenched his shoulder. An unseen root jammed his toe and he fell forward, landing on hands and knees. He picked himself up and went on, cursing the root, the trail, the mud on his hands, and the dark.

  Dragonfly wings!

  The air changed. Soft aromas of wet leaves and wood became the tang of fresh turned earth. He burst into the open at the plowed field where he had parked the truck. It sat at the trailhead to the north. Fleeing the pond, he’d gone astray and followed the wrong path. He trotted along the strip of grass between muddy fields and dense woods. Cold wind blew in his face; he snugged his zipper, and pulled his ball cap down tighter.

  She can fly!

  He fished the keys from his pocket, unlocked the truck door and swung it open then paused to catch his breath. Well, he’d gotten his wish. He’d seen Willow … more of her than he had hoped.

  Louie’s hints were mysterious, but this—

  Noah turned the truck around and bounced along the uneven ground to the county road. Mud flew off the tires as he accelerated away from the field.

  For the first time in a life of talking to himself, Noah was speechless.

  Four

  Noah unlocked the door to Number 13, slammed it open and stalked over to the picture of Willow.

  “Who the hell are you? What the hell are you?”

  He returned to the door and closed it, threw his cap and jacket on the bed, and turned back to the picture.

  “What did I just see, Ms. Brown?”

  He paced rapidly, swiveling his head at each turn to watch the picture, lest she try to escape.

  “People don’t fly. They don’t have wings. They don’t glow. Fifty-degree air makes them shiver if they’re wet. You’re way too strong for your size, you can control animals, or at least communicate with them.” He stopped in front of the picture and pointed an accusing finger. “Those ducks were happy to see you!”

  He returned to pacing. “You look just like you did thirty years ago, when I wasn’t even in school yet! And why can’t I find any record of you?”

  Noah flopped into the easy chair with a loud sigh.

  “I wasn’t drunk. I haven’t even had a beer since yesterday. No drugs. No hallucination. I don’t think so, anyway. Maybe I should have sneaked one picture of you.”

  The thought had never crossed his mind to take pictures. Noah didn’t believe it was right, as some colleagues did, to photograph people without their knowledge. Their shutter fingers would itch at what he had seen.

  He turned back to the picture. He forced the words from his mouth: “You’re a fairy.”

  There. I said it. The ridiculous, the unbelievable, the impossible.

  Did this explain the eerie sensation he felt whenever she was near? Fairy energy? Noah knew all about the energies of people and places. He’d been dowsing for years, quite successfully. Willow radiated a different energy than he had ever sensed before, but he’d written if off to his own attraction to her.

  Perhaps there’s more to it.

  “Obviously there’s more to it. I just saw you fly.”

  Noah rose, retrieved the laptop from its hiding place beneath the mattress and set it up.

  I’ve heard things, heard stories, from my Wicca friends. But I thought … well, I thought they were a little off.

  When the computer sang its readiness, Noah typed “fairies” into the search engine. The first twenty of 2,846,593 hits appeared. He clicked a link near the top of the list about the Cottingley fairies. In 1917, two young girls convinced many people they had photographed live fairies in the forest near their home. Experts declared the negatives unaltered, and that the girls would not know how to do so. The famous, logical Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame became a believer. Seventy years later one of the girls admitted the fairies were cutouts from a department store catalog mounted on cardboard.

  The screen flickered with vast amounts of information. The ancient French word fee meant “enchanter.” That certainly applied to Willow. Every culture believed in some creature akin to fairies, by many names. Noah knew the European ones: elf, banshee, gnome, and leprechaun. While legends endowed the creatures with a variety of sometimes-sinister powers, most were small, though none as small as Tinker Bell in Peter Pan, who was strictly a creation of fiction. Who would believe such a story?

  If I told anyone what I saw, they’d think I was drunk or smoking something.

  What was the gain? For him, nothing but a tainted reputation, and for Willow, nothing but harm. He raised his eyes to her picture.

  “And Wiccans do not bring harm to others when they can prevent it.”

  Your secret will be safe with me.

  “We missed you yesterday, young man,” Harry, the Henning’s Gang leader, said as Noah sat down. He stifled a yawn before answering. Sleep had not come easy last night.

  “I needed to make an early start yesterday. I had an appointment for a shoot in Bismarck, and then I went to the library.”

  “What’s at the library to interest you?” Frank asked.

  “I was researching my next assignment.” No way would he tell them the truth about why he went, except maybe Louie, if he could get him alone. The old man sat sipping his coffee and listening. Noah had many questions he would like to ask him.

  “Don’t look like much of a day for takin’ pictures,” Lawrence said.

  “No, I don’t think so either,” Noah said. The solid gray sky hung close overhead and a few sprinkles of rain blew against the restaurant windows. Noah refused to work in the rain, unless forced. Screw Richard’s impatience.

  Noah had forgotten to turn his cell phone on until after eleven the night before. Three voice mails waited for him. The first, of course, was from Richard, left about two minutes after Noah hung up on him. Noah didn’t need to hold the phone to his ear to hear. He deleted it before it finished. The second message came about an hour later. From Varney again, still terse but calmed down some, though he still insisted Noah finish within one week. The third message came about nine o’clock in the evening. By then, Varney conceded Noah was the “ma
n on the scene” and knew best what would complete the job, but would he please try to hurry? Noah left a reply message, apologizing for the poor connection they experienced and going on to say he was in such a rush to make progress he hadn’t checked voice mail until late.

  About two o’clock that morning he had determined to see Willow. Now it turned out he couldn’t work today anyway. The man on the scene decided it was too rainy.

  “So what’s a photographer do when it rains?” Harry asked.

  Noah returned from his reverie. “Well, since I work most weekends, like I did this last one, I’ll take the day off. I have a good mystery waiting for me, after I have a hungry man’s breakfast.” His stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten last night.

  Noah walked to the motel as rain arrived in earnest. He climbed into the truck and drove off, heading south on Route 1, then east on Route 9. A couple of empty factory buildings, the high school and the hospital flanked his route, but he didn’t see them. Images of a beautiful little fairy danced through his mind. Or actually, flew.

  Noah turned the truck through the trees into the hidden lane. Rock in the right places prevented bogging down in mud. He arrived at the tree across the lane and turned the truck around, lest the ground become too wet to do so before he returned. He pulled his poncho over his Carhartt jacket and ball cap and climbed out.

  The rain had developed into a steady drizzle. Under the trees, it became large random drops. Noah walked quickly down the cottage path. Water from the brush and branches soaked his poncho.

  Noah’s research told him fairies always knew when a human was near, which had allowed them to remain elusive for centuries, but he had surprised Willow the first time he came here, and she did not seem to sense him at the pond the night before, until Shadow smelled him. He also read that iron was deadly to fairies, but this one had an iron gate on her door. So was this little woman a fairy … or something else?

  He reached the cottage, strode across the small clearing and rapped on the heavy door, determined to confront Willow with the facts and get the truth. Two loud barks sounded from inside.

  “Ms. Brown?” he shouted. “It’s Noah Phelps. Could I have a word with you please?”

  The latch moved after a few moments and the door swung open. The instant she appeared all his resolve to play the inquisitor vanished as the now familiar energy washed over him. Barefoot, she wore white exercise shorts and a loose dark blue sweatshirt. She had cut her hair short since yesterday. She looked puzzled.

  “Hello, Noah,” she said. “You certainly are good at sneaking up on me. Something told me I would see you again, though.”

  Scratch the no-one-can-surprise-a-fairy legend.

  Noah felt he was a sorry sight, in a poncho and ball cap, dripping water everywhere. His tough mind-set disappeared in a cloud of embarrassment, as images of Willow’s naked form floated through his mind.

  “Uh, good morning,” he said. “Could I speak to you for a few minutes about the pictures I took on Monday? I’d like to get some background on the area and the wildlife. I should have done it then but it slipped my mind. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Willow hesitated then smiled. “Sure.” She unlatched the gate and pushed it toward him. “Come in before you float away.”

  Noah stepped through the door and onto a stone platform above the cottage floor two steps below. The narrow shelf extended the full width of the room and held a stack of firewood, some kindling, and an ash can. A corn broom leaned in a corner to one side of the door. On the other side hung a row of low hooks holding a neat line of sweaters and jackets. Various small footgear lined up neatly below. He pulled the gate closed behind him and swung the door shut. Willow had stepped down to the floor, and her tiny figure seemed smaller yet. Shadow waited by her side, his tail wagging furiously.

  “There are some high hooks on the door for your poncho and jacket,” Willow said, pointing. “No shoes allowed.” Noah complied with these instructions and then joined Willow on the floor, where Shadow greeted him with a wet nose. Noah returned the welcome and rubbed the dog’s head.

  Willow watched their greetings. She tried to put her hands in her back pockets before remembering she had none, and settled for crossing her arms. A gold dragonfly earring adorned each tiny ear.

  Appropriate.

  “You cut your hair,” Noah said. “I like it.”

  I love it. And I see your ears aren’t pointed.

  “Oh, thanks,” she said, brushing one hand through her tresses. “I usually keep it this short. I let it get out of hand lately. I’m afraid I’m not into fashion and beauty stuff.”

  “You have no need to be,” Noah answered. She smiled her appreciation.

  Did your face just shine or was it a trick of the light?

  “May I get you something to drink?” she asked. “I have hot water for tea.” When Noah hesitated, she continued, “I bet you’re more of a coffee kind of guy.”

  Noah smiled as he continued rubbing the dog’s head. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Tea has never appealed to me.”

  “Well, I’m not a coffee kind of girl,” she said, screwing up her face in a grimace. “How about hot chocolate? Everyone likes hot chocolate.”

  “That sounds good.” Noah sat down on the sofa.

  Willow walked into the little kitchen at the back of the main room. Noah’s eyes strayed to those beautiful legs before he took a few moments to look over the small abode.

  The main room, about fifteen feet wide by twenty-five deep, comprised the living area. The walls, except for the front stone wall, were hardwood tongue and groove. The ceiling peaked, which hadn’t been apparent from outside, and was finished in the same wood as the walls. A small woodstove sat at the back of the room with a chimney that went straight through the roof. A gray tabby cat slept curled up in front of it. The fire must be small, for the air was cool.

  Behind the stove, a half-wall separated the main room from the kitchen. Beyond the wall, a small built-in booth and table with two facing seats provided the dining area. The kitchen was equipped with a two burner cook top, microwave, sink and under counter refrigerator. To the right a low wood door stood half-open to a dark room cut into the hill.

  Nice little house. Nice little fairy house.

  Willow appeared to be a high-tech fairy, as a small notebook computer sat open, but dark, on a tiny combination bookcase and computer desk, against the back wall opposite the kitchen. Next to the laptop sat a nearly empty bowl of peanut M&Ms. A narrow staircase between the kitchen and the work area led up from the main room. Noah could see an open loft stretched the width of the house.

  Ordinary upholstered furniture occupied the main room, a couch on the kitchen side, a small easy chair against the opposite wall. A compact stereo sat on a shelf, but Noah saw no television or telephone. Two small end tables each held a glass dish of chocolate candy.

  Fairies must like chocolate.

  A large oval rug lay on the wood floor. Through a doorway that opened in the wall beyond the kitchen, Noah could see bright daylight. Despite being earth-covered, the cottage had no damp musty smell or feel. A pleasant earthy, yet sweet aroma filled the air. Quiet prevailed with no roof for the rain to hit. He thought, though, he could hear a soft sound of running water.

  Everything in the cottage suited a small person. The furniture was low. Noah found the couch uncomfortable, with nothing to do with his legs. Low and narrow doors, the narrow stairway, and the tiny kitchen all said “little.” Earthy and natural decorations brought the forest indoors. Pictures on the walls displayed animals or forest scenes, but no people. Plants sat on many scattered shelves.

  “This place is wonderful,” Noah said, turning to Willow where she stood at the counter. “A perfect little … hobbit hole.”

  Jeez, I almost said fairy house.

  She walked from the kitchen carrying two mugs. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not a hobbit,” she said. “They’re really short, you know.” She grinned that mischievous way he liked.


  Noah stood and accepted his hot chocolate. “Oh. I guess I missed that detail,” Noah said. “About you not being really short, I mean.”

  That wonderful fragrance is from you.

  “I’m not as tall as some people,” she said. “Four-foot-nine isn’t that short.”

  “It looks pretty short from up here.”

  Willow stuck out her tongue, and then laughed merrily. “I should apologize about the couch. Your knees almost hit your chin.”

  “That’s alright.” He sipped the hot chocolate. “What’s behind the kitchen? Looks like all windows.”

  “Oh, that’s the poolroom. Come on, I’ll show you.” She waved for him to follow and walked toward the door in the back wall. As he walked by, Noah could see a door under the stairs led to a bathroom. He stepped through the door to the poolroom and then understood the name.

  The floor and walls were all stone. The wood ceiling continued the roofline from the main room. Above him, a wood railing ran along the loft’s backside, where a small black cat hunkered, eyeing Noah with suspicion. The south wall was all glass. Rain and moisture on the windows restricted his view, but he could make out a small garden surrounded by a tall dark green hedge. A large stone pool built into the floor filled most of the room, an oval about twelve feet long and eight feet wide. Water flowed from a short U-shaped trough in the east wall and cascaded down troughs set into the wall and then into the pool. On the west end, the room’s floor sloped to facilitate water overflowing from the pool into a trough, and then outside through a small opening in the wall. The west wall contained a small wooden door.

  “Wow,” Noah said. “I like this.”

  At least I would if there was some heat. It can’t be fifty degrees in here.

  Scattered reed mats covered the floor. Two small wood benches supported plants and partly burned candles, whose scent hung in the air. A low table held towels, soap and shampoo. He walked over to the cascade and verified the water was icy cold. “Does this come from a spring?”