An Ordinary Fairy

by John Osborne

  “I am she,” Willow said. Her voice was hurled to a low, formal tone.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. I remembered … well, that doesn’t matter. I’m Sheriff Ronald Stevens and we’re looking for Noah Phelps in response to his report of the vandalism. We thought perhaps he was here.”

  What vandalism?

  “What vandalism?” Willow asked.

  “Someone defaced the front of the mansion.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the Big House. “Is Noah Phelps here?”

  “Yes.”

  “May we come in and speak with him?” This question wasn’t couched in the usual police officer’s tone of expected cooperation but was a request for an audience with a higher authority.

  “Certainly,” Willow said. She swung the gate open and led the two men in. She faced them with her arms crossed, without offering them a seat. Power radiated from her.

  The sheriff seemed short for a police officer, maybe five feet six. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties, his hair gray and thin on top. He wore expensive leather shoes and a gray business suit showing a firearm bulge. His eyes swept the interior of the cottage and came to rest on Noah.

  The deputy stood taller, closer to Noah’s height, and wore a black uniform with Vermilion County insignia. His belt openly displayed a weapon, along with all the other police paraphernalia Noah could never identify. He didn’t look around at all, because his eyes were stuck on Willow. Noah wished she hadn’t put on those short shorts.

  Keep your pants zipped, Deputy Fife.

  The sheriff spoke to Noah. “Are you Noah Phelps?”

  “Yes,” Noah said and extended his hand. “What’s this all about?” The sheriff shook hands firmly and pulled a small notebook from his pocket.

  “We’re responding to your phone report,” Stevens said.

  “I didn’t make any report.”

  The sheriff looked confused. He removed a slip of paper from his notebook and consulted it. “We received a call at 6:13 am this morning from a man identifying himself as Noah Phelps, reporting vandalism at the large house on the Jones Woods property.”

  “What did they do to the house?” Willow asked.

  Sheriff Stevens ignored Willow and turned the paper around to Noah. “Is this your phone number?”

  Noah perused the paper. “No.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, brought up its number, and showed the sheriff. “Here’s my number. Notice the Wisconsin area code. The phone that called you has an Illinois code.”

  Stevens nodded. “That jives with the Wisconsin plate on your truck. The engine was cold.”

  “He was here with me all night,” Willow interjected. “He didn’t make any phone calls.” She pointed toward the loft. “He was up there, in bed with me, all night. I know he didn’t leave because I slept on top of him.”

  Deputy Fife’s eyes grew wide and he let a snicker escape, which earned a blistering look from the sheriff.

  More information than they needed, sweetie.

  “Do you have a cell phone, Ms. Brown?” Stevens asked.

  Noah felt Willow’s impatience and then energy swelled as she prepared to hurl.

  “What did they do to the house?” she spat out.

  “Someone performed a ritual on the front porch, or wanted us to think they did, and painted the front wall with blood.” Stevens stopped, with a dumbfounded look on his face.

  What’s wrong? Never seen anyone hurl before?

  “I want to see the damage,” Willow said. “Let’s go.” Willow turned away and sat on the stone ledge to put on shoes. Noah sat beside her to do the same, while the sheriff and deputy stood like servants who had been dismissed with no instructions what to do.

  “Sheriff, did the cell phone that made the call have GPS?” Noah asked.

  Stevens stirred as if from slumber. “No. It may have been a throw away phone. The staff discounted the call as a prank but when it came across my desk I recognized the location and thought we better check it out.”

  Willow stood up and opened the door, ready to go. Noah grabbed his jacket from its peg. Once outside, Shadow bounded ahead until Willow silently called him back. He took up a position by her knee and followed every move. They moved along the path to the Big House at Willow’s usual breakneck pace, leaving the two police officers struggling to keep up.

  Three more people were at the house, two uniformed deputies standing at the bottom of the porch stairs and one man in plain clothes further back, shooting photos with a digital camera. Willow walked toward the two deputies without slowing, forcing them to step back out of her path. She bounded up the steps two at a time with Shadow at her side. Noah followed a few feet behind her with an amused expression. The sheriff and Deputy Fife stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  A crudely drawn five-pointed star inscribed inside a circle covered the floor. Noah had seen enough blood around the farm to recognize it even without the distinctive odor. Various other odd symbols were outside the circle, none recognizable to Noah. Several large burned-down candles sat inside each point of the star; fortunately, they hadn’t caught the wood porch floor on fire. For good measure, a second smaller star and circle defaced the front door with one point aiming down and two points at the top. The blood from this second image ran down to the porch floor.

  Upside down.

  Willow stood with her hands on her hips surveying the scene, her growing anger passing through Noah. Shadow didn’t move but extended his nose as far as possible to sniff. A flash from behind them drew their attention. The plain-clothes photographer had taken a picture of them.

  Noah muttered to Willow, “Sort of an odd crime scene photo, don’t you think?” About then another uniformed deputy walked out of the woods carrying a camera.

  Why are there two photographers?

  Willow must have had the same thought; she flew down the steps, scattering the group of officers, and pounded toward the first photographer. Shadow and Noah hurried along behind her. Once he saw what was developing, the sheriff followed.

  Willow strode up to the man and stopped so close he backed up two steps. She looked like a child before him. He was about Noah’s height but heavily built. She rested her hands on her hips.

  “Who are you?” she demanded as Noah walked up behind her.

  “I’m a photographer for the paper in Danville,” the man said. He nodded toward Stevens, who had just come up beside Noah. “The sheriff sometimes lets me follow on a case.”

  “Not on my property, he doesn’t.” She turned to Stevens. “Sheriff, arrest this man. He’s trespassing on private property and taking photographs without my permission.”

  The photographer laughed at her.

  He does not know his peril.

  Willow’s eyes flashed lightning bolts. “Give me your camera,” she growled. Noah placed himself between her and the photographer, as the sheriff moved up a step.

  “Ms. Brown, I’ll get him out of here, there’s no need to—”

  “You can take him out of here after you arrest him.”

  Stevens hesitated before the fuming little fairy.

  Noah faced the photographer. “Listen buddy, I think it’s a good idea you hand over the camera and move along. Or just the memory card will do. Believe me, you don’t want to tangle with Ms. Brown.”

  The man frowned. “I’ll leave but you’re not taking my camera or card.” He turned to go, but Noah grabbed the sleeve of the hand holding the camera. At the same time, Willow tried to step around Noah.

  “Get out of my way,” she said through clenched teeth. Noah held her back with one arm. The photographer turned a nasty look on him and took a swing at his face. Noah expected a stupid move and easily avoided the blow.

  Shadow erupted into vicious barking, leaped through the air, and crashed into the man’s chest, slamming him to the ground with such force the camera flew into the air and landed ten feet away in the leaves. Noah glanced at Willow.

  Did you do that?


  Now that he had the man on the ground, Shadow didn’t know what to do with him and wagged his tail. Maybe they should play now? Willow raised a hand toward the dog and his hackles rose; he issued a deep, teeth-baring growl that kept the man motionless. Noah suppressed his laughter.

  “Ms. Brown, call off the dog!” shouted Stevens.

  Willow ignored him and walked to where the camera landed, picked up a large rock and knelt. Several loud thuds and crunches ensued. She scooped up the remains of the camera, walked over to the photographer where he lay gasping for breath and dropped the pile of shattered plastic, metal and glass on his chest.

  “Oops. You dropped your camera,” she said and turned away. Shadow stopped growling and followed her, as did Noah.

  “You little bitch!” the man shouted. “That camera cost me a thousand bucks!”

  Willow didn’t turn or hesitate. “So sue me.” She stepped up to the sheriff, her face flushed with displeasure. She stabbed a finger through the air at him. “You’re supposed to keep trouble away and not bring it with you.”

  Stevens opened his mouth, then closed it.

  “Careful, Sheriff,” said a sarcastic voice. “That one can be a handful.”

  Willow and Noah whipped around. Chester Jones was helping the photographer to his feet. Camouflage hunting clothes had replaced his normal business attire, which perhaps explained their missing his approach.

  You’re wearing your usual smirk, though, asshole.

  Jones brushed leaves and dirt off the man’s clothing.

  Willow turned back to Stevens. “Sheriff, arrest this man.”

  The sheriff looked confused. “Which one?”

  “Both of them. They’re trespassing. The signs are posted.”

  Jones guffawed. “My, my, Willow, you’ve never had great social skills, but this tops even you.”

  “Shut up!” Noah and Willow chorused. Jones sneered at them.

  “Slow down, Ms. Brown,” Stevens said. “The photographer had my permission to be here and I’m responsible for him. I’ll have him escorted off your property.” He stopped and waved one of the deputies toward the photographer. The deputy nodded and moved to lead the man away. Stevens turned to Jones. “Mr. Jones, why are you here?”

  The sheriff knows who you are.

  Jones looked at Willow. “May I speak?” Willow smoldered but said nothing. “I came to visit Ms. Brown regarding a business matter. Usually I’m allowed to come here for that purpose.”

  The pictures!

  “That’s bullshit and you know it, Jones,” Noah said. “Sheriff, this man has not only been trespassing, he’s also broken into the mansion.”

  Jones’s sneer vanished, for once replaced with uncertainty. Noah dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out the infrared photos. “Here’s the evidence.” He handed the pictures to Stevens, who rifled through them, frowning and squinting. Jones edged closer, trying to see.

  “What kind of pictures are these?” Stevens asked Noah.

  “Infrared. I’m a nature photographer, and I have equipment for night photography with a motion detector camera.” Noah looked toward Jones. “We set the unit up in the kitchen Wednesday morning and got these shots that night.”

  Jones was looking over the sheriff’s shoulder, his face flushed. “This is crap,” he said. “Those aren’t real pictures. You can’t tell what they are. And I wasn’t anywhere near here Tuesday or Wednesday.”

  “That’s a lie,” Willow said. “You were in the house Tuesday night. We were there, too.” She looked at the sheriff. “I followed him to his car and got a clear look at him. I’m sure he made this mess, too.” She pointed to the house.

  Jones flushed deeper red, but then laughed. “This is crazy, Sheriff.” He pointed at Noah. “He’s the one that probably did the ritual. He told you he’s a Wiccan, didn’t he?”

  All eyes turned to Noah’s burning face. Only Willow’s were sympathetic.

  How did he know?!

  Jones’s sneer returned, now that he had scored a point. “People have seen him at that witch store on Main Street.” He paused to let that fact settle in. Willow looked surprised now, too.

  Forgot to mention that.

  “So are you going to believe a city council member or this whore and her warlock john?”

  Willow stepped forward, her face blazing fury. Noah grabbed her arm.

  “Alright, alright,” Stevens said. “Everybody back down. This is for a court to decide, not us.”

  “Court?” Jones said. “Surely you don’t think any prosecutor will give this accusation any credence.”

  “That’s not up to me.” He held up one of the pictures. “But I have to say, this is a pretty good likeness, Mr. Jones.”

  Jones fumed, and now Willow smirked.

  “Are you going to arrest him, Sheriff?” she asked.

  “Not today,” Jones said and he turned to leave.

  Stevens motioned to the two remaining deputies, and they stepped into Jones’s path, forcing him to stop. Jones turned a scathing look on the sheriff, but Stevens spoke first.

  “I’d like to talk with you some more about this, Mr. Jones. The deputies will escort you to your vehicle. I’ll be along shortly.” He turned back to Willow and Noah. Jones stalked away, a deputy on either side.

  “We can show you where he broke in, Sheriff,” Noah said.

  “Lead on.”

  Willow led the way toward the back of the house. The deputy with the camera remained to take the real crime scene photos. When out of earshot of the deputy, Sheriff Stevens spoke again.

  “Ms. Brown, you may not remember, but I’ve been here before. I was one of the deputies assigned to the case when your parents disappeared.”

  That’s where I heard the name. You’re the deputy quoted in the newspaper articles.

  “I traipsed around these woods for three weeks looking for clues. I felt badly for you.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” Willow said. “I do remember all the deputies were kind and helpful.”

  “That’s alright. You were distraught at the time. Fortunately, I remembered enough to find the lane even after thirty years. It’s well hidden.” He paused, as if deciding what to say next. “You must have been younger than I thought at the time. When you answered the door this morning I thought I was speaking to your daughter.”

  Willow ignored this statement. “Sheriff, what will you do about Jones?”

  “When I get back to Danville, I’ll visit the district attorney and show him these. He’ll want you to swear out a statement. This should be enough evidence to charge Jones, taken with your statement that you saw him. The DA may want both of you to testify about these pictures. You realize, of course, the gravity of accusing someone as well-known as Chester Jones?”

  “Yes,” Willow said without hesitation.

  “We may have more pictures,” Noah said. “I set up the camera last night, too. We’ll check it later and let you know. Willow, let’s show him the shutter.” Willow nodded and led the way to the back porch. Once there, she pointed out the wood shavings on the floor and a small piece of wire bent in a V shape.

  “I put that wire in the joint between the shutters so we could tell if they were opened. Looks like it worked.” Stevens carefully examined the shutter and the porch floor. He pulled out his notebook and scratched on it.

  “I’ll have my man photograph this before we leave. My official photographer.”

  “Sheriff, is there any chance you might search Jones’s house?” Noah asked. Willow gave him a knowing glance.

  “Is something missing?”

  “So far only my privacy,” Willow said. “The house is empty except for one room. We’ll check later to make sure nothing’s been disturbed.”

  “Can’t you do that now?” Stevens asked.

  Willow hurled her voice, full of command. “No.”

  The sheriff stood in silence for a few moments before speaking again. “Why do you think Jones did the vandalism?”


  Noah answered. “He’s been harassing Willow for several months. Spreading rumors about her, like the prostitute thing. You heard that yourself. He’s been trying to pressure her to sell the property to him. We had a visit with him last week that was … unpleasant, and a threatening confrontation at the nursing home on Tuesday. You can ask the nurses.”

  “I see.” Stevens scratched more notes.

  “And Sheriff, these emblems are a sham,” Noah said. “They have nothing to do with me or the Wiccans in town, they would never—”

  “I know.” The sheriff went on when he saw Noah’s surprised expression. “I’ve made a hobby of occult crimes over the years. There’s a lot of that activity around here, what with all the woods and parks. We have a church with a graveyard north of Danville, a church that has thirteen sides. We’re always having stuff go on down there. Wiccans didn’t make this mess. For one thing, they don’t normally draw pentacles upside down like these. But the real kicker is the blood. No Wiccan would ever use real blood in their rituals, nor would they kill an animal as in this case.”

  “What?” Willow said, her face all worry.

  “They killed someone’s dog, a big shepherd. One of my deputies found it in the woods a couple of hundred feet east. He took photos and bagged the body to take to the crime lab. You won’t have to bother with it. Satanists, real ones, might kill an animal, but this doesn’t look like their work. They like to go deep in the woods to established places where they won’t be seen. This was no ritual. It’s just your garden variety vandalism.” Stevens paused in apparent thought, and then looked Noah in the eye. “Are you a Wiccan, Mr. Phelps?”

  The sheriff’s blunt question blindsided Noah. No one had ever directly asked him that before. Broom closet dwellers didn’t advertise.

  Should I lie, or crack the door, so to speak?

  His eyes strayed to Willow, whose face showed understanding for his struggle. Noah’s pulse quickened.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am.”