The Faerie Ring Dance

by Kara Skye Smith

  house ghost and lonely old souls, kept quick about my

  business and only went in and out of the basement when

  necessary. No, I wouldn’t be taking up residence there,

  and off I went to build myself a bonny home. The rats,

  I knew, would keep her company. Ghosts have no

  affect on rats. I guess, as some people say, this is because

  rats have no souls.

  I sang and whistled, “My own home I am a

  building’” as I went. I’d found a place not too far from the sisters’, on the same property, actually, near the edge

  of a pond. I used 2 pieces of tin I’d pulled off of the

  flap of a radiator vent for a roof. The walls were built

  from wooden matchboxes that I’d saved up using a

  broken off tip of a handsaw found on the floor of the

  old tool shed. The back side of my house read, “Close

  cover to strike” and “Always a flame in one light!”

  Inside, I’d built a second story loft where I had

  my bed and an upside-down ring box where I kept the

  contents of my knapsack and some neatly folded clothes.

  My front door opened out to the eastern view of the

  pond and although it took me a month and a half to

  build - getting it right, the way I wanted - I sat out

  front the day I’d completed construction, deeming it

  paradise while I watched trout snap at fireflies as the sun

  went down behind ’my’ pond.

  I moved the piece of wheatgrass I was chewing

  over with my tongue and said, like I mentioned, “This is

  paradise!” and then in gaelic, I whispered, “Home.” On one of the excursions back to the sisters’ for

  things like my suitcase, I saw the Rat King and his wife

  with her tightly held bundle venturing back into the

  basement of the ladies’ home. I felt a bit of relief to see

  that she’d found him, alive too, although a-hobblin’ he

  was. One leg and one arm in bandages, he lumped along

  on crutches, with her fussing over him, helping as much

  as she could. I almost called out to them, as happy to

  see them together, again, I was, but then thought better

  of it, and lowered my hand back down, as I caught

  myself about to wave to them and say, “Hello!” With

  that, I realized it might be time for me to introduce

  myself to some other species and make a few friends. I

  waited until I’d guessed the rats were safely in the

  basement, and then I snuck into the sisters’ house.

  Honor McGillicutty had decided, I’d assumed

  from the conversation, to get herself a job. She’d been

  making curtains and cushions - all kinds of lovely things

  - for inside the home and had been approached

  by a man at the fabric store. He would be visiting the

  sisters at their house next week. Honor told Blithe who

  sounded skeptical, at first.

  It was true that Honor rarely caused a fuss - did

  as Blithe advised her, almost each and every time, but

  when Blithe’s untrusting advice turned almost to an

  “Absolutely not!” well, Honor flew into a full fit

  defending her rights with a final high pitched shriek,

  “You’re NOT my mother! I can do whatever I want!!”

  Then, with a slam of a door - which made me jump

  behind the ice box - she was out of the kitchen, her tea

  at the table untouched.

  Blithe looked out of the window and sighed, “O,

  dear.” Then she took a sip of tea, and said “I do hope

  this doesn’t turn into a thing.” I stepped out from the

  ice box and looked at her. She was looking right at me.

  I shivered with fright, “Are you talking to me?” I

  asked. “Well, yes, Mr. Twinks, I don’t often talk to

  myself, now, do I?” Blithe said, more as a statement

  than as a question. So, I climbed and sort of flew up

  onto the table and stood next to Honor’s tea cup. I took

  a long, good look at the sister, turning my head a bit to

  the right - I held her gaze - a bit to the left - her

  eyes followed mine. Then I rubbed my chin and saidto

  her, matter-of-factly, and as a friend, “You mustn’t feat

  that she’ll meet someone, run off and leave you. She’s a

  loyal sister and a very dear friend. What you mustdo is

  give her her freedom. You’re good at that,” I winked.

  “I am?” she gasped.

  “I must say it’s done wonders for me,” I shared,

  then, with her the good new of my home and my desire

  to meet some new friends. She concurred that the

  settling in time had probably more than come to an end

  and decided it was time that not just Honor ventured out

  and bring visitors home. She and I vowed to do the

  same. Then, she poured me a thimble of tea, offered up cookie crumbs, which I of course enjoyed, and thanked

  me profusely for sharing my time, advising her so

  splendidly. Then, Honor burst open the swinging,

  kitchen door, threw a scarf round her neck and

  exclaimed, “I’m going out!”

  Blithe adapted to her new plan, asking curtly

  and without protest, “When will you be coming back,

  dear?” to which she received a high-pitched, miffed

  sounding, “I don’t know,” in response. I had my eyes

  fixed - like saucers - on the thing in the doorway that

  rubbed and swished its long, furry tail against Honor’s

  laced boots and proper ladies stockings.

  “A cat?!” I gulped in the sip of my tea, inching

  closer to Blithe as I did so. No one heard me amid the

  ladies’ exchanges of stifled, hurt feelings which wound to

  a final, “Adieu,” and then a “Ta t-a!” The kitchen door

  swished again. Honor was gone, but the house cat

  stayed inside the kitchen. Sat right down on its

  haunches and smiled at me. I looked at Blithe, but she’d thrown down her

  napkin, got up from the table muttering, quickly, all

  sorts of exclamations like, “Honestly!” and “Sometimes!”

  and then without turning around, she’d swished through

  the kitchen swinger with an impolite, “I’m sorry Mr.

  Twinks,” and then she was gone. The house cat was

  not. It smirked - so pleased with itself was it’s

  expression - watching Blithe’s heels disappear through

  the swing, swing, swing of the door. It looked, once

  again, right at me. I set down my tea. My palms had

  begun to sweat, so I wiped them against my new

  elderberry leaf shorts that I’d made.

  “Hunh!” I smiled and kind of laughed. The cat

  swished its tail - one quick, sharp back and forth move,

  and then it held still. Unlike rats, there ain’t no talking

  to a cat. Can’t reason your way out because with cats its

  all about the game of chase and catch. They love it.

  They love you. I could say whatever I liked, but I still

  had to move, this way, or that. Just my size and my movement - game on! It meant the cat would not just

  want to chase me, but catch me, also. As far as chase

  and catch games go - cats are the best at it. Case in

  point, ever try to catch a housefly in your hands?

  Almost impossible. Ever watch a cat catch one? Almost

  two, three
jumps plus a swat. One. Ah! There goes the

  fly.

  “No,” I thought to myself as I gulped again, “I

  definitely won’t be using my wings.” I backed up astep.

  The cat’s tail swished, quickly, one back and forthswipe

  across the floor.

  Each tiny move of mine, its tail swished once,

  until I yelled, “O, come on!” Complaining sometimes

  worked with a cat. They don’t mean to be bullies. I

  mean, half their catches are just for fun; but then, they

  play with their claws out, and then the thing they’ve

  caught - their well-loved play toy - winds up dead.

  Sort of like the concept of crocodile tears, I’d guess. A

  crocodile actually cries as it eats its prey. Cats are kind of like that - but cuddly and fluffly and unnervingly

  good at “chase”. It did not take its eyes off me, neither.

  “I’m practically human!” I yelled. The more a cat

  likes you, the more it wants to catch you and love you to

  death!

  I think I actually whimpered at this point, then,

  Blithe swished back in, forgetting that she had forgotten

  her manners, earlier, and said some polite things like,

  “Congratulations on your new home, Mr. Twinks. I

  hope you’ll drop in another day and tell me more about

  it. Pleasure to have tea with you today. I’ve decided to

  go to town, perhaps you will drop by tomorrow or

  Wednesday for tea? Hmmm. Yes. Wednesday will be

  much better - more time - you see? You see, Mr.

  Twinks?” She looked inquisitively at me, wondering, I

  suppose when I would ‘get the hint’ and why I was not

  seeing myself out, so I just pointed to the cat seated

  between the ice box and the kitchen swinger, smiling

  smugly, still swishing its tail in anticipation of a chase, no doubt, at its keen attention to my every, tiny move.

  “O, feathers!” Blithe suddenly realized the gravity

  of my situation, the dangers and social debauchery of the

  tea party to her guest, which I think she thought me as

  rather than a regular break and enterer searching for

  cast-off bits to gather and steal away from her house in

  order to furnish my own.

  “Gracious!” she exclaimed. Then she picked the

  cat up in her arms, rubbing its neck. She suddenlyspoke

  in a voice without reason, in some way I’d

  never imagined Blithe McGillicutty would speak. She

  rubbed her cheek against the cat’s cheek.

  “Therwe, therwe, our wuvwee kitty. This is Mr.

  Twinks.” The cat smiled even more smugly from its

  perch, now above me, looking down. “He is our friend,”

  she said slowly. The cat’s tail swished quick and sharp.

  She put the cat down and then talked in her normal, not

  so oddly nauseating voice.

  “We found her outside, hungry and cold. She’s a house cat, really. She must have been left, here, anyway,

  she’s ours now. I’ll see you out, Mr. Twinks,” she

  lowered her hand, flat and palm up, onto which I

  stepped with a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t think she’ll hurt. She’s very tame and

  affectionate.”

  “No, she won’t mean to,” I said, and, “that’s

  what I thought,” after she quipped, “Loving, really!”

  The cat bent down and licked its paws as we exitedthe

  kitchen, its tail lying in a limp half circle out front of it,

  game off and disappointed.

  Now I felt like saying, “Ta t-a!” so I did. Blithe

  laughed and told me how much she’d enjoyed my visit.

  “See you this time, Wednesday!” she said. As

  soon as she’d shut the house door tight, I ran for the

  pond as fast as I could. I thought of the cat several

  times before Wednesday; and, I remember how my mum

  had said more than just a few housecats could be trusted,

  but never the wild or feral types. “A great form of transportation,” she’d said; so, I

  thought up a plan to give that a try. I wanted to see

  more of Old Soul’s Hollow. Blithe and Honor had

  bought a horse and carriage off the coachman which I

  hadn’t yet ventured into so as not to remind us all of

  that hurtful day where the ladies shrieked and swatted

  and the coachman searched and cursed me as some kind

  of intruder. I liked the ladies and judging

  by their first reactions toward me, I wasn’t aboutto jump

  into capturing the attention of human publicity like I’d

  once dreamt about, especially for the ladies’

  sakes.

  On Wednesday, I dressed for tea and for the

  acceptance of my first real invitation by humans into one

  of their homes - homes I had been bumping into (and

  off) mischievously messing about for most of the years of

  my existence. No, this was a day - a milestone - to be

  revered, and so I wore my best clothes, as one does on

  such occasions and acted as mannerly as my rather unconventional upbringing would allow. I thought to

  bring a bouquet of wildflowers - buttercups - since they

  are smaller than

  I am and carrying them over would not cause a risk as to

  be cumbersome or dirty my clothes by stumbling. I’d

  seen a thicket of bright, yellow buttercups while enjoying

  quick strolls near my pond and for this occasion, I

  ventured out into the field for a bunch of them.

  I remember the next moment just like it was

  yesterday. The sun was warm upon my skin and the

  scent of sweet grass and fresh dew drifted through the

  air amid vibrant, yellow splashes of low-lying buttercups.

  I was sifting through wet grass and picking some out

  among the clover when I sensed that I was being looked

  at - maybe even ‘watched’. My neck grew warm, or

  perhaps that was just the sun; either way, I looked up.

  Quick as a wink, a figure - not larger than I - jumped

  from the meadow, in behind a tree. I could not make

  out what I had just glimpsed, completely. “Did I see… wings?” I wondered, “faerie girl

  wings?” Now, this pleasant mystery gave me almost

  the giggles and a bit of the tingles of butterflies in my

  stomach. Normally, the feeling of ‘watched’ in a

  meadow for a kind my size signals many kinds of danger

  like hawks, owls, or crows. But this, I thought was one

  of two things: either, I was seeing things (too much

  wishin’ and a-hopin’ for a friend), or I had just

  witnessed a girl butterfly winking at me. Butterflies, if

  they like you enough to let you get close, can be so much

  fun.

  I jumped to my feet and yelled, “Wait!

  Don’t go!” I ran toward the tree, but stopped still when

  I heard giggles.

  “Well, this is new,” I said, “butterflies back

  where I come from don’t giggle.” Then, all at once two

  girls, my same size, poked their heads out from a clump

  of wild candytuft for a look at me. What I’d thought

  was a butterfly flitted back out from behind the tree. It’s wings were attached to a girl! I fell right back, my

  feet went up. I dropped all of my buttercups, grabbed

  my head with both hands and laughed until tears welled

 
up in my eyes. The girls approached a bit closer.

  “You’re so strange,” one said, but that only made

  me laugh harder.

  “What?!” another said, and then, “he’s rude!” I

  sat up.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “its just, back in Ireland girls

  don’t look like butterflies and butterflies don’t look like

  girls.”

  “Ireland?”

  “It’s a country, where I’m from.”

  “Who are you?” the girl I’d first seen asked.

  “What are you?!” I asked.

  “Hmm!” she said, “he is rude. I’m a flower fairy,

  an Old Soul’s, of course. Let’s go,” she said to the other

  two, and then they fluttered away.

  “Bye!” said the last to drift out of sight. She had smaller wings than the butter-girl, but larger than my

  own.

  “Bye!” I said, smiling, “Come back some time,”

  I said.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Tomorrow!” I called, and then, pop, pop, pop,

  they were gone.

  I hurried to pick up my buttercups, then off to

  the sisters’ I went. I have to admit, though, I couldn’t

  sit still.

  During the entire conversation I thought of

  ‘tomorrow’ and kept answering Blithe’s questions with,

  “What? Could you say that again please?” Finally

  she crooned, “O, dear! Maybe your mind is elsewhere

  today, Mr. Twinks? Mr. Twinks! Maybe you’d rather

  come for tea another day when your mind is on

  conversation and not so far off in your own thoughts,

  hmmm? If its just tea and biscuits you’re in need of, then

  I’ll make you a parcel, some to take home. Whatever it is,” she said as she crumbled three cookies and packed

  them in tissue, then wrapped them with string, “it must

  be of most enjoyable thought. I don’t think you’ve any

  less than beamed with smiles since you entered our house

  today.”

  “What?” I said and then, “O, yes.”

  “Here you are,” she handed me two tissue

  bundles, then scooted me out of the door with her hand.

  “We’ll see you next week,” she said.

  “Wednesday?” I asked her.

  “Yes, Mr. Twinks,” she sighed and then she shut the door.

  The Faerie Ring Dance

  Chapter Six * Blossom

  IIII spent most of the next two and a half days

  thinking up a need for buttercups and then trotting off

  to the meadow to search for the best ones, while I also