Young Writers Society

This story was written for my Creative Writing second-year course in university. I am planning to use it for my portfolio application to the Creative Writing Major. Any feedback is much appreciated.

The Fairy Book

I carefully ran my finger down the inside of the crease, lifting up the tape slowly. The glossy paper shined as I unfolded the wrapping. It was a floral design with little red flowers of all shapes and sizes. Tall ones with thin petals. Medium ones with droopy petals. Small ones that were so tiny they looked like little red stars.

“It’s okay. Just tear it.”

I looked over at him and he smiled. I swallowed, looked down at the pretty paper, then grabbed the edge and tore. The paper ripped with a clean sound. I kept tearing and tearing until I saw a small brown book beneath all that paper. A gold butterfly inlaid into the cover.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he urged.

The leather spine creaked softly as it stretched open. The Fair Folk, a guide on everything to do with fairies. I scoffed.

“What’s wrong?” I looked over at him. His green eyes were focused on the road.

“I’m going into middle school, Uncle Joe. I’m too old for these kinds of things.”

“Says who?”

I bit the inside of my cheek and thought of Ashley from down the street. Her smug face and her group of older girls, who never seemed to approve of anything I did. Ashley’s words echoed through my head: You still play with dolls? She gripped my doll, Emily, in her hand and laughed. What are you? A baby? she mocked, then threw Emily into the forest at the end of our neighborhood. After they left, I searched around in the brush for her, but she was nowhere to be found. It was like she disappeared. She was the last thing Dad bought me before he passed.

“It was your grandmother’s. I thought you’d like to have it.”

I held onto the book tightly. “Thanks.”

Uncle Joe pulled his grey car into the driveway and parked. I quickly grabbed my backpack and turned to open the door latch.

“Maeve… You know, I’m here for you, right?”

“I know. Thanks for the ride.” I slammed the car door shut and as I turned around I saw Mom walking out of the house with her arms crossed.

The car window slowly glided down. “Hey, Anna.” Uncle Joe smiled. “Just thought I’d help out–”

“I’m fine, Joe. I told you that. We’re fine.” Mom motioned with her hand to me and then back to her.

“Adam used to pick her up, plus you’re so busy with work. I really don’t mind getting off work early to pick her up.”

She sighed. “I appreciate that, but... Look, Joe, we are still adjusting. I–I don’t need help raising my child.” I stood awkwardly between them. Mom looked over at me, suddenly remembering I was there, and said “Why don’t you go inside the house, Maeve?”

I walked up to the door and turned the knob. Golden light spilled into the dark entryway. The curtains were closed in the living room and kitchen. Little slivers of light crept in from cracks in blinds and curtains. There were shadows of the oak tree in the backyard on the wooden floors. I opened the fridge for a snack and saw nothing. Leftovers from take out. Moldy cauliflower.

Mom opened the front door and came into the kitchen. The soft wrinkles around her mouth deepened as she frowned. “I told him that I can still pick you up from school.”

“I know, I told him the same thing.” I walked up the stairs, the wood groaning beneath my feet.

“How was art class?” she called from below.

“Fine.” I closed my bedroom door.

I placed my backpack on my desk and zipped it open. My paint brushes clanked within their tin container as I placed them on my desk. I was working on a watercolor painting. The prompt was to draw home. I didn’t want to draw my house, so I drew the old oak tree in my backyard instead.

I looked at the book again. It was sitting in my backpack alongside my other school supplies. I lifted it up and went to sit on my bed. The pages crinkled softly as I turned them. I studied the illustrations of the fairies. Their soft expressions, pointed ears, sparkly wings.

Dad used to tell me stories about the fairies. They were tricksters but were helpful if you treated them right. He used to say that Nana was a firm believer and would leave offerings in her garden in Ireland. Milk, berries, honey, nuts–anything you could give a squirrel was fair game. I could hear his voice in my head as I remembered his words. It was warm, like a firm hug.

The book instructed how to engage with fairies. An offering of milk is the most common. I thought again about Nana and decided to try. I crept downstairs, took a small bowl and filled it with milk. I put it outside the backdoor and stared at it, doubting it would work.

***

I woke up the next morning to Mom calling up from downstairs.

“Maeve!” she hollered. “Why is there a bowl of milk outside? God! It’s attracting bugs, Maeve!”

“I’ll clean it up!” I cried back. My voice was hoarse from sleep. I slipped out of my bed sheets. The shag rug tickled my toes as I put my feet down. The house smelled sweet.

“Are you cooking something?”

“Joe insisted on coming over and making banana bread.”

Suddenly, I felt a round stone in my throat. Banana bread was Dad’s favorite. I passed Uncle Joseph in the kitchen. “Smells good,” I said. “It’s been awhile since we’ve had that.”

Mom sighed.

“It even has chocolate chips!” Uncle Joe beamed.

I opened the back door. The bowl of milk was empty except for a red flower. I gasped.

“What is it?”

“It’s the milk,” I replied. “It’s gone.”

“What?” Mom peered over my shoulder. “But I just saw it… I must be going mad.”

I picked the bowl up and looked at the flower curiously, twirling it between my fingers. What if it actually was a fairy? I spent the rest of the day reading through the book. Then, I decided that I can’t be sure it was a fairy until I see one with my own eyes.

After dinner, when Mom was in the living room watching TV, I went into the kitchen and got two small bowls. I filled one with milk and the other with honey–another fairy favorite apparently. I crept back up to my bedroom and I opened my window. The oak tree in my backyard stretched over the garden as if it was reaching to hug the house. Looking at it, I could almost see myself climbing the tree and Dad watching me from below. His curly blonde hair being tossed in the wind. Watch out! You’re going to fall! he said. I bit the inside of my cheek and placed the two bowls on the windowsill.

I waited for what felt like hours. When I got bored, I took my sketchbook out and drew how I imagined the fairy would look. Dainty hands and ears. Wings like a monarch butterfly.

“Time for bed, Maeve,” Mom said, peeking her head into my room.

I got into bed and listened to her soft footsteps as she walked down the hallway and down the creaky stairs. I turned on my lamp and kept watching the windowsill. My eyelids started to droop.

I jumped as Mom came into my bedroom, her eyes glaring. “What are you doing?”

I looked at her with wide eyes. “I–I’m drawing.”

“This late at night? Maeve…” She sighed and sat down on my bed. The mattress creaked. “I know things have been hard. You know, your dad would be so proud of how grown up you’ve gotten.”

“I don’t want to grow up!” I snapped, tears stinging my eyes. “I wish I could go back in time.”

Mom sighed and came over to stroke my hair. “I’m sorry, Maeve. It’s an adjustment for both of us.”

I swallowed against the stone in my throat.

“What’s this?” She picked up the fairy book and looked at it curiously.

“Uncle Joe gave it to me.”

She sighed and smiled softly. “Maybe Joe is right. Maybe it would be good to have him around more often.”

When she left, I wiped my wet cheeks with my pajama sleeves and checked the windowsill. The bowls were empty and my doll, Emily, was carefully placed next to them, not a single leaf or speck of dirt on her. I looked out the window and saw the oak tree lit up with hundreds of tiny lights. Little creatures with wings like butterflies and clothes like flower petals flew around. I blinked and they were gone. The oak tree was wrapped in the darkness of the night. I held Emily in my hands. The fairies were there but out of sight. I guessed Dad was like that too.