Faeries Don'T Have To Work by LAZARUS (best short books to read .txt) 📕

Faeries don’t have to work

Dedicated to all my friends;
The young and those young at heart.


Copyright © 2010 Laszlo Kugler.
All rights reserved. This book contains material protected by Copyright. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying without the permission of the author.


preface

It’s dark out there. I mean, really, really dark. I open the heavy front door and look out into the night, and if it wasn’t for the little light from behind me, I wouldn’t even be able to see my own hand. It’s as if someone turned off the world. No stars, no moon to light up the neighborhood.
The stark, gloomy darkness is tugging at my being like a black hole, trying to suck my soul into its unseen vortex. I gasp, feeling choking ebony fingers reaching out to caress me, to lull, to serenade me into stepping out into its beckoning icy grip.
Not a sound comes from the outside to tickle my ears, not even the whisper of a gentle breeze. I truly believe that if I stepped out past the front door, I would fall like Alice, down some bottomless pit.
With all my will and physical energy, I slam that door shut, and slowly, as in a nightmare, I struggle to go sit on the bare, wooden floor in the center of what looks like a family room.
No sofa, no carpet, not even a chair to sit on, just a cold hard floor in a dimly lit ten by twelve space.
Nail and screw holes are barely visible where curtains and the many pictures had once hung on the walls. All gone. I notice that even the ceiling fixtures are missing, replaced by a single bare bulb hanging down on a worn electric wire.
I feel faint, so I forcefully walk to the small kitchen to find that not only are there no cupboards, but the water has been turned off.
As I slowly walk back towards the living space, I see my reflection in the bare window pane, and I’m shocked at what I see. “That’s not me! I have a full set of hair, whereas the old man in the window is nearly bald and wrinkled like my old grandfather.” I look at my hands and see paper thin skin blotched with liver spots.
“What the hell is going on?” I scream out loud into the deafening silence that envelopes my total being; my total miserable being. The only sound is my panicky breathing, and the thumping of my frustrated and confused heart.
I fall down onto the floor and curl up in a fetal position, and start to cry uncontrollably.
After what seems like an eternity, I open my eyes to find that I’m getting hungry and my throat feels raw. My stomach aches as if it has been invaded and scrapped dry. I try to find my way back to the kitchen. Maybe this time, I’m hoping this time there will be some water to quench my terrible thirst, or at least to wash away this acrid taste on my tongue.
Now the tap is gone. I see an old pump in its place. The kind that you will still find on some ancient farms. The multi layers of chipped paint sings out its old age.
“I wonder if it will yield to me some relief,” I ask out loud, surprised that I still have a voice.
I pump the rusty handle and hear some gurgling far down deep inside its pipe.
Hope! I re-double my effort. The pump emits a squeak, squeak, squeaking noise, as I earnestly encourage it to be generous and allow me to have some its precious liquid.
As I struggle with this contraption, beads of sweat cover my body. They first nudge me gently. Then they become annoying in their effort to wake my dulling senses.
Now, along with this pestering, comes a faint buzzing sound.
“What’s going on? Someone please tell me. I'm totally confused. I want...I demand some answers!”
The sound gets louder: almost comprehensible.
A distant voice says, “Must be an overdose. Or someone has put something into his drink when he wasn’t watching. It happens much too often. This guy is a DOA, let’s just put that tag on his toe and leave. He's not going anywhere tonight. Besides, I’m already late for dinner. ”

I wake up soaked. “Thanks goodness that was only a nightmare, but it's still damn frightening. Oh, great, tomorrow I'm set to go hiking by myself and I don’t need these stupid dreams to follow me up into those woods. I don’t relish being in the deep forest all alone, in the middle of the night and having to deal with this; it’s bad enough to have them here at home. Maybe by some miracle I can leave them behind and enjoy the wilderness as I always have in the past.


Chapter One

The outing that I did not expect


I love to go hiking by myself. There’s nothing more satisfying than to explore our grand forests, especially the very old ones, such as the ones here on our west coast.
It’s easy to get lost in them, whether it’s physically or in our imagination. Such woods hold magic in themselves, which we cannot even begin to realize.
I, myself, don’t get lost. With a good map of the area, and also, being skilled at using a compass, has kept me safe, with no unpleasant surprises.
It’s a beautiful August day and I venture into the grand forest just east of Forks Washington, where I happen to be visiting a friend.
With my backpack filled with enough necessities to sustain me for about a week or more, and my pup tent strapped to it, I start out my trek around daybreak.
I find a dirt road wide enough for my old Jeep, Nellybelle, and I drive her until the path becomes way too narrow to go any further.
With my burden on my back I head into the unknown, hoping for adventure…the unusual. Little do I know what is waiting for me.
During the last three hours, I saw a deer shyly bounding away gracefully, a crazed red squirrel telling me to get lost, and an assortment of bugs, beetles and other flying insects... all of which fascinate me extremely. Maybe that’s why I love these overnight hikes.
Not too long later, I find the perfect spot to pitch my small tent.
The place is an open, flat area overlooking a huge lake. This lake is not on any of the maps that I have with me. Maybe the surveyor somehow missed it.
Ere long the tent is up. I gather some dried wood for a fire which I plan on using later on that night. There is something mesmerizing about an open fire. I could just stare at its flames forever.
I take out my camera and snap a few shots of this Eden-like spot before the light becomes too dim.
Night falls quickly, but I have already eaten and I’m merely watching the last rays of our sun sliding away beneath the distant waves.
Sweet smoke funnels up from the campfire to fill the warm mid-summer’s air. The popping and crackling coming from within the flames breaks the silence, only to be challenged by the sound of tiny waves lapping the shore.
Ah ! This is the life. No cars and trucks honking and roaring by endlessly. No screaming, yelling, angry people confronting each other. No TV commercials telling me what I need. Only the peace which the Almighty gave Adam and Eve: and this is it…in all its glory.
Behind me I hear some rustling coming from the bush… probably some raccoon or skunk foraging for food. Overhead, a little ways away, I hear the hoot of a night owl, then the lonely cry of a loon echoing from the lake and the croaking of dozens of frogs which interrupt the stillness of this enchanted, lazy evening. Yet, oddly I hear no sound of insects.
As I’m poking at the charcoal, I hear laughter. Although faint, it nevertheless is clearly someone giggling. My ears must be playing tricks on me. Might be that after my long trek, I’m so tired that I’m starting to imagine voices. I shake my head to clear it. For a few long minutes there is silence. I hear nothing else, along with the eerie absence of tiny critters, such as crickets or katydids… total silence, except for that crackling of the fire and the splashing waves. “Odd. Where have all the other night sounds disappeared to?” I say out loud.
“Gone.”
“Who is that?” I ask.
“Me,” answers the tiny voice.
“Me...who? Show yourself.”
I nearly fall backward, when this small flying creature comes and hovers in between me and the flickering fire.
“Me! “She yells. “I’m Melissa. Some call me Mel the Mischievous.”
She is about six inches tall, or less, with long raven dark hair and pointed ears. Gossamer wings are keeping her afloat right in front of my unbelieving eyes.
“This is not possible. Maybe I’ve eaten something bad, and I’m surely hallucinating all of this.”
She flies over to me and proceeds to bite me on my arm.
“Ouch! Hey, that hurts!”
“So…do you still think that I’m a dream or an apparition?”She asks me.
“Well…I’m not sure. But it did hurt. I don’t know what to think.”
“Shall I bite you again?”
“No, no, once is enough.”I tell her. “And why the sudden silence?”
I can’t believe that I’m having this conversation.
“Well, genius, what do you think we live on… air? Our main diet is insects…especially crunchy crickets. Very nutritious. Tons of protein, too. Moths are too messy. We only have those when really needed. And we also eat berries and an assortment of fruits“
“I like beetles,” pipes up a tiny voice from a pine branch somewhere above me.
“Hush, Wanda! No one is talking to you.” Mel calls out. “He’s mine. So keep your distance…or else!”
I ask reluctantly, “You guys fight each other? Don’t you get hurt?”
“We always fight, but never to the point of permanently hurting one another. Well…except the time I broke a wing.”
“So, what did you do about it?”
“No big deal, except for all the stupid paperwork which needed to be filled out. I hate all those forms!”
“Paperwork?”
“Sure. We are not merely some disorganized bunch of tiny flying creatures. Our clan is made up of twenty five members. And each clan has a head …that would be me. At least till the next election, in five years.
The paperwork is submitted to the Grand Faerie. She resides over twenty five clans. Vespa was voted in two years ago, and her term is good for another twenty three years. All paperwork and requisitions go directly to her office. We don’t mess with her, ‘cuz she’s a lot bigger than any of us.”
“How many of you are…here, right this minute?” I ask.
“Maybe a dozen or so.
All of us stick together…at least a yelling distance away.”
“What did you mean when you said ’He’s mine’?”
“Oh...nothing. It’s just means that I claim you for myself…that’s all.”
“And…what does that entail, may I ask? Do I get three wishes? Or does that mean I get a pot of gold? Are you like some genie in a bottle?”