Fairy Trouble

Zing! Zang! Zoop!

The little fairy zoomed; zipping through the air like a baffled fly and then dive-bombing into the table like a plow, sending all the pots and pans flying. It careened left, an arcing missile through the air, spouting a flume of saffron behind it, and then with a swift flourish sent all the books tumbling off the bookcase, then proceeded to the curtain rod sending it and the curtain toppling, then shot like a comet into grandfather Sanders’ study and began bouncing around like an out-of-control beach ball, smashing and crashing and tossing everything in sight.

“Good gracious! Ah!” grandmother cried, her hands sucked to her cheeks, then taking action she marched forward, waving her hands furiously at the torrential fae, shooing it best she could shouting, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

Nessa Rose stood in the corner with her older sister, gawking, while Marian remained transfixedly holding the jar in her white knuckled fingers where the fairy had escaped from. Grandmother was furious. She had specifically instructed the girls never to bring Other Crowd folk into the house. Not ever she had said. But of course, being the children they were, they had disobeyed.

And now a terrible trow was catapulting grandmother’s good silver from out the kitchen drawer.

“Well don’t just stand there girls! Catch it! Catch it!” mima Sanders called. “Nessa! Fetch my broom! Marian, bring that jar over here! I might need it!”

The two girls took off, Marian dodging the soaring menace as Nessa crawled on all fours to the closet, her little bare feet squeaking upon the recently polished tile. Getting upon her knees as chaos ensued around, Nessa opened the door, and out zoomed grandmother’s broom, sailing through the air and landing promptly in mima Sanders’ hand. Marian still clutching the jar and ducking, with a swift whack of the broom through the air, like a baseball bat grandmother smacked the fairy clean and sent it barreling out the front door, the little fae throwing the door off its hinges and buzzing off like a disorderly drunkard down the walk, before departing into the woods. Huffing, grandmother Sanders rested the broom on her shoulder, her sharp, black eyes watching the trajectory of the unwanted house guest, discerning, before turning around to the two girls, who stood frightened (but yet, exhilarated, as it had been quite a show) under her hawkish gaze.

“So!” grandmother gruffed. “Which one of you thought it’d be a merry idea to bring that into the home? Hmm?” Hands upon her wide hips, she leered over them, her bulbous nose shrewd and her whiskers furrowed. There was a moment of quiet, before Nessa cracked.

“She did it!” she cried, pointing her finger at her sister, “She caught it and brought it in!”

“Yeah but it was your idea!” Marian protested back.

“Was not!”

“Yeah-hah it was!”

“Zip it.” grandmother bit, silencing the two youngsters. “It seems the lot is at fault. Both of you, clean this up! And I don’t want to hear another peep!”

Groaning, and sulking, the two girls methodically began to go about the house, picking things up as they went. With a breath grandma Sanders headed out into the garden.

“When I get back, this place better be spotless!”

Those kids would be the death of her, and with a grunt she knelt down to pull weeds, to clear her head.

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