Wolf Dreams

Once Upon A Window Part 4

May 15, 2008 · 3 Comments

It was a week before Kevin and Kate had another chance at the window. For three days it rained cats and dogs, and then Great-grandmother decided to do her gardening in the mornings and spend her afternoons in either the kitchen baking or in the front room, knitting.

“I think she’s suspicious, Kevin,” whispered Kate as they made their way to the basement playroom for the second day in a row.

“Nah. I bet she doesn’t even know about the window herself,” replied Kevin, adjusting his tie.

“Are you nuts? Great-grandmother not know about the window?” Kate glared at him, annoyed by the insult to Great-grandmother. She shook her head, and stomped off to the corner where the books were. She spent the rest of the afternoon reading and ignoring Kevin.

Finally, in the middle of the week, nice weather and Great-grandmother doing the gardening outside coincided and Kevin and Kate were free to try again with the window.

Things did not begin well. First they argued over who would get to be outside first. Then they argued over what they would do. Then Kevin, who had lost the first argument, climbed up on the stepstool and promptly fell off, knocking a framed picture off of a nearby table and cracking the glass in one corner.

“At this rate, you’ll tip off Great-grandmother and cost us money!” sniped Kate, as she opened the front door.

“Just do what I said, and we’ll be fine,” replied Kevin, who had won the second argument, as he moved the photo to the back of the table to hide the crack.

Huffily, Kate went out into the front yard as Kevin grumpily climbed back on the stepstool. They had put fresh batteries in the walkie-talkies, and after making sure they could hear each other, Kate set to work.

Since they had just missed finding money in a mud puddle the week before, Kevin thought that there was a good chance of finding money in the gutter today, especially with all the rain in the past week washing debris into a huge puddle in the street in front of the house. Kate pulled her rainboots out of the bushes at the front and began walking through the puddle. Kevin kept telling her that she didn’t look excited or happy through the blue window so she needed to wade in more.

Kate waded out farther and farther into the street, and was almost to the edge of the puddle when Kevin gave a happy shout through the walkie-talkie. “Kate! Look right around there. Through the blue window you’re waving something in your hand!”

Kate leaned over and began to poke around in the mud with a stick, and moments later was pulling up a piece of paper…She turned, laughing, to show Kevin that it was just a coupon for diapers when she heard, “Kate, look out!”
Kate turned just in time to get a face full of muddy water sprayed up by a car going past on the other side of the street. Spluttering, she slogged back over to the sidewalk and spoke furiously into the walkie-talkie, “I knew this was a bad idea. Just because someone else found money in the street doesn’t mean that there’s always money there. I’m soaked. I’m going home to change. You can tell Great-grandmother whatever you want.” And Kate stomped off.

Kevin came home a half-hour later, looking a bit put out. “I told Great-grandmother that you got something on your dress and came home to change. She looked at me kind of funny, though, and I don’t know if she believed me.”

Kate shrugged and scowled. “I don’t care. I couldn’t go back in all muddy like that, could I? That really was a dumb idea, Kevin.”
“Hey, you should know to watch out for cars in the street!” Kevin replied hotly. He slammed the door on the way out of Kate’s room. They didn’t speak for the rest of the day.

The next day, they stayed home because Great-grandmother was going to be out for the afternoon. They spent the entire time bickering and quarreling about anything they could think of, until their mother finally sent them to their rooms.

At supper, their parents asked them what was going on. “You two always get along so well. What is the matter with you?” they asked.

“Nothing,” replied Kate, glaring at Kevin.

“Nothing,” replied Kevin, glaring at Kate.

As they went back to their rooms after supper, Kate whispered to Kevin, “Tomorrow, we’ll do things my way!” And with her nose in the air, she went off to bed.

-She Wolf (c)2008

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Once Upon a Window - Part 3

April 21, 2008 · 5 Comments

When Kevin and Kate stopped by their house to change into nicer clothing for Great-grandmother’s house, Kate gathered together the things she had rummaged out last night and stuffed them into her last year’s school backpack. Kevin teased to see what she had in the bag all the way to Great-grandmother’s house, but Kate wouldn’t show him. She put the back pack under the bushes by the sidewalk before them went into the house. Kevin was burning with curiosity. Kate had been annoyingly mysterious about what she planned to do.

Great-grandmother took her time going out into the back yard to garden today. She was in the middle of baking treats for a Garden Club meeting, and wasn’t in any hurry to go outside. Kate and Kevin, who normally enjoyed helping Great-grandmother bake, were fidgety. They even offered to do the dishes for her just so she would hurry.  They were sure they were going to explode before she finally picked up her big sunhat and gardening gloves and went outside.

Finally, Great-grandmother was peacefully occupied in the back yard and the dishes were washed, dried, and put away. Kate and Kevin each had two cookies and a blueberry muffin, too.

Kevin pulled the step-stool and walkie-talkies out from under Great-grandmother’s couch and handed Kate her walkie-talkie. He set the step stool up by the window, and then turned to Kate, who was still eating her muffin. “I hope you have better luck than I did!” he said. “I’ll let you know who I see and what they’re doing.”

Kate swallowed her muffin and said, “Okay. Give me a few minutes to get ready!” Then she flew out the door before Kevin could ask what she meant by getting ready.”

Kevin sighed and settled the stepstool in the right spot, so that he could see people coming from farther down the street. Five minutes later, the walkie-talkie crackled and Kate said, “Okay, I’m ready!”

Kevin looked out the window, but he couldn’t see Kate. However, he did see old Mrs. Connors coming down the street. He changed his angle just a little bit, to try and see if there was anything she shouldn’t be doing, and Bingo! He saw a car coming by, splashing everything with muddy water. He quickly told Kate about the car - by experimenting, they knew they only had a few seconds of time in which to act. Then his mouth dropped as Kate stepped out from her hiding spot near the fence.

Kate was dressed in a long, colorful dress, had a silk scarf tied on her head, and was wearing big clip-on hoop earrings. She looked like the fortune teller at the Halloween carnival.

Kate swished her skirts as she went up to Mrs. Connors. Mrs. Connors looked like she was going to laugh out loud at Kate - Kevin could see it on her face. Well, Kate did look pretty funny, at that.

Then the look on Mrs. Connors’ face changed, and Kevin could see that she was annoyed. She pushed past Kate and stomped off down the street; the car had passed harmlessly by when Kate had delayed her.

Kate’s head drooped, and she came back into the yard.

“Kate, what happened?” Kevin asked her through the walkie-talkie.

“She thought I was telling her that if she didn’t give me money, I would get her all wet and muddy. She called it extortion.” Kate was almost crying. “She said she’d let it go this time, but if she heard of me doing such a thing again, she’d tell Great-grandmother. She said she might anyway.”

“Great-grandmother knows us better than that. Mrs. Connors is always grumpy anyhow.”

“Well, I ‘m going to do something different this time. Just tell me what’s going on, and I’ll take it from there.”

Kevin took up his post again. This time Kate was on the sidewalk, waiting for passersby.

The first few people were boring, with happening to them. Then Kevin got a hit.

“Kate, tell Mr. Jacobs to look in the gutter - he’s going to find something that makes him happy.”
Kate went up to Mr. Jacobs. “Mr. Jacobs, I am Madame Katerina. I see all. And for a quarter, I’ll tell you where to find something good!”

Mr. Jacobs had a sense of humor. “How do I know it will be worth a quarter?”

“Well, um…” Kate replied

“Never mind. I’m game. Here you go!” Mr. Jacobs fished in his pocket and came out with a quarter. “Now, where is this thing I’m supposed to find?”
Kate guided him over to the gutter, where the car had splashed by a few minutes before. There, lying in the mud, was a ten-dollar bill.

Mr. Jacobs leaned down and picked it up and then turned to Kate, smiling. “Well, you certainly short-changed yourself there! I think if I were playing at fortune teller, I’d “see” the ten for myself and not for the client! This is an expensive game!” He went off chuckling.

Kate sighed and picked up her walkie-talkie. “Kevin, this didn’t work so well. He found ten dollars and all I got for us was a quarter.”

Kevin sighed. “Yeah. Let’s try it some more, though.”

Five more people came along. Three were uneventful, one didn’t want to listen to Kate (and tripped over a crack in the sidewalk) and one was angry at being bothered.

She was turning to talk to yet another person when a police car pulled up.

“So, Miss Kate, what are you up to today? You do know it’s against the law to fortune tell without a business license, don’t you?” The policeman was a friend of their father’s.

“Um, no? I didn’t?” Kate’s voice squeaked.

“Well, now you do. I wouldn’t have said anything, but someone called us and complained. I know you and Kevin like to play your games, but you need to leave the public out of it. Run along now, and play somewhere else.”

Kate gulped. “Yes sir.” And she fled back to the house.

Kevin had seen the police car come up, and had looked through the blue pane, where Kate was running up to the house, crying. A few seconds later, that was what she did. Kevin had the door open for her as she stumbled in.

Kate ran to the bathroom and took off her costume. By the time she came back out, she was calmer but still hiccupping.

“I was so embarrassed, Kevin. He was really nice about it, but I guess we made someone really mad. I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should just do what Mr. Jacobs said and look out for things happening to ourselves. That ten dollars could have been ours!”

Kate went out to put the costume in her backpack and when she came back in, she said, “Tomorrow, we’ll do just that. We’ll try to make good things happen for us!”

 

-She Wolf © 2008

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Once Upon a Window - Part Two

April 8, 2008 · 2 Comments

Kevin and Kate didn’t get another chance at the window for several days. First Kevin got sick, and then Kate did. On Saturday, when they were both feeling better, their parents took them shopping for summer clothes in the morning and in the afternoon, it poured rain. On Sunday, everyone in the family was at Great-grandmother’s house for dinner and the afternoon.

Sunday was sunny and warm, and after a big potluck dinner (Great-grandmother refused to cook for the entire family anymore - she said in no uncertain terms that they could all help out, so they did) the whole family went out to the back yard with the croquet and badminton sets and lots of lawn chairs. The boys shed their suit jackets and all of the children ran around playing tag and hide-and-seek and getting in the way of the grown ups who were trying to beat each other at lawn games. Great-grandmother still beat everyone at croquet.

Kevin and Kate really did enjoy these Sunday afternoons with all of their cousins and aunts and uncles and great-aunts and great-uncles - all together, there were probably about forty people there, and ten of them were children. But this Sunday, all they could think of was the window. Kevin’s heart just wasn’t in showing his cousin Jack how high he could climb in the cottonwood tree in the back yard, and as much as Kate usually enjoyed playing with her cousin Beth, she just wasn’t having fun today.

The window called to them, a seductive siren song that was incredibly hard to resist. Kate and Kevin really wanted to see if it still showed a different outcome for things, or if they had imagined it all. But everyone was in and out of the house all afternoon, and there wasn’t any chance to go in and climb up on a stool to look out of the window without someone coming through and wondering what they were doing. Kevin tried. He used going to the bathroom as an excuse to go inside so many times that afternoon that he wasn’t allowed to have any lemonade and cookies with the others because his mother said he must have an upset stomach if he needed to go inside so much. Kate knew what he was doing, and snuck his lemonade and cookies to him later on.

“Kevin, if you’re going to be so obvious, we won’t be able to do anything, Someone will catch on and ruin everything. Stay out of the house!” Katie scolded him.

“All right. Next week Great-grandmother will be doing a lot of gardening. I heard her telling Aunt Patsy. We can do something then.” Kevin sighed miserably. “I really just want to check out that window again, and work out how we’re going to do this, though.”

Kate shook her head and went back to play with Beth some more.

Kevin stayed out of the house until it was time to clean up. Along with everyone else, he helped put everything away - dishes washed and put up, outdoor games and chairs in the basement. When the last lemonade glass was put away and the last lawn chair folded, all of the relatives except Kevin and Kate and their parents left. Since their family lived just a few blocks away, they always stayed later. Mom and Dad would help Great-grandmother with things she just couldn’t do anymore, like heavy lifting.

Mom and Dad had gone to the basement with Great-grandmother to help her re-arrange some furniture, leaving Kevin and Kate on their own upstairs for a short while. They looked at each other, and Kate grabbed the footstool from in front of one of the chairs. She carefully put a piece of newspaper on it to keep their footprints off of the fabric. (They had made that mistake one time before - they had thought that since footstools were for putting feet on, they could stand on them too, and had been playing super hero by jumping off one with capes on.  They had left  the footstool quite scuffed, and found that Great-grandmother didn’t like footprints on any of the furniture, not even the footstools.) Quickly they scrambled up on it and, side-by-side, peered out of the blue stained glass window. It was early evening though, and there really wasn’t much to see. Kate noticed that a bird that flew up into the tree through the rest of the window stayed on the ground in the blue window, but that was it. By the time they heard the adults coming back upstairs, they had already put the footstool back, thrown out the newspaper, and were playing checkers on the floor.

That night, Kevin and Kate made a few plans. They decide that one of them would stay inside and watch through the window, and the other would be outside and try to help passers-by. It wasn’t a sure-fire thing, but they might get a tip or two from someone whose dog didn’t run off or who missed stepping in a puddle. It was the best they could think of for right now.

Kevin found his old walkie-talkies and put fresh batteries in them. Then Kate dug around in the basement and found a little folding stool that would fit underneath Great-grandmother’s sofa where it couldn’t be seen when they weren’t using it. That way, they wouldn’t have to use the kitchen stepstool or the footstool that showed footprints too well.  They were ready to go.

The next day after school, Kevin and Kate took the stool and the walkie-talkies over to Great-grandmother’s house and left them in the bushes by the front door. After Great-grandmother had gone out to work in her garden in the back yard, they brought the things in.

“I’ll watch first,” said Kate. “You go out with the walkie-talkie and tell me what people are doing as they come by. Then I’ll tell you what I see in the blue window.” Kevin agreed, and went out.

Things went along all right for a while, although Kevin got some strange looks for hanging around in the front yard by the sidewalk with a walkie-talkie. No one was doing anything they could do differently and Kevin got bored. He decided to observe things from a different angle, and scrambled up one of the trees by the sidewalk where he sat happily on a branch in the shade. Even if someone noticed him, Kevin was often found in trees, so no one would think it was odd.

He was leaning out, trying to get a better look at what was happening down the sidewalk when suddenly Kate shrieked into the walkie-talkie. “KEVIN! HOLD ON!” Startled, Kevin did just the opposite, and slipped off the branch he was on. The walkie-talkie went flying and Kevin found himself dangling from a rather skinny limb with his toes ten feet off the ground. The limb was drooping lower and lower, and Kevin could hear a cracking noise. To make matters worse, his tie was caught on the branch too and the hard cement sidewalk was below him. He was frightened. He didn’t know which would happen first - if the branch would break and he would fall to the sidewalk or if he would choke on his tie. He needed to get his legs up over the branch so he could untangle his tie and get down, but when he tried to wiggle and swing his legs up, the branch creaked like it was going to break. As he struggled to hang on and tried to think of a way down, Great-grandmother came around the corner of the house into the front yard.

“Kevin! What on earth are you doing?” she called. Just then, Kate came around the other corner of the house struggling with the awkward ladder, and together they put it up under Kevin. He got his feet on the top step just as the branch broke. His tie ripped and he quickly scrambled down, happy to be in one piece, but still shaken.

“Now Kevin, you know I don’t mind you climbing the trees, but you must be careful. And don’t climb over the sidewalk. It’s too hard for landing on!” She looked him up and down. “And your tie is torn.” Great-grandmother shook her head and went off to work on the flower beds by the front walk.

Kate hissed, “I told you to hold on!”

“You shouted and scared me! That was why I fell!” Kevin replied, furious.

“But I could see you falling, and then I said something!”

“Well, all I know is I didn’t fall ‘til you told me not to,” said Kevin, pulling the walkie-talkie out of a bush. He checked it to make sure it was still working, stuffed it in his pocket, and folded up the ladder. He crammed his torn tie into his shirt front and, glaring at his sister, he stomped off to the back to put the ladder away.

Kate’s feelings were hurt - she had thought she was helping him, but it all went wrong and now Kevin was mad. Head down, she wandered slowly back to the house.

As she passed Great-grandmother, Great-grandmother said, “His pride is injured, just like yours would be if someone saw you looking foolish. Leave him alone for a bit, and it’ll be all right.”

Kate nodded sadly and went to make sure the folding stool and walkie-talkie were put away before Great-grandmother came in. Great-grandmother didn’t know the half of it. Kate just hoped that Kevin would realize soon that she didn’t mean to make him fall.

By evening, Kevin had cooled off. At bedtime, he told Kate, “Tomorrow, it’s your turn to be outside. I won’t make you fall out of a tree!”

“No, because I don’t intend to climb one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some things I need to get ready for tomorrow.” Her nose in the air, Kate went off to find some things she thought she could use.

-She Wolf © 2008

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Once Upon a Window - Part One

March 10, 2008 · 5 Comments

 A suburban tract house is not the sort of place that you expect to see an elaborate stained glass window, especially one the size of an entire front picture window. Yet there it was. But then Great-grandmother wasn’t the sort of person you expected to find in a suburban tract house - a split-level one at that. She belonged in a graceful old Victorian house, or perhaps even a little cottage surrounded by flowers, but not a cookie-cutter house in the heart of a cookie-cutter community. She often said that if she had know that Great-grandfather was going to die so soon after he insisted on moving into this architectural monstrosity, she would never have allowed it to happen.

But that had been thirty years ago, and in thirty years, even the roughest edges get at least a little smoother. And so, over the years, the yard and the inside of the house had become more suitable for Great-grandmother, with wall paper and flowers and trees and the old-fashioned furniture she had brought with her when they moved.

One of those more suitable things was the stained glass window. Great-grandmother had had it taken out of the old place, the house she had grown up in, piece by careful piece before they had moved. And once she had settled her furniture and books into the new house, she had restored the window, piece by careful piece, and had it put in place of the picture window that had dominated in the front room. There it glowed with color, bathing the whole room in shades of blue and yellow and red and green.

“Ridiculous!” Great-grandfather had grumbled. “Now I can’t look out at everything going on up and down the street. Besides, you’re just asking for a baseball to get thrown through it!”

“Nonsense,” replied Great-grandmother. “Now the world can’t look in at us as if we were goldfish in a bowl. And besides, if you want to watch the world go by, well, that’s what front porches are for. We used to have one, you know!”

And Great-grandfather had had the sense to know when to stop, and had gone out and bought some lawn chairs to put under the maple tree in the front yard, for when it got big enough to make some shade. Then he decided that he wanted to watch the world go by sooner than that, and had a small front porch added onto the house and called it good. Great-grandmother had sniffed and polished her stained glass window until it shone, and then put up some lacy curtains at its edges.

By the time Kate and Kevin came along, Great-grandmother was resigned to living in the tract house, even without Great-grandfather (although she still talked to him as if he were there).

Kate and Kevin loved to visit Great-grandmother. They only lived a few blocks away, and by the time they were in elementary school and were allowed to cross streets by themselves, they visited her most days after school and on Sunday afternoons, too.

Now, visiting Great-grandmother was truly a labor of love. Great-grandmother, at the age of ninety, was an old-fashioned sort of grandmother. She wasn’t the sort who was round and cuddly. She was sharp and angular. And while she did bake a lot, she also made sure that there were plenty of vegetables on the table that had to be eaten before the cookies and cakes came out. Sitting on her lap was like sitting on a bundle of sticks, and she always smelled of lavender water. She wore skirts, even in the dead of winter, and went once a week to have her hair “done” at Mildred’s House of Hair, where every now and then she had a blue rinse put on it. She wore heavy white stockings and sensible orthopedic shoes and walked with a cane. (Although the cane did have a dragon’s head carved on it.)

Children visiting Great-grandmother were held to the same standards she held herself to. Girls wore skirts or dresses, and never wore tennis shoes, only lace-up leather shoes or buckle shoes, with plain tights or knee socks. Hair had to be neatly brushed, and preferably braided if it was long enough. No perfume, no makeup, and no jewelry other than maybe a locket around the neck, were allowed. And Great-grandmother preferred that her great-grand daughters wore the sorts of dresses she made and gave them every birthday, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, and start of school. They were always pretty and lacy and old-fashioned looking, but the girls, especially rough and tumble Kate, were often afraid to wear them for fear they’d spoil them.

Boys had to wear slacks, not jeans, and leather shoes, and button front shirts - and ties. As a result, Kevin was the only one in his class at school who could already tie a tie. Great-grandmother didn’t allow for clip-ons. On Sundays, a suit jacket was added to that. Clean hands, clean face, neatly combed hair and proper manners were always the order of the day at Great-grandmother’s house.

But it was worth it. Both Kevin and Kate thought so. Great-grandmother had a room in the downstairs that was full of wonderful old-fashioned toys, like real china tea sets and dolls with whole trunkfuls of clothes, and metal constructions toys like Erector sets, and stone blocks that could build all sorts of wonderful castles. There were old-fashioned games, like pick-up-sticks, and checkers, and Parcheesi. Great-grandmother was always happy to play a game with them, and she never lost at Scrabble just to make them feel good.

She had a huge bookcase full of old children’s books, too, and could almost always be persuaded to drop what she was doing and read a story or two or three. She told marvelous stories, too, about growing up almost a hundred years ago. (They sat beside her on the loveseat, though, since her lap wasn’t very inviting.)

Great-grandmother was very glad to have them join her in what she was doing, too, and taught them to cook and bake, and gave them knitting needles and crochet hooks and embroidery hoops and patiently sat with them until they understood what to do. All they had to do was be willing to listen. She always had time to spend with them. And when the weather was nice, she was always up for a game of croquet or badminton in the back yard - she usually won, since she was a ruthless player.

One rainy afternoon in spring, when Kevin and Kate were tired of building castles out of the stone construction blocks and attacking them with the toy soldiers, they went to see if Great-grandmother would be willing to read to them from a book of fairy tales that they were currently enjoying. For once, Great-grandmother was busy - if she stopped making the cake now, it would be spoiled, and even Kevin and Kate agreed that this would not be a good thing. After deciding not to help with the baking, they wandered off again to amuse themselves.

“I wish we could go out and play,” moaned Kate, peering out the stained glass window at the streaming world. It looked strange all in red.

“Me, too. We’ve been stuck inside for days!” said Kevin, leaning his head against the window and blowing on a green pane of glass. He wrote his name in the fog and sighed.

“Don’t leave nose prints on the window!” said Great-grandmother crisply, from behind them. She was looking through the kitchen door at them.

“Sorry, Great-grandmother.” Kevin flushed. “I won’t do it again.” He knew he needed to behave, or he would be going home. He didn’t want to go home yet. He grabbed the end of his tie and started to polish the fogged and smudged pane of blue glass.

“Here. If you’re going to clean it, do it right!” said Great-grandmother. She presented Kevin with some vinegar and newspaper. “Now polish that window correctly.” She walked back to the kitchen and the cake.

Kevin had polished windows for Great-grandmother before, so he knew what to do. He had never done the stained glass window before, though, and he made a game of polishing each and every different shaped and colored panel carefully. Kate grew bored and went to the kitchen, where she got a lesson in cake-making from Great-grandmother.

Kevin polished each of the lower pieces of the window, making them shine. Then he got a stepstool from the kitchen and started on the top half of the window. As he polished one particularly odd-shaped pane near the center of the window, he noticed something odd.

When he had been polishing a square red pane, he had seen Mr. Overholt from next door walking down the sidewalk with his dog. The dog had seen a squirrel, run between Mr. Overholt’s legs, and tripped him, landing him in a large mud-puddle. Kevin had thought this was quite funny and had moved over to look at the scene though the blue pane next to the red one for variety. Yet when Kevin looked through the blue pane, Mr. Overholt was standing up, dry, and the little dog was sniffing the maple tree at his side. Kevin looked back through the red pane. Mr. Overholt was in the puddle, pulling on the leash - in fact, Kevin could hear the dog barking. He looked back through the blue pane. Mr. Overholt was standing there, letting his dog sniff the tree. But Kevin could still hear the barking. He looked out the yellow pane on the other side of the blue one, and there was Mr. Overholt, climbing out of the puddle and looking angry. In the blue pane, he was smiling and dry. Kevin shook his head and looked again. The blue pane still showed something different.

Kevin climbed down from the step ladder and hurried to the kitchen door. “Kate, come here for a minute!”

The cake was just going into the oven. Kate took off her apron and said. “I’ll be back in a minute, Great-grandmother!” She laid the apron over the back of a chair and followed Kevin into the front room. “What are you so excited about?” she said. Kevin grabbed her and pulled her to one side, so Great-grandmother couldn’t see them through the open kitchen door.

“There’s something weird about the stained glass window!” he hissed in her ear.

Kate turned to look at him, confused. “Yeah? And? What?”

Kevin dragged her over to the step ladder. “Climb up and look through that funny looking blue pane and tell me what you see.”

Kate did, saying, “You’re being really weird, Kevin. I know you’re bored, but…” She paused and looked through the pane. “Okay, I see Mr. Overholt standing there by the maple tree with his dog.” She shrugged. “So what?”

“Just wait!” said Kevin in a low voice. “Now look through the red one and tell me what you see.”
Kate did as he asked and then said, puzzled, “I see Mr. Overholt, but he’s standing in a mud puddle looking mad, and his dog is barking at something in the tree. I can hear the barking. I could before, too.” She bobbed over to the yellow pane. “He’s mad and wet here too.” She looked back through the blue glass. “But here he’s not!” She looked down at Kevin, who was looking back at the kitchen door and frantically motioning her to be quiet.

Kate stepped down off the ladder and grabbed Kevin, hauling him over to the side of the room by one arm. “Kevin, that pane of glass is magic, or something!” she whispered loudly in his ear.

“I know! That’s why I called you!”

“We should tell Great-grandmother!” said Kate.

“NO!” shouted Kevin. Then he looked around quickly. Then he whispered, “I mean, not yet. What if it’s one of those magic things that won’t work if grown-ups know about it?”
Kate gave him a funny look. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like that, Kevin. And anyway, it’s her window. I’ll bet she already knows about it, and if she doesn’t, she should.”

“Look, just let’s keep it to ourselves for now. I want to think about this. That window shows something other than what really happens, and I want to see how it works in case Great-grandmother says I can’t look through it anymore.”

“Wellll….okay, but just for a little while. I’m going back to the kitchen now, before Great-grandmother gets suspicious.”

But to her surprise, Great-grandmother didn’t ask what was going on. She just pointed to the sink full of hot, soapy water and batter covered cooking things, and Kate got busy washing the dishes.

Later that night, when they were at home again and getting ready for bed, Kevin knocked on Kate’s door. “Kate, I think I figured out that window. I watched it a lot while I finished polishing it. The blue pane shows what would happen if good things happen instead of bad, like if you make a different choice. I want to see if we can use it to make good things happen. That would be neat, don’t you think?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know - maybe finding money or something. That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

And Kate agreed.

-She Wolf © 2008

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Vacuums Away!

February 20, 2008 · 12 Comments

I knocked over one of the spider plants yesterday, and needed  the vacuum to get the potting soil out of our cream-colored carpeting. (Yes, I know that cream colored carpeting is insane when you have four dogs, three of whom are large, and four children. It wasn’t my choice. It came with the house. If we can refrain from buying computers and software for a while, we will replace it with wood. Easier said than done. We are geeks.)

Anyway, the vacuum wasn’t where I thought I had put it – where it usually lives, in the back hallway by the big birdcage. My daughter checked the boys’ rooms, I checked various possible spots upstairs, and still no vacuum. I was thoroughly puzzled. Where could the thing be? Our house isn’t that big!

Then, checking in the hallway one more time, I saw a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the stand the big birdcage is on. Grumbling about offspring who can’t seem to pick up after themselves at their ages, I fished the paper out. Not wanting to accidentally throw away someone’s homework or an unpaid bill, I looked at the paper.It wasn’t homework or a bill or even junk mail stolen from the trash by the dogs. It was a note. The writing on it was a little hard to read, but I finally made out what it said.

I wasn’t sure I was seeing it right at first, because it seemed to be from my vacuum cleaner.I know, vacuum cleaners are things, and things don’t write notes. But after this, well, I’m not so sure. The hand writing wasn’t my daughter’s, and it was too legible to be my youngest son’s. It wasn’t like the handwriting of anyone else in the house, either. The note read: 

I have had it. I am leaving. I cannot take it anymore. Do you have any idea, any at all, of what it is like to be a vacuum cleaner in this house?! I am not even a heavy duty model. Kirby over there is, and he isn’t working. You wore him out! And then you expect me to just come in and take over? You said you’d get him fixed right away and I would just be the back-up model. That was more than a year ago. I haven’t forgotten, even if you have. If you can wear out a heavy duty model like him, what do you think I feel like?

Let me tell you, this house is no walk in the park. Why couldn’t I have been purchased by a little old lady who vacuums her spotless house once a week? Or even by the owners of a dust farm. THAT would be easier.

Let me elaborate. You have dogs. Specifically, you have Labrador retrievers, who shed five or six Labrador retrievers a week, each. Black and brown fur, on that white carpeting. And you expect me to keep it clean. Oh - and let’s not forget the red mud they track in all spring, summer and fall. You expect me to suck that out, too. Lady, that stuff stains. It’s murder to get out! Torn up papers, mangled sticks, chewed up bits of unnamable things  - all of it falls to me to get rid of. You don’t really want to know what some of the stuff they find to chew on is. Really, you don’t. Oh sure, you push me back and forth, but I’m the one doing the dirty work. And remember how the dogs used to attack me when they were puppies? Who was that fun for? Not me!  

Let’s not forget all those times my hose has gotten clogged with dog hair. Yeah, I know you got it out, but come on- some of those clogs really gave me indigestion until you got them out! (And that broom handle you used in my hose to get loose the clogs caught in the middle of the hose – I think that’s against the Geneva Convention. Pure torture, that was.)

Then there are the birds. I’m glad you like birds, and feathers aren’t hard to suck up, when they don’t fly the other way so I have to chase them. But all that bird seed! I know you can’t stop them from tossing it out of their cages, but can’t you put them somewhere other than on the carpeting? Somewhere you can sweep, for instance?  I wouldn’t even mind if it were just one or two birds. But you have four budgies, a canary, and three lineolated parakeets. That’s a lot of seed, lady, especially when you use me to finish cleaning out a bird cage.  And all that fiber wreaks havoc on my digestive system.

Then there are the times that all of you haven’t checked my bag soon enough and I’ve gotten a tummy ache because my bag was too full, all the rug cleaners and freshening chemicals you’ve made me eat, the times you’ve broken my belt and then blamed me for eating something I shouldn’t – hey, I don’t steer me, you do. And the times someone has just dumped my cord and left it in knots - knots hurt, you know.

Let me also mention coins. Pennies HURT.  People usually manage to pick up the larger stuff, but then they don’t get the pennies and when I run over one, they whack all over inside me with my roller brush and they really, really hurt. If they get up into my fan, they leave nicks in it. How would you like nicks in your digestive tract? At least the kids have out-grown Legos…Small blessings.


Of course, I am used and used and used. I never get a rest. Someone always seems to be vacuuming something up. I am exhausted, on top of everything else.

Monday was the last straw. First thing in the morning – AT SEVEN AM! – I get hauled downstairs to clean up after a sick dog. I mean, YUCK! How would you like to deal with that first thing in the morning? But okay, it’s my job, and if I had been left alone for the rest of the day, it might have been okay. But then, THEN, I get hauled into hell for a cleaning job. Let me tell you, the rooms of seventeen year old boys are unconstitutional torture - even more so than being used to clean out under the sofa cushions. There is NOTHING worse. Old gym socks, dog hair, bits of snacks that he snuck down there so long ago they don’t qualify as food items anymore, all the dirt he has tracked in, pieces of paper, broken pens and pencils, lost change, you name it, he had it down there and most of it, I had to eat. He didn’t do a good job of picking up first, and I had to try to eat a lot of stuff that I couldn’t. That was VERY uncomfortable. I ate so much in that room that I thought I was going to burst. His carpet isn’t large, but believe you me, it was dirty!

So I’m out of here, lady. Get old Kirby over there in the corner fixed, or go buy another sucker – I mean replacement. I don’t care. I am gone. I feel sorry for whoever gets stuck with this job, but is sure isn’t going to be me anymore.

Sincerely,

The Vacuum Cleaner 

Well, I was more that a little bit floored by this (so to speak). But I didn’t think he could have gotten far. After all, the gutters are still full of ice and snow and the streets are still ice ruts on our block. That would make for slow going for a vacuum cleaner with small wheels. After checking all the closets and the corners in the garage just to make sure, I started hunting around outside for tracks.

The front was clear, but I didn’t think the vacuum would have gone that way anyway, because it is so exposed. So I started looking around the back. Sure enough, in a patch of unmelted snow near the back gate, I found the tracks of little vacuum cleaner wheels. I could even see where his underside dragged through the snow because of his low clearance.

Opening the gate, I went out into the alley. I had no trouble seeing his tracks going down the alley, towards the street that leads to the park. He must have followed one of the kids out on trip to the garbage cans last night. There was a lot of mud as well as ice and snow out in the alley, and I could see that while the vacuum was avoiding the puddles, he had almost gotten bogged down at least once.I followed the tracks down the alley and out to the street.

This street was relatively clear of snow and I lost the trail. I looked to see if it resumed in the snow at the park, and sure enough, there it was. I couldn’t be that far behind him, I reasoned, so I kept on following. The trail led to one of the foot bridges across the creek that runs through the park. There are two rather high steps up onto the bridge, and I could see that the vacuum’s tracks turned away here. They went to the edge of the ten-foot deep flood control channel that the creek trickles along the bottom of, but then veered away from that, too, and followed the creek down the park.

The vacuum cleaner was heading towards another street – one that led to an area with nicer homes than our 1960’s era subdivision.So he thought things would be better if he lived in a nicer place, did he? I trotted along, following him easily now.Yes, there were tracks turning up the street to the nicer area…But wait! On the other side of the bridge the tracks were turning back into the park! That could only mean one thing. He had his sights set really high -on the McMansions at the east end of the park. 

I followed the tracks up the muddy little road that ran between the stream and the open space part of the park, up towards the kids’ fishing pond. His wheels had to be thoroughly clogged with mud by now. I could see where he had rolled over snow in several places, trying to clean off the mud.

Then, in a picnic shelter by the pond, I found him. He was huddled miserably between the picnic table and the trash can, and looked done in. He was mud-splashed and filthy, and his cord had come partially undone. The trailing cord was why he had stopped. It had wrapped around one of the posts holding up the roof of the shelter, trapping him here. He looked pathetic. His front was partially open, his bag was torn, and there was bird seed leaking out.

I sighed and shook my head and unwrapped the cord from the post. “Ready to go home now?” I asked, taking out the leaking bag and putting it in the trash can and putting his front back on tight. He didn’t say anything, so I took that as a yes, and hefted him up into my arms.

As we went home (by a much shorter route) I scolded him. “You don’t run away from your problems, you face them like a man – I mean a vacuum cleaner. You need to do the job you’re made for, and do it with pride. After all, without you, I have dirty carpets. After you go over them, they look nice again. Be proud of your job! And anyway, if you think you’d have it easier in a fancier house, you have another think coming. They have three times the floor space we do!”

Ten minutes later, I had him home and put a new bag in him. I left him alone for a while, to make sure that he was thoroughly dried out before I plugged him in again, and then I cleaned up the dirt from the plant. The carpet was pristine where I had run him.

“Well, I guess you are glad to be home, eh?” I said.

But just in case, I made sure to put him away in a closet with a door that shuts tight. 

-She Wolf © 2008  

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Behind the Gate

February 17, 2008 · 9 Comments

This story is a bit more intense than most of my stories. For the faint of heart and the very young, beware.

 Alex edged closer to the rusty wrought-iron gate. He could barely see it in the blackness of the moonless night; it stood out as darker in the darkness around him. A delicate breeze sifted past him, just enough to make the leaves rustle on the trees. The sound should have been normal and reassuring but instead it was ominous. Everything seemed ominous right now, in the deep of the night.

Alex put his hand on the gate and pushed. It didn’t move. It was too much to ask that the gate be unlocked and open. He clicked on the miniature flashlight his mother had put on the keyring with his house key. “So you won’t have to fumble around in the dark,” she had told him, “You’ll be safer this way.” Alex had rolled his eyes at the time, but now he was glad it was here.

Carefully, shielding the tiny light from the view of the huge old house at the end of the driveway, he played the beam over the iron curlicues on the gate, looking for the best foot and handholds before he climbed over it. He frowned.  Up close, he could see tiny skulls and skeletons hidden in the fancy rusted iron flourishes. There were faces, too - and not of anyone he’d ever care to meet, especially on a darker-than-dark night like this one.

He turned off the light and stood there for a minute. If he turned back now, he knew the guys would never let him forget it. He really didn’t want to put up with the razzing…and he needed to be part of their group.

Jeremy’s voice came back to him. “All you have to do, man, is go in and get the scarf I’m gonna tie to one of the tree limbs on that big old oak by the house. Then come back out and show me that you got it. Then you’re in!” Jeremy had smiled then, his brilliant white teeth shining. Oscar and Joe had nudged each other with their elbows and grinned, too. “Unless you don’t think you can do that. And if you’re scared, I understand, man. There’s only been a few of us that did it, right guys?” Oscar and Joe had nodded, looking important. “And hey, remember, I have to go in and hang up that scarf every single time! So, you know, you’re not the only one. I’ve done it again and again! But you know, we’re the best.   Everybody knows we’re not afraid of anything, and nobody - nobody - messes with us!” He had nodded emphatically at that, and Alex had nodded too. 

He had liked the idea that no one would mess with him. He was the new guy, and well, sometimes that wasn’t easy. He was always the new guy and he knew how it went. This looked like an easy in with a crowd that would keep him safe. And when school started again, that would be important.

He had questioned Jeremy, though. “What if the dude who owns the place has a gun? Some people shoot trespassers, don’t they? And dogs? Are there any dogs?”

“The old guy who lives there is a distant relative of my dad’s. He’s grumpy, and he likes to be alone, but he won’t do anything. Just don’t go and mess around by the house, and you’ll be fine. I mean, it’s not like you’re stealing or anything. You’re just going to get a scarf that belongs to me. And he doesn’t have dogs. Doesn’t like animals.” He had smiled sort of strangely at that. Then he said, “So what is it? Are you in?”

And Alex had said yes. And now he was skulking around this creepy gate, looking for a way over it and onto the property to retrieve the scarf that Jeremy had tied there earlier in the day. He knew where it was - they had all come by in the afternoon and Jeremy had pointed it out - a faint smudge of red dangling from the oak tree nearest the house. “Just jump up and yank it down, and come back out! And poof! You’re in!”

It had seemed so much easier then. Even though the grounds were overgrown and looked like a snake factory and the very old house looked haunted and ready to tumble down, the light of day had made the idea of sneaking in and getting the scarf seem do-able. Even when Alex was sneaking out of the house after everyone else had gone to bed, it didn’t seem so bad. But now, in the dark, dark night, Alex was ready to forget it and go back home to his warm soft bed and plug in the night light he had told his mother he didn’t need anymore and listen to the radio until he fell asleep.

He slumped against the gate, smearing rust on the back of his shirt. He stood there for a few minutes and then, before he could think about it anymore, he grabbed the bars of the gate and swung himself up on them. Avoiding the spikes on the top, Alex clambered over and then he was panting, standing on the other side on the overgrown gravel drive.

Alex looked around. He was almost half-way done, he told himself. He just needed to run down the drive, grab the scarf, run back and get out. Then he could go home. And tomorrow, he could give the guys the scarf, his golden ticket to acceptance when the new school year started.

Except that he didn’t run. He was too frightened. There was something about this place…there were no animal noises here and it just seemed spooky somehow. He crept down the drive, staying to the sides near the cover of the bushes, placing his feet carefully and trying not to make any noise at all. He slowed his breathing to quiet that down too, but he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding so hard that he was sure someone could hear it three feet away. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and every primeval instinct in his body was telling him to get out of here NOW!

The walk down the drive seemed to take forever. Alex startled and froze at each little sound he heard - the wind in the trees, a car out on the main road, something in the bushes nearby. When he finally reached the end of the drive and stood near the oak tree with the scarf, he was drenched in sweat and shaking with fear and he really couldn’t say why. He stared at the house looming in front of him. Was that a flash of light he saw in the windows? No, but now he noticed that the breeze had stiffened and had blown up clouds. He could hear thunder booming in the distance. He needed to finish this; get the scarf and get away.

He could see the scarf dangling a few feet away and just out of arm’s reach. One good jump and it would be his.

Alex gathered himself and leaped. As his hand wrapped around the fabric of the scarf and he pulled, something else wrapped around his legs, catching him and freezing him in mid-air.

Alex let out a screech that hurt even his own ears, feeling foolish even as he did it. It must be the guys, waiting here to scare him when he came in to get the scarf. He looked down, expecting to see Jeremy or Oscar or Joe with their arms around his legs, grinning up at him, laughing at him for screaming.

But it wasn’t. What he saw made him scream again, this time until the breath ran all the way out of his body…

Dirty fangs in a hairy, filthy face. Arms the size of small trees. Eyes that glowed red in the night.  And then the smell hit him, too. How he could have missed something that rank he didn’t know. He gagged, and the thing holding him chuckled in a raspy bass voice.

“Well, what have we here? An interesting little morsel?! Come with me, morsel, and let’s get acquainted!” The thing was carrying him towards the house as it spoke. Alex started wiggling and flailing his arms and trying to kick at the thing, screaming all the while.

Inside, the thing dumped him on the floor in a room with a single oil lamp and piles of rubbish everywhere. Alex instantly scuttled backwards until he hit a wall and huddled there, shaking, his eyes never leaving the thing that had grabbed him. He whimpered with every breath and could feel a growing dampness in his jeans pooling underneath him.

The thing watched him, an evil smile on its face. “So, little morsel, what do you think? What are you imagining right now? Because whatever you are imagining, I can make it come true. Your dreams, mind you, not your wishes. And only certain kinds of dreams at that.  I believe your kind calls them nightmares?” He laughed again. “But first things first. I am forgetting my manners in my eagerness to get to know you better. I am Corrock. And you are…?”

 Alex just stared at the thing. He pushed himself against the wall as if he were trying to push through it.

“Manners, morsel, manners! What is the matter with you? You’d think you never saw an ogre before! But then perhaps you haven’t. I forget how uneducated and ignorant you modern youth are. The old ways, the old beings, have been forgotten.” It shook its head and stared Alex right in the eyes. “I am an ogre. One of the last of my kind. I am bound to this estate and may not leave it. So my prey must come to me.” He looked around the room and licked his lips. “I must say, I am ready for a change of diet. The local animals bore me.” He  looked around the room and Alex, following his gaze, could see piles of bones. There were squirrel skulls and deer skulls  piled in a little heap nearby. He noticed the smell in the room for the first time and gagged again. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

Corrock laughed. “Good. The more scared they are, the juicier the flesh is when I finally get around to tasting it. I like it well seasoned with fear!”

Alex gasped and managed to croak, “M…my…my parents. They’ll know I’m gone. They’ll come and find me!”he finished in a rush.

“By now there should be note in your room, in your handwriting, about how you didn’t like it here and have run away. So sad, another runaway who disappears. Oh my. He must have fallen in with the wrong crowd. Too bad, but it does happen,” said the ogre in a grieving tone.

“A..a…a note?” His voice was hoarse from screaming.

“Didn’t you wonder how the scarf could get here, without Jeremy, as he is calling himself these days, being caught by me? Jeremy and Oscar and Joe are mine. Think, morsel, did you ever go to their homes? Meet their families? No, you only saw them in public places. And had school begun, you’d never have seen them in school.” It laughed, moving closer to Alex. “They bring me the young and the foolish, the lost and the desperate - anyone they can fool, in short - to stave off the pangs of my hunger.”

“Many, many years ago, when I was first imprisoned here, these cocky young toughs decided to rob the place. I caught them, of course, and since I wasn’t very hungry at the time, I made a bargain with them. They would bring me prey - tender, juicy young prey by preference, although I am not really picky - and I would let them live. It has worked well. They supply me with treats that I would not get otherwise and they are allowed to live - and live many more years than they should live by nature. In fact, they not only live, but have a glamour that allows them to seem any age they choose. I have been repaid many times over, and they get to live. It was a bargain well made.” He smacked his lips in satisfaction and anticipation. The saliva dripping from his fangs glistened in the lamplight.

It was reaching for Alex who was cowering away when the sound of a door opening and closing stopped it. Footsteps echoed through the house and then Jeremy, Oscar and Joe entered the room. “Oh, you aren’t done yet!” said Jeremy. “I thought you’d be finished by now. We’ll wait outside.” He smirked at Alex. The trio suddenly seemed much older than they had. As the glamour that surrounded them faded away, they began to age before his eyes and now appeared ancient and evil. They all grinned wickedly at him with dirty, broken teeth in straggling and stained grey beards and Alex wondered why he hadn’t seen how evil they were from the beginning.

The ogre said, “No, no - I think you should stay. You never stay for dinner. It’s not very polite you know. You really should stay while I dine.”

The three moved uneasily and their smiles died.  “I insist,” hissed the ogre.

“Right, sir. Whatever you say,” they mumbled, trying to move to the door without seeming to.

The ogre turned back to Alex. While it had been talking to its three henchmen, Alex had been feeling around on the floor nearby. Now he had a squirrel skull in his hand and before the ogre could reach for it again, Alex hurled the skull at the oil lamp.

The skull hit it with a smash and the oil from the lamp flew everywhere, bursting into flames as it did. Some of it splashed on the ogre, who roared in pain and rage. He whirled around, trying to reach the fire and put it out. Alex scrambled to his feet and ran toward the window, grabbing another bone as he went and throwing it against the glass.

The three in the doorway had rushed over to help their master, but when the glass in the window shattered they shouted and ran to stop Alex from escaping. In the confusion in the room, Jeremy got tangled up in a bone pile and fell to the floor, while Oscar got too close to the flames from the lamp and caught his clothing on fire. Joe was the only one left to pursue Alex and he was the farthest away, with the most obstacles in between them.

 The bone had broken the window, but the hole wasn’t big enough for Alex to get through without slicing himself so badly that the ogre’s work would be done for him. He swerved at the last minute and then ran through the door where the ogre’s three cohorts had been standing a few minutes before. He could hear Joe shouting and then a crash that suggested that Joe had fallen into the remains of the window. He pelted down a dark and dirty hall - there was a door at the far end. He could see the window in it lighting up with the lightening from the storm that was almost on them.

He raced to the door and yanked on the knob. It opened, and he nearly sobbed with relief. He was out onto the porch, dodging holes in the rotten boards, and then leaping down the steps in one leap; he was running for his life and he knew it. He listened for the sounds of pursuit behind him, but the shouts were still coming from inside the house. On an impulse, Alex swerved off the  drive and into the bushes. He would find a tree and use it to get over the wall instead of going directly to the gate like they would expect.

The storm broke overhead.  Rain poured down, drenching Alex in moments, and lightening flashed with thunder right on its heels. In the flashes, Alex navigated through the heavy growth. The rain masked the sound of his travels, but he knew it would also hide the sounds of anyone chasing him. He opted for speed instead of stealth and made for the wall as quickly as he could. There was a tree just the right size right by the wall and Alex swarmed up it as quickly as he could, expecting to feel arms pulling him back down at any time.

He leapt from a tree branch to the top of the wall which he straddled, getting his balance. He looked back at the mansion. As he did, a slash of lightening came down from the clouds above and struck the oak tree that loomed beside the house. In the light from the lightening bolt, Alex could see one large and three small figures illuminated on the porch. And then the blazing branch from the tree came crashing down through the rotten porch roof onto the figures and setting the whole building ablaze. Alex could hear screams and roars echoing as he slipped from the wall, landing in the overflowing ditch beside it. Staggering to his feet, he ran all of the way home as if he could still feel the hot breath of the ogre behind him.

An article about the fire appeared in the local paper a few days later. There were some inquiries being made, it said, about all of the charred bones found in the ashes of the fire. Some in particular had been disturbingly strange. Alex could tell them why, but he wasn’t sure they’d ever believe him…

-She Wolf (c) 2008

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The Water Feature

February 5, 2008 · No Comments

A garden should have pond in it, thought Mary Ann as she dug into the rich earth in the farthest corner of her backyard. Or at least a water feature of some kind. But hers was going to be a little pond, with a tiny waterfall and some water plants and maybe even a fish or two. For years she had wanted one, but since she was blessed with the loving companionship of a pair of Labrador Retrievers, she had never quite had the courage to put one in. The labs would consider it their private swimming pool and it would be lost to all other uses. Moses, named for his penchant for lying in the shallows in the reedy part of ponds, and Gerry, short for Geranium because he loved to eat them, would do nothing but play in the water and then get it all over the house. They never understood why Mary Ann objected to wet dogs in the house or got upset about their lovely muddy footprints on the floor.Finally, this year, she had put up new fencing and made an “adult humans only” part of the yard, where she had planted lots of flowers and set up a bench swing and a wicker table with chairs - all the things that she hadn’t quite dared to have before because the labs saw everything as a toy - preferable a chew toy. Since she loved her dogs, she had always compromised and had a shared yard with some hardy outdoor people furniture and lots of dog toys. But now, with the yard divided in half, she could have her yard and they could have theirs. Her yard would be by invitation only (and only with heavy supervision) for the labs.

Mary Ann hummed happily under her breath as she made the pit that would be lined, decorated with rocks, filled with water, and adorned with plants over the next few weeks. Finally, with blisters forming on her hands she finished digging the hole to just the right size and shape and leaned on her shovel with satisfaction. The dogs, pinned into their half of the yard, looked through the gaps in the fence and sniffed loudly. They could smell the fresh- turned earth and clearly wondered why Mary Ann wasn’t letting them help with the excavation. They loved to dig holes.

“Not this time, fellows,” she called back to them, and went to put the shovel away and drool over water plant brochures as she ate her dinner. She would appease the dogs with a long session of fetch the tennis ball after dinner.

The next day after work, Mary Ann went out with a roll of chicken wire to start reinforcing the little pool. Strangely enough, she found about two inches of muddy water in the bottom of it. Deciding it was probably run off from a badly aimed sprinkler in her neighbor’s yard, she bailed out what she could and partially covered the hole so it wouldn’t fill up again tomorrow. After it dried out, she would start lining it.

The next day she did not start lining the pond. It was quite full of water, but then so were her yard and all of the neighbors’ yards too. A water main had broken in the alley and everything for a block was wet. The labs had a great time splashing in the water that ran into the yard. Mary Ann used up most of her spare bath towels drying them off before they came into the house for the evening.

The day after that the ground was still soaked and the pond hole still had water standing in the bottom of it. The labs were apparently inspired by the soft muddy earth and dug a hole under the fence from their part of the yard to hers. They spent the afternoon playing in the muddy pool and dug it out a little bit more for her, sculpting the shape into something they seemed to think was more appropriate for a Labrador swimming pool.

Mary Ann growled at them as she scrubbed them off and toweled them dry once more. Then she shut them in the house and called a few friends over for a barbeque-and-line-the-dog-yard-with-buried-chicken-wire-under-the-fence party. Her friends laughed and came and by the end of the week, the dogs were safely jailed in their own part of the yard again.

All week long, the hole had kept water in it. Mary Ann wondered if it was a side effect of the water main break, which was still being fixed because when one break had been repaired, another one had occurred a short ways away. The second one hadn’t flooded the yard, but the alley had gotten wet and the ground was pretty saturated.

Finally, after another week and a lot of very hot sunshine, the hole was dry enough. Since Mary Ann decided that she like the redesign provided by the dogs, she had had to purchase more materials, but finally she was ready to line the pond and put the little waterfall into place. The series of water main breaks (they were on the fourth one) had moved farther down the alley, so the area should stay nice and dry while she worked.

A few days later, she was ready to fill her little pond with its rocky surround. The dogs peered at her with great interest as Mary Ann got out their friend and favorite toy, the water hose/ giant-snake-to-kill and filled the pond. Then she flipped a switch and the waterfall sprang to life. Mary Ann beamed with pleasure and made plans to pick up her new water plants at the nursery on the way home from work tomorrow.

Because she stopped at the nursery, Mary Ann was late getting home the next day. Immediately she saw that the planting of the water plants was not meant to be that day. Moses, who was the mechanical genius of Labradordom, had managed to knock the lock on the gate open. Both dogs were happily enjoying the new pond when she found them. Moses was lying in the shallow part, panting happily, and Gerry was playing bubble with his nose in the water while searching for a rock on the bottom, his tail whipping back and forth the entire time. They both started guiltily when they saw - and heard - Mary Ann come into the back yard.

She removed the culprits, fixed the rock surround, removed various toys and foreign objects donated by the labs from the pond, and then went to the hardware store for a latch that locked. Moses hadn’t figured those out yet. Finally, she took the dogs to a nearby lake so they could play in the water without destroying her pond.

As she fell asleep that night, with the gentle snores of the Labradors coming from their dog beds, Mary Ann thought, “Tomorrow. I should be able to get those plants in tomorrow. After all, what else could go wrong?”

Surprisingly, nothing else did go wrong. The plants were settled in, and a week later, Mary Ann added a few gold fish. She began sitting out beside it in the evenings after she walked the dogs and enjoying the gentle sound of the little waterfall. It was just as well that she could only be out there in the evenings, because all day the alley was filled with the sound of heavy machinery. The water main was up to eight breaks now, just in that alley. It was strange.

One day when Mary Ann came home, though, her little pond was not as it should be. About half of the water was splashed out, and a couple of plants were uprooted. The little goldfish were hiding in the rocks under the waterfall. Mary Ann was puzzled. It looked like the damage the dogs would do, but they were securely behind their own fence. They were dry and obviously innocent, for once. Finally she decided that some wild animal, like a raccoon or something, must have gotten into the yard. It didn’t really work and she knew it, but she really couldn’t imagine what else it could be.

But the same thing happened the next day, and the next. Mary Ann was getting really annoyed and wondered if the dogs weren’t escaping during the day, early enough to dry off again and a neighbor was putting them back. She asked, but all of her neighbors worked all day, and had no idea what she was talking about. The men working in the alley looked at her like she was nuts. They had enough problems with the water lines without worrying about someone’s dogs.

One day she did come home early and found the dogs in the pond. This just reinforced the idea that somehow it was the dogs, although they hadn’t uprooted any of the plants or splashed out much water at all.

It was strange, though, because the latch on the gate was open and Moses had never worked one of those latched before. Maybe he just got lucky, she decided.

The next day, Mary Ann made certain that the gate was unopenable by the dogs and put a tarp over the pond. The pond was supposed to be relaxing, but since she had made it, it had been anything but relaxing. Between the daily damage to the pond and the water main fiasco in the alley (the repaired places had begun springing new leaks), things were not relaxing but instead were interesting. Mary Ann was tired of interesting. She wanted boring and relaxing.

She put the dogs on their leashes and took them for a walk in the park several blocks away. She noticed that the little stream there which was fed by springs bubbling up from deep within the earth was larger than before and then remembered reading in the paper that several more springs had surfaced upstream and had added to the flow of the little brook. Mary Ann decided that this was nice - the stream actually looked like something larger than the flow from a garden hose now.

She walked the dogs home and had to wade through the latest break in the water lines at the mouth of the alley. It had formed a giant pool and was almost ready to start flooding nearby yards. The dogs splashed through it happily, stopping to sniff and wag at something near where the water was welling up. Mary Ann pulled them back, fearing that they would fall into a hole made by the water. The dogs whined and pulled back, but Mary Ann was firm and they continued on home.

The next day, the pool was fine, but the day after that it was vandalized again. Mary Ann was starting to notice a pattern - on days when there was a lot of water from a water main break, her pond was fine. When the water main was sound (which was less and less often) her little water feature was disturbed. The whole thing was very troubling.

And the dogs were acting strange, too. They spent a lot of time whining at the fence and seemed very tired in the afternoons these days. One day Mary Ann shut them in the garage to see what would happen. She regretted that. Gerry turned his enthusiasm for eating flowers into a new skill of eating at the door frame, trying to get loose. He had never done that before. Mary Ann invested in some chew-stopping bitter apple, but Gerry didn’t chew anything else as long as she left them in the dog yard or in the front part of the house where they couldn’t see or hear things from the back yard or alley. Things were definitely strange.

One day, things got stranger still. Mary Ann got off work early one day to run some errands and realized that she had left her purse at home. When she ran by the house to get it, she just parked in front of the house, not bothering with the driveway since she was just running in. If she didn’t pull in the dogs might not notice her and get all riled up thinking she was home for the day. When she got into the house, she thought she could hear a voice from the backyard as well as the sound of the dogs playing in her part of the yard instead of theirs. “Finally -I’m going to find out what’s going one!” she muttered to herself, creeping over to a window. There in the yard, playing in and around the pool were both of her labs and a beautiful young woman. The young woman was laughing and splashing at the dogs as they all hopped in and out of the pool. The dogs were barking merrily, tails wagging full force.

Mary Ann was enraged. She went to the back door and opened it very quietly and carefully. It opened into the doggy part of the yard and was hidden from the view of the pond. She tiptoed over to the open gate and then stepped through it.

What do you think you are doing?” she shouted in an irate voice. “This is my yard, my pond and my dogs! You are trespassing!”

The dogs stopped. The young woman stopped. The dogs tucked their tails and slunk over to Mary Ann’s feet, where they sat down, leaning against her in apology and effectively pinning her in place. The young woman, who had been standing there open mouthed beside the pool closed her mouth and turned. Mary Ann tried to move towards her, but the dogs were in the way. The woman looked back at Mary Ann and then dove into the pond - the very shallow pond. And she was gone.

Mary Ann untangled herself from the dogs and ran over to the edge. Picking up a stick, she poked it into the now muddy waters. The only things there were the rocks and the plants. Mary Ann had taken out the remaining goldfish long ago.

Stunned, Mary Ann sat down in the chair she kept by the pool and stared at it. She had to be imagining things. She had to be. The dogs whined and sniffed at the water. Mary Ann pulled them back. She didn’t know what was going on, and she didn’t want the dogs anywhere near it. They sat there like that for an hour or more and the then something tickled at the back of Mary Ann’s brain. She grabbed the dogs by the collars and dragged them into the house. She went straight to the computer. A little while later, Mary Ann looked at the dogs, smiled and said, “Well boys, I never would have believed it, but I think we have a naiad infestation.” It was a strange thing to say, but it made a strange sort of sense. Naiads were the nymphs that lived in water. For weeks now, the water mains had been breaking like they had never broken before. And in between the breaks, her pond had been vandalized. And then Mary Ann realized with a jolt that it had all started when the underground springs had surfaced quite a distance away. They had probably gone right under this area before.

“And I think I know why she’s here, too,” Mary Ann told the dogs, who wagged and looked hopefully at her. If Mary Ann was talking to them, she might say the words treat, or ball, or walk, or dinner. They were ever hopeful.

Mary Ann walked purposefully towards the back yard. The dogs followed, thinking playtime might be in order. She grabbed her shovel and marched for her beloved pond.

Digging into the flower bed beside it, she started tossing shovel loads of dirt into the water. “I am not…having…something living…in my pond…that…I didn’t…put there!” she grunted as she filled in the pond.

As the pond filled up with the muddy topsoil, and the free standing water became less and less, something began to happen. The water that was left began swirling and moving around as if it were alive. Finally, when there was only about an inch left, Mary Ann stopped. She said, “All right, come on out. I know you’re in there, and if you don’t come out, I’m going to finish filling this in right now!”

The remaining water swirled and heaved, and then all of a sudden there was the lovely young woman standing there in the mud looking defiant and frightened all at once.

“Most folks would be glad to have a naiad living in their ponds!” Her voice was as smooth as water itself. The dogs whined and edged over to her, wagging ingratiatingly.

“Maybe if the naiad weren’t tearing up the pond and getting the dogs in trouble and causing water main breaks left and right, that might be true. As it is…” Mary Ann replied, staring at the naiad in wonder.

The naiad looked down and shrugged elegantly. “I do as I will. I am a figure of nature and I can’t be stopped.”

“I don’t care what you are, something from mythology or not. This is my pond you’ve been messing up, and my water supply you’ve been playing with!”

The naiad stared back at her. “My spring is gone, my friends have disappeared. Your pond was here, and the pipes that confine the water instead of letting it run freely, and your water dogs were happy to play with me so I won’t be so lonely. The pond was always fixed by the next day, so how was I to know you were unhappy?”

Mary Ann started to say something and stopped. The naiad made perfect sense. Her home was lost and she was lonely and here was everything she was looking for near where her home used to be.

Mary Ann looked at her carefully. “What would you say if I told you I could help you find your old spring? It doesn’t run underground anymore, but it is still nearby. I bet your friends went with it.”

The naiad looked at her suspiciously. “How are you going to accomplish this?  How do I know you won’t dry me out or confine me?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me, won’t you,” said Mary Ann.

In the end, the naiad agreed to let Mary Ann try and Mary Ann hauled a bucket with the naiad in it over to the park and upstream to where the springs had surfaced. She got some funny looks from people as she walked by carrying a bucket full of water - towards the stream.

The naiad formed from the water in the bucket and stepped out beside the stream. Sticking one finger into the flowing water, she shook slightly and said, “Yes, this is my stream.” A finger that looked very like hers came up out of the water and touched her back. “And my friends and family are here.”  She turned to Mary Ann. “Thank you. You have returned good for ill, and reunited me with my own kind. I will remember this.” Then she dove into the stream and disappeared.

Mary Ann went home to her dogs. That week the water mains stopped breaking, and Mary Ann dug out her little pond again and repopulated it with plants and fish. Then she went into the dog’s yard and dug them a little pond, too, which delighted them.

She noticed that her little pond stayed clear and clean and flourished, with none of the problems that little ponds are prone to,  and that the dogs’ pond showed frequently showed signs of splashy games being played while she was out.

And sometimes in the evenings, if you looked in to Mary Ann’s yard, you would see her sitting in her chair by her little pond and talking with a beautiful young woman who was half in and half out of the water.

- She Wolf (c)2008

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Grandmother Spring and the Blanket

January 31, 2008 · No Comments

Grandmother Spring was worried about the cold rocks down below her. They were bare and empty and had no covering to keep them warm, and the year was still chilly, especially at night. She pondered and pondered on this problem.“What can I do to help the earth stay warm?” she asked herself. “I wish I had a blanket I could put over the rocks to keep them cozy.” She thought and thought as she strode over the land, leaving the bare beginnings of flowers and green leaves in her wake.

The rocks, however, stayed bare and cold. Grandmother Spring shook her head sadly. This just wouldn’t do. Things were supposed to turn green and warm in her wake, not stay grey and cold.

 As she strode through a forest full of tall straight pine trees, she had an idea. She would make the rocks a blanket. That would warm them up, surely. 

She took two of the straightest pines and carefully took off all the bark and branches. Then she polished them to a fine sheen and whittled the tops down to rounded points. Her knitting needles were made. Then she started to look around for the materials to make the blanket from.

A road, made of black asphalt, straight as an arrow, ran nearby. “Too hard,” she said, “Even if it is straight. I don’t want anything that hard.” So she kept on looking.

She looked up at the clouds above her. They certainly weren’t hard, but she thought that perhaps they might be too fluffy to knit with easily. Still, she would keep them in mind.

A field of soft green wheat growing nearby caught her eye. “But if I take the wheat, then that field will be cold, and I don’t want to warm one thing at the expense of another.”

She kept looking and looking.

Then she spotted a wonderful field that had been plowed, but not planted. It too was cold and bare, but it was plowed up in wonderful straight furrows running back and forth across the field. Since it was cold, too, and not growing anything this year, Grandmother Spring didn’t mind using it for her blanket. She picked up one end of the plowed furrows in the fallow field and reeled them in. They came up in one long row, back and forth across the field, and Grandmother Spring wound them into big brown ball that smelled of spicy rich earth. Then she took the end of the furrow-yarn and cast on the first row of her blanket with her pine tree knitting needles.

All too soon, she was out of her yarn, and the blanket was only half done. Sighing, she looked around for another field that had been plowed and left fallow, but she couldn’t see one. They all had tiny green plants poking up through the soil or stubble left from last year.

Then she noticed the river flowing through the fields. It was long and such a lovely shade of blue! It would add a nice stripe of color to her blanket. She went to take the end and wind it up into a ball like she had the plowed field, but then she realized that the river was too big. If she tried to knit with it, just a few stitches would take up almost as much space as everything she had knitted so far. She just couldn’t mix the sizes of her materials like that - not and have her blanket come out nicely.

A stream that fed into the river, though - now that was the right size. She wound that up into a ball, and another stream as well, just to make sure she had enough. She knit the blue stripe into the blanket and looked at it and smiled. The stripe was lovely, rippling in all sorts of shades of blue, and it gave off the sound of a babbling brook when she ran her fingers over it. This blanket was turning out to be a very nice blanket. Still, it needed something else.

Just at that moment, a shaft of sunlight split through the clouds and beamed down to the earth. Grandmother Spring could see the lines of the sunlight in the shaft and she laughed happily. “Of course!” she said, “This is exactly what my blanket needs! Some nice warm sunlight for the last stripe!”

She went over to the beam of sunlight and carefully collected the strands of it. She twisted them and twisted them until they made a light yarn just the right size and then she wound it into a ball. Then she took up her needles one last time and knitted a beautiful golden stripe of sunlight onto the blanket. When the last little bit of the sun-yarn was gone, Grandmother Spring put down her knitting needles and held up her blanket. It was beautiful - the bottom was a deep rich brown, smelling of good clean earth; the next stripe was a rippling blue, dancing with the sounds and colors of living water; the last stripe, at the top, was glowing golden spring sunshine, light and warm all at the same time.

Grandmother Spring spread her blanket over the cold rocks. The rocks sighed and wiggled a little bit, like a child does when a warm blanket is spread over him on a chilly night. Then, to Grandmother Spring’s surprise, as the blanket settled onto the rocks, a bright covering of spring flowers began to grow from it. There were pink ones, yellow ones, blue ones and white ones. Some were vines, hugging the ground, and others reached up for the blue spring sky.

Grandmother Spring laughed in delight, a deep belly laugh that shook the fields and hills. “I should have known!” she said, “Good rich earth mixed with water and sunlight will always yield green growing things! And since I am Spring, the green growing things are flowers, my own beautiful flowers!”

Now the rocks were warm and Grandmother Spring was happy. She went on her way once more, striding over the earth, leaving fresh green leaves and flowers in her wake.

She Wolf (c) 2008

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The Storybook Cottage

January 3, 2008 · 10 Comments

 Once upon a time a tiny cottage nestled in a little clearing, surrounded by daisies and hollyhocks and a few overgrown rambler roses. It was a stone cottage - warm honey colored stone - with a thatched roof and a blue painted door. The window by the door had tiny diamond shaped panes of glass in it and a window box under it. Inside, it was really too small to be called a one-room cottage. Maybe a half-a-room cottage, if you were stretching it.

There was room for a narrow bed, a shelf for dishes and food and underneath it a small chest for clothing and linens , and a three-legged stool by the fireplace. The fireplace had a hook for a kettle or pot. The door opened between the bed and fireplace, and the nightstand by the bed which held the candle doubled as both the kitchen counter and the table. You needed to go all the way to the nightstand and squeeze against in order to shut the door. This could be very awkward if you had a visitor. Then one of you needed to lie down on the bed to have enough room to get the door shut. Maybe a quarter-of-a-room cottage would describe it better.

But it was cozy and tight - as long as you discounted the occasional spider that dropped down out of the thatch - and when the wind howled through the trees outside and the snow drifted up to the eaves, the little cottage was always warm and snug.

 There was something special about this tiny cottage. It was a storybook cottage. By this I don’t mean it looked like one, because while it did have that storybook look to it, it was really something more, something magical.

The first time it was used in a story was when a certain little girl in a red cape and hood brought some food to her poor old grandmother who was living in the little cottage at the time. Little Red Riding Hood fortunately figured out that what she first thought was Grandma was actually a very greedy wolf, who wanted to eat  not only the dinner Little Red was carrying but also Little Red herself, after already eating Grandma. (Little Red may have needed glasses.)  No wonder the woodcutter was able to take the wolf out with only his axe. That wolf must have been as fat as butter! (Some people say that the smart little pig in the “Three Little Pigs” actually built the place, and was responsible for installing the pot-hook in the fireplace, but his story says he built a brick house and not a stone one, so this may not be true.)

After that the cottage served in several other stories - the cottage the poor couple lived in in “Rapunzel”, the home of the princess who became the “Goosegirl” while she was herding geese, and the house of the poor woodcutter and his family in “Hansel and Gretel” (they were a tight squeeze- it almost excuses the stepmother, but not really); in short it was used in any story that needed a tiny, picturesque cottage in it.

Eventually, most of the stories that required a truly tiny cottage had been told and re-told. You needed at least a half-a-room cottage, if not a full one room cottage for the rest of the stories.

However, this was a storybook cottage, and everyone knows that stories tend to grow and change with the telling; the storybook cottage was no different than the stories it was part of. After the story with Hansel and Gretel, so many stories had been told with the little cottage in it that it started to grow. (It’s a pity that it didn’t before “Hansel and Gretel”, or things might not have spun out the way they did.) But after that, the little cottage grew an extra ten feet or so on the front and sides. There was room for a small table and some pallets on the floor now, and the spare wood for the fire no longer had to be kept under the bed, which cut down on stray beetles crawling on the sleeper at night. (It did nothing about the spiders that dropped down from of the thatch, though.)

A few more stories passed through, like “Snow White and Rose Red”, and the story of the silly fisherman and his wife in the “Magic Fish” and of course “Jack and the Beanstalk” (the beanstalk certainly made a mess out of the yard), and then the little place was empty for a while. (No one wanted to live there, what with the rotting giant beanstalk and, for that matter, the dead giant that everyone said was too big and too much work to bury. The whole region was almost uninhabitable for almost a year because of him.)

In fact, it was empty for so long and falling in to such disrepair, that it was on the verge of shrinking again just from lack of use, when one day it gave a mighty shudder and heave and grew an attic with a ladder going to it. It also got a little bit bigger in general, and the next day a group of mining dwarves moved in, cleared up the giant bones and fixed the place up. They made little beds to go in the attic, and a long table with seven three legged stools to sit on. For some reason, they left the narrow bed in the corner downstairs, but the reason for that became clear when Snow White (not the same as the one in the story with Rose Red; Snow White seems to be a popular name for girls in these sorts of stories) fled the huntsman trying to kill her and came to live with the dwarves for a while.

After they moved on, a small family of bears moved into the cottage and completely redecorated, with a table big enough for three bears, three chairs in front of the hearth, and three beds upstairs. Of course, the smallest chair did have to be repaired after a certain Miss Goldilocks came to call uninvited, but that is the way the story goes. Later still, a youngest son named Gluck lived there with his greedy older brothers until he met the King of the Golden River and became quite wealthy - since his brothers had been turned to stone by their own greed, the little cottage became empty again.

Then the house gave a tremendous shudder and grew again. It grew and it grew. It became a small mansion, with cedar trees beside it (they had been on the edge of the clearing, but the house grew so much it took up the whole clearing now) and a magnificent slate roof. All the spiders that had lived in the thatch were suddenly homeless and grumblingly vacated to the brand-new cellar which wasn’t nearly so pleasant as the thatch had been.

A young widower with a sweet little daughter moved in and they were ever so happy until he married a scheming woman with two very nasty daughters…but you know that story. Cinderella ended up with the prince and lived happily ever after, they say.

After this, the place was vacant again for a while and then the little-cottage-turned-large-mansion gave its biggest heave yet and became a castle, just in time for a young queen and king to move into it and long for a baby daughter, who in turn was cursed by an evil fairy. The giant thorns that grew around the castle for one hundred years while the whole household slept bore little resemblance to the roses that had once surrounded a certain little cottage in the woods, although they were distantly related. The castle was of honey-colored stone, though.

For many years, the storybook cottage in the woods had served as home to many of the wonderful stories that people told around their fires at night or read to their children at bedtime. But then the stories fell into disuse. Oh sure, there were some animated movies made of them, but animated movies are the same every time. They don’t change and grow in the retelling like living stories do. Even a story that is being read changes a little from time to time, especially when the child to whom it was read grows up and recounts the story to their children without the book.

So the storybook cottage in the woods began to shrink. It went down to a mansion first, and then to a large comfortable house. But no one used it, so it shrank again and again until it was once more the tiny one-quarter-of-a-room cottage in the woods with hollyhocks and rambler roses around it. It grew sadder and sadder looking (it couldn’t grow any smaller and still have four separate walls). The only ones happy about it were the spiders who once more could live in the thatch, although there was no one living there for them to drop down on, which spoiled half of their fun.

It was a terribly sad thing for the little neglected cottage, and an even sadder thing for the people who were living without the stories, had they but known it. But they went along in their ignorance, except for the occasional person who found an old, half forgotten book of fairy-stories and enjoyed them or the scholars who studied the old tales and took them apart and analyzed them as folklore. The former didn’t usually know anything about stories growing with use and never bothered to repeat them because they thought no one else would be interested, and the latter didn’t want the stories to grow and change because then where would all of his research be?

The cottage was on the verge of collapsing into a heap of honey-colored stone when one fine spring afternoon a person came hiking through the forest. (The person had a backpack full of things like paper and pens and ink and colored pencils and watercolor paints, as well as the usual spare clothing and food.) The hiker spied the little cottage and went over for a closer look. There were holes in the thatch and the door wasn’t quite on its hinges anymore and there were little gaps in the diamond-shaped window panes. It was a sad sight indeed.

The hiker walked around the outside of the cottage. Hollyhocks and rose-vines still flourished, and there was even a decent woodpile still. (Many of the previous occupants had been poor-but-honest-woodcutters.) As the hiker poked around the yard (and tripped over a large while rock that looked strangely like a huge bone), clouds rapidly gathered overhead. Indeed, the sky went from a clear blue to black with threatening thunderheads almost in the blink of an eye. With an ear-splitting crash, lightening struck a tree nearby and rain came down as if dumped from an endless wash-tub. The hiker had the presence of mind to grab a large armful of the firewood and run through the rain to the peeling blue door of the little cottage.

The little cottage was dry inside, which was odd since the thatch had looked particularly mangy from the outside, and the door hung better than it had seemed to at first glance. The hiker shoved the door aside and dashed through it, squeezing up against the little nightstand by the bed to shut it. The door shut soundly. The hiker dumped the firewood on the floor by the hearth, and after looking up the chimney to make sure there weren’t any bird’s nests in the way (and getting a few raindrops in the eyes for the trouble), made a small fire in the fireplace.

The little cottage warmed up quickly and the hiker sat on the three-legged stool by the fire and dried off. A spider, curious about the noises it heard, dropped down from the thatch overhead and hung there on its line, looking at the hiker carefully before quickly reeling itself back up and scurrying off to tell the other spiders the good news that there was someone in the cottage to drop down onto again.

Really, the hiker thought, looking around, it wasn’t a bad little cottage even if it was awfully tiny. There was a candle in the candle-stick on the little table with spares on the shelf on the wall. A mug, and bowl, a plate and a spoon, a fork, a knife, a pot, a mixing bowl and a frying pan, a basket, a bucket for water and a small ceramic pot half under the bed for- other things, an axe and a hammer and saw, and a small chest that proved to hold sheets and blankets for the wool-stuffed mattress on the bed (which wasn’t as musty as it should have been, by half) made up the contents of the room. The hiker could see it all from the three-legged stool in front of the fire. It was all in surprisingly good order, and if it weren’t for the miles of dust on everything, the hiker would have thought that someone still lived here.

The rain continued to pour down and finally the hiker decided to settle in a bit. The back pack went on top of the bed for the time being and clearly the only place with space for the spare fire wood was under the bed. As the firewood went under, a strange clanking noise came from under the bed. The hiker peered under the bed, saw a small metal pot hiding there, and reached under to pull it out. It was polished and only a little bit dusty inside. The hiker shrugged and put it beside the fireplace and finished arranging the firewood under the bed. Then the hiker poured some water from a water bottle into the little pot. “Might as well clean it up. At least the water will be good to wash in, even if I don’t want to drink it!” the hiker mused.

The pot was hung over the fire to boil. It sat there and sat there. Finally, the hiker grew frustrated and grumbled, “Boil, little pot, boil!”  The little pot shook and bubbling sounds came from within it. A strange smell filled the cottage. It smelled like rice mixed with custard mixed with porridge. The hiker was instantly curious and pulled the pot from the fire. The little pot appeared to be filling first with rice, then with custard, then with porridge. Now the hiker was one of those who had read the old fairy tales in musty old books and realized what was happening, as impossible as it might seem. The changing contents were rapidly approaching the rim of the pot when, “Rice!” the hiker shouted, and then “Little pot, stop!” The rice (the story had been told all three ways, so the little pot really wasn’t sure which one it was supposed to create) had stopped just shy of the top of the pot and sat there steaming and perfectly done. The astounded hiker took a few grains (carefully, because it was very hot) and tasted them. They were perfect. The hiker cautiously ate a mouthful and then waited to see if it would settle before eating any more. You just didn’t know with magical food.

When darkness fell, the rain was still pouring (although the hiker would be surprised to see how dry it was just a few hundred yards from the cottage) so the hiker settled in for the night. The old bed was amazingly comfortable, and the panes that the hiker had thought were gone from the window were there now. The wind whistled around the cottage a bit but the little place was as cozy and tight as could be. The hiker blew out the candle and fell asleep, batting irritably at the ecstatic spider that dropped down from the thatch.

The rain stopped during the night and the morning was a shiny-washed-clean sort of morning. Birds were singing their hearts out in the trees around the clearing, rabbits hopped everywhere and a few does and fawns ambled by the window. The whole place seemed to be putting on a look-at-me-and-see-how-nice-it-is-here sort of show.

The hiker stretched and made some tea and magical porridge for breakfast and sat down on the three-legged stool to write in a journal about the cottage. When the hiker looked up a little while later, the cottage seemed to be a little bit larger. The hiker shrugged. First impressions weren’t always correct. Look how the cottage was in better repair than it had seemed to be at first. (Funny how the magical pot had gone right out of the hiker’s mind for the time being. People tend to dismiss things they don’t understand.)

Finally, the hiker put away the writing things and cleaned up. Everything went back where it belonged. The magic pot went on a shelf instead of under the bed, though, and the firewood stayed under the bed. The hiker pulled the door shut tightly on the way out. The clearing fell silent as the hiker left.

When the hiker got home, thoughts of the little cottage wouldn’t go away. It popped up in dreams, conversations, and a lovely watercolor picture that soon graced the wall of the hiker’s house. Finally the hiker began asking around to see who owned the little place, thinking to buy it.

It turned out that the county owned it, had taken it in lieu of taxes some years back and had never been able to get rid of it afterwards. The hiker purchased it for a song (not literally, mind you - that only happens in fairy tales) and on a sunny day in summer moved a few things out there.

The hiker thought that the little cottage seemed more than a little bit larger today. There was room to close the door without squeezing against the nightstand and there were a table and a rocking chair in the corner that the hiker did not remember being there before. Oh well, it had been almost dark that day. There was also room on the shelves for the box of books the hiker had brought out. A whole rainbow of fairy-tale books and books by the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson went up, along with Narnia and Oz and a few other favorites. The hiker had thought that they would be somehow appropriate for the little cottage.

After cleaning away the mountains of dust and arranging things, the hiker sat down at the table that hadn’t been there before with paper and pen. Somehow, writing a story seemed to be the thing to do here. So with a breath of summer and roses coming through the open window, the hiker began to write. It was almost as if the walls of the cottage were so saturated with stories that they were pouring into the hiker - now writer - and out again onto the paper. Hours later, the writer looked up and realized what was happening. Then, grinning, the writer returned to the paper. Later the water colors would come out, too.

Bit by bit the writer moved out to the little cottage permanently. Stories flowed, books were written, pictures were painted, and the little cottage had a purpose again. It might not be the storybook cottage in the stories anymore, but it was the storybook cottage with the stories in it.  

It grew, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and finally became a comfortable cottage of several rooms, one just for keeping books and writing in. The writer noticed of course, but by this time, the writer knew that anything was possible and just smiled and kept on writing the stories. The roof stayed thatched and the spiders would often drop down and read the stories being written over the writer’s shoulder until they were batted at and returned to their thatch. And when the occasional dragon or bear or youngest son wandered by, the writer offered them tea and traded stories with them.

-She Wolf © 2008

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Green Doors and Red Dragons - Epilogue

December 21, 2007 · 4 Comments

 Well, Thomas was as good as his word, and had me into a new house before Christmas. Barely before, but he did make it on Christmas Eve. The house itself was…ummm…a bit unusual, to say the least. I should have known that Thomas would do something strange.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Cosmo and I arrived at a secondary portal Door (this one was keyed to only a few places and quite safe compared to the one I used to guard, which went anywhere.) I had really enjoyed my stay with the dragons, but I was ready to come back to my world with familiar sights and furniture my size.

Thomas whisked us off in a car, and by evening we were driving down dark country roads with snowy trees on either side of us. There were few other cars and Cosmo was allowed to peer out of the windows, which he did enthusiastically. With my new ability to understand some dragon, I enjoyed listening to his running commentary on what he saw. Since he saw better in the dark than humans, he was noticing all sorts of wildlife in the woods. He really wanted to get out and play in the snow, too.

Finally, the car turned into a pair of gates lit with Christmas lights and started down what seemed to be a driveway.

“Thomas, where on earth are you taking us?” I asked.

“You’ll see. It’s easier to show you than to explain,” he replied.

I wasn’t so sure I liked the sound of this, but he wouldn’t say anything else, so I didn’t have any choice except to wait.

About ten minutes later, we rounded one last curve and there was an enormous stone structure in front of us. Even in the dark, it clearly needed extensive repairs, but it was festively lit with Christmas lights, and a Christmas tree glowed in a front window. But what really told me that I was home was the front door. Or should I say, the front Door.

Because the Door it was, resurrected from being ripped loose from its anchoring magic and split into four separate Doors.

“Thomas, you didn’t? I thought you were going to leave it split because it’s so dangerous to have it functioning? I mean, that’s why I was guarding it in the first place, right? Thomas?”

He wasn’t answering me. He was rubbing his face and looking embarrassed, but he wasn’t answering.

Thomas?!”

“I know. I shouldn’t have. But I’m sure I can figure out how to put protections on it, something to keep the bad things out…”

I growled. Cosmo giggled and imitated me.

Thomas continued. “You’re going to be out here anyway with Cosmo, so you might as well guard the door at the same time. I did fix it so that it can’t be hijacked like it was when Giganto kidnapped you two…” he trailed off.

“I’m glad to know that you realize what sort of danger that thing put us in, Thomas.”

He was wiggling uncomfortably behind the steering wheel now.

“I’ve arranged to have some, ummm…guards to live there with you. As you can see, the property is quite large, and when we’ve finished renovating, there will be plenty of space for visitors and guards and helpers…” he trailed off again. I think he knew he was digging himself in deeper and deeper.

“So now I’m expected to run a bed and breakfast for visitors from elsewhere? And take care of guards? I’m fine with being Cosmo’s foster mother. I couldn’t leave him now. But the rest of it? Thomas, what exactly is going on here?”
He sighed and unlocked the car doors. “Come on in. It’ll be easier to explain inside.”

I sighed and slipped a harness on Cosmo. He had a tendency to zoom off on his own, and I wanted him to stay close tonight. Then I followed Thomas out of the car and we crunched through the crusted snow to a side door. We couldn’t use the front Door, of course; it only opened magically to other worlds.

“This was originally a manor house in Europe,” said Thomas.

“You mean it was designed like a European manor house?” I asked.

“No. I mean that some industrial tycoon about a hundred years ago with more money than sense and a desire to feel like an aristocrat actually had the thing taken down stone by stone, shipped here, and reassembled. Not long after that he went broke, and shortly after that he died. His heirs were unable to dispose of the property. It seems no one wanted a large, drafty mausoleum like this when they could build new, comfortable homes. It has been for sale and falling down ever since.”

“Well, I think I can see why he went broke, if bringing this place over here was his idea of a good decision on how to spend his money!”

“Indeed,” said Thomas as he opened a gate to a small walled garden. This part had been fixed up