This 10th Anniversary Post is dedicated to the memory of my grandfather who always knew how to attract an audience and never left them hanging and my aunt who could tell stories about everyday life and tell them in such a way that you could barely stay in your chair because you were laughing so hard.
A good storyteller shares a gift in that moment.
A great storyteller shares a gift that carries on long after they are gone.
– HR Apostos
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“Faerie. The place with the meadows, forests full of magical creatures, villages, flying transport bubbles, jungles, rain forests, talking man size sharks, not to mention a sand bar which literally serves sand is bored?” Carp asks.
TP nods.
“Unicorns. Faerie has unicorns. How can a place with unicorns feel bored?” Carp continues. “And giants. And ogres.”
Writer Lady contemplates what her neighborhood might look like if Gordon returned. What if he brought friends? “Faerie cannot come here.” She announces.
“The por-tal is AL-read-y h-ere.” TP sings. “It’s always been here. It lives in the back yard. Silly human.” The faerie says fluttering across the room to Writer Lady, he stops to hover in front of her face. “You’re stuck with her.” He says with a grin. “Where do you think I came from?” He asks.
“TP, Damon, Diomedes, and House.” Tinkletoes says. He looks at Writer Lady. “He has a point. With the portal being on your property you have an unexpected neighbor.”
“I do have an unexpected neighbor. That was never a problem. It is a problem if the neighbor begins moving property lines for her own amusement.”
TP flies back and forth trying to stay in Writer Lady’s line of sight as she paces. When she stops walking the faerie does a less than smooth figure eight narrowly missing an unexpected trip into Tinkletoes’ ear. “Faerie doesn’t want to take over your Earth. She wants to have a little fun, meet new people.”
“Why doesn’t she turn the door towards the outer edge of the property and grab someone up?” Tinkletoes asks.
Writer Lady looks from TP to the self-proclaimed mercenary. “Because that would be kidnapping.” She points out.
Tinkletoes shakes his head.
“He doesn’t mean that.” Carp says.
“Why doesn’t Faerie make her entrance so interesting someone wanders in on their own.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says.
“Lure them in.” Carp says. “Faerie has had lots of practice doing that. It was the typical way of things in many of the early stories about the fae and their magical home world along with time passing much more slowly than it does on Earth and if the visitor eats or drinks anything they are never able to return home.”
“Like the Hotel California.” Ray says. “The Eagles must have visited some time.” He shakes his head. “History is so cool.”
Writer Lady shakes her head. It was not the time or the place to correct the junk food addicted insomniac.
Carp ignores the comment and looks at Tinkletoes. “We both know from experience that eating or drinking in Faerie does not keep you there forever.”
“Public gathering places can't use the kind of magic." TP says. “In private homes, anything goes. You got lucky, silly.”
Carp thinks back to his own time spent in Faerie. Being attacked by a silver unicorn with red eyes in what should have been a completely innocent walk through a meadow with Black Buck a talking antelope who was also visiting at the time. The assassin-in-training pales slightly at the thought of spending an eternity avoiding the large angry beast. Tinkletoes’ only indication of discomfort is the momentary shifting of weight from one leg to another.
“Oh no! My hair!” Echoes through the house.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Carp observes.
“Now what.”
Writer Lady says.
A strange sound that seems to fall from the ceiling echoes through the house and the heads of all of the living beings currently inside it.
“Is that sobbing?” Carp asks.
“It sounds like it.” Writer Lady responds as she exits the bonus room. Carp, TP, Tinkletoes, Ray and Dobby Cat all follow. “But who’s upset?” She asks.
The group enters the living room as the picture window begins to rattle. The sobbing grows louder. Water begins to run down the outside of the window. Writer Lady looks outside at the front yard, the driveway and the street. All appear to be dry. It's not raining.
“Dude, it’s your house. She’s crying.” Ray says.
Writer Lady looks at Ray. Her brow furrows with concern. “We hear her. I don’t see her mural.” She says as she continues looking around.
Dobby Cat crosses the living rooms and sits next to his adopted mother. The ginger tabby’s ears turn in opposite directions listening closely. “Try the bathroom.” He says.
Writer Lady exits the living room stopping at the end of the hall. She gives the door a gentle knock. “House?” She calls.
“Go away!”
“Would you tell me what’s wrong?”
The voice on the other side of the door softens. “It’s all so sudden. I don’t understand why this happened to me.” House sobs. “I know I’m not a new build and I’ve been standing for a while but my mural is an enchanted rendering. It is supposed to appear the way I picture myself. When then sun was going down I looked like me and when the sun rose I looked like this.” She explained. “I don’t understand.” The sound of crying resumes.
“If you could please let me in so I can see what you are talking about. Please? House?”
The knob on the bathroom door turns. The door opens. Writer Lady enters the room to find House’s mural on the wall opposite her mirrored medicine cabinet. The pictorial rendering of House is the same willowy woman with soft amber eyes. Her skin appears flawless, not a single wrinkle appears near her eyes or mouth. Her luxuriously long auburn locks have changed in color and are now a soft silvery gray.
“I have gray hair! Gray! My life is over!” House cries out.
Guessing what must have happened Writer Lady pales. “This is unexpected.”
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