The Fairy Cottage

The fairy cottage existed somewhere in the forest. It might have been in a meadow in the forest, but no matter what story you listened to you must enter the forest to find it. Some said it had a green roof, and a leprechaun lived alone inside. Others said it had a red roof and was full of sprites and brownies making food for their queen. If in the story the roof was blue, then a wizard lived alone inside, and spent his days creating magical toys. A purple roof meant elves, who guarded a portal to their world and spied on us whenever we went into the forest. They would shoot if we got too close. We had to be careful; if it was the elves and not the wizard, fairies, or leprechaun.

Gretchen loved the stories of the Fairy Cottage even more than I did and asked our mom to tell them every night. Dad told us them too, but mom told them better. When I asked Dad which story of the Fairy Cottage was true he said he didn’t know. Perhaps all of them, since if someone ever left the house someone else could move into it. A home could be a home to more than one person over the years after all.

One day my sister came to me and said we should go into the forest and find the Fairy Cottage. That way we could see what color the roof was and who actually lived there. Which story was right. We told our parents our plan, but they told us we shouldn’t do that. Mom said it was a terribly big forest and we might get lost. I asked if we could all go together. Dad said he didn’t want to get shot by elves if we got too close. I asked what if it was someone else living there? Dad said he was sure the elves were there. Could I please pass the salt?

But Gretchen and I wanted to know, and we decided that we’d go into the forest without our parents. They’d never let us, but we figured if we told them on Sunday that we were going to spend the day with Grandpa Charlie down the street we could slip away, explore the forest, and febe back by dinner.

Gretchen packed her bag with toys and dolls and anything else the fairies might like as a gift or to trade for. I packed my bag full of food, since Grandpa Charlie couldn’t cook, and we needed to eat weather we were with him or exploring the forest.

When the time came on Sunday morning, we hugged our parents goodbye and headed off down the road. We kept looking back over our shoulders. We tried not to giggle or smile and give ourselves away. Once we had gone one block we ran as fast as we could up the hill towards the trees and laughed. I jumped over a root and Gretchen put her bag down to do a cartwheel. Then we grabbed hands and ran together into the forest.

Our first few hours went fine. We saw animals, and flowers. We followed a path, and even found a small meadow with a creak. We stopped and ate lunch there. We smiled a lot, because we knew we were close.

By the time the sun started to set we were tired and worried. We weren’t close. We should have found the cottage and been back to Grandpa’s by now, but we didn’t know which way we had come. The trail had disappeared.

Then like magic we found a trail. We ran forward, then stopped, for ahead of us in a clearing was a cottage with a plain brown roof.

Gretchen and I hid behind a fallen redwood and tried to remember what story had a brown roof. If it had been a roof of gingerbread the inside would have had a child-eating-witch, but that was the only brown roof story we could think of. Gretchen started to cry because she thought it was a normal house, but I told her that maybe it wasn’t, but that we also needed somewhere to spend the night. It was getting dark, and cold. I’d find out.

I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. No one answered. When I knocked again the door creaked open. I called out and no one answered. Gretchen ran up, and we looked in together. The cottage seemed more like shed. It was a single room and empty except for a bed and a table.

We stood on the doorsteps whispering for a while. If no one was home we shouldn’t go in, but if no one lived there it’d be okay if we did. Why was it a normal cottage we found and not a magical one? It didn’t look abandoned, but it didn’t look lived in either.

Eventually we crept in. It was night, and cold, and the two of us sat on the floor and ate what food we had left. We laid on the bare mattress together and I told Gretchen stories like Dad would. Stories of fae and fairies tricking people and fighting them. Gretchen didn’t like those kind of stories, so she told me some peaceful ones like Mon until we both fell asleep.

We must have been tiered from our walk because we slept in past sunrise. We didn’t have any food left, so when we woke, we hurried out of the cottage back the way we thought we’d come. Luckily we found the path, then the meadow, then the way back home.

When we entered town, I stopped and held Gretchen back. There was something funny about a car on the side of the road. She told me it didn’t look funny to her, and that we had to hurry. Our parents must have been so worried when we didn’t come home last night.

We raced home, but every car I passed looked strange to me. Some of the houses looked wrong too. I thought we were in a different town, but the street names were the same, so we kept running.

When we arrived home, we stopped and stared at it. Our house was the same except it was painted blue, and the grass was long and overgrown. Again I was the brave one and ran up the porch stairs. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I banged on it with both fists.

A minute later a boy older than I was opened it. He looked at me and Gretchen on the sidewalk and asked what we wanted.

I looked at the house number above the mailbox, then at the boy.

“You’re in our house,” I said.

“No I’m not. This is my house. Always has been.”