Friday, April 26, 2019

Forty Days of Rain


The Sun Gods - Amun Ra, Apollo Helios, and Sol Invictus - sat around the campfire complaining about the cold. Freyr laughed at his companions. “Throw another log on the fire.”

“There are no more logs,” Amun Ra replied.

“Then move closer,” Freyr advised.

“We are already huddled over the stones,” replied Apollo Helios.

Sol Invictus laughed. “Perhaps we should climb into the fire.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Freyr replied. “There’s not enough room for all of you and the logs.”

“How can you stand the cold?” Amun Ra wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Freyr laughed. “I have spent my entire existence in the cold. I’m just used to it.”

Apollo Helios rested his hand on Amun Ra’s shoulder. “Hang in there, pal. It’ll be morning soon.”

Sol Invictus stood up. “Well, that settles it. The most powerful sun god is Freyr. Anyone who can put up with this much cold and hang around for twenty-four hours straight is a true heavyweight.”

“We aren’t here to decide that. It takes all of us and then some to haul that flaming rock across the sky.” Apollo Helios motioned to Sol to sit back down.

“Then why are we here?”

“We are here,” Amun Ra sighed, “because of Thor’s wager with Zeus and the havoc it is causing.”

Freyr came closer to the fire. “It’s time to put an end to this contest before they drown all of our worshippers.”

“How long have they been at it?”

“Thirty-nine days of nothing but thunder showers causing floods everywhere.” Amun Ra shook his head. “All that remains of the deserts are narrow strips of beach.”

“That is where my friend here comes in.” Freyr pointed to a shadowy figure at the edge of the firelight. “Come forward and join us, Loki.”

The Norse god of Mischief and Trickery stepped forward into the circle. Loki smiled at his companions. “I know exactly how to put an end to forty days of rain. It’s a simple plan. I just convince each of them that they have won the wager.”

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Aspirations


We all have our childhood aspirations. Little boys want to be superheroes. Little girls dream of becoming fairytale princesses. And little fairies dream of being powerful mages. Little Anton spent hours on end practicing his magic. Little things like disappearing in a blink of light or mending things that were broken were easily mastered. But the real magic, the casting of spells, was hard. And fairies weren’t allowed to know the magic of the mages.

Still, Anton dreamed of knowing how to cast spells to change men’s minds or make them fall in love. But laced among the mages’ spells were curses to cause great harm or death. Anton went to the village of a mage rumored to live in a tower above them all. He flew up the tower wall, becoming somewhat light-headed as he rose in the air. He was exhausted by the time he arrived at a narrow slit in the tower near the top and lay down for a moments rest.

Anton awoke moments later to find himself confined to a bird-cage sitting on a shelf in the mage’s workshop. The mage was busy mixing a potion and didn’t seem to notice that he was awake. He tried to free himself from the cage but the latch wouldn’t move. He rattled about the cage making all sorts of noise until he was tuckered out. He sat on the cage floor and watched the mage pour the potion into several small flacons.

When she had capped the last one, she wandered over to the cage. “My, you’re quite a spirited sprite, aren’t you?”

“Let me out of this cage!”

“Let yourself out.”

“I can’t. You’ve put a spell on the latch.”

“Nonsense! Try using the key.”

“Key? What key?”

“Oh, for goodness sake!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out a small silver key. “This key.” She handed the key to the fairy. “I thought that I had left it for you. I put you in there to protect you from the ravens.”

“Ravens?” Anton hadn’t thought to worry about the dangers of flying so high. He was suddenly grateful for the protection of the cage. After carefully scanning the room for ravens or owls, he let himself out of the cage. “Thank you for protecting me.”

“It was the least I could do for someone so desperate to see me. What is it that you came here for? A potion? Or a protection spell? For the life of me, I can’t imagine what a fairy would need to see a mage for.”

“I came here to learn to be a mage.”

“Hmm, so, you aspire to be a mage. Well, it’s good to have aspirations, but it’s best to keep them reasonable. You’ll never be a mage, no matter how much magic you learn. Fae are fae.” She picked him up and took him to a nearby slit in the stone wall. “Now, go home, fly back where you came from.” She set him down on the sill.

“No, I won’t go.” Anton stamped his foot for emphasis.

The mage slowly started pushing him to the edge of the sill. “Now, shoo! Go away! Fly on home.” With her last exhortation, she pushed him off the edge of the sill. Not to be dismissed so easily, Anton flew back inside, making a beeline for the cage, and locked himself in with the key. “Well, now, aren’t you a stupid little fellow?!”

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. I came here to become a mage. I intend to stay until it happens.”

“You’ll never become a mage. You’ll always be a fairy. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“What if I became a changeling?”

“Aren’t you too old for that?” The mage finished packing up her bag of potions for delivery and grabbed the cage before heading down the long spiral staircase inside the tower. She hung the cage on a hook just outside the heavy wooden door and hurried off to make her deliveries.

Her first stop was at the clockmaker’s house. Their child had run a fever for several days and the mage had mixed a potion to break the spell. The elixir was sweet with the taste of honey and smelled of lavender. “It should cleanse the child of the ill-humor in a day or so. Give the little one a spoonful, but only they when they complain of a raw throat.”

Her second stop was for tea with an old friend. Marta was waiting for her at the door. “Katya, come in before the tea goes cold.”

“I’m sorry that I was late. I had to deal with a little problem that rose up this morning.”

“Tell me about it!”

“I’d rather not. It’s such a minor nuisance. I’d much rather talk about your new suitor. You are still seeing Piotr, are you not?”

“Yes. And he has made it quite clear that he wants me for his wife. But Piotr is so boring. He’s as exciting as a block of cheese.”

Katya pulled out two of the flacons that she had prepared earlier and set one down on the tea-table and placed the other in a nearby cupboard. “I made some lavender honey this morning. I gave some to the clockmaker’s son and left the rest of it with his parent’s. Poor boy has a raging fever and his mother was beside herself. At least this way, she can feel that she is doing something besides worrying about him. He should be feeling much better in a day or two, but this way they are getting some water into him.”

Just as Katya picked up her teacup to take a sip, a small figure zipped into the room and settled on the table. Pointing the silver key at her, the small figure yelled at the top of his lungs. “Liar! You are no mage! It’s all tricks and traps and whatnot that I already know.”

Marta leaned in to take a good look at the livid fairy. “Oh, my! Isn’t he just adorable?”

“I thought that I left you locked in a birdcage hanging outside my door.”

“Yes, well, you also gave me a key.” Anton waggled the key in Katya’s face.

“So, I did.” She set her cup of tea down. “Will you go home now and leave me alone?” She grabbed the key and attempted to take it from him. As she lifted it up, he came with it. “Let go of the key or... or...” Katya didn’t want to convince him that she wasn’t a fraud. It was her best chance of getting him to go home.

“Or what?” He started to flap his wings. “You’ll turn me into a toad? Fat chance of that, you fraud. I’m keeping the key. You gave it to me, remember?”

Marta closed her hands around the fluttering fairy. “What exactly does he want?”

“He aspires to be a mage. Even went so far as to suggest becoming a changeling.”

“Oh! Once you go changeling there’s no going back. My parents found out the hard way. At least, they visit from time to time.” Marta uncapped her hands. “What’s your name?”

“I am Anton of the Grassy Pond.”

“Well, Anton of the Grassy Pond, my name is Marta of the Forest Glen. Except my parents gave me up as a changeling, then had a change of heart. Unfortunately, once done, the change cannot be undone. If I were you, I’d go home and aspire to be the best fairy in the kingdom of Grassy Pond.”

“But you’re not me. And I want to be a mage.” Anton glared at Katya. “A real mage, not a fake like her.” Seconds after feeling the impact of Marta’s open hand, Anton heard the dull thud of his body hitting the far wall of the small cottage.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?” Anton drifted slowly to the floor. Katya ran over and knelt in time to catch him in her hands before he hit the hard clay. Grateful for the soft landing, Anton wanly smiled at her. “Thank you for your kindness. I think I broke a wing.”

“I can bandage it for you. You won’t be able to fly until it heals. It will give you time to decide if you really want to be stuck on the ground with the rest of us mere mortals.” Katya set Anton down on the table next to her bag and took out some bandages. She carefully wrapped his broken wing and tied both of his wings flat against his body. “There’ll be no flying for you for at least a week.”

“I can’t go home. And I can’t stay here.” Anton paced back and forth across the table top. “And I’ve lost the key.”

Katya smiled. “Climb into my bag. I’ll take you home with me until you heal. Perhaps you have a thing or two to teach me about healing potions and elixirs.” She winked at Marta. “I’m sorry that our tea was cut short. Tomorrow then?” Marta nodded as Katya slung the bag handle over her shoulder and started off back to the tower.

Katya unhooked the open birdcage before walking through the tower door. She trudged up the long spiral stairs stopping a few doors short of the workshop. She set the birdcage down on the table and hung her bag up on a peg attached to the wall. She reached inside with her hand and pulled out the feisty little sprite.

“You’ll be quite safe here. The ravens can’t get past the iron bars.” Katya rummaged around in a chest of drawers and pulled out a small round cushion and a small quilted square and placed them inside the cage. A tiny bolster would serve as a pillow.

Anton sheepishly apologized for calling her a fake. “I’m sorry to have insulted you in front of your friend. And I’m sorry to have lost the key.”

Katya laughed. “You mean that you’re sorry you got your wing broken. But don’t worry about the key. It always turns up, usually in my pocket. I can’t seem to get rid of the bloody thing. To be honest, I would have let you keep it, but I didn’t think you’d like the consequences.”

“I don’t understand.” Katya smiled and rummaged through a pocket before pulling out the key.

“My key!” She placed the key inside the birdcage. Before leaving him for the evening, she set out some bread and water for the little fae. Anton watched as she left before leaving the safety of the cage. He made a beeline for the bread and water. The bread had been cubed into manageable chunks. There was a thimble to be used for scooping water from the bowl. “Well,” he announced to the room, “she’s a thoughtful fake.”

“Careful what you say.” The voice came through one of the windows. “She’s a powerful mage, she is. A dangerous one to boot.”

Anton walked as close to the edge of the table as he dared to get a look at the speaker. “Who are you?” He heard the ruffling of feathers and saw the shadow of a wing. “You’re a raven. Why should I pay any attention to you?”

“I used to be a thief until she cursed me. Now, I steal things of no value, although the occasional coin comes my way. But what use is a coin to a raven?”

“All ravens are thieves. And some it seems are liars as well.”

“You doubt me, sprite? You would do best to heed my words. And hers as well. She calls herself Katya now. But she was known elsewhere as Malice, the Scourge of the Kingdom. I followed her here when she fled. I try to warn people, but no one listens. She built the tower to protect the people because sometimes she rages in her sleep. Below you, a dragon slumbers in the dark.”

Katya had gone back to the clockmaker’s house to sit with the son. The parents had not slept in days, but she knew they would rest well knowing their child was under her watchful eye. The father’s snores were music to her ears as she tended to the boys fevered body. As expected, the fever broke just before dawn. His parents awoke to their son sipping some honey tea and complaining about being hungry.

Katya returned to the tower to be met by the raven. “What mischief have you been up to, Bob?”

“I was speaking to you wee guest. He’s locked himself inside the cage and swallowed the key, he has.”

Rummaging through her pocket, she soon pulled out a small silver key. “You mean this key?” Bob the raven nodded. “Well, I doubt he believed anything you had to say about me. He’s convinced himself that I am not a real mage. And it’s just as well. As soon as he heals, he will be gone.”

“He could be gone quicker, if you’d let me have him.” Bob winked at Katya.

“No, Bob. There’ll be no eating of guests. He may be a bother, but he is off-limits. Go find some mice to snack on.” Rather than argue with Katya, Bob flew off to scan the fields for mice.

Katya slowly climbed the stairs, tired from having stayed up to watch the clockmaker’s son. She was looking forward to getting some sleep after tending to her guest. He was asleep when she arrived and a light touch on the broken wing told her all she needed to know. He was healing faster than expected, but he was still days away from being able to fly. She hung up her bag and cloak, then walked over to her bedstead. She unlaced her shoes and slipped them off. She unwrapped the cloth binding her feet and wiggled her toes. Then she lay down on her thick quilted mattress and fell asleep.

When Katya woke up, she saw Anton sitting on the edge of the table swinging his feet. “Good morning,” she mumbled.

“Good afternoon!” he replied. “I knew that bloody raven was lying to me. You don’t turn into a dragon when you sleep.”

“Only in my dreams.” Katya stood and walked across the floor to brew some tea. The fire in the small hearth had gone cold and Katya was feeling too impatient to wait. She snapped her fingers after setting a new log into place and it burst into flames. She drew water from the cistern on the tower roof and set it to boil. She sat down at the table and let out a yawn.

Anton walked over to where she sat and stared her down. “Where were you last night? Was it some secret mage meeting? I saw you start the fire. You can’t deny being a mage anymore.”

“Geez, you sound like my father. But if you must know, I spent the night tending to the clockmaker’s son. His parents hadn’t slept in days worrying about him. Speaking of which, won’t your parents be worried about you? You’re still basically a child.”

“I’m not a child! I’m all of ten moons and will be eleven soon.”

Katya shook her head. “Not even four seasons old. Like I said, you are a child.”

“I’m old enough to know my own mind. And I want to be a mage.”

“Well, you can’t. You can study all the magic you want, but you’ll always be a fairy.”

“Not if I’m a changeling!”

At that moment, Marta entered the room. “Is he still going on about that?” Katya shrugged. Marta sat at the table. “Listen, Shorty. If you become a changeling, you’ll have no magic at all. What little you have now will be gone. Poof! No more!”

“The water is almost ready for tea. ‘Shorty’ saw me light the fire. I was too tired to use the flint.”

Marta reached down into the basket that she had brought with her and pulled out a cloth-wrapped package and some shiny red orbs. “I brought some cheddar and apples to go with your stale bread and hot tea.”

Anton walked over to the cloth package and inhaled deeply. “It smells like a fine cheddar. I shall be wanting of it a piece for myself.”

“Finally! A reasonable request. Will miracles never cease?!” Marta slowly unwrapped the cheddar and cut off a sliver for the fae. “I suppose you’ll be wanting a slice of apple to go with?” She reached for the apple and cut a sliver to match the cheese.

Anton held the cheese and apple slivers at his side and bowed. “Thank you for this gracious and generous repast, Milady.”

Marta smiled. “You’re very welcome, Shorty”

“My name’s Anton, if you don’t mind.”

“Tell me, Anton. Why do you aspire to be a mage? A mage’s life is terrible and lonely. People don’t welcome them unless they serve a useful purpose. For example, if Katya didn’t go around as a healer of the sick and wounded, people would lock up the tower door. And she also has the job of lighting the signal fire should the need for it ever arise. Other than that, she doesn’t even want to be a mage.”

“When my parents discovered that I was a mage, they abandoned me to the care of others like me, accusing me of being a changeling. None of us are changelings. But I was a child with no interest in practicing magic. I ran away the first chance and found my way to a village where no one knew what I was. I grew up a normal child, learning the healing arts from the one who took me in. There was another child in the house, about my age.” Katya winked at Marta.

“What about Bob?”

“Bob is a raven. He likes to steal shiny things. He must have stolen that silver key at least a dozen times before discovering its enchantment. Now, he makes up tales as revenge for the joke I played on him. Fortunately, no one puts much stock in what a raven says. They aren’t known for their truthfulness.”

“What if Bob isn’t really a raven?” The decidedly male voice came from a tall raven-haired young man standing in the doorway. “What if Bob is really under an enchantment? Cursed by some cruel mage.” The male visitor entered the room and took a seat at the table.

“Well, don’t look at me! I’ve been very careful not to enchant anything since that damned silver birdcage key. And I wouldn’t dream of using my magic on a person.”

“No, I suppose not. Pity though that you weren’t better versed in magic.” The young man pared an apple and ate each slice as he them cut off.

“Bah! The village tolerates me because I don’t go around casting spells. I tend the watchtower. I practice the healing arts. And I keep to myself mostly. Before Anton barged in, I only had three visitors. My sister Marta, Bob the Raven, and you, dear Robby.”

“What if the Raven isn’t telling whole lies?” Anton walked over to Robby. “What if the Raven can’t tell the truth, but can tell part of the truth as long as the whole of it is a lie?” He winked at Robby. “What if...”

“That’s enough ‘what ifs’ for now.” Katya grabbed Anton and dropped him inside the cage, closing and latching the door.

“It’ll take more than that to shut me up!” Anton yelled through the bars of the cage. “What if Robby and Bob are one and the same?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Katya unwrapped the cheese and offered a slice to Robby.

“Have you paid any attention at all to Bob’s stories? Surely, you’ve noticed that there are some constants, some things that never change.” Anton reached through the bars trying to signal that he wanted more cheese.

“I never thought about it before.” Marta glanced over at Robby. “We only see Robby once a month and only at night. Maybe Shorty, sorry, Anton has a point.”

Katya ignored Anton and wrapped the cheese back up. “I can’t believe that we are even having this conversation. But, fine! Tell me the fairy truth behind Bob’s outrageous tales.”

The Raven’s Curse (as told by Anton)

Once upon a time, in a far-off kingdom, there lived a young prince named Robert. The raven-haired boy was denied nothing by the members of the court. He grew into a spoiled young man used to taking what he wanted.

One day, on a journey through a village, he stopped at an inn for some repast. There was a party being held to celebrate the upcoming wedding of the owner’s daughter. She was a lithe young maiden and young Robert was determined to have her. He approached her father and asked to speak to him in private. The father, recognizing the young prince, was more than happy to have a private audience and led him into the inn’s kitchen.

Robert demanded his right to exercise ‘jus primae noctis’ on the maiden’s wedding night. The old innkeeper was both shocked and dismayed by the request, but begrudgingly acquiesced. The girl’s future husband had overheard the conversation and took great offense at the gall of the young prince. He did not wish to have his bride defiled on her wedding day.

The young mage set about working a punishment for the prince. He wanted something befitting the crime. Thinking long and hard about the prince’s intent to steal the innocence of his bride from him, he settled on a curse from which the prince would find hard to escape. He knew the danger of casting a curse without an escape, as all magical creatures know, would be to suffer some dire curse of his own.

The following morning, the day of the wedding, the young prince awoke in the form of a raven. His own guards chased him off and set out looking for him. While they returned to the castle to inform his parents of his disappearance, the raven sought to appease those who had cursed him.

When the prince tried to apologize to the innkeeper and his daughter, they ignored him and tried to send him away. Fearing the raven to be a bad omen, the innkeeper called for his future son-in-law for help. The young mage caged the raven and sent him far away.

And that brings us to the present day. Our young prince cannot ask for his freedom from the curse, but he can tell others about it in half-truths. And one night a month, he can be human from dusk until dawn. But whether the curse can be removed, he does not know.

“Well, Miss Katya, can it be?” Robby picked up the cage. “Perhaps while you think it over, you could let the little man out of the cage.”

“I have no idea. I lived among the mages from age three to age seven. I ran away after four years of being ignored and told to be quiet and not touch anything. I did not feel wanted there anymore than at my local village. I didn’t have a home until Miss Anya took me in. I had two talents that I made use of on Anya’s small farm. I could start fires in the hearth and put out fires elsewhere. I know nothing of curses or spells. Ask me about poultices and herbs. Those I know about.” Katya unlocked the cage and took out the fae. She set him down and went about examining his wounded wing. “Well, Anton, it looks like you’ll be able to fly back home in a day or two. I can leave the bandages off today, if you’d like.”

Anton nodded. “But what about Bob? Can you help him?”

“No, but maybe you can.” Katya sat at the table. “I’ve never paid much attention to his stories. He must have mentioned something about what would break the curse. The mage would have to have told him how he could get out of it. A lesson learned, perhaps?”

Anton looked at Robby. “Why is it that you keep coming here? You know she knows no magic to help you, yet you return every full moon to visit her and her sister. It must not be magic that breaks it. It must be something else.”

“If it were that simple, I’d be free of it. I have given up caring about anything but this one night of freedom.”

“Heh,” Marta replied. “You don’t care about your freedom much given the number of times you have locked yourself in that cage. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you cared about Katya.”

“If I didn’t know better, Marta, I’d think you’d been into your father's ale!”

“Speaking of father, I’d best get home to him. I’ll be by tomorrow with more apples.” Marta hugged Katya and nodded at Robby. As she was leaving, she turned in the doorway. “Good night, Shorty! Stay out of trouble.”

He ran to the edge of the table while he yelled, “my name’s Anton!” Robby managed to catch him before he fell to the floor.

“She knows, Shorty.” Katya laughed. Anton stormed over to where she sat and glared up at her. “Seriously?” He tapped his foot. “Sorry.” She stretched and yawned. “I’m tired. But the two of you are welcome to stay and keep company while I rest.”

Robby waited while Katya lay down to rest. “It’s taking all her strength to stay human. Any other full moon and she’d be a small dragon. She aspires to be human. Even her sister knows the truth about her. You’ll see, if you can stay awake the whole night.”

Tuesday, April 2, 2019

The Shed Out Back


In the backwoods of Pennsylvania, there was an old farmhouse built in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Its kitchen was equipped with a wood stove that also served to heat most of the house. A staircase in a front corner of the living area led to the bedrooms upstairs. An unpaved rocky dirt road that ran past farmer’s fields wound through the woods that hid the house from the general public. Beside the house was a large well-tended garden patch. Behind the house was a shed where the garden tools were stored.

There was no electricity or phone at the house. The water was drawn from the well by an old-fashioned hand pump into a cast iron sink. A second hand pump served the old white cast iron bathtub on the second floor. During the cold winters, the windows were covered with heavy quilts to retain the heat. Firewood for the winter was stored in a room just off the kitchen. Very little work got done during the bitter days of Winter.

The house had a single occupant, a woman named Clara Rinker. Clara lived off the grid her entire life. She only rarely left her house except to trade her excess garden bounty for eggs or butter. On occasion a lost chicken wandered into her realm. Most of what she caught for food were either rabbits or groundhogs. Every so often, she found something larger, a loose pig or a deer, that would last for several weeks.

One warm spring day, Clara noticed some movement inside her shed. Something skittered behind the wheelbarrow as she was returning the hoe after weeding the garden. Several days later, her curiosity piqued, she decided to investigate. She started by putting a pie tin of dinner scraps just inside the shed door. By morning, the tin was empty.

The next evening, Clara left the shed door slightly ajar and the pie tin just outside. The following morning when she checked, the pie tin was empty and the shed door was closed. Suspecting that the closed door meant an animal outside the shed was availing itself of the food, she made a point of latching the door closed when she left the tin of food just outside.

The following morning, the scraps had been eaten. The shed door was closed, but it had been unlatched. Determined to lure the critter out far enough to catch a look at it, Clara left the door closed and set the pie tin down halfway to the back porch. She sat by a back window and waited. Eventually, she fell asleep. In the morning, she could see that the pie tin had been emptied.

That evening, Clara left the tin at the bottom of the steps and went to bed. She awoke in the early morning hours to the sound of the pie tin clanging against the paving stone at the bottom of the porch steps. By the time she arrived at a window, the critter had finished. She caught sight of the shed door closing behind it.

Determined to keep the critter out long enough to catch a glimpse of it, Clara placed the food inside a small can, then placed a second can over it. When she awoke in the morning, the cans remained undisturbed on her back porch. By noon, she was concerned and went outside to look at them. The scraps had been eaten by the critter and the cans had been put back together.

That evening, Clara devised a more elaborate nest of cans. When she awoke the next morning, the cans were all lined up according to size. The pie tin had been moved along as each can was dumped into it until it reached the far edge of the porch.

It dawned on Clara that the critter wasn’t keeping to a schedule, but she had been. She decided to vary her daily chores hoping to surprise the critter. One hot summer day, she noticed her garden starting to wilt and spent the greater part of the day hauling water from her kitchen out to the thirsty vegetables. She sat down to rest and fell asleep.

When Clara woke in the morning, the pan full of scraps sat empty on the kitchen table. Beside it was a pile of fresh picked vegetables from her garden and a single egg resting atop the heap. Her cast iron pan was already heating on the stove and her butter dish had been set out. Clara moved the egg to the pie tin and the vegetables to the sink. She managed to turn the egg and a few vegetables into a reasonable breakfast. The rest of the day was spent hiding from the heat while letting the fire die down in the stove.

Awakened from a midday nap by noises in her kitchen, Clara slowly crept toward the room to investigate. She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp at what she saw. A three-foot-tall, blue-skinned reptile was busy cooking a freshly caught rabbit, some potatoes, and freshly picked garden vegetables. It reminded her of the gecko from the television ads except that it worked in complete silence save the occasional clamor of a pot or pan.

Clara watched as the critter deftly carved up the rabbit and plated the food before gesturing for her to sit down and eat. Although it didn’t speak, it behaved in a manner that Clara considered to be remarkably civilized. She watched it as closely as it watched her eat their dinner. It seemed dismayed that she didn’t’ swallow the bones, but resumed eating without further interruption.

Clara observed, mouth agape, as it swallowed the bones she had left on her plate before licking the plates and forks clean of any scraps still clinging to them. After it made itself scarce, Clara washed the dishes with a little detergent and hot water. After putting them away, she went about her evening chores then settled in for the night.

As Clara dressed for bed, she thought about how easily the critter had entered her house. She went to each door of the house and turned the key in the lock. She wedged the windows shut and took the time to secure the cellar door from the inside. And as a final precaution, she even locked her bedroom door.

Feeling safe in her own home, Clara slept well. She woke up when the light filtered through her curtains. After getting dressed, she went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It was a simple meal of a fried egg on buttered toast. She washed it down with a cup of black coffee. As she was putting away the breakfast dishes, someone began pounding on the door. She grabbed a fire poker and went to see who it was.

Standing on her porch was a four-foot-tall brown rabbit with a dead stag draped across its back. “Can’t bring that thing in here. Have to hang it first, bleed it out.” The rabbit dropped the deer on the porch and shrugged. “Lemme git some rope.” Clara closed the door and rummaged around in a cupboard before finally emerging on the porch. She wrapped the rope around the deer’s hind legs before gesturing for some help.

The rabbit picked up the carcass and hoisted it up hind quarters first toward the porch rafter. Clara reached up and tied the other end of the rope to the deer’s legs. She went inside briefly and brought out a knife, deftly slitting the deer’s throat. She turned to the rabbit and stared it down. It shifted its weight from one foot to another. “Are you a friend of the critter who lives in my shed?” It shook its head. Cocking her head to the side and wiping the bloody blade on her apron, she sighed. “Are you the critter who lives in my shed?”

The rabbit bounced up and down clapping its paws together. “Now, how can that be? The critter in my shed was some kind of big blue gecko. You’re a big brown bunny. You expect me to believe that yesterday you were a lizard?” The bunny nodded, its ears bouncing back and forth with each move of its head. “If you come back tomorrow looking like that,” she pointed the knife at the stag, “you’ll end up exactly like that. You hear?” She waggled the knife blade in front of the rabbit’s face. It hopped back to avoid getting stuck.

Clara walked back into the house and stuck the knife back into the drawer. Before she could sit down and catch her breath, there was a gentle knock at the door. “Go away!” The knock persisted. “I said go away.” The knock was a little louder. “Fine. Come in.” The rabbit came through the door carrying an armful of deer entrails. It dropped the organs in the sink and set about preparing them for the midday meal. Clara watched as the bunny deftly sliced and fried the liver with some onions from the garden. It cleaned the kidneys and heart, carefully wrapping them for the icebox. Upon discovering that an icebox was a luxury that Clara didn’t have, the bunny placed the heart and kidneys inside the oven to slow roast for dinner.

Clara was grateful that she had been spared the rest of the internal organs, especially the intestines. Presumably, those bits of offal had been eaten raw by the bunny prior to its knocks on the door. While Clara cleaned up the dishes from lunch, the bunny licked itself clean. It ran outside to the garden and began pulling carrots out of the ground. By the time it came back in side, it had a dozen carrots, a half-dozen potatoes, some green onions, and a couple of summer squash tucked inside a small makeshift basket fashioned from some vine and twigs.

Clara sat back in a chair and watched the rabbit bustle about in the kitchen preparing the vegetables for the evening meal. She thought of offering to help, but it wasn’t every day that someone else cooked for her. And it was even rarer to see a giant rabbit peel several potatoes. The rabbit managed to dirty every cast iron skillet in her kitchen preparing the potatoes, carrots, and summer squash to have with the roasted hart heart and kidneys.

The rabbit took great care to emulate Clara’s table manners. She was impressed by its effort to act more human, but she still couldn’t look past its appearance. No matter how civilized it ate, no matter how well-mannered it behaved at the table, it was still a big brown bunny.

While Clara cleared away the dishes from the table, the bunny sorted through the knife drawer for a large knife. Her back tensed as she heard the knives clatter about. A tingle ran up and down her spine. Her jaw clenched. After she heard the door slam shut, she let out a sigh of relief. She could hear it grunt as it hacked away at the deer carcass. She wondered if there would be any venison left for the next evening’s meal.

In the morning, while making breakfast, Clara could hear activity out in the shed. Curious to see what new form her visitor had taken on, she left her breakfast dishes unwashed in the sink and wandered out back. The shed door was open and the rump of a large black furry creature could be seen sticking out of the opening. She walked up to the beast and tapped it on its hind quarters. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

The large black bear backed out of the shed and rose up on its hind legs. It let out a large roar, but before it could attack, Clara was pulled to safety and hustled down the cellar steps. Her rescuer quickly barred the doors from inside to keep the attacking bear out. “That was a bear? A real live bear? I mean, not that you are alive, but that wasn’t you?”

“Yes,” a male voice replied. “We should be safe in here.”

“But what if the bear gets in the house? I left the door open.”

“Stay here. I’ll go upstairs and shut it.” A dimly lit form made its way over to a wooden ladder leading up from the cellar. It climbed the steps and pushed against the ceiling above it. Light flooded in on the figure of a well-built male human. His skin was ruddy and he had a mop of ginger on his head. She wandered over to the opened hatch and followed him up the ladder soon after hearing the door latch shut.

“Who are you?” She studied his dark red hair and ruddy complexion. “Where did you come from?” A swarm of questions filled her head as she stood staring at the stranger standing naked in her kitchen. Suddenly feeling embarrassed by her gawking, she rushed upstairs to find him some clothes. She dug out a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt that she thought would fit him and turned around to find him standing behind her. After settling from her brief start, she held out the clothes. “Here. These are for you. I think they’ll fit.”

He took the garments from her and examined them, seemingly confused by what to do with them. Clara took them back and gathered up the shirt. “Stick out your arms.” After he complied, she slipped the armholes over past each wrist. “Now, raise your arms over your head. Like this.” She stuck her arms straight up over her head and he mimic her. “Good. Now let me help you with that.” She stepped forward and pulled the shirt down over his head and torso.

“Now, for the pants.” Clara was perplexed. “I’m not sure how to get you into these.” He seemed to sense her dilemma and offered his own solution. She watched as he lay down on the floor and raised his legs high into the air. “Okay, we can work with that.” She slipped the jeans on over his legs and pulled it as far as she could. “Now, I need you to stand up.” When he complied, the jeans fell down to his knees and she had to pull them back up. She snapped the top button closed and carefully zipped the fly closed.

His eyes were the color of a green cats-eye marble, which was rather appropriate given how much they looked like cat eyes. She donned a wan smile before backing away. “You look presentable now. Except for your feet, but I don’t have any shoes that would fit you anyway.” He followed her back downstairs into the kitchen.

Most of the contents of the shed had been dragged out by the bear, which seemed to have wandered off while the two were upstairs. Several rakes, hoes, and other garden equipment lay about outside the shed. The small wheelbarrow lay on its side halfway through the open door. A clump of straw, twigs, and leaves had been deposited on the porch steps.

“I’ll help you clean up the mess.” The young man offered.

Clara accepted. “I’ve been meaning to clean out the shed, but I’d been putting it off.” By the time they were through, the shed was well organized and there was room to stand inside it.  It was also time to start cooking the evening meal. Her guest went down to the cellar and brought up a leg of venison that had been stripped of the hide and cut down to fit in the oven. Clara added some water and garlic cloves to the pan.

While the leg roasted, Clara opened a jar of peanut butter and made sandwiches for the two of them. She watched as her guest carefully sniffed at the offering before deciding that it was safe to consume. Not one to give up easily, Clara tried a different tack. “My name is Clara. What is your name?” He met her question with a blank stare. She pointed to her chest. “Clara.” She pointed at him. He cocked his head slightly. She patted her chest. “Clara.” She walked over to where he sat and patted his chest. He grabbed her wrist and twisted her hand away. “Ow! That hurts. I only want to know your name, what you call yourself, what others call you.”

He released her wrist and stood up. He poked her in the chest. “Clara.”

She smiled. “Yes, Clara.”

Smiling, he poked his chest. “Clara.”

She groaned. “No!” She turned and walked away. “You can’t be that stupid.” She turned again to face him and huffed. “Fine. If you won’t tell me your name, I’ll give you one.” She marched up to him. “Clara,” she said pointing to her chest. “Frank,” she said, repeating the name each time she stabbed him in the chest until he grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“Fine,” he interrupted. “I’ll be Frank.” She smiled at Frank and he released her wrist from his grip. She still had a whole lot of questions for Frank, but she felt less anxious now that he had a name, even if it was one that she gave him.

By the end of the month, Clara had gotten used to having Frank around. So much so that she almost forgot to tell him to hide when the truck drove up. It was Mr. Clive from the local welfare office. He had come to do his monthly check on Clara. He delivered some groceries - mostly canned goods, some seeds for her garden, some used clothing, and her prescription medication. He took the time to remind her that, come next month, she had an appointment with her doctor.

“Have you been taking your medicine? You seem a little more excited than normal.”

“I’m fine. I ran out of eggs and cheese. Did you bring me that pie you promised?”

“Yes, I did. It’s in the box with the cereal. You really should get electricity and a phone. What if something happened to you?”

“If something happened to me, who’d make the phone call. Better you find me dead. And bury me where I lay if you do.”

“Honestly, Clara. I don’t understand how you keep your sanity all the way out here alone.”

“Who says I’m alone? There’s all sorts of critters out here to keep me company.”