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Tag: A to Z flash fiction

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F is for Fairy Doctor, Flash Fiction

This flash fic bit originally appeared on my old blog, and was a post in the “Blogging A to Z challenge.” For the month of April, participants in the challenge write a post starting with that day’s letter (working sequentially through the alphabet.) For my theme in 2012, I chose fairies and mythological creatures.

*A Fairy doctor- is someone that has within them the ability to communicate with the fairy folk.  People would often enlist the help of a fairy doctor when they suspected they were having difficulties with their Good Neighbors.  The fairy doctor would tell them how to appease the fairies. (I’m not making this up. They really exist/existed…uh…the fairy doctors, I mean.)

I pulled up to the small farmhouse at noon on Sunday.  It was a charming little place, white with quaint green shutters.  The yard and driveway were lined with big, mature trees and rows of flowering bushes.  As I slid out of the car, a light breeze ruffled my hair, washing me in the scent of flowers and fresh cut grass. The whole place had a relaxing vibe, and I felt my shoulders drop and my breathing slow, despite my nervousness.

I braced myself and hiked my purse up on my shoulder, still feeling foolish about this whole endeavor.  Who in their right mind believed in fairies?  My feet crunched loudly on the gravel path as I made my way to the front door, my head turning to and fro as I took in the wealth of growing things lining the path.  I started up the front steps, pausing as a voice drifted on the wind.  I followed the soft song around the corner of the house to find a woman taking laundry off an old clothesline.  

Her long, wavy silver hair drifted about her shoulders in the breeze and her song became a muffled hum as she stuffed a couple of wooden clothes pins in her mouth.  She deftly folded the shirt she had just taken off the line, and dropped it into a big wicker basket, before removing the clothespins from her mouth.  I cleared my throat to let her know I was there, and she turned to me with a warm smile. 

“You must be Anna,” she said as she lifted the basket and headed my way.  “Let me just bring this in the house and I’ll get you some tea. Then you can tell me about your wee fairy problem.”

I didn’t say anything, just followed her up onto the porch.  She gestured to a table and chairs.  “If you’d like we can take our tea out on the porch.  It’s such a beautiful day.”

“That would be nice,” I said, dropping into a chair.  

She was back a few minutes with an honest to God tea service, complete with a couple of big, lumpy scones. “Now then,” she said, taking a sip of her tea.  “What is it that’s bothering you?”

I cleared my throat nervously and stared into my teacup.  Was I really doing this?  A softly lined hand slipped into my line of sight, patting my hand familiarly where it rested, curled around my cup.  “I know it’s a pain, but we’ll get them sorted out and everything will be right as rain.”

I met her blueberry eyes.  “Do you really believe in fairies?”

She snorted and withdrew her hand.  “Dear, my family have been fairy doctors for ages.  I can’t blame people for not believing what they can’t see.  But I can see.  I have no excuse to play ignorant.”

I took a deep breath.  “I think there is something living in my house.  It… well I swear sometimes it folds my laundry.  I’ll find things put away in places where I wouldn’t have put them.  Mostly its harmless- even helpful.  But lately it’s like having an angry three year old in my house.  I find cupboards emptied, movies and books pulled off the shelves.  My house is a mess!”

She only smiled.  “It sounds like you have a house sprite.  They are incredibly beneficial and kind- you’re lucky to have them.”  She wagged a finger at me.  “But even they have their limits.  Have you been putting milk out for him? Or maybe bits of bread?”

I frowned and shook my head.  “What?”

“I’ll come and pay you a visit later this week. Once I know just what kind of sprite it is, we’ll know what it is that he wants.”  She shrugged.  “Then you can mend your relationship with him, and he’ll go back to tending your house.”

I shook my head.  A live-in maid that I couldn’t see all for the price of a bowl of milk?   

 

Originally published on the Write Me blog, April 6th, 2012

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D is for Dryad, Flash Fiction

This flash fic bit originally appeared on my old blog, and was a post in the April “Blogging A to Z challenge.” It is an excerpt from my novel, Kelpie.

Adhene made his way through the old forest to the clearing, careful not to make a sound. The wind ruffled his long, golden-blond hair and he grimaced, hoping the breeze wouldn’t carry his scent to the creature he so carefully stalked.

            She dozed in her apple tree, and her grayish skin and wild, tumbled brown hair blended into its bark.  If he was anyone else, he wouldn’t have been able to see her.  Even another fey sometimes had to strain to see the Dryads in their trees, but Adhene was elven; he drew his power from the earth and her living things and he could sense even the smallest variation in her rhythms.

            He ghosted nearer, smug that it had been so easy.  An airy voice stopped him in his tracks.  “Out for a stroll elf?”  He tried to look unaffected as he stared into eyes the color of the sky. 

            “You are fortunate,” he said lightly.  “If I was hunting you, you would be dead.”

            She unfolded and dropped to the ground, coming to stare up at him, hands on her hips, and a defiant look in her eyes.  “Just try it,” she dared.

            Adhene moved with the grace of a dancer, grasping both of her arms as she tried to dart behind her tree.  She struggled, but he towered over her.  It was no contest.  He bent, bringing his mouth to her throat, his lips curving upward as he felt the rapid pulse beneath her smooth silvery skin.  

            She gave up struggling and melted into his embrace as he trailed kisses along her neck and shoulder.  Standing on her tiptoes, she ran her fingers through his hair, making no protest as he bore her down onto the carpet of wild flowers that grew near her tree.

            ***

            Adhene made his way back to Underhill with a song on his lips.  He was a creature of sunshine and growing things, and life radiated from him, bright and vibrant.  He had nearly reached the hill when panic rose up within him.  Something foul was in his forest, something choking and evil.  Pain sliced through his head, and a panicked cry for help echoed in his mind.

            He knew.  He denied it, even as he turned on a heel and dashed back the way he had come, flowing toward the far end of his territory like the wind through the trees.  But he was too late- far, far too late. 

            The meadow lay in ruins, scarred and twisted by the tracks of the big trucks that had trundled through the place.  He stared at the sawed off stumps of the trees, something rising through him.  His eyes found the silvery skin of the apple tree where it lay on the ground.  A group of humans were sawing the wood into more manageable pieces, joking and laughing as they went about their work, oblivious to the beautiful creature that lay murdered behind them.

            The rising feeling crested inside Adhene and a gray numbness settled over him.  He calmly walked into the meadow, dropping the glamour that kept him from the humans.  They stared at him in surprise- a beautiful, robed man with hair like sunshine, and eyes like emeralds.  It would be the last sight they ever saw.  The light inside him was extinguished as he painted the meadow red with their blood.

            Turning his back on the scene, he said a word and magic settled over the meadow.  The small creatures in the area scurried out of the way, just as all the fallen trees burst into flame.  Cleansing fire washed away all traces of the humans, and a creature of light and goodness with darkness in his heart began to follow the tire tracks back toward town.   

Excerpt from Kelpie, by Kaye Draper copyright 2012. Also published on the WriteMe blog, April 4, 2012.

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C is for Changeling, Flash Fiction

This flash fic bit originally appeared on my old blog, and was a post in the April “Blogging A to Z challenge.”

Changeling-  a being in West European folklore and folk religion, typically described as the offspring of a fairy, troll, elf, etc. that has been secretly left in the place of a human child.

I put my feet on the bleacher seat, curling up so my chin rested on my knees, hiding my freakishly long legs.  The rest of the girls’ basketball team ran up and down the court, preparing for the weekend game. 

My breath puffed out and I hugged my elbows, easily reaching them around my legs.  One of the other bench warmers was staring at me, so I dropped my arms and averted my gaze.  I was too clumsy to play basketball—something I had expressed to my mother only yesterday.  I closed my eyes as I recalled Mom’s expression as she glared up at me, drawing herself up to her full height, which put her head at about my mid-chest (and then only because of her two-inch heels).  “Look at you,” she had said in exasperation, “you’ll be an amazing player someday.” She waved her hand at me in one of those all-encompassing gestures.  “You just have to grow into it.”  Then she had sighed and given me a stubborn look. “All teenagers are awkward, Lena, it gets better with age. I would die to be as tall as you are.”

I snorted at the memory, and the gawker down the bench raised her eyebrows.  Sick of being on display, I stood and headed to the locker room. Practice was almost over, and if I hurried, I could change before I was surrounded by a sea of curvy midgets.

I threw on a t-shirt, jeans, and a baggy hoodie that hid my flat, slender body.  Then I pulled my long, ash colored hair into a messy ponytail and slipped out the back door of the gym.  I heard footsteps approaching and ducked around the corner, but it was just Ian. I popped out from my hiding spot and he jumped, his hearing not nearly as acute as mine.  I could hear frequencies only a dog would notice, I thought, rolling my eyes.

I slipped my backpack over my shoulder and fell into step beside my childhood friend.  “Long time no see,” I said, sizing him up.  “I see you still haven’t had that growth spurt yet.”

He hunched his wide shoulders defensively, then, catching himself, he stood up taller.  Poor guy. He was the shortest one in our class, left behind when the rest of the guys had shot up to adulthood.  Next to me he looked like an ant. 

“And you haven’t stopped growing,” he groused, his blue eyes darting upward and away.  I shrugged, trying not to give him the satisfaction. It wasn’t my fault that trolls were taller than humans. 

I clenched my teeth.  I was a changeling, swapped at birth with my parents’ human child.  I had no idea what had happened to the human baby, but here I was, unwanted by my magical kin. 

I plastered a smile on my face so Ian wouldn’t ask me what was wrong.  Leaning close, I ruffled his thick brown hair.  “Aww… cheer up shorty.  C’mon, I’ll buy you ice cream.”

He slapped my hand away and glared, his eyes snapping with blue fury.  “Knock it off Amazon!”

I kept walking, and he followed.  “Since you’re buying, I’m getting a large shake.”

I grinned and nodded.  “Sure,” I said in a motherly voice, “a growing boy like you needs all the help he can get.”

Originally published April 3rd, 2012 on the WriteMe blog

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B is for Banshee

This flash fic bit originally appeared on my old blog, and was a post in the “Blogging A to Z challenge.” For the month of April, participants in the challenge write a post starting with that day’s letter (working sequentially through the alphabet.) For my theme in 2012, I chose fairies and mythological creatures.

The full moon hung heavy in the night sky, flooding Wilhelmina’s bedroom with a cool, silvery light that was battled by the warm glow of the bedside lamp. It seemed a fitting analogy for the contrast between the warm feel of life and the cool beauty of death.

Wilhelmina knew she was dying. She should be frightened, she supposed, but she had lived a full life, and although there was no other person in the room at the hour of her death, she was not alone. Her bright eyes found the robed woman who sat at her side. Though her long, flowing hair was silvery in the dim light, her face was unlined. She regarded Wilhelmina with a soft smile that warmed her cool blue eyes.

Banshee only appeared dreadful to the living—with pale faces, and demonic red eyes. Those who stood on the border of the two worlds could see her true form. Attached to one family for the duration of her immortal life, her bond to the women in Wilhelmina’s family was deep, like that of a mother or a grandmother. 

Wilhelmina relaxed into the silence that came after her last breath. The feeling of the beautiful woman’s hand in hers began to fade as she crossed over that threshold to what lay beyond. “God go with ‘ye mother,” the banshee said, in a voice like rain—cool, and soothing, and good for sleep. A single tear traced down her perfect cheek. “I will remember you when you leave this world.”

Then Wilhelmina was gone.

The woman placed a gentle hand on Wilhelmina’s forehead, caressing her white curls fondly. Then she stood and pulled her dark hood over her silver hair. Gathering her power to her, she shifted to smoke, rising up through the roof of the house where Wilhelmina had been born and had died after raising eight children, burying two husbands, and nurturing her children’s children’s dreams. A soft wail rose in her throat, and she mourned the passing of a woman who had no one to mourn her.

 The neighbors shifted restlessly in their sleep as the eerie keening sound reached them, miles away. A farmer, coming in late from his field, would recount the vision of the evil red-eyed, darkly hooded woman who hovered over the house, heralding death.  

Originally published on the Write Me blog, April 2nd, 2012.

If you enjoy paranormal short stories and you’re looking for something steamier, check out my short story collection!

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A is for Abatwa flash fiction

This flash fic bit originally appeared on my old blog, and was a post in the Blogging A to Z challenge. For the month of April, participants in the challenge write a post starting with that day’s letter (working sequentially through the alphabet.) For my theme in 2012, I chose fairies and mythological creatures.

A is for Abatwa…

The tiniest creatures of human form in existence. They coexist peacefully with the ants in the anthills of Southern Africa and eat plants. They are very shy but they tend to reveal themselves to very young children, wizards, and pregnant women. (Source)

      I woke to the sounds of the ants. My roommates were always moving, filling the hill with a perpetual hum of energy. I climbed out of my nutshell bed and straightened my little alcove before heading out to the main tunnel. An ant rounded a corner in the tunnel and I hastily flattened myself against the earthen wall, getting out of his way. It’s not that my companions weren’t kind, but he was carrying several times his body weight worth of seeds, taking them to the deeper parts of the hill where the young ones would soon be hatching. He tilted his head curiously as he approached, and I hummed a little tune to tell him who I was. Ants have terrible eyesight, especially in the dark recesses of the tunnels, where they find their way by memory.

      The ant trundled on by and I peeled myself away from the wall. I set off, following the tunnels that sloped upward. Unlike the ants, I could see just as well in the pitch dark as I could in daylight. Once I reached the surface, I took a moment to survey the grassland before stepping out into the light. My people were easy pickings for birds and lizards, and I shuddered at the thought that you never knew what was lurking just outside the hill. 

      I once met an abatwa whose hill had been devastated by an anteater. He had described waking to the walls falling around him, narrowly missing the long, sharp claws that destroyed his home and the whip-like tongue that devoured his comrades.

      Taking a bracing breath of the dry African air, I set off, my pouch slung over my back. I would return with it full of seeds and grasses for the ants to eat. I patted my stone hunting knife, comforted by its weight at my hip. If I was lucky, I would find some grubs and smaller insects as well.

      Most hills were kept by a family of abatwa, who looked after the ants in exchange for shelter. In my hill it was just me. My parents had died long ago, and I hadn’t found a suitable mate. Unattached males traveled in the spring, looking for a home. I hadn’t seen another of my kind in at least three seasons, and I wondered if I would always tend my hill alone…

Originally published on the Write Me blog, April 1st, 2012.