Glorious Grace - Part One of Three

Glorious Grace
and the
Gruesome Glamour



A Faerie Story in Verse
By
Jason Thompson








Not so far away, or very long ago,
There lived a happy child – her name was Grace,
She was a darling girl, good from head to toe,
Who always wore a sweet smile on her face.

She was a pretty girl, with hair that shone like gold,
And laughing eyes of brilliant cornflower blue,
Though Grace could be quite rude, sometimes even bold,
She was not bad, because her heart was true.

Grace never told a lie, studied hard at school,
And listened every time her teacher spoke,
She did as she was told, rarely broke a rule,
For she knew – education is no joke.

Grace was full of fun, she loved to laugh and play,
And she had lots of friends for merry games,
She was never cruel, but kindly every day,
She did not stoop to calling people names.

Her house was very nice – it was painted white,
With a really massive garden at the back,
Grace went out sometimes, to watch the stars at night,
She loved the way they twinkled in the black.

Her Mammy and her Daddy loved her loads and loads,
They hugged and kissed her every single day,
Her Daddy drew the plans for the men, who made the roads,
Her Mammy sculpted models out of clay.
Grace’s life was perfect; everything was grand –
Or almost, for she sometimes felt so lonely,
And Grace did not believe Mam and Dad would understand –
She did not want to be their one and only.

More than any wish, she made upon a star,
A little sister was what Grace desired,
She prayed to God above, many a long hour,
So often, her poor knees got sore and tired.

One fine sunny day, when Grace was eight years old,
She noticed – Mammy’s belly had grown fat,
And asked her Mammy, ‘Why?’  That’s when she was told –
‘Grace, this is where your baby sister’s at.’

‘What’s she doing there?’  Grace said.  ‘How will she get out?
And how did she get in there?  When?  And why?’
Her Mammy simply smiled, ‘Darling, please don’t pout,
We have to wait till Christmas, that’s no lie.

Daddy, in the garden, found some magic seeds,
They’re in my belly, so that they will grow,
Snug and very safe, from greedy birds and weeds,
Like bread made in the oven out of dough.

When the baby’s ready, I will have to go,
To hospital, to see the doctor there,
He’ll check the baby’s well, and say, A-ha, O-ho,
For little babies need a lot of care.
Then we can have her home, when the doctor’s done,
And you will get to see her every day,
Won’t that be lovely, Grace?  Lots and lots of fun?
When she can walk, the two of you can play.’

But, Mammy, what’s her name?  Does she have one yet?
Oh, can I pick one?  Please, please, please, please, please?’
Mammy said, ‘She has one now, I’m so sorry, pet,
Given to her, by the birds and bees.

Baby’s name is Rose, because of where she’s from,
Now, darling, would you like to say, ‘Hello?’’
She took Grace’s hand and put it on her tum,
And Grace could feel her heart beat, soft and slow.

‘Hello, baby.  Hello, Rose,’ Grace said with a sigh,
And then skipped off to sit upon her bed,
‘Thank you, baby Jesus, way up there on high,’
Grace closed her eyes and bowed her little head.

Days and days went by, till Christmastime grew near,
And Mammy’s belly blew up like a balloon,
She said, ‘It’s time, for me to go now, dear,
Stay with Grandma Nell, I’ll be home soon.’

So, Daddy drove the car – it was big and blue,
And Grace was left alone with Grandma Nell,
Grace began to cry, for what else could she do?
‘Hush, child,’ said Grandma.  ‘All will turn out well.’
Days crawled by so slow, they seemed like years and years,
Until it was that it was Christmas Eve,
Poor Grace cried and cried, Grandma kissed away her tears,
And cooed, and said, ‘There is no need to grieve.

Tomorrow’s Christmas Day, you should not be sad,
For I know, Santa Claus is on his way,
He brings a special gift, one to make you glad,
Be patient, Grace, it’s only one more day.’

Grace went to bed; Grandma kissed her on the cheek,
Then tucked her in, and they both said their prayers,
‘Gentle baby Jesus, kind and mild and meek,’
Then Grandma left the room and went downstairs.

Grace shut tight her eyes and soon fell fast asleep,
Then woke up – it was dark and very late,
The silence all around lay thick and deep,
The whole world seemed to hold its breath and wait.

Just then, Grace heard a small bell gently ringing,
The chimes came from above her – on the roof,
Grace heard a sound that set her heart to singing –
She thought it might just be a reindeer’s hoof.

She longed to go outside, for just one glance,
But knew just what would happen, if she did,
Santa Claus would vanish; Grace could not take that chance,
For he would see her, even if she hid.
And then, Grace heard the stamp of heavy boots,
A deep and merry voice said, ‘Ho, ho ho!’
The reindeer answered that with funny hoots,
The voice said, ‘Come, sweet darlings, time to go.’

There was a whooshing noise, then all was still,
Grace rose; looked out the window, saw the night,
She leaned her elbow on the windowsill,
The ground, the hills, the trees – the world was white.

The snow had fallen while she dreamed in bed,
Grace felt such joy; she thought her heart would burst,
She heard a sound that made her turn her head,
Grandma stood at the door – her lips were pursed.

‘Now, Grace,’ she said.  ‘It’s barely half past two,
And much too early for you to be up,
What woke you?  Did you hear him?  You know who?
Let’s have some cocoa.  Would you like a cup?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Grace, and then got into bed,
Her Grandma tucked her in, and went away,
She came back soon with cocoa, and she said,
‘Would you like a tale?  What do you say?’

‘Oh, yes.  A tale of Faeries, Grandma, please,
With Princes, yes, and apples made of gold.’
Grace heard about The Firebird and his Keys,
But fell asleep, before the tale was told.
She woke up with the first rays of the dawn,
And rubbed the grains of sand out of her eyes,
Grace opened up her mouth and gave a yawn,
And then she rushed downstairs for her surprise.

There were heaps of presents, underneath the tree,
Grandma came down, ‘Happy Christmas, Grace,’ she said,
‘Are these all mine?’  asked Grace.  ‘Are they for me?’
‘Open them,’ said Grandma.  ‘Go ahead.’

Grace tore wrapping paper into confetti,
There were loads of books and games and clothes,
A gorgeous doll – Grace smiled and called her Betty,
Toys and sweeties, lots and lots of those.

Just then, Grace heard a motorcar outside,
Her heart jumped and she hugged a teddy bear,
She looked up as the front door opened wide,
Her Mammy and her Daddy both stood there.

Her Mammy held a blanket to her chest,
Grace felt shy, from her head down to her toes,
‘Grace, come and say, Hello, to our new guest,’
Said Mammy.  ‘She’s your little sister, Rose.’

Grace stood and shuffled over for a peep,
The baby had a tiny bright pink face,
Her eyes were closed, for she was sound asleep,
But then they opened, and she looked at Grace.
Grace felt all warm and happy, deep within,
The baby was so lovely and so wee,
Grace stroked her face; Rose had the softest skin,
She was the best thing that could ever be.

Rose took Grace’s finger, and held it for a while,
Her hand was tiny, small beyond belief,
The baby gurgled; she gave Grace a smile,
Grace gasped – her little sister had no teeth!

From that day forth, Grace floated on a cloud,
Each day, she hurried straight home after school,
To play with Rose in her cot was allowed,
Grace never took her out – that was the rule.

Rose was the sweetest baby in the world,
With eyes of brilliant blue, so deep and wide,
And hair of gleaming gold, all soft and curled,
But, best of all, Rose never ever cried.

She looked at Grace, with such love in her eyes,
That every day felt like Christmas morning,
For Rose was Grace’s most special surprise,
But all that changed, without any warning.

Grace hurried home from school, one summer’s day,
Her Mam was sleeping, in the rocking chair,
She would not wake, although Grace shouted, ‘Hey!’
So Grace gave up, and left her snoozing there.
She went up to the cot in Rose’s room,
The blankets were pulled over Rose’s head,
Grace felt all strange, her heart was filled with doom,
Her stomach seemed like it had turned to lead.

Grace reached out and pulled a blanket away,
And what she saw there almost made her sick,
She wanted to get on her knees and pray,
It couldn’t be real; it must be a trick.

There was a Monster, where Rose should have been,
An Imp, with yellow teeth and puke green skin,
The ugliest Thing Grace had ever seen,
It winked at her and gave a nasty grin.

It had two little horns, growing from its head,
And wicked claws, and spiky night black hair,
Its narrow slitted eyes were bloody red,
A nappy was all that it had to wear.

Grace turned around, and ran straight down the stairs,
She shouted, ‘Mammy!’  And her Mam awoke,
Grace had no time for manners, graces, airs,
She spoke so quick, the words near made her choke.

‘Oh, Mammy, Mammy, come quick, come and see,
It’s terrible.  What’s happened is the worst,
You must, you must, you have to come with me,
Poor baby Rose can only have been cursed!
You won’t believe me, not until you see,
You’ll think I made it up in my own head,
The cruellest mischief that could ever be –
Our Rose is gone – a Monster’s there instead.’

Her Mammy yawned, and rubbed sleep from her eyes,
‘Oh, Grace,’ she said.  ‘What silly game is this?
What has you telling such outrageous lies?
Well, I’m not in the mood.  You hear me, Miss?’

Grace nodded; there was nothing she could say,
Her Mammy thought she fibbed, when she did not,
‘Come on,’ her Mammy said, and led the way,
They climbed the stairs, and went to Rose’s cot.

To Grace’s shock, her Mam showed no surprise,
Instead, she stroked the ugly Beastie’s head,
She could not see what lay before her eyes,
Grace ran to her room and sat on her bed.

Her Mammy came, the Thing held in her arms,
‘That was a naughty game to play,’ she said,
‘It’s not nice, Grace, to raise such false alarms,
I just don’t know what got into your head.’

The Beastie sniggered, Mammy did not hear,
Grace frowned, and tried to work the riddle out,
The penny dropped – her Mam could not see clear,
The Thing had cast a spell on her, no doubt.
‘Grace, for this trick, stay here, and think a while,’
Her Mammy said.  ‘I’m going to tell your Dad,’
The horrid Monster gave a fiendish smile,
But, in her heart, Grace felt so very glad.

Her Dad would see right through the Beastie’s spell,
And not be taken in by its bad tricks,
He’d make it tell where Rose had gone, as well,
For there was nothing Daddy could not fix.

So, Grace waited for what felt like ages,
Though, really, it was only just one hour,
She opened up a book, and flicked through pages,
Then, in the drive, she heard the motorcar.

She dashed downstairs, as Dad walked in the door,
He went into the lounge, before she spoke,
And picked the crawling monster from the floor,
Grace felt so bad that her poor heart near broke.

The Beastie spoke, her Dad heard, ‘Oogie-goo,’
And bounced the little monster on his knee,
Grace heard these words, and knew that they were true –
‘I’m Switch the Changeling, grown-ups can’t see me.’

Grace was inspired; she went to find a book –
The Great Big Book of Faeries, Wild and Tame,
Grace knew exactly where she had to look –
The stupid Monster had told her its name.
She flicked through A and B, then came to C,
To find a picture of the Changeling’s face,
And read, “A Changeling’s very sneaky, see,
He’s left to take a stolen baby’s place.

The baby will end up in Faerieland,
The Changeling will employ a dreadful spell,
To make the parents think that all is grand,
The charm’s a gruesome Glamour; learn this well.

For only other children see the truth,
The Faeries know – they will not be believed,
Most grown-ups have no faith, unless there’s proof,
And so, the bad escape with what they’ve thieved.

To break the Glamour, there is just one way –
The baby must be rescued and brought back,
And that’s a very scary game to play,
Involving Dark Lord Oberon the Black.

Of all the wicked Faeries, he’s the worst,
The babe will be in his Black Citadel,
An evil place, so terrible and cursed,
Some folks say it is right next door to Hell.

And if the babe’s not found within a week,
Alas, the child can never be returned,
But will stay lost, however hard you seek,
Into a Goblin, that babe will be turned.”
Grace closed the book and set it on the shelf,
Her Mammy called; Grace went down for her tea,
‘Grace, what have you got to say for yourself?’
Her Daddy asked, Grace told him she was sorry.

Grace ate her dinner, then she went upstairs,
And lay in bed, but could not fall asleep,
She tossed and turned, and thought of all her cares,
She felt so bad for Rose; it made her weep.

Grace thought about the baby, all alone,
Whatever dark place she’d been taken to,
Grace shivered, she felt cold down to the bone,
She dreaded what she knew she had to do.

For no one else could rescue baby Rose,
It was not hard for Grace to understand –
The task was hers, but one drawback arose:
She did not know the way to Faerieland.

Her Grandma Nell would surely know the way,
But it was much too late for Grace to call,
So, Grace resolved to visit the next day,
And fell asleep then, curled up in a ball.

Next morning, Grace rose early as a bird,
There was no school, for it was Saturday,
She wolfed her breakfast down, without a word,
Then asked her Mam, ‘May I go out to play?’
Her Mammy nodded, Grace went out the door,
And ran, fast as she could, to Grandma Nell’s,
She walked right in; the tears began to pour,
Then Grandma heard the tale Grace had to tell.

When Grace had finished, Grandma hugged her tight,
‘Poor Rose,’ she said.  ‘She must be saved by you,
It’s far from fair, wee love, it isn’t right,
Still, I can help with what you have to do.

I walked in Faerieland, long, long ago,
The Realm of Endless Twilight, I have seen,
I’ll tell that tale some time, but not now, no,
Enough to say, I met the Faerie Queen.

Titania, that is what she is called,
And she rules over all Good Faerie Folk,
Her palace is a marvel, golden-walled,
Without her aid, the Glamour can’t be broke.

The first thing you must know, Grace, right away,
Is how to make your way to Faerieland,
We need to find a Faerie Hill, okay?
I only pray that one lies near at hand.

It has to be a mound all on its own,
Rising tall and proud from some green lea,
And, at its top, we need a standing stone,
Or else a solitary rowan tree.
A hawthorn tree would also do the trick,
For both have berries red and flowers white,
There’s little time, we have to find one quick
We need a full moon, and one shines tonight.

The door won’t open any other time,
And can’t be done with any kind of key,
But when it is, a bell will start to chime,
And then, you must go through it without me.

For adults cannot visit Faerieland,
The place has many rules, and that’s just one,
Grown-up imaginations are too bland,
While children’s minds are always full of fun.’

Grace had been thinking hard, as Grandma spoke,
‘I know a place, just like what you have said,
Behind my school,’ said Grace.  ‘And that’s no joke,
There is a tree with berries of bright red.’

‘That’s marvellous,’ cried Grandma.  ‘Brilliant, Grace,
It will make things much easier for you,
But, still, before we venture to that place,
You’ll need to know about the Faeries too.

Just like people, there are good ones and bad,
Though mischief and magic, by all are used,
They’ll try their best to trick you, I should add,
To make you feel uncertain and confused.
But there are ways to beat a Faerie charm,
I have three gifts, to help you, Grace, with that,
And, if you’re wise, they’ll keep you safe from harm,
You’ll get them when we’ve had this little chat.

Now, I’ve said there’s a door you must go through,
You’ll find a stair that winds down underground,
Then you will have to pass three tests, it’s true,
Before the Realm of Twilight can be found.

I cannot say just what those trials might be,
But I can tell you this – they will be hard,
Each person faces different fears, you see,
And you won’t have a chance, if you’re a coward.

I know you’re brave, though, Grace, so you’ll be grand,
And when the first part of your journey ends,
You’ll find the Golden Road through Faerieland,
That winds its way with many turns and bends.

Now, this is most important, please take heed –
No matter what, you must stay on that Road,
For, if you stray, then you cannot succeed,
You’ll end up lost, or turned into a toad.

Don’t worry, though, the Road is very wide,
And then, a special friend will come to you,
Your diligent and helpful Faerie Guide,
Whatever happens, your Guide will stay true.
Just what your Guide will be, Grace, I can’t say,
A golden ball of light, an owl, a horse,
A Dryad or a fox, to lead the way,
And make sure that you never stray off course.

So, to your Guide, you have to say these words –
By Holy Saint Patrick, twinkle these toes,
And let us fly, as swift and free as birds,
To take me to my baby sister, Rose.

There are two more rules that you must obey:
Grace, never fall asleep, here what I say,
Or evermore in Faerieland you’ll stay,
For when you wake, you’ll be one of the Fey.

A Pixie or a Sprite, perhaps an Elf,
You’ll change while you are dreaming, unaware,
Become no longer Grace; you’ll lose yourself,
And as for Rose’s fate, Grace, you won’t care.

The other rule that you can never break;
Grace, you must never taste the Faeries’ food,
A drink from Faerie streams, you cannot take,
And eat no fruit picked in a Faerie wood.

No matter what, Grace, never make that choice,
For very quickly, you would fade away,
Till you were just a disembodied voice,
A Spirit with no body, sad and grey.
The kind of Thing some people call a Ghost,
And if you then left Faerieland behind,
You’d wander evermore, unseen by most,
For to such things, folks tend to be quite blind.

And you might wail and mutter, howl and moan,
But anyone you came near, you would scare,
You would be doomed to linger, all alone,
Your fate would be too terrible to bear.

So, you should never eat or sleep or drink,
And take no gift the Faeries offer you,
Grace, if you’re tempted, you must stop and think,
For there’s always a price to pay, it’s true.

The Faeries, good and bad, love trickery,
And they will seek to keep you in their land,
So, they will deal with you deceitfully,
Employing tactics that are underhand.

I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you, my dear,
With these dire warnings I have given here,
But there are many things that you should fear,
Within the Twilight Realm, Grace, is that clear?’

Grace nodded; she knew what her Grandma meant,
Yet, while she could not help but feel concern,
Upon one thing, her heart and mind were bent:
To rescue Rose and see her safe return.
Then, to her kitchen, Grace’s Grandma went,
And with a small, red knapsack soon came back,
She reached inside and Grace looked on, intent,
At what her Grandma took out of the pack.

A stone, a horseshoe and a crucifix,
‘These are the things you’ll need, Grace,’ Grandma said,
To safeguard you from Faerie spells and tricks,
I’ll tell you what they’re for.’  Grace nodded her head.

‘Of solid iron, this horseshoe has been made,
And Faerie Folk don’t like iron very much,
It’s deadlier to them than any blade –
Iron turns them into smoke with just one touch.

See, Grace, all Faeries are spirit creatures,
God cast them out of Heaven, long ago,
I doubt that you’ve been taught this by your teachers,
Perhaps, it’s something even they don’t know.

Not long after mankind was created,
There was an Angel called The Bringer of Light,
Who loved God, his Father, but humans he hated,
With all of his heart and all of his might.

The reason for his rage was jealousy,
For God gave man a precious gift one day –
Free will, to be what they wanted to be,
So, man could choose, but Angels can only obey.
The Lightbringer gathered Angels to his side,
They sought to cast down God and take His Throne,
War raged through all of Heaven, far and wide,
The Rebels fell, their leader stood alone.

Michael the Archangel, God’s sword and shield,
Fought against the proud, rebellious one,
Who could not win, but still refused to yield,
For there was nowhere left for him to run.

At last, Archangel Michael threw him down,
God spoke, and all the Rebel Angels fell,
The Lightbringer, and those who raised his crown,
Forevermore were damned to fiery Hell.

That was the judgment of the Lord on High,
For those who dared to question His design:
Eternal pain; for Angels never die,
But those who fell were no longer divine.

Those Angels who stayed loyal, their hurts were healed,
God promised, He would love them evermore,
And from their eyes, no truth would be concealed,
For they would guard the hearts of men, God swore.

There was another group of Angels still –
The ones who chose to run away or hide,
When the Proud One sought to impose his dark will,
Unlike the brave, who stood firm, these ones stood aside.
They had sinned; their behaviour had been base,
Too low for Heaven, yet too high for Hell,
The Craven Ones went to another place:
The Twilight Realm, where all is but a spell.

Those beings were made of spirit and light,
No longer could they keep their Angels’ wings,
So, they took different shapes, as was their right,
Fauns and Nymphs and many other things.

Illusory and immaterial,
True substance, really, Faerie Folk have none,
And so, because they are incorporeal,
One touch of iron, and they become undone.

To stop the Faeries entering your home,
A horseshoe at the door will make them run,
And keep them from your garden with a Gnome,
They’ll stay away, because Gnomes are no fun.

You play the same trick, Grace, at Halloween,
And dress up when Bad Faeries stalk the night,
They think you’re one of them when you are seen,
Which keeps you safe from Boggart, Troll and Wight.’

Grace rubbed her eyes and gave a great big yawn,
Her Grandma really, really loved to talk,
But sometimes seemed to just go on and on,
Grace said, ‘Gran, can we go out for a walk?’
‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,’ said her Gran,
‘You must be sick and tired of hearing me moan,
I’ll explain the rest as quick as I can:
You’ll be safe from spells with this Faerie Stone.’

Grace noticed that the stone looked like a ring –
Right in its very centre was a hole,
Then Gran said, ‘Grace, this stone’s a precious thing,
I think that you’ll need it to reach your goal.

For when you find yourself in Faerieland,
There may be times when you feel confusion,
But if you hold this stone tight in your hand,
Then you’ll see right through any illusion.

You’ll also need to wear this crucifix,
Its magic’s strong, but only works one time,
To beat the Wicked Ones at their own tricks,
Just close your eyes and say this little rhyme:

By Holy Saint Patrick’s divine Trinity,
Don’t let the Wicked Ones this Seeker see,
Cloak me now with invisibility,
Don’t let those Bad Faeries capture me.

Grace, also in this bag, there’s Lucozade,
An apple, some cookies – chocolate chip,
And peanut butter sandwiches I made,
Because you will get hungry on your trip.’
Grace said, ‘Gran, I can’t eat in Faerieland,
You told me so yourself, a while ago,’
‘No, Grace,’ said Grandma.  ‘What I give you’s grand,
It’s Faerie food that’s bound to lay you low.’

Grace put the cross round her neck on its chain,
The stone went in the pocket of her jeans,
She placed the horseshoe in the pack again,
Then slipped it on, and jumped up, full of beans.

‘Grandma,’ she said.  ‘It must be time to go,
I simply cannot wait here any more!’
Her Grandma smiled and said, ‘Yes, Grace, I know,’
Together, then, they both went out the door.

They soon came to the gates of Grace’s school,
It wasn’t far away – just half a mile,
The sun was going down, the air was cool,
They went into a field over a stile.

In the centre of that field stood the hill,
Respectful silence gathered all around,
No birds were singing, everything was still,
The pair went to the bottom of the mound.

The sun sank down in flame – red, purple, gold,
The moon gleamed ghostly in the twilight sky,
And then, of Grace’s hand, her Gran took hold,
To lead her round the hill, explaining why:
‘Nine times, we have to walk, a-widdershins,
Or anti-clockwise, moving East to West,
Just like the world, as round the sun it spins,
When that’s done, there’ll be no time for a rest.

You see the hawthorn tree that stands up there?
A bell will ring, and a door will open in its bole,
Then, Grace, you’ll have to run, swift as a hare –
Pass through that door before the bell’s last toll.’

Grace counted while her Gran spoke – one and two,
Another turn, one more, then – three and four,
Faint stars shone in the sky of deepest blue,
But in the tree, Grace could not see a door.

They walked on without speaking – five and six,
‘Not long now, Grace,’ said Gran, next time around,
And then there was a noise like breaking sticks,
Grace looked up at the hawthorn at that sound.

She saw an outline in its trunk: bright green,
Pouring through the cracks, but the door stayed shut,
At eight, the door’s shape clearly could be seen,
Grace felt a funny flutter in her gut.

Then came nine – one heartbeat, all was still,
And then, there was a loud, almighty DONG!
Grace startled and she set off up the hill,
She saw the door swing open, and ran on.
Grace counted, though each knell made her head reel,
Nine, ten, eleven times, that great bell rang,
The door began to close at the twelfth peal,
Grace leaped – it slammed behind her with a BANG!

Before her stretched a narrow corridor,
The walls were damp brown earth – they gave Grace squirms,
They shone with sick-green light, and what is more,
All round her, there were spiders, bugs and worms.

Grace turned right round and saw the door was gone!
Instead, more muck and creepy crawlies there,
Grace made a face, then quickly hurried on,
And soon came to a winding wooden stair.

She made her way down, round and round and round,
So many times, Grace thought that she would swoon,
At last, she set her feet on level ground –
A passage of white stone, pale as the moon.

Grace followed that, as it sloped ever down,
The walls were very cold and smooth as glass,
She shivered, and her face set in a frown,
Then she came to a great door made of brass.

It was not locked; Grace pushed it open wide,
And peered beyond, but all she saw was black,
She took a deep breath, then she stepped inside,
And jumped when that door went CLANG! at her back.
Then brilliant bright white light shone all around,
Grace saw that she stood in a massive cave,
There was a gaping fissure in the ground,
Grace walked across and looked down – she was brave.

That chasm was deeper than any well,
It went down so far, Grace could not see its end,
For all that she knew, it led straight to Hell,
There was no way on Earth she could descend.

There did not seem to be a way across,
No bridge to span that chasm broad and deep,
Grace felt despondent, she was at a loss,
The gap was much too wide for her to leap.

Grace lost her temper – this just was not fair!
She kicked a stone – it was not on at all!
The rock she kicked just stopped on empty air,
It should have dropped straight down, but did not fall.

The stone defied the laws of gravity,
That made no sense, Grace could not understand,
She looked down at her feet and she could see,
The ground she stood on was all strewn with sand.

Then inspiration struck and made Grace smile:
A way to see what supported the rock,
Grace gathered sand, until she had a pile,
Then threw it; when it fell, she got a shock.
Those grains of sand pattered when they landed -
There was an unseen bridge before her eyes,
A way across; she was no longer stranded,
Grace saw right through the magical disguise.

Invisible to her, it might have been,
But clever Grace just tossed more sandy grains,
Till all the bridge’s surface could be seen,
And thus, she was rewarded for her pains.

It made her dizzy, that peculiar sight –
The strip of sand stretched to the other side,
What crossed her mind then gave Grace quite a fright,
Heights frightened her so much, she could have cried.

She had to cross that insubstantial span,
And that would be like walking on thin air,
Her blood went cold, like ice in her, it ran,
There was no other way; she had to dare.

Grace wished that she could simply close her eyes,
Then run across, without once looking down,
But that would be quite silly and unwise,
She might fall off; her face creased in a frown.

Her heart told Grace there was no other way,
She took a breath and walked up to the edge,
Forever, where she stood, Grace could not stay,
She sobbed and took her first step off the ledge.
At that moment, a wooden bridge appeared,
The magic was dispelled, Grace laughed aloud,
With courage, she had conquered what she feared,
Grace felt all warm inside and very proud.

She dashed across the bridge, then, just in case,
For it might vanish, swift as it was found,
Grace ran like wind or horses in a race,
Until her feet were back on solid ground.

She turned around – the bridge was gone again,
A breeze came then, and blew the sand away,
Till none was left there, not a single grain,
No hint or clue to show where that bridge lay.

Grace did not care, for she had passed the test,
She saw – another tunnel ran ahead,
Grace took the next step on her sacred Quest,
To rescue Rose and bring her home to bed.

The passage ended at another door –
A silver one that shone, bright as a pin,
And stood much taller than the one before,
Grace pushed it open, then she walked straight in.

Once more, all round her, it was black as night,
Grace waited, patient, but the dark remained,
She reached to touch the wall upon her right,
And then walked on, but still the darkness reigned.
Then far off, up ahead, she saw a light,
Grace rubbed her eyes – it seemed to sway and dance,
Still, there was nothing worse than endless night,
Grace shuffled onwards, almost in a trance.

As she came close, Grace saw the light was flame -
A wall of fire filled up the passageway,
Grace quickly guessed the tricky Faeries’ game:
And walked up to where that inferno lay.

Yet, even very close, Grace felt no heat,
The flames were just another Faerie spell,
From mere illusion, Grace would not retreat,
She took a breath and walked right into Hell.

The wall of flame just vanished in a blink,
Grace knew that, once again, she had been tested,
Which made her stop a moment, then, and think –
With courage, any trial could be bested.

Not far ahead, another great door stood,
Of purest gold, much bigger than the last,
And as she pushed it open, Grace felt good,
For of three trials, already, two were passed.

Where Grace expected darkness one more time,
Instead she saw soft light as bright as day,
And many stone steps that she had to climb,
Grace set herself to that, without delay.
Before long, she reached the top of the stairs,
Grace was excited by what she saw there:
After all of her torments and scares,
The tunnel ran out into open air.

Just one more cavern she had to traverse,
And, of that dark passage, she would be free,
Then, she smelled something, like stale farts, no, worse,
The source of that foul reek, she had to see.

So, Grace walked on, across that open space,
And then she saw a stream of thick dark mud,
The smell got worse and she scrunched up her face,
And then, the penny dropped  - that stream was blood!

It ran right through the middle of the cave,
It was too broad to leap; Grace had no rope,
She’d have to wade across – though she was brave,
Her heart quailed and she almost gave up hope.

Then she thought it was just a Faerie prank,
Another trick designed to catch her out,
Grace dipped a finger in that river rank:
The blood was real, of that she had no doubt.

Grace wondered whether that red stream was deep,
It mattered not, she’d come too far to quit,
She longed to curl up in a ball and weep,
Disgusted loathing made her want to spit.
Grace sat down at the edge and held her nose,
Then slipped her feet in, it felt very cold,
She thought about her baby sister, Rose,
Determination made Grace feel more bold.

She stood – the river reached up to her knees,
Grace waded on and tried hard not to breathe,
She felt so cold; she thought her heart would freeze,
The stink got worse; it made her want to heave.

Then Grace felt something brush against her shin,
She stumbled forward and she almost fell,
The stink got stronger, it made her head spin,
It was the worst thing ever, that foul smell.

Grace hurried on towards the other side,
A noise behind her made her turn and look,
She had to get away; she could not hide,
Grace waded on and left that bloody brook.

As soon as she stepped onto solid ground,
She felt warm once again and she was dry,
Grace was confused, and so, she turned around,
To see – the stream had gone, and she guessed why.

Another Faerie trick, it must have been,
With magic stronger than the other two,
Still, not one had been real, as she had seen,
In Faerieland, it seemed, nothing was true. 
Grace walked outside and entered Faerieland,
Before her, steps led to a winding road,
Smooth and broad and gold and very grand,
Through hills and dales and fields that fair way flowed.

The land was gorgeous – colourful and bright,
More vivid than a vision or a dream,
It seemed to glow with energy and light,
And over all there was a lovely gleam.

The sky up above looked just like honey,
Clear and gold, there were no clouds, no sun,
Then Grace noticed something rather funny,
There were no shadows, not a single one.

The air was sweet and warm; there was no breeze,
And everything was very quiet and still,
There was a wood of rainbow-painted trees,
But Grace could see no further from the hill.

Behind her, Grace saw, lay a tower of stone,
Round and white, with only one way in,
The way back home – she could not go alone,
To come so far then leave would be a sin.

Grace went down the steps and onto the path,
Then could not move, for she was paralysed,
And by her ear, she heard a merry laugh,
A girl appeared and Grace was so surprised.

(To be continued...)