A Story about a Faerie Door

A story about a Faerie Door

My friend and I were out touring these little gifty stores that are so popular in those small towns that have no other purpose than to line the streets with these little gifty stores.

I’m not much for gift stores to begin with, and heavens spare me the cutesy fantasy stores.  My friend, however, who believes in angels, and faeries, or the wee folk as she calls them, was absolutely thrilled to come upon this little shop that had all kinds of such things.  She made me go in with her despite my offer to wait outside so that she could browse to her hearts content.

“Nooo, come in.  You’ll love it” she insisted.  She obviously doesn’t know me very well.  With a shrug of indifference I allowed myself to be dragged, literally, she had my wrist in a death grip as if fearing that if she let me go I would turn and run.  I don’t run, it’s too much work, but I might have walked really fast.

Anyhow, we entered this “whimsical” store.  My friend was so taken with all the items, but her favourite ones were faerie related.  “Oh look” she ooohd.  They have faerie doors. 

“Fairy what?”  I asked in an irritated/snarky kind of voice.  In my defense, I was getting a little tired.  I’m not a shopper.  Give me the outdoors and I’m as happy as can be.  Being an introvert, hanging out at  home in my backyard is ideal  for me.  A tall glass of something good to drink and a good book to read, sitting in the shade of my old tree are the things that really make me totally satisfied with life.

“Let’s get a faerie door for you!” My friend enthusiastically said.

“What...?  What?  You’re kidding, right.  What would I do with it?”  Panic coming through loud and clear.  When my friend has a mission in life, there is no stopping her.  If she thought I needed a fairy door, I was getting a fairy door. 

“Oh honey, you have such a beautiful yard, set it by the tree trunk, or into the bushes and give the faeries a home.”

What! No, no way uh huh. 

“Yes, it would be perfect in your yard.  Just use your imagination.  A door like this would draw the faeries.  It’s good to befriend the wee folk” Yep, there was that brightly demented gleam in her eye that meant that she was going to get her way.

“I live in a condo complex in Canada, not in a small village in Ireland.  What fairy would want to live in a condo complex .  Oh my God, now you’ve got me talking this foolishness.  NO, no fairy doors.  And by the way, why do you say faeries instead of fairies?  Isn’t that a little over the top?”

My friend laughed, told me that this was my birthday present (even though my birthday was not for several months) and bought me a fairy door.  I refuse to say faerie.

As the shop keeper made the sale, he looked me squarely in the eye, and said that I was to respect the faeries and occasionally leave them treats.  The wee folk liked being appreciated.  And you really did not want to get on the bad side of the wee folk.  I thought that kinda sounded like the Mafia.

Great, I was going to have a portal to Mafia fairies.  My friend did not see the cynical humour of this. 

Despite my protests, the fairy door was placed up in the tree in the crook of a branch.  It seemed to fit there without the need of fasteners, which my friend was convinced had significant meaning.  “Big deal” was what I said.

Secretly, I did have to admit that it kinda looked good there.  It was rustic and looked like it had been around for a 100 years.  I guess it did not damage the zen like feel of my backyard domain. 

I like my backyard.  It has a shade tree, flowers and shrubs, herbs and rocks and a small water fountain.  It has a birdbath made of concrete that I had found for a really good price.  The birds are grateful, since they drink out of  and frequently bathe in that birdbath. 

I love going out there and sitting by the tree, listening to the wind rustle through the leaves. Peaceful.

A couple of days after the fairy door was added to my back yard, I happened to be by the tree tidying up a scruffy flower bed.  Have you ever had the experience that your familiar surrounding is suddenly not so familiar.  Like you walk into a room and you sense something different and later find out that the walls have been repainted, or the furniture moved.  Or even, that something is not laying it it’s usual place. 

I had that feeling, plus the hair on the back of my neck was standing up.  I straightened up and looked around my little condo yard.  Everything seemed fine.  Nothing unusual.  I’d even gotten used to that make-believe fairy door being there. I shrugged to myself and returned to the weeding.  Suddenly, I knew, I just knew, that someone or something was there, right...behind...me.  I sprang up and twirled around bug eyed looking left and right and back to left again trying to spot...what?  I’m not sure what I was looking for, something that I felt had been near me, watching me.  Great, now I was creeping myself out.

I glanced at the fairy door and wondered if....”naw, stop it, you’re really creeping yourself out.” I muttered, my desire to garden evaporating.

Went into the house for something cool to drink.  As I was sipping my water, I let my gaze wander around the yard.  I like my yard.  It’s not big.  But it’s pretty.  The shrubs, the flowers in their pots, the arch with the clematis on it, the old tree.  I was even starting to like the looks of that fairy door.  It did look like it belonged in that very spot.  I was warming up to this thought when in  mid-swallow of my water  I saw a brilliant flash of light appear from behind the small door.  I inhaled water and produced the mother of all coughing fits.  What the hell....

I stepped out and approached the tree staring intently at the fairy door.  What had caused the flash.  A trick of light?  Solar flare?  Eyes going funny?  I stared and stared with the intensity of a cat at a mousehole, but saw no other flash of light or anything else unusual.  I gave my head a shake, chuckled to myself, and then felt self-conscious for chuckling to myself, and turned to walk back into the house.

I felt something brush my cheek, jumped and frantically  swatted at whatever had touched me.  Looked around.  There was nothing.  OK, Carol, now you’re losing it.  I said under my breath.  Despite myself I glanced at the fairy door.  It just sat there, inanimate, innocent.  And yet, something inside me, my body’s cells were all pointing at it saying, “there be faeries”

Rrrrriiiight.

Over the years, the faerie door has remained in that old tree.  It has weathered storms, felt the chill of snow, baked in the heat.  Occasionally I have sensed...something there.  No, I never saw tinkerbell, did not hear the tinkle of faerie  laughter, and yet, my flower bed by the tree has looked better and better each year.  Hell, the tree itself, which was never that healthy looking has grown new leaves, and it doesn’t seem to have as many dead branches.  Sometimes, my dishwasher is emptied out and I KNOW that I didn’t empty it, nor did my husband and I don’t even bother asking my teenager if she emptied it, I’d be further ahead actually believing in faeries.

And sometimes, in the evening,  when no one’s looking, because I would feel really foolish if I was caught,  I leave a little piece of cake or candy by the faerie door.  Just in case.

And the next day it’s gone.  I’ve either got well fed faeries, or the squirrels and birds are enjoying gourmet treats.

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