The Frivolity Fairies - A Christmas Short Story

The Frivolity Fairies

  by Jo Michaels

  Copyright © 2014 Jo Michaels

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be copied or re-distributed in any way. Author holds all copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction and does not represent any individual living or dead.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Jo Michaels

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  ***

  Christmas Eve – 2014

  “Once upon a time, in the very city we live in, there was a little girl, with auburn hair and blue eyes, named Shirley.”

  My mother always began her Christmas Eve story the same way, and I always got goose bumps when she described the little girl like me—even giving her my first name. I knew, at age thirteen, I was too old for bedtime stories—or tales about fairies—but I never would’ve let my Mom know that. I think she enjoyed spinning her crazy yarn as much as I liked hearing it. That night was no different, and I was eager for her to get going. Giving my arms a firm rub, I sat up in bed and leaned forward so I could hear her better.

  Now, this little girl was very well behaved. She always did what her parents told her, and never did she have to be punished or scolded.

  One night, the year she turned six, as her mother tucked the child into bed and kissed her forehead, she asked, “Mommy, can I stay up late and try to catch Santa Claus?” This question the child had asked every year since she turned three, and every year her mother answered the same way: “You’re not old enough yet. Maybe next year.” Then, she’d kiss the little girl again, tiptoe out, and close the door.

  But this year the door didn’t latch, and it swung back open just a crack.

  A thrill shot through me as I anticipated what would happen next.

  Her mother didn’t seem to notice, and neither did the little girl. She snuggled up to her teddy bear and closed her eyes.

  Late that night, she woke up and clutched her pillow. Voices, like bells on a glockenspiel, bounced around the room. They were so low she had to hold perfectly still; lest the rustling of her pillowcase drown out the sound.

  “Put that back! Take the red one!”

  I chuckled when my mom’s voice imitated that of a fairy, and my mouth moved in sync with her next words.

  “No. I want the green one.”

  We smiled at one another.

  Curious then, her fear dripping away like raindrops from a rooftop, the little girl released her pillow, crawled to the end of the bed, and lifted her eyes over the footboard.

  Two fairies were standing on the small tea table in the corner, but Shirley could only see one of them clearly. That one had on a short, purple dress that looked to be made of dragonsnap petals, had shimmering yellow wings, and was graced with golden hair that fell in tight curls to her waist, adored with a sparkly clip at the nape of her neck. She was holding a green gumdrop in the shape of a poinsettia leaf, and her eyebrows were drawn together; her tiny mouth turned down at the corners.

  With a regal air, the second fairy had an arm extended and a finger pointed at the first. “I said, take the red one, Flita!” This command tinkled through the air, but was filled with authority.

  Shirley rose a little higher for a better view of the small creatures.

  When Flita stomped her itty bitty foot, Shirley covered her mouth with her hand and pressed her lips together. The yellow haired creature pursed her miniscule lips. “I want the green one. They taste better than the red ones, and they’re lighter, too.”

  Each of the fairies was surrounded by white light, but at Flita’s statement, the other fairy’s light turned pink. She rose an inch or so in the air, teacup in hand, and dumped the contents over Flita’s head.

  I laughed; my breath coming in ragged gasps as I imagined the tiny creatures acting out the scene.

  Mom was chuckling, too. “Okay, okay. We’ll never get through the story at this rate.”

  Tears of mirth streamed down my face and I clutched my sides. Knowing my mom was right, I covered my face with my hands and tried to take in long gulps of air to calm myself. “Go on. I’m okay. I can hear you.”

  Letting out one more snort, she continued.

  You can imagine the little girl’s reaction; it was much like your own. By the time she stopped giggling, the fairies had disappeared from sight. She rubbed her eyes with small fists and climbed out of bed to look underneath. Her long nightgown brushed the tops of her toes when she bent over, and she giggled again at the tickly feeling.

  Under the bed, white lights were shining from the far corner. Shirley lay down on the floor and stuck her head into the space.

  Flita and the other fairy were pushing at one another.

  “I told you to be quiet. You woke her up! Now we’ll have to spend all night hiding.”

  Flita put her hands on her hips. “It wasn’t me. It was all the ‘take this and don’t take that because I don’t like it’ Bossy McBosserson you were doing.”

  Shirley smiled and greeted them. “Hello. What are you?”

  Flita turned around and stuck out her arm. “Look what you did. Now she’s found us. How will we explain this to Queen Remenditia?”

  In answer, the other fairy moved closer and came into full view. Her dress was made of baby blue cornflower petals and fell all the way to the floor. It flowed like a viscous liquid around orange wings, and her head was graced with a short, black hairdo that stuck up in a million directions. Eyes that matched her dress twinkled when she smiled. “Hello. We’re fairies. Sorry to wake you.”

  “I didn’t think there were really such things as fairies! I’m happy to meet you both.”

  Crossing one foot behind the other, and holding the flower petal dress out to each side, the fairy bowed. “I’m Hyacant and this is Flita. We’re very pleased to meet you, too.”

  Flita crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you gone crazy? We’re not supposed to be talking to her. She wasn’t even supposed to see us.”

  “It’s fine. We can play with her for a little while, and then put her back to sleep. Our Queen will be very pleased.” Hyacant smiled at her friend and gave a nod and a wink.

  This seemed to spark something because Flita dropped her arms, and a big smile slowly appeared on her face, too.

  Both fairies walked toward Shirley slowly—like they were approaching a wild animal—with hands extended and cautious steps forward.

  Shirley giggled. “I’m not going to hurt you, silly fairies. What did you mean when you said you would play with me?”

  Hyacant paused and then doubled over with laughter; her tinkling sound echoing in the small space. She shook her wings out, stood up tall, and bowed again, with a sweep of her hand. “We’re the frivolity fairies. We have so much fun on Christmas Eve! Will you join us in our games?”

  Shirley nodded and clapped her chubby hands.

  My heart thudded in my chest so loud, I was sure Mom could hear it. I knew what trouble little Shirley was about to get into, and I hated that I couldn’t warn her. Every year it was the same for me: I’d laugh at the fairy’s antics, then grow afraid for the child as I listened to her demise unfold. I shivered.

  “Do you need me to stop now?” Mom asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Go on. I’m fine, Mama.”

  She nodded. “Okay, well…
”

  Shirley and the fairies crept from her room, Flita carrying the green gumdrop—that was covered in dust bunnies from being under the bed—beneath her arm. They snuck into the living room where the Christmas tree was all lit up and went straight for the plate of cookies left out for Santa.

  Shirley paused when the two fairies flitted up to the table and perched on the peanut butter treats. A moment passed where she wondered if she shouldn’t just return to bed, rather than take part in eating the food left out for Santa; but she heard the noises of delight from the tiny creatures and forced her feet to move toward the plate. She lifted a cookie and sniffed it before stuffing it in her mouth and biting down.

  Flita and Hyacant were wiping their hands and gazing around the room.

  “Oh! That!” Flita exclaimed, pointing a finger in the direction of the tree.

  Both fairies hastened in the direction of the evergreen and disappeared between the needle laden branches.

  Looking down at Santa’s plate and finding only crumbs left, Shirley’s eyes filled with tears. Santa would have no cookies, and she knew she’d be in big trouble if her parents found out she was the one who’d eaten the chewy treats. Wiping her eyes, she made up her mind that, if asked, she’d lie.

  This was always the part where Mom would stop talking and take a deep breath; as though she was thinking about how easily influenced children were when bad behavior meant fun. That year, she didn’t stop, blink, or gaze at me like she was worried. She just went on.

  Crash! One of the ornaments fell off the tree and shattered across the wood floor, causing Shirley to freeze in place and hold her breath. Tinkling sounds echoed out of the tree. She was horrified to think the fairies might be laughing at what could turn out to be a disaster.

  But her parents didn’t come flying down the stairs like she thought they would. Only the bells of mirth remained. A broken piece winked up at her, displaying the number two. Anger took over when she remembered the ornament was one her mother had put on the tree the previous year as a reminder of how long they’d lived in the house. Shirley stomped her foot and crossed her arms. “Why are you laughing? You broke something!”

  Visible between branches, Flita’s little face scrunched up. “You’re no fun. We just dropped it. It was an accident.”

  My fingers curled around the sheets. In my head, I whispered to the child: “No, don’t do it. You know better. You’re a good girl.”

  Shirley lowered her eyes to the floor, looking over the broken bit of memory. She certainly didn’t want to be thought of as being no fun. Her stomach hurt, and her legs folded under her, dropping her on her bottom. Still, she stared at the mess.

  Hyacant buzzed over. “We’re really sorry. It was an accident. Let’s forget about it and play. We can fix it.” She put a tiny hand on Shirley’s shoulder.

  In that moment, she thought the petite woman was being sincere, and it brought a smile back. Until Shirley remembered the empty plate of cookies. “But we ate all Santa’s cookies!” Again, fear of not knowing what her parents would do to her took hold. “What do we do? My mommy and daddy will be very mad.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t get in trouble.”

  Now, had she been older, she might’ve asked why or how. But, since she was just six, and an adult looking person was telling her she’d be okay, she only asked one more question: “Are you sure?”

  Hyacant nodded and gave the child a huge smile. “I promise.”

  At peace, Shirley let all her worries fall away and leapt to her feet to play with her new friends. They threw baubles off the tree, opened presents—which she wasn’t sure about doing until the fairies promised they’d rewrap them and no one would know—and the three ate the pie, cookies, and other Christmas Day goodies found in the fridge.

  She laughed and tumbled backward on the couch. “Wow. That was fun! You guys are great. No one is ever gonna believe me when I say I met fairies.” Her good mood faded when she heard feet hit the floor upstairs and saw light dappling the curtains. “My mommy!”

  Flita and Hyacant were whispering to each other.

  “Guys! My mommy and daddy are coming! What do we do? We don’t have time to clean up!” Shirley’s heart was racing and tears were careening down her face.

  After a moment, the fairies flew over, took her hands, and began to chant.

  Wind whipped through the space, lifting her hair straight up over her head, blurring the room.

  “What’s happening?” she screamed.