There are two stories on this page:
The Zombie in the Basement and The Doll Makers
THE ZOMBIE IN THE BASEMENT
By Donald H Sullivan
Wally looked up at the barred windows of the old prison as he followed the other two boys, Mark and Randy, along the crumbling walkway leading into the abandoned institution. They had entered the grounds through one of several holes in the chain link fence, cut by homeless people who were using the old building for shelter.
The state planned to eventually renovate and use the old prison building for another facility, but for now the homeless had taken over.
Wally looked up at the darkening sky. "It's gonna rain, guys."
"Good," said Mark, "maybe it'll cool off a little."
"Won't matter when we get to the basement," said Randy, "they say it's cool all the time down there."
Mark, thirteen, was the oldest of the three, and it had been his idea to explore the basements of the old abandoned prison. Randy, Mark's younger brother at eleven, always agreed with Mark, so naturally went along with the idea. Wally, a year younger than Mark, didn't like the idea, but after some teasing and coaxing by the other two finally gave in.
Wally shuddered as he thought of the basements. They were a maze of chambers, once used as maintenance facilities for the prison, workshops for the prisoners to make license plates and other items, and solitary confinement cells.
An old homeless man from Haiti had once used the old prison for shelter. It was rumored that he was a Voodoo practitioner and had used the underground to make zombies of some of the homeless people who had died. Most people were skeptical of the rumor, but Wally wasn't sure what to believe.
The sky grew darker, and gusts of wind picked up and tossed trash that littered the prison grounds. Wally brushed away a plastic bag that had blown against his face.
Wally followed the other two into the building. Because of the dark clouds outside, it was nearly as dark as night inside the building.
Mark, who had several times entered the building with his older cousin, led them through the building. He led them through hallways, past cells, and through what had been a dining hall. The place was dank and smelled of mold and urine. Mark had never been to the basements, but he knew how to get to the stairwell leading down there.
Wally jumped as a voice sounded from the darkness. "Where you boys think you're going?"
A skinny old man in a tattered tee shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap showed himself. He grinned, showing the three remaining teeth in his head. "Better get your asses outta here. This ain't no place for fun and games."
Mark spoke up. "It's none of your business, dude. We got as much right in here as you or anybody."
The grin disappeared from the old man's bewhiskered face. "There's places in here that's to be avoided. If you don't know the place, you can get in trouble. Stay here and roam around, but if you meet up with strange things, don't say I didn't warn you."
"You can't scare us," said Mark. He held his head up defiantly. "For your information, we're going down to the basement."
"Are you nuts? There's things down there that ain't natural. There's zombies down there. Corpses that ain't dead. They hibernate down there in the pitch dark, but wake up when they smell the warm flesh of living creatures. They feast on whatever living thing that goes down there, even people." He grinned again. "You boys wanna be their next meal?"
Mark laughed. "You don't scare me, old man." He looked at Randy and Wally. "The old dude scare you guys?"
Randy sneered. "Yeah, I'm about to pee in my pants."
Wally said nothing, but was having thoughts about backing out. He didn't know why he was hanging out with these two, anyway. They were always getting into trouble. Mark smoked cigarettes, and now Randy was taking up the habit. Sometimes, the two of them would get drunk on cheap wine.
"Hey, dude, we'll bring you back a zombie," said Mark, as he walked away from the old man. "C'mon guys."
They came to the stairs leading down to the basements. It was dark in the old building, but enough light filtered in from the outside to prevent total darkness. But as Wally looked down the staircase, the steps disappeared in total blackness.
"I don't like this." said Wally. "I don't care what you guys do, but I'm going back."
Mark laughed. "Look, Randy, he's turning chicken."
"There's probably spiders and rats. And maybe there's something to that rumor about zombies," said Wally.
"Ha. You believe that bull? Look, that was just a bunch of crap started by the homeless people. C'mon. You agreed to come with me and Randy."
"Lots of people have said that voodoo witch doctors know how to revive dead people," countered Wally.
"They're a bunch of fakes," said Mark. "But go ahead and chicken out, and see if you can find your way outta here."
"Yeah," said Randy, "you could wander around lost and run into some bums in here that ain't so nice." Mark and Randy laughed.
Wally feared that they were probably right. "Just kidding," He mumbled. "I'm with you guys."
"Okay, guys," said Mark, "we've all got a flashlight, but we'll only use one at a time to save batteries. I'll use mine first.
They reached the room at the bottom of the stairs, and the beam of Mark's light picked up several rusted pieces of machinery scattered on the floor.
They went through a short corridor and entered an empty chamber about the size of a large living room. It was cool and dank down below, and Wally noted that there was no smell of urine in the basement as there was above, although the musty odor remained. They proceeded through two more corridors and a couple of more chambers, being careful to keep a straight course. They avoided the side doors to avoid getting lost in the maze.
The chambers were all empty except for more machine parts on the floor. Wally's heart would jump into his throat every time they entered a new chamber, always expecting some horrible creature to jump out from the dark.
The fourth chamber wasn't empty. Resting on a large table next to the wall was a long wooden box.
"Hey, th-that looks like a coffin," said Randy. His voice was at a high pitch and was shaky.
"Don't sweat it, dude," said Mark. "The prisoners made a lot of stuff here, including coffins. Prisoners die and get buried too, y'know."
The three approached the coffin. By now, all had their flashlights on with the beams trained on the object. When they were close enough for the lights to shine into the coffin, the three gasped in unison. Mark had been about to light up a cigarette, and the Zippo lighter slipped from his fingers and clanged when it hit the concrete floor. Wally felt faint as he beheld the thing in the coffin.
There it lay, a gaunt form, wasted to a near skeleton, its sickly liver-colored, wrinkly skin drawn tightly around its bones. Shaggy hair covered its skull, and the opened, bulging eyes of its hideous face stared at the ceiling. Its clothing was filthy, tattered, and blood stained.
The expression on its face was vicious, even in death, and its thin lips parted in an evil grin, showing yellow teeth. Around its mouth was dried blood and bits of flesh.
Randy was paralyzed. He stood there like a statue, rigid and mute, not daring to breathe. But even as he stared at the thing, he recoiled in horror as its eyes moved. It raised its head and a guttural, raspy sound issued from its throat.
Mark and Randy screamed and fled through the corridor connecting to the next chamber, but when Wally recovered from his paralysis and turned to run, his foot caught on an old metal part on the floor and he fell. His flashlight slipped from his grasp and rolled away, the light now extinguished.
He heard the guttural sound coming from the thing again, and then heard scuffling sounds. It was getting out of the coffin!
As he was desperately scrambling to raise himself from the floor, his fingers found a smooth metal object. Randy's Zippo, he realized. He clutched it in his hand as he rose to his feet. He had enough presence of mind to realize that the lighter should give him enough light to locate the door. His thumb spun the wheel several times, but the lighter produced nothing but sparks. He jammed it into his pocket.
He ran aimlessly through the blackness until he bumped into the wall. Crab-like, he groped his way along the wall hoping to find the door. He had taken but a few steps when he felt a bony hand grasp his left wrist. Terrified, he tried to pull away, but the thing had him in a vice-like grip.
Though he was near frozen with terror, something in his brain told him to resist. With all his might, he tried to pull free from the zombie's grip, but the thing's grip just tightened more. He tried to scream, but as in nightmares, no sound came out. He flailed away with his fists. He connected, but to no avail.
The thing tightened its grip even more, and Wally began to feel pain in his wrist. He found his voice and screamed. Raspy, guttural sounds issued from the zombie's throat, and Randy felt himself being pulled away from the wall.
He must not give up. He remembered the lighter, and drew it from his pocket. He prayed that it would light this time. With his free hand, he spun the wheel and flame spouted from the lighter.
With shaking hands, he held the flame next to the hand that was gripping his wrist. It shrieked and drew its hand back. But its sleeve caught fire, and the fire rapidly spread over its entire body. The flames lit up the chamber, and Randy's heart sank as he saw another shadowy figure coming toward him.
Randy saw the door only a few feet away and dashed through it The lighter was getting hot, and he extinguished it. He moved as fast as he dared through the pitch blackness, all the while hoping that he had not found a door leading deeper into other chambers. His sense of direction had always been good, and he hoped it wouldn't fail him now.
He lit the lighter several more times to orient himself and to find doors leading out--he hoped. He listened but heard no sounds behind him.
He dared to look back, but the other zombie was not in sight. The things had the advantage of seeing in the dark, but they were slow moving creatures.
He went through another chamber. On the way in, they had gone through three chambers and stopped at the fourth. He lost count of how many he had now gone through. Was it two, three, four? If he was going deeper into the basements, he would be sure to find more of the hideous things, maybe already awakened and waiting for him.
The lighter would soon run out of fluid and he would be in total darkness--and with no weapon to fight the zombies. If he entered one of the side entrances, by the time searchers found him it would be too late. No matter what, he couldn't turn back now, not with the other zombie in pursuit. He would have to take his chances and keep going.
But suddenly he saw a dim light ahead, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had been going in the right direction all along. Before he knew it he was at the foot of the stairs.
When he reached the top, Mark and Randy were not there waiting for him. He had not expected that they would be. They had abandoned him completely. There had been time for them to help him up when he fell, and there would still have been time for all three to escape.
While searching for the exit from the prison, he ran into a homeless old lady who was kind enough to lead him out of the building. He gave her the Zippo and a few dollars that he had in his pocket, for which she seemed grateful.
He was still tense, unsettled, and frightened as he hurried away from the old prison, but he was also angry. He vowed that he would no longer have anything to do with Mark and Randy--that was for sure.
The End
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“I like this one,” she said. “Spirit Lake. Primitive area with no facilities, and it doesn’t get many visitors. Only rates a half-star.”
“Good,” I said. “The fewer people around, the better.”
“Here’s an interesting footnote,” she said. “It says that some campers shun the lake because of mysterious disappearances over the years. Local legend says that for each camper that disappeared, a doll resembling the camper was found in the area. Wonder what that’s about.”
“It’s a pretty remote area,” I said. “Sometimes people get lost. Nothing mysterious about that.”
“What about the dolls they claim to have found?”
“A search party finds a child’s lost doll, and over the years it grows into a legend. Nothing to it. If you’d like to go there, it’s okay with me, Babe.”
*****
We set out before daybreak Saturday morning, and arrived at the lake around 9:00 AM. We parked the Jeep and pitched the tent near the lakeshore. This was our first trip to Spirit Lake, so we set out to do a little exploring before lunch.
We’d only strolled a few hundred yards when we spotted an old, abandoned house sitting on a hill about a hundred feet from the lake. I groaned inwardly; I knew what was coming.
“C’mon, Willy, let’s check it out,” she said. “You know I’m still a kid when it comes to abandoned houses.”
“But there might be ghosts up there.” I widened my eyes in mock fright.
“William Donovan afraid of ghosts? C’mon, let’s go.”
She was already hurrying up the slope.
“I don’t share your enthusiasm for run-down houses,” I muttered, “but if it makes you happy...”
I couldn’t fathom her fascination with old, abandoned houses. But on the other hand, she didn’t share my fascination for old timepieces.
I plodded up the slope, but when I reached the old house, Cindy was nowhere in sight. I studied the house. It was a two-story farmhouse, at least a hundred years old.
“Willy, come around to the back,” I heard her call. “I’ve found some fruit trees. The pears are delicious.”
I hurried to the back yard. I found several apple trees and a lone pear tree. I looked around for Cindy, but she had disappeared again. She must be inside, I guessed, exploring the old house.
While waiting for her, I passed the time by looking around the back yard. I found an old well, a smokehouse, and a stable. All were rickety, but still standing. Rusty horseshoes and a bridle still hung on the stable walls.
Cindy had been quiet for a long time, which was unusual for her. I decided to go in the house and look for her. I entered the back door.
“Cindy, are you in here?” No reply. “C’mon, Babe. this is no time for games. It’s almost noon and I’m hungry. Let’s go back to the Jeep.” Still no reply. Fearing she might have fallen and hurt herself, I searched the old house from top to bottom.
I then moved outside and started searching the grounds. I was near the end of my search when I opened the smokehouse door and discovered the doll. It was about two feet tall, and it was an exact replica of Cindy. There was the mole under her left eye, and even the clothing on the doll was identical to what she was wearing.
I picked up the doll and examined it closely, and laughed. This was one of Cindy’s practical jokes. We sometimes played jokes on each other, and she was getting back at me for putting the fake spider in her soup. She’d set me up pretty good, and had me going for a while.
“Okay, Babe. You win. You’ve scared the bejabbers out of me. You can come out of hiding now.” Complete silence.
Something was wrong. Cindy should be coming out of hiding now, laughing and teasing me because I fell for her trick. I began to worry. I remembered the old well. What if she had fallen in while looking for a good place to hide? I hurried to the well and was relieved to find that it had been filled in.
If she didn’t turn up soon, I would call for help; the cell phone was in the Jeep. Before calling 911, I decided to make one more thorough search of the area.
For the next hour, I rechecked the house and the grounds, and even wandered into the surrounding woods. I found nothing. I sat on the steps of the old house to rest and to collect my thoughts. I thought of the doll. Cindy and I had left the Jeep empty handed. There was no way she could have brought it along without my knowing about it. She couldn’t have planted it.
I also wondered how she had disappeared so quickly. I wasn’t far behind her, and when she called to me I was there in perhaps ten or fifteen seconds. Where could she have gone?
I tried to retrace her steps as near as I could guess. I walked out to the fruit trees. She had called out that the pears were delicious. I went to the pear tree and picked one. I wiped it with my sleeve and took a bite. It was delicious.
I walked away from the tree at a fast pace, counting the seconds. After about fifteen seconds, the tree was still in sight. But as I looked toward the trees, I suddenly became disoriented. My vision blurred, as if a thick fog had formed around me.
When my vision cleared, I saw movement among the fruit trees. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing with my own eyes. I thought I was losing my mind. The strain was getting to me. Elves were feasting and dancing under the trees. Instinctively, I ducked behind a bush.
This was absurd. Dancing elves? I thought of my grandmother and her tales of elves, fairies, and leprechauns. She called them the Wee People. I thought that my subconscious mind must be remembering her tales and causing me to hallucinate.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, but when I looked again, they were still there. And then I saw Cindy. She was staring in my direction. She said something to one of the elves and started toward my hiding place. She walked up and knelt down beside me. I could see that she was terrified.
“Willy,” she whispered, “don’t say anything. Just listen. They haven’t seen you. I was lucky that I happened to be looking in your direction when you appeared. They don’t suspect anything; they think I had to go to the bathroom.
“God knows I’m happy to see you, but you can’t stay here. If they see you, they’ll capture and enslave you, as they did me.”
I started to say something, but she put her finger to her lips. “The elves have put a spell on the pear tree. The elves become visible to anyone who eats fruit from the tree--but we become visible to them as well. They are drunk now. Their senses are dulled by whiskey or they would have seen you already. You’ve got to go before they spot you.”
“Okay, but I’m taking you with me.”
“No! Impossible. They’ve put an enslavement spell on me. If I go beyond the boundary of their domain, I’ll die. Now please hurry.” She rose up. “I’ve got to go now, or they’ll get suspicious.”
My heart sank as I watched her walk back to the partying Wee People. I had to fight the foolish impulse to chase after her.
Crouching, I backed away, using brush for cover. I made it to the stable and ducked inside. For the moment, I was out of sight. The area on each side of the stable was free of brush, and offered no cover. I needed to find a way out through the back of the stable to escape.
But what if I did escape? I might never see Cindy again. On the other hand, if I surrendered to the elves, at least we’d be together. I came to a decision. I would try to escape and find help--if I could find anyone who would believe me. Failing that, I would return and surrender to the elves. Maybe Cindy and I could work together and find a way to escape them.
There was no way out the back of the stable. If I tried running around the side, the elves might spot me. Perhaps my best chance would be to wait until darkness fell. But waiting until dark would do no good, because the Wee People could see in the dark.
But how did I know that? Then it dawned on me--I knew because my grandmother, who was born in Ireland, had told me many tales of the Wee People. Some of the tales were coming back to me now.
The Wee People were partial to anyone of Irish blood, she had said. But there were spiteful renegades who had no love for the Irish or anyone else. The renegades were a cruel, vicious lot, she warned, and they should be avoided.
One of their customs, she told me, was to leave behind a likeness of any mortal they chanced to capture. That explained the dolls.
Grandmother advised that iron was the best weapon to fight the renegades. Being of fairy stock, iron is deadly poison to them. I eyed the horseshoes on the wall and a plan formed in my mind. I decided to stay and fight the renegade Wee People. I hoped that my grandmother was right about all that she had told me.
I grabbed two of the rusty horseshoes and stuck them in my belt, behind me where they couldn’t be easily seen. I took a deep breath and left the stable. I set out toward the drunken Wee People. They were so caught up in their merriment that I was almost in their midst before they spotted me.
Cindy’s face was ashen. “Willy! What are you...”
“Never mind,” I said. “Just point out their king to me.”
A long bearded elf stepped up to me and folded his arms. “I am king, ye foolish mortal.” He turned and snapped a command. “Capture and enslave this fool.”
Before they could move to obey him, I jumped forward and grabbed the drunken king by the wrist.
“Gotcha!” I said. “I know your rules. If you capture me, you can enslave me. But if I capture you, you must grant me a wish.”
“Not if I’m able to escape ye,” he said. “Help me escape this fool, ye drunken ninnies. Grab him!”
With my free hand, I reached and pulled out one of the horseshoes. “Grab me,” I said, “if you like the taste of iron.”
The Wee People scattered, screaming in panic.
“Now will you grant my wish?”
“Anything. Anything in me power. What do ye want?”
“Release my wife from your enslavement spell.”
“It is done. Now ye must let me go.”
“It’s true,” said Cindy. “I felt the spell leave me.”
I released him and he fled into the surrounding woods. I handed Cindy the other horseshoe.
“Use this if they decide to try anything.”
There was a rustling sound in the woods. The king and all his people stepped out from the woods and showed themselves. They began shaking their fists and screeching at us.
“They’re still afraid of the iron,” said Cindy, “but they’re angry and want revenge. We’d better get out of here before they think of a way to trap us.”
“Wait,” I said. “Will we be visible to normal people? You vanished from sight when you ate the pear, and you were invisible to me until I also ate one.
Once we’re out of their domain--the area around the lake--we’ll be away from their influence and back to normal.” She took my hand. “Let’s go.”
*****
We didn’t stop running until we reached the Jeep. Exhausted, we clung to each other.
“Willy, I...”
I placed my finger on her lips, then kissed her.
“We’ll talk about it on the way back. Let’s get out of here.”
We climbed into the Jeep and sped toward home.
THE END
THE DOLL MAKERS
By Donald Sullivan
Cindy and I enjoy the outdoors, and we were planning a camping trip for the coming weekend. She was thumbing through a brochure listing camping sites in the state. “I like this one,” she said. “Spirit Lake. Primitive area with no facilities, and it doesn’t get many visitors. Only rates a half-star.”
“Good,” I said. “The fewer people around, the better.”
“Here’s an interesting footnote,” she said. “It says that some campers shun the lake because of mysterious disappearances over the years. Local legend says that for each camper that disappeared, a doll resembling the camper was found in the area. Wonder what that’s about.”
“It’s a pretty remote area,” I said. “Sometimes people get lost. Nothing mysterious about that.”
“What about the dolls they claim to have found?”
“A search party finds a child’s lost doll, and over the years it grows into a legend. Nothing to it. If you’d like to go there, it’s okay with me, Babe.”
*****
We set out before daybreak Saturday morning, and arrived at the lake around 9:00 AM. We parked the Jeep and pitched the tent near the lakeshore. This was our first trip to Spirit Lake, so we set out to do a little exploring before lunch.
We’d only strolled a few hundred yards when we spotted an old, abandoned house sitting on a hill about a hundred feet from the lake. I groaned inwardly; I knew what was coming.
“C’mon, Willy, let’s check it out,” she said. “You know I’m still a kid when it comes to abandoned houses.”
“But there might be ghosts up there.” I widened my eyes in mock fright.
“William Donovan afraid of ghosts? C’mon, let’s go.”
She was already hurrying up the slope.
“I don’t share your enthusiasm for run-down houses,” I muttered, “but if it makes you happy...”
I couldn’t fathom her fascination with old, abandoned houses. But on the other hand, she didn’t share my fascination for old timepieces.
I plodded up the slope, but when I reached the old house, Cindy was nowhere in sight. I studied the house. It was a two-story farmhouse, at least a hundred years old.
“Willy, come around to the back,” I heard her call. “I’ve found some fruit trees. The pears are delicious.”
I hurried to the back yard. I found several apple trees and a lone pear tree. I looked around for Cindy, but she had disappeared again. She must be inside, I guessed, exploring the old house.
While waiting for her, I passed the time by looking around the back yard. I found an old well, a smokehouse, and a stable. All were rickety, but still standing. Rusty horseshoes and a bridle still hung on the stable walls.
Cindy had been quiet for a long time, which was unusual for her. I decided to go in the house and look for her. I entered the back door.
“Cindy, are you in here?” No reply. “C’mon, Babe. this is no time for games. It’s almost noon and I’m hungry. Let’s go back to the Jeep.” Still no reply. Fearing she might have fallen and hurt herself, I searched the old house from top to bottom.
I then moved outside and started searching the grounds. I was near the end of my search when I opened the smokehouse door and discovered the doll. It was about two feet tall, and it was an exact replica of Cindy. There was the mole under her left eye, and even the clothing on the doll was identical to what she was wearing.
I picked up the doll and examined it closely, and laughed. This was one of Cindy’s practical jokes. We sometimes played jokes on each other, and she was getting back at me for putting the fake spider in her soup. She’d set me up pretty good, and had me going for a while.
“Okay, Babe. You win. You’ve scared the bejabbers out of me. You can come out of hiding now.” Complete silence.
Something was wrong. Cindy should be coming out of hiding now, laughing and teasing me because I fell for her trick. I began to worry. I remembered the old well. What if she had fallen in while looking for a good place to hide? I hurried to the well and was relieved to find that it had been filled in.
If she didn’t turn up soon, I would call for help; the cell phone was in the Jeep. Before calling 911, I decided to make one more thorough search of the area.
For the next hour, I rechecked the house and the grounds, and even wandered into the surrounding woods. I found nothing. I sat on the steps of the old house to rest and to collect my thoughts. I thought of the doll. Cindy and I had left the Jeep empty handed. There was no way she could have brought it along without my knowing about it. She couldn’t have planted it.
I also wondered how she had disappeared so quickly. I wasn’t far behind her, and when she called to me I was there in perhaps ten or fifteen seconds. Where could she have gone?
I tried to retrace her steps as near as I could guess. I walked out to the fruit trees. She had called out that the pears were delicious. I went to the pear tree and picked one. I wiped it with my sleeve and took a bite. It was delicious.
I walked away from the tree at a fast pace, counting the seconds. After about fifteen seconds, the tree was still in sight. But as I looked toward the trees, I suddenly became disoriented. My vision blurred, as if a thick fog had formed around me.
When my vision cleared, I saw movement among the fruit trees. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing with my own eyes. I thought I was losing my mind. The strain was getting to me. Elves were feasting and dancing under the trees. Instinctively, I ducked behind a bush.
This was absurd. Dancing elves? I thought of my grandmother and her tales of elves, fairies, and leprechauns. She called them the Wee People. I thought that my subconscious mind must be remembering her tales and causing me to hallucinate.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, but when I looked again, they were still there. And then I saw Cindy. She was staring in my direction. She said something to one of the elves and started toward my hiding place. She walked up and knelt down beside me. I could see that she was terrified.
“Willy,” she whispered, “don’t say anything. Just listen. They haven’t seen you. I was lucky that I happened to be looking in your direction when you appeared. They don’t suspect anything; they think I had to go to the bathroom.
“God knows I’m happy to see you, but you can’t stay here. If they see you, they’ll capture and enslave you, as they did me.”
I started to say something, but she put her finger to her lips. “The elves have put a spell on the pear tree. The elves become visible to anyone who eats fruit from the tree--but we become visible to them as well. They are drunk now. Their senses are dulled by whiskey or they would have seen you already. You’ve got to go before they spot you.”
“Okay, but I’m taking you with me.”
“No! Impossible. They’ve put an enslavement spell on me. If I go beyond the boundary of their domain, I’ll die. Now please hurry.” She rose up. “I’ve got to go now, or they’ll get suspicious.”
My heart sank as I watched her walk back to the partying Wee People. I had to fight the foolish impulse to chase after her.
Crouching, I backed away, using brush for cover. I made it to the stable and ducked inside. For the moment, I was out of sight. The area on each side of the stable was free of brush, and offered no cover. I needed to find a way out through the back of the stable to escape.
But what if I did escape? I might never see Cindy again. On the other hand, if I surrendered to the elves, at least we’d be together. I came to a decision. I would try to escape and find help--if I could find anyone who would believe me. Failing that, I would return and surrender to the elves. Maybe Cindy and I could work together and find a way to escape them.
There was no way out the back of the stable. If I tried running around the side, the elves might spot me. Perhaps my best chance would be to wait until darkness fell. But waiting until dark would do no good, because the Wee People could see in the dark.
But how did I know that? Then it dawned on me--I knew because my grandmother, who was born in Ireland, had told me many tales of the Wee People. Some of the tales were coming back to me now.
The Wee People were partial to anyone of Irish blood, she had said. But there were spiteful renegades who had no love for the Irish or anyone else. The renegades were a cruel, vicious lot, she warned, and they should be avoided.
One of their customs, she told me, was to leave behind a likeness of any mortal they chanced to capture. That explained the dolls.
Grandmother advised that iron was the best weapon to fight the renegades. Being of fairy stock, iron is deadly poison to them. I eyed the horseshoes on the wall and a plan formed in my mind. I decided to stay and fight the renegade Wee People. I hoped that my grandmother was right about all that she had told me.
I grabbed two of the rusty horseshoes and stuck them in my belt, behind me where they couldn’t be easily seen. I took a deep breath and left the stable. I set out toward the drunken Wee People. They were so caught up in their merriment that I was almost in their midst before they spotted me.
Cindy’s face was ashen. “Willy! What are you...”
“Never mind,” I said. “Just point out their king to me.”
A long bearded elf stepped up to me and folded his arms. “I am king, ye foolish mortal.” He turned and snapped a command. “Capture and enslave this fool.”
Before they could move to obey him, I jumped forward and grabbed the drunken king by the wrist.
“Gotcha!” I said. “I know your rules. If you capture me, you can enslave me. But if I capture you, you must grant me a wish.”
“Not if I’m able to escape ye,” he said. “Help me escape this fool, ye drunken ninnies. Grab him!”
With my free hand, I reached and pulled out one of the horseshoes. “Grab me,” I said, “if you like the taste of iron.”
The Wee People scattered, screaming in panic.
“Now will you grant my wish?”
“Anything. Anything in me power. What do ye want?”
“Release my wife from your enslavement spell.”
“It is done. Now ye must let me go.”
“It’s true,” said Cindy. “I felt the spell leave me.”
I released him and he fled into the surrounding woods. I handed Cindy the other horseshoe.
“Use this if they decide to try anything.”
There was a rustling sound in the woods. The king and all his people stepped out from the woods and showed themselves. They began shaking their fists and screeching at us.
“They’re still afraid of the iron,” said Cindy, “but they’re angry and want revenge. We’d better get out of here before they think of a way to trap us.”
“Wait,” I said. “Will we be visible to normal people? You vanished from sight when you ate the pear, and you were invisible to me until I also ate one.
Once we’re out of their domain--the area around the lake--we’ll be away from their influence and back to normal.” She took my hand. “Let’s go.”
*****
We didn’t stop running until we reached the Jeep. Exhausted, we clung to each other.
“Willy, I...”
I placed my finger on her lips, then kissed her.
“We’ll talk about it on the way back. Let’s get out of here.”
We climbed into the Jeep and sped toward home.
THE END
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