Laura Schlitz - The Night Fairy

“What can I do?” asked Skuggle. He sounded as if he might start to cry.

“You can knock the seeds out of the tube,” Flory said. “Go up the oak tree and grab hold of the hook — the hook, you hear — because you can hold on to that. Swing back and forth as hard as you can. The seeds will fall out of the tube, and you can eat them off the ground.”

Skuggle’s eyes glistened with greed and hope. “I love you,” he said happily.

Flory was no longer alone. She felt that she had made a friend, though she wasn’t quite sure what friendship was. Skuggle was not the best of friends, because he would have eaten her if he could; also, he never talked about anything but food. Flory wasn’t the best of friends, either. She knew that if she had been able to fly, she wouldn’t have bothered with Skuggle. She was using him. All the same, after she struck her bargain with Skuggle, she was less lonely.

She had not known she was lonely before. If she hadn’t lost her wings, she would have lived with other fairies. They would have played and danced together, swapping riddles and songs and spells. Other fairies might have taught Flory manners, because fairies simply do not put up with rudeness from their friends. But Skuggle had no manners to teach Flory, and when she was rude to him, he just scratched himself. That was all right with Flory. She enjoyed bickering with him. It was more interesting than talking to herself.

She sometimes wondered how she had managed before she met Skuggle. Perched behind his ear, she explored every inch of the garden. Skuggle took her to the thorn apple tree and gnawed off a long thorn that made her an excellent dagger. In return, Flory helped the squirrel get suet from a little box with a cage around it. The cage had such tiny holes that Skuggle couldn’t get his paws inside. Flory reached through the bars with her dagger and scraped off gobs of suet for the hungry squirrel. She soon learned that Skuggle would do anything for suet or seeds.

Skuggle was not easy to ride. He was much too big for Flory, and his stride was so rough that she clung to his ear for dear life. Riding him was like riding a roller coaster: now fast, now slow. Flory never knew when he would tear straight up a tree trunk or leap to another tree. He often forgot where she wanted to go and bounded off after something to eat. Still, it was a great thing to be able to move about quickly. It made Flory realize how much she missed her wings.

She began to study the other creatures of the garden, wondering if any of them might be coaxed into carrying her through the air. The butterflies were tempting, but butterflies are absentminded; when Flory tried to talk to them, they flounced their painted wings and drifted off. The dragonflies were almost as beautiful as the butterflies, and Flory thought they looked clever. But dragonflies are moody and, like bats, fond of eating moths. Flory didn’t think she could trust them.

There remained the birds. By now, Flory knew the birds of the garden very well. She liked the chickadees and the titmice but avoided the meat eaters: the blue jays, the grackles, and the crows. She admired the scarlet crest of the cardinal and the yellow feathers of the goldfinch. Watching the birds fly brought a lump into Flory’s throat. She missed flying dreadfully.

Flory saw her perfect mount one morning in June. She heard a whirring noise and saw a shimmer in the air — a dark patch only a little larger than a bee. Then the creature caught the light. He was a hummingbird. His feathers were emerald green and glittered like mica. His throat was reddish purple, fiery hot one second, cool violet the next. He hovered beside an orange lily. His wings whirred so fast that Flory couldn’t see them.

“Oh,” whispered Flory. She was filled with such wonder that she could not speak. Her skin was prickly with gooseflesh. It wasn’t until he darted away that she remembered to breathe. Then she leaped to her feet and raced to the very tip of the cherry branch. Oh, he was gone! But he would come back, and when he did, she would talk to him. She would tell him how much she wanted him — needed him. He was the most beautiful, most magical creature she had ever seen. And he was just the right size for her: large enough to carry her easily, but small enough so that she could wrap her legs around his neck.

She was sure she could tame him. The thought made her want to leap in the air and shout with joy. She would tame him and make him her own. Someday — Flory was sure of it — she would straddle his ruby-red throat and soar above the flowers. He would be hers, her very own, and he would take her wherever she liked.

Three days after Flory saw the hummingbird, the giantess hung another tube from the oak tree.

Flory squinted. It was almost sunset and she was looking west, but she could see that the new tube was filled with liquid, not seeds. The bottom of the tube had red metal daisies on it. Flory thought this queer: daisies are white, not red, and no flower is made of metal. She cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Skug! Skug! Skuggle!”

The boughs of the thorn apple trembled. Down the tree came Skuggle, lashing his tail with excitement. He spurted over the grass, surged up the cherry tree, and arrived at Flory’s side in a rush that made her feather tip shake.

“Is there something to eat?”

Flory pointed to the tube. “I don’t know. The giantess put that out, but I don’t know what’s in it.”

Skuggle scratched behind his ear. “Oh, that. She put that out last year. It’s mostly water.” He looked down at his claw, saw that there was a flea clinging to the tip, and poked the flea into his mouth. “I got on it last year. It’s a little slippery, but I can catch hold. The only thing is, it’s not worth the trouble. It’s just water and some sweet.”

“I can’t think why she puts out those things.”

“That’s easy.” Skuggle scratched his other ear. “She wants to eat us. She puts food out so we’ll come for it. Then she can kill us.”

“Yes, but she never does kill us.”

Skuggle bobbed his head, agreeing. “That’s because we’re too quick for her. But if we didn’t run away, she would eat us.”

“She must be a great fool.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Skuggle. “Only Chickadee says —” He snatched a ripe cherry off the tree and crammed it into his mouth.

“What does the chickadee say?” asked Flory. She had noticed that the chickadee was one of the boldest birds in the yard. He sometimes ate from the seed tube when the giantess was sitting on the patio.

“Chickadee says she doesn’t hate us. Chickadee says the giantess puts out seed because she likes us. But Chickadee is wrong, because the giantess eats birds. Big birds. I’ve seen the bones in the garbage.”

Flory wrinkled her nose. Before she had lived near giants, she hadn’t known about garbage. The giantess kept a big green can of it in the yard. Raccoons sometimes broke in at night and strewed the garbage over the lawn. Skuggle knew better than to fight the raccoons for something to eat — they were much bigger and stronger than he was — but he feasted on garbage the following mornings, when the raccoons slept. He always smelled awful after eating garbage. Flory tried to shame him by pinching her nostrils shut and looking prim, but Skuggle didn’t care. It was almost impossible to make Skuggle feel bad when his stomach was full.