A Faery in Kentucky
When I was little, my papaw used to talk about faeries that lived in the woods behind our house. We never paid him any attention. He always told tall tales, it went with the moonshine—both making and drinking it.
Then one day I was wading in the creek when something tapped my shoulder. When I turned around no one was there. Another tap and I spun around, slipping on a mossy stone and splashing in the water. Then he appeared, pointing at me and laughing.
Climbing out of the creek, I chased him, following his tinkling laughter through the trees. He flew faster than a hummingbird, staying just within sight then darting away. That’s why I didn’t notice the hole until I fell, crashing down to the cave floor.
When I looked around I couldn’t see anything except the beam of sunshine coming from the ceiling. With horror I remembered a story my brother told me, about a hog that fell into a mash pit. It died before anyone found it. Behind me, the faery giggled.
“That was very nice.” With my hands on my hips, I tried to look like my mother when she was angry.
He cocked his head to the side, puzzled.
“I could’ve died!"
He flitted towards the ceiling like he expected me to follow. After a moment he came down, then flew in another direction. I followed his glowing wings. It was dark in the cave and I smacked into something metal. Papaw’s old still! The faery kept flying circles around the room. Ignoring him I started feeling around until I found an old wooden ladder. It was homemade and heavy. I pushed it up against the opening and climbed out. Another tap on my shoulder but when I turned the faery was gone.
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