Of Monsters and The Innocence Within

Max and The Timblewuck Tree

Max is normal. That's right, normal. Normal ten-year-old boys don't believe in monsters or talking flowers. And they certainly don't have cancer.

However, there is no denying how the wind cried that night, how it screamed and wailed while his parents shouted at each other downstairs. He crawled out of bed, unlocked his window, and let the wind in.

"Run," it whispered into his ear.

"Come," it tugged at his hair, pushed at his back.

He went, creeping silently down the hallway, stairs, out the backdoor, until his bare feet touched the dry dirt of the woods behind his house. He looked up, but the wind was gone.

His parent's voices drifted out of the open backdoor, and Max looked towards the woods. What would it be like to not have to worry about anything? To be free? He stepped forward, then again, and again, until he was running.

And there was the wind again, at his back, all around him, then he was a part of it. He felt weightless, the full moon shining, but not enough. He didn't see the ground stop, couldn't sense it in time, then he was falling.

**************

When Max came to, the night was still young, the moon still demanding his attention, except now he was looking at it through a small window. A small window of a small room. Bolting upright, Max groans when his head hits the wooden ceiling and he slumps onto a very small bed, his feet extending out into the earthen room. When he tries to move around, his right foot knocks over a wooden table with vials so small, a human child would be unable to pick them up lest they accidentally crush them.

The sound of lightly running feet fills his ears. The large wooden door hinged to a wall of packed dirt opens to reveal a face—a tiny green face with too-big purple eyes and slender ears. Where hair should be, delicate pink petals cover their head. Max just stared, until the creature spoke, then he jumped.

"Hello, human. What be your name?"

"Max," said Max. Was he dreaming? This had to be a dream.

The creature smiled and opened the wooden door wider.

"Come, you Max."

Too shocked and amazed to do anything else, he followed, on hands and knees, occasionally getting stuck in the tunnels clearly built for the likes of the creature in front of him.

This creature did not stop, nor look back, except for those moments when Max needed its help to keep going. Finally, after what felt like twenty minutes, but probably wasn't, Max could hear chittering, like numerous voices all trying to speak at once. The chittering grew louder, until Max had to use his elbows to keep crawling so his hands could cover his ears. When they reached the end of the tunnel, Max found himself in an open, domed-shaped room. And countless creatures like the one next to him, presenting a variety of colored petals and eyes, but all nonetheless tiny and green. The chittering stopped and all turned to stare at him.

"This be the one, you, Petalweed?" An aging fairie called from the center masses.

Petalweed, the fairie who led Max to the meeting place, stepped forward and nodded.

"Very well, arm the slayer." And the chittering turned into cheering. Max blinked as he was led away. Did he say 'slayer?' As in kill something?

"Wait!" Max called out. "I'm not a killer! I can't do it!"

The cheering died down, all eyes once again on him.