Lessoc Fountain - a fairy-creature tale

Ch. 5.2 Ringing Silence

"Coquelicot!" called a voice. "Coquelicot, are you hurt?"

"Who's there?" she called, waving her candle and nearly extinguishing the flame.

Soufflé flicked in and out of the light. "Careful there!" he shouted. "You'll set my wings on fire."

"Oh, Soufflé! I...something's...he's at the door, he's trying to get in! What do I do?" sobbed Cocot in relief. She wasn't alone! A living creature was in the room with her.

"Jean-Baptist?" he asked, his wings a faint gold blur behind him as he hovered.

Cocot nodded and forced herself to stand. She even took several steps into the room closer to the door. It was amazing what just seven inches of a warm, breathing companion could do for her courage.

"He's here, at the door and he was filing the bolt. What do I do? What if he comes through?" As she spoke the words, she realized that the chalet had grown silent; Jean-Baptist had stopped or was waiting for something.

"Hold the light up for me," the fairy said, flying to the door. "The hinges are on this side, so it swings inwards. At least we can slow him down. Of course, I imagine it would take a spirit several hours to get through the lock. Funny, I always thought ghosts could walk through walls."

Cocot stared at him, terrified. That thought had never occurred to her, since Jean-Baptist had always stayed in the workroom; he was a part of it as much as the dust, the tool bench and the darkness.

"Then why would he try to file through the bolt?"

"Maybe he wants to bring his tools in with him," suggested Soufflé, smiling.

Cocot clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

"That was a joke," said Soulfé.

She shook her head, eyes filling with tears.

"It was a bad joke, I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's most likely a charm your mother set or some other ghostly rule that I'm not familiar with that holds him in there."

"Couldn't it be because his spirit is trapped there, reliving his daily work?" she asked, trying to convince herself that he could not leave the room because it was absolutely impossible.

Soufflé crinkled his hairy face in thought, his caterpillar eyebrows meeting up in the middle of his forehead to discuss this eventuality. "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe not. Let's see what we can do." He spied the painted chest on the floor at the foot of Cocot's bed and he landed on it. "Think you can move this across the floor?"

Cocot set the candle on the table and grabbed the side handle. She heaved with all her might and succeeded in moving the chest half an inch.

"That's it! Keep going," said the fairy, from his spot on top of the heavy box.

Several minutes later, she found herself shoving the chest into place in front of the workshop door with her legs, her back braced against the foot of her bed for more strength. Cocot was sweating with her efforts.

For his part, Soufflé had taken the time to admire Fanchon's painting skills, inching along with the box.

"Lovely," he said. "Such an eye for detail. The insects are perfectly accurate."

"The insects are why she never sold this chest," said Cocot.

"Why is that?"

"Well, Mother told me that the villagers don't want insects on their furniture. They only want flowers and sometimes birds, but no grubs," she explained with one last shove. The chest squarely blocked the door.

"Really? Humans are odd. I mean, where would we be without insects in the world?" he asked, tracing a vine sprawling diagonally across the chest's front panel.

"They probably think they have enough insects in their fields and on the garden vegetables," she said. She could fully sympathize with that sentiment.

"You can almost imagine the plants coming alive and growing out of the painting, can't you? Your mother had skill, she had a delicate hand."

"Can I get you water or tea or something to eat?" Cocot asked him. She was not ready for him to leave yet.

"No, I'm fine. I'm actually pretty tired. I was on my way to my nest and bed when I heard your voice."

"Oh. Do you have to? Could you maybe...stay, stay a while, if it's not too much trouble?" Her eyes darted from him to the door behind him, and then back to the fairy.

"Are you still frightened?" he asked.

Cocot nodded, not sure if her voice would work.

"Well, I'm not very good with charms and I don't do spells, but I can ask him to leave you alone. Would you like that?"

She nodded again, and watched as Soufflé flitted to the door. He placed his hands on it and whispered something she could not hear. When he stopped whispering, he patted the magnificent carving of a stag, and Cocot thought she saw a small puff of gold falling from his hands, like glittering dust that fell on the chest.

"That should help some, although he seems to have calmed down already," the old fairy said.

Cocot studied the door, head cocked sideways to listen for creaking floorboards. It did seem quiet in the other room. "Do you think you could stay the night, just in case? I could make you a little bed next to Sarina where it's warm," she said softly.

Soufflé squinted at her for a moment. "You really are scared of him aren't you?"

"Yes," was all she managed to say.

He swallowed and asked, almost reluctantly, "More afraid of him than anything else?"

"Yes."

"Ah," he said, flitting to her shoulder to give her a pat. "I see. I understand, but you mustn't worry about him anymore. I put a bit of pixie dust on the door when I asked him to leave you be, which will help for a while and as long as you don't go in there, you should be fine." He yawned and added, "I'm sorry I can't stay, but it's a problem for me to be indoors too much. I'm a wild fairy you see, from my father's side."

"Wild fairy? I thought you were called a hand fairy," Cocot said, glad to keep the conversation going.

"Yes, the great fairies lump us together by size, but in truth we are three separate sorts of fairies. There are domestic fairies who live in human homes, barns and sometimes castles—or they used to. Not sure if the New World has castles. Then there are the garden fairies who live in, obviously, gardens, edges of lawns and in parks, those sort of places, and last, but not least, there are wild fairies whose haunts, if you'll forgive the term, are the forests, hills, mountains, plains, streams, and fields free from human folk. My mother was a garden fairy, so I don't mind being around gardens and buildings, but I start feeling itchy and nervous if I'm boxed in for too long." He started scratching his belly and sides vigorously to prove his point.

"Well, in that case, thank you for helping me with...Jean-Baptist. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come when you did. It was very nice of you, so, thank you and I hope you stop by again soon," she said.

"Oh." His face scrunched up, but Cocot couldn't tell if he was sad or confused and she wondered if she had said something wrong. "Please, think nothing of it. I was nearby and I heard some...noise. I'll come visit again to have a cup of tea. So, sleep tight and don't let the wooden chestbugs bite!" He chuckled at his joke.

Cocot did not know how he had gotten in, since all the windows were closed, but it seemed the polite thing to do to open one of them for him, which she did and waved goodbye as he flew away. He probably had come in the same way the mice did.

Three days later, a vine had sprouted at the top of chest and the bugs were gone. The days had been lonely, each and every one of them. Soufflé was nowhere to be found.

It took Cocot that time to make up her mind about returning to the farm to talk to the boy. Or more precisely, it took her a half of a day to decide she wanted to go, and another two and a half days to work up the courage to make the trip.

Heart choking her throat, she set out for the farm.