The Fairy In The Pantry

No one liked Ms. Watson. She moved in a few houses away from me a couple weeks ago, and she was already the nut of the neighborhood. She was 30 years old, yet believed in things like Santa Clause and mermaids. She even looked like her reputation would suggest. She wore a tin foil hat to the grocery store, because apparently aliens were trying to read her mind, and a raggedy dress that was two sizes too big. Her hair was long, straight, and plain, and she never wore make up underneath her glasses. She rarely came out of her house, only to get food or go to the local craft store to buy a bunch of glitter for who knows what. 

When my friends and I would see her walking down the sidewalk (she didn’t drive) we would call it a ‘sighting’ as if she was like Big Foot. We’d walk behind her without her noticing and make fun of the way she walked. 

However, no matter how weird Ms. Watson was, my parents still thought it’d be nice for me to bring over some “welcome to the neighborhood” cookies. My mother told me to hand deliver them to her door. 

“But what if she snatches me and keeps me in her dungeon in her basement?” I mentioned to my parents, because that seemed like a logical possibility. 

“Don’t be silly. Now go,” my mother said, not looking up from her pot where she was cooking on the stove. I rolled my eyes and made my way to the door. 

My steps towards Ms. Watson’s house grew heavier and heavier as I walked. Dreading having to meet the woman face to face, I hoped the distance between our houses was longer than it actually was. However, if anything, it was shorter than I expected. 

Her house looked like all the other houses in the cookie-cutter neighborhood. Tall, lots of windows, and painted a neutral color. The difference between the other houses and hers, though, was there were little fairy houses built on the side. They were well built, I had to admit, and I put down the plate of cookies to go down on my hands and knees to take a look. 

If you looked inside through the tiny windows, you could see little rooms made from sticks and leaves. I couldn’t help but be impressed in all the details. There were little acorns used as bowls on the table made from bark, a leaf as a blanket and a mushroom as a pillow on the beds, and there was a neat pathway to the door made from pebbles. The house was beautiful. It reminded me when I was six years old, which wasn’t too long ago, when I used to build fairy houses of my own. Though, the fairy houses I built were nothing in comparison to the ones Ms. Watson made. 

I picked up the cookies and got up after a moment, and walked up to Ms. Watson’s door. I found myself eager to knock on her door, instead of the dread I was feeling before. I knocked lightly, not noticing the hint of a smile on my face while I still gazed over at the fairy houses. 

An undeniable noise of a squeaky chair and footsteps were coming from the other side of the door as I turned my attention back to Ms. Watson’s house. The door opened and the smell of baked goods waved out of the house as Ms. Watson stood in front of me. She didn’t have her tin foil hat on, luckily, but was wearing her usual over sized dress and thick glasses. Her hair was up in a low ponytail, which was different from the way she usually had it down. 

“Hello, dear. What can I do for you?” her voice was sweeter than I thought it’d be. She looked at me with such innocence and curiosity. Shame, then, flooded my senses. I felt bad for the way my friends and I have been treating her. I was so used to making fun of this woman, I sort of forgot she was a person, too. 

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said as I presented the cookies to her. The smile she gave me was so large and happy, I wondered if I was the only one who had been friendly to her so far. 

She took the cookies and let out a child’s laugh, “Thank you so much, sweetie! Would you like to come in for some tea we can eat with these cookies?” 

I hesitated. I figured she would ask me in, but I didn’t know if I wanted to go into the crazy lady’s house. I might’ve been feeling a bit guilty for the way I had been making fun of her but that didn’t mean I was willing to sit and have tea with her. For all I knew, she would go on and on about something made up and I would have to sit there and listen. 

But I looked at her face, how joyful and young she looked all of a sudden, and shrugged. So what, it was going to be 20 minutes of my life. I would just drink the tea, have a cookie, say thank you, then leave. No biggie. 

“Sure,” I finally said, and the amount of cheer that sparked from her whole body stunned me for a moment. 

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful! Come on in!” 

I walked into her house and the smell of the baked goods got stronger. “What are you making?” I asked her as I took in the rest of the house. The walls were covered with elegant paintings of fairy tale creatures. Mermaids, phoenixes, fairies, unicorns, elves, you name it. The paintings looked professional and the amount of detail in the fairy houses outside were mirrored in the paintings. 

“I’m making a pie! But now I won’t have room in my belly for that after these delicious cookies!” She chuckled. I wasn’t paying any attention to what she was saying. 

“Who made these?” I questioned, pointing at a painting of a dragon roaring on the edge of a cliff into the moon. You could see each and every scale on the dragon and I couldn’t stop staring at it. 

“I did. I dabble in painting,” she shrugged off like it wasn’t any big deal. 

“You painted all these?!” I whipped my head back around to look at Ms. Watson, amazement in my eyes. 

“Why, yes, I did,” was her response as she made her way into the kitchen. I followed her, my jaw dropping as I said nothing else. 

The kitchen was large and filled with light from the windows, just like mine. However, hers was stacked with plants all over the place. By the windows and even a few hanging from the ceiling. Succulents and flowers; it brought a peaceful aura to the room. 

“I love your home, Ms. Watson,” I said, meaning it. 

“Why, thank you, sweet heart. You can call me Heather,” she said, grabbing the kettle from the stove and two little white cups. She poured water into the cups and tiny streams of steam came from the surface. She put two tea bags into the cups and made her way to the table. I sat down with her, holding the cup in my hands as she placed the plate of cookies in the middle of the both of us. 

“So, how do you like living here so far?” I asked, not quite sure what to talk about. Even if she wasn’t the crazy character that everyone had made her out to be, she was still an adult and I was just some kid. I couldn’t help but feel a bit intimidated. 

“Oh, why, I love it here. It’s so warm and cute—“ she started, but was interrupted by a clanging noise. I peered over her shoulder from where it was coming from, the noise’s source coming from the door behind her that I assumed was a pantry. 

“What was that?” I said, a drop of fear settling in my stomach. Was it a rat? Did this woman keep rats in her house? 

Heather sighed, “Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetie. Would you like one of your cookies?” 

I kept looking at the door, as another sound came from it. It sounded like someone was trying to pick something up but kept dropping it to the floor. “Do you have mice?” I said, scratching the back of my neck. 

“Why, no, of course not!” 

“Then… what, what was that noise?” 

Heather looked at the door and sighed again. When she looked back at me, all the fear left me as she gave me the most sincere smile a person has ever given me. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispered. I nodded, intrigued. She nodded back, “You can’t tell anyone. Pinkie promise?”

She held out her pinkie, for which I grabbed with my own pinkie and said, “I promise.” That seemed to satisfy her enough, and she went over to the pantry and opened the door. 

It was a deep pantry and had plenty of food. Canned soups, boxes of cereal, and small jars of sugar and salt. There was a few cups of apple sauce on the ground, which I guessed was what made the noise before. But the food wasn’t what I was interested in. 

A little person, about 2 or 3 inches tall, was flying in the middle of the pantry holding a cup of apple sauce. My eyes grew huge. The small person had wings and a dress that looked like it was made from weaved grass. The small person grinned and my jaw dropped once again. 

“That’s a… That’s a…” I started but couldn’t finish. 

“It’s a fairy, sweetie,” Heather said, smiling as well. 

I got up from my seat and moved closer to look at it more. It had blonde hair that was tied up in a bun and blue shoes on its feet. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought it had blue eyes and freckles. 

The fairy flew closer to me and I jerked my head back. “Whoa,” I managed to say. 

“Don’t worry, hon, she’s friendly!” Heather said, pointing at the fairy. 

I didn’t know what to do. I stopped believing in fairies quite recently, feeling like I finally grew out of that childish stage. But here was one, right in front of my face. 

The fairy flew slowly, inch by inch, until it was only a foot away from me. It tilted its head to the side, and I did, too. 

Suddenly, a genuine laugh bubbled from my gut and I couldn’t help but giggle out loud, “It’s a fairy!” I exclaimed. 

“Yes!” Heather said, joining my laughter. The fairy also started to laugh and we all laughed, looking silly. 

“This is amazing!” I said. Heather nodded. “How did this happen?” I kept looking at the fairy. 

“Well, why, I built the houses outside and this adorable one here showed up! I invited her inside and she’s stayed ever since! She loves it here. I have so many sugary things and she just eats that stuff up!” Heather explained. 

I couldn’t stop smiling. “That’s amazing!” I said again. 

“Why, yes, yes it is.” 

“But why did she show up to your fairy house? Why not mine?” I said, confused. The fairy flew back into the pantry to grab the apple sauce and flew to the table. 

Heather shrugged, “I don’t know. She doesn’t talk. Maybe they did show up to your fairy house, but I just happened to catch her before she left!” 

I nodded, just accepting that story. I didn’t really care that much, still astonished by the fairy that was now eating the apple sauce and taking a bite out of one of the cookies. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” Heather said. 

I nodded, “Of course, I won’t tell a soul.” I felt special, she trusted me to keep such a secret. 

Heather smiled at me and sat back down at the table to take a sip of her tea, “You’re welcome to come any time to see me and this little one, if you’d like!”

I sat down, too, and took a sip of my tea, “I’d love that,” I paused, “Does this mean that all the other stuff is true, too?”

Heather grinned, “Oh, yes, yes.” 

“No way!” 

“Oh yes. In fact, I know where you can meet a mermaid!”

I smiled back. I felt like I had entered another world, a fantasy world. “Can I see?”