Fear of Fairies

The dark scared me as a kid, but not anymore. Nothing scares me much now, except fairies. Yes, I am afraid of fairies and for good reason. I saw them once before I believed in them.

It was 1978. The sliver of baby-moon disappeared an hour ago. Hanging out on my sleeping bag on a platform in a secluded field of pot plants; I wasn’t smoking and hadn’t pruned that day. No THC on my fingers, just a light herbal scent in the air. Enjoying the stars, trying to name constellations, finding north - the tail star of the little bear, darkening night. Ready for sleep.

My companions tonight are three tired dogs, lolling around on the makeshift pallet platform used by anyone guarding the field. Now the puppy ran in his sleep, the guard dog snored; I pet the mutt with my toes. Peaceful.

There are no fireflies on the Olympic Peninsula in the Pacific Northwest in Washington state. No bright lights float or fall to earth after dark. No fires that year so no falling embers or ash from a forest fire. No meteor showers and no volcanoes erupting. Mt. St. Helen's wasn’t for two more years. Yet, on that quiet night, I saw stars fall— too far.

I blink. A gentle water-less rainfall of tiny twinkling lights drifts down. Silent. Beautiful. Ominous. Against blue-black sky at first, then backed by the circle of tall dark evergreens, floating past madronas and cottonwoods, steady and silent, drifting down like miniature glowing parachutes to the far edge of the clearing. I inhale, checking for smoke. Did the lights extinguish? No, just disappeared among the plants.

In one silent movement, all three dogs wake up, lift their heads, smell the air. I brace for a cacophony of barking, but instead they rise together and slink—silent, dream-like—off the platform. Wait! I whisper-call, then call their names and say the “Check the perimeter!” command. I swear. Where are you going? You can’t leave me! Get the intruders! All three dogs run together in the opposite direction, towards my parked truck. Abandoned! With my serious dog-trainer voice, I call two dogs, “ Jake!” “Sir!” I can’t yell “Fluffy” in a crisis. I should follow them, but instead I stay, I wait.

Open mouthed, a statue, I stare down the hill. Lights below joggle and bob against each other, clustering, separating -- they emerge and disappear -- do I see little lanterns in tiny hands raised to light the underside of a leaf? On official business, they group together, then begin a silent stroll among the plants-- clandestine night inspectors.

I squint to see, then open eyes wide, but nothing looks solid. I can’t be sure. I take a breath, every sense on high alert. Straining to see in the dark, I don’t dare shine my own flashlight to show them where I am. Damn dogs! I’ve never been so afraid. Intruders could be anyone-- thieves, narcs, crazy neighbors. Gradually I realize... these… are…too…small. Not … human.

Coming closer, I hear them now. Tinkling bells, like a miniature wind chime with no wind and then a tangle of raspy excited whispers! Are they examining the plants or something more sinister? They seem to speak to the herbs and to each other. I can’t move. I strain to identify the sights and listen for something I can put in place in my mind. Later I’ll read about Findhorn, but tonight as they emerge onto the path heading straight towards me, a hundred feet or so, I don’t breathe. They are not far. There is no moon.

Fear doesn’t usually immobilize me. I’m the one who shouts “You - Call 911! -who starts grabbing buckets to put out the fire or slows the next car so they don’t crash into the wreck. I’m the calm head who grabs a life-ring to throw before jumping in. I’m trained. A lifeguard.

Not prepared for this though. I came to watch the stars tonight, didn’t build a fire so it would be dark enough to see the Milky Way. Maybe real terror does immobilize me. Maybe if I was in a war zone or an earthquake, I would freeze again, I don’t know. 

In this presence of unknown life forms in my garden, I shut down. I don’t want to know who or what this is. No curiosity, no intrigue, nothing cute or exciting even if they don’t seem especially sinister, they are OUT of my realm of possibility.

I could have run with the dogs, hidden in the truck and waited till daylight to search for footprints. Or driven back to town, maybe return to a harvested field. Who knows?

I could have been abducted. Would I remember? Did I stop knowing what happened that night? Was my brain wiped? A bulbous alien pulls the covers off my frozen body, ignores my chattering teeth, laughs and mind-sends, “Don’t worry, you won’t remember a thing!” With my own flashlight they reduce me to their size, teleport me into their spaceship hovering over the ocean, perform unspeakable physical and psychological investigations on my body all night. I’ll never know.

I could have kept an open mind, waited, listened, and watched as the lights and little people or whatever they were completed their task. Maybe they would wander up, share cultivation tips, sit awhile, discuss the nature of reality. Maybe a child would climb up to look into my eyes, their parent fairy admonishing them, “Leave the poor human alone, can’t you see she’s terrified? Poor little thing!” 

What I do remember, when I can move, I pull the 25 automatic pistol from under my pillow, point it into the air, close my eyes and pull the trigger! Silence! Oops, Ms. Calm-in-A-Crisis forgot the safety was on. Again I raise the pistol into the air and fire. Again, nothing. In terror, I glance back at the advancing lights and little people, I fumble to cock the pistol and the third time when I pull the trigger the shot breaks the stillness and the magic of the night. Like a traitor in the dark, I shoot the stars.

The dogs returned then, all innocent and goofy asking what’s the problem. The world returned. All these years later, I’m still afraid of fairies. I violated their peace. I deserve to be afraid.

I regret being a coward that night, giving in to fear, distrusting the unknown. If there’s a next-time, I’ll wait in the dark and find out.