Knock Three Times

Around dinner time on Beatrix’s wedding day...

As the wedding tent lurched inwards without warning towards her dining guests, Beatrix knew not knocking on wood that morning had been a terrible mistake. A splintering crack rang out causing her head to jerk upwards and see the three hanging crystal chandeliers begin a manic dance. The sharp smell of eucalyptus hit her nostrils as leaves broke away from floral arrangements scattered throughout the room. The guests quickly noticed their perilous predicament and began to scramble from their seats, crashing into chairs and knocking over dishes in their rush. Her gaze was glued to the chaos remembering another near-crash that very morning while stepping out of the shower – a clumsy step, a few words spoken aloud, and a missing wooden bracelet. Beatrix had been determined to walk down the aisle today. It was meant to be the perfect bookend to her happily ever after and now it all lay shattered at her feet.

10 hours before…

It starts in a high-end, modern hotel suite with a mimosa-heavy breakfast. Beatrix, her sister and her bridesmaids all gather around the room service trays, swapping funny stories about everything and nothing. As she fiddles with the willow bracelet adorning her wrist, Beatrix suspects they are trying to distract her from any last-minute planning.

“Is that a new bracelet? The etchings are fabulous. Daises?” Her sister asks, reaching for the bracelet as Beatrix nods her confirmation. “Beautiful. Lemme see.”

“Two seconds,” she says, handing the bracelet to her sister as her bridesmaids lean over the glass table top to get a better look. “Got it yesterday to better match my dress. My clunky oak bracelet wasn’t going to cut it but I’m not risking going today of all days without protection.” Beatrix reaches for the mimosa pitcher to top up her glass, counting on the champagne to help calm her nerves.

She takes a deep, fortifying breath and imagines walking down the aisle later that afternoon. Soon she could check off marriage on her ‘things to achieve before turning thirty’ list.  No joke, she actually kept one in her journal. Her stomach turns slightly, probably stress from all the running around and final preparations this week.

Beatrix raises her glass. “I’m taking this mimosa to go. I’ve got to shower before hair and makeup.” She begins to walk towards the bathroom when she makes an abrupt about-face. “Can’t risk forgetting this today, thanks,” she says as she plucks the willow bracelet from her sister’s hand and continues into the bathroom.

She couldn’t think of a single time she hadn’t worn a wooden bracelet in the last three year. Beatrix sets her mimosa and willow bracelet on the ceramic vanity beside the sink and hops in the shower. Lathering shampoo into her hair, she thought about the first time she met John. It was a boring, work related, financial crisis management conference only a few months before everything changed. He had been attentive and dependable. When international headlines began reporting unexplainable phenomena, he made her feel safe. When it came out that superstitions were, in fact, very real, he made a plan so they would, with any luck, never have to face the grim consequences.

All done, she reaches for a towel on the rack across from the vanity. The combination of the slippery shower floor, stretching for her towel, and the buzz from the breakfast mimosas works together to throw her off-balance. Beatrix’s arms pinwheel frantically as her feet begin to slide out from under her, jerking her backwards. Her head grazes the shower wall. Overcorrecting, wobbling like a newborn colt, she spills from the shower only to catch herself on the vanity right before smacking her face. If she had made contact, she could have broken her nose, or worse.

Heart pounding and a little flustered, she quickly throws on her robe and exits the bathroom. She needs to sit for a second.

“Are you okay, Bea?” her sister looks a little concerned as Beatrix makes her way to the couch. “You look pale.”

“You won’t believe. I just barely avoided breaking my nose! I never fall, kno–“Beatrix halts, her knuckles grazing her wrist as she realizes that she isn’t wearing her willow bracelet. No, no, no. NO! She jumps to her feet looking around for the nearest wooden surface. She needs to knock three times! She makes a run for the bathroom, when the earth trembles beneath her feet. Beatrix falls to her knees.

“Are you okay?” Her sister asks as she reaches out a hand to help her.

“Did you feel that quake?” Beatrix staggers to her feet.

“No. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“I didn’t knock on wood.” Beatrix whispers, in hopes that some how the dryad’s hadn’t noticed. Or else it was going to be twenty-four hours of miserable, cruel luck.

Close to noon, while getting ready…

The makeup artist arrives and sets up in the suite’s main sitting room. Beatrix was on edge sitting on the couch, knee bouncing nervously.

“We’ve all heard the stories,” she remarks, eyes darting around the room. “I neglected to pay my respects and now they’ll make me pay.”

“Well, stop talking about it,” her sister insists and casts Beatrix a hopeful smile, while the makeup artist applies eyeshadow. “I know you worry but what’s done is done now. Maybe nothing will happen.”

With her sister’s makeup finished, it was her turn.

“I’m look for something like this,” Beatrix holds up her phone so the makeup artist can see a picture of a natural makeup look.

“I think we can do that,” she says, offering a sympathetic smile.

The makeup artist gets to work and slowly the tension in Beatrix’s shoulders starts to ease. She never seems to relax but if she could get through today, things would improve. It was the answer to her happiness, her plan.

Beatrix’s eyes shot open when she hears a bell chiming. It sounds like those bells you hear ring out at Christmas time, when carolers are singing, the air is crisp and the smell of evergreens permeats the air. It was pleasant, and yet a chill ran down her spine.

She keeps her head steady for the makeup artist but her eyes roam around the room. “Do you hear that?” She asks her sister and bridesmaids.

A chorus of ‘no’, ‘what’, and ‘again’ rings out from the group as they look at her with mild worry.

Out of the corner of her eye a streak of colour shots across the room. She spins abruptly for a better look and the makeup artist jolts backwards. Something green, small, and swift darts around the hotel suite. And then its in front of her face, hovering just above her nose, causing her eyes to slightly cross as she takes in the creature. The chiming, it was coming from this tiny pixie-like being.

“Wha–, who are you?” Beatrix breaths, in awe of its fantastical qualities. She feels the others puzzled gazes on her. Were they not seeing what she was seeing? The pixie makes another, louder chiming noise but Beatrix continues to stare, not understanding what it is trying to communicate, if that’s what it is even trying to do. Then suddenly its zooming around the room again, darting past the table full of makeup before she loses track.

Her eyes catch her sister’s stare. It was clear that no one else in the room just saw what she did. This explains why no one has ever gotten the ‘bad luck fairies’, as some have called them, on camera before.

The makeup artist turns around and grabs another makeup palette. She begins applying it to Beatrix’s cheekbones when she abruptly halts her movements. She flips the palette back and forth, looking bewildered.

Beatrix swallows the saliva that pools in her mouth, knowing this can’t be a good sign. “What is it?”

“I can fix it. I think. Give me a second.” The makeup artist stammers, scrubbing at Beatrix’s face and then applying more creams and powders. Her sister and bridesmaids hover close by but she doesn’t ask any questions as she assumes she won’t like the answer.

“Okay. I had to balance it out but it’s not too bad.” The makeup artist holds up a mirror. Apparently ‘not too bad’ equates to a toddler with free rein of their mother’s makeup bag. Her cheekbones are stained with an intense, bright red. Its entirely possible that astronauts can now spot her face from space.

When seeing Beatrix’s horrified expression, the makeup artist exclaims, “I have no idea how this stain got mixed up in my makeup.” But Beatrix knows exactly how this happened and begins searching the room for a tiny, green pixie.

The ceremony starts at four o’clock sharp…

The red on her face has only slightly faded, likely made worse in the moment by the makeup artist’s vigorous scrubbing to try and remove the stain. Beatrix is sitting in her wedding dress on the hotel suite’s fluffy bed, glass of champagne in hand (she hasn’t needed to resort to the bottle yet), and her new willow bracelet securely back on her wrist (for all the good it will do now). Her long brown hair has been lightly curled in waves down her back. As her sister gathers all of the last-minute necessities, her bridesmaids watch on for signs of hysteria but they come to realize that, with each passing minute, Beatrix’s expression becomes more resolute.

Her sister pops her head into the bedroom, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Beatrix replies and peels herself off the bed, swallowing the last sip of champagne.

“You really shouldn’t have been on the bed; you’ll wrinkle your dress.” Her sister lightly swipes at the tulle skirt to even out the fabric.

“Have you seen my face?” Beatrix smirks.

“Oh stop,” her sister chuckles. “Who knows, this could all be a funny story come tomorrow.”

“Hysterical, I’m sure.” Beatrix states dryly, leading the way as her sister lifts up the train of her dress and her bridesmaids grab the bouquets.

Out on the street, as they all pile in to the limousine, Beatrix reminds the driver they are going to the Wesleyan church on Deerwood drive. She can tell he is trying not to stare at her face as he explains it is already programmed in to his GPS. He hits start on the screen conveniently situated beside his steering wheel.

Once the driver pulls out in to traffic, one of her bridesmaids asks, “How are you feeling? Excited to see John?”

“You know, I thought I would feel so steady in this moment.” A heavy pause fills the air and Beatrix hesitantly continues, “but, now that I’m here, this may be the most unsteady I have ever felt.”

“It could be what happened earlier throwing you off. If the bad luck fairies are–”

Beatrix cuts her off, “Oh, there is no ‘if’ about it.”

“So that’s it then, you’re feeling unsure because you don’t know exactly how the day will play out. The lack of control must be messing with you,” her bridesmaid assures. Beatrix doesn’t argue but a seed of doubt remains.

“Are we going in the right direction?” her sister leans forward to ask the driver.

“According to the GPS, yes,” he confirms.

“We should have been there by now,” her sister mumbles and pulls out her phone to confirm, when Beatrix hears the now familiar chimes sigh into her left ear.

She barely registers her sister’s confirmation that they need to turn around because there, on her shoulder sits a luminous, green pixie. This time Beatrix notices the twig-like limbs, pointy ears, and delicately layered leaves that form a set of wings at its back. Is it waving at her? The pixie’s wee, bark covered fingers curl back and forth.

“Don’t wave at me. You made us get lost, didn’t you? Now I’m going to be late to my own wedding. Shoo!” Beatrix attempts to shake it from her shoulder.

Its chime pierces the air and this time Beatrix is convinced she can make out a word amongst all the ringing.

“Lyra?” She asks and the pixie nods enthusiastically before completing a series of back flips across the limousine. That must be its name.

They arrive at the church thirty minutes late and, as a perpetually punctual person, Beatrix feels itchy with embarrassment. She reaches for her bouquet, which Lyra had curled up in moments before, finally exhausted from all the backflips. She derives a sick satisfaction from jostling Lyra awake, as the pixie tumbles from her perch in to a heap on the limousine floor.  

Beatrix follows her sister and bridesmaids out of the vehicle but then remembers she left her clutch in the back seat. Turning to her sister she asks, “can you take my bouquet?”

As her sister makes to take the flowers from her hand they won’t budge. She can’t even wiggle her fingers. “No way! I am going to kill that pixie,” she seethes. Beatrix and her sister attempt to tear the bouquet from her grasp one more time but quickly realize it’s a lost cause.

Back to the beginning, around dinner time…



Let’s recap: so far Beatrix has suffered clown face, a tardy on her once pristine record, a new bouquet appendage, and, most recently, while returning from the bathroom, her dress was tucked into her underwear.

Beatrix’s plan for the perfect wedding day was sabotaged bit by bit. The little infractions built up over the course of the day, and now she feels out of control, angry, and disconcertingly fearful. She can’t even pinpoint anymore where it is all bubbling up from but she knows at any moment that she will explode. John sits beside her quietly, reluctant to add any more fuel to the fire. And that is when she catches sight of Lyra, a green streak rocketing around the tent poles.

As Beatrix springs to her feet she yells, “Lyra, no!” But it is already too late. She may have been able to overcome the mortification of minor tricks of bad luck, but watching the wedding tent sway and chaos break out around her, she will never forgive herself if someone gets hurt because she broke the rules.

“John, get as many people out as you can,” she cries over the screams of their guests before running in to the fray towards the little green streak in the back right corner of the tent.

“Lyra, you have to fix what you’ve done! People could die!” But despite Beatrix’s warning, Lyra keeps moving, releasing pegs as she goes.

Beatrix stands on the nearest table and yells Lyra’s name one last time, noticing that most people have been able to reach safety. “Fine, Lyra, have it your way. Bring it down. I won’t play your games any more,” Beatrix states as she sits down on the table and surrenders.

Lyra’s chime fills the air until there is no room for other sounds, smells, or sights. Nothing exists but the ringing in her ears and when her senses are returned to her she is sitting outside the wedding tent on the grass, with only Lyra floating in front of her.

They stare at each other for what could have been days, hours, or merely moments but a calm washes over Beatrix that she hasn’t felt in years. “I don’t think this day was ever meant to be,” Beatrix finally admits. Lyra drifts closer until they are almost touching and nods before she gently begins to fade into the evening mist.