Copyright Oggbashan February 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Inspired by Rudyard Kipling's Dymchurch Flit from Puck of Pook's Hill.
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"John! John! Wake up!"
I heard the faint voice seeming to come from the doorway of my moon-lit bedroom. I rolled over and peered but there was no one there. Was it a dream?
"John!"
The voice was more insistent. If it was a dream there was no harm in playing along.
"Yes? What is it?" I muttered.
"We need your help. Now! Please?"
The voice ended on a tone that wrenched at my aged heart. Dream or not, I could tell desperation and hopelessness.
"What do you want? What do you want me to do?"
"We need you to take us in your boat. Please. Hurry."
Why not? I had retired as a ship builder and local pilot several years ago. My wife had died and left me at a loss. My yacht, ordered by a local businessman who had been jailed for fraud before he could pay me, was my only interest and even that was palling with no one to share it with. The voice sounded young and attractive. Almost any woman seemed young to me now.
As long as it wasn't smuggling. Not that I'm against smuggling but I didn't want to die in a jail.
I struggled out of bed and hauled on my underwear. I looked through the bedroom door but couldn't see the woman.
"Down here," her voice said.
I looked down, gasped and put my glasses on.
I looked again. She was still there. She was a dream fit for any man, young or old. Her blonde hair streamed over her shoulders. Her filmy dress emphasised her figure, not skinny but with sufficient roundness to suggest delight. But she was only twelve inches high.
She stamped her booted foot.
"Please hurry. We need you, John."
"Who needs me?"
"The Faery. Us. The little people, the fairy folk. Don't you recognise a fairy when you see one?"
"If I'd seen one before I might. You're the first one I've ever seen. I'm glad I have. You are well worth it."
"Enough of that. We need you and your boat. Please?"
The desperation was back. Even if she was an illusion she was creating reactions in me that I hadn't felt in years.
"You know where the yacht is?"
"Yes. The others are aboard. The tide will be right if you hurry."
"Where are we going?"
"Not far. Just to the lightship."
"OK. I'll finish getting dressed."
"You'll help us?" Her voice sounded incredulous.
"Yes, why not?"
"The Vicar..."
"Damn the Vicar!" I exploded. "He's a stupid buffoon."
"He may be, but he's turned the locals against us with his preaching against superstitious practices."
"That's because the congregation are afraid he'll attack the real sinning, the smuggling, the fornication and drunkenness. While he rails against superstition they carry on with their favourite sins."
"But he hasn't changed you, John?"
"No. Why should I change at my age? I've never been a smuggler. I'm old enough to be long past fornication and before that I was happily married, and although I like a drink from time to time I don't get drunk."
"And you believe in fairies?"
"I did, even if I'd never seen one before now."
"That's why we need you. We need to get away from the hatred. We can't fly that far over the sea but the lightship men, being sailors, believe in superstition. A few weeks with them and we might be able to come back."
I hauled my sea boots on and I was dressed. I had a sudden thought. The revenue cutter was about. It might stop and board me for being under sail in the night. If I took a few supplies for the lightship men that could be my excuse. I rushed into the pantry. I grabbed a legal, duty paid and stamped, flask of rum, a couple of pounds of legitimate tobacco and a large bag of green vegetables. I could feel the fairy's impatience.
She need not have worried. When we reached my yacht the tide was full and just beginning to turn. I hoisted the sails and cast off. There was just enough wind for me to have steerage way and the moon was shining brightly. I could hear, but not see because of the closed door, a host of fairy voices in my cabin.
The lightship was about five miles out to sea, moored just beyond a sandbank that could be a threat. At this state of tide I might be able to sail over it but I played safe. I took the channel to the West of it and would approach the lightship from the South. I had my navigation lights burning clearly and the sweep of the lightship's beam made my route easy to see.
"Yacht ahoy!"