Mac awoke shortly before dawn to his watch beeping. He silenced it and laid there a moment. His hangover wasn't as bad as it usually was. Maybe the run late last night cleared out his system a little. He rolled off his cot and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee.
The kitchen counter was still a mess of blood, dirt, and used paper towels. He threw away the trash, making sure to throw away the expired kit contents. He would have to go into town today after the morning patrol to get more alcohol wipes.
Mac opened the cabinet and found his great aunt's floral pattern tea cups all lined up in a neat row. He reached for one but stopped short. It would surely arouse the anger of the little wooden woman, if she existed. His shin was still aching from her treatment last night. Instead, he retrieved the motel-6 cup from the hearth in the living room. He was surprised to find it empty. Surely Mac had not become such an alcoholic that he drank in his sleep. That might explain the short people who shouldn't be real.
He had mixed feelings about it. That wooden housekeeper was unpleasant but the little green monster seemed friendly enough. He wanted that one to be real.
Mac stood on the front porch with his coffee, watching the dawn come. The gray light illuminated the misty valley to the west. Color came into the world, dripping from the tops of the tallest trees as the sun rose.
It would be time for him to wake the kids for school, if he still had them. He wondered where they were. Nashville probably. The restraining order that his ex-wife left behind included a clause forbidding him from attempting to find them. Mac finished his coffee and went back inside to start work.
---
Lamlag observed the human man with interest as he drank the burnt bean water. She could smell the stink of it from her perch in the dogwood tree beside the porch. Though Mac was only ten feet away he would never see her.
Lamlag's pale silvery skin and waist length white hair were a perfect compliment to her flawless incognito spell. Even when visible she was no more than a grayish trick of the light to dull human eyes. Unfortunately she had to be naked to make it work, leaving her exposed to the cold. Lamlag's squirrel skin dress was tucked in a clump of grass at the foot of the tree. Her greaves lay beside it.
The cold of the early morning made her toes hurt on the tree branches. She shivered as a slight breeze teased her thin frame and made her nipples harden. The dogwood branch trembled and dropped a thin sprinkle of dew from its petals.
As she watched the human, she gained an appreciation for him in the same way any hunter appreciates the strengths of her prey. He moved deliberately and gracefully, like he was measuring the effort required for each step. This was odd compared to the other humans she had seen. Those others were sloppy, swinging their arms around and chewing or sucking on foul smelling things constantly. It became clear to her how he was able to coup her so easily. His movements used just enough energy to move his body, but no more, so he didn't announce himself with constant flapping and splashing of wasted effort. This meant trouble. Clumsy hunters or loggers were easily dealt with, but a human who knew what he was doing was the worst kind.
Drochide would want to know who the new enemy was. He would praise her, or at least scold her less. But that could wait. The refuge was so peaceful when viewed from the dogwood tree. The field was recovering nicely after spending so many years crushed under the human machines. Lamlag intended to enjoy it. She hoped the Rubettes and Rabbit-people were doing better since the mowers quit coming.
She watched the human finish his bean water. His elbow moved, as did his eyes, but the rest of his body stood still. When he finished the cup of foul brown water he turned and went back inside.
---
Fifi awoke to the sound of movement and the smell of coffee. It meant Mac had not left for work yet. As stupid as it was, Fifi had a tiny hope that she could see more of Mac, even if she risked getting dropped off in some strange town.
On any other day, there would be the noise of humans moving around and collecting things before closing the door with a bang and leaving her in sudden quiet. Today there was nothing like that. Instead, there was a faint rustling from somewhere in the house. She wondered what Mac was up to now.
She hoped he wasn't waiting behind the boombox to pounce on her, but almost immediately dismissed the idea. She knew Mac well enough to know he didn't sneak and pounce. Still, she was hesitant to show herself. He would most likely trap her with his eyes the way he did with the human children and make her explain all the mistakes that led up to her getting attacked. Eviction was almost preferable.
The hesitation didn't last long. She was starting to get hungry, and with that came curiosity. What was Mac making for breakfast? Fifi was always more curious than fearful, so she emerged from the boombox.
The bandages had worked their way off her wounds overnight, but she was no longer bleeding. She noted the burrito shape of her rolled apron. That was sweet of Mac to do.
A cup thumped on the table in the kitchen. She concentrated on not being seen and peeked in. Mac was there, looking at something on the table. Maybe it was food. She didn't smell food or see him eat. Maybe it was boring food, like bread or cold cereal. Then he flipped a page over. Papers. Perhaps they were interesting papers.
Fifi could read human language. She crept over to the table indirectly so she would stay out of Mac's direct line of sight. If he thought about her while looking at her then she would become visible again. She silently climbed the back of a chair and perched on top. Mac was looking at pictures. Fifi liked pictures better than words.
She climbed onto the table to get a better look, lurking near Mac's elbow. They were maps. Fifi was good at maps. USGS was second nature to her. Though she looked at lines and colored ink her mind saw the actual terrain. There was the house, the drive. Mac drew some lines on the map that corresponded to some lines on the other maps. He then drew the same lines on the areal photograph.
Fifi began to understand it better. Inside the lines, the trees were old and tall. Outside the lines the land was a mix of farm fields and low bushy trees. Maybe the lines on the drawing matched up with real lines that kept the farmers out but they were probably some human made up thing. Fifi watched as Mac circled a small structure on the areal photography map. The corresponding spot on the USGS map had a structure too. Then he put the pencil down.
---
Mac finished consolidating the maps and looked up. In daylight with coffee in hand the idea of a little green monster woman was absurd, as was a little wooden Scots-woman and whatever creature of imagination he had seen in the woods. Even so, he half hoped the gremlin was real and still around. Patching her up made Mac invested in her well-being. Or maybe it was having her naked in his arms. Fifinella. That was her name. He wondered what was in that smile of hers. Short little fangs obviously, but that smile said she knew more about him than she let on.
He wondered if her well rounded green hips and that beautifully formed slit could accommodate him, but tried to dismiss the idea. It was absurd, and he was a pervert for thinking it. She was as tall as his knee, shorter than the shortest midget. There was no way it could work.
---
Fifi felt her skin tingle as her semi-invisibility wavered. The human was thinking about her. She slipped down from the tabletop into one of the chairs and ducked out of sight. That was close. With the things he was thinking he could have exposed her with a glance. Fifi stayed motionless, concentrating on not being seen.
Mac pushed back from the table and stood. She could clearly see that he was erect through the thin fabric of his boxers. She blushed. So he was thinking those kinds of thoughts about her. Good. If she made him feel that way then there was a good chance he would let her stay.
---
Mac dressed for work. Luckily for him, there were no real hours and no boss breathing down his neck. "Take care of the place, and keep the loggers and riffraff out," was the way his cousin put it.
Mac sat on his cot and laced his boots. The red LEDs on the boombox caught his eye. It was still on, softly playing some synthwave song he had never heard. His finger touched the power switch, but he paused.
"Fifinella, are you in there?" he asked. He didn't really believe that she would answer.
In the kitchen, Fifi became visible again. It was off-putting to pop back into view every time he said her name. At least he hadn't figured out how to command her.
"No," she called to Mac.
Mac jumped up and looked into the kitchen, elated that the little green monster existed. He looked down admiringly at her scaled-down, but still dangerous curves. She looked back up at him, puzzled. Mac felt he should say something rather than just oogle his little guest.
"Where do you want the boombox?" he asked.
