Be Careful Of What You Wish For

 

Chapter One

A Golden Coloured Locket and Chain

A few weeks after the first visit, the little green man, Yoruk, had paid to the three little sisters, when he had told them they were faeries, Lisa, Greta and Mildred were still trying to come to terms with what this meant and entailed. Despite their concerns, however, they would never go back to how it had been before, before he had told them they were faeries.

“I don’t know what had gotten into you three,” said the mother, one morning, when Lisa, Greta and Mildred wandered sleepily down the stairs, for breakfast.

Yawning, Lisa said, “What do you mean, mum?”

Pointing to the laundry basket, overflowing with dirty clothes – almost all of them belonging to her daughters, the mother said, “You were hard on your clothes, before, but during these last few weeks you – all three of you – have been going through them, dirtying your clothes, faster than I can keep up with.”

Giggling, Greta said, “Clothes, clothes, good for our feats.”

“Shush,” said Mildred, cutting her sister a glance that would have curdled butter.

Her eyebrows rising, the mother said, “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

“No, there is nothing going on you should know about,” her daughters replied, fully believing they were telling her the truth.

“In that case,” said the mother, “eat your porridge before it gets cold.”

Lifting their spoons, the sisters sang out, “Get it down, it’ll do you good, do you good, good, good, good.”

“Now don’t you be starting that all over again,” the mother warned, lifting her own spoon, to eat her porridge. Suddenly feeling a twinge of pain in her back, she said, “It must be going to rain, my back is at me again.”

Rapping their spoons on the tabletop, the sisters sang, “Porridge, porridge, it’s good for our bones, bones, bones, good for our bones.” Mixing porridge, sugar and milk together, they ate it, with gusto.

Having finished her breakfast, Lisa got down from her chair and made her way to the front door. Opening it, she called to her sisters, “Are you coming out to play?”

Jumping down from their chairs, Greta and Mildred dashed out of the kitchen, so fast their feet never touched the floor.

Seeing this, the mother said, “Either I am seeing things or my daughters are holding back from telling me something.”

“Bye,” the three sisters called out to their mother. “We’ll be back for lunch.” With that, the door slammed shut behind them.

In the house, all on her own, the mother so wished her husband was still with her, but he was not. He was dead. A freak accident had killed him, while trying to save Lisa, Greta, Mildred and their real, birth parents from a speeding truck. The driver of the truck, having lost control of his vehicle, had ploughed into them, killing their birth parents along with her husband. After that unfortunate accident, she taken the girls in, and looked after them as if they were her own. Wiping away a tear, the mother, donning her hat and coat, stepped out of the house, following her adopted children. She was determined to prevent anything bad ever happening to them, again.

“Where are we going?” asked Lisa.

“What are we going to play?” asked Greta.

“What is that I see ahead of us, on the tarmac?” asked Mildred.

Stopping dead in their tracks, the three little sisters, their eyes scanning the winding, country lane, tried to work out what it was.

“I think it’s a torch,” said Lisa.

“No, a torch is a completely different shape,” said Greta.

“It is shining, though,” said Mildred.

“It is,” her sisters agreed.

“What can it be?” they asked, each girl hoping the other might go on ahead, to see.

After standing motionless for a full five minutes, without any of them offering to go look, Greta, summoning her courage, taking the bull by the horns, said, “I’ll go and take a look.”

Pushing her forward, offering her no opportunity to change her mind, Greta and Mildred regrouped behind Greta.

As she walked slowly, tentatively down the lane, away from her sisters, towards the mystery object lying to still upon it, Greta wondered if she had been a bit foolish, offering to go look. Turning round, thinking she might return to the safety of numbers, she, however, saw her sisters urging her on.

“Go on!” said Lisa, egging her forward.

“See what it is!” said Mildred, wishing her forward.

Approaching the object, leaning down, carefully picking it up, Greta smiled. Inspecting it, a golden locket and chain of extreme beauty, it enthralled her. “Lisa, Mildred!” she called out. “It’s perfectly safe. Come; come see what I have found!”

Joining their sister, inspecting the item of fine jewellery, Lisa and Mildred found it as equally captivating. On the front of the locket, there were six glass domes, one large with five smaller ones surrounding it.

“It’s wonderful,” said Lisa.

“It’s superb,” said Mildred.

“It’s extremely old,” said Greta.

“It is?” her sisters asked, examining it with new eyes.

“Yes, of course it is,” she explained. “Look at it, the style and manner in which it was crafted. No one has made anything like this for ages, perhaps even hundreds of years.”

“Where do you think it came from?” asked Lisa, stretching out, touching it.

After looking about, up and down the lane they had traversed so many times before without ever finding anything like the locket and chain, Greta said, “I have absolutely no idea.”

“What’s that,” said Lisa, pointing to some words engraved on the back of the locket.

Inspecting the back of the locket, Greta said, “Names, they are names.” Turning it over, she added, “Look, they match up with glass domes on the other side.”

“Is that hair inside them, the domes?” asked Lisa.

“Yes, yes it is,” said Greta. “They are locks of hair – see them?” She offered the locket to her sister, for closer inspection.

Inspecting the locket, Lisa marvelled at the locks of hair secreted within. Turning the locket over, she said, “Look at this,” she said, pointing to the centre of the locket. “There are two names in the centre. It must be a family, and they are the mother and the father. It’s so sad…”

“Sad?” asked her sisters. “Why?”

“Because they are dead – they must be, the locket being so old.”

“Oh…” said Greta.

It is sad,” sad Mildred, “very sad…”

For a few moments none of the three sisters knew what to say next, they just stood them looking at the golden locket and chain, feeling so very sad.

All of a sudden, smiling mischievously, Greta said, “It doesn’t have to be sad!”

“It doesn’t?” they asked, confused yet also beguiled by what she was saying, implying.

“No!” she replied. “Well, at least not for a while…”

From afar, a distance down the lane, someone stood watching, listening…

 

Chapter Two

To Resurrect the Dead

“Come on, sis,” said Mildred. “Spit it out…tell us what you mean!”

“Yes, sis,” said Lisa.”Tell us!”

Patting her bag, the faerie bag hanging from her belt, Greta said, “With the use of this–”

“You wouldn’t?” said Lisa, cutting in, startled by what she was hearing.

“I would.”

“You are going to use your faerie bag?” said Mildred, fearful of what she was hearing. “Without Yoruk being here, first?”

Ignoring the reference to the little green man, Yoruk, Greta reclaimed the item of jewellery from her sister, and said, “I most certainly am. I am going to use it to conjure up the people whose hair in secreted within this locket.”

“Do you not think it might be dangerous?” asked Lisa, frightened.

“As in, f, from the d, dead?” asked Lisa, fearful.

“As dead as the proverbial dodo,” Greta replied, delving a hand into her faerie bag, searching.

“W, what are you l, looking for?” asked Lisa, still fearful.

Withdrawing her hand, clutching something, her sister replied, “This, I was looking for this!” With that, she opened her hand, showing them what she had found.

“It’s a screwdriver,” said Mildred, “and such a small one!”

“It’s a jeweller’s screwdriver,” Greta explained. “I saw one just like it in Smith’s jewellery and watch shop, the day mum, my first mum, bought me my watch.”

“W, what are you g, going to do with it?” asked Lisa, still feeling incredibly fearful at what her sister was proposing.

“I am going to use is,” she replied quite matter-of-factly, “to open this locket.” Studying the back of the locket, Greta searched for the best place to start. “Ah, here it is,” she said, “and what a small screw it is.” With her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth (she found it far easier to do things, so), Greta began turning the diminutive screw. Around and around the screw went, until, with the tiniest of clicks, it popped out, unlocking the locket. “There,” she said calmly, triumphantly, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Smiling nervously, Lisa said, “No, I suppose not.”

“Open it up,” said Mildred, become very excited. “Show me the inside of it.”

Carefully opening the locket, exposing its innermost recesses that had not see the light of day for hundreds of years, Greta felt as if she was an explorer of old, discovering a new continent.

“What’s that?” asked Mildred, pointing to a circular piece of paper, within.

“And that?” said Lisa, pointing down the lane, to the trees bordering it. Her sisters, however, engrossed by what they were seeing paid no attention to her question.

“Lifting it up with the point of her screwdriver, Greta barely glanced at the paper. Deciding that it was of no importance, she handed it to Mildred, saying, “It’s nothing, just a piece of paper covering the locks of hair, inside. Now all that I have to do,” she continued, placing the upturned and open locket upon the ground, “is look inside my faerie bag.”

“Again?” asked Lisa. “What are you looking for, this time?

“I will know when I see it,” she replied. Opening the bag, Greta looked inside, to its deepest, darkest recesses. “Ah, I can see what I need,” she said, delving her hand deep into the bag.

“What is it?” asked Mildred, distracted from the paper she had been studying.

Withdrawing her hand, opening it, Greta showed her sisters what she had found.

“Dust!” said Mildred, disappointed.

“It’s a handful of grey dust,” said Lisa, as equally disappointed.

“It’s not just any dust!” Greta explained. “This is faerie dust!”

“Faerie dust?” Mildred asked. “That dreary looking substance is faerie dust?”

Nodding, she said, “I will show you what it can do…”

Still not convinced, Lisa asked, “How do you know that it’s faerie dust?”

“I wished for it, that’s how,” Greta replied. Taking a pinch of the dust between her two fingers, she proceeded to sprinkle it over her sisters.

“Hey, what are you doing?” they shouted, trying to brush it off.

Although Lisa and Mildred brushed off most of the faerie dust, some of it remained on. At first, nothing happened, though, and they began to relax, but when it started to glisten, glow and shine, the two sisters became worried.

“What’s happening?” they asked, trying to brush off every speck of it.

Shrugging her shoulders, Greta said, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” they decreed, flummoxed by their sister’s nonchalant manner.

“No, of course not,” she said. “I’m as new to this faerie stuff as you are – remember?”

Lisa and Mildred had absolutely no answer to that.

As the faerie dust continued to glisten, glow and shine on the two sisters, it seemed to pose them no real danger. If anything, it was a godsend. You see, it made them feel incredibly happy and so very relaxed, without a care in the world.

“I feel so happy,” said Mildred, the piece of paper she had been studying, forgotten.

“I feel so relaxed, “said Lisa. “Tell me again, what I was worrying about?”

Then it happened, the faerie dust, glistening, glowing, shining brighter by the second, suddenly enveloped the two girls.

“What is happening to me?” Lisa asked, afraid.

“And me?” Mildred asked, just as afraid.

Meanwhile, Greta, taking it all in her stride, showed no such concerns, no worries at to the safety – or lack of it – of her sisters. If anything, she appeared amused by what she saw happening. “Oh,” she said, “you are both so namby-pamby.”

“Namby-pamby?” they asked, thinking their sister had gone stark raving mad.

“Yes,” she continued, “anyone might think you were going to die, by all the fuss you are making.”

“We’re not going to die?” asked Lisa, relieved.

“The fuss we are making?” asked Mildred, embarrassed.

“What about this stuff, glistening and glowing and shining all over us?” the two sisters asked, pointing at themselves.

“It’s fine, it’s no danger to you, no danger at all,” said Greta. “In fact I think it does you a service.”

“A Service?” they asked, confused.

“Yes,” she explained. “You look far better with it than without it.”

“We do?”

“Yes. Look at your reflections, and see.”

“With what?” they asked.

Pointing, Greta said, “Look for mirrors in your bags, your faerie bags.”

Opening their bags, searching through to the deepest, darkest recesses, Lisa and Mildred each found a mirror. Raising them to their faces, looking into the mirrors, believing their sister, that they now looked better, prettier, the two sisters, on seeing their reflected images, were horrified.

“We look horrid!” they gasped. “How on earth could you think that this, this stuff improves our looks?” they asked, fingering the faerie dust – or what it was fast becoming – a thick, glutinous substance – with considerable disdain.

On hearing their moans and groans, Greta was gobsmacked, for she truly believed they looked better.”I have no idea what you can mean,” she said. “Anyone might think you are covered all over in treacle.”

“Lifting their glutinous coated clothes, Lisa and Mildred said, “What do you call this, then, if not treacle?”

“Still seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Greta said, “Nothing, I see nothing.”

Realising that she was telling the truth, that something was clouding her eyes, Lisa and Mildred approached their sister, each taking a hold of a hand. Lifting her hands, the placed them against their clothes and hair.

“Yuk, that’s awful!” Greta complained, pulling her hands away.

Having learned a valuable lesson, that things are not always as they seem, as they appear to be, Greta treated the faerie dust from there on with the respect it deserved.

“There you are sisters,” said Greta, sprinkling the faerie dust over them again.

“What are you doing?” they asked, agog.

Greta had no need to explain, this time, for in a second – no more than two, at tops – Lisa and Mildred were free from the sticky mess.

“Thanks,” they said, inspecting their clothes and hair, for signs of the dreadful stuff.   It was, however, entirely gone.

Returning her attention to the locket and chain she had placed upon the ground, Greta sprinkled a small amount of faerie dust across it.

“Oh, do be careful with that stuff,” said Lisa.

“Yes,” said Mildred, agreeing with her sister, “do be careful.”

“I will, you can depend on it,” Greta replied, returning the remains of the faerie dust to the safety of her bag.

As the sisters stood over the locket and chain, watching, wondering what – if anything – was going to happen, they each made a wish, a wish for something to happen, for an adventure, for a wonderful faerie adventure.

 

Chapter Three

Be Careful Of What You Wish For,

Because You Might Just Get It

 

At first, nothing seemed to be happening, but the sisters continued to stare at the item of jewellery nonetheless. Slowly, slowly, as they stared, waiting, watching, hoping, praying that something might happen, the locket and chain began to glow, glisten and then shine.

“No!” said Lisa. “It’s happening again!”

“No!” said Mildred. “We will be covered all over with the stuff!”

Greta, however, said nothing, she just kept on staring at the locket and chain, knowing, believing that what she wanted to happen, would. “Be quite, and watch!” she chided. “It will go away!”

“Look,” whispered Lisa, “it is. I think I can see something appearing…”

“Me too,” said Mildred, clutching the piece of paper her sister had given her, earlier.

They were indeed seeing something. Through the glowing, glistening and shining that was rapidly easing, fading before their eyes, the sisters – all three of them – could make out the form of something (people?) rising, amidst a swirl of white coloured smoke, from out of the locket.

Clapping, amazed that her sister had done such a wondrous thing – and without the male faerie, Yoruk – Lisa could hardly contain her excitement.

Although she too was excited by what her sister had, apparently, been able to do – resurrect the dead, Mildred, still holding on tightly to the scrap of paper Greta had giving her,  was afraid. “Do you really think you are doing the right thing?” she asked. “Resurrecting the dead?”

“Of course,” she replied. “It’s part of the fun.”

“Part of the fun?”

“Yes, us being faeries.”

“Look,” said Mildred, pointing to the figures growing out of the locket.

The figures, growing bigger and bigger, and larger and larger, were seven in total. Pointing at the head of one of the figures, Mildred asked, “What is that?”

“I don’t know sis,” Lisa replied. “Is it a hat? It’s so hard to make out, to see, with all this smoke swirling about.”

“Of course it’s a hat,” said Greta, cutting in. “What else can it be, perched atop his head, so?”

Despite having grown to their full size, the figures were still hard to see, ensconced within the swirling white smoke. Yes, they were alive, and, yes, there were seven of them in total, but when it came to such things as arms and legs, these details were sorely lacking.

Putting this problem – the missing arms and legs – to the back of her mind, for later, Greta declared, “There are five children and two adults, in all.”

“The same number as names on the locket,” said Lisa, also putting the matter of the missing arms and legs to the back of her mind. Then she asked, “What are we going to say to them?”

“Leave that to me,” she replied. “I know just what to say.”

Turning to Mildred, Lisa said, “I’m so excited!” Mildred, however, did not hear her. “Mildred, I said I’m so excited! What are you doing, looking at that scrap of paper,” she asked, “when all this is happening?”

Her attention returning, her sister said, “I was reading, reading the words inscribed upon it.”

“The words? I never saw any words!”

“Yes, words,” she replied, deeply, darkly, “and I am worried.”

“Worried – why?”

“Because,” she explained, handing Lisa the scrap of paper, to read, “it’s a warning, and a dire one at that!”

“A warning? Dire?”

Mildred nodded her head.

Taking absolutely no notice of her fear-mongering sister, Greta said, “Now that they have finished materialising, I am going to talk with them, to see who they were, when alive.”

“Greta – no!” said Mildred, in angst at how impulsive she could be, when it so suited. “They are not hu–”

“HU-MAN THEINGS!” a voice boomed from within the white smoke.

“Hello,” said Greta, to one of the adult figures emerging from the white smoke. She assumed it was the father. Then, realising what it had just said, she asked, “What do you mean by that? And what is that thing on your head, bobbing up and down? It’s more like a top not than a hat!”

The figure replied, “HU-MAN THEINGS! I can see HU-MAN THEING STANDING BEFORE ME!”

“Of course we are human,” she snapped. “What did you think we might be – owls?”

Its voice cold and raspy, it said, “Slugs.”

“Slugs? What do you mean – slugs?”

The remainder of the family, from within the white smoke, their tops knots bobbing up and down in the same manner as their father’s, with voices just as cold and raspy as his, droned, “Slugs, slugs, slugs.”

“What is it with you lot,” Greta asked, “to be so obsessed with slugs?”

“The father figure, emerging fully from the white smoke, said, “We are so interested in slugs, because we are slugs.”

Despite seeing a slug – and an incredibly big one at that – standing before her, Greta refused to believe what she was seeing. “Nah,” she said, “you can’t be slugs!”

“Greta, they are slugs!” said Mildred. “It’s all in that piece of paper you gave me!”

“Here, take it,” said Lisa, offering Greta the scrap of paper. “She’s right, they are slugs, all seven of them.”

On hearing these words, the family of slugs, every one of them, emerging from the white smoke, sang out…

“We are slugs, very, very fine slugs, and very fine slugs are we,

We call for our food and we call it now, we call for HU-MAN THEINGS by three,

Every HU-MAN THEING has a very fine body and a very fine body has she,

Oh there’s none so rare as can compare with slugs eating HU-MAN THEINGS, hee hee!”

Snatching the paper from out of her sister’s hand, Greta rushed through it, reading the words as fast as was humanly possible. When she had finished reading it, waving the piece of paper high in the air, she said, “This is ridiculous, it must be a joke. That’s it!” she insisted. “It’s Yoruk playing a trick on us – it has to be!” However, despite all that she said, all of her protestations, it was not a joke.

 

Chapter Four

We Are So Hungry

Seeing the predicament, the quandary that she was in, the father slug said sweetly, sickly, “Why don’t you read it out aloud, my dear?”

Yes,” said the mother slug, adding her two pennies worth, “read it out aloud, for us all to hear.”

“Read, read, read!” the child slugs droned, cold and raspy.

“Okay, I’ll read it out aloud,” said Greta. Clearing her throat, she began reading the words inscribed upon the circular scrap of paper:

“’Know you this, whoever you are, do not remove this paper, do not prise it apart. Leave the paper, locket and chain intact, lest you are consumed by fear – and the slugs they attack.’

There, are you satisfied,” she asked, “now that I’ve read it?”

Salivating green slime, the slugs were indeed happy, so very happy that she had read those words.

“We have done it!” the father slug gloated triumphantly. “After all these years, crammed, ensconced, held captive within that small locket, we are free, free, free!”

“We are free, free, free!” the mother slug and her five children sang out. “We are free, free, free!”

“And now that we are free,” the father slug said ominously, coldly, “we are hungry, so very hungry.” Eying the girl child standing before him, the father slug, dribbling green slime, said, “We want to eat.”

Gulping hard, Greta said, “Eat?”

Sliming their way closer, closer to the three frightened sisters, the huge man-eating (girl-eating?) slugs were ready for breakfast.

Retreating, Lisa, Greta and Mildred thought it would be a simple enough task to escape something as slow moving as slugs.

“Come on,” said Lisa, tugging her sisters, “I have an idea.”

“What is it, sis?” asked Mildred.

“I want that locket,” said Greta, eying the locket that was still on the ground.

“Forget about it – at least for the moment!” Lisa hissed. “We have far more important things to consider than that!”

“Like running away from those slugs?” Greta asked. Patting her faerie bag, she said, “I am sure I can find something, in here, to smite them.”

“Giant, man-eating slugs?” said Lisa.

“Yes, why not?” she asked. “They are still slugs, and all slugs, no matter how large they happen to be, are incredibly slow. That is probably why they were caught, captured – by whoever it was – and put in there, inside that locket. Stupid old slugs. There will be plenty of time to find something, in here.” she said, patting her faerie bag for a second time. And I still want it, that locket!”

Just then, the father slug lunged at the sisters, scattering them.

“So, you think they are slow?” said Lisa. “Come on; let’s get the hell out of here.”

“What is this idea of yours, Lisa?” Mildred asked when they were far enough away, to feel safe from the slugs.

“Greta, pass me that scrap of paper,” said Lisa.

Passing it to her sister, Greta said, “They are words, silly words; a rhyme someone inserted into the locket, to scare anyone foolish enough to read it, that’s all.”

“A rhyme, yes,” Lisa replied, “but also a whole lot more…”

“More?” asked Mildred.

“More than a rhyme?” asked Greta.

Calling them to come closer, Lisa went over the words. Speaking aloud, she said:

“Know you this, whoever you are, do not remove this paper, do not prise it apart. Leave paper, locket and chain intact, lest you are consumed by fear – and the slugs they attack.”

“I still can’t see anything mind-blowing about it, the words,” Greta griped. “Yes, I admit that I was scared when I first read it, but now, now I think it’s just a load of old baloney.”

“Do you think this is nonsense, also?” a cold, raspy voice enquired, sliming its way through the three sisters, scattering them for a second time.

Covered in green slime (it stuck to them like glue), Lisa, Greta and Mildred tried to dodge the fast-moving slug.

“How did he get here so quickly?” they each grumbled, wiping the slime out of their eyes.

The slug (it was the father slug), moving incredibly fast, made another lunge at the three sisters.

As if the predicament Lisa, Greta and Mildred were in was not bad enough, the rest of the slug family suddenly appeared.

“Look out!” each sister shouted to the other.

As fast as their father, the rest of the slug family honed in on the girls, and breakfast.

Calling to Greta and Mildred, Lisa said, “The words!”

“The words?” what do you mean, the words?” Greta asked, narrowly avoiding one of the child slugs.

“The words on the paper,” said Mildred, “she means the words on the paper!”

“What about them?” Greta asked, just as another one of the child slugs honed in on her.

“We must return the paper to the locket!” said Lisa,

“That’s impossible,” said Greta, “with these, these pests all about us!”

“There is no need for name calling,” said one of the child slugs, a male, biting into Greta’s arm, when it got close enough.

“Ow!” she yelled, slapping it away from her bleeding arm. “That hurt!”

“Fear,” said Lisa.

“Fear?” asked Greta, catching her breath. “What are you talking about, fear?”

“Greta, Mildred,” said Lisa. “The words of that rhyme, they told us what to do, or not do. We must return the paper to the locket and reclose, reseal it, only then will the slugs go away, return from whence they came!”

“I hope you’re right, sis,” said Mildred, darting away from the mother slug’s attack as she spoke.

“I’ll do anything to be rid of these horrid nasties,” said Greta, pointing to another slug child that was moving fast towards her. “And why are they all picking on me?”

“Okay,” said Lisa, thinking as fast as the slugs were now moving, “follow me!” With that, she headed down the lane, running as fast as her legs would carry her, towards the locket.

“Hey, wait for me!” said Lisa, following fast behind her.

“And !” said Greta, following her two sisters.

 

Chapter Five

Use the Screwdriver, Greta!

Puffing and panting, Lisa, Greta and Mildred, having reached the upturned, open locket that was still lying where they had left it upon the tarmac, set about restoring it to the same condition in which they had found it.

“Hurry!” said Mildred, looking over her shoulder, for signs of the fast-moving slugs, “they will be here at any moment – I know they will!”

“I almost have it in, the paper,” said Lisa. “There, it’s done,” she said, handing the locket to Greta.

“Why are you giving it to me?” she asked, all in a mix.

“To close it, of course!” snapped Lisa.

“Why can’t you close it?”

“Because you have the screwdriver, that’s why!”

“The screwdriver?”

“Yes – We don’t have time to search for another one! Come on! Do it, and do it now!”

“The screwdriver?” Greta asked her again.

“Why do you keep on saying that?”

“Oh please hurry – both of you!” said Mildred, “for I can see them coming!”

She was right, the family of giant, man-eating slugs, hot on their heels, appearing over the ridge, the one and only rise in the road, were almost upon them.

“I, I don’t know where it is,” Greta whispered, barely audible.

“You don’t know where it is?” shrieked Lisa. “But, but you must know where it is!”

Turning her head from side to side, Greta said, “I don’t. I can’t remember what I did with it, after I gave Mildred that piece of paper.” She pointed at the paper now resting – where it belonged – inside the locket.

“It has to be somewhere,” said Mildred. Getting down on hands and knees, she began searching for the screwdriver. “Come on, you two,” she ordered, “get down here and give me a hand.”

Despite the fact that the slugs were almost upon them, the sisters, crawling around the tar macadam, on hands and knees, searched desperately for the ever so small screwdriver.

Nearer and nearer, closer and closer came the giant, man-eating slugs, sliming their way down the lane, towards the three sisters.

Their hearts beating faster and faster, quicker and quicker, the sisters searched for the missing screwdriver. Then, with a shriek of delight, Greta said, “I have it! I have it! Look, the screwdriver!” Holding it high over her head, she displayed the small, lowly screwdriver with as much pride as a sportswoman with a trophy.

“Use it, use it!” urged Lisa.

“Close it, close it!” urged Mildred.

Working as fast as at any time previous in her entire life, Greta shut the back of the locket, screwing it securely closed with the said screwdriver.

“There, it’s done,” she said, holding the locket high for her sisters’ inspection.

The slugs, however, kept on sliming their way towards the three girls. Indeed, they were now so close the sisters could smell the stench of their breath. It smelt of raw fish and silage.

“That’s disgusting!” said Greta, raising one of her hands to her nose, trying to block out the smell,

“It’s more than disgusting,” said Mildred, “it’s putrefy–”

“That’s it, Mildred!” said Lisa, interrupting her sister.

“It is?”

“Of course, Mildred – and Greta,” she replied smiling, almost laughing. “Remember the words on the paper…”

“The rhyme?” said Mildred. “But we know it already!”

“Remember how it said that ‘the paper, locket and chain must be kept intact.’”

“Yes, yes!” Lisa replied, “And also the other ones!”

“The other ones?” they asked, agog.

“Yes,” she insisted. “The ones that said ‘lest you are consumed by fear – and the slugs they attack.’”

“The penny having dropped, the sisters remembered, and they wondered how they had ever managed to forget it. Trying to bluff it out, they mumbled, “We knew that…”

Continuing, Lisa said, “As I see it, all that we need to do, to set ourselves free from those, those horrible things,” she pointed at the slugs, which for some peculiar reason had stopped moving, “and return them to that locket, is forget our fear.”

“That’s all?” asked Greta, eyeing the creatures that she had been responsible for summoning, with trepidation.

As if they had sensed her innermost thoughts, the slug began moving again.

Shrieking with fear, Mildred, said, “But how do we do it? How do we forget our fear?”

“By ignoring them, sister, that how,” Lisa replied, folding her arms and then calmly, ever so calmly looking away from the fast-moving slugs.

“But, but…” they mumbled, their words and excuse faltering.

“No ifs or buts, sisters,” Lisa insisted. “You must forget them!”

“We want to forget them,” said Greta and Mildred. “Tell us how we can do it?”

“Do the very same as me,” Lisa replied, calmly, satisfactorily. “Simply turn your back on them!”

“Okay, okay, we’ll do it, we’ll do it,” they said, folding their arms, and turning their backs on the giant slugs.

As the sisters, the three faerie sisters closed their eyes and folded their arms, relaxing, forgetting entirely about the slugs and the danger they posed, they heard something, something so very strange – nothing! They heard absolutely and utterly nothing, no cold raspy voices, no slime dripping from wet gelatinous lips – nothing disturbed the state of relaxation they had adopted. In fact, they became so relaxed; they each fell asleep, standing up.

Waking herself up, with a snort, Lisa saw her sisters still standing asleep. Daring to peep over her shoulder, she was surprised, pleasantly surprised by what she then saw – nothing. The slugs, all seven of them, were nowhere to be seen.  Stooping, bending down low, picking up the locket and chain, she inspected it closely.

“What’s up, sis?” asked an ever so sleepy Mildred, yawing and stretching her arms.

“This,” she replied, showing her the locket.

Rubbing her sleep-filled eyes, Greta asked, “What are you both looking at?”

“At this,” said Mildred, pointing to the locket and chain.

The thing they were looking at, that had them so engrossed, was a small sliver of green coloured slime upon the locket.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Lisa.

“Is is,” said Mildred.

“That means it worked!” said Greta, her eyes lighting up, her chest puffing out, proudly. “It really worked!”

“They are in the locket – all seven of them,” the sisters sang out. “Hurray for the magic! Hurray for the faerie bags!”

“Hurray for Greta!” Lisa and Mildred added, just for good measure.

“Don’t you think that you are forgetting something?” a voice suddenly asked.

 

Chapter Six

Someone Has Been Following You

“Yoruk!” said Lisa, so happy to see the little man again.

“Yoruk!” said Mildred, so happy to see his ever so green skin.

“Yoruk!” said Greta, embarrassed and ashamed of what she had done.

Tapping a foot upon the ground, Yoruk waited to see what – if anything – they would say next.

Offering him the locket, Lisa said, “We found this…”

With a face as blank as that of a poker player, Yoruk, accepting the item of jewellery, said, “So I see.”

“It’s got slime on it!” said Mildred.

“Green slime!” said Lisa, pointing energetically at it.

Dipping a finger into the green slime, Yoruk lifted it to his nose and smelt it. Having done that, he inserted the slime-covered finger into his mouth and licked it clean.

“Yuk!” said Lisa, disgusted with what she had just witnessed.

“How gross!” said Mildred, more than disgusted with what she had just witnessed.

Licking his finger, again, even though there was no slime left on it, the little green man, turning to Greta, said, “Have you got nothing to say, Greta?”

What could she say? It had been her idea to resurrect the creatures that she had assumed to be human. “I am sorry,” she said ever so humbly. “It was me – and only me – who did the dastardly deed.”

A hint of a smile creeping, stealing onto his face, Yoruk said, “It was your idea?”

“Yes,” she replied. “And I almost got us all killed.” she said howling, sobbing her heart out. “I wish I had never done it, resurrecting those, those slug things out of that locket!”

“Giant slug things,” said Lisa.

“Nasty, girl-eating slug things,” said Mildred.

His mood softening further, the little green man said, “Well, I suppose no harm has been done…”

Wiping away her tears, Greta said, “You mean it?”

“Yes, of course I mean it,” he replied. And, anyhow, it might have taught you a valuable lesson, not to go dabbling in faerie magic before your training had been completed, without me to guide you.”

“It did teach me a lesson!” Greta spluttered, hardly believing her luck that he had been so understanding. “And I promise, I really promise never to do anything like that again!”

“In that case,” said Yoruk,” we shall say no more on the subject.” This, though,” he tapped the locket and chain, “will have to be put someplace safe, very safe.” Opening his faerie bag, he inserted the item of jewellery into it. “There,” he said, closing it securely, “as safe as houses.”

Glad to see the back of it, the locket, Greta said, “I am so happy that is all over, finished,”

“But it’s not,” the little man replied.

Her head spinning with fear, Greta asked, “What do you mean, it’s not finished? Are the slugs returning?”

“No, no,” he replied, “the slugs are most definitely gone.”

“Then, please tell us what is not finished?” Greta pleaded.

“You know what I mean, when I say it is not finished – all of you do,” he replied ambiguously.

The sisters, mumbling, whispering, confiding with each other, came to the conclusion that he was speaking about the shadow they had seen, earlier, following them.

“You mean the shadow, don’t you?” said Greta.

“We thought that was all that it was, a shadow,” said Mildred.

“It’s not a shadow?” said Lisa.

Shaking his head from side to side, Yoruk left them in no doubts that – whatever it was – was not a shadow.

“What do you think it is?” asked Lisa, concerned.

“I hope it’s not more of them slugs!” said Mildred, frightened.

“It’s a person,” said Greta, enlightened.

“A person?” they asked. “But who?”

After scrutinising each girl, one at a time, Yoruk said, “I think you already know…”

“We do?” they asked.

“Yes,” he insisted. “Think back to the first time you saw it, the shadow.”

Lifting a hand to get his full attention, Mildred said, “I saw it, the first time, when Greta was telling us she was going to resurrect the dead, but I thought I was seeing things, imagining things.”

Lifting her hand, Lisa said, “I also saw it, the shadow, when Greta was opening the locket, but no one paid any attention to what I was saying…so I forgot about it.”

Admitting that she had also seen something lucking, watching them, and had done nothing about it, Greta said, “I am as guilty as you two…for I also saw something – and more than once, but did nothing about it, said nothing about it…” Her voice trailed off.

“Don’t be sad,” said Lisa. “We are all to blame, no one more than the other.”

“Yes, we all saw it,” Greta replied, “but I saw it four times, in total, and still said nothing. In my book that makes me the guiltiest.”

Interrupting, Yoruk said, “I am not pointing the finger of blame – or guilt – at anyone.”

“You aren’t?” each sister asked, relieved.

“No,” he insisted. “All that I want you to do is to realise it, and remedy the situation.”

“Remedy the situation? But we don’t even know who it is!”

“I said it once,” said the little green man, “and I will say it again, you know who it is.”

“We do?” they asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it mum?” said Greta, meekly, humbly.

“Right on the button,” he replied, smiling.

“Mum has been following us?” asked Lisa. “Are you sure?”

“Mum, as in our mum, our step-mum?” asked Mildred.

Pointing down the lane, to a particularly large tree bordering it, Yoruk said, “See?”

“See what?” they asked.

“You mother,” he replied, “She’s watching you even as I speak.”

Staring down the lane, to the tree, the sisters caught a fleeting glimpse of their mother, before she snuck in, hiding behind it.

“Shall I go fetch her?” asked Lisa. “I am sure she would love to meet you!”

Cutting her a glance so cruel it would have curdled butter, the little man told Lisa – and in no uncertain terms – that this was not the way forward.

“Mum shouldn’t be here,” said Greta.” That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Yoruk?”

“Yes,” he replied, nodding his head, “it is.”

“We have to remedy the situation!” Greta continued. “It’s too dangerous, her knowing that we are faeries.”

“I dread to think what might happen if she were to meet one of those awful slugs,” said Lisa, all in a quandary.

Patting her faerie bag, Greta said, “leave it to me, I know just the thing to fix it…”

“Oh, sis,” said Lisa, “please be gentle with mum!”

“Yes,” said Mildred, “for she’s ever so old and fragile.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Greta, “it won’t hurt her one bit.” With that, she opened her bag, looking into it, searching through its deepest, darkest recesses.

 

Chapter Seven

Why Are You Hiding Behind This Tree, Mum?

 

After searching for several minutes through the darkest recesses of her faerie bag, Greta finally withdrew her hand. “I have it!” she proudly proclaimed, clutching something tightly.

“What is it?” her sisters asked, their necks craning, their eyes straining, trying to see through the cracks in her clenched fingers.

Opening her hand, Greta showed them what she had removed out from her bag.

“No, not more faerie dust!” they moaned. “Don’t you think we have had enough trouble with that already?”

“Trouble?” asked the little man, curious.

“It’s a long story,” said Mildred.

“We promise to tell you all about it, later,” said Lisa.

Standing her ground, Greta said, “If you will be so kind as to allow me to continue?”

Sorry, sis,” said Lisa, “but we are worried for mum!”

“Sorry, Greta,” said Mildred. “What are you going to do with it?”

Tapping the side of her nose, Greta answered, “Come; come follow me, to mum, and you will see.”

When they arrived at the tree, Lisa, Greta and Mildred found their mum still hiding behind it.

“Mum,” said Lisa, “what are you doing, there?”

“Yes,” said Mildred, “Why are you hiding behind this tree?”

Their mother, however, did offer a reply.

“Do you want to see what I have in my bag?” asked Greta.

The mother, in the same way as with Lisa and Mildred, offered her no reply.

“I am talking about my bag, the bag hanging from my belt,” Greta explained. “Like Lisa and Mildred’s. Do you remember how inquisitive you were, when we first wore them? How we told you that we had found them?”

“The little black bags?” said the mother, from behind the tree.

“Yes,” she replied. “I have something to show you, that I found inside mine.”

“What is it?” the mother asked.

“Come out, and I’ll show you.”

“Out there?”

“Yes.”

“But, but there are all sorts of rum things going on, out there,” she protested. “Like, like little green men running around, and, and huge, giant man-eating slugs!”

“No there isn’t,” Greta lied, waving to Yoruk, for him to hide. “It’s a peaceful out here as a grave.”

“A g, grave?” the mother asked, afraid.

“Perhaps that was the wrong word,” Greta continued. “Come on out, and see what I have found.”

Slowly, carefully, tentatively making her way round the huge tree, the mother finally appeared in front of her children. However, on seeing the little green man, she darted back in again.

“You said it was as quite as a grave,” the mother cried out. “No grave that I have ever seen has a little green man in it.”

“Hide properly, Yoruk,” Greta hissed. “She mustn’t see you again.” Returning her attention to her mother, she said, “Come out, mum. There is no man out here, green or otherwise

“Are you sure?” the mother asked, poking her head around the tree for a second time.

“Yes, yes, I am sure,” she replied.

Emerging from behind the tree, the mother said, “But I saw so many strange things…when I was following you. I saw slugs, and giant ones at that!”

“They were some llamas that happened to pass by,” said Greta, lying again.

Her eyes narrowing, the mother said, “Some llamas happened to pass by – here, in England?”

Knowing that she had made a mistake, mentioning llamas, llamas being native to South America, Greta tried to salvage the situation, with, “They escaped from a petting farm.”

Seemingly convinced by her argument, the mother, moving on from the llamas, said, “I also saw that little green man! Where has he gone?”

“A dog,” Greta explained. “It was a dog someone painted green for St Patrick’s Day.”

“But it’s no way near St Patrick’s Day,” said the mother.

Thinking fast, Greta said, “It was painted for last St Patrick’s Day. It seems they used the wrong sort of paint, and it wouldn’t wash out. Some people are so stupid.”

“And cruel,” said the mother, emerging fully from her place of concealment. “To think they painted a dog! They should be locked up!” Her attention drawn to the unfortunate (and nonexistent) dog, the mother hardly registered what happened next, until it was too late.

Delving a hand into her bag, her faerie bag, Greta withdrew a handful of faerie dust and sprinkled it over her mother.

“What are you doing,” she asked, “throwing grey dust all over me?  I thought you wanted to show me what you found in that bag of yours?”

“I have,” Greta replied.

“You have?” the mother asked. “All I can see is dust. Where did it all come from, anyhow?” she asked, coughing, waving her arms, trying to disperse it.

When the dust had subsided, the mother said, “Now what was I talking about? I cannot seem to remember what I was saying.” Turning to her daughter, she said, “Greta, where did you come from?”

“I – we were out walking,” her daughter replied.

“We, we – who?”

Lisa, Greta and I, of course!”

“I knew that,” said the mother, although she was still very confused.

“And we saw you… You seemed to have got lost in this smoke.”

“Smoke, yes,” said the mother. “I do remember that, the smoke… I must have fallen asleep, somehow, while I was lost, in it. And all those horrible things I saw were but a dream!” she added, scratching her head as if that would help her to make more sense of it.

“Come on home,” said the mother, pulling Greta’s hand. “Lisa and Mildred must be out of their minds, wondering where we have got to.”

“But we are here!” Lisa and Mildred protested.

“And also you two,” said the mother, waving them on, “anyone who is a friend of Lisa and Mildred is also friend of mine.”

And so it ended, the first – and for a long time the last – faerie adventure the three sisters, Lisa, Greta and Mildred had on their own, without Yoruk.

Postscript:

If case you wondering how the locket came to be in the lane, in the first place, and how the slugs managed to get themselves trapped inside it, you will have to wait until the next instalment of the Three Fearie Sisters amazing adventures, to find out.

 

TO BE CONTINUED…