The Worst Fairytale

Chapter 1 - Once Upon a Time...

"Fairtytales are real" and there couldn't be anything worse."

"Hi, my name is Rue, and I'll be your narrator. Today, I'm going to share with you a tale—oh, but not just any tale. Let's call it 'The Worst Fairytale.' It's not ancient history, but it's far from modern; it's about my journey to a world unknown, all to rescue my grandmother and, unfortunately, assist these tiny, tiny creatures. Oh, how I loathe them!"

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Rue was just about to tuck her daughter, Jiya, into bed for the night when Jiya asked her mother to tell her favorite fairytale—the one where her mom was the hero.

So, Rue, your narrator, sat beside her daughter, caressing her hair, and began to tell what was both a beloved and daunting fairytale.

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It all started ...

On the brisk -

Sorry.

Once upon a time, on the brisk morning of December 23, 1964, a silence hung over the small town of Westbury, broken only by the occasional whistle of the winter wind. In the heart of this quiet, in a house that bore the marks of years and love, Granny awoke with a start at 4 AM, her heart thrumming with an inexplicable sense of foreboding.

She couldn't pinpoint why she had woken; the house was silent, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Yet, an inner alarm urged her to check on her family. She tiptoed to her son's room, where my father and Uncle Jaby slept soundly, their chests rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep. A peek into Aunt Dora's room showed her also in the embrace of dreams, undisturbed.

Seeking to calm the unease that knotted her stomach, Granny descended the stairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. What she found there, bathed in the moonlight filtering through the window, was beyond the realm of her wildest dreams. Tiny creatures, no larger than butterflies but with an inch to spare, flitted about the kitchen. They emitted a soft, ethereal glow, casting the room in a hue of tranquil blue. Their blonde hair shimmered like threads of gold, and their wings, delicate and thin, whispered tales of a world unseen.

But if you ask me, I think they were just buzzing. Huh!

For a moment, Granny stood frozen, awe mingling with fear. Memories of fairy tales she'd dismissed as childish fancies fluttered through her mind, yet here before her seemed to be their living embodiment. The creatures paid her no heed, their soft buzzing and hissing filling the silence.

Among them, one figure stood out, her radiance outshining the rest. She seemed to be their leader, directing their dance with gentle movements. Granny's heart raced. She wanted to reach out, to understand, yet fear rooted her to the spot. What if they meant harm?

Her contemplation was cut short by my father's cry for her – her little Danny boy. Rushing to quiet him, when she glanced back to find the kitchen empty, the creatures vanished as if they'd never been. Holding my father close, she pondered the reality of her experience, regretting her hesitation of not approaching those creatures.

She walked to my father's room and tucked him into bed. While doing this, she found herself thinking about those tiny creatures. As time passed, that moment began to feel like a fabricated memory, fading into a faint imprint that could be relegated to her subconscious mind.

Stillwhen she woke up, all she could think of those "tiny creature - faereis". The day passed in a blur, Granny's mind never straying far from the kitchen. Despite her exhaustive search, no trace of the creatures remained. That night, exhaustion claimed her, pulling her into a restless sleep.

Yet, history repeated itself the following night. Awake once more at the witching hour, she found the kitchen again alive with the mysterious beings, their numbers grown. This time, she pinched herself, confirming their reality. But just as before, my father's interruption scattered them like leaves in the wind.

Yes, these things can interrupt your entire experience. I mean if I were in her place, I would have gone crazy by then.

Next day - Christmas Eve, brought a flurry of activity, pushing the memory of the creatures to the back of Granny's mind. The house buzzed with preparations, the spirit of the holiday weaving through each room. But as night fell, and Granny went to retrieve the pineapple cake and cookies she'd prepared, she did not return.

Panic ensued when, after minutes that stretched like hours, my grandfather found the kitchen deserted, the treats gone. His search through the town yielded nothing, the weight of despair growing with each passing moment. Then, amidst the chaos, my father's voice cut through the silence, his words chilling to the bone: "faeries took her."

The very idea seemed madness, yet in the face of Granny's inexplicable disappearance, every possibility bore consideration. But questions lingered like shadows—were these creatures of old tales real? What did they want with Granny?

As Aunt Dora comforted my father (Daniel), the family stood on the brink of an unfathomable mystery, the night air heavy with the scent of pine and a hint of something else—something magical, a reminder of the thin veil between our world and the realm of the fae.

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"What do you think, Jiya? Do you truly believe a fairy whisked away your great-grandma?" Rue inquired, looking into her daughter's eager eyes.

"Yes, Mumma. But don't stop now. I want to hear it all without pausing," Jiya responded with a playful giggle, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Understood, my little captain." Rue said warmly, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on Jiya's forehead, her smile filled with affection.