There was that noise again, a little clatter in the pantry and the ridiculously loud whisper of someone, no, more than just someone, at least two somebody’s, whispering, giggling and making far more noise in the process.
For ages I thought it was my daughter, but now I am not so sure.
She’s a child that believes. You know what I mean. She believes in the fairies at the bottom of the garden. She believes in ghosts like Casper. She believes her toys come to life when she closes her eyes at night. She spends hours looking for signs of them all. I too did that as a child. I wonder when I stopped believing. To be honest, I don’t think I ever did. I still like to think of all those magical things like wishing on rainbows, unicorns and, well you know the stuff.
I charged to the pantry but there was no one there.
‘Becky?’ there was no response from my daughter.
I ran upstairs and there she was, sat quietly on the rug on her bedroom floor with her dolls out all around her.
‘Where you just in the pantry Becky?’
‘No Mommy, it wasn’t me. It was the fairies.’
I crept back downstairs, straining to hear if there was anymore noise from the pantry. As I got into the kitchen I could see the pantry door was open. I was sure I had left it shut. I waited for a moment and ran over, pulling the door wide. I saw a flash or light, almost like a little sparkle of glitter. Then nothing. No sound. No movement. Maybe it was me being hopeful, or my aging eyes playing tricks on me.
I suddenly felt a breeze ripple through my hair, and what was that? A giggle? It sounded like the tinkling of teacups far off in the distance. I smiled to myself.
Later in the day Becky asked to go out and play. I watched her take her dolls down to the bottom of the garden, playing in the flowerbeds and making them fly. I went out to listen. There is nothing like hearing a child’s make believe games. The fun, the inspiration, the pure not caring about being self conscious. I strained to hear her so I didn’t have to get so close. She sounded like she was having a proper conversation.
I walked closer. Becky jumped and turned around. ‘Mom, you made them go away, you can’t do that, you have to stay away, they say that adults don’t believe so they won’t show themselves on princ….on prinsi…oh I don’t know the word that they said Mommy.’
I looked at Becky and looked hard into the flowers, willing myself back to being a child and fully believing. Could that be? Could it be a little pair of eyes looking back at me? I blinked and looked again. Nothing!
I gave up and went inside.
Teatime passed with nothing unusual and it wasn’t until it was bed time that Becky seemed to act slightly strange. She was all giggles and jumpy and constantly looking over my shoulder. Each time I turned round there was nothing there, and she’d just giggle. I even tried to catch sight of what was going on in the mirror behind me, but I couldn’t see anything. I took Becky’s hand.
‘Becky, who are you looking at?’ Becky just looked at me and giggled.
I gave up and decided to get an early night. I was almost asleep when I could hear the noise of teacups clinking again. I opened one eye. I sat bolt upright and turned on the lamp. Becky was sat on the floor smiling at me. Was it her? Did she wake me? Was I just dreaming? Fairies only exist in a childhood imagination. In the morning I woke up and got dressed. I went out side to collect the milk and there in the garden were tiny little footsteps, and there was that noise again, the tinkling of little teacups.
I was definitely going insane, but if my world of insanity was filled with fairies then it wouldn’t be so bad.