The Old Dirt Road

I’m having a lot of fun with these prompts. I have failed the last couple of times in keeping under the 1000 word limit, but that – admittedly – is one of my biggest problems. Once I start writing, I tend to keep writing and the next thing I know, I have 10,000 words when I planned on a 1000 word story.

Today, I actually stayed at the limit. Exactly 994 words. The prompt was Fairy Tale – dirt road – puppy, and I came up with this little drabble. The child is purposefully kept genderless – I didn’t think it mattered to the story itself – so I use they/them pronouns when needed. Hope you enjoy.

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The Old Dirt Road

“Rufus, come back!” the child yelled, chasing their new puppy across the yard.  Momma got the puppy at the Piggly Wiggly two weeks ago, so it was still getting used to the house and the family.  There was an adoption event at the store and Momma made the mistake of taking her two children there.  Rather, it was bad timing on Momma’s part to go shopping the day they were offering out puppies and kitties to new homes.

It had been a year since their old coon dog crossed the bridge to a better land (according to Momma) and the kids missed playing with a dog.  The yellow lab was too cute for even Momma to resist.  She didn’t and before they knew it, Rufus became part of the family.

He was a puppy, though, and not trained, so the kids tried their best.  Rufus learned quickly, but he was still rambunctious and loved to take off, and the child thought it their responsibility to return the little rambler when he did.

Once they hit the woods, it got tougher to follow the bouncy yellow butt ahead, but they were determined.  The child wasn’t scared, though.  They knew these woods like the back of their hand, and their step-dad had taught them enough to be safe.

Rufus was full of energy and made it to the old dirt road.  An abandoned trail through the back woods leading to a house.  It was abandoned and falling apart.  The siblings played there sometimes, climbing on the creaky porch, avoiding the rotted parts of wood to not crash through.  Cobwebs and moss covered everything inside – it was as if the people that lived there just up and left, leaving all they owned behind.  There were even plates on the table, and dishes in the sink. 

The boy told scary stories, as brothers are wont to do.  Each story was far-fetched, but the child always got a thrill to hear them.  Bonus if they were about places one could actually visit.  Witches figured prominently.  Evil fairies, bad elves, even Mothman or Bigfoot.  All potentially scaring the daylights out of the people in the house enough to run away and never come back.

It was fun to think as they explored the house when they were younger, but the child knew better at ten years of age.  Those things didn’t exist.  Probably someone died here and had no family in which to claim the house, so it was left as is.  Momma didn’t know when questioned.  They had moved here when she married their step-dad.

The dirt road was faint now, choked with weeds that stood almost to the waist.  The child could see the weeds bending on themselves as Rufus wiggled his way through off to the left.  The soft rustle was the only sound in the otherwise quiet forest and it made them shiver a little.  The woods were usually nosier with the buzz of insects, the soft sounds of animals in the underbrush, the breeze blowing through the dense treetops.  Today, however, quiet and unsettling.

Rufus was soon gone, but the child stood rooted to the spot.  Their feet didn’t want to move and so they stood uncertainly biting their lip.  They glanced down the old road but didn’t see anything.  Strange, though.  As they looked each way, their vision seemed to tunnel, the edges of the image distorted.

The child shook their head, trying to clear it.  It was a trick of the imagination, they reasoned.  Just that and nothing more.

Until a sound to the right drew their gaze.

It was tiny and hovered above the weedy road, wings beating as fast as a hummingbird – a blur behind the little creature.  A quite lovely little creature.  It was a female figure – it wasn’t clothed, so the child could blushingly tell the sex – with long hair curled in ringlets between her wings.  She had a lovely face with pointed nose and pointed ears.  In short, she looked exactly like fairies in the books they loved to read.

Seeing one, however, was a completely different experience than on a flat book page.  Fairies weren’t supposed to be here.  They were in old places, like England.    A feeling of terror rose up inside as the little being hovered there, studying the child.  Hesitantly, with palm up, they extended their hand toward the little fairy.

It took a few minutes, but the creature floated forward and daintily settled onto the palm, her tiny feet two little points of pressure on flesh.  The wings buzzed to a stop and folded themselves against her back, ruffling her curls.  The fairy stared at the child, her head tilting to one side, then the other.

“Hi,” the child said breathlessly.

There was no answer, and none was expected.  Instead, the fairy emitted a musical little trill before lifting once again into the air.  Enthralled, the child followed the little sprite when she turned and floated up the road toward the ruined house.

Only.  It wasn’t ruined.  It looked new and the child gasped.  It was beautiful and light shone from the windows, bathing the clearing in a yellow glow that chased away the gloominess of the trees.  Never had they beheld such a lovely house.

The door swung open, seemingly on its own, for the child didn’t see anyone behind it.  The fairy floated up, and turned, bracketed by the doorframe, a small dot hovering in the light.  Laughing in delight, the child ran after her.

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The oldest boy entered his house where his mother sobbed to two police officers, her hysteric voice babbling about her smallest child.  The boy wore a frown in spite of the puppy frolicking around his feet.

“Did you find anything?” his mother cried when she noticed him.

He shook his head.  “All I found was Rufus.  He was up on the porch of that old ruined house in the woods.  Crying and whining at the door.”