Green faerie/pixie: © Wendy Holcombe (no reproduction without her express permission)
Perry was ordinary in every way; he was a blender * with a set routine. Up at 6:00 am, tea and crumpet with rhubarb-strawberry jam, spent 10 minutes checking his email, shower for 5 minutes then start his day. Rode his bike 3.57 miles. Spent 9 am to 4:30 pm in his little beige cubicle, slipping out between 12:00 and 12:30 to eat his PBJ (grape jelly). He had a precise watch, set to the atomic clock in Colorado. Perry was ordinary and predictable. Just the way he liked.
So when, on the morning of August 4, he entered his kitchen at 6:02 am, he was more than surprised to see his refrigerator door open, and a tiny, perfect pixie rummaging through the shelves. Already higgledy-piggledy on the counter were butter, crumpets, milk. His kettle began to sing on the stove. “That get Please you,” she said, her pert pixiense English echoing in the fridge.
Perry, to his surprise, did as he was told. “coffee What no!!!!!!!, jumbleberry jam What no!!!!!!!,” reverbed out of the deepest reaches of the appliance. Perry’s voice, unused to being used prior to 8:36 am, cracked and chipped when he replied, “Tea only. Grape jelly, strawberry-rhubarb jam.”
“it Damn,” sputtered the pixie, finally emerging, “strawberries Allergic.”
Perry assumed he was dreaming. At a precise moment, he would wake up, tucked neatly under his duvet. So, he didn’t over-react. He warmed the dream teapot, filled the tea ball with his special blend of gunpowder and green tea leaves. “gunpowder Extra,” demanded the pixie, now hovering over his shoulder. “coffee Well no.”
But, the more his routine was messily mimicked by the pixie, the more Perry wondered when or if he was going to wake up. Perhaps this wasn’t a nightmarish dream, but a nightmarish doppelgänger of his August 4th morning. Awake. Awake having breakfast with a pixie. A pixie who spewed jammy crumpet crumbs, slurpled and spilt tea from cup onto saucer onto counter top. Perry never created crumbs or puddles of tea with milk and 10 sugars.
“Exactly how did you get into my kitchen,” Perry finally asked, his frustration growing. “portal Freezer easy cold dam travel,” mumbled the pixie through crumpet. Perry had recently, almost on what was for him a whim, purchased a new refrigerator, the Fantasy 5000, through a reputable website. No mention of pixie portals associated with this model in reviews. He resisted opening the freezer compartment and shifting around the frozen peas and ice cream to check.
“I have a warranty,” was all he could think to respond. He checked the clock. He was well out of his routine, time ticking away. Clean the slobby kitchen, check email, shower all off kilter.
The pixie, smeared in grape jelly studded with crumpet crumbs, perked up, “clean Sparkling do I. shower Go.” He had a eerie, tingly feeling she was a peeping Tomasina pixie who knew his routine too well. Perry climbed the stairs slowly, by-passing his usual email check. Still digesting the idea of a pixie portal in his freezer. Maybe he should return the fridge, but what if it was an exchange policy only. Who knows what might emerge from his new veggie drawer then.
He turned the shower on 2 minutes before he was ready to step in – it deadened somewhat the crashing and banging coming from the kitchen below. “I suppose I could breakfast with a pixie; better than supper with a troll.” Perry was a blender* no more.
*pixiense for those folks who blend in; ordinary folks who aren’t unique
Written for Mindlovemisery’s Tale Weaver # 79: The Wormhole