War at the Walshes’

War at the Walshes’

Yuichiro Higashide

 

“A home is a place to which people return, and a place they protect.”

As always, Elias was giving the girl an impromptu lecture.

“That’s true,” Chise said, nodding. “Home” had meant a place where she could feel safe at one time. But she could no longer return to that place.

That was a long time ago.

Now she had a place where she belonged, a place to protect. People there waited for her return, people to whom she could say, “I’m home.”

Then again, while she knew she could return, she wasn’t sure how much protection it could offer her.

“The line between home and the outside world is a type of barrier. Humans cannot live on their own, yet they desire a place where they can be alone. Isn’t that right?”

Chise nodded. This made sense to her. Being alone all the time was quite lonely. Humans craved connections with others. But at the same time, it was human nature to seek private spaces where they wouldn’t need to interact with anyone.

A room of your own. A place where you could be by yourself.

“So, in a broad sense, the rules inside your home are different from the rules outside it. And if the rules are different, the beings born and raised there are also different.”

Elias took a small bottle of water and poured it out, tracing a line.

“There was a home here once,” he said.

“There was?”

Chise blinked and looked around. Indeed, now that she was paying attention, she noticed remnants of a stone wall; patches where the grass grew differently; signs that something large had once rested here in this field.

But unless you were actively looking for it, you’d see only grass.

“So, did…?” she began.

Did the people who lived here fall prey to something uncanny? Elias guessed her thoughts. “No, nothing like that. The people who lived here simply moved away in the usual fashion.”

Hypothetically, a family of six might have lived there. A grandfather and a grandmother; a mother and a father; a brother and a sister. The grandparents had made up their minds to live out their lives in this house, and their children had done the same. But the youngest generation longed to see more of the world and left for greener pastures.

The grandparents vanished, and the parents followed in time. No one remained in this place. The brother and sister talked it over, divided up the belongings, and tried selling the house. But the remote location and awkward design dissuaded anyone from buying it. Gradually, the house deteriorated—and neither of the children really cared.

Under those conditions, a home could fall apart in no time at all.

“But can a house fall to pieces so easily just because nobody lives there?” Chise asked.

“It depends on the house. This one had a house faerie—a Brownie, you see.”

“Like the Silver Lady?”

“That is the house faerie in our home. Like I said, each house has different rules and different beings living within.”

“Right.”

Chise didn’t really get it. Silky was the only house faerie she knew. Other kinds probably existed, but Chise knew nothing specific.

“They do not haunt the people, just the house. They delight in mischief but also help with the housework. However…”

Elias picked up a pebble from the remains of the house and held it to his brow.

“If people abandon the house, there’s no point in mischief or housework. And if a faerie’s actions no longer carry meaning, they cease to be themselves.”

The water mingled with the dirt, forming mud. The mud was like a boundary line, seemingly marking a front door.

“So this home’s faerie…transformed into something else?” Chise asked.

“It did.”

Elias stood, brushing the dirt off his clothes.

“As I was saying, there are different rules for every house. Another person’s home is like another world, albeit a very small one.”

Chise had visited any number of these other worlds, so she had an idea of what that meant.

“So you must always be careful when stepping into someone else’s home. We hold no sway over the rules of that house, for those who live there decide the rules.”

“R-right.”

“That said, this should settle things. Now they can build a new home here in time.”

“Was it cursed?” she asked.

“Not exactly, but I suppose it was something like a curse. The remnants of failure lay here. The voice of a former Brownie, rejecting all but the ones who had once lived here.”

Nobody can come in.

No one can set foot here.

This is our domain.

“Remnants…”

“Curious?” he asked.

Elias’s question caught her off guard. “Maybe a little.”

There was a Brownie living in Elias’s home, one who waited patiently for their return. So what were house faeries in other homes like? What type of house faerie imprinted itself on the ground like a curse?

Chise had to admit she was interested.

“Fair enough. Perhaps it would do you good to get a taste for how terrifying it can be to enter someone else’s home.”

Elias placed his finger on Chise’s forehead.

“Don’t worry. I’m simply sending your mind into the past, allowing you to view the memories held within this place,” he said.

“Understood.”

Chise closed her eyes. Immediately, she felt like she was falling. It was surprising but not enough of a shock to make her cry out. Elias had said not to worry, and Chise always trusted him.

 

These were far and distant memories.

The story of two Brownies, imprinted on the land.

 

***

 

Brownies have no names. However, as a Brownie develops a personality of its own, it becomes more than just a house faerie. It must be called something.

The Walsh family Brownie was often called Gray Walls on account of the house’s imposing walls of gray stone. But people rarely used that name in a positive sense. If he was referred to by name, it was only when he’d played a particularly awful prank on a human, injuring them so badly the other Brownies were gossiping about it.

“Gray Walls did it again!” they’d say.

Humans and faeries were different creatures with entirely different goals and reasons for living. When they met, good or bad things could happen. Sometimes they lived together in harmony, and sometimes they didn’t.

Brownies were a harmonious type. They helped with the housework and pulled pranks. Without both of these qualities, they would no longer be Brownies. So, to the other Brownies, Gray Walls was downright bizarre.

He didn’t hate humans. He didn’t hate them, but his “pranks” were cruel. He didn’t spill things on the floor or break plates; nothing that tame. He left nails sticking out of the floor. He weakened planks on the stairs. He made the bathroom floor slippery. These tricks were less mischievous than malicious, tormenting the residents of his home.

Above all, Gray Walls’ pranks could be fatal to those who lived there.

 

This house is haunted.

 

The head of the Walsh family said those words before he disappeared, leaving no sole heir. Normally the house would be sold and another family would move in, but the Walshes refused to sell.

Perhaps that was their way of getting revenge on the Brownie.

 

If you hate humans that much…

We’ll destroy the reason you exist.

 

Who knew what the Walshes were thinking? They merely left the house to rot.

They departed one day without warning, leaving all the furniture, clothing, even their food, behind. At first, Gray Walls believed they’d simply gone out, that they’d come back eventually. He considered this a great opportunity to ready his next prank.

 

One week passed. Gray Walls thought it was a long vacation.

One month passed. Gray Walls wondered if they’d gotten sick.

One year passed. He knew the other faeries were laughing at him now.

 

Oh, poor, poor Gray Walls. A Brownie whose people ran away!

Gray Walls shook his head.

They hadn’t run away.

They would never do that. They couldn’t have. They’d left all their furniture behind. Humans would never go away without taking all their belongings!

 

Ten years passed.

The house’s neighbors forgot anyone had ever lived there.

The walls deteriorated so badly that the name Gray Walls no longer made sense.

 

But Gray Walls waited patiently.

In time, someone new would live here. When they did, he could pull pranks on them again. This idea had passed from conviction to obsession.

The other faeries feared what he’d become and no longer gossiped about him. No one spoke to him, no one even saw him. All except for one Brownie.

 

***

 

That Brownie was called Rust Eyes.

Faeries cared little for physical attractiveness, but a human would have considered him much less appealing than an ariel or a vodyanoi. His appearance was sinister enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine.

He had eyes the color of rusted iron, making it impossible to tell from the outside if he could even see. One arm was long and gnarled, making him look like a faerie who worked with wrought iron rather than one who did housework.

In fact, he’d earned the nickname Rust Eyes because the family he lived with, the Elgars, were blacksmiths.

With the exception of dwarves, faeries hated iron as a rule. Only the strangest Brownies would ever choose to live with a smith. But Rust Eyes was a very strange Brownie. Brownies had many personality types, but “diligent” was the best word to describe Rust Eyes.

Now, “diligent” was the last word anyone would use to describe your average faerie, but this Brownie was quite unique. He did so much housework, but his pranks were scarcely ever mischievous. The only prank he ever pulled was to carefully turn the stacks of china upside down.

This amused the Elgars. To Rust Eyes, it was his signature prank.

Children born in the Elgar family, especially those who could see faeries, thought all Brownies were diligent, kind, and helpful. Rust Eyes never considered trying to change that impression. He simply couldn’t abide seeing anything out of place and acted accordingly.

Whether the Elgar family fortunes took a good turn or a bad one was of no importance to him. When the Elgar family baby died of pneumonia, Rust Eyes turned the plates upside down. When their daughter was married, he turned the plates upside-down.

He had no interest in human affairs, and that disinterest showed itself in the piles of upside-down china.

Time passed, each day the same as the one before. As the times changed, so did the routines of those around him. But Rust Eyes refused to change. If tomorrow wasn’t the same as yesterday, he couldn’t bear it.

 

Thanks for your help!

 

The letter left on the pile of upside-down plates did nothing to change his mind. The clumsy handwriting indicated that the Elgars’ only daughter had written it.

Humans had begun seeing Brownies as creatures of legend rather than close neighbors. Rust Eyes learned this from the daughter’s letter. As the house became modernized, people forgot about faeries. Drunk on their own arrogance, the cities changed around them.

So she’d wanted to thank the faerie that helped keep the house clean as if nothing had changed.

The letter explained all this. Rust Eyes slipped it into the box of treasures he’d hidden in the eaves. The letter didn’t make him work any more or less diligently.

To him, rules were essential. If he had cleaned a room, then he would turn all the plates over. That was the rule Rust Eyes had made for himself, and sticking to that rule gave him all the pleasure he needed.

As such, receiving the letter didn’t change his actions. Further letters awaited him on the stacks of china, letters which gave updates on the family or on life at school, but Rust Eyes’ behavior didn’t change at all.

But he read the letters.

She’d meant them for him, so he felt it was his duty to read them. The letters weren’t terribly interesting, mostly making a big deal out of ordinary events—how she’d managed to write twenty lines describing a boy throwing up at school, he could not say—but Rust Eyes wouldn’t treat any gifts poorly.

 

Rust Eyes ignored other faeries as studiously as he ignored the humans around him. Since the house dealt with iron, other faeries rarely came anywhere near the Elgar home, or anywhere near Rust Eyes.

If they thought of him at all, they thought of him as that strange faerie who didn’t hesitate to work with iron. Nothing more.

So Rust Eyes paid little attention to anything outside his territory.

 

But he knew that a Brownie named Gray Walls lived next door, in the house the Walshes had let fall into utter ruin.

He knew the Brownie’s extreme pranks had brought about tragedy and broken the heart of the home’s owner.

And he knew the Brownie was still waiting for the owner to return.

This wasn’t normal behavior. Rust Eyes may have been a strange Brownie, but he still dwelt within the acceptable range of faerie behavior. But Gray Walls’ obsession went beyond that.

Just as there were limits on the pranks a Brownie could pull, there were limits on how long a Brownie should wait. No contract bounded the Brownie; he hadn’t been summoned and shackled. Gray Walls was just waiting for his masters to return. Despite all the awful pranks he’d pulled, he was certain of their homecoming. It felt almost sinister.

Rust Eyes caught a glimpse of him two or three times a year.

He wanted nothing to do with Gray Walls, and Rust Eyes assumed Gray Walls was the same. So he ignored him.

In hindsight, the very fact that he ever caught a glimpse of him at all was odd.

 

As Rust Eyes went through his daily routine, something unexpected happened…

Petra, the Elgar girl who had sent him all those letters, went missing.

 

***

 

Petra Elgar’s mother had told her there was a Brownie in their house when she was only five years old.

It had been meant as a warning: Don’t let the faerie surprise you. Don’t try to talk to it. It might be dangerous. And so on.

He lived in the same world as them but followed different rules. She had to think of dealing with faeries like staying over at a stranger’s house. Petra wouldn’t want anyone jumping on her bed covered in mud, would she? Well, that was her mother’s explanation for how to deal with faeries.

Outside the house, Petra did just as she was told. Even if she saw faeries, she ignored them, not even listening to their whisperings. But no child could be satisfied with just that, not when a real Brownie lived in their own house.

He (or perhaps she) didn’t like showing himself to people, but he helped with the housework. Petra often found rooms clean when she knew for a fact nobody had cleaned them. Things she believed she’d lost would show up on her desk.

Every time this happened, her mother would put some warm milk on the mantle.

“This is how you show gratitude. Make sure you don’t drink it, okay?” Her mother laughed, happily.

Once, the milk had looked so good that Petra snuck a sip of it. The next day, someone had dumped all the garbage in the house out on her bed. After that, she never drank any of the Brownie’s milk again. Of course, even though it had been her punishment, the garbage was all dry dust and bits of paper. He hadn’t dumped anything smelly there, so Petra was sure this Brownie was nice.

 

When had she first heard about the Brownie next door?

The house next door had been a ruin as long as she could remember. She’d somehow known something haunted it. Her grandmother, grandfather, father, and mother had all warned her never to go there, over and over.

At ten, Petra’s mind balanced uneasily between discretion, curiosity, and common sense.

 

Discretion—don’t go into someone else’s house without permission.

Curiosity—something she had never seen before lived in the ruined house.

Common sense—faeries might not really exist.

 

Petra’s curiosity and common sense teamed up to defeat her discretion. If the house’s gray walls had still existed, discretion would have won out. But that barrier was long since gone. Two thirds of the walls had collapsed, and Petra easily stepped over them onto the house’s grounds.

She was sure there was nothing there, but this would satisfy her curiosity.

She secretly filled a backpack with chocolate, cookies, jerky, a leather canteen filled with water, a candle, and some matches. She was totally prepared, and her parents had no idea.

 

As had been already said, Rust Eyes was disinterested in the world outside. He took pleasure in his routine, as always.

But because of his very monotonous nature, he alone noticed Petra’s odd behavior. Petra wasn’t doing what she always did. Human behavior had some random elements, but it was unlike her to fill a backpack with chocolate and jerky while humming happily to herself.

 

Not a picnic. No one else in the house is talking about it.

She’s hiding that bag from everyone else.

This is important enough for her to stop herself from eating the chocolate immediately.

This can’t be good for the family.

 

Rust Eyes knew all of this but thought no more on the subject. He never involved himself in human affairs more than was strictly necessary.

The next day, the girl left the house. Rust Eyes had watched her go.

Petra didn’t come home that day. No one left warm milk for Rust Eyes on the mantle.

 

***

 

The Walshes’ Brownie, Gray Walls, was obsessed.

He had to protect this house. Someone had to live here, to accept this home as their own. Brownies were house faeries, but you couldn’t have a house without humans. More importantly—and this was far, far, far and away the most important thing to Gray Walls—without humans, he couldn’t pull pranks.

 

This was his sinister idea of fair trade, though it was neither fair nor a trade. It was more like a one-sided plunder.

Gray Walls had arrived at this horrifying idea three years earlier. He’d begun using the broken-down walls to tug at the neighboring children’s curiosity. “There’s gotta be something in that ruined house,” they’d say, and others would agree. The grown-ups who knew better all warned the children, but they could do nothing to stop their curiosity.

And at last, the Elgar girl became the first to enter the Walsh family grounds.

It was a cloudy day. Backpack on her shoulders, Petra stood outside the house. She normally didn’t even dare look directly at it. She swallowed.

It hadn’t seemed this bad from far away, but up close, there was a sinister air to the place.

It didn’t seem to be whispering, “Stay away.” Quite the opposite, and that was what scared her.

Something seemed to be calling for her.

Something terrifying.

Maybe the Brownie had long since gone. This place had been a ruin since before she was born, since her father was a little boy. Surely the Brownie had left. It must be safe.

Petra stepped over the wall.

“Hello!”

The main entrance of the house was tightly locked, the double doors wrapped in chains. Petra wandered around to the back, but there were chains on those doors, too. She was already at an impasse, her plans dashed.

“Huh?”

Not about to let this chance slip away, Gray Walls made a sound, drawing her to her destruction.

The sound had come from beside her. When she turned, Petra found a window whose glass had long since fallen out.

“Does that mean come in?” she asked.

It seemed like it did, and this cheered her up a bit. She was clearly being welcomed. The Brownie that lived here wanted her to enter. Who could blame her for dreaming? No one should expect a ten-year-old girl to sense malice so easily.

The longer humans live, the more likely they will be exposed to true malice, whether it be human or faerie in nature. And sometimes that malice lures children in, like sugary sweets.

 

Petra was shocked by the amount of dust inside the house. She’d imagined a Brownie would have kept the place clean.

“Hello?” she said.

Only silence answered. Petra hadn’t expected the Brownie to reply, so she continued exploring. The house was very old, and the piles of dust made her skin crawl. Even the air was unpleasantly damp.

She checked every room on the first floor, but all she found was dust; nothing worth seeing. Petra already wanted to go home but felt if she didn’t explore a little longer she’d be a coward. It was a two-story building, so maybe there was something upstairs.

She climbed the stairs and found three doors. One of them moved with a loud creak. Petra ignored the fact that no wind could have moved the door.

As if beckoned, she headed straight for it.

 

Petra had never known real malice. Everyone she’d ever met had looked on her kindly, and she had many friends.

Her house was old and comfortable, but her family wasn’t rich. The community around her was close-knit, everyone watching each other all the time. But she was such a thoroughly average girl that she sparked no envy and earned no grudges.

But here…

In this house, in this room, in this ghastly place she should have never entered…

For the first time, she encountered true malice and was overwhelmed by it.

“What…is this?”

This room had once been the owner’s study, his pride and joy. The big oak desk at the center of the room was still there…but the place had been thoroughly trashed.

Vicious claw marks marked the walls. Every single book had been yanked off the shelves and torn to pieces. The desk was so gouged with scratches that no one could ever work upon it again. A coat rack stood in the center of the room, books precisely impaled on every spoke like proudly displayed hunting trophies.

Petra couldn’t put this horror into words. Even so, she understood.

This was bad.

Whether a human or a faerie was responsible for this, they were clearly a being she shouldn’t be anywhere near.

Fear welled within her, and, just before it exploded, Petra clapped both hands over her mouth. She was afraid if she screamed, something would notice her.

She’d lost her appetite. She summoned all her strength and forced herself to stand. But just before she began down the stairs, she froze.

The stairs lay broken in places, pointy bits of wood sticking out of them. It was like something wanted her to impale her feet.

Something clearly did. Now that Petra had witnessed evil, she could feel it. This was a “prank.” The Brownie was still here and trying to trick her.

“Uh…”

She moved carefully, one step at a time, praying the stairs wouldn’t break under her. She moved slowly. The stairs creaked beneath her weight, making her even more nervous. The boards felt like they could snap in two at any moment.

She wanted to pray to God, to beg someone to come save her. But fear and regret invaded Petra’s mind. She would never oversleep again. She’d help with the housework all the time and help look after the neighbors’ babies even without the promise of candy in reward.

Offering up these prayers, she made it halfway down the stairs.

“Ahh!”

Something grabbed her ankle. She lost her balance and toppled forward. A jagged wood spike waited for her.

Instinctively, she twisted to avoid it and succeeded. Her backpack was so big and heavy and full of candy and jerky that it shielded her fall.

“Eek!”

She tumbled the rest of the way down but avoided serious injury. She’d managed to get far enough down the stairs that the fall didn’t hurt much. The fright of having her ankle grabbed had done more damage than the fall.

Her little heart beat a mile a minute.

Something had grabbed her. She’d definitely felt something grab her ankle. Petra got up and scrambled toward the window through which she’d entered.

The window, the window, the way out! Have to get there, have to get out, gotta get to the window!

But she soon stopped in her tracks. She’d been in this room before. When she’d climbed in the window, she’d seen this china cabinet. She remembered being disgusted by the dust piled on those plates.

But now, the window was gone.

No, it was here. It was still here, it was just sealed up. Wooden boards covered the window completely.

 

She was trapped.

 

That simple, horrifying truth finally made Petra scream.

 

***

 

That evening…

The Elgar’s only daughter should have long since been home. Her father and mother ran around, checking wherever they thought she might be: friends’ homes, nice neighbors, homes with cats, anywhere she might have gone.

But the girl had vanished. None of them had seen her today, which meant she’d been missing since she left the house that morning.

Rust Eyes watched them frantically trying to decide what to do. He’d performed his usual trick, but neither of them had even noticed.

Well, can’t blame them, Rust Eyes thought. Their daughter was missing. Had someone kidnapped her? Had she run off somewhere? The possibilities spun in circles that led nowhere good.

Only Rust Eyes had noticed Petra’s odd behavior the day before.

If she’d gone to the woods, someone would have noticed. Besides, nothing really popped out of the woods this time of year. There was little to no chance any faerie would lure her there anyway. Petra’s body smelled strongly of iron, and, while it wasn’t fatal, faeries found that odor repulsive. Most faeries would be reluctant to even speak to her.

In the end, Rust Eyes didn’t think that scenario very likely.

Which meant…

Only the worst possibility remained. Rust Eyes went into the fireplace and scrambled up the chimney, staring across the roof at the house next door.

Gray Walls’ house lay wrapped in silence.

But Rust Eyes was a Brownie, and he could tell: the Brownie next door was delighted.

I did it! Thanks to you, I can play pranks again!

Rust Eyes could see Gray Walls’ excitement. Human eyes never could have picked up on it, but nothing could fool a Brownie’s eyes.

Petra was trapped in the Walsh home.

 

Rust Eyes was sure of it.

 

***

 

The girl pounded on the windows for a while. She knocked on the doors. She screamed and screamed, and then screamed some more.

But the doors and windows remained stubbornly shut, and not a soul answered her calls.

Petra sat down, sniffling, then discovered something lying next to her that hadn’t been there a moment before.

A broom lay at her feet, exactly like one a witch might ride in a faerie tale.

Petra racked her brains. If the Brownie had given her a broom, did that mean it wanted her to clean?

She stood, wiped her tears on her sleeve, and picked up the broom. Maybe if she cleaned, it would let her go. Maybe if she cleaned, she could leave.

She had to believe that.

She took a handkerchief from her backpack, covered her mouth and nose, and began sweeping the floor.

Sweat poured down her face. The house was huge, and the broom heavy; but cleaning was her one escape. Pausing only to eat some chocolate and drink some water, she swept the entire great hall.

“Next…”

Next came the bedrooms? Dreading it, she stepped out of the room. A moment later, something made a noise, and Petra spun around to stare in horror.

It was back. All the dust she’d swept into the dustbin and thrown away was back, scattered across every surface.

She hadn’t made the Brownie mad or hurt its feelings. No, it had done this deliberately.

“Oh.”

At last Petra understood what this Brownie wanted.

The Brownie didn’t just want her to clean. It wanted her to clean so it could make the place dirty again. That was its idea of a prank.

And that meant…

“I…can’t ever leave.”

Petra Elgar would never get out of this house.

Too dejected to hold on to it, she let the broom fall to the floor with a clatter.

 

***

 

No one in the Elgar family had slept that night. Petra wasn’t in the forest, she wasn’t in any homes nearby, and no body had been found floating in the river.

She’d completely vanished. Some people even suggested that the faeries got her, but the Elgar father rejected that idea. His daughter wasn’t the type to let herself be spirited away.

As the day passed, Rust Eyes found he couldn’t control the disturbance in his heart, the irritation that had welled within him.

This day wasn’t following the rules.

There was no milk. They hadn’t even noticed his prank. Banshee-like wails echoed ceaselessly through the house, both the mother’s tears and the father’s lamentations. A faerie, or something else, had taken her? Either way, the girl was gone. Gone without a trace, as if she’d fallen in a pit somewhere.

Rust Eyes felt this family wouldn’t last long. He doubted the parents would ever have another child. This deep despair would end their family line.

And disrupt his rules.

With his reason for being a house faerie gone, he would have to find a different house. Which was fine; creating a whole new set of rules was a choice he could make. But this family always gave him milk. They pretended not to notice him. They never tried giving him clothes to replace the rags he wore.

Would he be lucky enough to find another house like this one? Rust Eyes felt the chances were low.

So what should he do?

Should he step outside his comfort zone and do something?

 

I’m thinking. I’m thinking about it. I’m considering something I normally never would. I’m thinking about what that would entail, about what I’d need to do. I’m formulating a plan. I just need to make a decision.

 

One step. One crucial step.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would work out better than he imagined. Or maybe it would be far worse, and he would no longer be himself.

Rust Eyes thought about it.

He hated iron, hated steel, didn’t care about humans at all. But this wasn’t a bad house, and that was reason enough to take this step. Reason enough.

He should do it.

Not for anyone else. He had to step into Gray Walls’ domain for himself.

Rust Eyes stopped thinking and took that step.

 

***

 

Petra cleaned, Gray Walls pulled a prank. She cleaned again, he pulled a prank. She cleaned again, he pulled a prank. She cleaned again, he pulled a prank. She cleaned again, he pulled a prank. She cleaned again, he pulled a prank, she cleaned again, he pulled a prank, she cleaned again, he pulled a prank, she cleaned again, he pulled a prank, she cleaned again, he pulled a prank, she cleaned again, he pulled a prank, she cleaned again, he pulled a prank.

It never ended.

No progress, no future, no hope. No one was coming to save her.

She swept the dust from a bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. But she couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty either. She was scared. The Brownie here saw her as just another part of the house.

“Huh?”

Petra rolled over and glimpsed something between the bed and the night table. She reached out and picked it up.

It was a note. The paper was yellow and wrinkled, but she could read the writing.

She recalled the nightmarish study.

Hesitantly, Petra began scanning the note.

 

The spirit in this house is not a Brownie but a devil.

My son will never run again. That thing made him fall down the stairs, and that was it. He didn’t slip. That thing grabbed his feet and tripped him.

My wife will never go outside again. The fire in the hearth suddenly sparked on her clothes.

I know this is that faerie’s, that horrible Brownie’s, idea of a prank.

We’re abandoning this house, this country. We won’t look back. Why should we? Curse that faerie. Stay here waiting for a new master until you die.

Die, die, die, die, die, die, die!

 

If this Brownie had been behind those horrible accidents…

Rage and frustration filled this note. How could these horrible occurrences be pranks?

She’d just finished crying, but tears welled up in Petra’s eyes again. She was so scared, so tired, and so sad. She’d heard sadness could make your heart feel like it was being ripped in two; Petra understood that feeling now.

She read the note again. The man who wrote this must have been deeply miserable. These pranks had ruined his life and forced him to leave his home, his country.

The same thing was going to happen to her. Losing a leg would probably hurt immensely. Losing her hands would probably be awful. Never seeing the sky again would be downright lonely.

She wished a mage would come to save her. A good mage who could grant her every wish, teach her to fly away from this place.

If faeries existed, then maybe mages did, too.

 

There was a loud crash.

Petra turned to the door. Faint hope soon gave way to despair. A broom and a wet cloth had been placed there for her.

This time, he wanted her to wipe down the corners, too.

“No,” Petra whispered. “I won’t! I don’t wanna! I can’t do this anymore!”

As if in response, a noise came from the ceiling, like an angry stomp.

But Petra was only ten and couldn’t control her outburst that easily. She just kept yelling “no.”

Gray Walls picked up a vase, ready to throw it at her.

“That’s enough, Gray Walls.”

A low, growling voice made Petra’s every hair stand on end.

 

***

 

How long since he’d gone outside? Rust Eyes didn’t remember. He barely had any sense of time to begin with. To him, the repetition of days was comforting, not tiresome. This felt like the third day he’d ever lived.

On the first day, he found a new master.

On the second day, he lived his daily routine.

And on the third day, he protected that routine.

He didn’t open a window; rather, he smashed it. Outside air rushed through the shattered barrier like it was entering a vacuum. The humans around them had long since fallen asleep; the night was so silent one might think all life had vanished.

“Why are you here?” Gray Walls asked Rust Eyes, a dire threat in his voice.

Rust Eyes wore the same rags as Gray Walls. The tattered clothing fluttered in the night breeze. The rusty eyes that were his namesake gleamed. Rust Eyes lifted his abnormally long arm, and in his hand he held a jagged wooden spear.

He’d brought a weapon.

“That child belongs to my house, Gray Walls,” he said in measured tones.

Perched on the stairs railing, Gray Walls flew into a fury. “What a load of crap, Rust Eyes! She’s the new master of this house! My new master!”

“Wrong,” Rust Eyes said. “What do you expect from a child of ten? As your master, do you think she can make this house new again? Impossible. You’ll only ruin her.”

“So?” Gray Walls’ lack of concern was terrifying. He considered the girl to be his master. As his master, it was her job to clean this place so he could pull pranks.

That was all that mattered to him. The toll it took upon her was of no consequence.

“I see. That’s the way you are.”

“You need to shut the hell up, Rust Eyes. You’re a much stranger Brownie than me!”

“So?” he said, a deliberate mockery of Gray Walls’ earlier response.

“How dare you?!”

“You disturbed my domain first, Gray Walls. That’s the only reason I’ve invaded yours. You will give the child back to me.”

“Shut up!”

At Gray Walls’ howl, Petra screamed.

“Shut the door!” Rust Eyes yelled.

A few moments later, he heard the door slam. Her gaze had unsettled him, so this was a relief. Now there was no turning back. Not that he’d ever planned to lose.

“You’ll pay for this, Rust Eyes,” Gray Walls seethed.

“I never thought you’d just give her up. That’s why I brought this.”

Rust Eyes hefted the spear in his long arm.

 

House faeries rarely fought among themselves. Their role was to protect their own domains. Only humans fought to the death or to prove superiority. Faeries had no need of such things.

But when their goals conflicted, it was a different matter. They approved of damage done in the name of protection; to protect what was theirs, they would go for the throat.

 

Their bodies were at most a few feet long, but they attacked like ferocious beasts. Sharp, strong claws that could easily split a human’s skin swiped at each other, fangs that could snap bones in two lengthened.

Unlike wild beasts, they had no fur. Their skin was exposed. Like their names, Gray Walls had gray skin, and Rust Eyes’ hide was the color of rusted iron.

And Rust Eyes held a weapon in his hands. A sharp, wooden spear, strong as iron and every bit as cold.

“You think you can beat me in my own home?!” Gray Walls cried.

“I do.”

The calmer Rust Eyes was, the greater Gray Walls’ fury grew. And now, it erupted. “I’ll rip you apart!”

“Go ahead and try!”

A small but ferocious war began.

 

Brownie claws were sharp, hard, and dug deep.

Gray Walls didn’t hesitate to try and rip Rust Eyes open, but the wooden spear easily pierced his palm.

“Gaaargh!”

He screamed like a Banshee. Blood flowed, and pain shot through him. His screams echoed throughout the house. Shut in the bedroom, Petra could hear the muffled shriek. Rust Eyes hoped she wouldn’t panic and come running out.

The two Brownies flew around the great hall. Though the wooden spear weighed him down, Gray Walls wielded his claws deftly. They ran across walls and ceilings—clash and retreat, clash and retreat. Rust Eyes sneered, taunting Gray Walls.

“That human is only ten, Gray Walls. She could never be your master,” he said.

“Shut up!”

They clashed again. This time, Gray Walls’ anger won out.

But Rust Eyes didn’t stop to stare at his injury. He attacked again. Gray Walls knew Rust Eyes wouldn’t stop, and, with a slash, severed the fixture holding the tattered chandelier in place.

Rust Eyes had landed directly underneath it. “Aah!” Unable to dodge in time, the chandelier pinned one of his arms. Gray Walls spied a chance and went for Rust Eyes’ throat.

With no other alternative, Rust Eyes threw the spear. While Gray Walls dodged it, he yanked his arm free. The arm was no longer usable, and his spear had been snapped in two, but he was free once more.

Howling with rage, Gray Walls threw the broken spear aside.

“What do you know? I haven’t had a master in decades! She came to this house, she’s mine now!” he yelled.

“Humans aren’t things. You’ve become far too twisted, Gray Walls.”

They clashed again.

Rust Eyes picked up a piece of his spear, using it like a club to pound Gray Walls’ arm. But Gray Walls stepped back, and the spear struck a candlestick. Gray Walls had lived so long in this house to easily know where everything was.

“Ouch!”

Rust Eyes’ shoulder split open. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it came dangerously close.

“This house is mine! I kept it clean! This house was my pride; it was everything to me! But they looked at me, and they pitied me!” Gray Walls cried.

Oh, that made sense.

Brownies loathed human compassion, and they despised sympathy. It filled them with unfathomable rage and usually drove them from the house. Rust Eyes knew why. It was a feeling fueled by inferiority. Humans built the houses; all faeries could do was move in.

They didn’t want to be allowed to live there or for humans to think they were letting them stay. They helped out around the house to earn their keep.

That made them even, yet the humans pitied them for it.

 

Anger at their pranks, small gestures of gratitude—
these were all part of the order of things. Compassion was not. To a faerie, pity was like poison. Most would just leave under such circumstances. But on rare occasions, they’d react like Gray Walls had.

Rebel against that scorn, that cold gaze.

Rage, anger that shook the body, fury, and madness…

 

“But you know this is a mistake. You know that perfectly well,” said Rust Eyes.

“Shut up!”

Gray Walls never could have predicted what happened next. Ignoring the bleeding gash in his shoulder, Rust Eyes grabbed the heavy iron candlestick and swung it at Gray Walls’ head.

“What?!”

Rust Eyes also found the cold iron horribly unpleasant, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.

The candlestick dented the side of Gray Walls’ head. He slammed into a wall, emitting a gasping groan.

“Ugh. Ugh. Uggghhh.”

 

Gray Walls didn’t want to leave this place. He didn’t want humans to pity him. His cruel pranks had given the Brownie a strange delight. Why was it so much fun to hurt those who had hurt him?

 

“I am sorry, Gray Walls. But I have to protect what’s mine, and I have to follow my own rules,” Rust Eyes said.

 

Brownies were small, quick faeries who helped with the housework, thanked with a small saucer of milk. Though they wore rags, they must never be given clothes.

 

“Then…what… What am I?!”

Unable to leave the house, unable to live with humans, Gray Walls was no longer a Brownie, no longer any other type of faerie. Gray Walls had become unique, unlike anything else. The price was that no one would ever care about him again.

“You aren’t anything, not anymore.”

Rust Eyes spun the candlestick. The top of it had a jagged spike on which to hold a candle. The spike gleamed in the light.

Gazing at it, Gray Walls whispered forlornly, “I’m nothing?”

“The gray walls are long since gone.”

And, without hesitation, Rust Eyes swung the candlestick.

 

***

 

With a click, the door opened.

Petra had been shivering and hiding under the covers. She poked her head out. The great hall was dark, and she couldn’t see a thing. But she knew something was there.

After a long silence, she whispered, “Are you there?”

“I am.”

The voice wasn’t very nice; it was rather curt. But she knew immediately this wasn’t the thing that had trapped her here.

“Um, can I leave now?”

Silence. Petra took this as a yes and softly slid to the floor, nearly losing her balance. Her legs felt weak, but she slowly made her way out of the bedroom.

A breeze was blowing. It felt like freedom, though a little cold.

“Oh.”

The front door stood open. Its chains had been shattered.

Outside, darkness stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a light in the distance—her house.

“The door’s open. Do what you like,” the voice said.

Petra turned around.

There he was.

He stood in the corner of the hall, hidden in shadow. He was here, but her human eyes couldn’t make him out.

“Um, thank you. Really.”

“No need.”

A curt response. Petra took it to mean he wanted nothing to do with her. Yet his words and voice felt so warm to her. She wondered why.

“Don’t come back here,” the thing in the corner said.

Petra gulped, and nodded. She knew better, even without this warning. She would never play explorer again.

“Um,” she said, worried about one thing. “The, uh, faerie here?”

What had happened to the faerie that trapped her?

“It won’t go to your house.”

These words had the ring of truth to them and a deep sadness beneath that.

Had it died? Vanished? Either way, she believed him.

“Go.”

Petra ran.

“Mummy! Daddy!” she yelled. Her family heard her cries and burst out of the house.

Sobbing, she flung herself into her parents’ arms.

A human would have wept at this reunion, Rust Eyes thought. Gray Walls had vanished. As Rust Eyes had said, he was no longer a Brownie. Rust Eyes didn’t know where he’d gone. There was no point in wondering where a faerie went once they vanished.

His hand still stung from where he’d touched the iron.

Humans could never grasp the true nature of a faerie, nor could faeries truly understand humans. But Brownies became Brownies only when they lived with humans.

That had been true for Gray Walls too, though Rust Eyes had destroyed him. Rust Eyes himself was now likely something other than a Brownie.

 

The story of the girl’s adventure, and the faeries’ little war, were both over.

Only the empty house remained.

 

That, and a single strong wind that tried to blow everything away…

 

***

 

Chise blinked, and the warm sunlight dazzled her eyes.

“Welcome back.”

Elias seemed to have finished his work. He stood by her side, looming over her. For a strange moment, she saw in him a trace of the much smaller Rust Eyes.

“I saw,” she said.

“And? How was it?”

She thought about Silky, waiting in their home. Silky said almost nothing but always anticipated their return. She, too, was a Brownie. Silky always let Elias and Chise see her, as if it were normal. Perhaps that in itself was a small miracle. Normally, humans and faeries didn’t live alongside each other, and faeries never revealed themselves.

The vast majority of humans lived their lives without ever knowing that faeries existed.

“Um, is the curse lifted? The Walsh curse?” Chise asked.

Elias looked puzzled. He shook his head.

“The Walsh home and Gray Walls are long since gone. You saw how Rust Eyes destroyed them both.”

“Er.”

Chise blinked, taken aback. Then, suddenly, it made sense.

“This curse came from the Elgar family Brownie. It appeared when their home fell to ruin.”

 

He’d protected it.

He’d lived there in peace.

 

But his feelings for the place had been so strong, so stubborn. Like forged steel.

“Elias, how long ago did those events take place?”

Elias glanced up at the sky, thinking.

“I believe they were over a hundred years ago. I don’t remember for sure.”

“I see.”

Come to think of it, the glimpses Rust Eyes had given her of the smithy, forging metal pots and hoes, would be unusual in the modern world. Those scenes came from a long lost age.

Still, she hadn’t imagined the house itself would disappear.

“What happened?”

Elias had no answer for her. She’d known he wouldn’t. He’d come here merely to lift the curse, with no way of knowing what had caused that warm, peaceful household to turn into this empty lot.

“I doubt it was anything,” he said, at last. Nothing in particular. No disasters, no strange events, nothing shocking or tragic. Just a peaceful end.

Rust Eyes had watched it happen. Watched as their lives fell to oblivion. Had he been frustrated? Had he resigned himself, accepting the inevitable? Remnants were only remnants. There was no telling what he had ultimately felt.

“What do you think?” Elias asked.

Chise considered, then said, as if to herself, “I think he only half-accepted it.”

 

He’d accepted the destruction as inevitable but had grown angry and left, his frustration seeping into the ground. Every issue had two sides. This was the path the rust-eyed faerie had chosen.

 

The End