short horror stories

the firefly fairy

To the untrained eye, the Cartwright farm seemed a nice enough place. Peaceful, if a bit isolated. But looking closer, over Ma Cartwright's neatly cultivated garden, past old Nana Cartwright in her rocking chair on the porch, one would notice something... unnerving. Not only did the sidings peel, lending the house a general air of long-going decay; not only were the windows covered in rows of thick oak planks; but the Cartwrights themselves carried a mangy, wild countenance, untrained by polite society.

Little Grayson Cartwright—barely ten—wondered whether the windows were boarded up to keep danger out, or to keep him in. In his short time on earth, he had never once been allowed to set foot beyond the property line. And so, despite never knowing anything else, he recognized, and more, despised, the backwater bent of his family tree. Not one unrelated soul had come to see the farm in generations, and for decades now, the only occasions on which anyone would leave were Pa's trips east to sell the fruits of the harvest, or Ma's infrequent forays into town. And so, since boyhood, Grayson's lone escape came in the form of the books his mother brought back for him. In books he could see every part of the world he ever wished to. This was, of course, a stopgap at most. Each week he saved his quarters from the firefly fairy, so that one day, when he came of age, he might travel the world.

One particular summer evening, he thumbed through his copy of Journey to the Center of the Earth. The pages were yellowed and dog-eared, the margins filled with tentative plans for a journey of his very own. A call came from the kitchen, in Nana's unmistakable drawly croak.

"C'mon youngins! Run on and get you some flies afore it gets truly dark!"

Dusk already. With a forceful sigh, Grayson hopped up and stashed his book beneath his pillow, then made his way to the front of the house. Nana stood smiling in the open doorway, waving Grayson and his two older brothers out into the yard. "Hop to it!" she added.

"Aww, Nana," said Grayson. "My guts are all twisted... I'm really not feelin' well. Could I skip out just this once?"

Nana pursed her wrinkled lips and delivered a firm slap to Grayson's neck. "You better stop tryin' to lie to me, boy," she said. "I got eyes in the back of my head. Now, git to work. Miss one day, that fairy'll get real ticked off and never come again."

Grayson nodded and dragged his feet behind his two brothers, Junior and Jackson, perplexed as usual by the senseless nature of Cartwright family rituals. The trio carried nets as if they were loaded guns, walking the yard like poachers, head on a swivel. A firefly floated by. Jackson, the middle child, sprang forward, trapping the bug in his net and quickly crushing it between his fingers. He then jogged over to a small stone in the grass, lifted it slightly, and placed the little dead thing underneath. In about twelve hours time, there would be a quarter in its place, same as it happened every morning. Nana would again insist that this was the work of the firefly fairy, and Grayson would continue to pretend that he didn't know the truth.

The brothers carried on in the waning light, trapping and killing the fireflies as quickly as they glowed. Seeing the carnage, Grayson couldn't hold his tongue any longer. "This ain't normal, y'all know."

Junior chuckled. "What ain't?"

"The damn firefly hunts," said Grayson. "I've read my fair share of books what take place down here south of the Mason-Dixon... not one of 'em mentions anything like this. It's strange."

"Sure it's strange," said Junior. "But don't fuss. Nana's poor heart'll up and give out. Anyway, it's tradition. It ain't natural, and you're forced to do it. Far as I can tell that's just what traditions are, so git used to it."