𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨; 𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘳

the good folk

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Camden MacClery likes to torment the children in her town to keep her mind off of the fact that her family is dead.

She leans against the stone fence that separates the fields from the road, right in the centre of the town, cigarette in hand, and watches them. Two boys with shouting laughter, chasing each other back and forth on the narrow road. One of the boys, the taller one, tosses rocks at the slighter one's feet. He jumps to avoid them, and curses. Their mother is inside the market, one of the few shops that line the side of the road; Camden can see her there through the window, shopping for vegetables. Another rock comes flying towards Camden. She ducks her head to avoid it.

"Oi," Camden calls to the two of them, and when they don't look up at her, she licks her lips and lets out a sharp, loud whistle. Their heads snap in her direction. "I'd be on my best behaviour if I were you two," she warns them before taking a long, hefty drag from her lit cigarette.

The older boy bristles. Camden can't remember his name. Her mother would've known it. "Or what? You'll tell our ma on us?"

Gravely, Camden shakes her head. "It's much worse than that. If you keep up like that, you'll be wishing it was your Ma you were in trouble with." Camden flicks the cherry red tip of her cigarette, inhales and leans in closer. "If you keep it up like that, the Good Folk will come for you," she warns, smoke billowing from her mouth with every word.

At once, the younger boy's eyes go wide. He completely stiffens. "You mean the faeries?"

"Shh!" she hushes harshly, eyes darting around either side of the road. "Don't use their name like that! Do you want them to show up and snatch you right here and now?"

"Don't listen to her, Ciarán," the older brother warns, and reaches to pull on his younger brother's sleeve, trying to pull his attention back to the fun they were having with the loose gravel. "The Good Folk aren't real. She's just trying to scare you."

Camden can't help but smirk, just a little, at the way the little boy has paled. "Oh, they're good and real, alright. And one time," she says gravely, looking over her shoulder for good measure before she continues, "I could've sworn I'd seen one. It was in my garden, just lurking, looking for a way to trap me."

The little boy shakes his head and takes a step back. "No, you're lying."

"I swear it," Camden promises.

"What do the Good Folk do when they take you?" he asks, voice now shaking a little bit in fear.

"Well, see, they're aren't many young Good Folk. Don't go 'round having too many babies. So sometimes they sneak down into towns and they trick little children into following them back up the mountains," she tells him, using the tip of her cigarette to point towards the peaks of the mountains that surround them. "Then they keep them there and raise 'em like they're own. But that's only the nice children. They take the naughty ones just for fun."

The little boy's lip trembles as he asks, "What do they do to the naughty ones?"

Camden thinks that normal people with living families wouldn't find as much joy in this as she does. She gives him a shrug. "Hard to say, seeing as not one's ever come back alive. But sometimes we find the bones of those lost little naughty children just a few days later on their parents' front door. I think they like to torture them. Makes the Good Folk live longer, I think, when they suck down your blood and grind up your eyes."