The Gift
Every mid-summers eve, my Irish grandmother would put bread and milk in the garden for the little people. The offering was always taken. My grandfather would scoff saying, ‘All you’ve managed to do is feed the hedgehogs.’
Me and my brother wanted to see the fairies, but knew there was no chance being allowed to stay up late to watch. So one year, when I was seven, we smuggled in the bread and milk and placed it in a corner of our bedroom; then kept sentinel.
I must have fallen as...
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