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 asleep because I awoke much later to a pitch black room. Faint glimmers of blue and gold sparkled in the shadows. I sat up and there on a bedpost danced a tiny silvery figure formed from sticks. After a while it vanished.
Then I dreamt I was a badger pushing through undergrowth under the milky sheen of a full moon. I could feel the thorns in my fur; smell the fresh soil as I rooted round, so vivid, so real.
Then I floated up near the ceiling, looking down on my sleeping form. I drifted through the door along the landing and down the stairs. Though I couldn’t see anything with me, it didn’t feel like I was alone. I floated out into the garden and towards a streetlamp, where I careered round like a moth.
Then I woke and it was morning. The bowl was tipped over and empty, the bread had gone. Our bedroom door was shut all night and we didn’t have a cat. You work it out.
When we told my grandmother, she became distraught saying ‘you should never invite the little people into your home.’ She gave us each a rabbit’s foot charm and made sure we carried it at all times. And she continued every mid-summers eve to leave out bread and milk. And every year the gift was taken. 
‘Just hedgehogs,’ my grandfather told us. 
But, you know, I’m not so sure.  
 

Theme: Unexpected Fairy Tales

Length: 350 words or less.

Details: yearningforwonderland.blogspot.com & www.sjiholliday.com

Timetable: Contest open from April 4 till midnight, April 29th

Twitter: @ruanna3 & @sjiholliday & #ouatwriting