An Eye for Fairy

Complete Short Story

My eye: most people want to know how I lost it. But it’s only ever the children who ask. Parents usually blush and stammer some apology while pulling their child away with some lecture about how it isn’t polite to stare. I don’t mind the asking. It’s the ignoring and turning heads that bother me.

Let the children ask, I say.

They’re curious by nature, and besides, the story I tell might just save their own eye. It begins like this.

I wanted to be a midwife as soon as I learned they existed.

My father would say to me, “Ola, you can be anything you want. You don’t need to decide right now.” His tone always said he wanted me to dream bigger. Maybe he hoped I’d run some multimillion-dollar company or even the country.

That wasn’t me, though. Took him years to realize, and when he finally did, he was glad I’d found my calling—something he never did.

I’d been a midwife for nearly six years when the strangest-looking man appeared at my door. His hair was a shade too dark to be natural brown, his clothing a color too bright to be fashionable, and his features too pointy to be pretty.

“Are you Ola, the midwife?” the pointy man asked.

“Yes,” I said cautiously.

“You will come with me immediately.”

He grabbed my hand.

His fingers were cold and felt like static electricity. I pulled my hand away.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not going anywhere with someone I don’t know.”

Something about him reminded me of the fairy stories my mother told when I was a child. I brushed the thought aside. The day had been a long one. I’d delivered a breeched baby followed by a set of twins, and I wanted nothing more than to sit in my recliner with a warm cup of tea and a good book.

“My wife, she needs your help,” he said. “We thought we could do it alone. But she’s struggled all day.”

I couldn’t forsake a patient in need, despite my misgivings.

Rushing back inside, I glanced at my tea and knew it would grow cold long before I returned. I gathered my kit, my cellphone, and my mace.

Just in case. Never can be too prepared.

“Where’s your car?” I asked.

“I don’t have one.” He headed toward the forest bordering my property. “Don’t worry, it’s not far.”

Now, I should have gone back inside and locked the door. Maybe even called the cops. But I didn’t. As silly as it sounds, the idea that this man was a fairy lodged in my mind. Not that I believed in fairies at the time. But I was curious. What if they were real? I couldn’t fail to investigate. There was a woman in labor, after all.

And I had mace.

He led me down a path I’d never seen before, piquing my suspicion further. After some indeterminate time—my phone had died, but I swear it was fully charged when we left—we reached the cabin. The thing is, I’ve walked those woods a thousand times and had never seen a cabin. Not even an old, abandoned one.

So where had this one come from?

That wasn’t quite the moment I started believing the tales my mama used to tell, but I was definitely softening.

Inside the cabin, it was warmer than a Mediterranean summer. The fire burned low in the hearth. With such a small fire, I didn’t understand how it could be so hot inside when it was a chilly fall evening outside.

I removed my jacket, set it on the nearest chair, and rolled up my sleeves.

Cinnamon and cardamom fragrance draped the air, and another scent that I couldn’t identify hung under both.

The hearth seemed to be the only place to cook. I’d only camped a handful of times in my life, and had never cooked anything besides a marshmallow or a hotdog over an open flame. So I told the pointy man to boil water.

His wife was on the bed in the next room. Her features were pointy, like his. But somehow, the effect was breathtaking on her, even with sweat beading across her forehead and upper lip. Her hair was a pinkish blonde, so real-looking I wanted to ask where she got it done.

The wife screamed. I hurried to her side and went to work.

After a few hours, she delivered a seven-pound baby boy. Sweat drenched my brow and dripped into my eyes as I cleaned the afterbirth from the boy’s face.

I wiped as much of my sweat as I could against the sleeve of my shirt, but my eyes kept stinging.

I had nearly finished bathing the newborn when the father handed me a vial.

“Put a drop in each of his eyes when you’re finished,” he said. “But do not sample the ointment yourself, for it will burn your eyes out.”

The odd little man grinned, his teeth as pointy as his face, and left the room.

Once again, I remembered my mother’s stories. They were always the same—the midwife was given a cream or liquid to spread in the newborn babe’s eyes. Then, out of curiosity or accident, the midwife would get it in hers, and she would see the fairy world hidden from human eyes. Eventually, the fairies would discover she had the fairy sight, usually because she did something stupid like call out a fairy for stealing an apple or some such nonsense. And then the fairy would take her eye.

I had no intention of losing my eye, even if I only half-believed the story at that moment. So I spread the cream on each of the child’s eyes and took him to his mother. She eagerly held her son. But when he began to cry, she held him away from her, like she expected me to quiet him.

“He needs to eat,” I said, sitting next to her. “Hold him to your breast like so.”

The look she gave me said I was insane.

At that moment, my left eye itched and stung like crazy, and so I scratched.

In that instant the world changed.

And I knew the truth of all my mother’s stories.

I no longer sat on a bed in a dingy cabin in the woods, but on a bed of flowers in a room made of ivy and roses. Gone were the scents of cinnamon and cardamom. Now apple, rose, lilac, and honeysuckle perfumed the air.

An old phonograph sat in the corner with staplers and paper clips crowding its horn. Empty picture frames leaned against the end of the bed where a fairy stood, unseen until that moment, waiting to receive the child. The fairy reminded me of orange blossoms I’d once seen in a cathedral in Barcelona.

All the sharp edges had dissolved from the mother. Her hair was still pink, but now it was the most luscious wavy hair I’d ever seen. The roses and ivy lining the room matched her hair and her wings.

She narrowed her eyes at me.

I realized that if I continued to study my surroundings, one of these fairies would take my eye.

I scratched my eye again, mainly to close it and use the normal sight in my right eye. The dingy cabin returned, as had the father. He motioned me from the bed.

“We thank you for your service.” He plopped a heavy leather bag into my hands. “I’ll see you home.”

“Your wife must learn to feed the child,” I said.

Even though I’d seen the other fairy there, I was still concerned about the child. I couldn’t remember what the stories said a fairy baby would eat, but I didn’t think it was the same as a human infant.

Though, I must confess, part of my protest was to keep the father and mother from suspecting I had the sight. No need for them to take my eye or the leather bag.

“We appreciate the concern, but we have the matter at hand. Now, if you will.”

He pressed his hand against my back and guided me out of the room.

I grabbed my jacket and followed the man outside.

The cool fall air was like a slap. I’d grown accustomed to the heat inside the cabin that wasn’t a cabin, so much so that the cold struck an icy chill deep in my bones. As uncomfortable as it was, my mind was on other things.

Seems I was right about there never having been a cabin in the woods behind my house.

We were in a realm completely apart from my own. The cabin was really a castle made of trees and flowers. Fairies and other magical beasts roamed the grounds outside.

I did my best to watch my guide and focus on the forest he wanted me to see. I could feel the cold of that forest, although the land I saw with my left eye was sunny and bright.

After a time, we left the fairy realm and entered the forest behind my house.

Nothing marked the change. One moment I could see the fairy world out of my left eye, and the next moment I saw the forest with both my eyes. I thought I’d lost the sight, until I caught a glimpse of a unicorn running through the trees.

The rest of the way back to my house was quiet, and the fairy father left me at my door.

Once inside, I opened the bag he’d given me. It was full of rubies, sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, and gold.

I held them in my hand and felt the solidness of each. As much as I wanted to rejoice in my newfound riches, I knew fairy rewards had their drawbacks—like turning to leaves or bringing a string of bad luck.

 Over the next weeks, I worked on adjusting to my new sight. You’d never believe how many fairies moved among us. Everywhere I went, they were there. A fairy’s arms would always be full of loot stolen from human homes. More often than not, a shoe or some other item would drop from their bounty, but mostly shoes.

And only one.

Years before I received the sight, I’d see a lone shoe on the side of the road and wonder how it had gotten there. Now I knew.

I didn’t know what to do with my new sight. Was there some way to make it useful to my profession? To society at large? No matter how much thought I gave it, I never came up with a good solution. So, for a time, I enjoyed it for the pleasure it gave me.

It seemed like it should be such an easy thing to go through life seeing both the mortal and the fairy worlds. But I assure you, it was not. Sometimes the fairy world would startle me in the middle of the most mundane moments.

For example, grocery shopping. I’d reach for my favorite cereal—Lucky Charms, if you must know—and find a goblin hidden behind the box. Of course, I’d gasp and jolt backward. The creature would stare at me as if it knew that I had the sight. I’d rip my phone from my pocket and pretend to answer it while putting the box back on the shelf. Once the goblin was out of sight, I’d race out of the store.

Neighbors began to cross to the other side of the street when they saw me because of my increasingly erratic behavior. I’d try to tell them about the fairies, but their eyes would glaze over and they’d shake their heads as I talked. Even my friends and family treated me as one would a sensitive child.

Only my worked improved.

Something about childbirth brings all sorts of fairy creatures around. I never did know why. Maybe new life releases an energy they craved, or maybe some of the creatures fed off the suffering involved in labor, or maybe the fairies hoped to exchange the newborn with a changeling. Being able to see the fairies, the fae, lingering about the birthing room allowed me to prepare and send any creature with ill intent away.

Sage has amazing properties to scatter all sorts of negative energy. Not just energy, but all the creatures waiting to feast on our joys and our pains. After I first noticed the fae at a patient’s home, I started burning sage at each and every appointment. The energy suckers would leave my patients alone, and only the fairies who bestowed blessings remained.

From that point on, I always carried sage in my purse or my pocket. It made going to the grocery store easier. Instead of finding a goblin hidden behind my favorite cereal, I might catch a glimpse of its tail as it scurried behind another box farther down the shelf.

Word spread that labor and delivery were easier and shorter when I was there. Soon I had more patients than I could ever want.

You would think I’d be happy, given the increase in my bank account, but with that increase came fewer invitations for dinner or drinks with friends. Eventually, all invitations evaporated. I was left only with my family, who tolerated me because of the blood in my veins but would dispense with me if that blood ever changed colors.

Over time, the novelty of seeing the fairy world grew worn.

Fairy creatures do the most outlandish and stupid things. As hard as I tried to pretend that I saw none of their antics, it proved impossible not to do a double-take. I’ve seen fairies with their arms heavy with stolen goods attempt to fly over a three-story building rather than detour from a straight path to their destination. They could never fly that high with their burden, so they would end up smacking into a window or a wall. In rare cases, they’d run into the roofline. Each time, all of the fairy’s loot would clatter against the sidewalk, and the fairy would slide to the ground.

A few moments later, the fairy would wake, gather all of the loot, and try again.

I lost count of the times they’d repeat the same thing before giving up and walking around the building.

I’ve watched fairies carry skis away, knocking bird feeders from trees or potted plants from porches. You have blamed wild animals, feral cats, or neighborhood kids when you’ve come home to find all your garden gnomes upturned or trash scattered across your lawn, but I can guarantee that fairies are to blame.

Now for years, I watched without any fairies realizing I had the sight. The portal to the fairy world still resided in the forest behind my house. Every day, I’d take my tea on the porch along with a book or my phone. While I tried to focus on a story or news article, I couldn’t help but see the fae pouring past my door. They didn’t suspect even when I’d sit on my porch and chuckle as they would fly into the forest with their arms full of single socks, hair ties, clips, and all sorts of things that always seem to go missing.

That all changed late one evening while I watered my peonies.

A fairy came toward my house, arms full of stolen goods. Not a particularly novel sight, except for the thing hanging from his pinky finger. He was far enough away that I had to squint to see he carried a pistol by the trigger guard.

In all my years, I’d never seen a gun go by my house. There had been an occasional knife, once even a sword, but never a gun. I wondered if the fairy even knew what he had. I hoped for all our sakes it wasn’t loaded.

As he drew closer, the pistol slid down his finger. My stomach lurched. I almost cried out to warn him of the danger, but I was still aware of what would happen if the fairy learned of my sight.

The gun slipped again. The fairy fumbled it with his other hand, somehow managing to pull the trigger. The blast rang in my ears and reverberated against the house.

For a moment, the fairy was motionless.

He dropped his burden and crept to the gun lying on the sidewalk. The fairy grabbed a stick and poked the gun: one, two, three times. After I realized no one was hurt, I wanted to go inside and pretend I’d never seen a thing, but knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I found a fairy with a bullet hole at the end of my driveway the next morning.

The fairy picked up the pistol.

He turned it over in his hand and pressed the grip to his cheek. Then he pulled the gun away and looked down the barrel. I had no intention of interfering—until his finger moved toward the trigger.

Without thinking, I raced to the fairy and pulled his hand back.

A shot rang into the air, bringing down leaves and branches of the oak at the edge of my driveway.

The fairy stared at the gun for an instant, disbelief etched on his face. Then he turned his cold gaze on me.

“You can see me,” he said, his voice even chillier than his gaze. “How is that so?”

“I—”

He put his face right next to mine and stared into my left eye.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” he said, and he plucked my eye from the socket.

In that instant, the fairy and the fairy sight disappeared.

Now, you might expect that it was pain beyond all reason, but in all actuality, it only felt like he’d pressed hard against my eyeball. I didn’t realize he’d taken more than the fairy sight until that night when I was brushing my teeth and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Not a sight anyone wants to see.

It could have been worse. The fairy could have taken the gems I’d been rewarded with so long ago, but he didn’t. Probably didn’t even know about them.

Though the loss of my eye and the fairy sight may seem tragic to you, I assure you it’s been a blessing, for I gained back my friends and my family.

Let my story be a warning to you to never touch your eyes if a fairy father gives you cream for his son.