Catherine Ras [Ras - The Fairy Trail
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Everybody wants to believe in something, but Maggie, an adolescent girl in an abusive home is too young and oppressed to believe in anything until one day in a forest not far from where she lives, she stumbles upon a fairy. The fairy bestows upon her a gift to help her deal with her parents, but the gifts dont come with instructions, and the outcomes arent always what Maggie wants or imagines. Yet each unpleasant life event takes her back to the woods where another fairy appears and offers her a different gift to use in solving her crisis, and even though her life continues to fall apart, Maggie has to believe the fairies and their bequests will make her life better, because nothing else is.
Catherine Ras [Ras: author's other books
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The Fairy Trail
By Catherine Ras
The Fairy Trail
Copyright 2019 by Catherine Ras
Cover Design: Catherine Ras
First Printing- July, 2019
NTL Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
To youthe reader, thank-you for taking the time to read my story. I love to write and bring my ideas to life on the written page. I hope you enjoy it.
The Fairy Trail
Chapter One
Margaret! Get your ass in here right now!
She hated the birth name her parents had given her, and when they called her, it sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. At thirteen years old she refused to acknowledge the old fashioned name her parents penned onto her birth certificate. She had fought against the name Margaret ever since her aunt introduced her to nicknames and called her Mags the first time they met when she was five. From then on, she insisted on being called Maggie.
Even so, her parents continued to call her Margaret, and not just when they were mad at her which was most of her young life. She stopped correcting them after the second time that resulted in a hard slap across her face producing a stinging, red mark. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror, she could still trace the angry outline of her mothers hand. From then on, whenever she heard her birth name her body tensed with spine-tingling irritation that quickly turned to fear. Nothing good ever followed the word Margaret.
She walked cautiously into the kitchen to face her mother. With her head down, she daringly whispered, Maggie, then wished instantly she could take it back. She didnt know what got into her to do such a stupid thing because immediately the back of her mothers hand struck hard and fast across her mouth.
Dont you dare speak to me that way. Then her mothers face contorted in that weird kind of smile that signaled Maggie she was about to torture her daughter. You didnt take the garbage out, she purred.
Maggies shoulders slumped as she looked at the worn linoleum floor with curling edges fully aware of what she would see. The garbage can had been turned upside down its contents strewn about. Food, paper, cans, and all sorts of gross things she couldnt identify blended in with the faded colors of the floor. Because this was always the consequence, Maggie tried never to forget to take out the garbage. Today she got home late from school, and by the time she changed into her dirty clothes to do her dirty chores, her mother had already made her pointbeing late from school was no excuse.
Youve got ten minutes, and then I need to start dinner, so it better be done by then. Her mother turned to leave the kitchen. Oh, and were out of rubber gloves.
Maggie sighed. It used to be fifteen minutes, then down to twelve. This, and the fact that her mother always failed to buy more rubber gloves, was part of her torture, but she had discovered ways around her mothers attempts to make this punishment as foul as she could.
Paper towels and the dust pan worked the best to prevent her hands from being covered by the gooey and smelly, disgusting stuff. As long as her mother didnt noticed the decrease on the paper towel roll, and she cleaned the dust pan putting them back in the exact same place she found them, she escaped her mothers wrath. But shed have to work at lightning speed to get it all done in ten minutes.
She worried that her mothers next move would be to come back early thus catching her using the dust pan and paper towels. She didnt have many options after that other than her hands to pick it up, and shed run away before shed do that.
Maggie took the garbage outside and tossed it into the rusty, lopsided trash bin in the backyard, if you could call it a back yard. They lived in a small rural town that had been beaten down by high unemployment rates. The battered houses were stacked on top of each other with backyards the size of a jail cell connected to each other by tall, rotting privacy fences that were built to make them feel separate. But it wasnt the fences that made her feel isolated; it was her parents that made her home feel lonely and cold.
She lingered in the back yard until she thought ten minutes was coming to an end, and then suddenly realized she forgot to clean the dustpan. Panic set in as she ran to the kitchen, and as soon as she opened the door she felt a hand on her arm jerk her around. Her mother mockingly held the roll of paper towels in her other hand and glared at her. What did you do? Use a half roll? And look at my dust pan. Get up to your room. Her mother shoved her violently and Maggie stumbled just missing the refrigerator with her head.
She spun on her mother years of bitterness spilling out as she yelled, I hate you, and then ran out the front door leaving her mothers mouth wide open.
Maggie never talked back to her mother. If she did, she got worse than the back of a hand across her face. It would then become her fathers mission to utilize his belt for more than just holding his pants up.
She ran past the row of houses to the end of her street and turned left. Still running, she made several more turns until she came to the forest that bordered one side of their town. Sometimes, she would come here and play, mostly alone, because the other school-aged children that lived in her town stayed inside in the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter playing video games or watching television.
She never had to worry about anyone seeing where she was going because the other kids parents werent much different from hers. They were too busy being angry at the unjust lives handed to them in a depressed, little town to notice anything but their own unjust lives. However, the other parents didnt seem to take it out on their children like her parents did.
There was a good side to having no one to play with. Whenever she went to the woods, she didnt have to worry about running into anyone else so she could be alone and imagine herself living in a mansion with parents who didnt abuse her and doted on her every desire. She pretended the trees surrounding her were huge, marble columns encircling a large play room that was stocked with every toy and electronic device she could think of.
Thoughts of leaving home for good ran through her head when she ran to the woods to get away from them. It was the only way she could stand up to her parents to stop the continual onslaught of abuse. I wish I were invisible! she shouted, then quickly looked at the houses still a little nervous that someone might hear her. She relaxed knowing as with any other day she walked this street, not a soul would notice her. As always, doors and windows were closed giving her town a dead feel to it.
She didnt stop until she was out of sight of the road and hidden by the cover of the forest. It was then she bent over and took deep breaths to fill her depleted lungs. When she stood up, she noticed something out of place on a tree in front of her. She tilted her head as if the different angle might help her to make out what it was.
Blending in with the branches was what appeared to be a miniature house. She didnt think it was a bird house because it was too elaborate and too clean. There were no bird feathers, bird seed or droppings on the tree, house or the ground beneath it. Still, she looked around for birds, but there werent any.
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