Hilda is running as fast as she can but a heavy dew is slowing her down. She is wet and bedraggled, her new secondhand dress feels cold against her skin. She pushes through the long grass, arriving just as the bluebell is rung.
“Let me guess, Hilda Bramble,” says Miss Juniper “follow me.”
Hilda looks at her feet, her toes poke out from her torn slippers. She follows Miss Juniper down the hollow log. It’s dark. Miss Juniper gently taps sisal cages that hang from the roof with her walking stick as they pass. Each contains a single firefly, as she taps, the fireflies light the way. Hilda jumps up to rattle one of the cages. It catches on her sleeve and comes away. She fumbles it in her hands as it drops. In a panic she shoves the firefly down the back of her knickers.
At the end of the hollow log is a door made from the bottom of a yellow bucket. Miss Juniper pushes open the door.
“Welcome to Queen Mabs primary school. I’m sure you won’t fit in but at least try to,” says Miss Juniper.
They are under the old oak. Its roots form the twisted walls, ceiling and floor of the assembly hall. Hilda has missed assembly. Christmas tree lights illuminate the hall. Hilda stares up at the lights and wonders how they are powered. She trips and falls flat on her face. Her bum indicates left as the firefly in her knickers flashes. Miss Juniper shakes her head.
Hilda’s mother had told her to keep a low profile. The headmistress had argued because she couldn’t fly, perhaps Hilda would be better off at pixie school. The only reason she wasn’t at pixie school is because pixie school said absolutely not.
“Hilda move along class started ten minutes ago. You are in 1B with Miss Pansy.”
Hilda is excited for what her first lesson will be, probably just reading and writing, hopefully forest skills, maybe the human language or human technology.
Hilda counts nineteen other fairies in 1B. They all snigger as she walks in. Everyone has heard of the fairy who was born without wings. She sits on the only mushroom left, a wonky one right at the back. The cap won’t stay still. Hilda feels like she is riding a bucking bronco at a rodeo.
“First things first let’s check where we all are with our invisibility. Remember ladies it’s all about engaging the pelvic floor. Elevators think elevators. Top floor ladies, top floor” says Miss Pansy rolling her eyes at Hilda’s antics on her mushroom.
Hilda is glad to stand up. She scrunches her eyes closed and squeezes every muscle she has and hopes, this time, it works. Giggles fill the classroom. Hilda peeks out of one eye. Everyone else has disappeared but she is still there.
“Hilda, pelvic floor. Isolate your pelvic floor!” says Miss Pansy’s voice from right in front of Hilda making her jump. “And release ladies. Hilda you need to practise more, you can’t go outside for lessons until you’ve mastered invisibility.”
Several fields used to separate the woods where the fairies live from the nearest humans. Now their back gardens encroach into the woods. Their cats prowl right up to the hollow log.
Miss Pansy hushes the class. She taps her chalk on the blackboard, made from a roof tile and writes “lesson plan”.
Hilda is unable to concentrate. It was forest school she”d really been looking forward to. If she wants to participate she’ll have to find her pelvic floor.
At lunchtime Hilda finds herself sat all alone at a table. She’s also forgotten her lunch box. School is not turning out to be as much fun as she had expected.
“Can I sit here?” came a timid voice. Hilda turns around to find a chunky fairy squeezed into a yellow dress standing behind her swiveling a huge lunch basket.
“Yes. I’m Hilda, 1B.”
“Faye, 1C. Where’s your lunch?”
“I forgot it.”
“You can share mine. I knew I wouldn’t make any friends so I bought food instead.”
“I can be your friend.”
“Oh goody. I’ll wait for you at the end of the hollow log after school.”
“I can’t fly, no wings.”
“I can’t fly either, too heavy.”
After school Hilda and Faye set off towards home together. Hilda convinces Faye to go scavenging. She knows of a garden shed that is usually a veritable treasure trove. Strictly speaking as it”s beyond the boundary of the wood she’s not allowed to go but Hilda has always gone where she”s not allowed. The not allowed afforded her a break from wingless jibes.
Hilda finds what she believes is a purple sparkly rubber stinkhorn mushroom, which vibrates if you flip a switch. She really likes it. It’s just taller than she is. Faye finds a rusty chisel. The chisel could be polished to a make a lovely mirror, mirrors are a coveted possession. Or they could sell it. Pixies will barter almost anything for metal. They could exchange it for a whole host of things, new slippers each and a new dress each. What would she actually do with a large vibrating stinkhorn. They can only carry one of the items between them. A choice has to made.
“Have you ever watched moving pictures Faye?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
Hilda guides Faye to another garden. A TV screen in a human house is visible from the bottom of the garden. Hilda watches Faye’s eye widen.
I have to go home now Hilda. I need to polish a coffin.”
“Can I come and help?”
“If you want to.”
They lug their prize through the forest. Faye’s family run the funeral parlour. A wooden coffin is in a small clearing outside the parlour.
“Faye Fungus, what time do you call this! I told you I need your help today. We can not disappoint the pixies or our lives will not be worth living. Go and fetch your stuff and get polishing. Don’t stop until you can see your face in the wood. It’s nearly dark already,” said Faye’s mother who had been waiting with folded arms for them.
Hilda tugs Faye’s dress.
“Is there anyone in there?” she asks.
“The King of the pixies. There’s to be a state funeral tomorrow.”
Hilda has never seen a dead body before or the King of the pixies. She is desperate for a peek but the lid of the coffin is firmly closed. Faye shows Hilda how to buff the wood. Wax on wax off.
Dusk is already upon them, so they work quickly. They soon run out of beeswax. Faye heads off down the funeral parlour burrow to fetch some more. Hilda is left alone with the coffin. She resists for all of fourteen seconds before she unscrews the lid and slides it off. Just as the coffin lid falls to the floor, Hilda hears the unmistakable swoop of an owl and dives under a fern. She watches horrified as the owl snags the King of the pixies in its talons and beats its wings to carry him up and far away.
Hilda can’t stop her heart trying to beat out of her ribcage and follow the owl. She runs around in circles banging her head with her fists trying to think. She wonders if she just puts the lid back on the coffin, would anyone notice? It would be too light. Hilda has a sudden brain wave. She hauls their prize into the coffin and screws the lid back on.
Faye returns with more beeswax. She’s also brought a firefly light with her. Hilda knows she is bright red she can feel the heat radiating off her skin. Fireflies emit green light. Hilda knows red plus green makes brown. She feels compelled to justify her sudden suntan. She remembers something she saw on the moving pictures.
“I used some St Tropez while you were gone, do I look browner?”
“A bit. Mum says we have to hurry up, so we aren’t outside in the dark. An owl has started to hunt around here.”
“I definitely haven’t seen any owls.”
They polish furiously until Faye declares the job done. Unlike Disney franchised fairies real fairies can’t grant wishes or perform magical spells and fairy dust doesn’t exit. Fairies can fly and become invisible (Hilda excepted), that’s it. So Hilda is powerless to magic the coffin permanently sealed. Four screws are all that separate her bad deed and the world from finding out about it.
The coffin is carefully carried down into the burrow for safekeeping overnight. Hilda is relieved no one queries the weight. She desperately wants to run home and get as far away from the funeral parlour as possible but Mrs Fungus insists she stay. It’s not safe for fairies to be out at night. It used to be just foxes, owls and rats they had to worry about. It’s cats now too, and the cats are by far the most dangerous, they kill for amusement.
Hilda has an epiphany that night; she will have to bunk off school tomorrow and watch the funeral. That way if it goes wrong she can run away.
Hilda doesn’t know what a state funeral entails. She doesn’t really know what a normal funeral entails either having never been to one. She decides her best plan is to follow the coffin and not let it out of her sight.
In the morning six pixies arrive to carry it away. Hilda excuses herself by saying she needs to rush home before school and follows the coffin instead. It’s carried to a large clearing where a funeral pyre awaits. The pixies of Crow Wood have all gathered. The coffin is placed on the pyre. Hilda prays as hard as she can that they light it straight away and banish her bad deed.
One by one the pixies stand and say something nice about the King. Hilda starts to feel sick. “Don’t open the coffin, don’t open the coffin, don’t open the coffin,” she chants.
After the last pixie has spoken, Hilda is relieved to see a flame finally brought to the pyre. She starts to think that she might actually get away with it. The coffin starts to vibrate. There’s a collective gasp.
“It’s a miracle. A resurrection. Quickly let my father out,” shouts the new King.
“Don’t,” shouts Hilda, realising she has no idea what she’s going to say next.
The pixies are all looking at her.
“It’s a new embalming technique. Fit only for a King,” says Hilda.
“She was at the funeral parlour this morning,” says one of the pixies.
The new King nods to the flame bearer. The pyre is lit. The fire is soon roaring away. A purple ooze bubbles from under the coffin lid. The pixies all look at Hilda who jumps up and down and claps.
“Oh how wonderful. Purple to honour the King!” she says.
The pixies jump up and down and clap.
The old King explodes in a fountain of purple. Hilda turns and runs. She doesn’t stop until she gets to the garden shed. She hides herself under a plant pot and starts crying.
She has no idea how long she has been there, when she hears Faye’s voice.
“Hilda are you in here? You didn’t come to school.”
“I’m never coming out again,” says Hilda from under her plant pot.
“Were the other fairies mean to you again. I’ve got honey. The pixie King sent it. He said he wants the same embalming technique for his own funeral. He said it was spectacular. It’s just what we always do but for some reason he thought it was special.”
“Really?… I am pretty hungry.”
“I’ve got a confession to make Hilda. Our prize has disappeared.”
“It doesn’t matter. The best prize was finding a friend, besides the rusty chisel is still here shall we just take that back?”
Friends of Bylines Network
There has never been a greater need for grassroots journalism that investigates the stories that really matter, holds power to account and champions the voices of everyday citizens. We are proudly powered by volunteers but what we do isn’t free.
STAND WITH US for independent, citizen-led journalism that makes democracy stronger, and you will even get some exclusive benefits.
