Mac and the Little People Ch. 01

Mac sat on the front porch of the cabin, watching the last of the sunset fade to gray. Night came slowly in this part of the Smokies, creeping out of the valleys and muting the colors to yellows and reds, then finally black with just a touch of starlight to separate sky from ground.

He swirled the last half shot of a double Jagermeister in a plastic Motel-6 cup. One last gulp and the alcohol would be well on its way to putting Mac's mind to bed. It would blunt the mental stab wounds of betrayal, allowing him to sleep.

"At least somebody left the lights on for me." He almost laughed at his own joke. Mac got up and made his way inside.

His great aunt's house wasn't much. It consisted of four rooms on a relatively flat patch of clear ground in the middle of a hundred wild acres. Great aunt Mabel didn't live here. She was dead, cremated, and dissolved in the cold creek that ran through the property.

Mac sat on his camping cot in the living room and placed the cup with the last half shot on the hearth. He started his new job tomorrow, but really didn't care about showing up on time or sober. He tried for a second, but the NCO attitude was gone. He wasn't a soldier any more, just a bum with a busted brain.

He pulled a cardboard box from under the cot to his feet. It was one of three that contained his worldly posessions. One was all tools, one was a few clothes and household goods, the one at his feet was a mess of miscellaneous stuff his ex-wife left behind.

Mac pulled his radio out. The silvery nineteen-eighties plastic case read "Panasonic" but most of the electronics were new, either repaired or modded. He turned it on and said "Boombox, play playlist one". The circuitry inside played a few musical notes and then some smooth electronic sounds faded in like a rave set in a grocery store.

Mac got undressed and stepped into the shower. The tub was one of those old steel bathtubs with feet, brass pipes, and a brass railing above to hold the shower curtain; which was exactly the type of curtain that great aunts have. The inside curtain was clear vinyl, and the outside was convoluted pattern of lacework vines and leaves. The water washed the dirt of travelling a hundred miles off his body, but did nothing for the mind and spirit, which were the things that needed to be washed clean.

---

Fifi awoke to the sound of Mac summoning the music. Her home seemed to come to life as the electric currents made the whole house sparkle. The carrier wave kept time and the notes danced around it, pulling it higher or lower in pitch. She looked out to see some place new. The wood plank floor stretched away, with a sofa in the distance against a wall.

Fifi opened the door to the tape deck and stepped out. Home looked small now that she was outside it. Fifi stood nearly twenty inches tall, with hips just a little too broad for her petite torso, but the perfect size to go with her powerful thighs.

She adjusted her tool apron so the leather straps weren't all twitched up, and pulled a few strands of dark green hair out of the neck strap. She stretched in that kind of way that humans do when they have stopped to refuel on a long car trip. "Is butt flattener" she muttered to herself. She checked, and her butt was not flat. It was round and green brown. She was a bit chubby for a gremlin, with rounded cheeks and soft flesh over firm muscle; all covered with a few years worth of dirt.

Fifi's butt jiggled a little as she dashed across the open floor and slipped into the bathroom with Mac. She enjoyed their showers together, even though she never got in and Mac was totally unaware of her existence. One day it would be different but Fifi never got around to introducing herself. She meant to, but the courage always left her.

Once in the bathroom Fifi stopped short. The nasty lacy curtain completely encircled the free-standing tub. There was no way to peek in and there was no way to climb without alerting Mac to her presence. Fifi hated cloth, especially lace. The hand made pattern seemed particularly anti-gremlin. Instead, she waited patiently for her man to emerge, or tried to. Her attention wandered.

This house had the most interesting toilet. The tank was elevated over the user's head. A pewter hummingbird hung on a brass ball chain. It swung gently back and forth like a pendulum. Fifi watched it swing. Something about that hummingbird beckoned her. She climbed onto the rim of the toilet and reached up to grab the hypnotic little bird. It hung a few inches beyond her outstretched fingers.

Fifi steadied herself on the toilet seat. Then she coiled her legs and sprang up. She caught the pretty little bird in both hands and for a brief moment Fifi triumphed. Then she came down with a roar of rushing water as the toilet flushed. Fifi lost her footing and fell into the swirling water of the toilet bowl. She lost her grip on the bird, which rattled across the floor on a length of broken chain.

"Yowp!" shouted Mac. He turned off the water and stuck his head out. Fifi ducked as low as she was able and concentrated on not being seen. Her semi-invisibility must have worked, because Mac didn't seem to notice her. Instead he dried off. Fifi tried her hardest to hold still and keep from shivering in the cold water. Mac noticed the dirty water in the toilet. "Gross. Looks like there was crud growing in the toilet tank." Fifi suddenly regretted not bathing. Mac might be more receptive to meeting a clean gremlin than a dirty one.

When Mac was safely out of the room Fifi climbed out of the toilet bowl. She shivered. Muddy water dripped off her filthy body onto the floor. If she only had the human tolerance for cloth she could warm up in Mac's towel. It smelled of clean human man and glowed faintly orange with the residue of his magic.

She peeked into the living room. Mac was sitting on his cot with a sock in hand, staring at something a thousand miles away. His face looked tired, as if it had been sad for so long it went numb. He did that often. Maybe he was clairvoyant and looking at something that bothered him. Maybe he was looking at his former family.

Fifi took advantage of Mac's distraction and quickly ducked behind the antique sofa. The curved back made a nice hiding place, as long as she didn't touch the tail end of the antimacassar. The lace border warned her to stay off the furniture with a soft crackling hiss like AM radio static. Some old lady wanted to keep gremlins off the furniture, so she made that nasty thing. Mean old spinster. Fifi didn't want to sit on her scratchy old floral sofa anyway.

Mac arose and shuffled into the kitchen with Fifi following behind, just far enough to evade detection. She hid among some dusty pans while Mac filled a glass at the sink.

Fifi had to see if he would open the freezer, and if he did, was there ice cream? Unfortunately, Mac did not. He gulped down the water and returned to the living room. The last time Fifi tasted ice cream was during Mac's strange disappearance, a week before his just as strange re-appearance. The human offspring had some, and she got some later that night. She had waited until everyone was asleep, then pried open the freezer and took the remaining ice cream outside to eat.

The sudden darkness of the living room light being turned off brought Fifi back to the present. The volume of the music faded to a whisper. Mac was shifting around in a sleeping bag. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out a red light that pulsed in time with the music. Mac had left the equalizer display on. She would give him time to get fully asleep.

Fifi sat motionless in a chair, listening to the house creak and the bugs chirp outside. She noted that there were no noises of cars passing. No sirens in the distance. No noisy neighbors. Fifi climbed up onto the counter and looked out the kitchen window. The small yard ended abruptly at a structure with a roof but no walls. Beyond it a field grew wild with young trees. It was different. Fifi had grown up among humans in a human town. It was second nature to turn incognito and live life surrounded by those big oafish beasts. Now to be in a place where there were so few humans would be new. As she watched, the moon came up and turned everything to silver and shadow.

Soon her stomach reminded her that it was time to get the ice cream. She pried the freezer door open with a wooden spoon. Then she inched carefully out onto the top edge of the refrigerator door and looked inside. There were burritos, some frozen pizzas, frozen orange juice in cardboard cans, and a box of toaster strudel.

Fifi shifted some burritos to get a look behind them. The package slid easily on a pizza box and crashed to the floor. No matter. Factory food was trash anyway. She pulled some mixed vegetables out to make more room and stuck her head and torso into the cold box. She couldn't see anything, so she felt her way in with her fingers.

Fifi thought she heard some movement in the living room. She paused her search and perched on the edge of the refridgerator door, concentrating on not being seen. If a human looked they wouldn't see her, just the open fridge. It wasn't true invisibility. If anyone knew where to look and who to look for she would be seen. The noise didn't continue, so Fifi returned to her search.

The back of the fridge was a piled up mess. Maybe the ice cream was at the bottom. Fifi worked her nimble fingers between a bag of sausages and a TV dinner. No ice cream. Her little screwdriver caught on something, so she took it out of its pocket and absent-mindedly put it on top of the refrigerator.

Suddenly Fifi was shoved into the freezer from behind. She got a face full of cold plastic and the door was slammed shut behind her. She sat in darkness for a second getting her bearings. Then the freezer turned on, blasting Fifi with cold air. Naked except for the tool apron, Fifi shivered and laid her ears flat against her head. She kicked the door uselessly. It was secured somehow, but not permanently.

Fifi felt around and found an ice cube tray. She kicked a few pizzas aside and pried the door open using the tray. As soon as the door opened, Fifi and a pile of frozen food crashed to the floor, faintly illuminated by the refrigerator light. Both doors stood wide open. Recovering her feet, Fifi found that she faced a shadowed person close to herself in size, armed with a little broom.

"Get oot, thoo pinching boggart! Is my hoose an shan't have pests!" said the figure, and charged Fifi using the broom as a club. Fifi dodged around the table, hoping the chair legs would provide some protection from that swinging broom. It was no use. A chair leg tripped her as if the furniture had a malicious intelligence. The figure pounced on her, grabbing a hand-full of her hair with a strong grip.

---

Mac awoke to a crash in the kitchen. Even in his half-drunk, half hungover state he could move fast if he needed to. He lifted his shotgun from its place and took up a position beside the kitchen door. A small voice with a scotch accent was shouting at somebody.

He looked in and saw both doors of the refrigerator open. The dim bulb illuminated a scattered mess of frozen food and a miniature struggle. Mac turned on the light and the combatants froze, with one holding the other by the hair. Both were just short of knee-tall and part of the same drunken dream, but otherwise totally different.

The captor was dressed plainly but neatly in an Amish style dress and a bonnet covering her hair. Her face looked like wood, as if she was made out of cherry and stained. The other was, well, filthy. She was covered in dirt, except where it was smeared to expose the green skin underneath. She wore only a leather apron with little pouches all over it. Her eyes were a bit large for her face, and she had pointed ears like a small dog. There was something familiar about that one.

"What is going on here?" Mac was surprised, but not awake enough to freak out about it.

"Thoo pays me an' I no question it. So I warks an thoo no question it!" said the wooden one. Mac didn't know what she meant by that.

"And you?" Mac indicated the little green woman.

The filthy green monster didn't answer. The wooden woman pulled her to her feet by her hair and marched her over to Mac.

"Thoo catch her, she has to answer three questions an canna lie".

"You already caught her" said Mac, just sober enough to play along with this drunk dream.

"Nay, its humans what can catch. Thoo hold on, she's caught" Said the wood faced woman.

Mac could feel a headache develop. He was in no mood for interrogations. He put the shotgun aside and reluctantly dropped to his knees. The green woman struggled in the wood woman's grip, but it was no use. He put a hand around her filthy torso, holding her securely. Her little body was shaking in his grip. Mac could feel her heart pounding under his thumb. Her pupils almost filled her green eyes and her plump bottom lip shook.

---

Fifi felt her energy drain away into Mac's grip. So this was getting caught. She tried dislodging his hand from her person, but her arms felt like noodles.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" Mac asked.

"N-N-No doubles! Its the rules" said Fifi, trying to be brave.

"It says rightly. Honest questions oonly, no two part questions." said the wooden woman as if quoting a book.

"Who are you?" Mac asked.

"Am me" Answered Fifi truthfully. Then realizing Mac didn't know what he was doing, stuck her tongue out at him. But she regretted it immediately. Mac's eyes looked calculating.

"What is your full name?"

"Fifinella." She hoped he didn't know how to use names.

"Where, within one meter, do you live?"

He was smarter than he looked.

"Inside your boombox" Fifi answered, choking a little.

"How d-" Mac began, but was interrupted.

Fifi felt her strength begin to return. "Now let go!" she shrieked. Mac's and the wooden woman's hands were thrown off. Fifi spent so much of her indignation on throwing the hands off her that the recoil of her magic stunned her. She stood there a moment and recovered. Getting caught made her feel weak and violated somehow. Now she didn't know what to do, so she ran out of the kitchen.

She had fantasized about being held by this human more than once, but never as a captive. She thought about getting back into the boombox, but couldn't bear the thought of being thrown out on her ass when Mac smashed it. That was what humans did when they found gremlins. Break their homes and send them away.

Fifi left the house. The door wasn't locked so it was nothing to jump up and twist the knob. Outside was like no outside she had ever seen. There were no streetlights, and no streets to light. No other houses were visible. There was just a gravel track that descended the moonlit slope and entered the darkness of the trees beyond.

---

Back in the kitchen Mac turned his attention to the little wooden woman. Her face was carved in an expression of disapproval, enhanced by her black glass eyes that seemed to condemn all before her.

"What is your name?" asked Mac. Catching this one was out of the question. She would probably beat him with the broom if he tried anything ungentlemanly.

"Thoo farst!" said the little wooden woman.

"Mac O'Neil".

"Thoo listen good Mac O'Neil. Am hoosekeeper. Am no maid. A keeps hoose as A will, an thoo keeps oota the way" The little woman put her hands on her hips like a stern old timey school teacher. "An thoo no bringin boggarts in!"

"Was that other little woman a boggart?"

"Aye. Dirty theevin mess-makin things. Get rid oo that music box. That's her rat-nest."

Mac found this hard to believe. A wood housekeeper and a little monster who claimed to live in a boombox were too much for one night. He waded through the frozen food to the refridgerator and closed both doors. A tiny screwdriver caught his eye. He picked it up an examined it. It was a flat head, with a wooden grip inlaid with copper wire. It was rough and simple, like a high schooler made it in shop class. The dirt on the handle matched the grimy residue on his hand.

"Is this hers?" Mac asked the little housekeeper

"Put it oot! if we owes her she can come back inside and canna stop her."

Finding the little screwdriver made the little people more real. Drunk dreams often made messes, but they don't have tools. Though the tiny wooden handle was much too small for him it seemed to fit his hand in a way that was more than physical. He looked around for a screw to tighten. There had to be one around somewhere, just to try it out. There was not.

Mac shook his head and reoriented himself. He must still be drunk, looking around for loose screws at midnight. Mac returned to the living room, where he half expected the green boggart to be hiding. Instead, he found the door open. He went outside and looked down the drive.

"Fifinella!" he called. Fifinella seemed to pop into view down the drive close to the tree line. She looked his way for a second, then ran. Mac returned to put on his boots. He didn't bother getting dressed. The night was warm, and he was wearing an old pair of basketball shorts. Mac descended the front steps and set off at a run to catch up with the little monster.