The Third-Floor Bedroom

I.

It all began when someone left the window open, not that that person was necessarily to blame. But the weather had been fine for the first time in months, sunny and dry, and the bedroom was musty and stale from being shut up all winter. As well, the occupant of that room regularly disobeyed the house rules and smoked in it, making sure no odours seeped out underneath the closed door. As a result, a stale tobacco reek permeated everything and a good airing out was certainly in order, especially as the weather was so fine.

Hilda never went into that particular bedroom unless it could not be avoided, and on this occasion she had an armful of laundry to deliver to the occupant who did not answer her gentle knock. After several moments’ uncertainty, Hilda turned the knob and pushed open the door, the reek hitting her like bus exhaust. She deposited her load of clean clothes on a chair and made her way through clutter and debris to the window. The curtains were drawn and the room was in darkness, so she pulled them open and illuminated a mess. Clothes lay scattered on the floor and other surfaces, a garbage can overflowed, and there were dustballs and ashes everywhere from the forbidden tobacco. Disgusted, Hilda unlocked the window latch, threw up the sash and let in a draught of warm spring air scented with lilies. Immediately the atmosphere of the room changed and Hilda felt that she could stop holding her breath.

Since she had delivered the laundry, she took a few moments to tidy, emptying the garbage can of its overflowing bag and making a mental note to bring up a fresh one when she returned to close the window. Pleased with her work, she closed the door behind her and went about her other domestic duties.

As it happened, the third floor bedroom’s occupant was away for several days, having business in another city. He had among his possessions a small, egg-shaped paperweight given to him by a friend of the family. It was carved from translucent alabaster and he liked to hold it in his palm, feeling its weight and the coolness of the smooth stone. Sometimes, if he held it up to a light source, it seemed as though a spot of gold gleamed at the rock’s centre, and surmised that it was a bit of a different coloured mineral caught in the matrix. The egg sat on a desk, weighing down a pile of papers, and sparkled in the sunlight coming through the open window. The speck of gold seemed to dance in its centre and give off a warm glow.

The afternoon waxed and then waned and the sun started its descent behind the woods that bordered the west-facing side of the house. Hilda forgot all about returning to change the garbage bag and close the window, only remembering later when it was already too late.

II.

It was all my fault, or at least that’s what I believe. I was the one who opened the window to air out the third-floor tenant’s room, which always smells like the uncleaned bowl of a pipe that has been used for burning the cheapest-quality tobacco. He knows the rules. Why he can’t go outside to smoke like the other tenants do I do not know, but there you have it.

It was a beautiful day and I opened the window and forgot to close it. That is definitely my fault. What happened next could have been avoided if I had not been so derelict in my duty.

After the sun set and darkness fell on that side of the yard, the glow bugs started to flicker, calling for mates. I’ve always loved that time of evening, watching the fireflies dance and signal to each other, and that night there seemed to be more than usual. They gathered among the trees where I could see them from the kitchen window as I did up the last of the dishes, and drifted upward out of view. Some were definitely fireflies, flashing seemingly random patterns, but others didn’t behave quite right. These were the ones that flitted upward while the others went about their buggy business.

It wasn’t until it started to rain that I remembered I’d left that window open, so I hastened up the stairs to the tenant’s room to close it. I knew he was out of town for at least another day, so I was very surprised when I saw light under his door and heard sounds coming from within. It was quite late and I was in my dressing gown and had no weapon of any sort with me and I was frightened. But I’m not called Hilda the Horror for nothing, even if in truth it’s merely for reminding the tenants to have their affairs in order for housekeeping purposes; so I screwed up my courage and opened the door to the third floor room.

I can barely describe what I saw. The lights were coming from glow bugs. They were almost like little people in shape but with wings, and they shone with light that just poured off them. Some were flitting about the room, but most of them were surrounding a paperweight the tenant kept on his desk, an egg carved from alabaster with a speck of some golden mineral at its core. I had noticed it earlier in the day when I’d delivered the clean laundry. The small glowing creatures were gathered around the egg, pulsating rhythmically in unison, and the golden speck was pulsating back! I could not move. It was just too unbelievable. As I watched, the glow bugs started pushing and pulling on the paperweight. It was too heavy for them and individually they were tiny, but together they managed to get it closer and closer to the very edge of the desk until, with a huge effort, they sent it crashing to the floor. I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle a scream.

III.

I do not know how long I lay cocooned in that cold alabaster egg. Flickering moments of awareness came to me through the ages, but nothing coherent. Perhaps a sudden jarring of my enclosure or great heat or cold would temporarily rouse me from that aeons-long slumber, but darkness would always return. When the sound of the faeries and their pulsating light finally entered my consciousness, I was truly awake for the first time in my existence.

I do not know how I came to be where I was—an egg has very little choice in these things. But when full awareness dawned, I saw that I was surrounded by flashing faerie folk. Their bodies pulsed rhythmically with light which I returned, trapped within solid rock. They were too small and weak to release me, so they rocked and pulled the egg to the edge of the ledge upon which I’d been resting and pushed me over, to fall loudly onto the hard floor beneath. The egg remained intact, but a hairline crack sprang into existence along the curve of the stone. The faeries tried to lift it up to let fall again, but the stone was too heavy and smooth for them to grasp with their tiny hands.

They were not alone, although they had not acknowledged the presence of the human woman standing at the chamber’s door, her hand over her mouth, an expression of amazement on her face. She strode into the room and the glowing faeries scattered, still pulsating but at a safe distance from the woman. She bent down and picked me up, her hand warming my egg. She peered at me, glowing, through the milky stone. Then she walked to the window, raised her arm and, with all her strength, threw my prison onto the brick walkway below. The alabaster shattered with the impact and I leapt free. Free! It was raining lightly as I unfurled my tiny wings and tentatively flapped them, then tested my strength and flew back up to the window and shelter. The woman was still there, staring at me, surrounded by faeries, some of whom were now perched on her head and shoulders. I hovered at her eye level and she tentatively reached out one hand, palm upward, inviting me to settle upon it.

IV.

The next morning the tenants arrived at table for breakfast to find there was none. Hilda the Horror could not be found. Telephone calls to friends and relatives yielded no news. She had simply fled without taking so much as her purse. Anyone who knew Hilda would agree that this was unheard of. But no one who really knew Hilda would have been surprised to learn that she’d run off with the faeries and the dragon she had helped birth the evening before. They were gone, perhaps to some magical place where she didn’t have to worry about tenants’ breakfasts or laundry or rule-breaking. The only clue was a smashed alabaster paperweight on the walkway outside and the curtains still flapping in the third floor bedroom’s window.