BarryHutchison

A few days ago, my agent. Kathryn Ross, got in touch to ask if I’d be interested in submitting a story to Scholastic for a book they are putting together. The book will commemorate the National Year of Reading 2008, and will contain 366 stories – one for every day of this year – with each story coming in at exactly 366 words (not including the title). The proceeds of the book will be going to the NSPCC.

It sounded like a bit of a laugh, so I put together a story called The Midnight Visit and sent it off. Kathryn got back to me and was a bit concerned the story might be too frightening for younger readers, and so she suggested I do something a little bit “sunnier”. I quickly put together another story, and sent that off, too.

Kathryn submitted both stories to Scholastic. Sure enough, they thought the first one might be a bit too frightening. They seem to be going for the second one, though, so I’ll reveal more details of that later.

In the meantime, though, here’s the story which didn’t get used. Is it scary? Not really. My five year old loved it (although I must admit he enjoyed the other one more). Maybe those of the most nervous disposition might be a little worried by it, but everyone else should be just fine!

THE MIDNIGHT VISIT

It was the high-pitched giggle that woke me up.

‘Who’s there?’ I mumbled, sitting upright and scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Down on the bed, something small and sharp glinted in the moonlight.

‘Er . . . no-one,’ squeaked a voice.

I peered into the gloom and soon spotted the smallest person I’d ever seen. He stood on the duvet, staring back up.

For a moment I thought someone had shrunk my Uncle Fred, because the figure on my bed looked exactly like him. He had the same bulging belly; the same balding head. He was Fred’s exact double.

Except Fred isn’t five centimetres tall. And he doesn’t have wings. At least, I don’t think he does. I’m sure Aunt Jean would have mentioned it if he had.

‘What are you doing with those scissors?’ I demanded, noticing the shiny silver shears the tiny man held. They were as big as he was, and the twin blades were resting either side of my left thumb.

‘Scissors?’ the fairy gulped. ‘What scissors?’

‘Those scissors!’

‘Oh,’ he whimpered. ‘Them ones.’ He shrunk a little more as I frowned at him. ‘Look, I can explain.’ His little chest swelled as he took a deep breath. ‘I’m the Thumb Fairy.’

‘The Thumb Fairy?’ I scoffed. ‘There’s no such thing!’

‘Course there is,’ the little ‘un insisted. ‘You know how the Tooth Fairy collects teeth? Well I do the same, but with thumbs. When they fall off.’

‘Thumbs don’t fall off!’

‘You’re telling me.’ He nodded at the scissors. ‘So, you know, desperate times . . .’

‘You’re not cutting my thumb off!’ I protested.

‘I’d leave you a penny.’

‘No.’

‘Okay, two pennies, and I’m making a loss on that.’

‘No!’

His wings drooped. Reluctantly, he lowered the scissors. ‘Fine,’ he sniffed, and I almost felt sorry for him.

‘Sorry, but I’m very attached to my fingers,’ I explained.

‘A big toe?’ he asked, hopefully.

‘Sorry, no.’

He gave a tiny sigh. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any brothers or sisters?’

I grinned, wickedly. ‘Second door on the left,’ I said, slipping back down under the covers. ‘Try not too make too much noise on the way out.’