A Cup of Normal

  The address wasn’t hard to find. Even though it had been three hundred years since Thimble lived in the places of magic, he still knew his way around. Sure the trees had grown, fallen, and grown again, and mountains had studded their feet with new human towns. He had grown up here, and would know his way as well today as in another three hundred years.

  Still, when he reached the house, he was confused. The place was right — set deep within a forest and tucked up against an imposing rock wall, with a small, spring-fed creek burbling by. But the house did not resemble any of the human houses he had ever seen. This place was made of trees torn out by their roots, packed with mud and clumps of moss and weeds.

  Thimble looked at the address written in indelible magic on the note, then looked above the door. It was the right place. Someone inside that house had wished for help keeping the house. Thimble could do that.

  He strode up to the door. There was no inviting acorn on the window sill, which was no surprise since there were no windows. But he couldn’t sense a bowl of water by the door, either. He brushed away his worry with a short laugh. He’d pinch the owner black and blue until he or she remembered to put the bowl of water out for him every night. He’d clean and tease and make mischief like no human had ever seen. His heart pounded beetle-quick with excitement, his palms sweated magic. His thighs itched, but that was from the dress. Yes, this was going to work out just fine.

  Thimble straightened the straps of his dress. He gave his leg a good scratch, then knocked on the door.

  The heavy footsteps of something big, much bigger than a human, so big, the ground shook and shale trickled like dry bones down the cliffside answered his knock. Maybe this was a bad idea.

  The door groaned on rusted hinges and swung inward.

  A brute of a creature filled the doorway, glowering out over the forest while scratching at his hairy armpit.

  This thing was not human. This thing was something Thimble had lived his life avoiding, a dangerous, stupid, pixie-smashing creature. This thing was an ogre.

  It was still night, and ogres were creatures of the day. This one yawned, showing rows of pixie-grinding teeth and a curved set of yellowed tusks. Thimble had just woken a sleeping ogre. He held very still. The ogre would never notice him unless he looked down.

  The ogre looked down. “Here for the job?” The ogre’s voice rumbled like low thunder and sent more loose rocks tumbling off the cliff.

  “I am a pixie,” Thimble said. “I will keep the house for you, so long as you leave a bowl of water out for me every night.”

  The ogre scratched his other arm pit. “Aren’t you a little pink for a pixie?”

  “Aren’t you a little talkative for an ogre?”

  The ogre sneered, his thick lip curling back over lumpy teeth.

  This was it, Thimble thought. He was going to be smashed into pixie paste and buried in a horrible pink frock.

  But instead of smashing and bashing, the ogre grunted a couple times and stepped back into the house.

  Thimble swallowed until his heart stopped kicking at his chest. He lifted his chin high and entered the ogre’s abode.

  He had never seen such a mess in all his years! There was only one room to the house, but it looked like a garbage pit. Broken chairs, cracked dishes and unrecognizable mounds of things he could only guess at cluttered the misshapen room. The sink in the corner dripped, sending out a trail of mud that smelled like old cabbage across the floor. No living creature in its right mind would want to live here.

  The only thing standing was a tattered curtain separating the main room from a cave-like sleeping hollow.

  “What do you expect me to do with this?” Thimble asked.

  The ogre waved a meaty hand toward the room. “You’re the pixie. Take care of it.” Then he lumbered into his cave and tugged the curtain into place.

  Thimble was left alone with nothing but the broken tuba snores from the ogre. What was he going to do? There wasn’t any way he could clean this mess by morning. But the thought of going back to the empty pixie stick, or worse, to a meticulously kept home gave him chills. Better to have something impossible to do than nothing at all. He cracked his knuckles, hiked up his skirts and got to work.

  The morning sun rose over the forest and sent bursts of light and bird song into the mud hut. Thimble yawned and wiped the filthy rag over the last stubborn spot on the wall. He couldn’t believe how much he’d gotten done. He’d repaired the table and chairs, mopped the floor that turned out to be stone, and fixed the sink. He’d washed the dishes, mended the ogres’ big smelly socks, and even dusted the two mammoth boots he had found under a pile of dry leaves and sticks.

  Not bad for a night’s work. No, better than that — it was amazing for a night’s work. There wasn’t a pixie alive who could have done as much as well. The ogre was sure to be pleased. Thimble would get his water, and maybe after a nice day’s sleep, he would feel up to pinching the big beast for making such a mess in the first place.

  Thimble’s smile turned into a yawn. Later. All he wanted now was sleep. He padded over to the cleanest, driest corner by the door, ready to bed down.

  The ogre stirred, snorted, and pulled the ratty curtain aside. The ogre took one look at the room and rubbed his blood shot eyes. He took a second look at the room and roared.

  “What have you done?” The ogre stomped across the clean room until he towered over Thimble.

  Thimble was tired. Bone tired. His day had started with a three-year-old pushing him around and now this big brute had thought he could bully him. Well, Thimble Jack was not a pixie to be intimidated.

  “I cleaned your house,” Thimble shouted over the ogre’s heavy breathing.

  “I didn’t want you to clean it,” the ogre growled. “I wanted it to be worse!”

  “Then why did you let a pixie in your house?”

  “So you would mess things up.”

  Thimble pulled at his ears. “We make mischief, not messes, you ignorant clod.” And even as the words were out of Thimble’s mouth, he knew he had gone too far.

  The ogre snarled and spit and raised his fists. But instead of crushing Thimble, the big oaf looked Thimble in the eye and picked up a chair. He smashed it against the table top.

  “Wait — ” Thimble said.

  The ogre picked up the other chair and smashed it.

  “Don’t —”

  The ogre clomped over to the wall, and chunks of dirt bigger than Thimble fell to the floor.

  “Stop —”

  But Thimble’s protests only seemed to fuel the ogre’s tantrum. He stomped over to the sink and picked up a plate. He threw the plate in the sink and bits of clay shattered onto the floor.

  “That’s it!” Thimble gathered his magic in both hands and threw it at the ogre.

  The ogre reeled like someone had just whacked him across the head, but that wasn’t enough to stop the raging brute. He glared at Thimble and picked up a cup.

  Thimble flew at the ogre. “If you smash that cup, I will patch it so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”

  The ogre bared his teeth and threw the cup in the sink. Thimble dashed down after it. Just before the mug hit the sink, he threw a handful of magic at it, and the cup bounced safely, and landed whole.

  The ogre grunted and picked up the bucket in the sink. He heaved it against one wall. Water spilled across the floor.

  Thimble flew over the spill. With a flick of his wrist, the water was gone, and so was the dirt beneath it.

  The ogre grunted again and kicked the leaf pile around. Thimble sent a breeze to push the leaves back into a pile in the corner.

  The ogre grunted several times, a sound strangely like laughter, and picked up the table.

  “Oh, for the love of wands, you wouldn’t.” Thimble braced himself. The table was too big for him to catch when it fell, and it would probably explode into a million messy splinters.

  Still holding the table over his head, the ogre stopped, tipped his head to
the side and shrugged one shoulder. “Too hard to fix?”

  And that’s when Thimble noticed it. The ogre wasn’t scowling, he was smiling.

  “Uh, yes. That’s a bit much.”

  The ogre nodded and put the table back down. He stomped over to the trunk that held his clean, folded clothes and looked over his shoulder at Thimble. When Thimble didn’t say anything, the ogre cleared his throat.

  “Right,” Thimble said, more confused than angry. “Don’t you dare.”

  The ogre grunted and busied himself wadding up shirts and breeches and throwing them around the house.

  Thimble tried to stay out of the way and do some thinking. The ogre liked making messes, and he liked cleaning. And from the wicked glint in the ogre’s eyes, he knew the old boy had other tricks up his sleeve. Staying here would be madness.

  But it certainly wouldn’t be boring.

  Thimble grinned and scratched at the itchy dress. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

  “Fine,” Thimble said, trying to sound angry. “You mess everything up, but I will clean it. Every night while you sleep, I will wake and make your house fresh as a spring day.”

  The ogre grunted. “You’ll never be able to clean everything before I start wreaking havoc.”

  “And you’ll never be able to ruin everything before I start wreaking order.”

  They glared at each other, then Thimble nodded. The deal was set.

  “Good then, I’m off to sleep. See that you don’t keep me awake with your smashing and bashing, or I’ll pinch you so hard, you’ll be black and blue until your birthday.”

  The ogre grunted several times. “You don’t scare me, Pinkie.”

  “You don’t know me very well, Ugly.”

  The ogre chuckled again.

  Thimble scratched at his thigh and trundled over to the corner by the door.

  “See you in the evening,” Thimble yawned.

  But the ogre followed Thimble to the corner and held his hand out.

  “What?” Thimble asked, hoping the big behemoth didn’t want him to shake on the deal.

  “Give me that ridiculous dress.”

  “Make me,” Thimble said. Bad move. The ogre plucked him up by the wings and stripped the pink frock off him quicker than skinning a grape.

  Thimble kicked and bit and pounded on the ogre’s hand to no avail.

  The ogre put Thimble back down on his feet and patted his head. “When you want it back, you let me know.” The ogre pulled at a key on a string out from beneath his coarse tunic, and unlocked the only cabinet in the house. Thimble saw a flash of gold, a wink of jewels, then the ogre tossed his dress in there and locked the door.

  “Monster,” Thimble grumbled without much heat.

  The ogre shrugged and went about crushing sticks into sawdust.

  The truth was, now that he was out of that dress he felt much better. More like his old self. Free to make his own choices and to come or go as he pleased. And besides, now he could go back to dreaming about a proper set of clothes, maybe with a hat and matching shoes — comfortable shoes. He felt better than he had in years. Thimble curled up, with nothing but dry leaves for a bed, and chuckled. “Crazy as an ogre,” he muttered.

  The ogre just grunted in reply.

  Written to the read-out-loud challenge theme “Christmas Gifts,” this story takes a look at what gifts we truly cherish and the bravery it takes to give with all our heart.

  CHRISTMAS CARD

  Tommy inched across the carpet on his belly and elbows, coming ever closer to the wrapped packages under the tree. He had stared at those gifts for so long, his Mom had said there ought to be eye holes in the wrapping. He’d checked. No holes. Even though he wasn’t allowed to touch the gifts, he had found another way to make the packages move. The dog, Pufferbelly, worked like magic.

  “Here, kitta, kitty,” he whispered at the neighbor’s orange tabby who had just stuck her head in the empty window pane beside the front door. The cat’s eyes were gold as old coins, and wide with curiosity. The cat wasn’t purring, but she slid her head side to side, then slipped through the empty pane. She cautiously approached him.

  Right on time, Pufferbelly came through the open back door, barking with all his might. One loud dash past the tree — the cat screeched out the window — the dog pushed the front door open on its loose hinges, leaving packages scattered in his wake.

  Tommy grinned and swallowed down the evil laughter he’d been using since Halloween. This was working perfectly this time.

  He crawled the rest of the way to the tree, careful to follow Mom’s “don’t touch the gifts or so help me you’ll be grounded” rule.

  The green box was for Dad — the one that looked like it held a shirt or sweater. Tommy had found this same present under the tree two years ago, and last year too.

  On top of the green box was a weird little gift wrapped in red. It frightened him a little because he didn’t recognize it. It was round on one end, like a ball, then long and looped on the other, but the whole thing was only as big as his hand. He paused, breathing quietly against the carpet as the unfamiliarity of that gift came over him cold, like a silver thaw. He must know what that gift was. He always knew what they were.

  The package tipped off of dad’s gift and hit the floor with a sweet jingle. Tommy smiled. Baby Elli’s rattle, of course.

  He glanced around to make sure Mom wasn’t looking. The house was dim. The fireplace full of wood that had gotten dusty from never being lit. Even the tree was no longer green. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Mom hadn’t come out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was yet.

  Tommy scooted over to the package for Mom. He knew what was in this one even without looking. He’d been there to help Dad pick it out for her. It was a bathrobe, with red and blue stripes. Tommy had liked it best, even better than the pink one, because it was soft as a brand-new teddy bear before the new gets rubbed off of it.

  One last gift to find. It had landed close to the door. Tommy moved between dusty tree ornaments. The gift was almost in reach and yes! there was a tear right down the front of the wrapping. Perfect!

  Forget scooting, forget the warnings he knew by heart. Tommy sat on his knees in front of the gift, concentrated, and picked up his present. It was a medium-sized box with snowmen wrapping paper. Tommy pulled the lid off the box. A blue hat, matching mittens and scarf were inside. Pretty dull stuff. But the thing he’d been hoping for, wishing for, was nestled right in the middle of the scarf and hat. Doppelganger-Swapper cards. Rare version with an Extralife card!

  Tommy grabbed the cards and looked through them quickly. They were smeared, like someone had taken a big eraser and rubbed them blank. But one card was still good — the one he hadn’t tried yet — the Extralife card.

  Tommy carefully placed the Extralife card on top of the deck and set the deck on his knees. Then he put on his hat, gloves and scarf.

  It was magic. As soon as the hat was settled on his head, and the cards were in his hands again, the room lit up. The fire crackled to life behind him. The ornaments were off the floor and on the tree, sparkling like they had just been hung.

  “Couldn’t wait?”

  Tommy tried to look guilty, but couldn’t hold back his smile. He stood and ran to his mom. “Thank you! This is the coolest Christmas ever!”

  Mom smiled. A car horn honked outside and Mom tucked his hat closer over his ears. “Daddy and Elli are waiting for us,” she said, and Tommy felt sad. That was familiar, too. He’d been sad today before.

  “We need to be on the highway before the storm hits,” Mom said. She zipped up her coat and Tommy was sure he saw dust puff out from it.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to go to Grandma’s, Mom.”

  Mom knelt and helped him put on his coat. He slid his arms into it, and it was cold, damp. She zipped it tight around his body. He shivered.

  “I know, honey, but Grandma’s getting pretty old. This might be the last Christmas we
can see her. And besides, someone already got his gift.” She raised an eyebrow, but he knew she wasn’t really mad.

  “I still don’t want to go.” He waited, hoping Mom would do something different this time, maybe listen to him and say they could all stay.

  Mom took his hand and opened the door. “The ice will be here in a couple hours. We don’t want to be on the road when the storm hits.”

  Nothing. Nothing different. Tommy felt the cards in his hand grow warm. One Doppleganger-Swapper card left. His last chance to change tonight.

  “Tommy,” his mom said, “don’t worry. We’ll come home in time for Santa to fill our stockings tomorrow night.”

  For a moment, Mom’s hand felt warm in his and she smiled.

  Maybe everything was already okay. Maybe just finding the cards, and putting the Extralife on top fixed everything.

  Tommy looked over his shoulder at the stockings on the mantle. They had holes in them and were covered with spider webs. The living room was dim again, dusty. The tree was brown and brittle.

  Soon the storm would bring screeching tires, Mom’s scream, Dad’s yell and the awful sound of crushed metal. Then cold and silence. He had already used Reset, Swaptime and Slowplay.

  Nothing left but one Extralife.

  Tommy pulled the deck out of his pocket and glanced at the top card. If he held real tight to it, he might get to live a real life again. Maybe the emergency team would pull him out first, and he would still be breathing.

  And what about the rest of his family?

  “Mom,” he said, “Merry Christmas.” He handed her the card.

  She smiled a puzzled smile, but took the card and put it in her pocket.

  “Merry Christmas. Now, stop worrying, honey, everything’s going to be okay.”

  Tommy nodded and walked with her out the door. Maybe this year, Mom would be right.

  Back when I was experimenting with how to write quickly, a friend issued a challenge: write three stories in six days. This very short story was one of the tales that fell off my fingertips. Even though it’s short, it hints at a much bigger magical world. I’ve often found myself wondering what happens next with this boy.