I’ve been a witch since I was born. Some things are just inherent like that. Same as being born with blonde hair or being born with dark skin. My mom taught me everything I needed to know pretty much from the get-go: How to tell the difference between a free form entity from a ghost or deity, best ways to cultivate herbs, how to bind and break and cast and curse. How to ignore naysayers.
That’s probably been the most important thing she ever taught me.
Being a witch is different from what most people seem to think. I can’t claim to turn you into a frog or even really tell you exactly how the future will unfold. Things aren’t that simple. I can tell you other things. Lots of other things. Today, I wanted to share some stories about my work- my craft if you would.
I work with the Fair Folk. Fairies, or if you want to be really uppity about it, faeries. However you want to spell it.
It’s much in the same way people will work with other things. Some witches work with ghosts, others gods; some demons, and others the natural world just as it is. Some are even scientists, though my mom thinks that’s just nonsense. Any good witch worth their salt, she says, works with something of higher power. I didn’t want to try explaining to her what kind of higher power is contained in an atom.
But that’s a tangent. You guys aren’t here to read me talking about my mother. You’re here because you want to hear about the Fair Folk.
My first time truly coming into contact with them was when I was 15 years old. More accurately, 15 on the cusp of 16. A boy becoming a man. I didn’t feel very manly then, all decked out in nothing more than oak leaves and my underwear. It was a big draping garment woven completely out of the things, the oak leaves, and it covered me a lot like a rain poncho. I hadn’t been allowed to wear shoes, but I hadn’t really wanted to. Grass feels nice on bare feet.
My mom’s whole coven had convened together to celebrate my passing into the next stage of my life. It was awkward for me, as I’m sure you can imagine. Any 15 year old boy becoming the center of a bunch of adults attention is always awkward. The only saving grace was that I finally, finally got to drink the wildflower mead that Mrs.Perchik makes every year. Mom always raved on about how she wished she could drink the stuff all year round.
Seeing as I was a scrawny 15 year old boy playing at being a man, I drank a little more than I probably should have. It was encouraged for the most part. My mom spent most of the time during the festivities making sure my cup was never anything less than full. By the time night fell and the bonfire was lit, it was fair to say I was definitely drunk. Things get a little blurry; I’d never forget it fully.
There was a lot of dancing and hollering and running (yes, sometimes naked) done around the bonfire until suddenly everyone just kind of… left. They left me there sitting in front of the dying bonfire with some leftover mead and a mostly empty basket of berries. I sat there for a long time wondering what exactly I was supposed to be doing. Consecrating my manhood? If so, then how even? They hadn’t exactly given me a “So You’re a Man Now!” pamphlet when they left.
Eventually the bonfire died down to nothing but smoke. It had to be close to midnight; The half-moon was hanging high in the starry sky. It was through the murk of the darkness and smoke that I first saw him. I thought he was an animal at first. That’s common with the Fae. Thinking they’re something they’re not. Animals, trees, rocks, humans. You always think they’re something mundane before you realize the reality.
His eyes were big and dark. They caught the light of the moon in the way a deer’s do, which combined with the horns on his head… I mean, you know what I mean. I thought he was a deer at first. I thought I was about to have some mystical ‘connected with nature’ moment. I guess I did, just not in the way I thought I would.
It was when he stood up that I really grasped what I was looking at. He was shaped approximately like a man, despite the way his face didn’t sit quite right or that all his limbs were just disproportionate enough to be very noticeable. His ears stuck out in a way that I at no point in time thought was funny or laughable, even a little bit. They sort of reminded me of a donkey though. His mouth moved but I didn’t grasp that he was speaking to me until a couple second later. I had been too busy staring at his mouth. His teeth were like gemstones. They were like a shark’s.
He asked me, plainly: “May I have your name?”
Despite being drunk and 15, I was sensible enough to respond properly.
“You may not have it, but you may know it if I may know yours.”
He grinned at me, which was about twice as frightening as you’re probably imagining it, and leaned forward onto all fours again. His hands gently disturbed the dead fire and revealed some still glowing debris that had been covered in ash.
“Your people teach you well now,” He spoke; His voice was so soft- like the night itself was speaking. “I will allow you to know my name.”
I can’t tell you his name. Names have power like that, especially for the Fair Ones. Besides- that’s something between me and him. Giving it away would be just as much like giving away something of myself.
I told him my name in turn. It was then that he crept forward even closer. His hands were huge. Large but with narrow palms and longer fingers that ended with blunt fingertips almost like hooves- one on the end of each finger.
“You are not yet a man.” I was pretty sure he had just sniffed me before saying this. In the soft, quiet way that a cow or horse might sniff what you have in your hand when you hold it out to them. I didn’t know how to feel about him saying that since the only reason I was out here was because I was supposed to be becoming a man tonight. Yeah, my birthday was technically in a few days but that was during the school week. Sue us for cutting a few corners, right?
I didn’t really have anything to say to that so I didn’t speak. I remember just staring at him, him staring back, as we… watched each other. Like he was as wary of me as I was him. It sounds ridiculous aloud since he was easily two- maybe three times my size and had teeth like a paper shredder. I did the only thing I could to try and break the tension; I pat the ground next to me and told him to sit down.
He declined to sit next to me but did take a seat atop the ashes of the bonfire. I pushed the last of the berries between us and ate a few to show they weren’t poisoned or anything weird and sinister like that. He took some too. I’m pretty certain he swallowed them whole.
“You are of no use a boy. Not ripe. Not ready.” I shrugged and told him plainly that it hadn’t been my fault my birthday fell on a school day this year. He seemed to consider that. I watched his ears flick and twitch as the night continued to sing around us.
“Your people have such ways about them. Such ways. Some are inclined to think such ways are of no interest to ours.” He paused and looked down at me, his neck pulling away from his body with ease as he craned his head. “You are too young and fresh. Have you even been weaned?”
“I’ve been weaned for a while, sir.” I managed to get out, flustered. It was weird to have him speak to me like a particularly intelligent animal. Especially when it was he who looked so much like one himself. But you have to be careful when you talk with the Fair Ones, no matter how polite you may think you’re being.
“A while, sir…” He repeated back to me. He blew air through his teeth in what was probably an amused smile. “Young and fresh indeed. Allow me?”
“Allow you what?” It’s always important to press for specifics. Mom said that Aunt Mindy got spirited away for her politeness. Always too nice to strangers, she’d tut. Always too pliant for her own good.
He stood again. Not wanting to sit there like an idiot while he towered over me, I stood as well. The top of my head barely came to the bottom of his rib cage.
“Allow me to have you?”
“You cannot have me, no.” I stated as firmly as possible, slurring only slightly. I had stood a little too fast for my own good.
“No?” I realized my error then and decided to take a different route.
“You cannot have me, but you may know me and of me. That’s my final offer.” He seemed perhaps slightly affronted at the fact a creature he considered “young”, “fresh”, and “barely weaned” was able to navigate this talk. It was on himself for being so particularly forward.
“Fine, fine. I will take your offer. To know you and know of you. You have given much today. You have kept much as well. Here.” I watched then as he reached into his mouth and pried out a single, shining tooth. It was even more brilliant up close. It was also sharper than I had been anticipating. It sliced into my skin with ease as he took a gentle hold of my hand and pressed it to my palm.
I said something dumb like “Cool” when I took a closer look at it. This particular tooth resembled an opal, even with it covered in my own blood.
“Tie it tight with twine and wear it close.” He instructed, eyeing my bleeding hand. When he pulled his own away I saw him lick the blood off of it shamelessly. I didn’t want to think about it at the time, I still sort of don’t.
“Too fresh, but nearly there. Nearly there.” He murmured. He took his retreat then, backing up through the ashes the same way he climbed through them and disappeared into the night. I woke up the next morning to my mom standing over me. I think she was relieved to see that I was still there.
She asked me how I felt, how it went. I told her the bare minimum. That something had happened but it wasn’t the right time. I had wanted to ask her to take me to a doctor to see about stitching my hand up- the cut I had gotten was pretty gnarly. I didn’t have to though. There was no cut. Not even a scar. Just a weirdly shaped rock that I could’ve sworn had been a tooth like an opal.
Regardless, I kept the rock. Wrapped it tight with twine and turned it into a necklace.
That was my first. There’s been plenty of others after him. Plenty of other times with him too. If you want to believe me then by all means do, and if you want to try and debate me then fuck it. It’s the internet, do what you want. But I came here to share my stories. Consider a story shared.