Where does it come from?

Never ask a fairy where’s she’s from. I told him a dozen times but he just couldn’t seem to get it through his head. Ask a woman her age, her weight, if you must, ask if she’s pregnant, but NEVER ask a fairy where she’s from.



Oh sorry, my name’s Spellinda. My brother, thick head over there, is Gregory Thomas Speleford the Fifth. I told my parents we should have named him Spalunk but they didn’t go for it. But that doesn’t stop me from calling him that. You should see the way mom comes out of her skin when I do!

Anyway, we’re wil-o-the-whisps. It’s lots of fun. Hiding keys and glasses, stealing that last bite of food from the container, running through trees on spooky nights right outside windows. Wait a minute, why am I telling you this. Never mind, forget I said any of that. We just sit out in the yard all day making the daisies nod. Yep, that’s all we do.

Anyway, I told Spalunk not to ask a fairy where she’s from but he didn’t listen and that’s how we got into the mess.

It started off innocent enough. We were running up and down the wall with crayons tapped to our shoes while little Billy played with his blocks in the other room,

when this gorgeous blue fairy waltzes in on a passing breeze and asks what we’re up to. Well, I’m not stupid enough to answer such a question. If she can’t figure it out, who am I to rob her of the chance to exercise that pretty little brain of hers.

But Spalunk just open his mouth wide and asked, “Where’d you come from?”

My mouth fair fell open. She smiled at him with all the evil her soul could muster. “You shall find out.”

The next thing I know we’re sitting in the middle of a dung heap with smelly fairies buzzing all around us.


“Oh, good!” Cries this ancient looking one. “New hands. We’ve need help for some weeks now.” She grabs both our arms and lifts up out of the pile of manure and flies us to the other side. “Now, the eggs will hatch soon. All you have to do is feed them the manure as they crawl out. “

I’d heard of this trick, hence the warning for dear little brother, but I’d never heard what happened after.

Pretty soon that foul smelling dung heap started shaking and I started to fear for my very life, but then this dear little spot of light came crawling out.

She toddled over to me and looked up with all the beauty and allure of wounded dear seeking help. I forgot myself and reached down, scooping up that poo and reaching it out to her. She opened up her tiny little mouth and daintily took a bite. Then she smiled up at me and I thought, “Well, that wasn’t so bad. If you just need a little poo to make something so cute and useful as a fairy then I’ll hold my little hand full. But then she tugged on my shirt for more, and the piles began to shake again. Then there were two, then three. Before I knew it the whole mound was alive with tinny spots of light flying up and demanding more and more poo! I was starting to get covered cause every time one came up to ask for more she’d leave a mighty hand print of poo.

Then they started crawling on me to get there first and that’s when I lost it.

I looked over at Spalunk to say, ‘Let’s get out of here.” But he was so busy playing with the little things he had no idea what a mess he was. So I decided on action. I threw the one that was bighting me back at the pile where, by the way, more were still crawling out. I grabbed Spalunk’s collar and turned to flee.

We ran up ditches and down rivers, those little light spots seemed glued to our shoes. Then, we were passing this box and an arm shot out and grabbed us jerking us in before the fairies caught up.


“Name’s Mighty,” he spat out in heavy Irish brogue, “I’m a Leprechaun.”

“Spellinda, and Spulunk. Thanks for saving us.”

“Oh I wasn’t trying to save you, I was trying to stop you.”

“Huh? Stop us from what?”

“From feeding those fairies. The more fairies there are the more manure we leprechaun have to come up with.”

I was still confused so I asked again, “Huh?”

“Don’t you know anything? It goes like this. We bring in the manure but the there will only ever hatch as many as you’re willing to feed. Can’t feed themselves, can they? So they get some dolt to come and feed away. The more they feed, the more hatch, the more manure we have to get for later. If we don’t stop someone the whole world’s going to be covered in manure.”

So that’s why I’m here. To plead with you, if a light spot of light waltzes up to you ask where it comes from, then if it comes from a pile of poo… don’t feed it.