The Vengeance of the Fey - Prologue. Prologue

From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties

And things that go bump in the night,

Good Lord, deliver us.

Anonymous Scottish Prayer

My two brothers and I had been brought up on my grandmother’s fairy tales.

I can remember the four of us sitting by the open fire on a cold winter’s night in her cottage, with a hot milk toddy each, and she would tell us stories that were long forgotten. I also remember on one occasion she invited us for dinner and we were not permitted to talk during the meal, she called it a “Dumb Supper”. Apparently, it was something she held every November 1st to remember those relatives who had died.

She used to take us out on the bright summer nights, and we’d all venture into one of the local forests, where she’d tell us tales of woodland nymphs, sprites, and all the various creatures of nature that are no longer remembered by humans.

Being children of the twenty-first century, we’d always treated them as mere stories. We’ve got our Androids, our Kindles, our iPads, our iPhones, we’ve only known DVDs, we’ve spent more time on the internet than our parents have — well you get the idea. What place did we have in our lives for nymphs and sprites?

I loved spending the time with my grandmother, and it was even more special to me since she passed away last year. There are far too many kids my age that never had the opportunity to spend as much time with their grandparents as I did, or get to know them and their stories.

Though, like all fairy tales, all of her stories were make believe. That’s what I’d always thought, and that’s what I’d always told myself, but now . . . I’m not so sure. Sitting here in the hospital, with Mark in the Intensive Care Unit, and Tommy having CT and MRI scans done, I’m really not so sure.