The Mushroom Circle: A Fairy Tale for Giants

By Clare C Newbury

When you were a child did you ever put a tooth under your pillow hoping the tooth fairy would come to take it and leave a coin in its place? Did you ever worry that there might be goblins in the woods? Have you ever seen a moth fly by and wondered if it just might be a pixie? Have you stepped inside a ring of mushrooms and experienced the magic of the mushroom circle? Step into the circle now.

Off the coast of Maine lies Terrapin Island, shaped like a tortoise whose seaweed-covered head disappears at high tide. Rings of Marasmius Oreades mushrooms have been growing on the island for hundreds of years. Each year the rings grow larger, like droplets in a puddle, until they reach the boundary of rocks that lets them go no further. The entire island lies within the magic circle.

Terrapin Island is inhabited by giants, who are people rather like yourself, and by wee folk, who are tiny fairies and goblins of the sort most giants cannot see, and certainly do not believe in. The wee folk, however, are very aware of the giants, and for the most part, take a dim view of the way they live.

You will be introduced to Fearbabe, the mesmerizing king of the goblins. His dysfunctional band of hooligans includes Obsequia, Hotspur, and Whipcad, the trio most recently banished to goblinhood by the fairies.

You will meet the fairy architect, Aerial Fog, an ethereal pale green sprite who glows with the power of love, and who has a friend among the giants: Marian Fuller, an eccentric and ageless artist, winters in Mexico and spends her summers as librarian on Terrapin Island. Marian provides Aerial Fog with building materials in exchange for information about the wee folk.

You will get to know Marians seven-and-a-half-year-old friend, Dawn McKay, who suspects that Marian is a witch. Dawn loses a tooth in Marians kitchen early one morning. That night two fairies, Featherbell and Fiddlehead, are sent to fetch the tooth from under Dawns pillow. Their efforts are hampered by Dawns father, Boos attempt to play the role of tooth fairy himself.

You will encounter Harriet Gracewell, an eighty-three-year-old bird watcher who dresses only in black and takes care of her cranky invalid sister-in-law, Estelle. Harriet accidentally finds herself in possession of a tiny cloak belonging to Osmosis the gnome. She shows the little garment to Marian Fuller, who tells her it must be returned to its owner. Complications arise when the cloak falls into the hands of Fearbabe the goblin. Harriet, Marian, and Dawn join forces with the fairies to make a trade with Fearbabe. Because of their helpful interactions with the wee folk, Marian, Harriet, and Dawn are invited to attend the fairies Summer Solstice celebration, at which a particularly surprising event transpires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 1, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469123066

Clare C Newbury

Clare Newbury lives in a cabin in the woods in Edgecomb, Maine. This is her first novel.

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Copyright © 2001 by Clare C. Newbury.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

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copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements:

Characters

Prologue

1

Friday, June 5, 1953, late afternoon:

2

Saturday, June 6,1953, very early morning:

3

Saturday, June 6,1953, still early:

4

Saturday, June 6,1953, mid-morning:

5

Saturday, June 6,1953, late morning through afternoon:

6

Saturday, June 6,1953, late afternoon, early evening:

7

Saturday, June 6,1953, evening:

8

Saturday, June 6,1953, evening Meanwhile:

9

Saturday, June 6,1953, evening Meanwhile:

10

Sunday, June 7, 1953, early evening:

11

Sunday, June 7, 1953, evening:

12

Sunday, June 7,1953, night:

13

Monday, June 8, 1953, morning:

14

Monday, June 8, 1953, morning:

15

Monday, June 15, 1953, morning:

16

Monday, June 15, 1953, morning: Meanwhile:

17

Monday, June 15, then Tuesday, June 16, 1953:

18

Tuesday, June 16, 1953

19

Tuesday, June 16, 1953:

20

Wednesday, June 17, 1953:

21

Wednesday, June 17, 1953 Meanwhile:

22

Sunday, June 21,1953, evening

About the Author:

In loving memory of Kathleen Miller.

Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to the following giants for their help:

To Woody Dickerman for his constructive suggestions and encouragement; to Eleanor Eide for her help with editing, and for making it all possible; to Jane Fawcett for giving me the Kathleen Miller box; to Betty Knake for the use of her computer, and for all the research she did; to Mike Leonard for his help with the cover; and to Beth Newbury for her computer skills.

Characters

missing image file

TERRAPIN ISLAND, MAINE

Prologue

Tuesday, June 23, 1953, morning

Deep in the woods, out of sight of any house or path, two children drop to their knees on a bed of soft, damp spruce needles and moss next to the old rotting stump of a tree felled many years ago. The stump has decayed more in some places than others, leaving soft, pulpy indentations that are easy to dig out in preparation for the installation of window framing fashioned with the greatest of care out of twigs. On one side of the stump, a root crotch is exposed, beckoning anyone of sufficiently miniscule stature to enter the beginnings of a tunnel. Some jagged remains of trunk on top of the stump bear a hint of resemblance to the turrets of a Gothic castle.

See? I told you, this stump will make a really great fairy house! exclaims Megawat, settling his husky body in a more comfortable position. And nobody except us will ever find it! he adds proudly.

Yeah, there’s even a place for a balcony over here! agrees Dawn eagerly as she crawls halfway around it.

I know, says Megawat, even though he hadn’t actually noticed the balcony potential himself. And you can see right where to put the windows, and that tunnel can be the door!

Okay, let’s pretend this sprite named Anacampsis wants this house built … begins Dawn, flipping a slightly chewed-looking pigtail over her shoulder.

Anna who? interrupts Megawat. He lays a miniature rope ladder made of twigs and sewing thread carefully on the ground in front of him. Dawn winces as he takes a swat at a mosquito that had been hoping to gorge itself on blood from his plump, juicy arm.

Anacampsis, Dawn repeats impatiently. Her arm shoots out like a frog’s tongue, and she snatches the offending mosquito out of the air. She raises her loosely cupped fist to her mouth and hums Ooonnn into it for several seconds. Then she opens her hand, and the mosquito flies away, unfed and unharmed.

Where’d you come up with a name like that? Megawat is asking. His eyes are following the mosquito until it flies far enough away that he can no longer see it.

I don’t know. I just made it up; it’s pretend, says Dawn, glancing sideways at him.

Megawat wrinkles up his nose and shrugs. Okay, so this Anna Campsis is building a house, and she’s going to want to have this ladder coming off the balcony for a fire escape, he says.

It’s a HIM; Anacampsis is a boy! And let’s pretend he’s in love with this pixie named Featherbell, says Dawn with authority.

Yeah, okay. Featherbell. That sounds like a fairy kind of name. Megawat nods and grins his approval. He pushes a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead.

"Except, let’s pretend that in the fall Featherbell is going to get wrapped up in a cocoon, like a caterpillar, and when she comes out the next spring she’s going to be a sprite, too, like

Anacampsis." Dawn gets up and begins scanning the area for just the right pillows of light green moss to plant between the roof turrets.

Yeah, well who cares if she’s a pixie or a sprite? What’s that got to do with the house? asks Megawat.

Anacampsis is having the house built for them to live in after Featherbell turns into a sprite. He’s doing it for a surprise when she comes out of the cocoon, says Dawn. She gently plants one large pillow of moss on top of the stump, and adds several smaller, darker green strips that hang down over the edges.

Megawat picks up a long, straight twig from which the bark has peeled away. Okay, and then how about they get attacked by goblins, and have to drive them off with spears, he suggests, brandishing the twig.

Not yet; that can come maybe after the house is finished and Featherbell is there with Anacampsis, Dawn insists.

"So Anna Campsis is building this house all by her-I mean himself, and he’s waiting for Featherbell. So the goblins could attack just him, and he could drive them off single-handed with his spear," says Megawat emphatically, jabbing the twig into the ground.

Here, says Dawn, handing him a fistful of twigs. Do the windows on that side. And let’s pretend there’s this green sprite that glows, you know, like Tinkerbell, but her name is Aerial Fog, and she’s real good at building houses. And she’s helping Anacampsis figure out how he wants everything in the house.

Okay, okay! But what about the goblins? Megawat grunts irritably. He heaves a sigh of frustration as the first stick he inserts on one side of a window opening falls out when he tries to install a second stick on the opposite side.

Well, let’s pretend that Anacampsis used to be a goblin himself. And he did something really good; he rescued Featherbell from danger; so he got redeemed, suggests Dawn brightly.

"Redeemed? So how does he get redeemed? And who redeems him? The guy who’s helping him build the house, Errol

Fog?" asks Megawat as he ever so gently puts the final twig across the top of the window.

"NO, no! Aerial Fog is a girl! And they all redeem him, all the fairies! That’s when they make him into a sprite, and he gets to stop being a goblin, Dawn explains. They do it at the Summer Solstice celebration."

All right, all right! says Megawat defensively. So what was the danger, anyway? That Anacampsis rescued Featherbell from?

well, says Dawn, let’s pretend there was this really bad thunder storm, you know, like the one last week… .

PART I

1

Friday, June 5, 1953, late afternoon:

Fearbabe the goblin throws off his foul brown voleskin cape with a flourish, and leaps onto a small, uninhabited stump. He prances and struts, as if on a stage, assuming different poses, flexing his muscles, and buzzing his wings, which are similar to those of a dragonfly, except instead of being iridescent bluish green, his are smeared with grimy brown dirt. Nevertheless, while most goblins are poor, hideous looking creatures, Fearbabe possesses a sinister glamour of which he is only too aware.

I am King! he shouts imperiously, throwing back a shock of wild black hair and jutting his chin out. I am King of all goblins, and I command you to gather and be still! His voice, even when raised, is sensuous in a hoarse, gravelly sort of way. Fearbabe, who resembles a boy just on the brink of adolescence, is tall for a goblin, and he moves with seductive grace. His disheveled black hair, along with the dirt that darkens his skin, gives him a tough, swarthy appearance.

A feminine goblin of no particular charm whatsoever named Obsequia falls to her knees before Fearbabe’s stump and gathers his discarded voleskin fichu into her arms. Her pinched, lopsided, chinless little face gazes up at him adoringly. She would do anything for one of Fearbabe’s leering smiles.

The belligerently handsome goblin king rewards her with a lecherous grin, and undulates his pelvis at her suggestively. Obey your king! he shouts, leaping into the air and spinning around several times, wings buzzing madly.

Quidnunc, a grotesquely shaped goblin of extreme age, with scaly bald patches on his head, huge fleshy ears, and swollen-looking, slobbering lips, lowers himself to the ground with his legs tucked under him. One of his upper wings has a hole in it; the other is missing its bottom half. His lower set of wings is ragged at best. Together, both sets could never render him airborne. What now, what now? he mutters to no one in particular.

A tiny cringing figure named Feezia lands in a squat next to him, her antennae twisted together, and her pointy little face a mask of perpetual worry. She appears to be poised for flight if necessary; her tattered wings, stained yellowish, are aquiver with dread.

A goblin with a face so lopsided as to appear deformed, known as Whipcad, reeling drunkenly from having consumed gluttonous quantities of fermented berry juice, staggers up behind Feezia and falls down. He groans, and remains lying where he has landed, one grasshopper-like wing crumpled beneath him.

Rottenberry, Abderia, Hispid, Scoparia, obey your king! roars Fearbabe, gleefully hurling sharp spruce needles like darts at his fellow goblins. His aim is accurate enough that some have to take to the air to avoid being pierced by the needles, but no one dares voice a complaint.

Where are Clotbur, Caltrop, and Hotspur? demands Fearbabe, jumping off the stump and rudely snatching his fichu from Obsequia. He dances among the assembled goblins swishing the filthy cloak about like a matador’s cape, wishing that his were red.

Finally, all except Hotspur arrange themselves on their knees, in no particular order, at the foot of the stump. Fearbabe leaps into the air, spinning like a corkscrew, and lands with the utmost grace back on the stump. The meeting will commence, he announces grandly, tilting his chin up in what he believes to be a kingly fashion. His perfectly sculpted lips widen slowly into an evil grin.

I will, of course, deal with Hotspur later, he growls conspiratorially, obviously relishing the thought. The goblins thump the ground with their fists, nodding and exclaiming approval, whether or not they mean it.

Quidnunc thinks he may know Hotspur’s whereabouts, and determines to report this to Fearbabe at his earliest opportunity. He seems to find the role of tattletale abundantly satisfying.

Fearbabe hists the group to silence and begins a persuasive monologue on the advantages of raising dermestid beetles, whose destructive larvae, when given access to giants’ homes, eat anything from leather to stored food, to silk, wool, and carpeting.

* * * *

Meanwhile, Hotspur, a paunchy, mean-looking goblin with a repulsive crop of warts on his nose, is out of sight behind a nearby tree trunk, reclining on his back with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes closed. He has figured out that if he doesn’t actually look at Fearbabe, he can resist the compelling leader’s commands. while Fearbabe frisks and capers about on his stage, mesmerizing the other goblins into performing whatever nasty deeds he wants them to, Hotspur determines to stay hidden behind the tree trunk and reminisce about how he, Whipcad, and Obsequia came to be goblins. This is something he thinks about almost to the point of obsession.

The trouble had started during the winter many years ago, with what at first seemed like innocent competition between the two elves, Agrostis and Bugbane. Competition in general is frowned upon by the wee folk of Terrapin Island, although it may be considered acceptable elsewhere. It is considered to be a primitive form of behavior used as a survival technique by one-celled life forms, and by giants, who appear to fairy folk to be ruled by primitive one-celled egos.

At the beginning, the rivalry between the elves had not seemed a serious problem, and it was generally assumed that as they learned better, they would outgrow it. It had all come to a head, however, at the Vernal Equinox celebration when Bugbane ingested a vast quantity more than his share of fly agaric and tremella mushroom butter, while neglecting to take any essence of St. John’s wort with it.

As they are inclined to do at all Vernal Equinox celebrations, the fairy folk were dancing wildly to the captivating music of night birds, wind, pixie pipes and elf drums within a circle of sparkly powder made from pixie dust containing a great deal of mica dust and spores from the previous year’s marasmius oreades mushrooms. That particular equinox was not hampered by snow, but it was still too cold for there to be a ring of actual mushrooms, as there would be for the Summer Solstice. There were also no crickets, click bugs, or cicadas that early in the year to lend their musical talent to the festivities, as they would at the Solstice.

Large cocoons, or coculons, containing a metamorphosed litter of brownies, several pairs of new elves and pixies, and a very special sprite, had been gently placed in the very center of the circle. As Hotspur recalled, there had been no new gnomes hatched that particular year. Some of the coculons looked like the rolled up leaf cocoons of promethea, polyphemus, or luna moths. Others had a more fuzzy appearance, like the pupal encasements of the Isabella moth.

All of the coculons except the sprite’s had been carefully and lovingly wrapped by gnomes just before the previous Fall Equinox, and had spent the winter being patted and caressed and spoken to in soothing voices in the gnomes’ snuggery, under the stump house of the oldest and wisest gnomes, Osmosis and Miracle.

The cocoon containing the sprite had been in the snuggery since before the previous summer solstice. A pixie named Aerial Fog had been protecting a trio of playful brownies from a big black dog who belonged to a family of giants. She had managed to distract the dog from the brownies, thereby saving them, but she had sacrificed herself to being eaten by the dog.

A posse of elves and pixies had been assigned to keep surveillance on the dog, and perform the horribly repugnant chore of searching its massive stinking droppings for Aerial Fog’s remains.

Hotspur, who was at that time Agrostis the elf, had done his part. He could remember trying to hold his nose while chopping and mashing the repulsive stuff, retching and weeping at the horrific smell and heat and texture. At the time he had been determined that it be he, not Bugbane, who found Aerial’s body. As it turned out, it was neither Agrostis nor Bugbane, but one of Aerial’s pixie friends, Featherbell, who found what was left of Aerial.

The dead pixie’s body was bathed in fairy tears until not an atom of filth remained on her. The gnomes coated her with slug jelly into which had been mixed a powder of crushed Valerian root, Arnica leaves, Echinacea root, and St. John’s wort leaves and flowers. They then wrapped her ever so gently in a layer of spider lace gauze, given for that purpose by a spider friend named Ella webber. The body was then placed between soft summer leaves, encased in an envelope of felted chickadee down and vole hair, and finally woven into a thick outer layer of slubbed spider web. The cocoon was given a final coating of slug jelly mixed with fecula, a starch extracted from chlorophyll, which made it both iridescent and secure.

when the fairies had danced themselves to exhaustion, the coculons would be joyously ripped open like gifts. Then everyone would exclaim over the beauty of the wet, sleepy elves, pixies, and sprite, as they emerged into the frigid early spring air and unfolded themselves and their rumpled gossamer wings.

While the gnomes and older sprites stroked and patted the newly hatched fairies, and helped to smooth out their wings, it would be the job of the older elves and pixies to catch the tiny brownies, who would burst out of their coculon, very frisky, squealing with laughter, as soon as the smallest rip appeared.

Bugbane had been an appealing looking tan elf with jagged-edged wings of brown, gray, and white, that resembled those of an anglewing butterfly. At some point that night during the dancing, before the opening of the coculons, Bugbane, in his thoroughly inebriated state, told his pixie sister Aralia in no uncertain terms that he really didn’t like her anymore. He declared that she was as ugly as a hag beetle, and that he wished he never had to set his eyes upon her again.

In fact Aralia was not ugly at all. She was a delicate peach-colored pixie with almost white hair and the small pink and yellow wings of a rosy maple moth. She had a particularly sensitive nature, and was not especially assertive. Overcome with despair, she left the dancing circle to hide and weep in a nearby nest belonging to the sprite Tamias. What made Aralia even sadder was the thought that no one should ever be weeping on the night of the Spring Equinox, of all nights, and here she was, shedding copious tears while she could hear everyone else outside cavorting about in a collective fit of ecstasy.

Back within the dancing circle, Bugbane began to stalk about drunkenly and flirt with Cassia, the pixie sister of Agrostis. Cassia was an exotic dark pixie with slanted eyes, shiny black hair, and light blue wings. Bugbane slurringly informed her, Agrost’ish right, Cash-sha, eeyouu are ‘ndeed the moshe beau’ful of all pickshees, far more beau’ful than ‘Ralia couldever hope t’ be. Leaning over her, licking foamy spittle from his lips, Bugbane continued, I lovyou, Casheeah! I lovyou mush more dearly than I love ‘Ralia."

Cassia had consumed a vast amount of both fly agaric and St. John’s wort, and was in a mood to feel extremely good about herself. She reveled in Bugbane’s flattery in spite of his disgusting slobbering. Even though fairies often dance together as a group, or individually within the group, and when they do pair off, they usually change partners frequently, Cassia made a point of choosing to dance only with Bugbane, and very provocatively at that. In her inebriated state, it all felt like great fun, any harm of which would be forgotten by the next morning.

Agrostis, a lanky greenish elf with pointed ears, large hands and feet, a handsomely chiseled face, and soft brown hair and wings, was quite mistaken in the thought that if he ate more tremella butter, it would help him curb the mounting urge to physically attack Bugbane. He briefly considered following Aralia to offer comfort, but the tremella butter did not bring out comforting feelings in him. Instead he became increasingly enraged to the point that he couldn’t think straight when he saw Bugbane putting his arms around his Cassia in a lecherously possessive manner.

Agrostis flew at Bugbane, kicking and hitting, scratching, shoving, yanking upon his hair. Cassia was knocked to the ground as Bugbane responded by pummeling Agrostis in return, ripping and shredding his wings. All dancing stopped, and the music faded away as the fairies stood frozen in shock, staring wide-eyed and gape-mouthed at the two elves rolling around on the ground, their faces fierce with rage, battering away at each other in the middle of what should have been the most joyous occasion of the year.

Two sprites, Emerald and Tamias, separated the flailing elves, dragged them across the dancing circle, through the crowd of astounded pixies, elves, sprites, and gnomes, and deposited them at the feet of Miracle and Osmosis, the oldest and wisest of the gnomes.

Immediately upon release Bugbane and Agrostis lunged at one another, roughly knocking Miracle against Osmosis, who just managed to catch her and prevent her from falling. Tamias and Emerald restrained the elves, pinning their arms, as gently as possible, behind their backs, over the folded remains of their battered wings.

From within the nest where Aralia hid venting her anguish she could hear a commotion that did not sound at all like ecstatic cavorting. Timidly she emerged, sniffing and rubbing her eyes, to join the distraught throng. The initial shock had worn off the crowd, and the tiny fairy faces wore forlorn, worried, sad expressions. Some were weeping, knowing what must now happen.

This is clearly goblin behavior. There is no other way to describe it, said Miracle, gathering herself together and speaking with uncommon severity.

Intoxicated with St. John’s wort and inflated with Bugbane’s flattery, Cassia stepped forward and, fluttering her dainty blue wings, boldly addressed the gnomes. I know Bugbane and Agrostis have caused quite a tweak here, but the fault of it is not theirs, she pleaded. They are noxious with the meads and metheglins of the evening. They are not as themselves. Surely by tomorrow, all will return to the norm.

This is more than quite a tweak, said Osmosis gravely.