Brownie Crumbs

Samantha sat on the floor solemnly recalling the long summer nights of childhood- The time when lightning bugs were fairy lights and the cool heavy evening cradled the promise of adventures yet to be had. Those nights were not so long ago. Looking out her window she could see herself playing beneath the spindly branches of Iverson’s tree… waiting for it to be her turn to tumble down the rabbit hole. She had waited, and the years passed in faithful progression. Somewhere along the way, Sam had grown up.
Her thirteenth birthday snuck up on her, tapping her on the shoulder just as summer ended. Samantha’s mother had decided that thirteen was simply too old for fairytales and baby toys. She adamantly insisted that Sam simply grow up, and when the time came, it was her mother who decided to pack up her old things and cart them off too charity. Sam was getting new furniture, new books, new pictures, - the whole package. Looking out on the sidewalk, Sam wondered how those nights of magic slipped through her fingers. Without them, she was lost.
“Sam? “ Her mother‘s voice intruded upon Sam‘s peaceful remembrance. Sam watched her mother’s reflection in the polished window glass. She was a tiny woman, thin, nothing so extraordinary about her. Sam knew that she too was following in her mother’s footsteps. “Did you get into your birthday cake?”
Her mother shifted her weight and leaned into the doorframe. That pose signaled that her mother was becoming impatient. It would be in her best interest to answer. “No mother,” Sam groaned.“Are you sure? I found little nibble holes all over it…” Sam didn’t budge. “Crumbs too.”
“I told you I didn’t get into the cake. Maybe Jonathon was digging in it.” The suggestion was enough to quell her. Things like that were frequent occurrences in their household. Jon couldn’t keep his grubby paws off anything. He’d sneak little bites out of the pan when he thought no one was looking, or creep into the cupboards and eat the cake mix raw. That’s why he was so fat. He was a thief too. Samantha added to the growing list of Jonathon’s flaws, all the while knowing she resented him for no good reason. Sam could hear the house readying itself for bed. Jonathon bolted up the stairs, leaving a trail of heavy thudding footsteps in his wake. Downstairs Grandma would be getting cozy in the guest room, and her mother and father would be turning down their sheets.Sam spun herself around on her bed, feeling its familiar give for the last time. The emptiness in the room was creeping like a low, rolling fog. Only the dollhouse, sitting stoically in the corner, remained untouched. It had taken a bit of wrangling to convince her mother to let her keep it, and the only reason she’d relented was that Sam had told her she wished to pass it on one day. Thinking of the dollhouse made Sam want to go and play with it. Sam hopped to her feet, and as soon as they met carpet, Sam yelped.
“Ow!” She held her foot and hopped, trying to massage the pain away. “What the heck did I step on?” she whispered to herself.Sam dropped to all fours, near the edge of her bed, running her fingers through the carpet pile, hoping to dredge up whatever item had assaulted her. Her exertions produced results, tilling up a tiny doll shoe. She’d taken out her dolls that morning and admired them with fondness, gushing over their perfect plastic beauty. The little shoe must have come off, lain there all day, sleeping away the chaos nestled safely in the beige fibers. She slid it into her pocket, where it found company amongst forgotten pennies and candy wrappers. The shoe was not to be remembered until Sam had brushed her teeth, and prepared to put on her pajamas. Her slender fingers excavated the little shoe, holding it up to the light. It looked strange; soft, and made of leather, with little metal eyelets for the laces. Setting the shoe on the table, Sam clicked off the light, sliding under her covers and pulling her blankets to her chin.Finding her way to sleep was difficult. It seemed that no sooner than her eyes had closed did she hear a noise coming from the nightstand table. A rustling sound, like someone was stirring up quite a commotion. She’d open her eyes and see her room as she had left it, the little shoe lying on her bedside table. The clock was flashing midnight when Sam closed her eyes for what she resolved would be the final time that evening. The noise came again, the persistent sound of rustling. Her eyes opened, just a slit, not enough to tell anyone that she was still awake.
Sam spied a tiny but distinct silhouette on her bedside table. It was no bigger than the span of her fingers. Perhaps the shadow, Sam reasoned, was caused by the slender swan lamp, or a stray leaf clinging to the window.
But it wasn’t the shadow of the lamp, or a stray leaf. The silhouette moved with certainty and haste. First, it darted from the lamp, taking cover behind the bulbous aluminum alarm clock, before creeping for the shoe.
Sam suddenly felt powerful. The tiny thing believed she was asleep, and she waited patiently for it to retrieve its quarry. It plucked the shoe from its resting place, fiddling for a moment with the eyelets. This was the instant, Sam thought. She sprang on it, trying to capture it as one would do a firefly, both hands cupped tightly together. It was faster than Sam had anticipated.
In the blink of an eye, it was gone. The only evidence of its passing was a single thread of yarn dangling from the table.
It had to have gone somewhere. Sam inspected the dollhouse, and found it empty. She looked behind the shelves, in her shoes, and in her closet but the tiny figure was nowhere to be found.
Sam whirled around in time to see the left panel of her curtain billow. On a breezeless night, the movement of a curtain was something to take notice of. Her imagination danced, filled with tales of hidden kingdoms and ghost ships. Perhaps it was not too late for Sam to fall down the rabbit hole.
Sam thrust the curtains open and let the moonlight fill the room. It was a full, white moon that loomed giant in the sky and it lit the room as if it were twilight.
In the moonlight’s inconstant glow, the room began to blossom with patches of chalky blue luminescence. Sam could see the places were tiny feet had trod, the tables were they had danced, and the matted patches of carpet where they had played their games.
With each breath, another patch of light blinked on, like a pastel Christmas bulb on a tree. Samantha held her breath, waiting to see the ghostly illumination highlight the footsteps on her nightstand.
Sure enough, the blue embers brought the creature’s path to light. It climbed the side of the table, crouched behind her lamp, made for the shoe, and…. Sam dropped to the ground watching each footstep blink on.
The footprints slid down again, before meandering through the carpet pile and disappearing beneath Sam’s dust ruffle.
Sam waited, perched on the edge of her bed, wondering if she really wanted to know. By morning, the light would fade and consume the magic brought to life by the beams of the giant moon. The more she thought, the more she had to know. It was like a maddening itch in the corners of her mind. Before she knew it, she was on her knees gripping the cheap pink fabric of the dust ruffle.
Lifting the dust ruffle, she peered into the darkness. The white light began to creep below the bed, and the objects began to glow with the faint blue light.
Sam was amazed. There was a village resting in the quiet place beneath her bed. It was built of shoeboxes, thimbles, and all the nonsense that lays about a house. They were the thieves who stole her Grandmother’s embroidery and used her fine stitching to sew gowns for the ladies. Jonathon’s baseball glove was now a jungle gym for tiny little people.
They were all so lovely- with skin made of moonlight and white hair that glimmered like spun silk.
The women wore long flowing dresses made of Grandma’s dainty stitching, and the gentlemen were dressed in tiny breeches. Some wore vests made from scraps of felt.
She wanted to touch one, just one, but they cringed from her hands in fear. Sam cooed, whispering delicate reassurances.
Soon they had warmed to her. Sam caressed their skin, braided their silky hair, and enticed them to play in her dollhouse. The dollhouse was a perfect fit, and the tiny beings took to it naturally. Sam looked on as they strolled from room to room, greeting one another with a curtsy or a bow.
Midnight stretched on for eternity as they waltzed in her hair and swung on her toes, but the night of revelry was taking its toll.
Sam knew she had fallen asleep when she heard the sound of Jon thumping his way down the stairs for breakfast. Morning light was streaming through the window, as Sam forced her eyelids open. The white garbage bags were missing, and her comfortable old bed was disassembled as she slept. What remained stood in a forest of tall metal poles, resting against the far wall.
Sam didn’t notice the dollhouse still sitting open in the far corner of her room. When it struck her she crawled over to sit beside it, and inside the house Sam spied the glint of something shiny. It beckoned her as she extended her hand into the tiny, well-furnished room.
Her fingers clamped down, and Sam held her breathe. In her hand was the little shoe, with its soft brown leather, metal eyelets, and delicate precise stitching.
The little shoe was slid once again into Sam’s pocket, where it would lay in the folds of denim. Sam celebrated her thirteenth birthday with Jon, her mother, and the rest of her family. When Sam blew out her birthday candles, she clutched the shoe, and made her wish. With her eyes closed tight, she wished for an eternal summer, where the lightning bugs would always be fairy lights and the evenings would hold the promise of adventure. The summer continued to ebb, eventually yielding to the yellow and red hues of fall.
The little shoe was tucked away inside the dollhouse, which in turn was tucked away inside the closet, hidden away with a hundred other forgotten things.
It slept there even as Sam’s hair turned from the color of tepid dishwater, to a deep radiant auburn, and finally into a resigned shade of gray. She rediscovered it by chance while in the attic. Absent-mindedly she thrust it from its hiding place, and knew it by its dusty white flank.
A rush of exhilaration overcame her. Carefully she lowered herself to the ground before the little house. Its panels seemed as old and worn as she herself was. Had it been that long? Sam pried open the house, and listened as the hinges squealed in protestation.
Inside, sat the little shoe, exactly as she remembered it. Its soft brown leather conjured up memories of the night she had danced with the little people, and the day she had wished for an eternal summer.
There are reasons why some wishes go unfulfilled. Sam looked around at the family portraits, a collection which had grown too large for the walls to accommodate. There had been much magic in her life since that day, but none of it had come from fairytales. Reluctantly Sam restored the shoe to its resting place inside the dollhouse. One day, its rightful owner might come to claim it. Perhaps then, she could chat with them, and tell them all the things that had happened in their absence.
Wearily she pushed herself to her feet, her bones popping loudly in the joints. She trudged to the door, flipping the light switch, and the room blinked into darkness.
The dusty attic curtain billowed as the silver moon emerged from its hiding place. Sam smiled as the first fragile rays crept into the room. As quickly as she could Sam crept into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Sometimes it is better not to know, she thought as she tiptoed down the steps, leaving the dollhouse and the little shoe in darkness.