Dare to Knock

There was a small village in a glen at the base of some hills. Above this were towering mountains whose peaks sparkled with white snow that shone like diamonds in every afternoon sun. It was a peaceful place, the soft bleating of sheep and the low moo of the cows were often heard along with a chorus of crickets and birds. The breeze never faltered and was always fresh, carrying with it the scent of fresh mountain flowers like harebells, buttercups, and saxifrage. The community had grown slowly, and everyone knew everyone else by both name and deed.

Well, that was except for the small cottage on the very edge of the village, all the way to the north, right up against the hills. No one knew who lived there for they had never seen a soul come or go but, if anyone went to the door, they could hear muttering and scuffling. As though the occupant were constantly arranging their furniture and talking to themselves while doing so. No birds sang near the home, but ravens often alighted on the roof or in the trees around the property and stared down ominously at those who gathered enough courage to approach. Smoke rose from the chimney each evening and vanished each morning, but no wood was cut or stored near the house. No one could remember when the house had been built, if it was the first abode constructed, the last, or somewhere in between. It seemed to never need repairs or work, standing ever stout, ever vigilant north of the town. The rumors were unavoidable; in a small village people talked to entertain themselves and often imaginations ran rampant. There was no better subject than the mysterious house, where no one lived but that also seemed never empty. The gossip revolved around three major theories.

The most popular was that the structure was home to a family of fairies who made themselves invisible to go about their day in town. According to this group, the fairies only came out when there was a breeze to hide their movements among the townspeople. When something would fall from a cart or drop from someone’s hands it was the fairies trying to collect their groceries. This group of people began bringing the items that had fallen to the house as offerings and soon apples, carrots, hats, gloves, books, candles, and much more were piled up around the house. No one dared enter the house because fairies have frightening magic and can turn you into a sheep or an ass and then you are bound for the butcher’s block or the yoke.

There were some people in the village who thought the first group was loony, for it was clearly not fairies but witches that lived in the house. Only witches would keep a fire at night but then extinguish it during the day. Everyone knew that the optimal time to make potions and cast spells was at night when magic was wilder. Also, the constant ravens were proof of the inhabitants, as only witches would keep company with such ominous creatures. This group began bringing their darkest animals to the cottage door. They left lambs with coal dark wool, cats with sleek black fur, calves with murky hides, and roosters with shadowy plumage, creating an ever-growing ranch around the home. No one is stupid enough to enter the home though, for if they did the witches would use them in their next unnatural ritual, perhaps adding them to the ravens outside.

The third group of people thought the other groups were completely mad. It was clear that there were no fairies and obvious that there were no hags. Meaning that the only logical explanation was that it was the dwelling place of gremlins. The smoke at night was them rising from their daily slumber, hidden from the sun in their numerous tunnels and vaults that ran under the town and back up into the mountains. The gremlins must gather there every night to discuss what they need to loot for their goblin king. This was obvious by the fact that things randomly went missing from people’s homes. Pot lids would vanish from the pot they fit, a single shoe from a pair would go missing, keys to gates or barns would simply disappear, or game pieces absconded from checkers, dominos, or chess sets. This group began leaving actual valuables like money, crafts, and prepared meals at the house, in hopes that the gremlins would simply take these and not steal the lesser valuables from their home. No one is foolish enough to enter the home and try to retrieve their things. If they did that, they would just be inviting the gremlins to snatch them up and spirit them away, to never see their families again and become a slave for the goblin king.

Callum smiled as he finally made his way to the top of a nearby hill. He was exhausted, and the sleepy village below was a welcome sight. He made his way down, stopping at the first house he came to. Smoke rose from the chimney, escaping up to the night sky above. He wound through piles of what looked like both trash and treasure that surrounded the building, pausing occasionally to move a goat or cat gently out of his path. He approached the wooden front door, raising his hand and knocking gently.