In which Monique and James moved to a new house, learn to use a hammer, and save a life.

Monique and James gawked at their new backyard. Much larger than the yard at their old house in the city, it stretched from the large covered porch to the edge of the woods. Monique estimated she could do at least fifteen cartwheels in a row before running out of room. A single fig tree stood at the center of the ankle-high green grass. Tear-shaped fruits sprouted from its branches. A modest shed squatted near the yard's far edge filled with rusting garden implements. Its paint faded and peeling. Birdsong and the sound of the wind in the trees replaced honking car horns and jackhammers. The scents of tar and fast food swapped for fragrant flowers and freshly tilled earth. It was an unknown world, and Monique and James longed for adventure.

"What kind of tree do you think this is?" James asked, hoisting himself over a low branch of the fig tree. James, a cautious eater, rarely ventured from his menu of mac and cheese, pizza, and hot dogs. The fig's dusty bark smooth beneath his playground calloused hands.

"A climbing tree," Monique said with authority. "I don't see any other kinds of trees around here." The bubbly edge of wonder lifted her voice, a wide smile pulled at her lips, and lit her eyes. Monique, a more serious soul than James, wasn't prone to giddy emotions. James could tell she was just as excited about exploring the woods as he was.

The pair had become quick friends two years earlier in second grade when a couple of bigger boys started bullying James. Monique had stepped in and set those boys straight. James loved her direct, no-nonsense approach to, well, everything.

At pickup that day, James and Monique filed out of class to find their parents chatting and laughing at the school gate. Since his mother's death, a year earlier, James had noticed his dad's lack of a smile. The sight of it stopped him dead. Monique ran on, yelling 'mommy', and jumped into the woman's outstretched dark arms.

That ordinary day two years ago had been more eventful than any of them could have guessed. Now they were a family of four with a new house in a new town.

Monique hoisted herself onto the branch and perched next to James. "What do you think lives in the woods?"

James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Rabbits for sure. Maybe foxes. Lots of birds." It was James's turn to be authoritative. He loved reading books and watching documentaries about wild animals.

"Wolves?" Monique asked, her expression tinged with concern, but the expectant light remained in her eyes.

James didn't answer but surveyed the shadowy trees spread before them. The thick canopy blotted out most of the sunny day. What dapple light reached the leafy floor did little to dispel the eerie mood both kids recognized. It was the same feeling one got from shadows cast by nightlights. The same tingling that bloomed in your belly when you dangled your feet off the bed. The dark of the unknown. But this carried an unmistakable contrast. The shadows in a night-darkened house might frighten children, but the woods were genuine, dangerous. The potential for one to get lost, hurt, or attacked by a wild animal loomed in the dark patches. Every city kid knows the woods aren't safe. Otherwise, fairy tales would have nothing evil happen in them. Those stories carried a warning. James and Monique could sense that warning on the cool air drifting towards them like a dream.

They sat in the fig tree and stared at the thick woods, hypnotized, lost in thought.

"Hey, you two. Lunch is ready. Do you want to eat it out here or in the house?" their mom called from the back porch.

Monique and James shook their heads. "House," they answered in unison. They'd had enough of the wide outdoors for now

"What are you doing?" After lunch, Monique wandered outside. The act of unpacking their belongings overwhelmed her. Boxes loomed over the living spaces. She knew she should help James and their mom, but the outdoors beckoned. Monique now stood over her dad as he measured a narrow piece of wood supported over two large overturned buckets. A handsaw leaned against the shed's back wall.

"Do you see that hole there?" Her dad pointed to a knothole near the bottom of the shed's splintery wooden wall. Blades of grass obscured the lower half of the fist-sized hole.

Monique nodded.

"Well, I'm patching it. I found mouse droppings in the shed this morning and a couple of chewed rags. If we patch their door, they won't be able to get into the shed." He finished measuring and marked the wood with a pencil from his pocket. "I want to discourage them before they chew up the new lawnmower."

"Or out," Monique lowered to her knees and peered into the knothole, her expression thoughtful.

"Pardon?" her dad asked as he double-checked his measurements.

"You said if you patch up their door, they won't be able to get in unless they're already inside. In that case, they won't be able to get out."

Her father chuckled. "Astute observation." He offered her his hand and helped her stand. "I banged around in there this morning. Any critters hiding inside have long since fled. Wanna help?"

Monique eyed the tools with trepidation. "I don't know what to do."

"That's why I'm here. I wouldn't be an exemplary parent if I didn't teach you how to use tools. Your mom bought some gloves yesterday. Go ask her for a pair."

Eyes alight, Monique skipped back to the house.

"Ask James if he wants to help," her dad called after.

"I will, but he's arranging his clothes," she called back.

Her dad nodded. James, ever fastidious, had the neatest room in the whole house. "In that case, just grab some gloves for yourself. He'll never trade a hammer and saw for the act of organizing."

"Unless it's organizing tools," Monique replied before the screen door slammed shut behind her.

"Wow. That's super cool!" James crouched next to the shed, examining the wooden patch.

"I think hammering was the best part," Monique said, squeezing her sore arm. "Sawing is hard work."

James nodded, remembering the birdhouse he and their dad had built last summer. While it had been a small project, sawing the wood by hand had left his arms burning and sore. "Maybe we could convince him to buy an electric saw?" he said as he stood.

Before Monique could answer, a small knocking sound interrupted her.

They both turned to gaze at the wooden patch. The knocking ceased, replaced by soft shuffling, as if a tiny someone, or something, searched for a way out.

Monique cocked her head in wonder. What could be knocking at the patch? The shed door was open. Anything inside could have gotten out through there. Plus, "Mice don't knock, do they?"

James dropped to his knees again and squinted at the patch. The knocking started again. James knocked back. There was a pause, and then something returned his knock. James rapped three times and waited. The mysterious being on the other side repeated his pattern.

Monique watched the exchange in confusion before she turned and walked around the side of the shed and through the open doors. She went to the far wall and knelt on the hard-packed earthen floor. The patch was visible through the hole. She heard James knock again and wait, but she heard no knock in return.

"Is anything in there?" James' muffled voice traveled through the shed's plywood wall.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Monique said.

"Well, whatever it is, it's still knocking."

The hair on the back of Monique's neck stood on end, goosebumps spread across her summer-warmed arms. "I can only hear you," she managed.

"No way!" In an instant, James lay on the ground next to Monique, peering at the patch expectantly. "Your turn."

Monique got to her feet and went outside again. There it was, the same knocking as before. "I can hear it again," she called.

"That's crazy!" James said. "There's nothing here."

Monique leaned in close and inspected the wooden patch. The insistent knocking continued. With her index finger, she tapped on the wood, "Shave and a Haircut," just like her mom had taught her. For a long second, nothing happened, then two loud booms completed the refrain, two bits.

Startled, Monique jumped back and fell flat on her butt. "Did you hear that?" she asked, with breathless excitement.

"Hear what?" he called through the wall.

"Get over here now. You are not going to believe this."

When James had joined Monique, she tapped out "Shave and a Haircut" again. Tap Tap-tap-tap tap. Two loud bangs followed.

"Whoa," James breathed. "That's loud. How could I not hear that in the shed?"

Monique shook her head. "We can only hear it outside. But it sounds like it's coming from inside."

"Hey, do you want to do into town and check out that ice cream parlor we saw yesterday?"

They started at the sound of their mom's words.

"Wow, what's got you two so jumpy?" she asked, searching their shocked faces.

James and Monique looked from their mom to each other to the patch on the shed. To their surprise, the knocking had ceased.

"Um, sure," James said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Ice cream sounds great."

"Yeah, delicious," added Monique.

"Well, don't get too excited," Mom said, frowning. "Well, let's get going.

"James. Are you awake?" Monique's whisper cut through his dreams, waking him. It had taken him longer than usual to get to sleep. He missed the drone of traffic on the city streets which lulled him to sleep each night. Instead, this new world outside his window returned not a peep from cars to animals or insects. The eerie, unexpected silence had caused him to toss and turn.

"What is it," he asked, squinting into the dark. Moonlight drifted into the room, curious about their next move.

"I have an idea about the shed," Monique said, holding up a hammer.

James fumbled for his glasses and blinked at his sister. Her dark skin shone with a bluish glow in the moonlight. The metal head of the hammer glinted. "Idea?"

"What if the knocking is coming from inside the shed, but not our shed? What if the knocking is coming from some in-between place?"

"In-between?" James raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Like a place that is here, but somewhere else at the same time?"

"OK." James sat up straighter in bed. "Why do we need the hammer?"

Monique took a deep breath and started again, her voice measured as if speaking to a kindergartner. "To take off the patch, of course. I think that whoever's knocking is in another place that isn't the shed on the inside but is on the outside. I think it's trapped."

"Whoever?" The word rolled around James' mouth.

Monique stood. "As in someone instead of something. Hurry. Get a jacket and bring your flashlight."

They tiptoed down the dark stairs, through the kitchen, and out the squeaky back door. Their steps left a dark trail in the dewy grass as they made their way across the yard. Their path lit by the moon.

Once at the shed, Monique knelt by the patch, the dew soaking through her pajama pants. The knocking, now weak, contained long pauses as if whatever tapped had lost hope. "Shine the flashlight here," Monique said as she wedged the hammer's claw between the wooden patch and the shed wall, and levered it up and away. The nails groaned and squeaked as they slipped from the plywood. A soft blue light bled through the growing crack created by the hammer.

James clicked on the flashlight and shined it over the patch for Monique."Oh, wow," he breathed. "There's something in there." He ran around the side of the shed and inside. "All I see is the patch moving. There's no blue light," he whispered loudly before rejoining Monique.

Monique gave the same treatment to the other side of the patch, levering it away from the wall. When she'd made the gap big enough for her fingers to grip the patch, she dropped the hammer and wrenched the patch from side to side, pulling the nails farther out with every tug. With a final pull, the patch came away, making Monique lose her balance and fall back onto her butt. Dew soaked through the back of her pajama bottoms. She scrambled onto her feet and she and James stared at the blue light, which flickered like a candle flame in a draft.

"What is it?" James asked, too startled to see for himself. She switched off the flashlight and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

Monique dropped the wooden patch and crawled toward the hole in the wall, crouching low, and peered into the hole.

A tiny figure with leafy wings lay with its head on its twig-like arms. The weak blue light emanating from its small body. The light illuminated the hole. Tiny furniture made of fallen acorns and dried twigs decorated the space.

"Oh my gosh," Monique breathed. "I think it's a fairy."

(2331 Words)