Changeling Son

There’s no place like home — and who you are decides where it is.

“It’s time you come home,” the tiny old man said, standing on the table. He was well dressed, and even he wore a hat, a red one. He kept a few steps distance from the single candle that Paul’s mother had lit. He didn’t look kind, but maybe it was only the gloom and the long shadows.

Paul shook his head.

“What’s that, son?” his father said, a faint smile on his face. He was sitting across the table from Paul, and he didn’t seem to see or hear the tiny old man.

“Nothing, father,” Paul said.

“You’re my son, not his, he should know,” the tiny old man grumbled. “And your real mother is not this woman here either.”

“He’s been like this all week,” Paul’s mother said, stepping behind Paul and planting a soft kiss on the top of his head. “He’s tired. You’re tired, Paul, aren’t you?”

“School is tough,” Paul said, not taking his eyes off the tiny old man. “

“I can try and help,” Paul’s father said. He looked up from his paper.

“We’ve taken their real son when he was a year and a day old,” the tiny old man said. “We’ve left you here in his place. We needed a bit of time with him, a long bit, for our spells to work. And you were to distract them. Which you did! But then you should’ve come home. A long time ago. You should come home now, with me.”

“No,” Paul said.

“All right, son,” Paul’s father said, tilting his head a little, a concerned look on his face. “You do it your way. School’s tough, I know. That old priest gave me hell too, God pardon me the word. He’s a good man, though. He’ll teach you his way, but he’ll not force you to walk it. That’s how he keeps people following him, by not pushing them. Remember though, if you need help, your mother and I will always be here. Well, as long as we live. Just tell us when.”

“Thank you, father,” Paul said.

“They should’ve figured it out a long time ago. That you’re not their son, but a faerie, a changeling,” the tiny old man said. He took a step forward, and the darkness moved with him. His face was grim and cruel — and it wasn’t the gloom and the long shadows only. “They should’ve put you on the fire! They should’ve chanted their chant! And you should’ve laughed at them then, and you should’ve flown out through their chimney! You should’ve fled, coming home to me, and to your mother!”

“Can you teach me a prayer that can make evil faeries go away, father?” Paul asked, looking up at his father, past the warm light of the candle.

“Your mother knows such stuff, I’m sure she can,” Paul’s father said, glancing at his wife.

“They’re not evil, Paul,” his mother said. “At least not more evil than mankind is. Some of them are good natured, some of them not so much. A few of them are truly bad, but so are some men and women. They’re a strange folk, that’s certain, but I’m sure they find us strange too.”

“I need to learn a prayer that protects against the evil ones,” Paul said, looking back at the tiny old man. “I like the good ones. I know there are good faeries. I even believe some of them can change, turning good or turning evil. We need to be able to protect ourselves. From the dark ones. From evil. In them, in the world, in ourselves. That’s what Father Gray said. And that’s what I’ve learned from you and father too. To fight for who we are.”

Paul’s mother nodded, sat down next to him, and took his small hand into hers.

“What are you doing?” the tiny old man shouted. “A chant like that will hurt you too, boy! You are a changeling! Evil in their eyes! Evil in their hearts! You helped steal their real baby! You took its place. Have you forgotten that? Remember who you are!”

“Teach that prayer to me, mother, please,” Paul said.

“It will hurt you bad!” the tiny old man said. “It will make you sick, and it will make you bleed!”

“You look tired, son,” Paul’s father said. “You should get a good night’s sleep first. Mother will teach you whatever prayer or rhyme you want tomorrow. And then we can go for a walk, the three of us. Spend Sunday together.”

Paul looked down at the tiny, grim old man who was staring back at him, anger burning in his coal black eyes.

Paul shook his head.

“Can you teach that prayer to me now, mother?” he said. “Please? I need to know it.”