“I used to live in the country, a house with a beautiful, rambling, woodland garden. The pond behind the house was a truly magical place, an ancient and natural dew pond ringed by huge oaks, their roots twisting over and through the dark silent water. Pheasants would feed from my hand during the winters, and countless roe deer would frolic on the lawn, ignoring us as long as the pheasants were there too.
“One summers night I awoke to see a Fairy. He looked like a small boy, but sleek like an otter, and a shining jet black, totally without pore or blemish. He was sitting on my bedroom window-sill, looking down the garden, one leg dangling out the open window, the other drawn up under his chin. Elongated hands and feet, long sharp claws on long thin fingers. His head was smooth and almost totally round with the smallest, slightly turned up nose, with ears shaped like a cats, and sharply pointed but even teeth, like interlocking saw blades. I know this because he turned, and he smiled at me, and then he was gone! He didn’t move – simply that my consciousness lost it’s grip of him.
“We think it was him we heard climb the Wisteria, one night when first we moved in, running across the roof, sharp claws scrabbling on the slates. Often, when we were down-stairs, we’ve heard him run across the floor above. It can’t have been in this dimension: walls, furniture, all manner of obstacles would have been in his way.
“A week before we left the house (yes, I know, but all dreams come to an end) I heard him running up and down the landing, stamping up and down the landing would be more accurate. If paranormal investigators had heard what I heard they would probably still be running. I can guess what you may be thinking, but despite the description I’m sure there’s nothing nasty in him, mischief possibly, but then who am I to judge – he just is. He’s fey. He’s Fairy.”