Summer Castles

Rachael Bae

There was a new family in the house across the stream.

Christie Lee peered out her window with wide, dark eyes. The other house had been empty for a long time, probably as long as she could remember, silent and undisturbed amid the steady flow of changing seasons. It had a hickory-red shingled roof and shutters the color of the surrounding woods on sleepy summer afternoons, ivy curling along the white brick walls like sheets of green lace. Flowers of all kinds blossomed out in front, overgrown from years of neglect. Tangles of gardenia and lilac, great big bunches of lantana, sprigs of dandelion and baby’s breath.

“It’s a right mess over there,” her father would say, whistling a long, sliding note, “Whoever buys the place is going to have their work cut out for them.”

But Christie rather liked it like that. She pretended it was a fairy cottage, and on warm days, after finishing her schoolwork, she would hop over the stepping stones studded along the width of the stream—it wasn’t very wide at all, but Christie’s parents insisted she use them—to sit among the flowers and sun-dappled grass. The breeze always smelled a little sweeter there, the sun a little brighter, small critters a little braver. Squirrels stopped to nibble on nuts, rabbits came close enough to touch. Birds swooped down close, and with her eyes shut to the brightness of the day, Christie felt as if they might one day be daring enough to brush their soft feathers against her head. Sometimes, with that little thrill of doing a thing she perhaps ought not to do, she would sneak up to the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of a fairy or two. She hadn’t seen one yet, only cobwebs in corners and dust motes floating in glowing shafts of sunlight, but that had no power to discourage her.

“Maybe they disappear, right when I poke my head up. It wouldn’t do for fairies to be spotted so easily, after all. That’s part of the magic of it,” she mused to her parents one night after a day of play.

“That could be,” her mother nodded sagely, her lips quirked. Her father only smiled indulgently, but Christie took that as agreement all the same. Parents had a hard time understanding magical things anyhow. Their own house was pretty enough, all gray stone and warm, oaken beams, but they had been living in it too long for there to be any fairies left. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t see.

And it really was odd, she thought to herself now, to see movers bustling about, carrying boxes and making an honest ruckus. She hoped the new family wouldn’t trim down the flowers. Christie was excited at the potential prospect of a new child to play with, but she couldn’t help feeling a little mournful too. Surely now that there were people there, the fairies would no longer want to visit. But Christie wasn’t one to dwell on disappointments, and she quickly cheered herself with the thought that a new friend would be good company for finding new fairy hiding spots. She decided she would ask.

It took a whole week for them to move in, ending just as summer break began. She saw a woman and a man darting about, directing movers and carrying what they could, but no children. Christie sighed, looking out at the now fairy-less cottage from the front door, left slightly ajar to let a bit of cool air in. She really had been hoping for a new playmate. There weren’t many children here in Alderdale. Her entire second-grade level consisted of a single classroom with four other children, and they lived closer to the city, so it was difficult to play with them much.

But then, a few days later, just a week into vacation, her new neighbors’ clunky blue truck pulled in after breakfast. When did they leave, and where were they coming back from so early in the morning? Again, that little thrill. Christie ran up the stairs to her room, fetching the magnifying glass her father had gifted her for her last birthday. Any good detective needed a magnifying glass, and this was a mystery she had to solve.

“Omma, can I play outside?” She called out to her mother, who was baking carrot bread in the kitchen, the sweet, nutty aroma already wafting from the oven.

“Yes, but come inside when it gets too hot!” Mrs. Lee was a small, willowy woman with a graceful abundance of laugh lines. She believed in the importance of play for children, particularly since she had grown up in the countryside herself before moving to the city for her studies. Now, back in the familiarity of rolling hills and wooded groves and a laughing creek, she allowed her daughter outside whenever the weather and their schedule permitted, so long as she didn’t track dirt into the house.

So Christie dashed out the door, only slowing once she was across the stream and approaching the still overgrown riot of flowers in front of the fairy-less cottage. Crouching down, she scampered about, inspecting the truck with a serious little face, magnifying glass held close to her eye. Hmmm. No mud on the wheels, only the usual layer of dust from the unpaved roads. Not a dawn fishing trip like the ones her father would take every so often. Maybe they’d gone to dance in a clearing in the woods, under the moonlight and the rising gold of morning. Maybe they’d met fairies there! It did seem like a place one would find fairies.

An exciting thought struck Christie. What if the fairies had followed them? The sides of the cargo bed were tall enough that they could hide from plain sight. Perhaps, if she were quiet enough, she could catch a glimpse of them before they blinked out of sight!

Heaving herself up onto the side step as silently as she could, Christie carefully rose to the tips of her toes. There was something there, she just knew it. If only she could get a little closer, a little higher! Reaching over to grip the edge of the side walls, she clambered up, trying to pull her chin over it.

The sudden slam of a door. Christie lost her balance, tumbling down and landing hard with a breathless huff. Tears welled at the sting of pain, but she’d fallen enough times to bear it. Adventurers were tougher than that! So she pushed herself up, feeling rather proud of her own courage, and brushed the dust from her skirt. There was no time to sit about; another mystery was at hand. After a moment of inspecting her magnifying glass, which had fallen from her hand when she toppled, and happily finding it free of cracks, she peeked around the corner of the truck—

Only to come nose-to-nose with another child.

With a startled yelp, Christie jumped back. The other child—a boy, she could see now—stepped back too, though with a big, toothy smile.

“Hi!” He waved. The boy had hair the same amber as the wheat field past the hills, and eyes the color of mossy bark, cheeks ruddy from the pleasure of a trick well pulled. He looked like the fairies drawn in soft watercolor on the pages of her picture books.

“Hi,” she blurted, “Are you a fairy?”

“No,” he laughed. But not in a mean way, like some of the older children in school. It was more a sound of joy, as if he liked the idea of it. “I’m Isaak.”

She flushed, a little embarrassed. Of course, he wasn’t a fairy. He was too big for that, and she was sure fairies had whimsical names like Bluebell or Daisy or Robin, not Isaak. She hurried to change the subject. “My name’s Christie. I’m seven.”

“Well, I’m eight!” Isaak declared proudly, chest puffed out. His face quickly scrunched with curiosity, however, and he asked, “Have you seen a real fairy before?”

She shook her head. “I’ve tried, but they disappear real quick. I’m pretty sure they lived in the fairy cottage, though.”

“Where’s that?”

Christie pointed at the house behind him. “But they’re probably not there anymore.”

“Wow,” he breathed, seeming to look at the place in a new light, “I wonder if they left anything behind.” The boy turned back to her. “Do you want to go look?”

“In the fairy cottage? How?”

He laughed again. “I live here now, don’t you know?”

So there was a new child in Alderdale! Christie could hardly contain herself, bouncing a little in her glee. Her investigations had borne more fruit than she’d imagined, and now she had someone to play with and the chance to finally enter the fairy cottage. “Can we then? Can we really go look?”

He grinned in answer, all teeth and squinty eyes. Hand in hand, the two raced inside toward the mysteries and magic in store.

Published in Issue No. 11, Custos Verborum, August 1st, 2025.

Rachael Bae is an emerging writer and a student pursuing a degree in English at Chapman University. A lifelong reader, Rachael aspires to spark imagination and stir emotion through her stories. Her writing often explores the complexities of family, love, and grief. She also strives to express the quieter beauties of human connection, reflected in her self-published children’s book, "The Little Boat." Rachael’s dream is to become a bestselling author and a creative writing professor.