{"id":10683,"date":"2026-08-02T12:56:20","date_gmt":"2026-08-02T17:56:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=10683"},"modified":"2026-08-02T12:56:21","modified_gmt":"2026-08-02T17:56:21","slug":"adventures-in-a-childs-garden","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/adventures-in-a-childs-garden\/","title":{"rendered":"Adventures in a Child\u2019s Garden"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

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By Mike Spencer<\/strong><\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

            It leans to one side, blank eyes empty, its mouth forming a grim line above a gravelly chin. Mossy hair stands atop a brow of speckled paint grown chalky with age. I approach it carefully so as not to disturb it. Caressing its weakened corner lightly, I whisper good morning. It awakens as the sun breaks over the trees, and its eyes brighten when it hears me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThere you are!\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A rattle and a creak sound from deep inside as its doors straighten ever so slightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I trail my hand down the corner and kneel to inspect the rot. It has grown some since I last came here, forming a small hole in the foundation. A rustling sound in the darkness inside startles me. Beady eyes above a twitching nose peer out at me. Whiskers wiggle this way and that, and one eye considers me before the body it belongs to steps out into the open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWho are you?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He shrugs and finishes what he is busily chewing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I giggle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 His eyes blink, and he races past me onto a log resting near the hole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI don\u2019t know, nobody has ever asked me that before.\u201d The voice is low and soft, like the rounded belly that nearly touches the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThen I will call you Mr. Munk.\u201d I put out my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He scurries away on short legs that carry his fat little body surprisingly well. Returning just as speedily, he sniffs, then climbs into it. \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cCall me Friend,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He sniffs again at my fingertips and jumps onto the log. He dashes into his hole and returns with a seed, offering it with his tiny paws. I take it carefully and sniff like he did. I put it in my mouth and chew quickly. Mr. Munk\u2019s face widens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI have something for you, too,\u201d I say and dash to get my kit bag, spreading it out in front of his small house. I show him my paints.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Mr. Munk hops from one to the next, touching each lightly, smelling each before leaping away. \u201cWhat are these for?\u201d he asks, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cEvery home needs a proper entrance,\u201d I say. I look up into the glassy eyes still watching me closely. \u201cIs it okay if I paint a door for Mr. Munk?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I hear the straightening of clapboards and the clang of a spring from inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI think that is a good idea,\u201d he tells me. \u201cIt is good to be hospitable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I get to work. Mr. Munk is excited when I finish and eagerly asks if it\u2019s ready to use. I nod and he steps inside. His face grows even wider than before. He likes it.<\/p>\n\n\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A scratching comes from above, and a wet berry plops onto my head. Mr. Munk flies out of his house and shoves it in his mouth. His cheeks are huge with it. Chittering overhead, and more berries follow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cStop it!\u201d I laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cAre you done yet?\u201d a voice calls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It\u2019s Miss Hazel. She is standing on the edge of the moss line and has an enormous mulberry in her hands threatening to throw it at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cOkay, I surrender!\u201d I laugh again. \u201cI am welcoming Mr. Munk. Come and say hello.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The mulberry hits me square in the face, and the chittering fades as Miss Hazel takes off along the roof and jumps into the neighboring mulberry tree. I scramble up the tree and see her on a higher branch, just out of reach. I climb higher and almost catch her, but she chitters again and is gone. Another berry flies at me, and I duck. She is on the next branch, and I have never been this high before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou can do it. Jump!\u201d Miss Hazel squeaks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I\u2019m scared, even though the branch is only a little way past my fingertips. All I have to do is jump to catch it. I take a deep breath, close my eyes. I open them and leap off the branch. My foot slips and I fall. I bounce off the branches below, scrabbling for purchase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Plummeting toward the ground, I scrape my legs all the way down. Miss Hazel screeches. Mr. Munk rushes and jumps onto my chest, his little paws on my chin. I sit up to catch my breath, wheezing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 My legs are burning and red. The skin is torn and raw all down my shins. I try not to cry but it hurts so badly, and I am scared from falling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThere, there,\u201d a kind voice says, shushing me and brushing my face. Day Lily is gently wiping her dew laden leaves along my legs. Drops of dew fall onto my face, and her petals wipe my tears away. The dew cools my legs and cleans away the dirt and bark. \u201cIt\u2019s okay, just a few scratches,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cCome on now, get up from there,\u201d Mr. Munk says, patting my chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I climb onto my feet and carefully step out of the lily bed. Several of the stalks are bent and pressed down to the ground. I limp to my kit and retrieve string and scissors, then carefully splint the stalks with twigs and set them upright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Day Lily whispers her thank you. I gently drag my hand along the tops of her petals, and she sighs with pleasure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I brush off the seat of my pants.<\/p>\n\n\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A low groan shudders the peaceful air. I turn quickly, drop to my knees and crawl toward an overhang in the north end of the garden. Built long ago, it is deeply weathered, its grain shiny and its surface sun beaten and bare. The cave within exhales its dry breath. I stop, frozen in place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt is restless this morning,\u201d a high-pitched voice tells me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I look around but can\u2019t find it. I know who it is, but he changes his home so frequently that he is hard to find. \u201cPerhaps I\u2019ll come out today,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhere are you?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He drops down in front of me so quickly I fall on my behind. He laughs, and my fear is gone. \u201cI got you again, Friend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I get on my knees and focus on the speck in front of me. He is hanging from a gloriously dew-laden tapestry sparkling in the sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Another exhale, another groan, louder this time. A blast of dust shoots out of the cave and clouds my vision. I cough and wave my hands to fan it away. I hear it moving, dragging what I imagine is its tail. It grumbles, and I hear its teeth crashing as it finishes licking its lips. An eye appears in the mouth of the cave, and I scream and jump to my feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cGet away!\u201d yells my tiny friend. He pulls himself back into his hideaway. I see him peeking out cautiously. \u201cThe fairies!\u201d he calls again, his voice so impossibly tiny that I almost don\u2019t hear him. His warning is unmistakable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I race across the open space of the garden, never looking back, knowing that if I can get to the forest in time, I will be safe. I slide under the edge of the flowering trees lining the boundary of Fairy Land.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A roar breaks the terrified silence of the darkened garden. Everyone is hiding, watching from the safety of their holes and homes. The creature is angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I peer out from under the canopy and watch it stalk the garden. It roars again, frustrated at missing its chance to have me. I see rage in its eyes and spittle dripping from the end of its fangs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cFriend! It appears you have stirred the Beast.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The fairy who just spoke flies into my open palm, giving me a small curtsy. She wears a small crown, the size of an acorn cup. This is Princess Seraphielle, and we have met before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The Beast roars again, stirring a wind that flutters the fairy\u2019s small tresses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Princess Seraphielle grows stern, flies above my head, and raises both hands. Several fairies fly near and join her, hovering around me. They raise their hands and recite an incantation that drenches me in dew. As it hardens on my skin, I am stunned to see my legs disappear, then my arms, then my middle. I\u2019ve become invisible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The Beast sniffs but can\u2019t smell me anymore. He turns, smashing trees with his tail. A shower of leaves and branches rains down, knocking the fairies to the ground and covering them with debris. The Beast thunders away and returns to his cave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The garden brightens again, Day Lily resumes her gentle movement, Mr. Munk comes out to search for more seeds, and Ms. Hazel chitters her approval before jumping back into the mulberry tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The hardened dew softens and shines on my skin. \u201cThat will disappear by nightfall,\u201d the fairy princess says. As she picks small bits of leaves out of her hair, I notice the blood on her dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWhat happened, Princess Seraphielle? Are you okay?\u201d The other fairies are also scratched and bandaged, I notice, their faces and arms dirty. She sends them away before answering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWe were attacked last night by Hobnail. He came at midnight with his winged creatures. We fought hard and vanquished them, but he slew two of my soldiers and drenched his cap with their blood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I bring my hand to my mouth. \u201cOh, Princess! Is the fairy mound okay?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She nods grimly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Kneeling, I hold out my hand. She places her tiny palm in mine, and I gently cover it with my other hand. \u201cI am so sorry for your loss. What can I do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She looks at me expectantly. \u201cI\u2019ve asked you already, must I ask again?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThe wards!\u201d I cry. She asked me to provide her with wards to protect their land, and I forgot to bring them! They are still in my kit bag. \u201cPrincess! This is my fault!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            I run out of the trees to Glassy Eyes where I left my kit. The wooden crosses made of twigs and twine are lying in plain sight. My tears fall on them as I pick them up, their wood darkening quickly. They must be planted in the soil along the mound’s perimeter. Hobnail\u2019s evil cannot match the authority of these holy symbols. If I had delivered them on time, the fairies who died might still be alive. I race back to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I place the crosses at her feet. \u201cPrincess, I don\u2019t know how you will ever forgive me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She sees my tears, touches my hand with hers and says, \u201cFriend. You are an ally of the fairies forever. But let this be a reminder to you of the responsibility that brings. Please don\u2019t forget us again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Her gaze is deep and sorrowful. I nod my head and wipe my nose. \u201cI am sorry, Princess. I will remember, always.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

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\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I take my leave and step out of the forest and into the sunlight. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly and survey the garden. Mr. Munk\u2019s hole is quiet, and Glassy Eye\u2019s shadow is reaching across the grass. Day Lily is closing for the afternoon, one orange flower at a time, like a clock counting out the hours to nightfall. I watch Mr. and Mrs. Robin take turns leaving their nest in the hedge to gather food for their nestlings. I can hear the babies pipping for it, eagerly gobbling up their dinner and demanding more. I run my hand along the leaves and branches of the hedge all the way to the end of the garden\u2014back to where the overhang and the cave are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 In the corner, there is a wall, underneath which is a nest. This one is big enough to be a warren with interconnected tunnels and maze-like passages, but it is home for much smaller creatures. They hear me coming and scatter. I creep over and take a seat. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a package of seeds and nuts. I pile them on the ground in front of the hole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A soft swishing reverberates from inside the dark tunnel. Then a squeal, answered by another and yet another, followed by the silken rush of fur against fur. Soon I am swarmed by an onslaught of tiny, long-tailed mice who scamper like silver demons, running up my legs and arms and covering my face and shoulders. They laugh at my surprise, nibble my ear lobes and dance in my hair. I laugh and shout, \u201cPlease! No more!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 They giggle and squeak, running off my body, teeming around the small pile of nuts and seeds. In no time at all it is gone, inserted into full cheeks and whisked back to the hole. Only one silver tailed munchkin remains. He sits on his hind legs and puts his hands together, giving me a small bow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThank you, dear Friend,\u201d he says. \u201cWe love it when you visit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYou are very welcome. I love when I visit, too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 His tiny eyes dart behind me when a dark shadow slides up the wall. He is gone before I realize what has happened. I turn and look. A tall black shape stands on the ledge, silhouetted by the sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThere you are,\u201d it says. \u201cI\u2019ve been calling you!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The familiar shape leans over the railing, peering down at me. I squint into the brightness of the sun low in the sky trying to make out who this might be, when I feel the air settling around me. The fairy dew slides off my arms and legs, soaking into the ground. I stand and shield my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s time to come in now,\u201d the voice assures me. \u201cOh my, what a mess you\u2019ve made of yourself! What in the world have you been doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Smiling, I run up the stairs and into a great big hug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Michael Spencer<\/strong> is an artist and writer living in Cleveland, Ohio. He is an artist from the days of his BFA and MFA and worked large scale in bass and poplar. His sculptures were shown throughout the country. He is a writer due to the wonder of becoming a father. Learning to do that well meant he could not be knee deep in chainsaw shavings for hours on end but had to be hands on and ready for childhood. Writing opens the doors to his creativity, and his children and faith have supplied much of his inspiration.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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By Mike Spencer<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[25],"class_list":["post-10683","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-original-online-fiction","tag-short-story"],"yoast_head":"\nAdventures in a Child\u2019s Garden | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/adventures-in-a-childs-garden\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Adventures in a Child\u2019s Garden | Faith Hope & Fiction\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"By Mike Spencer\" \/>\n<meta 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