The Cabin Sprite

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. My breath fogged the truck window as I leaned against the door, admiring the gauzy veils of ice clinging to the sloped roof. It looked like something out of a fairytale –the witch’s cottage, deep in the woods, surrounded by pine and rumors of missing children.

Only Grandpa lacked the qualities of an interesting witch, and my parents were too alive and too furious with each other for me to be considered a storybook heroine.

I yanked the door open and slid onto the sparkling driveway. My mouth fell open as I peered up at the high cabin windows. The rustling sigh of pine needles and chatter of chipmunks drifted through the snow-muffled trees.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Grandpa handed me my favorite purple backpack and rested a knobby hand on my shoulder. He wandered to the front door, muttering something about a lockbox. I started to follow when something caught my attention.

A flicker of movement in one of the windows. I stepped back, craning my neck. It had been so brief, I thought I might have imagined it. I shuffled a few steps in either direction, trying to see something other than the reflection of the pale sky.

The front door swung open. “You coming, Em?”

I wrinkled my brow. “Grandpa, I think there’s something inside!”

“Four-legged or two-legged?”

I grinned and shook my head. The falling snow must have played a trick on my eyes.

I stepped inside and found myself in another world. The cabin’s walls rippled with the pale shadows of snowflakes. Plushy armchairs huddled around a stone fireplace, and an enormous plank table – a king’s table! – sat before the kitchen.

Grandpa flicked a switch, and the cabin glowed with warm yellow light. He picked up a card resting on an end table.

“Check-in instructions.” His eyes roved across the cream-colored paper while I wandered around the room, brushing my fingers over the soft blankets draped over one of the armchairs. As I approached the hearth, my eyes were drawn to the mantle. A miniature house – much like a dollhouse and three times as ornate – took up residence above the fireplace. It was an exact replica of the cabin itself, down to the little red mailbox dusted with spray-painted snow.

“Look at this!” I said, and Grandpa peered up from the check-in instructions. “Can I play with it?” My fingers could barely reach the miniature threshold. I leaned on tip toes. The bulging stones of the fireplace were cold to the touch.

“We better not,” said Grandpa seriously. “That must be what number four on this list is about.” He shook the card at me.

I fell back onto my heels. “What does it say?”

He cleared his throat and read out, “Number one, guests can locate the WiFi password–”

“Skip to number four!” Grandpa raised a fluffy eyebrow. “Please,” I added with a smirk.

“Alright then, number four...‘Offerings to the cabin sprite are not mandatory, but always welcome.’”

There was a pause. I looked from the structure on the mantle, to Grandpa, and then back again.

“The cabin…sprite?” I had never heard of such a thing. In my mind, I pictured a tiny creature with spindly limbs and an acorn cap hat. I gave Grandpa a hard look, squinting closely at his face for a mischievous twinkle in his eye, but he only stared back at me, looking pleasantly confused.

“The little fellow must take care of the place when the owners are away. I’ve heard of stories like this. Household spirits…pixies and elves…the whole magical menagerie!” He chuckled and slipped the card into his pocket.

“Grandpa, are you making this up?”

But he merely winked and told me to drop off my things. I found my bedroom in a cozy corner of the cabin, a room filled with soft light. I had never slept in a four-poster bed. As I unpeeled the top layer from my backpack, I felt a tug of homesickness. The flannel sheets were soft to the touch, but the detergent smelled unfamiliar. I was beginning to notice the stiffness in my limbs from being cooped up in the truck. I drifted to the round window on the far wall. Outside, the world dripped and glittered. It really was beautiful here.

I froze as a sudden scurrying reached my ears. It seemed to be coming from beneath the bed. I hesitated, and then sank slowly to my fleece-lined knees. I could hear a soft pattering sound rustling over the floorboards. A rush of excitement tingled in my chest.

I bunched the sheets in my grip, took a breath, and yanked them back. A cloud of dust rose to greet me. I sneezed and blinked rapidly, scanning the gloomy space for any sign of a living being. My heart sank. There was nothing there. I puffed up my cheeks and blew at a stray dust bunny.

“Emma!” cried a singsong voice. I sighed and rose to my feet, trudging down the hall. I could hear the sizzle of butter melting in a pan. Grandpa waggled a slice of fluffy white bread at me.

“Grilled cheese for lunch?” I nodded eagerly and pulled myself onto a barstool. Leaning heavily on the counter, I watched Grandpa slide a knife through a thick block of cheddar.

“You were lying about the cabin sprite,” I pouted.

He raised a hand to his chest as though fatally wounded. “Lying? We only just arrived!”

I reached for the camping mug he had filled with water. The tap water tasted different here. Grandpa flipped the sandwiches onto the pan. The kitchen was filled with sputtering, crackling noises.

I lowered the mug from my lips, and the words burst out before I could stop myself.

“Did my mom tell you to take me for the weekend?” my voice came out small and pathetic. Mostly to hide my burning face, I took another swig of water. My tightening throat forced down a gulp.

Grandpa’s shoulders drooped. His expression had softened, the lines of his face shadowed in the wintry light. He turned from the sizzling pan and cupped my hand between his rough palms.

“Emma, I wanted to spend time with you. That’s the only reason we’re here.” My eyes struggled to meet his. I did not like to cry in front of anyone besides my mom. “I know things have been tough at home,” he continued, grabbing the spatula, and slipping it beneath the browning bread. “But I hope you know how much your parents love you.”

“Not enough to stay together,” I mumbled. He sighed and tipped the pan over a plate.

“Why don’t you see if our little friend is hungry?” he said, slicing off a corner of his sandwich. I climbed onto an ottoman to deliver the parcel of melted cheese and toasted bread. I placed the sandwich beside the tiny mailbox, paused, then raised the little plastic flag on its side. Mail’s here.

“What if he doesn’t like it?” I asked as I joined Grandpa at the plank table.

“I think he’ll appreciate the intention,” said Grandpa. “We can’t overlook the value of a small kindness.” He took a bite of his sandwich, cheese oozing onto his plate. “Speaking of,” he said in a muffled voice. “Why don’t you look in the back of the truck once lunch is wrapped up?”

***

The purple sled was sleek, adorned with a shiny bow, and begging to be broken in. I wriggled with delight as Grandpa handed it to me. We pulled on puffy coats and fuzzy hats and, bundled and buoyant, spilled through the door into the blindingly bright forest.

After an hour of zipping down hillsides, my face was raw and numb with cold. I couldn’t believe how fast the sled flew. As I launched down another slope, the dazzling white hill slid beneath me in a blur. My laughter was drowned out by the whoosh of the sled gliding over snow.

When I reached the bottom, my head was spinning. I wobbled to my feet and realized that the clearing was deserted. A set of footsteps disappeared into the edge of the trees, so I followed with the sled scraping noisily behind me.

The trees dripped and steamed in the afternoon light. I could hear the crunch of footsteps, and knew Grandpa was close. When I turned around, I saw nothing but swaying branches.

“Grandpa?”

I turned around, making to head back to the clearing.

Splat!

Icy grit filled my nostrils and mouth. I rubbed my gloves over my face, gasping with cold. Grandpa pushed through the branches, doubled over with laughter.

My answering snowball silenced him at once. He stooped to gather more snow, ice crystals streaking his hair. I fled with a squeal and ran through the trees, weaving through shafts of sunlight and shadow. I could hear Grandpa’s crunching steps close behind me.

I scrabbled over a fallen tree and crouched behind the rough bark. Snow trickled down the back of my jacket, but I kept still and waited. A detritus of twigs and needles were gathered at my feet. I plucked a pinecone from the ground and held it up to the light. Melting ice dripped from its spiny ridges, catching the sun as I turned it in my hands. An amber bead of sap clung to its tip like a jewel. I marveled at its simple perfection, then slipped it into my pocket.

I turned to see if Grandpa was close and was met with a face full of snow.

***

That evening, we sat in the warm glow of the fire. I was wrapped in a heavy blanket, my hair wet from the bath.

“…and they have a skylight over the tub, so you can watch the snow falling, and bubble bath that smells like lavender—”

Grandpa’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. He was smiling over a mug of hot chocolate, which he swore he had found in a previously empty kitchen cabinet. A gift from the cabin sprite.

“Do you think you’d like to come back here?” he asked. “Next year, maybe?”

In my haste to answer, I swallowed my scalding drink and gasped, “Sooner than that!”

He wove his fingers over his belly and sank deeper into the armchair. The crackling, popping sounds of the flames filled the warm cabin. My eyes drifted sleepily to the mantle before I leapt to my feet.

“The sandwich is gone!”

I raised my hand to the mantle and felt around with my fingertips. Nothing but crumbs. I beamed over my shoulder at Grandpa.

“Guess he liked it after all,” he chuckled.

I lowered my arm and stared at him for a moment.

“Is the cabin sprite really real?” I asked.

“I’d like to think so.”

I took another sip of hot chocolate, mulling over this answer.

“Grandpa?”

“Hmm?”

“Even if the cabin sprite wasn’t real, I’d still want to come back here with you.”

Grandpa did not say anything, but his eyes looked watery in the orange light of the fire.

***

The rest of the weekend disappeared in a whirl of snow and laughter. The sun had dipped behind the mountains by the time my backpack and sled were loaded into the truck. Grandpa was pulling on his coat, smiling as he looked around the cabin. He clapped his hands to his sides.

“Got everything?”

I nodded. Why had I been so nervous about this trip? I patted the cabin wall in farewell and zipped up my coat. There was a lump in my pocket. The pinecone, small and beautiful.

“Let’s get going then,” he said. Brisk mountain air skimmed our faces as he pulled open the door. The sky was already a flat, steel gray.

“Wait!” I plunged my hand into my pocket and withdrew the pinecone. I ran to the mantle and set it before the miniature cabin. If the cabin sprite was real, I hoped it enjoyed the pinecone’s simple beauty the same way I did. After all, kindness was kindness, no matter how small.

I slipped my hand into Grandpa’s, who gave it a squeeze, and together we headed out into the cold.

***