Tilly's Last Nerve

When Tilly materialized in a dingy kitchen that reeked of smoke, onions, and wood rot, she sighed with weary resignation. Same old song and dance, she thought. Another bedraggled, sobbing young woman sitting by a fireplace, surrounded by a mop bucket, three mice, and a big, pointy-nosed rat.

The white rat stood up on its hind legs, stared at Tilly, twitched its whiskers, and said, “Who the heck are you?”

“I’m this girl’s fairy godmother, and I’m here to help her,” Tilly replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

“You don’t look like a fairy godmother,” the rat said, standing up on his hind feet and crossing his arms. “And you don’t sound very convincing. I think you’re an exterminator in disguise!”

“I am not an exterminator. Besides, what’s a fairy godmother supposed to look like?” Tilly retorted. “A freaking angel with wings and a halo? Now, go away, rat. Go eat some cheese or spread a disease or something.”

“I beg your pardon,” the rat said, blinking slowly. “I do not spread diseases purposefully. I evolved to reproduce efficiently and establish a firm foothold in the food chain. I do not lecture germs on how to infect humans.”

Tilly waved her wand dismissively at the rat. “Whatever. Young lady, let’s get you ready for the ball. By the way, what is your proper name?”

“My name is Adelaide Marguerite Cordelia Beatrice Josephine Brown. But you can call me Mags,” Mags replied, wiping her eyes with her dirty apron. “I really have nothing to wear but these rags, Fairy Godmother, and no way to get to the palace. I mean, I can’t just walk there, you know.”

“That’s why I’m here, my dear,” Tilly said through clenched teeth and a stiff smile. “Now, stand up and close your eyes.”

Tilly waved her trusty magic wand—handed down by her fairy godmother ancestors—and willed the girl a gorgeous, pale blue ball gown and a diamond-infused, royal-style hairdo.

“Where are her shoes, for heaven’s sake?” the rat asked, sneering dramatically so that Tilly could see his ugly, yellow incisors. “You can’t send her to the ball without shoes! I’ve been to the palace, and there’s a sign clearly displayed on the front door: No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

Tilly had just about had enough of the smart-aleck rat. “For your information, I want to make sure she loves the dress before giving her a pair of matching shoes. Now, if you don’t stop meddling, I’m going to turn you into an obese rat with arthritis. Ever seen a fat rat with stiff joints trying to outrun a pack of hungry barn cats?”

The mice giggled behind their tiny paws. The rat crossed his arms, snorted “Humph!” and scurried away into a hole in the wall.

“Oh, I love my dress and hair,” Mags said. “Can you give me a pair of black spiked heels with silver studs, Fairy Godmother? I once saw a lady leaving the tavern wearing such shoes. She had bright red hair and the reddest lips I ever saw! She looked so distinguished.”

“Uh, well, Mags, I don’t think black spiked heels with silver studs would match your gown,” Tilly replied. “Let’s try a more elegantly designed pair of shoes.”

Mags fluttered her long eyelashes and looked at the nodding mice with clueless, brown eyes. Tilly wondered at that moment if she should secretly slap a chastity belt on Mags at midnight. She’d learned from experience that princes tend to conduct themselves in private like rutting boars, racking up as many one-night stands as porcinely possible, before settling down to become unfaithful husbands.

Tilly tapped the air three times with her wand. Instantly, Mags’s feet were encased in radiant glass slippers. Tilly wasn’t sure why, but princes were strangely attracted to women whose feet were visible through their shoes.

“They’re charming,” Mags said, taking a few experimental steps in them. “But they’re not very comfortable. In fact, my feet hurt already!”

“You’d think a professional fairy godmother would provide shoes that are beautiful and comfortable,” the rat said from inside his hole.

Tilly's patience immediately flatlined. “Now you need a carriage, a coachman, and horses to take you to the ball,” she said, loud enough for the rat to hear her. “I think—yes, I think the rat would make a fine coachman!”

The rat raced out of the hole toward Tilly, squeaking furiously and switching his tail in erratic circles. “Don’t you dare, you festering hobgoblin!”

Just as the rat was going to bite Tilly’s ankle, she waved her wand and turned him into a stone-faced coachman. He turned to Mags, bowed, and said, “Your coach awaits you, madam.”

The mice giggled again behind their paws. “You three run outside,” Tilly said to them. “You can be the horses that pull the coach to the palace.”

Jumping up and down with glee, the mice did as they were told.

Dusk was falling outside, and a few stars twinkled in the moonless sky. Tilly scanned the yard for promising objects to cast a spell on and spied a pumpkin patch full of ripe pumpkins.

“That’s perfect,” she said, heading toward the pumpkin patch with her wand already raised in the air.

“JUST A MINUTE, SISTER!”

Suddenly, a hideous, ogreish garden gnome jumped out of the patch, waving his three-fingered hands wildly in the air and grunting loudly. Tilly hated dealing with gnomes. They smelled like festering chamber pots, never wiped their noses, and had the intelligence of boiled potatoes.

“Who do you think grew these pumpkins?” the gnome squealed in a voice that reminded Tilly of a pig having its tail pulled by a mischievous piglet.

“I just want one pumpkin,” Tilly explained wearily. “It’s for a good cause. You’ve got dozens of pumpkins here. You won’t miss one pumpkin!”

“Well, you can’t have one of my pumpkins,” the gnome said, “unless you pay for it. In cash.”

Tilly couldn’t stand to smell the gnome anymore and pinched her nose with her fingers. “OK, how much do you want for a large pumpkin?”

“Three gold coins,” the gnome said triumphantly. “No coins, no pumpkins. And don’t try to call my bluff. I have backup hidden in the garden, and they’re not afraid of an old woman like you.”

Tilly shrugged. “Deal.” She tapped the gnome on the top of his filthy cap and then wiped the end of the wand on her dress. “I wish you gnomes would consider bathing at least once a year. You’ll find the coins in your pocket.”

The gnome stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out three gold coins, and squealed happily. “I hear the tavern calling my name,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, and scampered toward the road leading to town.

By the time Tilly was waving goodbye to Mags, she was exhausted. She willed herself back home to the Hinterlands and fell into bed without changing her clothes. A few hours later, her wand started ringing.

“Hello?” she asked groggily. “Who’s calling me at this ungodly hour?”

“Halloooo, fairy godmum! Shorry ‘bout the late time. But, pleashe, help a gnome out. The ale here ishn't gonna drink itshelf.”

“Gnome? How did you get my number? Do you know what time it is?”

The gnome chuckled. Tilly could hear laughing, shouting, and women giggling in the background. She realized then he was at the tavern.

“I jush wanted ta let you know ‘bout the pumpkin sale,” the gnome squealed drunkenly. “Buy a big one... get a lil' one free! Ish a... a baby carriage for the lady.” The gnome hiccuped and began sobbing. “They grow up sho fasht.”

Without hesitating, Tilly snapped the wand in half and threw the two pieces into the fire. She was tired of being nice to obnoxious gnomes, smart-aleck rats, and whining wretches. Her bitch-switch had finally been flipped.

Before going back to sleep, Tilly made a mental note to apply for a job she’d seen in the Fairy Tale Jobs Gazette:

House Sitter Wanted: Permanent position for the right applicant. Lovely forest cottage made of unique confectionery requires a live-in mistress of the arts to protect the dwelling from insatiable vandals. Must understand how to operate Old Mother Pyre ovens equipped with two large baking chambers and living/nonliving fire settings. Meals included!