The Tea Party in the Woods

Dahlia sometimes struggles to differentiate real life from fairytales. In her world, big bad wolves, wicked stepmothers, and cursed little girls are all very real things. At least, she figures she must be cursed, because none of the other girls or boys show up to school with bruises on their arms.

After school, on a particularly cold but beautiful February day, she comes home to her lonely cottage unaware that her theory about fairytales and real life being one and the same is about to be tested. Dahlia sits at her desk and pulls out a piece of paper and a carton of crayons. She draws the walls of a bright pink castle, fantasizing about living in such a palace one day. She’s about to start on a drawbridge when something catches her eye past the window. The tip of a red hat among the brush and low hanging tree branches.

Dahlia stands quickly, pressing her nose to the glass. Disappearing into the dark forest outside of her house is a tiny man wearing a green tunic and pointed hat. He couldn’t have been any taller than two feet! Dahlia’s heart skips. A gnome, she thinks to herself, a gnome has been sent for her. For if he didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t have been.

Dahlia hurries as quietly as she can through the living room, past the sleeping ogre who’s passed out in front of the TV, and pulls on her boots before trotting outside. Her woolen hat slips over her eyes, for it’s slightly too big, and her scarf whips behind her like a flag as she runs around the house where she had seen the curious sight before.

The only signs of the gnome are the miniature footprints leading into the woods. Dahlia swallows nervously. These woods are not made of the beautiful pine with great green skirts that fill enchanted forests. There are no singing princesses with chickadees riding upon their shoulders. Gnarled black spruce trees cast cooked shadows against the ground where the tracks disappear. Patches of moss and snow cover the forest floor, barely touched by the sunlight that struggles to break through the web of twisted branches. Dahlia has been warned about the brown bears who wake from their winter slumber this time of year, when their growling bellies rouse them from hibernation. She imagines she would be a delicious treat.

Crows watch Dahlia from the branches, wagering bets amongst themselves on whether or not she’ll go in. She knows in fairytales there are malevolent spirits and benevolent beings, which can be easily confused. It’s up to her to figure out if this is an invitation or a trap.

Dahlia glances back at the house before facing forward and following the trail into the woods.

She shivers against a gust of wind so strong it makes the spruce trees creak. An abrupt flash of the red hat makes her gasp in surprise. The gnome darts through the trees, allowing her to set her eyes upon him for just enough time to know where to go. She runs after him, but her boot slips into a fox burrow. She lands on the ground hard, then yanks her foot from the hole. To her horror, an angry face pops out from the burrow. She shrieks at the sight of another gnome, this one wearing a green hat and pinched expression. She blinks, and he’s gone, back in the hole where he came from. Before she can even get to her feet, another gale slams against her side, so powerful and cold it must have come from the exhale of an ice giant. Finally, the wind dies down, but only a moment of calm follows. Croaking through the shuddering branches is a whispering ancient voice that turns Dahlia’s stomach into a twisting pile of nerves.

“Dahlia.”

Frightened, Dahlia jumps to her feet and turns to run back to the house. But there are tracks all around her, creating circles and zig zags in the snow. Her trail has been erased! It’s not only the footsteps of the little man from before embedded in the snow, but animal tracks. Some as small as a hare and others show the large padded feet of wolves. Dahlia can hardly fathom how these tracks came to be in a matter of seconds! She saw no animal or creature, save for the pointy-hatted gnomes. Are there phantom wolfpacks stalking her where she stands now? Are ghost rabbits bounding between the tree trunks, creating figure eights in the snow?

Her name echoes through the forest again followed by another gust of wind. This time a sweet scent carries in the flurry. It’s like a thread of gold has cut through the eerie wood to wrap its fine aroma around her nose and mouth. The smell is so rich and strong, her mouth fills with instant saliva. The gnome with the red hat steps out from behind a tree and beckons her forward. For the first time, he holds still enough that she can see his long white beard and hard little eyes, cheeks red and worn from the wind and sun. He is not beautiful, but he is a being of enchantment. A figment of the splendor of dreams. No human could turn away from such allure. Dahlia’s fears fall to the forest floor as she follows the gnome and pastry perfumes deeper into the woods.

He leads her into an open meadow. Purple and yellow wildflowers grow in thick patches among the snowless grass. She inhales a breath of warm air, perplexed at how a slice of summer could have opened up in the frosty woods. Too hot, she takes off her hat and scarf, leaving them laying in the grass.

The wonderful scent of sweet delight comes from a table in the middle of the meadow. Dahlia approaches without hesitation or caution, completely enamored with the scene. A white linen cloth is draped over the table, the hem gently moving in the breeze. Upon it lies the most marvelous spread she has ever seen. Fine china with blue illustrations across the paper-thin porcelain and silver cutlery with tiny flowers carved into the handles are set before six empty chairs–the chairs! The chairs have tall backs with parallel spires, making them appear much too grand to be placed upon a patch of grass. Chairs such as these should be in a ballroom! Teacups, plates on beds of rose petals, and pots of sugar await, untouched. And yet, there’s a tea kettle puffing plumes of steam from its spout, as if someone only just took it off the stovetop.

On an ornate silver pedestal, fit for fairy queens, is a tall white cake covered in raspberries, daisies, and milk chocolate shavings. Rosehip muffins, warm pies, berry tarts, cubed cheeses–Dahlia’s gaze skips right over all of this and fixes to the glorious dessert tower at the center of the table. Four tiers of powered buns, honey rolls, and jelly pastries climb up and up and up. Chocolate croissants and cream cheese scones spill from the top of tower, begging to be eaten. Without bothering to take a seat, Dahlia sinks her fingers into a slice of honeycomb cake while her other hand reaches for an eclair. She lifts the cake to her mouth, the warm, sweet taste nearly on her tongue, but she freezes at an alarming sight.

Bounding towards her from across the meadow comes long-bellied ermine. Its coat is two-toned with a white underside and a brown backside and head. Dahlia has only seen ermine the length of her arm, but the one approaching is the size of a man!

The ermine takes a seat and offers Dahlia a small nod in acknowledgment. She wants to let out a scream, but it would be out of place in this elegant setting. The ermine pours itself a cup of tea and takes a gentle sip.

Next comes a bull moose with great antlers that any hunter would be proud to hang above their door. He ambles to the chair next to Ermine and sits with surprising grace and excellent posture. He crosses his legs and sniffs a slice of rhubarb pie before setting it on a plate.

Followed by Moose, is Raven, swooping from the sky into an empty seat. Like Ermine, Raven is much larger than the average bird, looming at least a foot above Dahlia. Fox trots into the meadow moments later, and Badger crawls out of a burrow in the ground. Once they are each settled with their arrays of treats and cups of tea, the animals turn their heads to look at her. It’s the first time they have all acknowledged the little human, who still has honey crumbs sticking to her fingers. The final seat awaits, but it’s not exactly empty. A paper mache mask hangs neatly on one of the spires of the backrest.

Dahlia lifts it from the chair, surprised at its weight. Although, it’s more a head than merely a mask, big enough for one to stick their own head into. She studies the creature’s face, realizing it’s a lynx, with its tufted ears and cheeks and fur of silver gray. Two painted eyes stare back at her, the color of pollen on pond water. She lightly brushes the paper whiskers on its muzzle, wondering how they would feel growing out of her own face. The woodland animals are still staring at her, and it’s clear even without any shared language that they’re asking if she’d like to try on the forest cat. If she’d like to stay, she knows she must wear it.

Her arms stretch over her head as she lifts the mask over her crown. She looks up into the hole where she’s meant to put her head through, only seeing darkness, then lowers it over her face. The change is instant.

Bands of white light circle the girl, disrobing her to her naked form to bring her closer to nature as her body begins to morph. All human artifacts dissolve with the light, her clothes, her boots, her macaroni necklace. A coat of silver stretches over her skin and her limbs take a new shape. Paws replace hands, muzzle replaces mouth, and great green eyes blink where her brown ones used to be. The other animals watch unphased as the transformation ends and the streams of light fade.

Dahlia takes the final seat, eager for the tea party to begin.