The Nisse, the Cat, and the Apple Tree Part 1

“But someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” - C.S. Lewis

Once upon a time

 

Far out in the hills where the snow lingers, and the tree grows bigger than those in the city, live a simple Nisse named Christian Roott. Now, most of us know this little race of helpful spirit as gnomes, but some call them brownie or hob and a few wrongly, so call them goblins. I’m not saying there are no goblins in the world hidden to most of us, for there are many little monsters running around trying to cause us hardship and trouble, but most of the Nisse are not them. It is said when a Nisse is wrong by a human, they can turn into a goblin, but I don’t know if that is to be true. I guess the only way to know it to ask a goblin where they had come from.

                But I do not wish it on anyone to come face to face with a goblin.

                Christian, on the other hand, slew his fair share of goblins trying to move onto his land. The Nisse, with his long white beard, pointed green hat, and loving blue eyes, lives alone on the farm of the once Stance Rimmer. Poor Mrs. Rimmer passed away a few years ago peaceful in the night, leaving Christian with a thankful letter.

                She knew of the Nisse running around her home, who lived in the dogwood tree in the backyard. She would leave him apple pies during the summer for his help, pumpkin pie during the fall, and a bottle of whiskey for Christmas, but it has been too many winters since Christian has had any of the hard stuff. He drank his last shot of whiskey with Mrs. Rimmer before she stepped over to the great beyond.

                The snow fell hard that winter as her family placed her under the single apple tree on top of the hill overlooking the farm. After the funeral, the house was packed up, and only the ghost of Mrs. Rimmer moved in.

                Although Christian never when back to Mrs. Rimmer's house, he sat in his little tree home, smoking his pipe and traveling the land around his home, alone. He did his best to keep the farmland safe from all sorts of monsters and fairy folk. He could, as you are thinking, leave his home to get away from the sad nights thinking about Mrs. Rimmer and the house slowly falling apart, but you forget to understand what a Nisse truly is. You see, once a Nisse gives their heart to a home or the land, they will never leave until their deaths, and it is their duty to protect it from all invaders.

                On the first day of spring, Christian was woken from a deep sleep by the whole earth-shaking. He jumped from his bed, rushing down to his door, grabbing his green pointed hat to hide the bald spot on top of his head and tossed the door open to see people working on the house. They were fixing all the problems in the old house, and Christian sat back against the door frame smiling from ear to ear. It was great to see the house he once loved to become new again.

                The builders worked over the next months until the house looked new, and on the last day before the house was done, a moving truck sat in the driveway. Christian garb his cloak of invisibility, magic all Nisse can will, and this cloak blue with gold was Christian great, great, to the seventh power great grandfather’s cloak handed down to him.

                He dashed up the hill to the house to watch the new family move in. There was a father, a tall man a little overweight and yet, he carried the weight well. A lovely thin blonde mother was smiling big in her summer hat and white dress, helping a young boy who only just learned how to walk into the house. They were all followed by an older girl with a black cat resting in her arms. She coughed deeply before stepping into the house, causing the cat to jump from her arms.

                The cat yawn with her back popping out, and then it dashed from the spot into the house to become the true master of the castle. Christian ran from the side of the house, heading for the stone chimney, hoping his secret door wasn’t blocked up. To all the Holy Angels walking the world, the stone chimney was still the same, and the door hidden by magic, only being able to open by Christian, was even there. He used the pathway climbing out above the family in their new living room.

                The house had become full of boxes, some being unpacked but most still taped up. Christian jumped down, silence like a cat, and dashed to watch the family even more. He wanted to see the baby boy. It had been years since he heard the laughter of a child. A sound his heart didn’t know it longed for until the boy was giggling with his father.

                “Is this your holdfast?” A smooth voice asked behind Christian, forcing him to turn on his heels. There staring dead at him with one green eye and one yellow eye was the black cat. He didn’t see the eyes of the cat to well but should have studied the animal before coming into the house. The cat had the miss-matched eyes allowing her to see through his cloak of invisibility. It was a foolish move on Christian’s part. He knew better, he was better trained, but the joy of a new family made him act foolishly.

                “Yes,” Christian said, grabbing the hilt of his hunter’s knife, “it is.”

                The cat walked around him, keeping her eyes on him. “Well, I am Persephone nice to meet you.”

                “I do not wish you any harm,” Christian told the cat.

                “Either do I wish you to harm me,” Persephone said, stopping to clean her paw.

                “I will fight you if I must,” Christian said.

                “I don’t think there will be any need for a fight,” Persephone said, studying some of the tiny scars on his round face. “We are now roommates, not enemies.”

                “We are?” Christian asked. Cats and Nisses, as you know, are generally not friends when they live in the same house. The reason for this hatred came from cats in ancient Egypt killing the Nisses, but in defense of the cats, the Nisses did not have a cloak of invisibility, they had cloaks that made them look like mice. The hatred grew over time to the point where all Nisses knew the stories of cats wanting to eat them, sometimes it was true, but most the time not.

                “Unless you don’t live here,” Persephone said, showing her claws.

                “I live in the dogwood in the back yard,” Christian said, “but the house along with the land is under my watch.”

                “I hope you haven’t killed all the mice here,” Persephone said with a wink. “I do hope to get some fun in.”

                “There are warring clans of mice a hill over from us,” Christian said.

                “Already trying to get rid of m ---“

                The young girl started to cough hard, sitting down on the floor and covering her mouth. Her family rushed to her side to help her, and when she pulled her hand away from her mouth, it was cloaked in blood. Christian stepped back at the sight of red, hating the sight of blood.

                “She is sick,” Persephone said solemnly.

                “How bad is it?” Christian asked, not taking his eyes off of her.

                “Soon, my husband will see her among his hall,” Persephone said, heading over to the child rubbing her head against the girl. The lovely mother handed the girl a cup of glass while Persephone climbed into her lap. Christian watched a little longer before he heard the movers come back into the house. He dashed to the hidden door and climbed out of it, heading back to his home in the tree.

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or works on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercise or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.