Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | Page 12

He raised his hand to the man, stopping him
from replying. He fumbled in his jacket on the back
of the chair. Finding his mobile telephone, he dialled
his home number. “Roz, it’s me. Where is Beth? Are
you sure? Make sure. Yeah, I’ll hang on.”

The grin had an air of smugness about it
now. “As I was saying, we fairy folk have long lived
with you humans. For some time now, we’ve had a
problem. The closest thing I can compare it to for
you to understand, is global warming. You know, the
majority agree it exists and it’s a problem, and then,
nothing. People wait for someone to just fix it. Some
take some minor steps to correct things, whilst the
rest look on. And some sit to one side, in denial that
there even is a problem.” He blinked for a moment
and tilted his head. “Are you with me so far?”

He looked at the impish man, still smiling,
still grinning ear to ear.
“You’re sure? Calm down. Roz! Calm down!
She’ll be back, and soon. No, just stay calm. I’m
dealing with it. I don’t have time to argue with you
about my tone. Just hang on there and I’ll sort it out
here. Look, I’m hanging up. She will be fine.” He
was speaking to his wife harshly, he knew. Now,
more tenderly, he said, “I won’t let anything bad
happen to her. I will get her back. I promise.” He
hung up and carefully sat down. It was taking all his
years of experience to hold back the tidal wave of
anger, fear and desperation he was feeling. Through
gritted teeth he spoke. “What do you want? What do
I have to do to get her back?”

Thomas was grinding his teeth. “Yeah, I’m
following you just fine. Can we bring everything
up to date? How about, up to where the abducted
children come into it?” He shook his head in
disbelief, wondering why he was even tolerating
listening to this loon. The children, that’s why, he
thought. He composed himself. “Please, continue.”
“Very well, Gareth.”
Thomas shot him a look. How does he know
my name? He kept that thought to himself and let the
little man continue.

The small man broke into something akin to a
happy clap. “You just need to let me finish my story.
When we’re done here, little Bethany will be with
her mother once more.”

“Our problem was our magic, it—”
Thomas stood up from his chair. “Look, if
you are not prepared to talk to me properly I’m going
to lock you up until a police appointed psychiatrist
can assess you and then we’ll talk again. Right now,
you’re wasting my time.”
He moved to leave the room but remembered
the tape. “Interview suspended at sixteen hundred
hours-- ”
Street.”

“Bethany Megan Thomas – 17 St Clements

Thomas’s hand was hovering over the stop
button of the tape machine. He stared hard at the
little man. His hovering hand began to shake. He
drew his hands in, folding his arms, holding his anger
in. When he spoke, he did so with great care over
each word, so as to not give in to the rage growing
within. “My daughter? What about her?”

12

“Now then, where did I get to, oh yes, magic.
You see, we get magic from humans really. Your
belief in us gives us power. It works rather like a
superstition or a curse. The more you believe in it,
the more powerful it becomes. So we came up with
a plan. We thought why not let the humans see us
more. Do you remember those two little naughty girls
who pretended to take pictures with us?”
Thomas nodded. Of course he’d read about
the ‘Cottingley Fairies’. Two girls had fooled Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes,
that they had genuine photographic evidence of
fairies.
“Well, for a short while then, we all
noticed an immense increase in our abilities. I am
not ashamed to tell you that many found it quite
addictive and they were not happy to see it wane, as
people came to realise the pictures were faked. There