The Frequency of the Little People
Look Ma! No Psilocybin!
Flash Fiction: 2018
Mark doesn’t usually like to take a day hike without having some psilocybin, but today he just doesn’t have any. He’s hoping to find some out on the trail. Once in a while he documents his hikes via voice recorder and that’s the plan for today.
[Mark Recording]: I’m taking the trail in from Airport Road off of Iron Court. From there I’ll meet the trail head and go right over the top of the hill. I expect it will take a solid 5 hours. I hope I find something in the woods for a nice dose. Either way I know I’ll find some good foraging. [End Recording]
Mark knows where the good stuff is. He has a lot of regular routes based on the time of season, and packs all the paper bags he needs to get everything home in his backpack. He leaves plenty of room in there.
[Mark Recording]: When I get to the top I want to bushwhack down a cut to the left and meet the bend rather than following the trail to that point. I know there’s got to be some nice stuff in there since it flows off the trail that way. It’s too early for the blackberries, but I want to see if the bushes are there for later on this year. Something tells me it’s a bounty. It’s early and soggy, and I’m not expecting much but some ramps, and hopefully some kind of mushrooms, even if just puffballs, maybe some bitter herbs. Gotta keep an eye on the punky wood for some doses, too.[End Recording]
Taking a straight route over the hill from his place, as the crow flies takes Mark all the way into town. It’s a fun hike, and an even more fun Mountain bike ride. It’s a great way to spend the day. Foraging for fungus, salad and berries, then going into town for supplies, and foraging a different route on the way home. He’s been coming here since he was a child, his grandpa taught him these skills on this hill. Now, after inheriting the cabin, it’s a regular part of his life, as well, just like his grandpa.
[Mark Recording]: What a long Winter it’s been. I love early hiking. Everything is waking up from Winter and the smell is good. The thaw is pretty intense this year, for sure. Those damn beetles, the cold snap should have gotten a lot of them. They’re killing the woods. I’m going to grab some of this wild garlic from this berm on the way back from town. I don’t want my bag to stink while I’m in the stores in town. [End Recording]
Mark hears some rustling in the woods up ahead of him, and something that sounds like whispering. He picks up his pace trying to catch up with the noise.
[Mark Recording]: I never see anyone on this hill but today there may be a fellow traveler up ahead. I don’t know but they’re going to have to wait if they want to meet me, because I’m stopping for this Bittercress. I’m going to eat some of this right now, how nice.
Forgetting to turn off the recorder, Mark stuffs a handful of the tiny Bittercress stalks and leaves into his mouth and hears the rustling again. Then he opens up one of his wax paper bags and gently adds a generous helping of the plant life to it.
It’s a tiny person, a very small woman, she’s the size of a child, but she looks like a full grown person. She’s in a shadowy spot under a tree and it makes it hard for Mark to know what he’s really seeing. She’s wearing leather clothing, her hair is black, her skin is brown and leathery. She seems disappointed at being seen. She looks at Mark sideways, with reticence.
Mark is incredulous, he rubs his eyes. “H.. hello”? Mark says somewhat fearfully. “Is someone there? Am I seeing things? I didn’t even have any mushrooms.” Just then an even smaller person comes out from behind the tiny woman. She reaches down and speaks directly into the boy-looking person’s ear and speaks in a strange language that sounds nothing like anything Mark has ever heard. Then the smaller boy-child speaks back to her in the same way. Their teeth are odd and sharp looking, long and thin, like thorns.
“You don’t remember us Mark” She says to him, knowing his name. “You won’t remember us. None of your kind do. It’s very strange when one of you, at your age, can see us. But don’t worry, you’ll forget us again.”
Mark is in shock at this little person speaking to him, this strange little person who knows his name. “What! Wait a minute! What is this?! Wh… who are you, how do you know my name?”
The two little people speak to each other again. The little woman comes out from the shadows to the trail in front of Mark. The little one behind her clings to her clothing. “We knew you when you were little, Mark. We played with you. We often play with your kind when you’re children. We enjoy you at that age. You taught us some of your games. We used to play with you right over there”. She points to a clearing. “ We ran all over this hill with you, and your grandfather would look after you, never even knowing we were there.”
Mark is freaked out by this and he sits down on the trail. The little one comes out from behind the woman and gently presses Mark’s shoulder. “Tag, you’re it Mark” The woman says. Mark looks up at her from his position on the ground.
“This is very strange.” Mark says. “I don’t know how to process this.” You knew my grandpa?”
“We knew of him, he was a pretty good one, as your kind go. You’re not from here Mark. This is our world. Your people came from out there a long long time ago.” She Points to the sky. “We exist in kind of a different place, but sometimes we are in the same place, especially when you’re children. You can all see us when you’re little, but you never remember us.
“I think I vaguely remember.” Mark says.
“Your kind vaguely remember everything, that’s one of the perplexing and frustrating things about you.” She responds. “You never remember. You either vaguely remember, or you forget completely. How are those two things different? That’s why you can’t see us, because you have no memory. The place we exist is different. You need fuller minds to see us, we stop existing to you as soon as you stop seeing us, no matter how frequently. As you get older you all kind of fall out of tune with this world. You call it frequency, and that’s a very interesting word, for that reason.”
“I don’t know what you mean” Mark says
“We know” She responds.
“We’re going to leave now Mark”.
The two little people speak their language into each other’s ears again, then recede back into the shadows and turn from Mark, moving along with a rustle.
“I have to document this so I don’t forget.”
Mark sees that he never turned off his recorder and he begins listening back to the recording, he can only hear himself, and silent pauses, there is no sound of the little woman’s voice. He stands up and continues walking the trail.
[Mark Recording]: I have to bushwhack that portion straight down to the bend, so I can see if there will be more blackberries later on. [End Recording].
Wonderful story, and maybe a metaphor for the vagaries of adulthood.