The heat of the grill made it seem a mirage, but Holly could see the creature as plainly as those nights in November when it stalked her. The Manticore. And this time there was no Phooka to save her.

The big cat swished it’s spiked tail back and forth once, and she knew it was growling deep in its throat. It was a sound that haunted her nightmares.

“Holly, are you alright?”

She turned at the soft Scottish voice, knowing the cat would be gone if she looked back, and smiled at Brett. He was looking at her with that same concern he had shown in November – the sense that he had to tiptoe gently around her or she might erupt in a flurry of tears and incoherent faerie babble about Brownies and Kelpies and that damned Manticore.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She gave him her best smile, but her eyes must have given her away because he frowned.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing.” It was a silly lie to tell Brett – he was the only other person who had seen the manticore. He had watched it jump at Holly, heard her scream, saw as it’s claws tore through Phooka’s side… “I thought I saw the McAllisters.”

“I thought they weren’t coming?”

“Henry is. Abigail is staying home with Phook. He’s still on bed rest, which is nearly impossible for that poor dog.”

Brett put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Phooka took on the manticore; a little bed rest isn’t going to hurt him.”

“I know,” she gave his hand a squeeze in return to let him know she would be fine. “It’s just… it’s not healing. It’s been eight months-“

“Holly,” Brett stopped her with a kiss. “Stop worrying. You’ll only make things worse.”

It would have sounded mean, except in Holly’s case worry and doubt and guilt were what set off her ‘episodes’ with the creatures. She’d seen two since November, but today was the first time she had seen the manticore since she chased it off.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop worrying.” She smiled and kissed him. “Why don’t you help Jermaine with the grill before Chloe hurts him?”

Chloe and Jermaine were Brett and Holly’s best friends who occasionally dated. Brett was Jermaine’s roommate, and they all worked at REAL labs, the company who had brought Holly to Inverness from the States to manage the satellite lab. She was young for a manager, but so responsible that her boss had no qualms about sending her.

Brett got up, leaving Holly to set up the chairs and blanket, and went to the grill. “Jermaine, man, the cows are already dead, you can stop burning them.”

“The wanker’s afraid of blood,” Chloe said and grabbed a beer from the cooler. “He eats everything well done.”

“I like you well done too.” Jermaine grinned and let Brett dump the burnt hamburgers and take over the grill.

“What does that even mean?” Chloe rolled her eyes and left the boys to the grill. She sat down in the lawn chair Holly had just opened and took a long sip of cold beer. “So,” she leaned back in her chair, “what did you see?”

Holly busied herself with the other chairs. “Nothing.”

“Alright then, what are you worrying about? And don’t say London. Bloody London’s data was faxed over last night before I left. No hits of radioactive anything in their samples. No problems.”

“I’m not worried about London.”

“The dog then?”

Holly opened the last chair and set it down with force. “I’m not worried about Phooka and I didn’t see anything, so drop it.”

Chloe shrugged and sat back with her beer. “Was it Nessie?”

In all of Holly’s episodes, in all of the time she had lived on the Loch Ness, Holly had never seen the Loch Ness Monster. She wasn’t sure if that proved her sanity or made her even more insane. “It was nothing, alright? It was just the heat from the grill playing with my eyes.”

“Uh huh, sure it was.” Chloe took another long sip of beer.

Holly crossed her arms and turned away to watch Brett at the grill. He had taken over and Jermaine had resorted to drinking beer and making smart comments that everyone ignored.

“You know, I don’t mind getting some random day off in the middle of the summer, but we are the only ones out here. I feel like a wanker celebrating a Yank holiday.”

“You are a wanker,” Chloe replied.

Holly smiled, and it grew as she saw another mirage in the heat of the grill. It was a big, black dog pulling on the end of a leash and finally not limping. He was dragging Henry McAllister, whose other arm was loaded with paper grocery bags full of his wife’s cooking.

“Phooka!” Holly jogged to them and realized halfway there that the dog was not Phooka, but a puppy that resembled him.

“Henry, who is this?” she asked as the puppy jumped up on her, his oversized paws only reaching her waist where Phooka’s would have reached her shoulders.

Henry smiled and handed the bags over to Brett, who in turn gave them to Jermaine and Chloe. “Well, and hello to you too, lass. I’m doing fine, Abby sends her love along with a small feast of American Goodies-“

“Score, an apple pie!” Jermaine grabbed it out of the bag and took it back to the picnic as his own prize.

“-and Phooka can’t wait for you to come and visit.”

Holly pushed the puppy down and hugged Henry. “I’m glad you are all doing well, and I’ll be out to see Phook soon. Now who is the new puppy?”

Henry smiled a mischievous grin that made him look like a boy again. “Why don’t you ask your young man?”

She turned with a confused smile to Brett, who had the same mischievous grin on his face. “I know he’s not the exact same breed as Phooka, but I thought he came pretty close. He’ll still be a big, fluffy, black dog when he grows up.” His smile became a little unsure as Holly stared at him in shock. “He’s potty trained already.”

“You… you got me a puppy?” She turned back to look at it and then gave a little laugh. “You got me a puppy! Brett!” Holly kissed him and then knelt down to pet the puppy, whose whole backside wagged to and fro with excitement. “Where did you find him? What is his name?”

“Well, Henry helped me find him and picked him up on the way here. But you aren’t going to like his name.” Brett’s grin became a grimace and he reached down to pat the puppy on the head. “But you can change his name. He’s only six months old.”

“What was his name?” She looked up at him, and he looked at Henry.

“His name was Ly Erg-“

Holly’s hands came off the puppy as if he was as hot as the grill. One of the creature’s she had met last November was Ly Erg, and she was not eager to repeat the experience.

Chloe hit Brett in the arm. “Why’d you buy her a puppy named Ly Erg, you wanker? Haven’t you learned your lesson about buying Holly faerie things?”

“You can re-name it, Holly. They only called him that because he came in with a bloody paw.” Brett knelt down beside her. “If I thought he had anything to do with your creatures I wouldn’t have bought him for you.”

“We can go back and get the sister,” Henry added. “But her name was Banshee, and she barked liked one.”

Holly closed her eyes against the remembered sound of the Banshee and the sight of Ly Erg’s blood-soaked hand. The puppy licked her hand and shoved his head underneath it to be pet, and she opened her and looked at him. He didn’t resemble Ly Erg in the least. He looked like Phooka with his big dark puppy-dog eyes looking at her like she was the best thing in the world at that moment.

“I can re-name him?”

“Uh huh.”

She looked at Henry. “Is there another name for a phooka?”

He smiled and rubbed the dog behind the ears. “Puck is the common name in English.”

“Alright. His name is Puck, then.” She stood up and patted her legs with both hands so he would jump up. “You hear that, pup? You are Puck, not Ly Erg.”

Puck jumped up and licked her hands and wagged his bottom until he fell over. It made Holly smile, and she could tell that Brett was relieved. “Come on, Puck. You can have a burnt hamburger.” She took the leash from Henry in one hand and grabbed Brett’s hand with the other. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like him.” He leaned over and kissed her head.

“Of course I do. My very own phooka to keep the creatures away.” She walked back to the grill and dug one of the ruined burgers out of the bag to give to Puck. She didn’t think she would be seeing the Manticore again for a long time.

Taking a deep breath, Holly pushed herself up from the bed and wiped her face. She was numb. It was unbelievable. That Josh could… that he could… a fresh sob escaped her and Holly tried to push it back down. Her lab brain began taking over. What could she do? What did she need to do? She needed to calm down. She needed to think things through rationally. She just needed to give Josh a few days to come to his senses and then they could figure it out together. Yes, he had made a mistake, but she had been gone a long time, and she couldn’t say that she hadn’t thought of cheating on him before. She never would have, of course, but she had thought about it.

A drink of water, maybe some tea to calm down. That would help. Holly made herself get up and walk across the room, open the door, and start down the stairs.

Josh would realize his mistake and come back to her. Sure, a drunk night with some girl from a bar would be tempting, but he’d come back to Holly. She knew what he liked – his favorite foods, his best jokes, how to turn him on. No bar slut could compete with that.

The stairs creaked beneath her feet even as she tried to be quiet and Holly was stopped by a thought. What if Jermaine was right? What if Josh had finally compared her to another girl in bed and found her lacking? What if she wasn’t experienced enough for him now? She’d never been very experimental. Maybe… maybe that was why he didn’t want to marry her now.

Holly flipped on the kitchen light and blinked as she saw something small on the table sit up in alarm. She screamed, and the thing scurried off the table with a piece of bread in its hands.

Its hands? Surely she hadn’t seen that. Its mouth. The thing had scurried off with a piece of bread in its mouth. And pants. She could have sworn it was wearing pants.

“Holly dear, what’s all the racket about?” Mrs. Aberdeen came down the stairs, rubbing at her eyes and squinting into the light.

Holly had one hand over her heart and used the other to push her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Aberdeen. I saw a mouse. It surprised me, that’s all.” She really didn’t want to explain her phone call to the old lady.

“A wee mousy? Impossible. I don’t have vermin in me house.”

“Well, you had one, although I’m sure I scarred it off with all my screaming.” Holly laughed nervously, suddenly realizing how absurd it all was. She wasn’t afraid of mice – she used to have some as pets.

“Funny thing is, I could have sworn it was wearing pants and running on his two back feet. I must really be tired.” She laughed self-consciously again at the ridiculousness of the statement.

“Oh,” Mrs. Aberdeen smiled. “That’s no mouse. That was me wee Brownie.”

“You named him Brownie?”

She shook her head, a look of understanding on the old woman’s face. “No dear. He was a Brownie. Every house has one. They are a wee little fairie that helps to keep your house tidy in exchange for food and shelter. If you treat him right, and leave out little nibbles of food for him, he will help you keep your home nice and clean.”

Holly stared dumbfounded at her. Any other night she would have thought Mrs Aberdeen was playing a joke on her, but the old lady seemed to earnestly believe in the little mouse fairy.
“A… brownie?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Holly nodded slowly. “Oh. Ok then. I’ll just get my glass of water and go to bed.” She opened the cabinet slowly, as if something might jump out at her, and got out a glass. She filled it, took a sip to calm herself down, and then gave Mrs. Aberdeen a weak smile as she walked past her.

“Holly dear, what was all the racket upstairs about just a while back. Everything is ok, I hope?”

Holly stopped at the stairs and looked passed the old lady into the kitchen. “I hope I didn’t scare your Brownie away,” she said before turning and moving quickly up to her room to look her door and wonder what the hell was happening to her tonight.

Phookas are shapeshifters that dwell in solitary places. They delight in spooking travelers, but they can be kind and helpful as well.

The Spiderwick Chronicles

*****

Land of Origin: Ireland.
Other Origins: Wales and Scandinavia. It is possible that the Phooka was originally a Nordic faery who was brought to Ireland, where it retains its strongest identification.
Other Names: They are known as Kornbockes in Scandinavia, where they have the bodies of goats, and Bookhas or Bwcas in Wales, where they have the bodies of horses or pigs and a more pranksterish nature.
Element: Air.
Appearance and Temperament: Phookas are the Hobgoblins of Ireland. They have heads resebling human males, but the bodies of horses. They can fly for limited distances, though they have no wings. Phookas are trooping faeries who run in destructive packs. They are said to be extremely ugly and ill-tempered and to have frequent quarrels among themselves.

The Irish Phookas have never been known to enter human homes, but the Welsh Bookhas have been known to come in through chimneys.

The Kornbockes of Scandinavia and Germany tend to be helpful on occasion and will actually help in the growing of their favorite grain, corn, for which they were named. But they are not averse to stealing or spoiling if they feel the inclination.

Time Most Active: Samhain to Bealtaine, especially at night.
Lore: Wreaking havoc is their favorite pastime, and they will go out of their way to harm children and crops. The Phookas lay claim to any crop which is not harvested by Samhain night, and to cut a plant after this time risks provoking these dangerous faeries and their malevolence. In spite, for taking what they believe to be theirs, they have been known to kill herd animals, particularly cattle. In Ireland a mysteriously dead cow is sometimes said to have been "poofed' or "pooked," a term dervied from belief in the Phookas.

They especially love human babies and are always on the lookout for a newborn to steal. And because of their limited powers of flight they are jealous of airplanes and will do them harm whenever they can.

Phookas love potatoes, and at night they come to harvest them from the untended fields. In Ireland, a folk legend says that potatoes dug after sunset are the tastiest and they never rot, but to get at them one risks encountering a Phooka.

Between Midsummer and Samhain the Phookas seem to go into a hibernation of sorts and are seldom seen. The Old Irish proverb - never count your crop until July is over - was a malediction against Phookas.

Faery Folk