Tending the Underworld

A Pixieland story first published on Wattpad in 2017

My name is Horatio Eddison, son of the globe-famous Cyrus Eddison. Most cats call me Ray. I call them whatever I please. Yeah, I’m that Ray Eddison.

My granddaddy Jeb was one of the first successful farmers in the globe. He grew corn, sure, but he diversified with sorghum, hemp, yams, okra, bamboo, coconuts, figs, and several types of berries. He figured it was better to grow what we needed than to rely on trade from the Old Place. Smart move, considering. When old Jeb finally ghosted, my daddy Cyrus turned his share of the family fortune into hands-down the fieriest tavern in Memphis: The Underworld.

Now I know what you’s prob thinking. The place is a dump, eh? Well, it didn’t use to be, and that’s a fact. If I’m being honest, everything started to go slipside when Cyrus met my momma, Isabelle Fae. Don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t her fault. It was that damn brother of hers, my uncle Seth. That cat’s been nothing but mess since the shine when he fell out his momma, no bull.

Most of the story I’m fixing to tell came to me by way of the pixies what whisper to me in the shade, when I’m laying in bed waiting on dreamtime. Thought I’d better point that out now before you get to wondering if I'm just slinging bull or what.

The Fae family—my momma’s side—goes back a long ways. Back to the Old Place, sure, but some say even farther. It’s this Fae blood that lets me hear the little folk when it’s quiet enough. But really, that ain’t nothing. My momma can talk to pixies anytime she wants, shine or shade. When she was just a kid, her folks moved onto granddaddy Jeb’s farm to help work the land. That’s when everything started growing so fine, actually—not a shine sooner.

If you’d told me when I was a kid that my momma made the whole farm grow, I woulda called you a bullslinger and made you eat dirt. But nowtimes I know better than to think I know better. And I know that when Isabelle Fae ain’t tending the farm, all the green in Memphis starts to dry up. I’d say that’s the little folk, actually, though most cats would call it bull. Too much faith in the new tech nowtimes. Nobody creds the old tech no more, just cuz it’s too small to see. Faithless dregs.

All right, enough of my jawing. I’ll keep to the story from here on out.