A part of the boogey's bitterness was the people before, the ones who were driven out and the house slowly fell to state it was in, was they put POISON in the milk. The child had heard that much, and one of the gifts, thanks to her family's help, were little pouches of antidotes and treatments for symptoms that can last ages from such poisonings.
@internutter/challenge-04982-m233-redemption-from-horror -- BKF
The special powder came in a small, waxed paper envelope that could easily fit in Melody's palm if she were allowed to hold it. It also came with a small book of instructions that Papa read out loud before placing it in the gift space.
"Don't you go messing with it, lovey," Dad insisted. "It's for the good spirits of the house, so they can feel better."
"It's medicine," Melody told herself and anyone that went near it. "It's for the good folk and you never play with medicine." She didn't need to guard it for long. The envelope and its contents were gone by the next day.
Mama carefully washed the acorn cups and made certain there would be no lingering traces of the medicine before they could be used again. "The medicine," she explained, "is just as dangerous as the poison. We have to be careful that none remains to become a new poison."
"That's why you don't play with medicine," declared Melody with a definitive nod. "Will they be ready by night-time?"
"No, my lovey. The good folk have to do without their milk tonight. Shall we bake them bread in an eggshell?"
"A cake," cheered Melody. "We can make them a cake. Please?"
It took time and care, which is what the more quixotic Faekindred appreciated. Nothing amused the Fair Ones better than common folk going to extraordinary measures. Which included boiling the containing eggshell to be sure no sickness would come with it.
Soaked in honey and lemon juice, Melody delivered the resulting cake with the explanation, "Your cups have to be washed really good. I hope you're feeling better soon."
These were the years before Kinderfreund rode the world for the good children who were told they were bad, and Greatfather Langeven could not see Hellkin. The Burnhoof family did not expect him at all.
Nevertheless, that midwinter, each of the Burnhoof family got a little toy. Dolls for the girls, and wooden swords for the boys. Gifts of gratitude from the little folk who shared the house.
A house which went from 'cursed' to 'blessed'. At least, according to the devilborn who lived there. And oddly enough, the people who wended their way there to stir trouble with the Hellkin forgot what they were meaning to do the instant they saw the Burnhoof fenceposts or laid eyes on any part of their farm.
[Photo by Nadin Nandin on Unsplash]
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