After working for what felt like an eternity, Amelia leaned on the rake and looked out over her progress. She’d raked up mounds of fallen leaves, pulled out heaps of weeds, and carefully dug up several bushes and saplings from the middle of the yard and moved them to the edges.

Rather than a nice, tidy yard like she’d been aiming for, it looked more like some artillery had shelled a meadow. Little craters dotted the area where she’d dug things up and didn’t have enough dirt to refill completely. Long blades of wild grass waved in patchy clusters almost everywhere except the path she’d blazed yesterday.

The little green glowing ball she’d named Whisper bopped around the area and seemed pleased with how things had gone so far. It wobbled and inspected the little divots, then drifted off to the edges of the yards to find the transplanted vegetation. It looked for all the world like she was concerned for the plants but seemed pleased by how Amelia had very carefully moved them. The green glow seemed softer, somehow — hopefully that meant happy!

“Right! Without a lawn mower or something, there isn’t too much I can do about the lawn right now. I’m going to have to find out if there is a hardware store around here.” Amelia said, then followed with “Caretaker needs tools badly!” in a mock deep voice.

Whisper wafted over from her inspections and hovered near Amelia for a moment, then purposefully shot off around the corner of the cottage, weaving past the bushes and overgrowth that still crowded the building on all sides but it's front. She disappeared for a moment, then popped back around the corner, jiggling up and down for a moment to make sure she had Amelia’s attention, then zipped back around the corner again, albeit a bit slower this time.

“Hmm — that really looks like you want me to follow you. Maybe little Timmy has fallen in the well again?”

Amelia shrugged and headed over to the corner, then very carefully started threading her way through the bushes, saplings, vines, and other impediments. The little green glow was a pretty effective guide, even if it wasn’t very mindful of the size differences between them. With just a little huffing, puffing, and scraping, Amelia found her way to the backside of the structure.

The cottage had been built right at the edge of the clearing, with its rear almost up against the trees. In the many many years it had been here, more trees had grown up, along with the associated overgrowth that was threatening all sides of the building. Clearly, no one had cleared a path back here in a very long time.

Whisper was doing her little dance directly in front of a slumped little shed leaning against the back of the cottage. The shed looked more like some sort of outgrowth from the ancient building than it did a separate unit. Both the cottage and the shed were dingy, lime-washed stone, but while the cottage had a thick (if unruly) thatched roof, the shed was roofed with some warped, unpainted boards, overlapped to make them mostly water-resistant.

The door of the shed was made of more rather warped bare wood planks, with gaps between easily a half-inch or wider.

“If this is a tool shed, I’m going to start wishing for bags full of money again, because someone is obviously listening to my prayers!”.

Like the front door, the door to the shed was well blocked by accumulated dirt and vegetation, but with much pulling, digging, cursing, and sheer bloody-mindedness, Amelia managed to force it open a few feet — enough to be able to access the interior.

Only trace amounts of the daylight filtered through the branches above and into the shed, but she could see several tools, sacks, and other implements that were clearly gardening-related.

“And a bag full of chocolate and a stack of cash!” said Amelia after a low whistle, but none seemed forthcoming.

Her efforts to drag the old scythe out to the front were thwarted immediately — the limbs and bushes were much too much of an obstacle to thread that L-shaped thing through without lopping something off that she would rather keep in place.

Luckily, there was a huge pair of shears hanging on one wall, and while the handles were a bit rough and splintery, the blades were sharp and the hinge was well-oiled. She did a few test cuts in the air, SNICK SNICKETY SNICK!, then attacked the worst offenders of the bushes and creepers blocking her path. She was careful to leave the limbs of the trees alone for now.

Once the pile of chopped greenery was about knee-high, she had cleared enough room to swing her weapon of choice for this battle — a short-handled bill hook. Like the shears, its handle had swelled a bit from the moisture and had cracked a bit. The blade, while sharp, had some rust on it. Regardless, with a bit of room to swing that she had gained using the shears, she was able to carve a tunnel back around to the front of the cottage.

“Freedom!” she crowed as she emerged, covered in yet more scratches, bits of green, and streaks of sap.

Whisper glowed a brighter green for a moment, looking very encouraging.

“Well, that was one battle won, now for the next”. Amelia grabbed a rag from the cupboard inside, then headed back through her new shed-access tunnel. Before hanging the shears and bill on their corresponding wooden pegs, she very carefully wiped them down and cleaned them as best she could with the rag, then placed them very neatly back where they had been.

With a gleam in her eye, she cautiously took the long, crooked-handled scythe down and inspected its blade.

“Mental note — we need to find some oil and a sharpening stone! And a bag full of chocolates, stack of large-denomination bills. And something comfy to conk out on after we finish the yard work! I’ll bet we’ll be absolutely knackered before long!”

She hefted the implement, which was quite a bit taller than she was. Strangely, though, it didn’t feel too heavy — rather, just the right amount of heft for slashing through grass without getting hung up. You needed a little mass to do the job right, but not too much. It felt just like it had been made for her.

“Gloves! Add that to the pile, I suppose!” she said as she rubbed her hands together, before taking a proper grip of the scythe and taking a wide stance. She hadn’t swung one since Gran had shown her how to use one years ago, but like riding a bicycle, you don’t forget once you learn it.

“Swish! Slash! Take that!” she roared as she started clearing away the tall grass, the scythe cutting away the blades and stems in large arcs.

Whisper hovered near Amelia’s left shoulder to be well out of the way but still able to see, and the pair worked their way around the yard until nothing poked up more than an inch above the ground below.

“Now THAT looks like a nice yard!” said Amelia as she finished, sweat dripping from her face. Her hoodie had long since been tossed into the cottage, and she’d tied a few rags around her head to keep her hair and some of the sweat out of her eyes. Sun wasn’t a problem as it wasn’t a very hot day, and the trees that surrounded the newly cleared yard stood tall and shady, almost leaning over it to provide a cooling canopy.

Amelia carefully wiped down the scythe and replaced it, then fetched the rake and evenly spread the cuttings around the yard. She’d done a good job pulling out all the weeds and shrubs first, so letting the trimmings turn to mulch would be good for the wild grass that remained.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The big surprise as she raked was when the tines of the rake scratched across stone instead of grass and earth — she both felt and heard the change.

“Huh? There weren’t any stones here — I checked before scything. You can chip a blade if you don’t!”.

She leaned the rake against the wall as she knelt down and brushed the plant debris away with her hand.

A pretty grey paving stone, flat and smooth on top and sort of squarish was revealed. Another one was right next to it. And one beyond that. By the time she had uncovered them all, she unearthed a neat little path that reached from the front door of the cottage to the narrow trail through the woods back towards the gate — exactly following the path she had hacked through yesterday!

“Ok, I wasn’t expecting that! Where were you guys yesterday?!? I swear this was all mud, squelchy and squishy yesterday!”

She peered at the stones, but by all indications they had been there for decades, completely covered by the overgrown plants.

“Odd, but nice! With the amount of rain they get around here, that will save some mess and effort!”

Amelia shook her head, then dutifully put the rake into the shed out back — there was even a peg for it, so it seemed a much better place to store it than the cupboard inside. Especially now that you could get to the shed. She would have to be diligent about keeping the path, err, tunnel clear, though.

Using a little trowel, she managed to dig out a little room for the shed door to open and close freely, then spent a little time neatening up the tools on their pegs, peering at the contents of the various bags and jars, and generally snooping.

She wasn’t terribly surprised to find an old click can of three-in-one oil at the back of one of the shelves, sitting primly next to a well-used sharpening stone that was resting on a stack of various grits of sandpaper. She didn’t find any chocolate or cash, no matter how eagerly she searched after that find.

As she went to push the now oiled and unobstructed shed door closed, the stuck gate at the front of the wood flashed in her mind.

“How could I forget?!? Not that an ominous wrought iron gate is inviting, but at least we can make it a well-functioning ominous wrought iron gate!”

She grabbed the oil, some rags, the trowel, and her trusty bill and headed back along the path to the front gate, Whisper trailing along behind her, glowing a very healthy, happy deep green

—-

With the tools she’d found, it was just a few minutes work to oil up the gate hinges, dig clear the mounded path, and chop out some offending tendrils. She hadn’t had enough hands to carry the rake, so she just pushed the leaves into a mound at the side with her foot.

Amelia smiled as the gate now swung freely open and closed, making a nice ringing clang as it shut. Perhaps it was because it wasn’t raining and gloomy, but the entrance to the wood seemed much less daunting today. With a little more fussing, it might even feel welcoming, although that seemed a bit of a long shot.

She thought briefly about walking into town and getting a treat after all her hard work, but didn’t want to leave all the tools here, so she gathered them up, shut the gate with a delightful “clank”, and walked back to the shed. With the clearing she had done, the worst of the obstacles along the path were out of the way, and it only took a few minutes to make the trip. It even seemed like the trees were just ever so slightly further apart, and with fewer branches stuck out to make it hard to pass. But surely that was just an overactive imagination. Or wishful thinking.

She cleaned her tools once again before stowing them away, closing the shed firmly. As she walked back to the front of the cottage, she did the best she could to brush off the grime, bits of leaves, dirt, and suchlike. She was filthy! No help for it, though, besides a sponge bath. Which would have to wait until she found a water source. She’d have to scout out the stream that was supposed to run through the woods. Maybe when the weather was a bit warmer she could take a bath there.

Not today though, she shivered as she opened the front door. It had felt great in just her t-shirt and trousers, but once she stopped working the chill of the day made itself promptly known.

So of course the warm, cheery glow of the fireplace was very appreciated as she entered, kicked off her trainers at the door, then sank into the worn but oh-so-comfy overstuffed armchair that was just the right distance from the fireplace.

The fireplace that should be cold and dark. And the oh-so-comfy overstuffed armchair THAT VERY CERTAINLY HAD NOT BEEN THERE EARLIER!

Amelia attempted to bolt out of the chair in shock, but it was so cushy and soft that she only managed to sink in a bit further, as a hassock shot out of nowhere and propped her thrashing legs up.

“Aaah! Attack furniture! Aaaaah!” she howled as she thrashed a bit, before giving up and melting into comfort.

Whisper drifted by in front of her face, looking slightly concerned (how in the world could she tell how the little puffball was feeling?!?), but once Amelia stopped flailing about just wafted off to warm herself in front of the fire.

“Ok, ok, I should REALLY be worried about what is going on here. Really really! But maybe after I rest for a bit … shouldn’t look a gift hassock in the mouth … or something …” her voice softened from her momentary panicked state, and the toll of her exertions of the day caused her to drift off to sleep in seconds. She didn’t even budge as a downy duvet settled on top of her gently.

Whisper bobbled slowly over and landed on top of Amelia’s head, wiggled a bit to nestle into her hair a bit, then her glow dimmed slightly as she too drifted off to sleep.

—-

Waking curled up in a strange armchair, legs extending out onto a suitably supportive hassock, wrapped in a duvet. Not the worst way to wake, surely.

Amelia blinked briefly as she tugged the duvet a little more firmly under her chin, blearily taking in the room. The fire was flickering away still, against all odds. It both warmed and illuminated the little room. She knew for certain that, despite all the muck and trash that had been on the floor when she had arrived, there had been nothing but a rickety table and a cold, ash-clogged fireplace, and nothing else. How could she have missed anything else, having cleaned the floor on her hands and knees with the rags?

Yet there was the supply cupboard, plain as day. A bright chintz tablecloth draped over the table, hiding any roughness below. A large, worn but still colorful rag rug covered most of the floor, which would help with any drafts from the gaps in the old warped floorboards. Which, come to think of it, the bits left uncovered by the rug didn’t look nearly so warped and gnarled as they had the day before.

From the depths of the paisley armchair, she looked to where the little dresser had been (and where it hadn’t been before that). It was still there, but the bare, scuffed wooden exterior looked just a little bit less worn. There was an age yellowed lace doily covering the top, now, underneath a slightly chipped porcelain wash basin. A gently steaming pewter ewer sat next to it, beside a folded white towel. Which looked delightfully fluffy.

Her backpack hung on a wooden peg on the back of the door, her hoodie draped over it. She was pretty sure she would have noticed putting those there. But there they were.

Reluctantly, Amelia wormed her way out from under the duvet and stood up. Nobody else was around, except for Whisper, who was investigating the water pitcher. The front door was still closed, the shutters were still shut on the windows. No tracks or any other indication that anyone else had been inside besides herself. The only noise was the slow inhalation of the cushions as they swelled back up to shape from where she had lain, and the quiet pop and crackle of the fire.

Again, the thought that this REALLY should be scaring her crossed Amelia’s mind, but somehow the room was just entirely too cozy for her to stress about.

`I’m sure you’ll find it positively enchanting’ is what Gran said in her letter. I’m pretty sure she meant ‘enchanted’, and not ‘haunted’” she mumbled mostly to herself.

“But if there is anyone to hear me, thank you! This is wonderful!”. One must be polite, after all. Even to poltergeists. Or maybe it was a brownie? Domovoi? She could never remember which one did which. Still, couldn’t hurt to be friendly!

Amelia bowed in the general direction of the cottage, which is difficult to do when one is actually inside it, but surely it was the thought that counted.

Whoever or whatever was furnishing the home didn’t seem hostile, so might as well roll with it. Although she did keep a surreptitious eye out for any bags of chocolate, which had so far not been forthcoming beyond what she brought herself.

She watched Whisper rub up against the still steaming pewter pitcher, then remembered how utterly grimy she had gotten with her yard work yesterday. Luckily, it didn’t look like she had stained the chair or comforter any, but that was entirely due to luck.

It would have to be a sponge bath, but washing up time had come!

She unfolded the fluffy towel and draped it over the back of the armchair, then using the washcloth that had been underneath it on the dresser, she started cleaning herself up with the same diligence she had scrubbed the cottage previously. Seemed only fair!

Bath done, she put on clean clothes from the dresser, then tossed the dirty basin of water out the front.

There wasn’t anything in the way of cookware, so the tins of food she had gotten would have to wait some more, so she made another meal of chocolate and crisps, sharing with Whisper as the little sprite ambled over.

“Okay, ready to face the day! Onwards!” she said, stepping out the front door into the morning daylight.