Fern and the Moon-Garden Bell

Fern was a very small house sprite. She lived behind the skirting board, near the warm pipe in the hall.

All afternoon she had been getting ready. She had combed her mossy hair four times. She had polished her acorn-cap hat until it shone. She had practised walking slowly, very slowly, without tripping over her own feet.

Tonight was the full moon. Tonight, the moon-garden would bloom.

Fern had heard about the moon-garden from old Cobble, who lived under the porch step. He said that at full moon, every flower opened all at once. He said the whole garden smelled like warm honey and cold stars at the same time. He said there was a little silver bell, right in the middle, that only rang when someone touched it.

Fern wanted to ring that bell more than anything.

But to reach the moon-garden, she had to cross the big stone step outside the back door. The step was wide and dark. Fern had never gone that far before. She felt a little worried.

She stood at the door for a long time.

Then she heard a sound. It was a soft, whirry sound. A moth called Sable was fluttering near the door. Sable had big dusty wings the colour of the night sky.

"Going out?" said Sable.

"I want to," said Fern. "But the step is very big."

Sable landed right beside her. "I will fly just above you," she said. "You will not be alone."

Fern took a very deep breath. Then she walked across the big stone step. Her heart went thump, thump, thump.

And then she was in the moon-garden.

Oh.

Every flower was open. White ones. Silver ones. Pale blue ones. They glowed softly, like little lanterns. The smell was warm and sweet and cool all at once, just like Cobble had said.

And there in the middle was the silver bell.

It was smaller than Fern had expected. It hung on a thin thread between two tall white flowers. Fern walked right up to it. She reached out one tiny hand. She was still a little worried.

She touched the bell.

It rang. One clear, bright, lovely note. It floated up into the night sky and was gone.

Sable did a slow loop in the air. "There," she said. "You did it."

Fern stood very still. She was not worried any more. She felt warm, right in the middle of her chest.

They sat together in the moon-garden for a long time. The flowers glowed. The moon was big and round and kind. Somewhere under the porch step, old Cobble was probably smiling.

When Fern finally walked back across the big stone step, she did not thump. She walked slowly, like someone who had done this before.

She went back behind the skirting board, near the warm pipe, and curled up in her little bed of soft wool. She closed her eyes. And the sound of the bell — one clear, bright, lovely note — was still there, right inside her.