Original Story - The Changeling

(Image by GDJ - Pixabay)

“I want our son back,” he said, his voice low as he jammed his hands through his tousled hair.

“As do I.” Fresh tears trickling down her cheeks, she clasped her hands together. “But this is a baby, so like our own little one. I cannot harm him.”

“Dear God, Agnes! It’s a creature–”

“It’s a baby, Thomas.”

Letting out a loud breath, he placed his calloused hands on his wife’s trembling shoulders. “Agnes. Our only hope of getting our son back is to.” Pressing his lips together, he seemed to struggle with his next words. “Is to brutalise this, this thing they left in his place.”

She grimaced as her husband’s grip on her tightened; she knew he didn’t mean to hurt her for she recognised his desperation. But. “I cannot.”

With a curse, he pushed her away.

“You do it then,” she shouted in despair.

“If my actions mattered,” said Thomas through gritted teeth, “I would have done it by now. But that old woman said you must do it because you birthed him.”

Pressing her hands against her head, Agnes wanted to scream. Then Thomas was standing before her.

“I want our son back.” He placed a stick in her hand and closed her fingers over it. “Do it.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around.

With the pressure he applied to her shoulders, Agnes felt compelled to walk to the crib, her movements jerky. Near-blinded by tears, she could barely see the fae infant, but knew he was silently watching her as he always did, only ever watching her.

Wiping her sleeve over her eyes, she gulped down her sobs and raised the stick.

The infant didn’t react, his gaze still fixed on her, not the stick.

Slowly, she lowered it. The stick slipped from her grasp, and she sank to the floor. “Forgive me. I cannot. I cannot be so cruel.”

“Cruel? Cruel?” Thomas’ voice rose with his anger. “Cruel is condemning our child to God knows what fate.” Cursing, he seized the wooden chair next to him and flung it against the wall.

A small cry leapt from Agnes.

Breathing heavily, he glared at her, then snatched his coat and wrenched open the door.

“Where are you going?” She tried to get to her feet but was hampered by her skirts.

“Away.” He stood with his back to her. “Away from.” He glanced in the direction of the crib. “I cannot stay here, seeing that creature every day instead of my boy.”

“You, you’ll be home soon? It’s almost time for supper.”

He remained with his back to her. Without answering, he left, slamming the door with such force, it was a wonder their cottage remained standing.

On her knees, Agnes stared at the door as a chill enveloped her. Finally, she whispered, “Thomas. Am I to lose you also?”

Dusk began darkening the room before she hauled herself to her feet to stoke the fire and light the lamps.

Without thinking, she started to prepare the evening meal then stopped. “Who am I cooking for?”

She went to the crib and gazed at the small, pointy-chinned child with overly large eyes. “You’re a solemn little one, so quiet, so unlike my bonny boy.” Shaking her head as if that would stop her tears, she sighed. “Now, it is only you and me. I don’t know what will become of us, but I will do my best to care for you.”

The baby’s gaze moved to the direction of the door seconds before a soft knock sounded.

Startled, Agnes frowned at the baby before hurrying to the door. Maybe it was Thomas, she thought, before realising her foolishness; why would he knock on his own door?

A hooded, cloaked figure stood outside, face hidden in the deep hood.

Heart thudding, Agnes started to shut the door when her visitor spoke.

“You would not harm the infant.” The voice sounded feminine, but was so soft and breathy, Agnes couldn’t be sure. “It cost you that which is so dear to you, yet still you refused. Why?”

“Why?” repeated Agnes, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know why my baby was taken and this, this left in his place. But that is no reason to harm a little one, no matter what it is. I can only pray that, that… whoever has my baby.” Her voice caught and she momentarily closed her eyes against more tears. “They will treat him kindly.”

The figure’s arms extended from the folds of the cloak, holding a rosy-cheeked baby. Agnes’ baby. “You have shown us kindness. In this changing world, that is a most rare occurrence.”

Her mouth hanging open, eyes stretched wide, Agnes reached for her son who reached for her, burbling loudly, seemingly unharmed.

A gentle breeze teased past her. Looking up, she watched as the hooded figure, now holding the solemn infant, glided away. The fae baby’s gaze remained fixed on Agnes as the pair faded from sight.

(Inspired by a Swedish tale)