It was after the thinly sliced piece of carrot had hopped plates twice- from Alex's to Zhandra's, then back again to Alex's- that Mick finally stops its travels with his fork. He tries to fix the five-year-old blue-eyed boy with a stern gaze but fails almost immediately when tiny pink lips turn downward. "Alex, if you keep passing it over to Zhan, it will feel offended and once again bury itself next to its cousin who we met yesterday." He pushes the carrot in the center of his son's plate. "Now, if you don't want to hurt its feelings, eat it. Or else it will run away."

The nine-year-old Zhandra rolls her eyes and sighs before going back to her origami book, immersing herself in its intricate pattern of folds.

Alex eyes the carrot slice suspiciously. He lifts his right hand and starts counting. "1. 2. 3...."

"Alex," Mick starts; he puts his hand out and continues counting. After counting till ten, he smiles proudly. "Daddy, you can't fool me anymore. I am going to turn six soon. See, I gave it a chance to run, but it's right here." He takes his fork and pokes the slice.

"Ouch!" Mick yelps. The fork falls on the table, causing a small clanking sound. It's loud enough for Zhan to put the book away. She catches her father's eyes, who winks at her before holding his hand to his chest.

"Daddy, what happened!?"

"I felt it," Mick replies. "I felt its sadness. I don't think the carrot wants to be your friend. See, it's gone!" He points at the last place anyone had seen the runaway slice of vegetable.
Alex's eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "Daddy, it's gone!"

Mick nods. "I am afraid it did." he pouts. "I guess it felt bad when you passed it over to Zhan."

Alex's lips tremble. "I am sorry, Mr Carrot, I did not mean to upset you." He closes his eyes, and intertwining his fingers, holds it close to his chest just like his daddy had taught him to do while praying or asking for forgiveness.

"Alex, look!" Zhandra exclaims. "Mr. Carrot is back!"

Alex opens his eyes and squeals. He picks up the carrot slice and stuffs it in his mouth. "Swofi. I lofe you."

Mick smiles, ruffling his son's dark brown hair, and says, "I am sure Mr. Carrot forgave you. And something tells me that it loves you too."

As the family continues to finish their breakfast, planning for the day ahead, none of the Anderson's hear a tiny crash closely followed by an equally small yelp coming from the shed, the place where Mick created his projects, situated in the far end of their backyard.

With the breakfast done, Mick picks up Alex in his arms. "Ready?" he asks Zhandra, who is bounding down the stairs two at a time, with two sling bags, one on each shoulder: one pink and one blue. Her green eyes, much like her father's, dart to the kitchen counter. "Oh-O!"

"Zhan, did you forget something again," Mick asks. He is not surprised when a guilty look crosses his daughter's face.

"You left your homework in the treehouse, didn't you?"

The girl averts her gaze. "Sorry, daddy. I will get it right away!" She sprints off towards the back door.

Meanwhile, Alex starts pushing at Mick's chest, "Daddyyy! I want to go too!" he demands.

"Fine. Go." Mick relents. He knew how much the kids loved spending time in the treehouse. It was, after all, special to all three of them. Zhandra still remembered her mother's glossy red hair glinting in the sun as she served her and Mick lemonade.

"Mick, it doesn't look like it will fit all four of us." She would say, patting her tummy, while Alex kicked her from within her womb, as if agreeing with his mom.

A year after that, Jane had left them.

"Mom is not in pain anymore. She is in heaven, watching over us." Mick had explained, holding a wailing Zhandra in his arms while a one-year-old Alex played with his rattle in the crib.

Now, four years later, the family of three spent more evenings inside the tiny space than they did in their modest single-storied bungalow. The treehouse, however, was only that in name. Built a couple of feet off the ground, with twin apple trees on either side of it, it was more of a playhouse than a treehouse, as the Anderson's liked to call it.

"I will be waiting out front." Mick looks at his wristwatch and mutters, "Just when I thought that we would make it on time today." Then, looking towards the backyard door, he yells. "Alex, cooperate with your sister. You have four minutes."

With that, Mick pulls the car out of the garage and starts backing it into the driveway.

"Zhan, did you hide my crayons again?" Alex demands, looking around the thirty-six square feet area before rushing to the tiny balcony and jumping up and down, trying fruitlessly to get at a low hanging apple a few inches out of his reach.

Meanwhile, the older stuffs her homework that was half-buried under the maroon rug the lined its floor. Then, side-eyeing her brother, she yells, "Alex, get back inside. You know it's forbidden..."

Clang! Crash!

Alex stops jumping and looks at his sister. Zhandra looks over her shoulder at the shed.

Thud!

"Ah-choooooo. So dusty!" Someone sneezes and cribs.

"Is somebody there?" Zhandra asks, grabbing her brother's hand, who, for once, cooperates. The two slowly walk towards the shed.

Being the responsible older sister that she was, just before stepping inside the shed- another one of the forbidden places- she instructs her brother. "Alex, stay there."

Alex nods. Vigorously.

"I am armed and dangerous," Zhandra calls, deepening her voice. The voice comes out shriller than before.

"Zhan, I think..."

"Keep quiet, Alex!"

"Ok."

"As I was saying, I am armed. Don't try anything funny." She says, imitating Zoe, her best friend who used to keep regaling her with police stories every other day.

Something creaks as if in response to her threats; Zhandra's courage almost bites the dust. Almost. She stops advancing, but just then, Alex runs to her and holds her hand. "Is it a thief? Is it a monster?"

"Monster? Ha! As if they would dare to show their appalling faces in my region!"

"Whose is there?" Zhandra asks, walking further inside, with Alex in tow.

"Wait. Did the human children hear me!? How? Why!!?" The voice, surprised and doubtful, drifts over to the children.

"Alex, you heard that, right?"

"Yep. It sounded like Mr. Carrot's neighbor. The other Mr. Carrot."

"Excuse me! I am not a carrot. For one, I am not long and lean. I like a little fat here and there; it makes me look charming. Second, I am not a vegetable."

The kids step closer to the source of the voice. It might have had something to do with the fact that it hadn't sounded much different from Alex's.

"Stand right there. Don't come any closer." The 'not Mr. Carrot' squeaks!

"Why?" Alex asks, letting go of his elder sister's hand.

"Alex! Come back here, or I am going to call daddy!" The older threatens as the latter runs forward and crouches next to the half-carved foot of their new dining table. He moves the tin of varnish to the left and gasps.

"Zhan, look. It's tiny. Tinier than Mr. Carrot."

Zhandra joins her brother. She blinks, mouth agape.

"Zhan, what is it? It looks like, hmmm. Mr. Bighead, but with wings!"

The older shakes her head and keeps staring.

Well, it was not her fault that she couldn't form words. I am sure you would go speechless too if you were to find a chubby, tiny, talking, winged person leaning against the foot of your as of yet unfinished dining table.

"Bighead? Look closer. My head is well proportioned. Thank you very much! I think you need glasses, little boy."

"Who are you calling litt-"

"Alex, quiet." Zhandra orders, looking at her brother sternly, before shifting her eyes to the tiny creature, "Who... what are you? And what are you doing in our shed?" She demands, and holding Alex's wrist, pulls her brother behind her. "Tell me, or I will call daddy." She states bravely.

"Zhan, it must be Mr. Bighead's cousin." Alex supplies.

"Tell me now. Or else," Zhandra stands up slowly and looks over her shoulder slightly, "Dadd-"

"Wait. Stop." The tiny person tries to stand but fails. It winces. "Don't call your father."

"Why?" Both children ask simultaneously.

"If an adult sees us...me, I will never be able to return home."

The kids tilt their heads in confusion.

The tiny person continues, "Please, don't be scared. I am not here to harm you. Quite the opposite, I am here to watch over you."

"Watch over us?" Zhandra repeats.

The tiny creature nods.

"Are you from heaven?"

The creature nods again and points at his translucent wings, "Obviously, why else would I have these."

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of the girl's lips, then. "Do you know-"

"Zhan, Alex. We are getting late!" Their father's impatient voice drifts over to them.

The tiny heavenly creature cowers. "Hide me!" He begs.

Zhandra nods. "Alex, tell daddy that we will be right outside." She holds her brother's wrist. "Do not tell daddy about him!" She warns.

Alex nods and runs off.

"Daddy, guess what, we found Mr. Bighead's..."

"Oh-O!" Zhandra mutters. "No time! Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr....?"

"Gabe. Just Gabe. Ouch!" The tiny creature yelps as Zhandra's fingers wrap around his torso. "Be gentle, won't you! I am delicate and hurt." Gabe massages his shoulder as he is carried over to the treehouse and placed inside Zhandra's three-foot-tall toy house.

"Sorry, Gabe." The girl plucks an apple, the same one her brother was eyeing earlier, and hands it to the unexpected visitor. "This should be enough. I will see you in a few hours. Stay here. Alright?"

With that, the girl picks up the sling bags, both pink and blue, and rushes inside the house just in time to catch her father entering the house through the front door with her brother in tow. "Zhan, we are getting late. What took you so long?" He narrows his eyes and looks at her sternly.

Alex tugs on his father's pants. "Daddy, I already told you-"

"Yes, sweetheart, you did." He smiles at his son before looking back at Zhandra, "Did you go into the shed?"

Zhandra nods. "I am sorry, daddy. It won't happen again. Now, can we please leave? I don't want to be late because of you." She states, pulling her father out and towards the car.

"Are you kidding me right now!" Mick widens his eyes comically. "My lady, how could you accuse your innocent father like this!?" He pouts, fringing mock horror. "Ohhhhh! The injustice!" He cries, holding his children's hands and walking to the car.

"An apple!? What am I supposed to do with this!?" Gabe wonders aloud, poking the giant red fruit with his pointer finger before pulling out an almond-sized orange candy from the pouch at his waist and tossing it into his mouth. He breaths deeply, sucking on the candy. "Ah, finally out of that dusty shed." He leaves a sigh of relief and opens the pouch wide.

He closes his eyes. "Maybe now that I am somewhere more decent, the spell will work." He reasons, and opening his palm, he sings.

"Home. Home. Home.
Show yourself.
Illuminate the way home.
Bo. Ma. No. No. Ma. Bo.
Go Go. Go."

Nothing happens.

"Well, I guess there is nothing else left to do." He shakes his head, and thrusting his hand into it, Gabe retrieves a leather-bound book. 'A Fairy's Guide to Troubleshooting' it reads. He flips it open and starts reading.

1. Missing items retrieval.

2. Helping cats out of trees- without side-effects.

3. Help dog find way back home.

4. Add salt to sweets - the last resort.

5. Matchmaking - tips and tricks.

6. Combat - How to avoid it?

7. Pleasing pets

8. All about candies - Are they worth the hype?

Gabe keeps reading till he finally finds what he is looking for on page 1074.

74. Are you lost? - Look no further.

"Ah. YES!" Gabe leaves a breath and starts turning pages- ten at a time, till he reaches the desired page. "Finally, after a century of taking up space in my pouch, you are finally going to prove your worth, Aristotle. Now, tell me how I can find my way back home."

{Chapter word count : 2131}