I woke up one morning to see a four-inch tall fairy creeping toward me over my pillow, a drawn sword glinting in her right hand.

In a panic, I gave my pillow a heave, sending her flying. She caught herself in midair, leveled her sword, and zipped toward my face.

In a flash, I gave her a swat, at which she bounced off the wall to the floor with a soft “plop.”

Now, you’d probably think the first thing out of my mouth would have been something like, “What’s a fairy doing in my house?” or, “Why is she trying to kill me?” or even,”Wait, fairies exist?!”

Instead, I just stared a moment and said, “Guess I’m awake now.”

“Lucky you,” groaned the fairy in a Brooklyn accent.

“So, um…” I looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do with an injured fairy on my bedroom floor. I probably had a jar or something around here somewhere. Maybe a pillowcase? Nah, she’d just cut her way out. Maybe if I tried-

“‘So um’ what, ya big lummox!” she yelled, trying to get up. She failed, seeing how her legs had somehow gotten tangled in her wings.

They’d also bent backwards. Ouch.

“Uh, what’s your name?” I asked, not sure where to go with this.

“Like you need ta know!” she retorted, then gasped, clutching a rib.

“I mean, well, I don’t,” I conceded. “But it’s kinda weird trying to talk to someone when you don’t know their name. You know?”

“Right, loser, but I’m here to kill you, got it?”

“Well, uh, I guess that’s true-”

“So no names. I know yours, and that’s enough.”

“Well, that hardly seems fair,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Assassinations ain’t fair, kid. That’s kinda the point.”

“Assassinations?” I raised an eyebrow. I’m quite good at raising eyebrows, if I do say so myself. In fact, there was one time when-

“Yeah, assassinations! I’m assassinatin’ you!”

“Oh. But why?”

“Ya know too much,” she said.

“But apparently not enough to know why you’re assassinating me.”

“Well, ain’t that cute! The kid’s got a mouth on ‘im! You’re real clever, ya know that?”

“Well, that’s kind of you to say so, but-”

“That was sarcasm, ya turd!”

“Oh,” I said, a bit disappointed.

“Now, if you’d just shut up a sec,” she said, still struggling to get up. “I just gotta get that spell right and we can get this over with.”

“Too much about what?”

“What?”

“You said I know too much. Too much about what?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about!” She glared.

“I do?”

“Yup! And it’s made the Fairy Queen nervous, so we got to do away with you before ya do anything about what’s in ya head, got it?”

“No, I really don’t think I do.”

“Does Uzbekistan sound familiar?”

“Well, I think I’ve heard of it before, but-”

“Jamshid?”

“Huh?”

“Aisara?”

“I think you’re just making stuff up now.”

She swore. Several times.

Then gave me a scrutinizing look.

“Is your name Stanley Folanwin?”

“Nope.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Ya sure?”

“You need me to show you some ID?”

She swore again, this time in a string several times longer than the last one.

It had kind of a catchy cadence to it, to tell you the truth.

“So, uh, well-” I started.

“Quiet!”

“This is awkward.”

“Ya think?”

I thought a moment, then smiled. “But hey, at least that means you don’t know my name either!”

A frustrated groan issued from the collapsed fairy, and she struck her head on the carpet numerous times.

“So my name is-”

“I don’t care what ya name is, ya doofus! I’m gonna end you, because now ya really do know too much!”

“Well, now, I don’t think having seen a fairy is-”

“You know Uzbekistan?”

“Yes, you mentioned it before, so-”

“So now you know too much!” And she started chanting. Some kinda spell, I guess.

“But what does Uzbekistan have to do with fairies?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept chanting. Still in a Brooklyn accent, it should be noted.

“And those other names? What were those?”

She kept chanting, but glared at me in the process. As she did, her legs straightened out to more natural angles with an uncanny “crack.”

“I think you’re being very unfair,” I said, crossing my arms.

Still chanting, she stood up, and her wings uncrinkled.

“Well?” I said.

She grabbed her sword and swooped up toward my face.

Startled, I swatted her out of the air again, then punted her as she bounced off the wall, sending her into the closet where something toppled and crashed.

Silence.

“Uh, hello?” I said, suddenly concerned.

No answer.

I crept over to the closet. Dang. It was my Lego bin.

Bricks were everywhere.

And under the bin- well, I don’t really want to talk about it.

An awkward silence, a quick rush to the bathroom (to retch), and some delicate work with some tongs and a plastic bag later, and I had the aftermath mostly cleaned up. Had to clean the Legos with soap water. That was tedious.

But that’s the story of how a fairy tried to kill me in my sleep.

And also why I’m boarding up my windows at the moment.

So, have you ever had a fairy try to kill you before? Did she have a Brooklyn accent too? Tell us all about it in the comments! Also, does anyone know how to get blood stains out of carpet? Asking for a friend. Really.