I believe I can say with some confidence that I am among the very last of my kind. Over the years my kin have dwindled and diminished. Some were hunted and killed by your kind. Out of fear, or fun, or to take our power. Others seemed simply to grow weary, lost their passion for the world and its ever decreasing wonders, and in time faded away. A few of us still remain of course, the world is after all a bigger and stranger place than your kind give it credit.

We each of us have, or had, our role or duty. Some of us hung the dewy cobwebs on a fresh spring morn. Others conducted the sonorous rumble of a thunder clap. Or dusted the delicate patterns of a winter’s frost upon your window pane. Gave every star in the sky its twinkle.

All these things still go on of course. But no hand guides them, no mind directs what arrangement or composition should look most pleasing. Now it is nothing more than brute nature at play, without intent or artistry. If your elders tell you that the world used to be a more vibrant, beautiful place they are correct. The world also used to be a far more dangerous and capricious place, so make of that what you will

I don’t know if the need for us has diminished, but it certainly seems that the desire for us has. The world that your kind has built no longer seems to want us in it. Day by day we find a little less space for us, a little less welcome for us. Nevertheless I still go about my appointed duty, humble as it may be.

My purpose, if you wish to consider it that, is to set the course of the glittering motes which dance and twirl in a sunbeam. It is graceful work, perhaps not as showy or bombastic as others. It has never attracted much attention, and I have not the notoriety of some of my fellowes such as Jack Frost or Jack o' the Green. I was never well known at the best of times, my name long since lost to history. No, I shall not divulge it here.

I believe I have an entry in Munroe's Glossary of the Occult, though he does include one or two inaccuracies. Even so, I doubt any copies remain. It is for the best, there is a power in names. To know a thing's name is to single it out amongst all of the wide world, to rip it free from it and hold it in isolation. It is no mere thing.

Which is why it was an immensely distressing feeling to hear my name spoken without warning or preamble, for the first time in nearly a thousand years. I felt myself being summoned. It was an irresistible pull. Every piece of my being, grasped at and dragged screeching across the world. My very nature contained and held upon the tip of someone’s tongue. I had only a moment to divest myself of the quotidian attire I wore and robe myself in my formal raiment. In the blink of an eye I was there.

I stood before a young girl, no older than five or six.

She paid me no heed. She sat on the floor, her attention focused on some crude rag doll held in her hands. I allowed myself a moment to gather my thoughts and take stock of my new surroundings. A simple garden, grass neatly trimmed, a wooden fence, its paint well faded. Ahead of me, a rather ugly looking box of a house.

“Ahem…” I politely coughed, hoping to attract the attention of my summoner. Startled by the noise she looked up and saw me before her. The mild look of apprehension on her face dissolved in an instant, her eyes grew wide and a joyous smile lit up her face.

She repeated my name, which I shall not record here, in an excited cry and awkwardly clambered to her feet. I bowed low as etiquette and custom dictated.

“You have summoned me. Though I know not how you have come across my name. By the roots of the rivers and the bones of the earth, I am bound to heed your command.”

She merely giggled. Undaunted I continued:

“Where did you learn my name? From which ancient tome or loose lipped spirit was the information pried?”

“It’s your name silly, nobody had to tell me it.” the girl replied. She thrust forward her hand, in which was gripped the dirty rag doll. Peering closer at the repugnant trinket I did begrudgingly notice a crude similarity in garb and mien between it and myself. I began to form an awful suspicion in my head.

“You named this doll yourself I suppose?”

“Yes! It’s a funny name. Do you like it?”

“Quite so.” My pride well and truly picked, I made ready to put this embarrassing situation far behind me. “Well if you would excuse me I would depart” So spoken I drew myself up to my full height and tried to maintain as dignified an air as was possible given the circumstances.

“No I want to play” she exclaimed, as I felt myself sag in response.

The old rules dictated that I was unable to disappear without her leave. I was for all intents her prisoner though she didn’t know it. I would obey her commands until she was satisfied with my service and let me go.

“Very well child, if that is what you require of me, then we shall… play.”

With that, she skipped off towards the bottom of her garden where a small hawthorn copse lay. She paused and beckoned for me to follow. Reluctantly, though unavoidably, I accompanied her.

It has been two years since that day and she still refuses to dismiss me. In that time I have discovered that I am quite proficient at ‘Hide & Seek’ and though I am loathe to admit it, I do pride myself on the quality of my flower crowns.

Now I‘m afraid I must leave you. I have a tea party to attend and it is rude to keep one’s host waiting.