In the quiet corners of the inn, where shadows danced in the flickering light of the hearth, there lived a creature unseen by the human occupants. This was no ordinary guest. It was a brownie, a small, ancient household spirit that had resided in this place for longer than anyone could remember. Its name had long since been forgotten, but its purpose remained the same: to help, to serve, to keep the inn running smoothly in exchange for a simple offering...usually a bowl of milk left by the hearth at night.
Martha, unknowingly, had been feeding this spirit. Every evening, she left the small bowl of milk outside the back door, thinking it was a stray cat that drank it down to the last drop each night. But it was the brownie, who silently appreciated the offering and, in return, worked through the night. Sometimes beds were mysteriously made, floors swept, and fires stoked, all without Martha or Gregory knowing how it happened. The inn had always been neat and tidy by morning, and the humans simply chalked it up to routine.
But the brownie was no mere servant. It was a proud and sensitive creature, easily offended and quick to punish those it deemed unworthy. For years, it had quietly kept to itself, unnoticed and unthanked, but satisfied with its simple life. That was, until she arrived.
From the moment Lena stepped foot into the inn, the brownie had felt a shift. The air grew heavy with tension, the kind that grated on its nerves. Lena's presence was like a sour note in an otherwise harmonious life, and the brownie sensed trouble.
It first noticed Lena's disdainful attitude when she insulted the inn on arrival, calling it "a run-down place." The brownie's sharp ears twitched in anger. This is my home she's insulting, it thought darkly. Ungrateful wretch.
As just only one night passed, the brownie became more and more agitated. It saw everything...the way Lena treated Gregory with a calculated mix of flirtation and condescension, the way she mocked Martha and how she reveled in the chaos she left in her wake. Every smirk, every cruel word, every arrogant glance gnawed at the brownie's patience.
But the final straw came when Lena reduced Martha to seething anger, her cruel, condescending tone as sharp as any blade. The brownie had always respected Martha. She was hardworking, diligent, and though she didn't know it, her nightly offerings had kept the brownie content. Seeing her insulted and demeaned by this haughty woman made the brownie's blood boil.
How dare she, the brownie fumed, its small, wiry form trembling with fury in the shadows. She mocks the one who feeds me, who respects this place. This vile woman thinks she can waltz in here, turn everything upside down, and get away with it?
The brownie, though usually quiet and helpful, was known in folklore to be easily angered. When its goodwill was abused, it could become malicious. Brownies had a long history of pulling pranks on those they deemed lazy or disrespectful, and when truly enraged, they could turn into something much darker...more like boggarts, malevolent creatures that caused chaos and misfortune.
And Lena had just crossed that line.
The brownie sat perched in a darkened corner of the kitchen, watching as Martha furiously scrubbed the counters after Lena's latest round of insults. It saw the tension in Martha's shoulders, the way her hands shook with barely suppressed anger. It felt a surge of sympathy for the maid but also a burning need for retribution.
She will pay, the brownie decided, its sharp little eyes narrowing. She will regret ever setting foot in this place.
The brownie scurried silently up to the ceiling beams, its small form invisible in the shadows. It watched as Gregory returned from fetching Lena's dress, handing it to her with a sheepish look. The brownie could see the lust in his eyes, could feel the way Lena's presence twisted him up inside, making him act like a fool. Lena smirked, completely aware of the effect she had on him, and the brownie felt its fury rise again.
She manipulates him, just as she mocks Martha. This one is trouble...more than trouble. She's poison.
The brownie followed Lena's every move as she left the inn, headed for the bathhouse. It moved through the inn's hidden nooks and crannies, its small feet padding silently on the wooden beams and stone floors. It knew exactly what it was going to do. Lena had insulted its home, its way of life, and the people who lived here. Now, the brownie would teach her a lesson.
When Lena returned from the bathhouse, she would find things... different. Oh yes, the brownie would make sure of that.
*****
The brownie worked quickly, its mischievous mind whirring with ideas. It snuck into Lena's room, moving unseen in the early afternoon light. First, it went to the bed. With a wicked grin, the brownie pulled back the covers and sprinkled the sheets with tiny, nearly invisible thorns it had gathered from the garden. They weren't enough to cause real harm, but they would prick and irritate Lena's skin the moment she lay down to rest.
Next, the brownie turned to Lena's suitcase, which was finally brought in from the station. It was still sitting on the floor, unopened. The brownie opened it just a crack and slipped inside. It rifled through the clothes, pulling loose threads, tearing small but noticeable holes in the fabric. When Lena would open it, she'd find her expensive garments mysteriously damaged, beyond repair.
But the brownie wasn't done yet.
In the corner, where Lena would go to freshen up, it tampered with the small bottle of perfume she had left on the counter. It tipped the bottle over just slightly, letting a bit of the liquid spill out before replacing it with vinegar. When Lena would spray it on herself, expecting her usual scent, she'd be met with the sharp, unpleasant odor of sourness.
Finally, the brownie crept back into the kitchen, where Martha was still angrily preparing lunch. It watched her for a moment, its anger softening just slightly. She doesn't deserve this, the brownie thought. She works so hard, and that woman treats her like dirt.
The brownie couldn't show itself, not directly. Its kind lived in the shadows, their work was not noticed. But as Martha bustled about, the brownie gave a small, unseen nudge...a bit of extra help. The soup Martha was preparing suddenly bubbled to perfection, its aroma rich and inviting. The bread she was baking rose just a bit higher, turning golden and crisp in the oven.
The brownie couldn't fix everything, but it could help in small ways. And while it wasn't the type to seek gratitude, it hoped, in its own quiet way, that Martha would feel some relief, even if she never knew why.
Later that afternoon, when Lena would return to her room, she would find the results of the brownie's handiwork. Brownie just smirked when he thought about how Lena would react ss she lay on the bed, the tiny thorns would prick her skin, causing her to toss and turn in discomfort. When she opened her suitcase, she would stare in disbelief at the ruined clothes, wondering how they had been so mysteriously damaged. And when she sprayed the perfume, she would gag at the sour smell, her face contorting in disgust.
The brownie, hidden in the shadows, will watch it all with satisfaction. Let this be a lesson, it thought. You don't disrespect this inn. You don't disrespect the people who work here. And most of all, you don't disrespect me.
This was its home. And the brownie would protect it.