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The Beings Beneath Your Floor

By LC Van Savage

Letís talk about those annoying Little People. You know who they are. They live with you and me too, as well as with everyone else who lives in a place that has floors and frankly, theyíre a royal PITA and impossible to get rid of.

Now Iím not entirely sure about this, but I think the Irish lay claim to ďownershipĒ of the Little People and often call them by their more ethnic names, ďLeprechauns.Ē Actually, Iím not sure who owns them or who thinks they own them or even what their country of origin is, and furthermore, Iím not at all convinced theyíre Leprechauns either. I mean I think theyíre much smaller than Leprechauns although Iíve never actually seen a Leprechaun---well, except for that one night back in í74. All I know is that those Little People live in my house too, and I donít think I have any Irish blood in me which is a dumb thing to say because if we all had the ability trace our ancestry back to those halcyon days of knuckle dragging and hoof Ďn paw cuisine, weíd discover to our surprise that we have a lot of blood pumping through us from a lot of continents and countries. But thatís another column.

So as for me, I think the Little People canít belong to only one group. Mongo and I are a fairly eclectic family and Iíll tell you, the Little People live and thrive well in our home.

But as anyone who shares a home with the LP, you know they live beneath oneís floorboards. They live right beneath your feet and theyíre looking up at you constantly, and, the thing theyíre most famous for is that they steal things from you. All things. Usually small things. Your car keys, all your pens, your pills, your lucky penny, your lucky rock, the candy bar you hid from your kids---you know, all that stuff. You put it all down, turn your back, answer the phone, take out the garbage, etc., and when you come back to get that thing, poof! Itís gone! And I mean really and truly gone. Forever. You search, you retrace every step and of course thereís no hope. Itís gone. The LP took your thing and thereís no chance youíll ever see it again. Ever. So my advice is to stop looking. Go out and buy another one. Youíll never get it back.

Of course I canít go out and immediately buy new car keys or a driverís license, or my glasses I must use to see, and stuff like that, so when they take those things I stamp hard around the house to send a lot of noise and dust down on top of them. But I make sure Mongo isnít around because heíd probably think that was weird because he doesnít believe in things like Little People and other things that everyone knows really exist. And so because he doesnít believe in them, he never loses anything either. The LP just donít bother with him.

The LP are also responsible for that old mystery of missing socks in the dryer, but hereís where they perform their most diabolical of tricks. They steal one sock and pull it quickly beneath the floor and then watch, laughing with cruel glee when those of us who sort the laundry begin to search for the sockís mate. What they do next is just plain genius; they put the missing sock back into the next weekís laundry where it shows up in the basket waiting to be sorted. Demonic, thatís what they are.

Have I ever seen the LP? Well, I think so. A fleeting shadow, a form in the corner, a glimmer, a squeak, a creak, a faint rustling. They never speak, but because I stay up very late writing this column and other things, when the house is completely quiet, Iím pretty sure I hear them partying. I hear them laughing. Itís very faint, but itís definitely laughter. I donít look up from my keyboard because thatíd give it away that Iím aware of them, but I do type more softly. I donít want to give them the satisfaction of knowing I hear them. I donít want to react to them because if I do, who knows what those fiends will steal next? Itís very late right now as a matter of fact, and I can hear them. Theyíre right underneath the carpet, waiting to steal stuff from me. Well, Iím keeping alert. Theyíre not going to get away with anything this time. No. Iím th on in control now. Th r Ďs no way th yíll b st aling from m tonight. Absolut y no way, I t ll you. Iíll just k p on typing.

H Y!! WH R ĎS MY L TT R ?? TH ON THAT COM S B TW N F AND D?? Oh, wh n I g t my hands on thos Littl P opl , Iím going to wring th ir diabolical little n cks.


Click on author's byline for bio.
Email LC at lcvs@suscom-maine.net


 

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Reader Comments

Name: John I. Blair Email: jblair@nch.com
Comment: LC, you made me chuckle out loud this morning when what I really want to be doing is sleeping late and snoring! Little People also steal cell phones, I found out yesterday, then leave them in the most unlikely places (jammed between my car seat and the center console) where I found my phone only after driving all the way downtown to check out the parking lot where I had last seen it. I think Little People may also hide in automobile rear seats (or trunks). I'm almost sure I heard laughter from back there about the time I found the *@(#*O phone!

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