Monday, February 29, 2016

Pixie Buys a Castle

Snicker. The blog is named after him.

                By Valerie L. Egar

Pixie Smith, (otherwise known as Regina Hatchmore Cullen Smith), began her acting career at the age of four, in a TV commercial for Silly Cereal saying, “It tastes like bananas, Mommy.” Then, she starred in a car commercial, pretending to drive a red pick-up truck while a chorus of chipmunks frolicked in the back singing, “Driving in the Rain.”
Movie roles quickly followed. Pixie was nominated for an Oscar for her portrayal of a saucy waif in A Slice of Bread for Sarah and again, the following year, for the sensitivity she brought to the role of mean girl Kristal in Charm School.  Shortly after, she wowed Broadway singing and dancing her way through Spider Baby.
            By the time she was nine, Pixie Smith was very rich and so famous, she decided she needed a castle far from Hollywood for some privacy.
She flew to London in her private jet with her white poodle, Doodles, and a suitcase full of peanut butter crackers. She did not want to be recognized, so she wore movie star sunglasses and a yellow dress, a color she never, ever wore in movies or on TV.
 “We don’t usually have children shopping for castles,” sniffed the mustachioed real estate agent, Buford Cash. “Castles are adult real estate, and rather expensive. Perhaps a small flat near a school would better serve your needs.”
Pixie sniffed back in her sniffiest way and pulled her sunglasses down to look him in the eye. “If you have no castles to show me, just say so. Doodles and I will look elsewhere.”
            Pixie had a list of what she expected in a castle. Though it didn’t need a moat or a dungeon, she definitely expected a turret or two.
She wanted a library with lots of shelves, because she loved books. 
Most of all, she wanted the castle to have a ghost.  A ghost would be good company, perhaps even entertaining, Pixie thought an apparition that materialized on command might be handy when nosy gossip columnists hid in bushes.
            The first castle had turrets, but when Pixie climbed to the top, all she could see was the castle next door. Not private enough!
            The next castle was all moats and dungeons, perfect for a metal band, but not for Pixie.
The last castle had turrets that looked out upon fields of sheep and a library with leaded glass windows and shelves so high, you needed a ladder to reach some of the books. Best of all, Pixie noticed the ghost of a butler wandering the halls.
 When Mr. Cash walked by the ghost he shivered, but didn’t see him. “Chilly in here, isn’t it?” he said.
Pixie wondered whether the ghost would measure up. “Show me what you can do,” she said.
The ghost bowed. He raised his ghostly hands and all of a sudden, windows and doors opened and closed in time to music blasting from the radio.
Mr. Cash looked surprised, but smiled. “As you can see, this castle has automatic windows and doors.” He looked around. “Radio controlled.” Pixie laughed.  
“Do something else, please?” she whispered to the ghost.
As they walked through the library, the ghost drifted to the top shelves near the ceiling, and a book floated to a near-by table.
Anne of Green Gables, my favorite!”
“Yes, this castle has an invisible book retrieval system. I’m not sure how it works, but it’s very expensive,” said Mr. Cash.
“Actually, there’s a ghost.”
“No such thing!” said Mr. Cash.  “You’re old enough to know better.” With that, the ghost screamed and a mighty wind blew through the house, scattering papers everywhere.  Mr. Cash shivered. “It is a bit drafty, though, even for a castle.”
Pixie winked at the ghost. “I’d expect a significant discount for drafty.”
With that, Mr. Cash agreed and Pixie ended up with a castle that had two turrets, a library full of books and a ghost who was sure to become a good friend.

Copyright 2016 by Valerie L. Egar. Cannot be reproduced or distributed without permission from the author.  Like the story? Please follow Valerie L. Egar  on Facebook by liking the page. New stories come out once a week.


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