After Hours

After Hours
©2005, Basil Sands

The day was nearly done.  The kitchen was closed and the final mop had passed by.  Quietly they waited for the tell tale click of the door being locked

“Click”

Silence…nearly total silence

Minute dragged into minute

Something began to stir, in one corner…under a booth seat
The seat cover rose ever so slightly and two large eyes peered from the shadow underneath

“Is it clear Bumblebrook?” said a strangely accented voice

“Aye” replied Bumblebrook, “we can come out now.”

“Oh good…my knees are so cramped up I can barely stand it!” replied Rollinghill, who was now slowly and painfully emerging from his hiding place under booth number 14.

Half a dozen elves slowly emerged from various dark corners and booth seats.  One short round figure came out from behind a large potted plant where two booths met at a far corner of the dining room.

“Tubbyrump!  What were you doing over there?  You could’ve been caught!”

“I fell asleep after eating last night and didn’t wake until the humans started arriving.  It was too late to sneak undetected back into booth 9 so I leapt behind the little tree there. A couple little children did see me, but the cutesies were happy to play peek-a-boo without telling anyone.  Oh I wish we could get out more often like that, those little ones are so fun to play with.”

“Now you know we can’t do that.” Replied a gruff bearded elf named Hoofnocker, “the grown humans would panic and we’d all end up stuffed and on display or worse, being experimented on by those overcoat types.  Don’t forget poor Horntoot.”

At this they all fell silent for a moment, raised their hands to their hearts and mumbled “May he never be forgotten.”

“Right,” said Bumblebrook, “Who’s up for some food and drink?”

The reply was a cacophonous round of whoops, huahs, and “Yessirees!” from around the room.  Bumblebrook and Tubbyrump scurried to the kitchen, while Rollinghill and Bramblewinder went to gather some dishes and flatware.  Hoofnocker and Windswift disappeared behind the counter to fill the pints of ale.

Soon the smells of delicious elfin cuisine were wafting through the air as they cooked steaks and bacon, turnips and onions and potatoes.  Cheese was sliced and fresh round loaves of soda bread soon emerged from the ovens.  As they cooked they were meticulously careful to clean up after themselves.

For several months now, these elves had inhabited the Winding Hills Family Diner, typically preferring to live in the attic storage area where they could move about freely, but occasionally finding a need to hide in the booth seats if they found themselves about to be discovered by a manager or worker who decides to come in earlier than usual. 

They had moved here from the Cowboy Cafe after a dishwasher, who had fallen asleep in the back storage room awoke to discover Horntoot looking for black pepper to add to his soup.  The young human was easily twice the size of Horntoot but was absolutely terrified of the little man-shaped creature with the exaggerated facial bones and large pointed ears.  In his terror he shouted which startled Horntoot who banged his head into the shelving into which he was leaning in search of his pepper, causing him to loose consciousness.  The dishwasher ran out of the storage room in near hysteria to the phone that was on the wall and dialed 911 to report a burglary in progress.  The rest of the elves, who had no idea what was going on, saw the police lights outside and had only just managed to scramble into their hiding places as the police burst into the building, guns drawn.  Poor Horntoot, though, still lay unconscious in the storage room and was taken away by, as Hoofnocker witnessed, “Two men in black overcoats, who were certain to do nasty things to the kindest of Elves.”

Now, their minds were on new things, like this evenings supper, before they went out to do their deeds in the dark of the night.  They ate well, as elves always do and made plans for whom they would bless and whom they would chastise this night.

Over the ale and steaks they discussed the young widow whose husband was lost in the war.  They had seen her two little children enjoying a delicious meal a few nights earlier, while the sad young woman, who barely contained her grief, kept looking at the empty seat across the table as if she may see her soldier sitting there if she stared long enough.  They would tip-toe into her little house in the dark of the night to clean the living room and kitchen, and do the dusting while she slept.

Then there was the old couple, Maurice and Gwenda, who had a reputation among many elves as being a wonder of the race of Adam.  The elves knew these two, who had been married nearly 60 years, to be the kindest humans they had ever known.  On many occasions they had been seen buying meals for the poor, giving gifts to beleaguered or stressed out working folk, and being generally kind to everyone they met.  They had even, on one occasion, which Bumblebrook fondly remembers and loves to retell, and much to the surprise of the other elves who take humble pride in not being seen by humans, left a whole cake sitting on the back porch of their home with a card on which was written in beautiful script “For our Elvin Friends, Enjoy the night.”  And certainly these elves did enjoy the night with that delicious dessert made by loving hands.
Maurice had recently fallen ill though, and Gwenda, well into her 80’s (which is considered quite old for humans, even though only adolescent for an elf) was having difficulty taking care of her chores.  These elves tonight would bless her by doing the dishes, the laundry, the dusting, and cleaning out the cat’s litter box.

“What about young sir Horace?” Quipped Bramblewinder.

“Yes, something must be done.” Said Windswift.

“Agreed,” added Tubbyrump.

Regarding Horace, or as they often referred to him ‘Horace the Horrible’, there was much discussion.  Horace was a regular customer of the Winding Hills Family Diner.  He was a young man, about 16 years of age, who came to dinner here two or three times a week with his parents and had a lot to learn yet about life.  In his short time on this earth thus far, he had made quite an impression on humans and elves alike.  He was, to put it in a few words, a loud mouthed, rude, crude, pushy, belligerent, child who enjoyed making other people do his bidding, no matter how needless or silly the demand.  Many a time the elves had watched from their hiding places in the booths or in the attic above the ceiling to witness, much to their dismay, this young man humiliate and bully the wait staff, cooks, customers and others with his attitude.  He was a boy who was not really rich but acted as though he were royalty.  He was not handsome, but thought everyone should admire him.  He was not wise by any measure, but was certain that his every word meant something deep and all should listen to him.  He was, in short, a real jerk.

After several minutes’ deliberation on the topic, the whole group unanimously agreed on the chastisement he would receive.  They would all sneak silently into his room late at night, take up positions around his bed, and with all they had within them, give him a grand old scolding!

Now, one may think to oneself, “A scolding? What good would that do? A mere lecture on good manners is certainly not going to change such a rebellious and rude young man.”

Ah, but consider well, what thoughts would go through the mind of a young man being awakened at 4 in the A.M. to discover, standing around your bed, six very short human-like forms with oddly shaped faces having high check bones, long sharp noses, large pointed ears, the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, some with beards and others not, but all armed with daggers and of very stern countenance who are informing you that if you don’t stop acting like such a ragged fool they will punish you ever so severely in a fortnight? 

Well, it can be assumed that the outcome, if there are any redeeming qualities remaining in that individual would be, most likely, quite favorable regarding the possibility of change for the better.  This has always been the case, at least in the experience of these elves. 

On a side note, there has always been concern by some that the elves performing such a feat directly in contact the humans may be given away by the screams of a particularly frightened individual.  In reality though, no one has ever actually screamed when they saw the elves.  They are usually so frightened that the only sound that comes out is a screechy little whimper, or they are completely dumbfounded and unable to respond in any form higher than a nod or a low grunt.  That being the case, the elves had long ago ceased to be concerned with such things happening.

Having now decided the course of their nights work, the elves finished their meals, drained their ale, and cleaned their dishes leaving not a trace that they had ever been there. 

Silently they crept under the table in booth 23, opened the trap door underneath and headed out to fulfill their schedule. 

Tubbyrump was last out the door.  When he turned to close and lock it he saw a wind blown newspaper up against the side of the restaurant.  On the paper he saw a familiar face in an advertisement for a Christmas Sale at the local mall.

“What’s this? Horntoot’s working for Father Christmas!” exclaimed Tubbyrump

“So much for the experiments of men in overcoats, eh Hoofnocker?”, called Rollinghill

“Well, they must’ve brain washed him!” grunted Hoofnocker

“It certainly could’ve happened that way, aye.”

And into the shadows they disappeared.