The Mender of Broken Things

By Emily Barnett

Bramble Dinkenspry was very good at fixing things. In fact, her entire family was good at it. But when you’re a brownie, you expect nothing less.

“Bram! It’s time!”

Bramble nearly dropped the stopwatch in her nimble fingers. She’d been listening to the gears as they whispered secrets of the device’s inner workings. It was the uncanny Sense of her hobgoblin clan.

Bram left the room and joined her family in front of the blue door. Though brownies were no taller—and barely wider—than a pencil, they still had to be careful not to be seen by humans. Their job was simple: steal into the house at night, fix anything broken, and slip back into the wall. Although wall was a casual term. Brownies lived between the human and the hobgoblin world. Unlike fairies or selkies, brownies relied on fixing human objects to maintain their magic.

When her mother opened the door, wavering light and nausea rolled over Bram. The clan crept through and entered the human house by way of a spice cabinet. At least it’s not the freezer this time, Bramble thought.

The five brownies clambered down the counter, swift as shadows. Bram’s parents started on a light bulb. Her sister tiptoed to the bathroom’s leaky faucet. Scratching his pointed chin, Bram’s little brother studied a crack in the plaster wall.

Bramble headed up the stairs to the daughter’s room.

She touched her thundering chest and the scrap of fabric she wore as a dress. Bram wasn’t nervous about going into Cecily’s room, but she was nervous about the parents.

Unbeknownst to the clan, Bram’s Sense was… peculiar. She could hear the human realm from the hobgoblin side as easily as listening to a stopwatch’s gears.

And what Bramble had heard the past few months had made her brave—or foolish—depending on which hobgoblin you asked. Imps, in particular, were always slandering the brownie’s philanthropic ways.

Bram ran through the door and scrambled to Cecily’s bedside table. A night-light cast the room in a blue haze. Bram smiled at the girl’s round cheeks and curls; she looked so peaceful.

Cecily whimpered.

Bramble reached out but chided herself. Fixing broken objects gave brownies power, but touching a human drained them. It was why she hadn’t told the clan anything. If they knew of her strong Sense and curiosity, they’d ban her from visiting humans.

But the risk was worth it to Bram. When she helped others, she was whole.

Scanning the room, Bram spied a doll with missing arms. She hopped to the toy then listened for the rest of it. Whispers came from the closet, and Bram found the arms inside, buried under a mound of clothes as if the girl was ashamed of what she’d done.

Bram repaired the arms, replaced missing hair, and sewed a ripped sleeve with gold thread. The glass eyes were dull, so she rubbed a thumb over them until they sparkled. There, Bram thought, now she seems to be laughing. Bram placed it in Cecily’s arms and slipped back into her realm by way of a dresser drawer.

Bramble visited the girl many times that month—especially the nights she knew would be the hardest. When harsh voices arose and doors slammed. When Cecily’s parents screamed rather than consoled. The power in human speech rivaled the strength of magic, and it always shook Bram to the core. But worse, she saw their effects on the girl, how they changed and molded her. The brownie used to be able to hear Cecily’s laughter ringing into her realm. But Cecily’s joy had grown quiet over the months while her night whimpering worsened.

How could she fix the child’s inner workings? Bram sighed. When it came to human hearts, her magic did not whisper the remedy.

Three weeks later, Bram found a necklace on the stand and set about fixing the broken chain.

“Are you an angel?”

Bram stiffened. Her gaze turned to the little girl who was supposed to be asleep. Bram crouched low and considered running. But Cecily’s brown eyes were wide with hope, causing Bram to relax. She wouldn’t be the cause of another disappointment in Cecily’s already sad life.

“Not an angel,” Bram said. “I just fix things.”

Cecily sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her hair was a tumbled mess. “Are you a fairy?”

Bram snorted. Fairies were the silliest of hobgoblins—and quite useless to humans. “No. I’m a brownie.”

Cecily’s expression wrinkled in confusion.

“Not the kind you eat,” Bram clarified.

“You’re the one who fixed Dolly.” She held up the toy she’d been cradling. Bram was glad to see the arms still intact.

“Yes.”

Cecily smiled, but it grew stale. “I broke her. I don’t know why.”

Bram finished fixing the locket then placed it on the nightstand. Taking a deep breath, she studied the girl. “I think… ” She scrunched up her mouth. “… when people hurt deep inside, they want to let it out somehow. To feel better.”

“Like when Mommy and Daddy fight?”

“Yes.” Bram chewed her lip. “But it never truly feels better when that hurt is left on its own, does it?”

Cecily shook her head slowly. Then she perked up, a curl slipping into her eyes.

“Can you fix Mommy and Daddy?”

Bramble’s throat constricted, and she looked away. “I’m sorry. I only repair objects.”

“I thought so.” Cecily slid back under her covers and stared up at Bram. She was still smiling. “Will you come back tomorrow night?”

Then, Bramble did something even braver than being seen.

The brownie jumped lightly onto the girl’s pillow and planted a wisp of a kiss on her forehead. Bram felt a bit of magic leave her, but it was worth it.

“I’ll watch over you every night, if you’d like.”

Cecily nodded then closed her eyes.

As Bram watched over her, the girl did not whimper once.

Perhaps, the brownie thought, this is how I can mend what is broken.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Barnett lives in Colorado with her husband and two hobbit sons. Her whimsical yet poignant stories have been published in several anthologies and online magazines. In her free time, you’ll find her drinking coffee and writing fantasy novels with all the feels. She’s far more dramatic on paper.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter