Folksburywoods Story Blog

Old Tom Wittle worked on the docks, unloading the fish and helping the fishmongers gut and clean the large catch.

At the end of the day, Tom bought a smoked herring and hard roll, then walked to the narrow cut leading from the coast to the farmland, where he relaxed and ate his dinner.

Tom had a bad habit of not picking up after himself. He always left the fish bones lying on the stone, which he could see no harm in since they were always gone the following morning.

As summer rolled into autumn, the storms grew in number and severity. Around mid-October, the fishing fleet was stuck in the harbor for a week, meaning there was no work or suppers.

Tom always made the trek to the docks just in case some captain decided to brave the sea and needed his catch unloaded when they returned.

Toward the end of the week, the laborer headed empty-handed inland and was making his way through the cut when someone called out to him.

“Where’s my fish,” said the voice. Tom could see no one ahead nor behind, so he raised his eye to the cliffside, and a boggart was lying on a ledge.

“What fish would that be,” asked Tom nervously.

“You owe me three fish. Give them to me, or you shall not pass through my home,” insisted the creature.

“I have never given you fish, nor will I now. I walk here every day and have dinner on that stone. I have never met or given you anything,” said Tom, a little angry at being blackmailed.

The man was about to scold the boggart again when he realized where the fish bones had gone and cursed himself for not picking up after himself.

“Fish now! You bring fish every day for me. That is why I let you come through my home. No fish, I hurt you,” said the boggart.

The boggart began throwing rocks at Tom, who turned tail and ran back to the docks. “What will I do? I need to get home, and there is no fish to give that nasty devil,” said Tom in a panic.

Walking the pier, Tom looked for dead fish floating in the water, but alas, even they were eaten by the wharf rats.

“Well, I guess I will need to walk around the cut. Blast it all. I won’t reach home until after midnight,” grumbled Tom as he kicked a pile of dried fish bones.

“Give me my fish. It was bones, not fish, I always left. It looks like your bad habits finally paid off,” said Tom as he scooped up an armful of bones and headed straight for the cut.

As Tom rounded the bend with his load of bones, the boggart caught sight of him and said, “Fish, fish, you bring me fish.”

“I hope this meets your needs and that you will allow me passage through your home,” Tom said.

“Yes, of course, you are a good human, and bring me fish,” said the boggart. Tom told the creature about the storms and how soon there would be no fish to bring him.

“Hmmm, this is a problem, for I love fish, and if boats can’t go, I get no fish. I will fix it; sea maids owe me a favor. Tomorrow, you will have fish, and I will have fish,” said the boggart carrying his hoard of bones away.

Good to his word, when Tom arrived at the docks, the boats had all the fish anyone could wish for. “I don’t understand it. There was a storm headed straight for us, then it turned and went back out to sea,” said a captain to Tom.

“Perhaps the sea maids were convinced to play elsewhere,” said Tom with a smile. That evening, he left his bone and a bit of bread on the stone as an extra gift to the boggart for keeping his word.