The Beings Beneath Your Floor

By LC Van Savage

Let’s 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, they’re a royal PITA and impossible to get rid of.

Now I’m not entirely sure about this, but I think the Irish lay claim to “ownership” of the Little People and often call them by their more ethnic names, “Leprechauns.” Actually, I’m not sure who owns them or who thinks they own them or even what their country of origin is, and furthermore, I’m not at all convinced they’re Leprechauns either. I mean I think they’re much smaller than Leprechauns although I’ve never actually seen a Leprechaun---well, except for that one night back in ’74. All I know is that those Little People live in my house too, and I don’t 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 ‘n paw cuisine, we’d discover to our surprise that we have a lot of blood pumping through us from a lot of continents and countries. But that’s another column.

So as for me, I think the Little People can’t belong to only one group. Mongo and I are a fairly eclectic family and I’ll 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 one’s floorboards. They live right beneath your feet and they’re looking up at you constantly, and, the thing they’re 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! It’s gone! And I mean really and truly gone. Forever. You search, you retrace every step and of course there’s no hope. It’s gone. The LP took your thing and there’s no chance you’ll ever see it again. Ever. So my advice is to stop looking. Go out and buy another one. You’ll never get it back.

Of course I can’t go out and immediately buy new car keys or a driver’s 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 isn’t around because he’d probably think that was weird because he doesn’t believe in things like Little People and other things that everyone knows really exist. And so because he doesn’t believe in them, he never loses anything either. The LP just don’t bother with him.

The LP are also responsible for that old mystery of missing socks in the dryer, but here’s 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 sock’s mate. What they do next is just plain genius; they put the missing sock back into the next week’s laundry where it shows up in the basket waiting to be sorted. Demonic, that’s 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, I’m pretty sure I hear them partying. I hear them laughing. It’s very faint, but it’s definitely laughter. I don’t look up from my keyboard because that’d give it away that I’m aware of them, but I do type more softly. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing I hear them. I don’t want to react to them because if I do, who knows what those fiends will steal next? It’s very late right now as a matter of fact, and I can hear them. They’re right underneath the carpet, waiting to steal stuff from me. Well, I’m keeping alert. They’re not going to get away with anything this time. No. I’m th on in control now. Th r ‘s no way th y’ll b st aling from m tonight. Absolut y no way, I t ll you. I’ll just k p on typing.

H Y!! WH R ‘S 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 , I’m going to wring th ir diabolical little n cks.