The Chattanooga Writers’ Guild is excited to announce the winners of the May YA/Youth Fiction Contest. This month’s theme was “Magic.” The First-Place prize goes to Sherry White with her creative submission “Emily and the Fae.” Honors for second place go to Sherry Poff for her wonderful story “A Familiar Gift.” Thanks to all who participated and special thanks to our talented YA/Youth Fiction Judge Rachel Allen!
First Place: Sherry White
Emily and the Fae
“Mom! I’m going to go fly my kite now!” Emily shouted through the small house. She waited a moment before stepping out into the bright morning sun and allowing the door to slam shut.
Emily sang quietly as she skipped along the street, picnic basket swinging in her hand. She picked up a pebble and tossed it into a neighbor’s garden. Her smile grew when she reached the open area between the village and the woods. Soft grass padded her steps as she ran into the field. She stumbled and fell, then rolled onto her back so she could gaze at the puffy clouds decorating the azure sky.
Eyes on the clouds, Emily slipped a hand into her basket and grabbed a handful of grapes. She sucked all of the juice out of a grape before chewing on the skin. A squirrel ran up to her and chittered.
“Oh, hello,” Emily answered. She sat up and offered the squirrel a fresh grape. “Would you like one?”
The squirrel took the small fruit and sniffed it. A raccoon dashed over and stole the grape. “Hey!” Emily objected. “That wasn’t very nice.” She offered the squirrel another grape. He sniffed it but ran around to inspect her basket.
“Would you like something different?” she asked.
The squirrel climbed on top of the basket and titled his head at her. It sniffed a little then said, “Nuts.”
Emily blinked and shook her head, her auburn hair flying in her face. “Excuse me? Did you just speak?”
The raccoon held out a hand. “Grape,” he said.
Emily scrambled to her feet, eyes wide in shock. “How are you speaking?”
A bird landed next to the squirrel and chittered at the young girl.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked the bird.
“Yes, we are,” another voice snuffled behind her.
Emily jumped as she turned toward the voice. “But you’re a deer!”
“And you’re a girl,” the deer replied. “Do you happen to have an apple?”
Emily knelt by her basket and lifted the lid. The bird flapped its wings and the squirrel ran to hide behind the deer. She handed the raccoon another grape then gave the deer her apple. “Nuts?” the squirrel repeated.
Emily frowned at the food in her basket. “No, sorry. No nuts. Peanut butter and jelly?” She unwrapped her sandwich and set it in front of the small creature.
The squirrel gave a few excited squeaks then tore into the sandwich.
A rabbit hopped over and placed soft front paws on Emily’s knee. “Hello, there,” Emily greeted her. “I don’t think I have anything for you. How about a dandelion?”
The rabbit’s nose twitched in approval so Emily plucked a dandelion out of the grass and held it out. She giggled as the little nose and whiskers tickled her hand.
Dozens of tiny lights began flickering around Emily’s face. She tried to see then but they moved too quickly. She turned her head until she got dizzy and fell back into the grass. Several of the small animals climbed on her. Her fingers dug into the dirt as the sky began to spin. “Oh!” she cried out. “what’s going on? Make it stop!”
As suddenly as the world began to turn, it stopped. “What happened?” The little animals scattered as she sat back up. Her heart began to thump in her chest and tears welled in her eyes. “Where are we? How did I get here?”
A large stag sauntered over. “Welcome, Emily,” he greeted her. “My friends wanted to bring you home with them for a visit.”
She wiped her nose with her arm and almost giggled. “It would have been nice if they’d asked.”
Several of the creatures looked ashamed. “Sorry,” the rabbit sniffled.
Emily stood and looked up at the stag. “Woah,” she whispered. “You’re very large.”
He looked down his great nose at her. “I am perfectly average size. You, however, are quite small. Come along.” He turned to walk away.
Emily followed him, looking around while she walked. “This looks very much like my field. But where is the village?”
“Is!” the squirrel answered.
“Is?” Emily repeated. “Oh, it’s the same field, then?”
The rabbit gave an extra high jump and his nose almost touched Emily’s. “Yes,” he said when their faces were even.
“They’ve brought you to our realm,” the stag explained. “We live in the same place, just not the same place.”
Emily frowned. “How does that work?”
The lights buzzing around her face sorted themselves into a word: FAE.
She blinked and the lights returned to their random flickering. “Oh. You’re the Good Neighbors I’ve always heard about.”
“We are,” the stag confirmed.
Emily’s heart began speeding up again as she remembered the stories of shapeshifters and changelings. “Oh! I can’t be here! I have to go home!”
The stag stopped walking and looked at her over his massive shoulder. “Are you frightened, child?”
Emily gulped and nodded. “The stories,” she gulped.
“They’ve eaten your food. Let us feed you, then we’ll send you home,” the stag said.
Emily nodded again. She knew she shouldn’t eat fairy food, but she was hungry. They had eaten her lunch. “Okay.”
She followed them into a circle of mushrooms. One was just the right size for her to sit on. “Oh! I wish I could have a chair like this at home!” She bounced on it and laughed.
The creatures crowded around her, bringing her selections of their favorite foods. She tasted everything and ate until her stomach was uncomfortable and bloated. “Oh, no,” she yawned. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”
Emily slid off the mushroom and was asleep before her head was in the grass.
“Emily!” The overlapping voices shouting her name roused her from a deep sleep. “Emily, where are you?” Was that her mother?
“I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Malley,” a man interrupted the shouting. “We’ve been out here for a month. If she was here, we would have found her by now. We’ll check the woods one more time but then?” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Malley. We have to call off the search.”
Emily heard her mother burst into heartbreaking sobs. “No, mother,” she whispered. “I’m right here.” The squirrel and rabbit both jumped on Emily’s chest as the deer bushed her head under Emily’s shoulder. “Get up,” the deer grunted.
Emily’s head spun as she sat up. She groaned and collapsed forward, resting her forehead on her knees. “Momma,” she called softly. The small creatures tickled her arms and face until she was strong enough to push them off and sit straight. “Momma?” she called out, stronger this time.
“Emily?” Her mother heard her. “Over here!” she called out to the searchers. “She’s over here! Emily! Call out again!”
“Momma!” Emily stood. Her mother swept her up in a giant hug. “Momma? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing now, child. Where have you been?”
“Right here.” Emily shrugged and looked around. “It’s only been a few hours.”
“Let me look at her.” The doctor pushed in between Emily and her mother.
“Why, Emily! You aren’t even dirty!” mother exclaimed.
“I haven’t had time to get dirty. I got out here, shared my lunch with some small animals, and fell asleep.” The rabbit twitched his nose at Mrs. O’Malley.
“No injuries and she seems perfectly healthy,” the doctor announced.
Mrs. O’Malley grasped Emily’s shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “You’ve been missing for a month!”
“I told you never to let that child out of the house on the full moon!” an elderly neighbor cried.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re home now.” Mrs. O’Malley wrapped her arms around Emily. “Let’s go home.”
Emily’s brows knit in confusion as she grasped her basket and allowed her mother to guide her home. Her mother was speaking the whole way, but Emily was still waking up from her hard sleep. She had only left just after breakfast. How had she been missing for a month?
“Clean your basket up then come straight inside.”
Emily shook her head and realized they were home. She walked to the trash bin, dreading the moldy mess that surely waited her. Looking inside, Emily found a leaf with ‘Sorry’ scribbled on it and a thin stick about the length of her forearm. The rabbit jumped into the basket and nibbled on the leaf. Emily grabbed the stick. Small carvings of the creatures she’d met smiled at her. She gasped when the stag winked. “A magic wand?” she whispered.
The carved creatures ran around the stick as she examined it. Emily smiled. “I wish… I wish… I wish you could all live here with me!” She laughed at the dozens of animals that peaked out from the bushes and trees.
“Emily?” her mother called.
“Yes, momma. I’m coming now.” Emily skipped back into the house, hoping for a nice dinner.
A native of Chattanooga, Sherry G White is a single mother of two adult children and she lives life with chronic illness. She finds reading and writing to be great ways to pass the time when she is confined to bed. Although she focuses primarily on short fiction, Sherry is currently writing a paranormal romance novel. Like her, many of her protagonists tend to be single mothers with chronic illness. She was always told to “write what you know,” so that’s what she’s doing! She also hopes to contribute to diversity in stories by putting more characters with physical challenges into print.
Second Place: Sherry Poff
A Familiar Gift
When her brother showed up at her house with a mysterious package, Cleo was intrigued. When he uncovered the cage and sang out, “Happy birthday!” she was charmed, even though her birthday was three months away.
“Carl! How adorable,” she cooed, eyeing two canaries. “How completely adorable!”
“They’re yours.” Carl thrust the cage at her and wiped his hands on his jeans. Cleo set the cage on the kitchen table.
“Have you had lunch? You want something to eat?”
“N–no. I have to be going. I just wanted to bring you a present.” Carl backed toward the door.
“Okay. But you know my birthday isn’t until June, right?” Cleo followed Carl out onto the porch. The canaries chirped loudly. Carl’s left eye twitched. “Are you ok?” Cleo asked.
“I really have to go. I’ll call you later.” Carl fairly flew down the steps to his still-running car. He backed out onto the street, narrowly missing her mailbox.
When she went back inside, the canaries were hopping about the cage, pecking at seeds. There was a box of spilled birdseed inside the cage. Cleo cautiously opened the door and reached in to retrieve the box. The canaries shrieked at her.
“Wow, little guys. What was that about?” Cleo looked for a better place to set the cage and saw a slip of paper on the floor. A strip of yellowing tape on each end suggested that it had fallen off the bottom of the cage. Cleo could just make out the words now familiar–or was it new family?–and then March 21. “That’s interesting,” she said. “March 21 was last week! Is that your birthday, little guys?” She leaned forward; the birds stared at her with piercing yellow eyes.
Cleo knew very little about caring for birds. Leaving the cage on the table, she began searching online for information. In just a few minutes, Cleo was lost in the world of bird enthusiasts. When she looked up from her phone, Cleo was startled by how dark it had suddenly become. Looking out, Cleo noticed that the clouds were just over her part of the street. She craned her neck to see the sky. “Weird.”
Following online advice, Cleo set up a tv tray beside the window. She filled the birds’ water container and sat down to finish a sewing project. Immediately, the birds resumed chirping. I guess I’m going to have to get used to this, Cleo thought, but the chirping was so insistent she walked over to the cage. The birds cocked their heads and squawked at her. “Aren’t you supposed to sing pretty songs?” Cleo asked. Her new pets seemed to be scowling. She decided to take a walk to see if they would calm down.
Cleo turned down the street past Miranda’s house, trying to ignore her neighbor working in the yard. Things had been tense between them since Cleo had yelled at Miranda’s dog for tripping her on the sidewalk. She had scared the dog so badly it ran away yelping and hadn’t been seen since. Cleo tried to apologize, but Miranda just fixed her with an icy stare.
Circling the block back toward home, Cleo spotted Miranda in front of her house. The canaries’ screaming could be heard from the sidewalk. Miranda demanded, “Who’s in your house?”
“No one!” Then Cleo added, “My brother brought me a couple of birds. I don’t think they’re very happy.” Cleo hurried inside to find the canaries clinging onto the side of the cage, their open beaks pushed through the bars. She fetched a heavy bath towel from the bathroom and covered the cage, hoping to calm the birds, but they only got louder.
Cleo put the cage into the spare room and closed the door. She turned on the radio while she cooked and ate supper, finally retreating to her bedroom; the birds continued calling. Cleo lay down. They have to sleep sometime, she thought. At 2:00, Cleo woke to muffled noises. The birds were intermittently squawking, but there was something else. A voice. She sat up in bed. Did I leave the radio on?
Cleo slid her feet into slippers and grabbed a robe. It was chilly for late March. She opened her bedroom door. Someone was definitely talking. She looked around for something to use as a weapon. Grabbing one of her stiletto heels, Cleo tucked her phone into a pocket and crept down the hallway. The murmuring grew louder. Cleo paused and put her ear to the door where the birds were. It was definitely a human voice, but the words were indistinct. Is that even English?
Gathering her courage and gripping the shoe, Cleo eased open the door. The birds had stopped squawking and seemed to be talking! Cleo pushed the door open a bit more and then stepped into the room. A purple glow came from the window beyond the birds’ cage. It was too early for sunrise. And purple? Cleo stepped closer. The birds remained focused on the light, continuing to vocalize. Now that she could hear the rhythmic voice, Cleo was sure the words were not English. She shivered and backed toward the door. Someone was outside her house!
In her own room, Cleo pondered the situation. Whoever–whatever–was outside, the birds could hear it, so she was not imagining things. Cleo pulled out her phone and dialed 911, but when she heard ringing, she hung up. What would she say? There’s a purple light outside my house? Was she really in danger? The noises had stopped, anyway. Cleo sneaked back down the hall. Silence. She pushed open the door. Dark and quiet. She hurried back to bed and huddled under the covers.
Somehow, Cleo fell asleep, her dreams filled with strange music, purple lights, and indistinct forms hovering just out of reach. She woke to sunshine. Cleo opened the spare room door with trepidation. Had she dreamed the happenings of the previous night? No. There was her high-heeled shoe where she’d dropped it. The birds appeared completely normal. Maybe they just needed time to adjust, Cleo reasoned as she tended to them. All day, she waited for them to begin their shrill calls, but they never did. Neither did they sing. In fact, their quiet vocalizations sounded more like muttering.
That was how it went for the next three days. Cleo continued to care for the birds; they ignored her. One evening as she stood at the window in the spare room, Cleo saw Miranda standing on her own back porch looking in her direction. Miranda was holding a candle that lit her face with lavender light. Miranda is so weird, Cleo said to herself. As she closed the blinds, one of the canaries chirped loudly.
The next day her brother called. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“I guess I’m ok. How about you? Actually, Carl, can you come over? These birds . . .”
“So it’s not just me. Sorry, Cleo. I thought they might be different with you. I figured they just didn’t like me or something.”
“Where did they come from, Carl?”
“Greg, down at the coffee shop, gave them to me. Greg and his manager found them one morning, sitting on the window sill.”
“Inside?”
“Yeah. They had no idea where they came from or who they belonged to, so they put them into that cage.”
“They just had a cage sitting around?”
“Yeah, that’s a really odd detail. Miranda–your neighbor Miranda– was there waiting for the store to open. She happened to have a cage in her car.”
“Why didn’t Miranda take the birds?”
“Who knows? Greg said she seemed really interested in them but left without them. He couldn’t keep birds in the shop, so he offered them to me.”
“And you thought they might be kind of fun.”
“Right,” Carl replied. “Boy, was I wrong! Could we just turn them loose? Can canaries live on their own?” Cleo heard tapping. “It says here that canaries are symbols of happiness and blessing,” Carl said. “That ain’t right. These birds are not happy, and they sure don’t seem like blessings! Oh, ha. Here’s another idea. Birds can be companions of witches—called familiars.” Carl snorted. “That seems more likely.”
Cleo remembered the purple light and the muttering at her window. “Carl, that might make sense. . . It can’t be true, though. Can it?”
“What are you talking about, Cleo?”
“Never mind. I gotta go.”
“Cleo? Wait!” But Cleo had already headed toward the bedroom. The birds flitted from side to side in the cage, watching her every move. She pulled up the blinds, opened the window wide, and slid back the cage door.
The two canaries flew directly out of the cage and perched on the window sill. One of them whistled shrilly and took off. The other repeated the call and followed its mate. Straight to Miranda’s open window.
Sherry Poff holds an MA in Writing from the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga and is a member of the Chattanooga Writers’ Guild and Poetry Society of Tennessee. Her work has appeared in Clayjar Review, Flowers of the Field, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Pine Mountain Sand and Gravel, and elsewhere.
The Monthly Contests rotate through a pattern of Poetry, Fiction, and Creative Nonfiction throughout the year, with a new theme each month. Go to the 2026 Monthly Contest Series Info page to view the genre and theme for each month.
This contest is free to enter for members of the Chattanooga Writers’ Guild. To become a member, click HERE
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