FairyTale: A True Story Page #4

Don't eat. If you eat their food,

you'll have to stay there forever.

We should leave now.

- No, please.

No, I'll be more careful.

I give you my word.

- Come with me.

You stay here and don't move.

You'd frighten off the fairies.

We're going to try to chase them

back this way, so you can see them.

But remember, don't move.

- I'm glued to the spot.

There.

Edward tells me that it was your

late son who first saw these creatures.

Yes.

- There are no words to

describe the loss of a child.

My own boy, Kingsley,

was taken last year.

I'm so sorry.

- Your daughter's achievement

must be a great comfort to you.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I shouldn't have intruded.

Please accept my apologies.

- No. This is so stupid of me.

May I ask you something?

- Of course you may.

Do you believe them?

Do you think

the pictures are true?

Mrs. Wright, you are the girl's mother,

and as her mother, you must know a truth

the rest of us can

only fumble for.

Do you believe they are true?

Yes.

With all my heart.

Mr. Gardner.

- Shh! Mr. Wright...

I think we should keep our voices down,

so as not to disturb the children.

Where are the children?

- Shh! The girls will be herding

the fairies back this way.

I'm certain both girls are clairvoyant

and perhaps mediums, as well.

Together, they create

an etheric field

which allows the fairies to metabolize

small amounts of ectoplasm into their bodies.

That's how they're able

to capture them on film.

Do you see?

No. Well, um...

Well, I don't expect

you to understand.

Elsie, Frances, come here!

- Mr. Wright, we mustn't interfere!

Mr. Gardner, the girls took a couple

of photographs in the beck.

How they did it, I don't know, but I

guarantee you it won't happen again. Elsie!

Mr. Gardner! Mr. Gardner!

We've got one! We've got one!

We've taken

another photograph.

So you have examined all five photographs.

- We have, Sir Arthur.

The two original pictures,

and the three new ones

that were taken with the Cameo cameras

that you presented to the children.

With what result?

- Mr. Binley will inform you

of our conclusions.

Good morning.

- Good morning.

Now, gentlemen,

our preliminary findings

suggest that the negative plates

may indeed be

untouched, single exposures.

Uh, however... these findings

cannot be taken as conclusive.

How is that, sir?

- Uh, well...

the possibility still exists that

a clever operator of consummate skill

might have made them artificially.

- Clever operator?

Good God, gentlemen.

The girls are eight and 12 years old,

the children of ordinary working men.

What cleverness would you afford them?

Really, Mr. Gardner.

What you are asking of Kodak

is nothing less than to verify

the existence of fairies.

Who's next...

Father Christmas?

Gentlemen,

I accept your decision,

though not your findings.

It these photographs are true

and nothing I have seen this morning

persuades me that they are not...

then we are facing the single most

important discovery of our century,

one that must affect

every aspect of our lives...

and our beliefs.

In this regard, I accept Kodak's

unwillingness to bear the burden of proof.

Nonetheless, the photographs

speak for themselves.

And what is, gentlemen,

simply is.

Come on, Edward.

Duty demands that we act.

Yes, of course, we must act,

naturally. But how, exactly?

We publish:
Next month's

issue of "The Strand."

Yes, of course, we publish.

But what about the children?

Simple:
We change the names.

The innocent must be protected.

Yes, I see. But won't we be putting

their photographs in a national magazine?

We most certainly will.

Thank you, sir.

Paper?

- Pretty ain't they?

Fairies? Ha!

Really now. Whatever next?

Who do you think you are, Sherlock

Holmes? I'll take two, thank you.

"Iris claimed that she and her cousin

when they were together,

"continually saw

fairies in the wood

"and had come to be on familiar

and friendly terms with them."

I want to be Alice.

- No, I'm Alice, you're Iris.

No, I'm Iris.

- And I'm Alice.

It was my idea and it's my fairy.

Luke!

Well, what do you know?

They've discovered fairies in Yorkshire.

- Poppycock.

Not according

to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

See what you can do.

Where were they taken?

Can you tell?

- No idea.

This is terrible.

Do they get this magazine in France?

- They get the damn thing at the North Pole.

Arthur Wright, we agreed.

Besides, they've changed all our names.

No one will ever know it's us.

Mr. Gardner explained that.

It looks like the Black Hills,

up near the reservoir.

Several becks flow down from there,

but only two would have waterfalls:

Maytall and Cottingley.

- Thanks, Stan.

Frances!

Frances Griffiths!

Hope this is what you've been expecting.

- Thank you.

What is it?

- Don't know.

Perfume...

from France!

God knows how long

its been in post.

"I always keep my promises.

Love, Daddy."

It's a good thing

it didn't break.

How do I smell?

- Trs jolie.

- Jolly?

It means pretty.

Very pretty.

Do you want to try some?

- Thank you.

So you recognize this girl from your class?

- Oh, yes. That's Frances. But...

Now, Elsie...

Now, she is artistic.

I'll show you.

There.

- Uh, may I?

- Of course, yes.

And she lives here in the village?

- Yes.

Mr. Wright?

- Yes?

- Mr. Arthur Wright?

Who wants to know?

- John Ferret, Bradford "Argus".

There's no use slamming

the door, Mr. Wright.

I'm not going anywhere

till I get my story.

If you've nothing to hide,

you've nothing to fear!

People have a right

to know the truth!

I'm a patient man...

- What are we going to do?

We promised we'd never tell.

- They'll never come out now.

We'll never see them again.

- Perhaps we can give them something.

Like what?

- Something to let them

know we're sorry.

Like cake?

- That's not big enough.

The doll's house.

- We can't. It was Joseph's.

- So?

Mum would kill me.

- Who did he make it for?

For fairies.

- Well, then.

- But it's not finished.

We can fix it.

Do you think they'll like it?

- We'll soon find out. Come on.

What are we doing?

- We're going to tell them.

Queen Mab?

- Prince Malekin?

Come see what we've brought you.

It's a palace.

Shellycoat, where are you?

Tib, we have cake.

Peerifool?

- Gull, you can come out now.

It's no use.

- They're here...

but they won't come out.

- Nanny Button Cap!

Princess Florella!

Elsie?

Is that you?

Morning, little princess.

Who are you?

- Someone in search of the truth.

- Truth?

I'm not in the mood for baby games.

Now, he put you up to it, didn't he?

Who?

- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that's who.

No, he did not.

- Don't lie to me!

Leave her alone!

If you don't go away right now,

the fairies are going

to come out and box your ears.

Sure they are.

Ah, you don't fool me!

The truth now!

Corporal!

He's my corporal.

The photographs...

I saw them in "The Strand" magazine.

I... recognized young Frances

face immediately.

I had to come.

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