The Little Voice

“Jamie Lynn Turner!” a voice thundered through the long hall. “Haven’t I told you not to play ball in the house?”

“But it wasn’t me,” Jamie explained in a mouse-like voice. “It was… it was Bilbo!”

Inside all children there is a little voice that tells them what to do, most of the time it is not the right thing though. Jamie was no exception. An energetic 8-year-old she was always up to some mischief or other trouble and every time she blamed her invisible friend Bilbo for what she was accused of.

“Go to your room,” her mother did not believe her story, angry that her daughter was still blaming this imaginary friend. “You and Bilbo will go to bed early to think about what he did.”

* * *

A chuckle echoed around the small meaty cavern. Bilbo was feeling mighty pleased with himself. It was always a great thrill to get the innocent Jamie to listen and obey what he told her. Children these days were taught the difference between right and wrong, so it was more difficult to persuade them to do things that they knew were bad.

Squeezing through the tight gap, he made his way out. A tiny blue head poked out of the child’s small ear hole. Bilbo’s nose crooked and shaped like the handle of a tea cup. He stood no taller than a matchstick. Rubbing his small yellow hands together he jumped from his ledge, his long thin fingers grabbing tightly to a strand of Jamie’s hair as he swung down her back, hollering like Tarzan. Pleased with himself, he felt that he deserved a break. Being sneaky was hard work.

Bilbo looked at Jamie as she lay on her bed. The sight that Bilbo cherished the most was not only a child in trouble, but even more, he cherished the sight of a child in trouble for blaming someone that nobody believed existed. Grinning evilly from ear to ear, Bilbo turned his attention toward Jamie's desk, he knew that there was always a snack lying around.

Slowly Bilbo approached the edge of the bed, trying not to look down at the big drop below. A piece of rope was attached to the bed head, stretching all the way to the top of the desk. Flicking the string with his finger a ‘SPROING’ sounded, making himself smile. One foot at a time he curled his spotted, bony toes around the string, pulling himself along the rope.

“One, two Bilbo’s coming for you. Three, four you can’t ignore,” Bilbo chanted merrily. “Five, six, you’ll enjoy my tricks. Seven, eight…”

The rope shook beneath Bilbo’s feet as Jamie wriggled on the bed. Dropping his eyes he caught a glance at the pit of marbles, blue, red and green, that were scattered under him. Leaning over he took the rope in the hands, moving hand after hand, and foot after foot until the hard wooden surface was safe beneath him.

‘Yummy, yummy, yummy,’ Bilbo thought to himself, looking excitedly at the fresh pencil shavings scattered on the desk.

The coloured pencils were the best; each one had a different flavour. Bilbo preferred the sky blue pencils; they tasted like chamomile and spearmint to the tiny mischief elf.

A small sigh reminded Bilbo of his job. Jamie twisted on her bed, preparing to get up. Back to work, Bilbo took a run off of the tall desk to the chair. With a mighty spring from the chair, he bounced toward Jamie. With great aim, Bilbo flung himself right into Jamie's ear. The dark fort inside was a pleasing sight. Now what other mischief could he do?

“You want cookies,” Bilbo whispered down the long passage of Jamie's ear.

“No,” A Jamie's inner voice answered, trying to fight to do good. “I will get into trouble.”

“No you won’t,” Bilbo said. “I promise.”

The sudden jolt of Jamie moving almost made Bilbo fall, but he smiled instead as Jamie moved toward the kitchen.

“But they’re up so high,” Jamie argued again.

“Hey that doesn’t need to stop you,” Bilbo spoke in a hypnotic voice. “Get on the chair, they taste so good.”

Just as easy as that and the girl was on a chair, reaching for the cookie jar. With a wobble of the chair, Jamie grabbed a hold of the shelf, banging her hand against the jar. ‘SMASH’, the glass jar hit the floor.

“Why?” Jamie whispered, throwing a towel over the mess of glass and cookies. “You promised me.”

“Jamie Lynn Turner,” her mother entered the kitchen, staring at the lump beneath the towel. “What are you doing?”

“Bilbo made me do it,” Jamie looked at her mother with her big innocent puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Her mother continued angrily. “Bilbo doesn’t exist, start taking responsibility for your actions.”

“Bilbo is real,” Jamie argued.

“There is no such thing as Bilbo!”

* * *

So the next time a young child blames their invisible friend for doing something, do not judge them for they might be telling the truth. These small voices that tell you the difference between right and wrong might actually be Bilbo playing a trick. What a little trickster he is, this little mischief elf.