As a little boy, I used to love the story of Peter Pan and was particularly fascinated by Tinkerbell, a fairy so small and so fast through the air you could hardly see her. Because of this, my grown up view of fairies was that they are tiny, mythical, magical creatures that inhabited the gullible minds of kids but who die out of natural causes as children grow older. It therefore came as something of a shock to me when I actually met one.

I came upon her as she was standing on a stone in the middle of a forest stream, talking to fish. A vast shoal of silvery sticklebacks and minnows had surrounded her and seemed to be hanging on her every word. Unfortunately, since she was speaking in a language known only to fish, I didn't understand a word she was saying.

Now, I know what you're saying: you're saying that talking to fish is no real indication of fairihood. After all, anglers do it all the time, although usually, this is in the form of abusive name calling after a big one has managed to get away. But the thing is, these fish were showing every sign of actively listening. At the conclusion of her address, they actually clapped their fins before departing. The fairy was small, about the size of a seven year old child, but she had the body of a fully developed young woman. Oh, and wings. Wings that stylishly matched her costume; both a neat touch and a dead giveaway regarding her genre, I thought!

On first seeing me, the fairy's shoulders visibly dropped and she gave a huge world-weary sigh of resignation.

"Okay, what's it to be; wishes or questions?"

"Eh?"

"Look, every mortal catching someone like me in the open automatically gets granted either three wishes or is allowed to ask three questions as a reward for their initiative. Actually, you're in luck as we've a special offer on this month. You can either ask two questions and have one wish granted or have two wishes granted and one question answered. Normally, you're not allowed to mix the two so, what's it to be?"

I was completely flummoxed by this. My impulse was to ask if my first wish could be for limitless further wishes to be granted, thus leaving me with one question in hand for use in an emergency at some later date. But then I realised that if the answer to this question was no, I'd have wasted a priceless question, or wish . . . or something.

As I pondered on these things, I become aware that the fairy was staring at me intently. I swear I could feel her gaze boring into my very soul, a bit like that first whiskey of an evening does. I got the distinct impression that her spirit had somehow got inside my head and was not only reading my mind but rearranginging my thoughts to her own design. I heard her voice coming from inside the memory section of my head saying, "Gosh! You're a filthy little bugger aren't you! I think I'm going to have great fun with you."

I suddenly felt this incredible hunger, like I hadn't eaten for a week, welling up inside me. At the same time, the fairy began to shrink before my eyes. Everything about her shrank, including her wings and costume. The only thing that didn’t shrink was the power she had over me. She only stop shrinking when she was about four inches tall. Using her wings, which didn’t flap at all but just sort of gently move around in a similar motion to a royal wave on a stare occasion, the fairy flew up until she was level with my face.

"Hold me in your hand." The order rang out loud and clear inside my head and my body dutifully obeyed by gently wrapping one hand around her tiny feminine form. It felt thrillingly pleasant to feel her tiny body moving in my fist. I felt like a mighty giant and . . .

"Eat me."

Somewhere in my subconscious mind, I was vaguely aware that part of me was rebelling against this idea, but I was powerless to resist it. Moving slowly as if in a dream, I brought the tiny creature head first to my lips and sucked her into my mouth. The sensation of having something alive and writhing on my tongue was mind-blowing. I felt she must surely drown in all the saliva I was producing, but it never came to that. Instead, I responded like a mindless zombie to one more command.

"Chew."

My tongue maneuvered this living being between my teeth and kept it there while my chewing tore its tiny form apart. She tasted of chopped liver. I wanted to spit her remains out but couldn't. I wasn't allowed to; I had to swallow.

That seemed to break the spell, but didn't do much about the residual taste of chopped liver in my mouth. I hurried home and made immediately for the whiskey decanter. Glass charged with amber nectar from a Scottish glen, I sat back in my easychair, took a long, leisurely sip, and waited for the magic to happen. I didn't have to wait long. Almost immediately, I started sprouting wings.