The Fairies in Walt’s Window

In the apartment above the firehouse on Main Street, U.S.A., a little light is always burning. Every day and night since Walt Disney’s death, the light has waved and winked at adoring crowds entering the park. Employees have tried to turn it off but to no avail; someone always turns it back on once the door has closed.

Some say it’s the ghost of Uncle Walt, making sure the children passing under his window never doubt the magic within. Others say it’s some sort of short or a prankster amongst the staff. They’re the ones who don’t get to see the shadows at night, dancing behind the window long after the park has closed and that light is the only light to remain for the entire square mile.

Those impish figures, daunting but playful, welcome all who see them to join in their eternal dance, but no one is around to answer the invitation—no one with stories to tell. We can only speculate what awaits the one to answer their call.

One janitor, it is said, received such a chance, never to be seen again.

Rumor has it he was cleaning late one night, after all the patrons were gone and only custodians like him remained, when he came across Walt’s window and saw the shadows dancing on the glass. Like little fairies, they say, thin, distorted, fragile pixies prancing gracefully without a care. He was so moved by the fairies’ dance that he opened the door and climbed up the stairs forthwith.

What he saw nobody knows, but the other janitors from that night swear this: never once did they hear a scream or cry for help, no indication of trouble at all. All they found was the door unlocked and his cart abandoned by the wall. No blood, no prints, no trace at all to indicate where the man had gone.

But the day right after and every day since, guests report seeing the oddest things in that window. Figures, they proclaim, two different men standing by the light. One, they swear, is the mustached Walt with his charming grin and eyes that sparkle so bright. The other, well, that all depends on whom you ask; some claim to see a tall young man with dark hair and a baseball cap, others a stooped old gentleman with wisps of gray protruding from his scalp and chin, but all of them say the second figure wears a janitor’s coveralls, heavy gardening gloves, and the world’s broadest smile.

So now two figures join in the fairies’ nightly dance, Uncle Walt to watch over his park and his mysterious custodial companion. And they will stand and the fairies will prance until heaven knows when—until the park closes its doors, until the whole industry burns to the ground, until that light finally submits to the darkness, they will still be there, Uncle Walt, the janitor, and their fairy friends.

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