Dormanna
Gene Wolfe
At first it was a small voice, a tiny tingly voice that came by night. Ellie was almost asleep—no, she was asleep—when it arrived. It woke her.
“Hello,” chirped the small voice. “Greetings, arrive Dutch, good-bye, and happy birthday. Is this the way you speak?”
Ellie, who had been dreaming about milking, was quite surprised to hear Florabelle talk.
“I am a friend, very small, from very far away. When others speak of you, horizontal one, what is it they say?”
She tried to think, at last settling on, “Isn’t she a caution?”
. . .
