The velcro elves clamber by night up Euler’s winter jackets and weave hair and dirt in among the nylon loops. It’s not even his hair, it’s hair from dogs or tweed or, once, threads of real corn silk. Sometimes it’s the exact color of hair that will make your girlfriend so angry she leaves.

Most have forgotten the old ways of assuaging the fair folk, but Euler remembers: a bowl of milk and a piece of chalk by the door, and a little dry bread in his pocket.

This completely fails to work on the velcro elves, because they are dicks.