Good-Bye, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle
. helium lost .
Author's Notes: I love the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books. Originally, I thought it'd be kind of weird to write fanfiction for them, but then this idea struck me and I knew that I had to get it down. So, read on, and enjoy. :) Also, I don't have the books with me, so a couple of the names may be off. If so, feel free to point them out and tell me.
It was a curious house. It stood on its head, balanced gracefully on the point of its roof. A garden curled around it like the tail of a cat, lush, green plants sprouting up and reaching for the sky.
But now, droplets of rain the size of pearls rained down on them, battering their leaves, beating the down as the mud trickled in rivulets toward the gutter.
It was dark and cold, and the house stood alone...
∙
Miles away, a group of people dressed in black huddled around a single gravestone, bodies outlined in the mist spraying up from the rain. Before the gravestone stood a minister dressed in long, black robes that trailed in the mud. He held an umbrella over his head, straight and stiff as a board, his round glasses fogging up, his eyes traveling over the pages, thin-lipped mouth reading aloud the printed words.
"We are here today..."
Lester delicately daubed at his eyes with a silk handkerchief, a black hat perched on his head, black dinner jacket covering his torso. He stood on his hind legs and patted Christopher on the shoulder, hoof then gently touching his face. Christopher nodded and absently scratched Lester behind the ears, blinking too hard and too often, his eyes red and puffy.
"...in the memory of..."
Mrs. Semicolon wrapped her arms around herself, black veil covering her eyes as she looked down at the long hole dug in the ground before her, trying not to think of the black casket lying ominously beside it. This whole funeral was wrong, was off—she surely would have never wanted such an end. She would have wanted a triangle, perhaps, or maybe a circle, not such a plain, boring rectangle. And she would have wanted a brightly-colored casket, would have wanted everyone to be merry and laughing, not this oppressively morbid, this suffocatingly dark atmosphere, filled with the presence of death...
Mrs. Semicolon pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, a single tear running down her cheek, her black mascara running with it and mingling with the rain. Mr. Semicolon held her close as Nicholas put one arm around her shoulder, another around a young child clinging to his leg. Nicholas held his head high, letting the tears shamelessly pour down his cheeks.
"...a wonderful woman, cherished by all..."
Mary and Evelyn stood somberly beside each other, hearing every word all-too-clearly, their mouths firmly shut. Mary tried to swallow, but found a lump that felt as big as a tennis ball lodged in her throat, threatening to choke her.
"...known to all as Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, the kind woman ready to see to everyone's needs, without a single thought for herself."
Kitty's mind flashed back to the day eerily similar to this one, when she and the rest of the neighborhood chilren had been rained in, unable to go on the picnic that they had planned. But Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle always had a solution—she had led them on a treasure hunt through her house, searching for the savings that Mr. Piggle-Wiggle had left her. Kitty, by chance, had found the stash; Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle had told them all so gratefully that she just knew that Mr. Piggle-Wiggle had left enough for her to live a long and happy life.
Kitty never remembered until now how deep the lines in her face had been, how tired she had looked...
"Where there was a problem, she had a solution; when we were down, she lifted us up again; when..."
Melody rubbed at her eyes, trying to get out the grit that wasn't there. She told herself that she'd be brave, just like when the Ferris wheel had stopped and she hadn't shed a single tear, for she knew now that crying got her nowhere. She held Butterball in one arm, gently stroking his yellow fur, which stood out like a beacon in the sea of black.
"She was there for us all, and we are gathered here today for her. She is in a better place now, where..."
Melody couldn't take it anymore. She broke down and sobbed.
∙
Three days later, it was still raining. The sky was gray, reflecting the overcast shadow hanging over the tow.
Christopher was sick. He lay in bed, blankets drawn up to his chin, wet towen on his forehead. His chest rose and fell as he breathed in deeply, sleeping. He hadn't eaten in days, and his face was pale.
Mrs. Brown sat by his bed, his favorite adventure books in her lap. He had said that his head hurt too much to read them, so she had read them to him, just like when he was younger, and she would read him bedtime stories. He had, as always, fallen asleep after the first few pages.
He slowly opened his eyes now and turned to look at her. She smiled gently at him and brushed a couple strands of hair from his face.
"Mom," he croaked, "I don't feel so good."
"I know, sweetie, I know," she said. "But I'll bet Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle—"
Her hand had actually reached out and was about to grab the phone beside his bed when realization hit her. Her hand lingered for a moment, trembling, before she brought it back and absently rubbed it with her other hand, diverting her gaze. Christopher looked at her for a moment longer, then turned away, closing his eyes and falling asleep again as Mrs. Brown sniffed, eyes welling up with tears.
∙
Two days later, they found her will. It was short: only a couple lines long.
It read, "Give my house to the children. Love, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle."
The children gathered at Nicholas's clubhouse, sign reading The Neighborhood Children's Club swinging in the wind. They seated themselves around the old but sturdy table that had been donated by Mr. Quadrangle. A few of the younger children were fidgeting, but as soon as Nicholas, who was seated at the head of the table, began to speak, they stopped.
"As you all know," he said in a strong voice, looking around the room, "Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle has left us her house, and now, we need to discuss what to do with it. So, let's begin by taking suggestions."
Arthur raised his hand, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose with the other. Nicholas nodded at him.
"Yes?"
"I firmly believe," he began, trying to keep his voice steady, "that we should allow the house to remain where it is, undisturbed, for I feel that too many memories linger there for us to thoroughly enjoy ourselves."
Nicholas nodded. "Thank you. Any more—yes?"
The little girl who had raised her hand said quickly, "What did he just say?"
Nicholas smiled patiently. "He said that we shouldn't do anything to it, 'cause we'll miss her too much."
"I agree," Kitty said, remembering the parties and activities that they had had in the house.
Christopher raised his hand, then stood after Nicholas nodded at him. His face was still a little pale, and he still had a cough. "That's not what she'd want, though," he said. "She would have wanted us to use it, to make something from it, not just let it sit around."
Nicholas nodded, a smile on his face. "Yes," he said. "We should make something in her memory, to thank her for all she's done."
"A playground!" shouted one little boy. "I like sliding down the floor."
"Outside, maybe, but not inside," said someone else from the oter end of the room.
"A bakery! Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle always made the best ginger cookies."
"No, no, we should make it a tea house, because she always served us tea and let us have tea parties, remember?"
"No, that's too girly! We should make it—"
"I think we should—"
"We should make it a place," Marilyn said suddenly, voice carrying over the rest, "for kids to just have fun and be happy. Just like it's always been."
"Maybe a place for kids who don't have such a great life to come and be happy, to enjoy themselves like they're supposed to," Nicholas added, inspired. "Kids who are sad or who need a place to be."
Marilyn nodded. "Yes, I think she'd like that."
The other children followed suit, piping up in a chorus of agreement. Nicholas smiled, then took out a small notepad and a pen.
"Then let's get planning!"
∙
Mrs. Semicolon leaned against Mr. Semicolon, watching as the children burst out from Nicholas's clubhouse, shouting out ideas at each other and chattering amongst themselves. She sighed as the sign shone down through the clouds for the first time in days, making the blades of grass, the leaves, the flowers, and everything else covered in drops of rain glitter like jewels.
"You know," she said softly as the breeze played with her hair, tickling her face, "it's almost as if the children have forgotten that she's—well—"
Mr. Semicolon put his arms around her, watching as Nicholas led the crowd.
"She's not really gone, you know," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said," he replied, smiling down at her.
Confused, she said, "Then why? How?"
Mr. Semicolon leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, eyes twinkling.
"Because," he whispered in her ear, "she's magic."
Author's Notes: I don't know if I implied it enough, but I intendd for it to be understood that the children would convert Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's house into a home for abused and neglected children. :) Anyway, as always, any and all feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!