Marion Wilkinson prided herself on being one of the so-called "new wave"
mothers, being more open-minded than most, and certainly and much more
tolerant of a child's whimsy than her own mother had been.
A strict upbringing had its advantages, to be sure, as she herself could attest. Nevertheless, Marion had vowed years ago that she would not raise her daughter under the strict disciplinarian rule she'd experienced as a child. Love, tolerance and patience; these were the attributes Marion determined to rely on during her daughter's upbringing.
And thus far, it had served her remarkably well, as friends and family were so often observing. Amanda was a most pleasant and well behaved girl with a good head on her shoulders, and blessed with a wit and maturity several years beyond her young age. Oh, how proud Marion was of her daughter...
So given all this, why was it that Marion was finding her patience being stretched unusually thin this day? Granted, it was an unusually hot July afternoon, and the prevalent humidity, which she always despised, wasn't helping matters any. Indeed, the conditions outside were probably more akin to a Brazilian rainforest than temperate Britain.
Valid points, certainly. However, the most likely reason for Marion's growing impatience was the rather energetic conversation she was currently engaged in with her daughter, seated across from her at a wobbly small round table inside the old ice cream parlour.
"They do too exist!"
"Oh, of course they don't," said Marion dismissively, carefully dabbing a drop of melted ice cream from her skirt with a napkin. Thankfully the colours just happened to be a very close match, otherwise her mood would have darkened even more.
"They do!" insisted her young daughter Amanda, her cheeks flshing their familiar reddish hue whenever she felt intensely frustrated. Her own hazelnut-flavoured cone was dripping slowly onto the table, now forgotten, the squeaking old air conditioner up on the wall being decidedly overmatched this day by the stifling heat outside.
It had seemed like an eminently fine idea at first to duck into the tiny old establishment for a much-needed respite from the sweltering conditions. However that was before the conversation had somehow turned to matters of myth and folklore, eventually leading to one of the most outlandish claims Marion had ever heard. The fact that it was uttered by none other than her own daughter did nothing to alleviate her irritation.
And as if all this weren't enough, they weren't the only patrons frequenting the place -- they were currently sharing the premises with one decidedly peculiar-looking girl seated at one of the other small tables. In itself, this might not have been so disagreeable, but the strange girl hadn't stopped staring at them since they'd arrived!
Several years Amanda's senior, Marion initially thought she might be some sort of homeless street waif, though there was a slightly creepy air to the girl that Marion found most disquieting. Having long since finished her sundae, the long-haired girl appeared perfectly content to spend her afternoon observing Marion and her daughter with a certain detached interest.
Worse, Marion discovered that glaring at the girl had not the slightest effect; not only did she not look away, she simply tilted her head slightly and continued to observe Marion curiously. And those eyes –
There was something decidedly unnerving about the girl, Marion concluded. Such blatant staring was not practised by well-adjusted folk, to be sure. Or perhaps it was the incessant gaze combined with the girl's unusually large eyes, or her terribly discheleved hair, or the odd necklace, or the dangling pine cone earrings, or the strangely antiquated clothing, or...
Marion sighed and tried to ignore the girl's persistent gaze, without measurable success. She did not enjoy being scrutinized, as a laboratory rat might be studied by some mad scientist.
"Amanda," pressed Marion gently, "you have to get over this fairy fancy of yours. You'll be starting secondary school in just a few weeks, you know. If you go about spouting such nonsense you'll find yourself – "
"It's not nonsense!" blurted Amanda, her voice rising sharply. "They're real!"
Marion blinked. She'd rarely seen her daughter get so worked up, especially over such a minor issue. Nevertheless, she was resolved to set Amanda straight now, lest she repeat such statements in school and quickly find herself an object of ridicule. Marion knew the kind of teasing such declarations would likely precipitate. Children could be so cruel at that age, especially towards one of their own.
"Amanda, you have to understand," said Marion soothingly, "I'm just worried how the other students will react when you start school in September. You wouldn't want to get teased now, would you?"
"Well...no..." said her daughter somewhat reluctantly.
"If you want to believe in these fairy things that's one thing, but – "
"But I saw one!!" exclaimed Amanda hotly, banging a tiny fist on the wobbly table in frustration and causing her cone to topple over onto its side, creating a pale and gooey mess. "Oh...my ice cream..."
Marion quickly redressed the cone and wiped up the melting puddle as best she could with their napkins. It was then she noted the odd girl staring at them with a noticeably greater degree of intensity.
"DO YOU MIND?" barked Marion hotly, flashing an angry glare at those intrusive silver eyes.
"Not at all," said the girl calmy and in a surprisingly melodic voice. "It's your napkin."
"Wha – "
Marion gaped at her. The girl had not mollified her irritatingly persistent stare in the slightest.
"Mum, my ice cream..."
Marion chewed her lip and turned her attention back to the mess before her. Her napkin was saturated.
"I'll get you another one," she promised, rising from her chair and making her way through the small tables to the deserted counter. She took a few extra napkins from the rickety old dispenser.
"Ahem," she called after waiting a few moments. Surely the proprietor was just beyond the curtain somewhere in back.
She heard a reverberating knock on the shop's large window. Turning, she saw two teenaged girls peering in at the strange silvery-eyed waif, the one with red hair waving enthusiastically and motioning for her to join them. The brunette had her hands up on either side of her face, eyeing the pictures of the various ice cream concoctions up on the wall longingly.
There was a squeak of wood upon wood, and Marion saw the strange girl rise up from her table, picking up a small twill bag from the floor.
Finally, thought Marion with relief as she turned back to the counter, grateful to be rid of that incessant gaze.
There was still no sign of the proprietor.
Well, he is quite old, mused Marion, maybe his hearing's going –
She ringed the bell on the counter. Marion was startled by a loud bang emanating from somewhere in back. Her heart lept into her throat. Was the place being robbed? She took a half step back –
And was hugely relieved to see the old proprietor shuffle out from the back, quickly putting away his rather antiquated looking spectacles.
"Ah, terribly sorry about that," he said genially. "Always tricky, this mixing of two businesses, I daresay. Now then, what can I get you?"
"I'll have another double strawberry cone," said Marion, her heart rate slowly dropping down to normal. "My daughter had a little accident, I'm afraid."
With that, the old man peered over Marion's shoulder and smiled. "Ah, yes, most unfortunate," he said thoughtfully. "It's a wobbly table, that one, I've noticed myself. Well, fret not, my dear girl, you shall have an entirely new strawberry cone free of charge!"
Marion blinked. "Oh! Well, thank you, that's very kind – "
The old proprietor had already busied himself with the replacement cone. Marion closed her change purse with a snap.
She looked back to Amanda and was horrified to discover the strange girl crouched down next to the table, in obvious conversation with her daughter!
Marion bolted for the table and was instantly recalled by the old proprietor's voice behind her.
"Farsooth, Miss, you've forgotten your cone...have you perchance changed your mind?"
Marion was caught flatfooted for a moment, indecision reigning supreme. She dashed back to the counter and fumbled for her purse.
"Sundae, yes – I mean cone, how much – "
"It's free of charge, Miss," the old man said, looking at her in concern. "Is everything all right?"
Marion bit her lip and snatched the cone, feeling flustered. "Yes, very fine, thank you," she said.
Calm down, Marion, she berated herself. No need to make a scene –
She heard the door's chime sound just as she turned, watching with immense relief as the odd waif joined what evidently were her companions outside. As Marion retook her seat and set the cone in front of her daughter, she was surprised to see that Amanda paid it no heed. Rather, she waved enthusiastically at the strange girl, who waved back with a dreamy smile before drifting off with her friends.
"Amanda! What are you doing? Don't encourage her!" Her daughter frowned. "Oh, she's nice, mummy," she said. "She just..."
She trailed off, looking hesitant.
"What?" asked Marion cautiously.
Amanda was staring down at something in her hand, seemingly oblivious to her mother's concern, a fascinated look coming across her features.
Marion leaned closer; whatever the object was, it was minuscule.
"What is that?" she asked, straining to see. "Is that a..."
"A bell," affirmed her daughter in a tiny, trance-like voice.
Marion frowned. Why would anyone make a bell of such diminutive proportions? Surely no one could ever hope to hear it!
"She gave you that? That girl, just now?"
Amanda nodded slowly, still smiling strangely at the tiny metallic bell.
"Yes," she whispered.
Marion straightened up. The girl and her companions were gone.
"But...why?" Marion sincerely hoped it wasn't an invitation to some sort of cult.
Amanda took several long moments to answer. "Somebody had given it to her as a gift," she finally said, "and she said I should have it..."
Marion slowly drew back, her own cone well on its way to becoming a puddle on the table.
"Why...did she want you to have it?" she asked carefully, fearful of the response. "Who gave it to her?"
Amanda's gaze finally lifted from the tiny, chime-like bell in her hand, looking surprisingly apologetic. "I...I promised not to tell, Mummy," she said. She looked back down to the tiny bell in her hand and that strange, knowing smile slowly reappeared.
"But...you'd never believe me if I told you..."
A strict upbringing had its advantages, to be sure, as she herself could attest. Nevertheless, Marion had vowed years ago that she would not raise her daughter under the strict disciplinarian rule she'd experienced as a child. Love, tolerance and patience; these were the attributes Marion determined to rely on during her daughter's upbringing.
And thus far, it had served her remarkably well, as friends and family were so often observing. Amanda was a most pleasant and well behaved girl with a good head on her shoulders, and blessed with a wit and maturity several years beyond her young age. Oh, how proud Marion was of her daughter...
So given all this, why was it that Marion was finding her patience being stretched unusually thin this day? Granted, it was an unusually hot July afternoon, and the prevalent humidity, which she always despised, wasn't helping matters any. Indeed, the conditions outside were probably more akin to a Brazilian rainforest than temperate Britain.
Valid points, certainly. However, the most likely reason for Marion's growing impatience was the rather energetic conversation she was currently engaged in with her daughter, seated across from her at a wobbly small round table inside the old ice cream parlour.
"They do too exist!"
"Oh, of course they don't," said Marion dismissively, carefully dabbing a drop of melted ice cream from her skirt with a napkin. Thankfully the colours just happened to be a very close match, otherwise her mood would have darkened even more.
"They do!" insisted her young daughter Amanda, her cheeks flshing their familiar reddish hue whenever she felt intensely frustrated. Her own hazelnut-flavoured cone was dripping slowly onto the table, now forgotten, the squeaking old air conditioner up on the wall being decidedly overmatched this day by the stifling heat outside.
It had seemed like an eminently fine idea at first to duck into the tiny old establishment for a much-needed respite from the sweltering conditions. However that was before the conversation had somehow turned to matters of myth and folklore, eventually leading to one of the most outlandish claims Marion had ever heard. The fact that it was uttered by none other than her own daughter did nothing to alleviate her irritation.
And as if all this weren't enough, they weren't the only patrons frequenting the place -- they were currently sharing the premises with one decidedly peculiar-looking girl seated at one of the other small tables. In itself, this might not have been so disagreeable, but the strange girl hadn't stopped staring at them since they'd arrived!
Several years Amanda's senior, Marion initially thought she might be some sort of homeless street waif, though there was a slightly creepy air to the girl that Marion found most disquieting. Having long since finished her sundae, the long-haired girl appeared perfectly content to spend her afternoon observing Marion and her daughter with a certain detached interest.
Worse, Marion discovered that glaring at the girl had not the slightest effect; not only did she not look away, she simply tilted her head slightly and continued to observe Marion curiously. And those eyes –
There was something decidedly unnerving about the girl, Marion concluded. Such blatant staring was not practised by well-adjusted folk, to be sure. Or perhaps it was the incessant gaze combined with the girl's unusually large eyes, or her terribly discheleved hair, or the odd necklace, or the dangling pine cone earrings, or the strangely antiquated clothing, or...
Marion sighed and tried to ignore the girl's persistent gaze, without measurable success. She did not enjoy being scrutinized, as a laboratory rat might be studied by some mad scientist.
"Amanda," pressed Marion gently, "you have to get over this fairy fancy of yours. You'll be starting secondary school in just a few weeks, you know. If you go about spouting such nonsense you'll find yourself – "
"It's not nonsense!" blurted Amanda, her voice rising sharply. "They're real!"
Marion blinked. She'd rarely seen her daughter get so worked up, especially over such a minor issue. Nevertheless, she was resolved to set Amanda straight now, lest she repeat such statements in school and quickly find herself an object of ridicule. Marion knew the kind of teasing such declarations would likely precipitate. Children could be so cruel at that age, especially towards one of their own.
"Amanda, you have to understand," said Marion soothingly, "I'm just worried how the other students will react when you start school in September. You wouldn't want to get teased now, would you?"
"Well...no..." said her daughter somewhat reluctantly.
"If you want to believe in these fairy things that's one thing, but – "
"But I saw one!!" exclaimed Amanda hotly, banging a tiny fist on the wobbly table in frustration and causing her cone to topple over onto its side, creating a pale and gooey mess. "Oh...my ice cream..."
Marion quickly redressed the cone and wiped up the melting puddle as best she could with their napkins. It was then she noted the odd girl staring at them with a noticeably greater degree of intensity.
"DO YOU MIND?" barked Marion hotly, flashing an angry glare at those intrusive silver eyes.
"Not at all," said the girl calmy and in a surprisingly melodic voice. "It's your napkin."
"Wha – "
Marion gaped at her. The girl had not mollified her irritatingly persistent stare in the slightest.
"Mum, my ice cream..."
Marion chewed her lip and turned her attention back to the mess before her. Her napkin was saturated.
"I'll get you another one," she promised, rising from her chair and making her way through the small tables to the deserted counter. She took a few extra napkins from the rickety old dispenser.
"Ahem," she called after waiting a few moments. Surely the proprietor was just beyond the curtain somewhere in back.
She heard a reverberating knock on the shop's large window. Turning, she saw two teenaged girls peering in at the strange silvery-eyed waif, the one with red hair waving enthusiastically and motioning for her to join them. The brunette had her hands up on either side of her face, eyeing the pictures of the various ice cream concoctions up on the wall longingly.
There was a squeak of wood upon wood, and Marion saw the strange girl rise up from her table, picking up a small twill bag from the floor.
Finally, thought Marion with relief as she turned back to the counter, grateful to be rid of that incessant gaze.
There was still no sign of the proprietor.
Well, he is quite old, mused Marion, maybe his hearing's going –
She ringed the bell on the counter. Marion was startled by a loud bang emanating from somewhere in back. Her heart lept into her throat. Was the place being robbed? She took a half step back –
And was hugely relieved to see the old proprietor shuffle out from the back, quickly putting away his rather antiquated looking spectacles.
"Ah, terribly sorry about that," he said genially. "Always tricky, this mixing of two businesses, I daresay. Now then, what can I get you?"
"I'll have another double strawberry cone," said Marion, her heart rate slowly dropping down to normal. "My daughter had a little accident, I'm afraid."
With that, the old man peered over Marion's shoulder and smiled. "Ah, yes, most unfortunate," he said thoughtfully. "It's a wobbly table, that one, I've noticed myself. Well, fret not, my dear girl, you shall have an entirely new strawberry cone free of charge!"
Marion blinked. "Oh! Well, thank you, that's very kind – "
The old proprietor had already busied himself with the replacement cone. Marion closed her change purse with a snap.
She looked back to Amanda and was horrified to discover the strange girl crouched down next to the table, in obvious conversation with her daughter!
Marion bolted for the table and was instantly recalled by the old proprietor's voice behind her.
"Farsooth, Miss, you've forgotten your cone...have you perchance changed your mind?"
Marion was caught flatfooted for a moment, indecision reigning supreme. She dashed back to the counter and fumbled for her purse.
"Sundae, yes – I mean cone, how much – "
"It's free of charge, Miss," the old man said, looking at her in concern. "Is everything all right?"
Marion bit her lip and snatched the cone, feeling flustered. "Yes, very fine, thank you," she said.
Calm down, Marion, she berated herself. No need to make a scene –
She heard the door's chime sound just as she turned, watching with immense relief as the odd waif joined what evidently were her companions outside. As Marion retook her seat and set the cone in front of her daughter, she was surprised to see that Amanda paid it no heed. Rather, she waved enthusiastically at the strange girl, who waved back with a dreamy smile before drifting off with her friends.
"Amanda! What are you doing? Don't encourage her!" Her daughter frowned. "Oh, she's nice, mummy," she said. "She just..."
She trailed off, looking hesitant.
"What?" asked Marion cautiously.
Amanda was staring down at something in her hand, seemingly oblivious to her mother's concern, a fascinated look coming across her features.
Marion leaned closer; whatever the object was, it was minuscule.
"What is that?" she asked, straining to see. "Is that a..."
"A bell," affirmed her daughter in a tiny, trance-like voice.
Marion frowned. Why would anyone make a bell of such diminutive proportions? Surely no one could ever hope to hear it!
"She gave you that? That girl, just now?"
Amanda nodded slowly, still smiling strangely at the tiny metallic bell.
"Yes," she whispered.
Marion straightened up. The girl and her companions were gone.
"But...why?" Marion sincerely hoped it wasn't an invitation to some sort of cult.
Amanda took several long moments to answer. "Somebody had given it to her as a gift," she finally said, "and she said I should have it..."
Marion slowly drew back, her own cone well on its way to becoming a puddle on the table.
"Why...did she want you to have it?" she asked carefully, fearful of the response. "Who gave it to her?"
Amanda's gaze finally lifted from the tiny, chime-like bell in her hand, looking surprisingly apologetic. "I...I promised not to tell, Mummy," she said. She looked back down to the tiny bell in her hand and that strange, knowing smile slowly reappeared.
"But...you'd never believe me if I told you..."