This story concerns Pan's panpipes, you know, that musical instrument that he carries with him all the time? Yeah...that.
"But MMMOOOMMMM!" whined Mora. "I don't want to clean the attic! Can't I decorate my room instead?" She slumped in the easy-chair in the new living room and pulled a poster of Johnny Deep from "Pirates of the Carribean" out from her box of carefully rolled and stacked posters and sighed dreamily. She glared at the rest of the boxes that had been transported over to England from Florida.
"No, Mora. Ever since we moved here, we are going to need some help. Your brother gladly cleaned up the basement. It's your turn!" her mother called from the neighboring kitchen.
"That's 'cause he's a dork! He likes to clean." Mora retorted, rolling up Johnny and pulling out Orlando Bloom.
"No more arguments, or no T.V. tonight! March up to the attic, now!"
Mora groaned, gently put Orlando back where he belonged and stomped up the stairs to the attic of her great-grandmother's house. Great-Grandmother Wendy had left the house to her mother, and Great-Grandmother Wendy had just passed away, so they moved here, and they were living here. In London. Mora hated it. She had had to leave all of her old friends behind and she hated all of the formality of the British. She threw open the attic door and slammed it. She then groped around in the dark for a light switch and when she flicked it on, her anger melted away to be replaced with pure wonder. This attic was amazing!
There were large stuffed chairs all over the place, and heaps of stuff all over the floor. There were manniquiens and tubas, hockey sticks and hatstands. Trunks and clothes were scattered all over one cornerMora wandered about the junk, amazed and inthralled. Suddenly, she tripped over something and was sent flying to the floor.
She scraped her hands on the rough wood as she landed. She carefully sat up, hoping nothing else was injured. When she was sure that it was only her hands, she looked at what had tripped her. It wasa hatbox, old fashioned and faded. Once upon a time, it would have been bright pink and gold. Now the pink was barely there and the gold was burnished. She picked it up, curious. It was very light. She shook it.A THUMP rewarded her.She tried to open up the top, but it was stuck.
She went back downstairs, hoping her mom wouldn't notice that she had left the attic. She snuck to her room and grabbed a screwdriver her dad had left in there. She procceded to try to rip the lid off.
Mora was so frustrated. The stupid box wouldn't open! She growled and threw the screwdriver to the floor. She heard her mother coming up the stairs. She immediately threw herself on her bed and grabbed the hatbox. She started to pretend that she had just started to open it.
"Mora...? What are you doing in here? I thought I told you-" Her mother stuck her head into Mora's room.
"Oh, hi mom." said Mora, not looking at her, and puting all means nessecary into opening the hatbox.
"What's that?"
"Oh, it's just an old hatbox I found up in the attic. Neat, huh?" Her mother came in and sat on the edge of her bed.
"What an intresting hatbox. Looks very old. May I...?" Mora handed over the box, and her mother lifted it gently. "I do believe that there is something in here." said her mom, handing it back to her.
"Duh," said Mora, jerking the top hard.
"Did you know that Victorian girls would place important objects in a hatbox? Their first love letters, old toys, maybe even a dried-out bouquet from their first love. This must be something Great-Grandma Wendy thought was extremely important."
"Really?" said Mora, looking at the box with a new respect in her eyes. "But the stupid thing won't open!"
"Well, you'll just have to open it tonight, after you've finished with the attic."
"MOOOOOOOMMM!"
Late that night...
"Goodnight, Mora! Nice job on the attic! You can finish it tomorrow!" called her mother from downstairs.
"Okay Mom!" bellowed Mora. " 'Night!" She closed the door of her bedroom and immediately rushed to her bed and grabbed the hatbox. Curiousity was a flame in her heart. 'What was in this stinkin' hatbox?' She tried to gently open it, she also tried to force it open. She begged it, she pleaded, she threatened, but for nothing. The box jsut sat there on her bed, as pink as could be annoying.
"I WISH YOU'D OPEN!" She bellowed, throwing it on the floor. The top sprang off.
Mora sat staring at the lid, that was off of the box, and at the box itself, lidless. Could it really be...?
She reached down and picked up the box. It was full of old paper that rustled at the slightest touch. The paper was tissue thin and the same pink as the box. She gently took out layer after layer of pink paper. There was something on the bottom. Her hand went through the last remaining pieces of paper and grasped whatever it was.
She gently pulled it out, and revealed a instument, a very strange one. Seven reeds were hollowed out and roped together. Designs were interwoven on the reeds themselves, scenes of magic and wonder. There was a fairy on one, a star on another, flowers and vines on yet another, and birds on yet another. On the rest were depictions of weapons, one was a sword, another a tomahawk, and yet a third was a pistol.
She gently brought it up to her lips and blew gently into the reed that had the fairy engraved on the end. A note like laughter sounded from the reed and little particles of light rushed into a large ball of glowing power that formed a few inches away from her face. She froze, amazement causing her to not move, in fear that the ball would vanish.
The ball's glow grew in intenseity and power. She could see the outline of a tiny person in the center of the ball. With music that sounded like lights, the ball closed in on the tiny figure and the light concentrated on the tiny figure, going into it and all around it. The tiny figure fell with a tiny whump to the bed. Mora staring in fasination at the tiny person with wings on her bed. She gently held out a finger. She gave it a quick, gentle poke. Her hand snapped back to her side when the figure moved.She heard a muscial groan and the figure stood up.
The wings, as delicate as a dragonfly's, fluttered and the figure lifted up into the air. It was a tiny girl, a tiny woman.
"A fairy..." thought Mora, her eyes bugging out of her head. The fairy looked at Mora, and giggled.
"Did you call me forth?" asked the tiny girl. Mora just stared.
"You must have," said the fairy, as though puzzled. "As you have Peter's Panpipes, you must have called me. I answered. What is your whim?" Mora shook her head in disbelief.
"This...this is so...unbelieveable. A fairy in my room?" she shook her head, looking at the fairy. She closed her eyes and rubbed them really hard. She counted to three and looked again. The fairy was still there. The fairy was looking at her with curiousity.
"How did you get Peter's Panpipes? He must have given them to you; you are a very special girl." the fairy smiled, and laughed.
"I don't know a Peter..." said Mora as if in a dream.
"Don't know Peter?" asked the fairy. "Then you stole the Panpipes!" she dove for Mora's face.
"No, no! I didn't! I found them! They were in this hatbox!" she held up the box. The fairy stopped dead in her tracks.
"The Wendy-Lady's box..." whispered the fairy.
"Wendy-Lady? You mean Great-Grandma Wendy? I'm confused..."
"It all will be explained," said the fairy, flying to window and going out.
"Wait!" cried Mora, dashing to the window. The fairy was gone. This was too weird...
My fourth Peter Pan fanfic! YAY! Review please.
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