Half an Adventure
Beginning Note: Any religious beliefs implied within the confines of this story are not strictly representative of my own: they are here for the purpose of the story, and should be received as such. The writing style, as well, is not my own, but a really dreadful imitation of J. M. Barry.
It was a brisk day in April, chilly but fresh, the sort of day when everyone is just coming out into the sunshine. It is not the day for a funeral, yet there in the cemetery were a few people, clad in black, gathered a round a coffin. A very, very small coffin. A man was finishing something about 'great loss' and 'innocent young life' and 'comfort'. A well-dressed young man was holding a near hysterical young woman. Everyone was crying, and what a waste of a lovely spring day!
That night, in the nursery the young couple sat and cried themselves to sleep beside the empty little bed.
It was very quiet, and very still. Nothing moved in the sad little house until, seemingly of it's own accord, the window drifted open. Then, stranger and stranger, a boy stepped lightly through the window, just as if windows were things through which one might be expected to step. Neither of the young couple saw the strange boy, for they were fast asleep, dreaming troubled dreams that should not trouble the reader (Only know that the dreams were dreadful, and that no one should ever have to dream them). However, the little girl sitting in the bed saw him, and she thought him very odd indeed. Yet, somehow, she felt rather as if she already knew him, so she smiled politely and waved. To her further surprise and delight, the boy swept a great and courtly bow. She laughed and clapped her hands, and asked the boy his name.
"Peter," the boy smiled, "Peter Pan."
"Well, I'm Elisabeth," she hopped off the bed and dropped a clumsy curtsy "Very pleased to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you Elisabeth." He paused, waiting. "Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?" Asked Elisabeth, happily curious.
"To go." Said Peter carefully, "It's really time to be going." His tone was that of someone casually noting that the clock has just struck the beginning of eternity.
"Oh." Elisabeth thought, and somehow she recognised the truth. "I was sick…"
"Yes," Said Peter solemnly, "You were."
"I'm not now?"
"You're not now."
"We should go."
"If you wish it."
They walked to the window in silence. Peter helped Elisabeth onto the windowsill before stepping up beside her. She looked up at him.
"Peter?"
"Yes?"
"I'm frightened."
"I know. But they're nice."
"Who?"
Peter grinned, "You'll see."
There were odd stories about him: as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so they would not be frightened.
-Peter Pan, J. M. Barry
End Note: I have always loved this aspect of Peter, and always thought it sad that it's never even touched on in any of the Pan stories I've found.