Disclaimer: I don't own TNBC. If I ever start going nutters and think that I do, you have permission to hit me with a stick.
Author's Notes: Sorry I haven't updated for a while. A lot has been going on, so I haven't had time to write much. To answer the question one person had: Yes, Sandy Claws did take teh toys away, but this story is like,"What happens if he didn't take that toy away?" and so on. Plus it explores the mental effects they had on the kids and (in this case, the old lady.) Also, thanks for the reviews!
The teakettle whistled shrilly, steam blowing out in long curls from the mouth of the spout. The shuffling of the old woman's feet answered the call, as always. Around the corner, came a little old woman, cane in hand. She shambled along, the dim light from the old lamp casting a haunting glow on her face, making the wrinkles look even more dark and sinister.
That whistle. Reminds me of something.
Addison shook the thought off, taking hold of the kettle and pouring the steaming tea into the teacup, the rim a little chipped from where it was so old. To her, there was nothing like a cup of hot tea on a cold winter night.
Winter was when it happened.
That thought alone caused her to almost pour the tea right onto her hand. Mentally scolding herself for being so jumpy, she placed the copper kettle back and picked up the tea delicately in her hand, shuffling back into the livingroom. With a glance outside, she watched the snow fall lazily in the darkness. The street lamp on the corner made the blanket that covered the ground sparkle. It was untouched, virgin-like.
Addison sat down in her chair, which squeeled under the pressure, springs calling out from the ancient chair. The steam rolling off the tea disappeared into the air, snake like curls almost hynotizing. If one were to look around her room, they would notice that it had a sort've charm to it that few houses had. Pictures and knick knacks on the shelves, a few antique things here and there, the furniture smelling of a sort've perfume that (for an old woman) actually smelled rather nice. Though if one were to look closey, they would see that there was not a sign of a plant or anything plantlike in the room.
Still, it's charming, isn't it dear?
True, charming. But ever since that night when the tendrils of the wreath had nearly gotten her, she couldn't even be near a plant without going into hysterics. Even walking by a large garden would make her heart skip a beat, more than usual.
Oh those snakes of leaves...scratching at me.
She could remember that night well. She had been knitting something for her daughter, who had just given birth to her grandson. Though that cheery moment had been ruined with the vines had snaked their way to her, and had changed her entirely. For a frightful moment, she couldn't breathe, but then the pressure of the vines eased. Ever since then, she had been having trouble with her heart and lungs.
Some say it was my age. But they're wrong.
The old woman thought of this, sipping the tea gently, eyes seeming distant as she scanned over memories. Had she fainted that night? She couldn't remember correctly. Shaking her head, she placed the cup of tea down, trying difficultly to get out of the chair. She paused, scowling at how her joints had been failing her lately and finally managed to get up. Wrapping her house coat around her tighter, as if to keep herself even warmer, she started towards the bathroom, rather intent on getting there to take her meds.
Meds, schmeds, I don't need no meds! Im perfectly normal.
Ambling down the hall, Mrs. Addison peered around at the darkened walls and doors. She should've changed that light bulb when she could, and did she? Oh, no! Now look where it got her! She walked a little slower, feeling the smooth walls under her wrinkled ones, trying to find the bathroom door to take the pills. But it was then that she felt something slither against her leg.
It's back!
She cried out, hurrying her pace...but her mind was slipping. She had forgotten about the rug being on the wooden floor. With a dull thump and another cry, Addison lay on the floor, breathing becomming shallow as she slipped off into a state of mind that would be called,"Unconciousness." If the author spelled that correctly, though she's not sure if she did or not and she's hoping her readers will forgive her for the minor mistake. Though Addison wasn't concerned about if some person had spelled something right or not. She was slowly slipping, the knock to the head more serious to her than it would be so someone else.
At the end of the hall, a thin tabby meowed softly, lamplike eyes gazing at the limp form on the floor before it.