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𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬𝐛𝐨𝐱 , 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞
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THE LITTLE GIRL squirmed about frantically in the arms of her mother, a wide smile on her face which exposed a few of her missing teeth as she giggled enthusiastically. "Story!" she squealed out.
Mae Everwood sighed as she carried her daughter up the stairs of their home. Frustration and exhaustion evident on her face at the way her daughter never seemed to burn out. It was times like this where she wished children came with an off switch. "Astrid, it's late." she said as she glanced up at the clock on the wall of the hallway at the top of the steps. Eleven o'clock. She truly regretted allowing her daughter to have an extra ice-cream sundae after dinner. "You shouldn't even be up right now."
"Story!" the girl repeated relentlessly as she flailed her arms out.
As if on cue, the light bulb above the two began to flicker, the sound of static humming lowly through the air. The mother shut her eyes as she exhaled deeply, knowing full well that a disturbance was about to strike. One strong enough to set off a cycle of trouble for the whole block, not just within their home. "Which story?" she asked as she plastered on a smile, wanting to do her best as to avoid any further triggers for her daughter.
The five year old's grin grew wider at the confirmation.
Continuing up the stairs, Mae made her way down the hall towards her daughter's room. Setting the girl down on the mattress, she gripped the sheets and tucked them deep under each side of her before walking over to the toy bookshelf on the opposite wall. "Which story do you want tonight, baby?" she asked trailing her fingers along the spines on the shelves.
"I want the witch!"
Mae Everwood froze at that. She sighed internally. When she had first presented the story to her daughter before bed when she was just three years old, it was supposed to be nothing more than that. A story before bed. But Astrid had still been young and impressionable. Meaning all it took was one mention of the story for her deep rooted obsession to begin. And now, years later, said obsession never quite deflated. The woman shook her head. "How about The Little Mermaid?" she held up the illustrated book.
