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— ON THE CORNER OF Sunrise Street and May Avenue there was a house; it was smaller than the others of the road, but the occupants didn't mind, just like they didn't mind that the blue paint was peeling and their grass was yellow in some spots. They were happy. Wrapping around the yard was the typical American white picket fence that kept the golden retriever and three children in. On the porch swing, a young couple — younger than most — watched their babies — one who was a teenager and the twins were six now (godtime goes by fast, Mallory thought) — run around, chasing after their new puppy — recently named Poppy — or petting the neighbor's fat tabby that often liked to wander into their yard with the promise of treats. The street was peaceful, and the family unaware, but deep down in Mallory Logan's chest there was a familiar feeling bubbling.
Her eldest daughter, Reese, was seated under the large oak tree that produced the largest amount of shade, the cat hiding behind her in an attempt to avoid the two other children. She was a spitting image of Mallory when she was seventeen; doll like green eyes and honey blonde hair, she had prominent cheekbones and freckles that multiplied under the sun's rays. Mallory's own father used to call Reese my monkey Mal when the cancer had him in hospice. The twins, Annmarie and Taylor, on the other hand, were more like their father, all dark hair and delicate features. They were barely six, the ten year age gap between the siblings a painful reminder to Mallory and Paul Logan of the four babies they had lost, but the twins were the light at the end of that dark tunnel.
Mallory's bad feeling only seemed to grow and nature seemed to mimic her, the once clear sky tried to fight the dark clouds that were rolling over, covering up the blue and blocking the warm sun. The animals noticed the change too; the tabby that had been keeping Reese company giving a loud meow before bounding across the green grass and back into his own yard, Poppy stopped letting the twins chase her and instead bolted for the back door, barking to be let in. Their behavior worried Mallory. It was all too familiar for her; the weather, the animals and the sinking feeling in her gut that their happy lives were about to change.
Under her feet, weaving between the potted plants Mallory had placed on the porch, was a black beetle. It was clicking at her, almost as if it were mocking her. Her heart leaped into her throat, and it took everything in the woman's body not to hurl. She stood up, stomping her feet around the wooden panels, the beetle always moving a millisecond before her foot stepped down on it. Paul watched her with a confused expression, Mallory had always taught her children to leave bugs alone — especially when they were outside, in their own domain.
"Mal, babe," Paul called to his wife who had dropped down to all fours in an attempt to pull the beetle out from under their porch. "You okay?"
Her green eyes were full of tears when she turned back to him. "Paul, I need to get the beetle. Please help me, please!"
Mallory was practically hysterical when Paul had come to her aid, his thin fingers reaching for the bug like she had asked him too, but it was already too late. She could hear it's clicking ringing in her head, telling her what was going to happen and that she couldn't stop it. Seventeen years is enough, it told her. But seventeen years wasn't enough. Thunder rumbled loudly, the children crying in fear and rushing for their mother, but Mallory couldn't comfort them, not when she knew what was going to happen.
"Mom?" Reese's pretty face in front of her's made the tears pour down her face even more; her beautiful daughter whose eyes were light with happiness and the skin around her eyes were well on their way to being crinkled from laugh lines. "Mom, are you okay? Dad, what's happening?"
"Reese, take the kids for a drive, okay?" Paul didn't want them to see Mallory like she was: a thick layer of dirt under her nails from trying to reach a mere beetle, honey blonde hair that had been in soft waves curling from the sweat that was beaded on her forehead and the tears that were trailing down her cheeks, leaving her green eyes swollen.
"Yeah," Reese nodded, blocking the view of Mallory from Annmarie and Taylor. "Grab Poppy," she told them, pointing to the puppy who had forgotten about wanting to go inside and was more interested in the butterfly that was trying to peacefully sit on a flower. "I'll be right there."
Reese grabbed the keys from her father's hands, and turned to walk away when Mallory gripped tightly onto her arm. "Reesey, baby," she cried, pulling her eldest into her arms. "Take care of them. Promise me!"
"I promise," Reese repeated, confusion lacing her features as she turned to her father who ushered her away.
Mallory dropped back down, feeling her knees complain at the force of the impact, but the pretty blonde woman couldn't stand. She watched the three kids and the dog jump into her husband's car, feeling a weight that had been on her shoulders lift a little bit as they pulled out of the driveway and turn the corner on May Avenue. At least they'll be safe, she thought to herself.
"Sweetheart," Paul hummed, his voice sweet like the honey he put in his tea. Mallory would miss his voice. "Let's go inside, hmm?"
"Yeah," Mallory echoed, letting her husband help her from the porch and lead her into the house that always smelled like vanilla — courtesy of Reese's perfume. Through her tears, Mallory tried to memorize the house; the stick figure drawing in the hallway that Reese had painted when she was very small, the dent at the bottom of the staircase from where Taylor had propelled himself down the second floor on a sled and the neat organization of the fridge magnets from Annmarie. She picked up one of the pictures of their family that was resting on the windowsill, it was the day that Mallory and Paul had brought home the twins, their eyes were filled with a certain pride that only parent's could feel and Reese was staring down at the babies in awe. It was Mallory's favorite picture.
"I'll make some tea," Paul told her, although Mallory wasn't listening. He crossed the distance from the living room where Mallory had dropped onto the sofa and into the kitchen, grabbing a kettle and filling it with water. Mallory clutched the picture to her chest, hearing the beetle's calls as her husband turned on the gas stove. Seventeen years is enough, seventeen years is enough, seventeen years is enough.
Mallory didn't feel the flames that explode through the house, burning through the fridge magnets and the dent on the wall and the painting.
author's note: hello,,,im rewriting this bc i just watched practical magic and was super inspired !!! so annmarie and taylor are living (longest yeah boi) and they have a dog (even longer yeah boi) but i just really like this so (((((((:
