Rebecca Smythe: Witch in Training || ONC 2021

Becky the Liar

Rebecca woke on Monday morning feeling more hopeful than she had in weeks. Melinda was due to arrive that afternoon to show the twins fire incantations in exchange for some chocolate croissants and Rebecca had completed another drop for the underground newspaper Sunday night so she had a few days before she needed to worry about that again. Additionally, she admitted to herself, she was excited for the evening when she would be seeing Caldwell for reading lessons. Although her situation was precarious, everything seemed to be falling into place somehow and Rebecca couldn't help but feel grateful.

"Rebecca, dear," said Mrs. Plimpton as Rebecca entered the dining room that morning. "My husband will be taking breakfast with the family today and I was wondering if you could go get the twins. I want us all to be ready to eat when Richard comes down from his study."

"Should I fetch Mr. Plimpton as well?" Rebecca asked. Her stomach fluttered with anxiety. Mr. Plimpton hardly ever joined family meals. He had the same way of looking at her that Caldwell did- a look that seemed to effortlessly dismantle the walls of lies she had taken so much time to construct. Now that she knew he was Caldwell's father, she couldn't believe she hadn't noticed the similarities before. Richard Plimpton, though at least 20 years Caldwell's senior, was practically a carbon copy of his son. The only striking difference was that while Caldwell's eyes were sea green, Mr. Plimpton's were black as coals.

"No, no need," said Mrs. Plimpton, hurriedly. "He doesn't permit anyone to enter his study while he is working. No, he will come down when he is finished up there." Rebecca thought she heard a faint sadness in Mrs. Plimpton's voice but the woman had returned to sipping her tea and staring out the window.

Rebecca climbed the stairs leading to the children's rooms. She was careful to step lightly as she passed by Mr. Plimpton's study. She did not want to give him any excuse to be irritable at breakfast.

Rebecca rounded the corner and peeked into the twin's room to see if they were still asleep. It was empty. She was about to turn back down the hall to check the gardens when she heard a loud bang and a wail coming from the washroom across the hall. Tentatively, she knocked on the door.

"Wilfred?" she called. "Charles? Everything alright in there?"

Rebecca heard frantic shushing coming from the other side of the door.

"Boys?" Rebecca called again. "What's going on in there?"

"Nothing!" Wilfred's voice shouted.

"Yeah, absolutely nothing!" chimed in Charles.

Then Rebecca heard something akin to a snarl and one of the boys yelped in pain.

"Wilfred! You have to hold him still!" said Charles with obvious irritation. His voice was muffled by inches of wood and plaster.

"But he keeps biting me!" Wilfred whined.

"What are you two doing in there?" Rebecca asked. When they didn't respond, she took a deep breath in to calm her nerves. This was where she drew the line. She wouldn't be tolerating their pranks any longer. "Alright, I'm coming in!"

The indignant cries of protest came too late, Rebecca had already swung open the heavy wooden door.

The scene Rebecca witnessed when she opened the door would be a topic of familial intrigue for generations. For years to come, Wilfred and Charles would have passionate disagreements about the exact order of events. The story would take on a life of its own and become increasingly dramatic with each retelling. Wilfred's grandson, Archibald Plimpton, would tell you that Rebecca had found the twins bathing a tiger they had stolen from a local carnival. Charles' great-great-grandaughter Frannie Plimpton would swear that the twins had bought a carnival with money they had stolen from their father and that they had been teaching a couple of lion cubs how to paint.