Only in Neverland (under revision)

His Return

I threw my covers and blankets aside. I could not simply ignore the fact that someone was calling my great great great grandmother's name somewhere near the nursery. 

My feet fell silently onto the floor, the cool hardwood giving me a shiver. As my hands trembled I tried to pin point the location from which the voice was coming. It had me walking toward the window. I held my breath and rapped my knuckles on the window pane.

The glass flew open and the gust of air forced me stumbling backwards. A figure came in through the window and steadied me. The figure stood in front of me, hands on hips, legs spread apart. 

"I am Peter Pan," he informed me, confidently.

"Yes, I am already learned of you," I let him know.

"Well, if you know this about me I shall know this about you. What is your name?"

"Moira Gwendolyn Wenston-Darling," I answered, with a curtsy.

Peter bowed before continuing with, "Can you tell any stories, Moira?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I can." I was shocked that I could keep myself as poised as I was. Peter Pan was standing in my bedroom! 

"Ones about pirates?"

"I suppose, I could." Strangely enough I had never given pirates much thought as a plot for my stories.

"Then let's hear it!" 

"Would you want to hear one of Captain Hook's life inside of the ticking crocadile's stomach?" I suggested.

He waggled his eyebrows and grinned crookedly at me. "Yes! Oh the cleverness of me!" 

"I'd much rather prefer, 'Oh, the cleverness of Moira.' "

"I would hate for my tellings to be a lie."

I laughed a quiet laugh. I was told from my great great Aunt Dorothy, before she passed away, that this particular laugh reminded her so much of Wendy's.  "Shall I begin the story?" 

He nodded his head, flying up and crossing his legs in mid-air.

"Only in Neverland can you survive in the belly of a crocodile, as I assume you'd know from living there," I opened with. 

I told him how it was so dark in it's stomach that he mostly just slept his days away. When he wasn't, how he was bored to near insanity. The digestive acids burned his skin red. He would have to await death to be freed from such misery that was his life. 

"Bravo," Peter nodded his head, approvingly. "Very entertaining, but I've heard better."

"Oh?"

"She's a story teller that goes by the name Wendy... Something.... I've come to take her back to Neverland."

"Peter, I'm afraid she is gone."

"Oh... Can you tell me where I can find her, then?"

"No, I don't think you understand, Peter. She is no longer here. She never will be again." I paused as he awaited my response, eagerly. "She is dead, Peter."

"But she isn't," he shook is head, dropping to the floor, no happy thoughts left in his head to keep him afloat. He denied the truth further, "No, she is still alive! Wendy! WENDY!"

"I'm sorry, Peter, but this true. You are too late—you've forgotten about her all this time and now it is too late." I tried to make him believe me. "She did wait an awfully long time for you to come back, though you never did."

"I DIDN'T FORGET!" He crumpled into the floor with tears trickling down his face.

One of his arms rested on his pulled up knees, while the other belonged to the hand clenching a fistful of his dirty blonde hair.

"Chin up, Peter." I tried to console him. "It's truly horrid, but you cannot fly without happy thoughts in your mind."

I gathered all the happiest thoughts I could at the moment and flew into the air. I hovered just above the ground, looking directly at him. He lifted his face and I smiled warmly for him. 

"I'll be able to fly around and you will have to stand idly by as I soar through the skies." 

As I had been talking, Angela had sat up and rubbed at her eyes sleepily. "Gwendy, who is this boy and why is he crying so?" After a short pause, she asked, now fully awake, "Are you flying?"

Peter pointed at me, outraged and jumped up from the floor. As his finger shakily went from me to my sister, he backed away, looking nearly scared.

"You! Do not call this here wench by the name 'Wendy,' " he screamed at my little sister. "She is not what you think she is," he turned to me as I planted my feet on the ground. "You are an imposter! Where is she? What have you done with her?"

"But, I didn't call her 'Wendy' I called her Gwendy!" Angela was clueless as to whatever was happening.

"Please believe me when I say I haven't done anything to her," I addressed Peter, not trying to step closer, as it would only frighten him more. "It's the circle of life—just the way things go."

"Well, I will not hear of it!" he shouted. "Bring her back or I will feed you to the devilish crocodile and you will end up just like Jas. Hook!"

"You will NOT!" I was beginning to argue with this troublesome boy. "I am a descendant of Wendy, and women like us do not tolerate being ordered about!"

"So be it! I'm flying back to Neverland, and if I come here tomorrow night to find Wendy has not returned, I'll have the mermaids take care of you," he threatened.

He flew off into the night before I had time to get a word in edgewise. I saw Angela looking at me with tremendously wide eyes. 

"Will he really feed you to a crocodile and have mermaids 'take care of you'?" she was utterly alarmed at the thought.

I brought her into my side, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as I assured her, "I won't let him take me without a fight. Now, we best get ourselves prepared for tomorrow evening, shan't we?"

She looked perplexed, but in no time I explained the entire thing and planned out what each of us must do the following evening.