The Maeflower

Prolouge

                 

A very small child swings her grandfather's hand around as they walked down the busy streets of Manhattan, her toothy grin beaming up at his happy face. The little girl is young, with red knees and an upturned nose. Her hair is unruly and she smelled like fresh soap and sleepiness. It is late in New York, and the little girl is tired from her busy day with her grandfather. They had gone to the local art museum and then out for ice cream, where she had chosen a sugary chocolate flavor. She winked at him, and from the corner of his eye a streetlamp flickered out. She yawned, and twisted around a golden ring on her left hand that was much too big for her. Her grandfather's eyes flicker to the bandages on her wrists.

Her grandfather was old but lively, with wise green eyes and a tattered waistcoat that had seen many winters. He looked down at his granddaughter, pride evident in his eyes. He laughed slightly when her eyes drifted closed as she hung to his legs. He nudged her forward as they walked, and eventually scooped her up in his arms as she sighed in satisfaction.

It had stared snowing, and he clutched the little girl's body closer to his chest as he hurried along, longing for the warmth of his home. It was January, and he had been taking care of his granddaughter for three months now, as her parents had disappeared on October thirty first, when he had come to the front door to find his granddaughter and a sticky note, asking if he would take her off their hands. Her parents were not there. He had not heard from them since.

The little girl shuffled in his arms, and he moved her as so that he wasn't touching her back (for that too had bandages,) as he stepped up onto his front porch and reached in his pocket for his keys. Her periwinkle blue dress shimmered in his porch light as he glanced down at her. Her curly hair was draped across her forehead and her brown eyes were closed in what he knew to be temporarily peaceful sleep. As he stepped into the hallway of his house he quietly closed the door behind him, locking it. He made his way to his study-turned-children's room with quiet footsteps. He softly deposited her on the cot he had pulled from his attic when she had shown up and covered her with blankets. Before he left the room he plugged in a nightlight the shape of a star. He left, closing her door behind him.

He sighed to himself and shuffled to the kitchen, taking out a pot to boil water on the stove for a hot cup of tea. He slowly eased himself into a chair as he waited for the teakettle to whistle, and walked around the house, watering the many, many plants that were scattered around the place. the kettle screamed, and so he moved over to sit in the living room with his book and tea, settling on a bright red plush sofa that was stuffed between two bursting bookcases. He thought about his granddaughter, and prayed. Although he wasn't a very religious man, he considered this to be an important enough event to warrant begging to whatever was up there.

He turned to his book.

Paranormal Occurrences In Children: A Study

Words like otherworldly manipulation and developmental hormones swam in front of
his eyes. He blinked, taken aback by the violent reality of the book. He wondered if one day his granddaughter would just be another horror story in a bent page of worthless information. He sighed, placing his teacup in the sink and going to his room.

He fell asleep that night, dreaming of blue dresses and mint tea and a child that was too young to be alone. The girl dreamt of knives, and scalding hot water.