Fable

Ask any child who has attended Summer Storybook Time at White Elm Library what they like best about the program, and they will grin at you impishly and tell you that it's a secret.

Tickle their sides and ask again, and they will squeal with laughter and squirm away, shouting about how they'll never tell.

Chase them through the park with fingers outstretched at the ready, and they will scamper over the grass, nearly tripping over their own feet as they giggle wildly.

Catch them up in your arms and swing them around and they'll scream in delight, finally promising to reveal the information that every child who has attended Summer Storybook Time at White Elm Library holds dear.

And then, with a twinkle in their eyes, they will speak.

Ms. Williams has magic.

"Magic?" You say, ruffling the child's hair fondly. They'll squinch their face up at the gesture and stick out their tongues, "What makes you say that?"

They'll scuff their toes on the grass and tuck their hands behind their backs, swaying coyly, then look up at you with large, innocent eyes and shrug. It isn't something that is questioned amongst their peers, it was something that is accepted and adored. They'll plop unceremoniously into the grass and watch the shiny beetle that traversed the green jungle.

Sit down beside them and they will tell you stories of how Ms. Williams makes the books they read come alive. How she can make a bogey disappear with the wave of a hand. How she can make elves and fairies from paper, and can make them dance on the wind. How she calls to dwarves and convinces leprechauns to dance with them. How she encourages them to create their own stories and make their fantasies come true.

"But aren't you a little old for fairy stories?" You ask, and they'll shake their heads firmly. Ms. Williams says that no one is too old for fairy stories, they tell you, Even crusty old Mr. Johnson. You frown at them and they'll study the grass, mumbling an apology. They didn't really mean it. Even if he has icky gross hairs sticking out from his nose. You shake your head and they'll go back to building a beetle-sized barricade with a pout twisting at their mouth.

"Sounds like fun," You tell them, watching the clouds slowly drift by. She is, they will assure you, She's the nicest person around. They'll brighten with an idea and begin to fidget with excitement. Why don't you come with next time? They'll ask, fairly bubbling over with the idea. Reluctantly agree, and they'll clap their hands and beam at you, gushing over how fun it was going to be that you'll see the magic for yourself. Smile at them and push yourself to your feet, and they will follow suit, grasping your hand with their own smaller one and ask if you will buy them ice cream on the way home.

The next day, they will pull you by the hand all the way to the tiny library, only to abandon you to the other adults when they see their best friend across the room. The clamoring of tiny voices fills the normally quiet room, and two harried-looking librarians bustle about, attempting to restore peace. You will notice that quite a few of the children are wearing costumes. There are fairy godmothers, pirates and cowboys. Daring knights, princesses, and witches. There are even a few Batmen thrown in for good measure. A few children still cling to their parent's knees, too shy to join with the rest of the crowd, but unwilling to give up the secret delights of Ms. Williams' "magic".

But there is no Ms. Williams. Numerous voices call out for her location, but the librarians are unwilling to reveal her surprise, only smiling kindly and satisfying their curiosity with vague answers, ticking off the attendance on neat little checklists.

When all is settled, the librarians will tell the children that Ms. Williams is in a special place, waiting for them to go meet her. Excited whoops will break the hushed room and one of the librarians holds up her hand for quiet. They will be going to the park.

Sticky fingers will hold to each of your hands as you aid in escorting the tiny mob down the street. The children chatter excitedly, energy bundling to higher and higher peaks. As you turn the corner and cross the old stone bridge, you see Ms. Williams.

She is much younger than you expected, looking only to be in her late twenties. Leaning against the trunk of a tree, she cradles a small book in her lap, turning the pages reverently. The pale green gown she wears and the way she has pinned up her dark hair with a small crown of dried flowers gives her the appearance of a fairytale heroine, taking a moment of rest on her way to rescue the next knight in distress. The children cry out and break rank, racing toward her. She looks up at the noise and grins playfully at them.

She deftly maneuvers the kids to sit in a circle, hushing them with practiced ease. They sit at stark attention as she tucks the book away between herself and the tree, settling herself comfortably. There is silence for a full half minute as she cups a hand to her ear and makes exaggerated listening movements. The only sounds to pass the circle is the occasional call of a bird or keen of a cicada.

"Can you hear it?" She whispers, and the children begin to listen intently, determined to hear whatever secrets she is bestowing upon them. A few faces begin to screw themselves up in concentration, searching for the hidden sounds. Unconsciously, you strain to hear, as well.

She returns to cupping a hand over her ear for a few moments, "There it is again," She whispers, even softer than before, "Did you hear it?"

A fairy godmother raises her ribboned-drumstick wand, cardboard star drooping, "Hear what, Ms. Williams?"

Ms. Williams smiles widely at her, leaning in as if sharing some conspiracy, "Why, the goblins of course!"

It is quiet again, only now there is the faint sound of cackling laughter on the wind. There is harsh whispering, and you can distinctly make out the sound of a rough voice whispering "Shut up! She's going to tell the story!!"

"I can hear it!" Exclaims a cowboy, and the rest of the children make murmuring sounds of agreement. Ms. Williams motions for everyone to lean in close and tells them a short tale of a goblin she calls Laetherleggs, gesturing largely with her hands, and inciting a few giggles from her young audience.

There are grumbles on the wind mixed with the sound of more piercing laughter. The branches of the tree they sit under sway slightly, and you swear that you can occasionally glimpse misshapen forms under the cover of leaves.

"But that's not who I really wanted to tell you about," She leans back against the tree trunk, and the children quiet once more as she closes her eyes, sorting out her tale before she begins. When her eyes open again, they are lit with an intense fire, and a strange smile curls her lips.

"Once upon a time," She begins, her voice oddly detached, "There was a girl, who's stepmother always made her stay home with the baby..."

Disclaimer: No Ownies.

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