“Mum, I need money for the bus.”
Dorothy dried another mug.
“No you don’t, Toby. It isn’t raining; and the walk’s good for you.”
“I don’t want to walk past that old cottage. There’s a witch moved in with a warty nose and a black cat.”
“That’s nice.” She put away the last mug and closed the cupboard. “Did you stroke it?”
“It spat at me. Billy says it scratched Jason and he threw a stone at it and nobody’s seen him since.”
She folded the tea towel. “He probably has a cold.”
“Billy knocked for him. When his mum opened the door a frog hopped in from behind him and she screamed.”
“Billy thinks it was Jason.”
“You’re too old to believe in witches turning people into frogs. Go; you’ll be late.”
That afternoon, she heard a bump outside and checked the clock. After a moment there was another bump.
“Is that you, Toby? Don’t tell me you’ve lost your key again.”
What you get, for not, trusting others’, experiences…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Or , perhaps, for not listening to your children?