May Bell can scarce believe her eyes, but no matter how many times she closes them, upon opening them she sees the bell and it makes her giggle. She's not a girl who makes friends very easy. She's awkward and shy and often times, she finds the price for making and keeping friends too high.
Perhaps it's because of her lack of social interaction, but she simply doesn't know. What she does know is that at last she has a friend and everything is coming up roses from now on and she cannot wait to meet her again, if for no other reason than to prove to herself she is in fact real and wants to be a friend to the friendless.
May Bell hurries down the stairs and into the kitchen where the table is set for breakfast, her favorite meal of the day. As such, she hustles to her chair and sits down as she waits with baited breath for the food that is soon to grace her place. Her mother regards her with a strange eye when she looks up from her cooking, while her father pays no attention, as his head is buried in a simple paperback.
"How was your first night in the attic, sweetie?" the woman who is busy cooking asks as she sets steaming dishes of food into the midst of her hungry family, before sitting herself down while serving the food to all parties awaiting a hearty meal.
"It was wonderful!" May Bell exclaims as she scoops up some eggs which had just been deposited on her plate.
"What about the spooky house?" her father teases her with a warbling inflection as he looks up from his book.
He is reffering to the constant complaining from his daughter's mouth about how the house is now creepier than it used to be. So much so it cannot be described properly with simple words.
"It's alright now," May Bell admits as she snatches a few pieces of bacon that have been served to her from the large platter that is full of such strips.
"What changed?" her mother queries, as she ladles some cubed, spiced potatoes onto her plate.
May Bell thinks a moment. She isn't sure her parents would believe her fantastic tale, but she isn't going to lie. "I had a dream last night," she starts in and takes a bite of bacon. "A most wonderful dream that involved this house. So now, I don't see it like that anymore. I now it for the potential happiness it can afford."
Her parents smile and look to one another. They're very pleased by this unexpected turn of events. After all, they had expected to be fighting their daughter for months to come over the renovations, so this was a nice outcome. Not only is she no longer complaining, but she's actually happy.
'But is it too good to be true?', her father says with a look and a raised eyebrow.
'I have no idea,' her mother responds with a shrug.
Neither of them are willing to voice these concerns outloud as they don't want to spoil their good fortune. In this fashion the woman of the house sits down to breakfast and the man of such digs into his scrambled eggs.
The meal is soon finished and the dishes gathered up and cleared from the table where they are deposited in some fresh, hot, soapy water to properly soak for a the scrubbing to come. A simple wipe down of the table is all that's required of the plastic based table cloth that caught all the stray bits of food that fell from their plates.
"Well, that's it for me," her father pipes in as he tucks his book into his wide, jacket pocket and heads for the door.
"Have a good day," May Bell and her mother declare as one as they lean their heads out of the door frame that leads into the kitchen before the child speaks alone. "Sell lots of realestate."
"Will do," her father calls back before shutting the door.
The girl hurries to the nearest window and waves like mad at the departing car while the horn honks in response. Afterwhich, she just leans against the windowpane and presses her face against the glass. On the outside she looks as though a piggy with her nose smashed against the clear boundary.
Her mother gets busy with the dishes. "May Bell," she calls to her as she snaps on her dish gloves.
"Yeah mom?" the girl asks, as she withdraws herself from the bright window and joins her mother at the sink.
"It's time for school," the only other occupant informs her progeny and sets about with the scrub brush.
"What subject should we do first?" May Bell inquires as she makes her way to the box which contains her scholastic supplies.
"Well since it's the first day of the year, why don't we start with something easy," her mother relays before pausing a moment to think. "How about reading?"
May Bell's face lights up. She loves reading. All other subjects, though necessary, are an obstacle to this, her one, true love.
She plucks a nearby book from a bookshelf and hurries back to her mother's side. She's more than excited. It's a book written for her grade level about a little boy who's looking for his lost puppy and finds, well, let's not spoil it. She perches herself on a nearby chair and begins to read aloud. Her mother listens intently as she carries on with her chore.
It isn't long before the dishes are done, but the story is only a quarter through. So, May Bell and her mother both retire to the study where her parent has work to do. Working from home, she transcribes spoken memos into legible documents for doctors of a nearby hospital while her progeny carries on reading.
Her mother sits herself at the family computer and inserts an earpiece into her dominant ear which is the right one. May Bell is more than impressed with her matron who is able to stay busy at her typing while hanging on to every word her daughter speaks. She even corrects her when she mispronounces a word, all the while her fingers never stop.
A short time later, the little girl finishes with her schooling for the day, which includes the other, not so fun subjects as well as a proper lunch. The only other thing she has to do is her household chore. She's supposed to keep all the floors of the house clear of debris. It isn't difficult since most of the rooms are blocked off.
It isn't long before her father returns home from work and all activities revolve around relaxing before making dinner, both of which are not exclusive to the other as the whole family loves to cook. Chopping, sauteeing, frying, grilling, prep work, all of the activities that bring joy to the hearts of the cooks who perform them.
May Bell is able to lose herself in the production of the vital vittles and works alongside her parents who busy themselves with the other necessary activities to make this conceived feasting a reality. It is soon cooked and prepared without much consideration being given to appearance, but is unique in a strange way.
The trio gather round the table and feast upon their creation when it is complete, alongside a beer for the adults and equal parts water and apple juice for the prohibited age. The food is absolutely bursting with flavors, not the best combination persay, but unique in its flavor profile. All concerned agree that it is a memorable experience not soon forgotten.
The child is very experimental with what is feasible as well as palatable and never lets taste alone stand in the way of a good meal. But as much as she enjoys the evening repast, her mind still centers around how much time she has left before it's time for bed. She simply cannot wait to go back and see her friend, who she knows to be real, no matter what her mind says to her.
Once the consumables are well and properly consumed she excuses herself from the table and heads straight for her room, leaving her parents confused. Normally, it's a fight to get their daughter to go to bed as she is often far too busy with being awake to want to go to bed. But not this night.
The girl enters her room and shuts the door, resting her weight against it before casting her gaze to the ornate hand bell that sits atop her bureau. Her hand aches to take it up, but it's not quite time as the sun is still sinking in the sky. To pass the time she preoccupies herself with writing in her diary and doodling in the margins.
Rather than address her notebook as diary in the manner that most do, she labels it with the only name that makes sense, May Bell, for that is who is most likely to read of her exploits and she writes in the regard of addressing her future self. As such, she tries to be as detailed as possible as she has been told before that memories alone often prove unreliable.
To this end she scripts down everything that has gone on of any note, but when it comes to the dream itself, well, it just feels so fantastical despite her being filled with incredible happiness. She starts to doubt and wonder if it even truly happened. Is it possible she could really be living in a fairytale scenario? Do such things really happen?
Doubt starts to worm its way into her mind. It tells her that it was just a vivid dream, and the bell, why that was just a prize she found during her most recent search of the house. There is no extraordinary friend awaiting her arrival. All sleep will do is send her back into the realm of dreams where she is almost certain to find an entirely different dream waiting for her.
May Bell shakes off the negativity. She doesn't need it to be real. She just needs it to continue. She just wants to see her friend again in whatever form she has taken and to know that her progression in the relationship is being marked and tallied so that further development is possible. After all, it wouldn't do to have to start over everytime.
At long last night falls proper, extinguishing the sun's light and casting her room into shadow. She gazes outside the window and finds that that the sky has turned a deep shade of purple. Excitement laces her actions as she quickly strips off her dayclothes and jumps into her night things.
She approaches the bureau, picks up the bell, examines it closely while noting the absence of a clapper and rings it exactly three times with great exuberance and exaggerated motion. She then returns it to its place and hurries into her bed where she leaps from the floor and snuggles beneath the covers as she gazes with great interest upon the ceiling.
"May Bell!" she hears her mother call from the bottom of the stairs. "May Bell it's time for bed."
"I'm up here!" the child responds while shifting her focus to the closed door.
"May Bell this isn't funny," her mother speaks corssly as she crosses the floor. "It is time for bed."
"I'm up stairs!" the child returns in full voice and focuses that much more on the door.
"May Bell, I'm going to start counting," her mother announces as her voice reaches a higher pitch.
The child knows better than to remain stationary during a count and scrambles out of her bed and pops open the door. "I'm up here," she shouts while maintaining a respectful tone and notes the darkened hallway with a slight amount of light just breaching from the lower level.
There is a moment of silence. "Is that you kiddo?" her father pipes in from the same floor as her mother.
"Yes, I'm upstairs," May Bell answers while feeling a bit flustered.
That is a muffled exchange between her parents that cannot be made out. Suffice to say it is full of surprise for not having to chase their daughter to her room. The two ascend the staircase while their conversation continues as to when the last time their progeny put herself to bed, which is never.
The light flips on in the hallway and her mother arrives at the top first. "Honey, are you ready for bed, already?" she constructs her question with a look of sheer confusion.
"Of course I am," May Bell responds and smiles as she swings the door back and forth. "I can't wait to go to sleep."
"Kiddo?" her father chimes in as he arrives on the topmost floor. "Are you feeling well?"
"Of course I am," May Bell repeats as though this is pretty standard behavior for her and the smile never leaves her face.
Her parents look to each other and shrug.
"Okay, kiddo," her father concedes as he proceeds forward and ushers her into the room. "Let's get you tucked in."
May Bell skips forward and waits for her dad to pull back the covers before she settles inside and is enveloped by them. She asks her parents for two favors, knowing that she still has plenty of time to kill, that of a chapter in her latest book, she is required to read to pay for screen time, and a song that she particularly enjoys that radio stations will not play because it is out of date.
The two deliver the best that they can, which is surprisingly well considering that neither of them are professionals nor have they even pursued such interests. After which, they say goodnight, give their daughter a kiss on the forehead and retire themselves to the lowest floor to celebrate, quietly, the amount of time that has been awarded to them through complete, unexpected cooperation on behalf of their offspring.
Back in the bedroom, where a little girl waits with her eyes glued to the ceiling, does time tick down in a slow march. Patiently, May Bell waits as she looks high and low inside her mind for the sleep she knows will take her back to the dream. However, the off switch to her brain proves not to be exactly where she saw it last.
She breathes a heavy sigh as she tosses and turns this way and that, while keeping her eyes directed toward the point where the steepled ceiling meets its epicenter. She is just about to check for the bell when she sees a shadow rapidly descend. It is the hand, and it takes hold of her before propelling itself back the way it came.