This tale unfolded many years ago. The heroine who shared it is now a grandmother raising two lovely granddaughters. Though a sensible adult, she swears every word is true…
A girl dashed through the shadowy park, the glimmer of the Serpentine Lake and a full moon ahead. Squeezing her eyes shut, she leapt from the steep bank into the water. The warm waves cradled her gently. Strong hands suddenly hauled her out, shaking her shoulders. “What possessed you, child? Gone mad, have you? Where are your parents?”
Sputtering water, Emily tried blinking through soaked curls. “Please stop shaking me!” Her voice quivered. Someone set her on the grass, draped a warm coat over her, and brushed hair from her face. Emily looked up at a short old man with a beard tangled with water lilies and reeds. “Who are you?”
“The local pond guardian. Don’t gawk—has wonder vanished so completely? What drove you to this folly?”
The girl wept. “Mum doesn’t love me anymore. She did before Dad left. Now she shouts…today she hit me.”
The old spirit patted her head. “Aye, scorn finds us all. The lad from Elm Terrace calls me names, yanks my beard. Even the caretaker swings her broom.”
He sighed, offering a seashell glowing faintly. “Take this—it’s from the North Sea. When hurt, hold it to your ear. But promise to pass it on when another needs it more. Off home with you.”
He vanished as Emily sprinted back. Her mother raised a hand, shouting—until Emily pressed the shell to her ear.
*”What am I doing? She’s my darling girl. That wretched man’s ruined everything…”*
Emily hugged her. “Mum, I love you. Dad’ll come back. Just please don’t drink or shout anymore.” They clung together, weeping.
Next morning, Emily skipped outside. The caretaker, Mrs. Jenkins, brandished her broom. Emily grinned, lifting the shell.
*”Why do I snap at children? Oh, where’s my Whiskers? Just let him be safe…”*
“He’s in the next garden, chasing a tabby!” Emily called. Mrs. Jenkins smiled, crossing herself as the girl ran off.
A boy blocked her path. “Crybaby Clumsy! Want a shove?”
The shell whispered: *”She’s pretty. How do I say it? Maybe if I tease her…”*
Emily stepped closer. “I’m Emily. Help me swing high? I can’t reach the sky alone.”
On her first school morning, Emily’s mum juggled curling ribbons, pancake flipping, and tea-steeping. Outside, Oliver waited, hoisting her backpack proudly. At breaktime, Emily found a boy weeping behind the gym.
“Everyone hates me. Dad’s gone, Gran and Grandpa argue…”
Emily smiled, reaching into her pocket. Sometimes, all it takes is listening…and a spark of hope.
