Out there, in homes all across the globe, are Stories being told;
Stories
about a Boy who refused to grow up. None of these Stories are ever
exactly
alike nor are they ever told in the same way twice, but every one of
them
centers on this magical Boy.
On this particular night as the Stories were being told, there was a
house
in London that particularly stood out. In this house lived an American
entrepreneur and his family. His eldest child was a girl of thirteen
with
short, spiky white-blond hair and a flair for storytelling. She stood
in
the center of a large room in the upper level of the house, her green
eyes
flashing with excitement and her hands dancing in front of her as she
spoke. Two younger children, a boy of five and a girl of seven, sat
spellbound before her as she told them her Story.
“It was in that moment,” the oldest girl said in a dark tone, “that
Peter
Pan realized the awful truth...” She paused for dramatic effect as the
younger children leaned forward in anxious anticipation. “That James
Hook,
captain of the Jolly Roger and greatest villain of all time,
was...His...Father!”
The instant the words left her mouth a mighty thud was heard outside of
the
window and was followed by what sounded like stones rolling down the
roof.
Another sound came on the heels of the second, this one like that of a
shrill whistle.
The girl and her siblings rushed to the window- the very window that so
many other children had run to after the Story was told- and they saw
the
same thing that generations of children before them had seen-
absolutely
nothing.
A sigh escaped from the children’s lips; one that was mingled with
relief
and disappointment. They retreated from the window and returned to the
center of the nursery to resume the Story. They were much quieter this
time
as they kept one ear open for more sounds from the Night.
In the tree that grew outside of the nursery window the hero of the
Stories
was attempting to disengage himself from the branches. A ball of light
no
bigger than a child’s fist darted about his face. The tinkling that was
coming from the light sounded like peals of laughter.
Peter Pan managed to set himself upright, but remained tied to the
tree.
His inability to break free was mainly due to the fact that he was
still
laughing and the more he laughed the more the belt of his dagger
tightened
on the tree branch.
“Hey!” he cried, tears squeezing from the corner of his eyes. “Let me
go!”
He said this as though he expected the tree to oblige his request. It
didn’t, of course.
“Stop laughing, Tink,” he ordered the ball of light, his voice choked
with
merriment. “Do something!”
Tink responded by tumbling over with laughter, as helpless as he to do
anything about the matter.
A hand darted from out of the tree and grabbed hold of the tangled
belt.
Another hand grasped the offending branch and with a swift movement
released the Boy from the tree. Peter sprang away and landed on the
rooftop. As soon as he hit the roof, he froze. Tinkerbell vanished into
the
tree as a rustling was heard at the nursery window. A blonde head
cautiously stuck its nose out and looked about.
“Angelica, please don’t lean out of the window like that,” a voice from
inside chided. “You could fall out.”
With a sigh, the girl returned inside, shutting the window behind her.
Peter let out the breath he was holding. He then stood up and dove back
into the tree.
“Tinkerbell,” he scolded the fairy very seriously. “You almost gave us
away!”
“It wasn’t Tink who nearly gave us away,” chimed in a new voice, one
with a
sweet lilt.
Peter turned and saw cerulean eyes regarding him intently. He shrugged.
“Wasn’t I!” he proclaimed with a devilish smirk as he bounced on a limb.
“Oh, no?” the voice challenged him. The eyes disappeared briefly, then
reappeared with the rest of the face which belonged to a very pretty
redhead. The girl’s age was unclear, but nevertheless she was obviously
many years older than Peter, perhaps even in her mid-teens.
The Boy shrugged again. “But you have to admit that was funniest story
ever! Hook my dad!” The thought sent him spiraling out of the tree and
up
into the night sky, at which point he let a joyful crow.
The girl was out of the tree in a flash and clamping her hand over his
mouth, just as the nursery window was once again flung open.
“That you can’t blame on Tink,” she told him.
“Come, Ari,” he grinned, ignoring her last comment. “Let’s go! Wait
‘til
you see the Mermaid’s Lagoon.”
With that he took off, leaving Ari to scramble frantically after him.
