I have been reworking an old manuscript into a fairytale collection.
What do you think?
The house looked like a doll house all grown up on Salem street.
The Tuesday the box was left on the porch changed everything. This box was not the normal delivery boxes often left on the porch. Tuesday was a simple day of the week with no particular affiliation. There was no cutesy nickname for Tuesday. It was a day you really could feel sorry for if you thought hard enough about it. This box had a large crimson ribbon with a tag addressed “To Jack – The Boy Who Loves Stories.”
Jack shook the box all the way up the stairs but there was no sound.
He threw the box from the door to the bed and found scissors to open it. Jack dumped the contents out and scanned for a card. A cobalt blue shimmery blanket fell out of the box. Jack wondered, “What did a blanket have to do with stories?” He had no idea who it was from. The fabric was the softest material he had ever touched. The blue had a sheen that changed with the light and was like nothing he had ever seen.
The moment was gone and he threw it back on the bed and went downstairs to eat some cake.
When the plastic cups and icing was cleaned from the counters, the table, the chairs, and the floor it was time for bed.
Jack was cold so he pulled the new blanket under the covers and it felt so nice on his skin. He was suddenly the perfect temperature in bed.
That is when he heard it.
The blanket hugged his shoulders and arms and he wondered if he was dreaming.
“I am going to tell you a story. I can tell how fast to talk because of how you are breathing.”
The blanket started to tell Jack a bedtime story only he could hear.
The black night showed only two visible stars. He imagined it was his grandparents keeping an eye on him.
Love filled him to the top of his head which is something he would never admit outside this room and the blanket.