100 Stories- 100 Days – Short Story #12

100 Stories- 100 Days – Short Story #12
August 15, 2013 Miro Sevin Siegel


The Marble Giver

There’s been something I wanted to write about for a long time now, and just now I’ve had the time.

The story started when my family moved into a house in the city of Brackwood. I was only six at the time. We moved around a lot, because of my fathers job.

A large, empty house, a large, empty room. I spent most of my time inside. I couldn’t really spend much time playing outside, due to my sickness. I suffered from Poly Morphus Light Eruption; I couldn’t spend time in the sun. Prolonged period of time in it would leave me in pain. So I stuck to reading.

My room was extremely bare; the only thing in it was my bed. It had no windows, of course, any slight exposure to sunlight would singe my skin. Quickly growing bored of the few juvenile books I had. I decided to explore the new house.

There were many rooms, although the most interesting was the attic. It was dark and had nothing in it, except for a small pouch. I emptied out the bag, and looked at the balls of glass as they slowly rolled on the floor. I examined them closer. Intrigued by the different colors and patterns, I put them back into the bag and went downstairs. As I turned to the hatch, I sensed another being. In the corner of the room, there was a stuffed animal. It had marbles for eyes and it’s mouth was sown together. It was a pig.

I moved closer to it, and once I got close enough, I reached for it. As I touched it, it disappeared, vanished.

Startled, I ran downstairs.

Done with the books and bored out of my mind, I played with the marbles for a few hours. And then I was bored with those too.

The next morning I decided to go back into the attic. Upon entering, I noticed another bag in the center of the room. I glanced at the corner, expecting to see the doll again. It wasn’t there. I snagged the bag and hurried out of the room. As I shut the trap door, I saw it again. It was smiling this time. The curious side of me got the better, and I re-entered the room. I approached it. As I touched it, once again, it escaped from me.

I scurried to my room and poured the contents out of the bag. Marbles, but this time on the red-ish hue. Once again I was captivated, and I spent the next day investigating them. One was in a plaid pattern, and there was one (My favorite) that was practically seeping with color.

I wanted to go back up, but I was afraid of what I might see. I summed up enough courage and stormed through the hatch. As always, the bag was in the center of the room, and I took it. It felt lighter than usual. As I left the attic, once again I saw it. It was missing an eye this time, and had an even larger smile. I didn’t go near it this time, and I just left.

I found out, to my surprise, that the bag only contained one marble. It was white. I checked the other side. A pupil sat on the backside.

I never went up there again, and a few weeks later, we moved again. My father had an urgent job offer. We quickly packed up and left. I looked out the dimmed car window, back at the house. The stuffed pig was sitting on the door step.

18 years later, I returned to the house. I reached for the door knob. As my fingers wrapped around it, the house vanished.

What is this? it’s part of the NEW PROJECT: 100 Stories- 100 Days – Send your suggestions for stories by submitting a title and genre and I’ll write it!

1 Comment

  1. Emy 11 years ago

    “Haunted piggy, sad piggy, little ball of marbles, weird piggy, lonely piggy, oink oink oink.”
    This one is sad, or scary. I like the ambivalence in most of Miro’s stories: they reflect what the reader wants to see and feel.
    Proof of a child raised in freedom of mind!

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