Rated: E · Short Story · Children's · #1770369
The Easter Bunny has left an egg... Suitable for 4 - 6 year old children.
|It was a bright Easter morning. Fred was just coming home from taking an Easter Basket to his grandmother who lived across the street. He was really proud of the basket because he dyed the eggs himself. When he got to the front steps, he found a pink box like a shoebox, but bigger. He had just opened the lid to see what was inside when his friend, Charlie, walked up.|
"Hey Fred, where did that come from?"
"It looks like the Easter Bunny left it."
"Hah! The Easter Bunny, right! Let me look at that." At age six and a half, Charlie had stopped believing in the Easter Bunny. He had been trying to convince five-year-old Fred, but with no success. Charlie picked up the plush box and looked all around, over, under, inside, and out.
"There's no card. All right, what did you do with the card, Gizmo?"
"There is no card, and don't call me Gizmo."
"Let me look at that egg. It's just some football all painted up. This is a joke. I bet those kids next door put this here," said Charlie.
"Could be... did you notice the shell?"
"Yeah. It's got a lot of colors. I wonder where those kids got such cool paint. What about it?" asked Charlie.
"When you touch it, it feels just like a real egg. Charlie, I think this is a real egg. I am going to take good care of it to see if it hatches" said Fred. He picked it up and took it into the house.
"Good luck," said Charlie, with a big toothless grin. "I wonder what your mom's going to say about that."
Fred set the box and egg gingerly on the floor.
"Bye Charlie. Happy Easter." He closed the door.
"Fred, is that you?" called his mother. "Who were you talking to?"
"Yes, Mom. It's me. I was talking to Charlie. You'll never believe what the Easter Bunny left." Fred carried the egg carefully to the kitchen and put it on the table. Fred was a bit small for his age, so he almost had to climb into the chair. He pulled his legs up crisscrossed and put his chin on the table right up close to the egg, just looking and looking.
His mother was at the sink with her back to him when he came in. She dried her hands and said "well, I'd guess it's an Easter Basket," as she turned toward the table. "My goodness, Fred! That is a huge egg! Let me look at that. If it's chocolate, you will only get a little piece at a time." She reached out to pick the egg up, and it started to rock. Quickly, she pulled her hands back. Just as fast, it stopped rocking. "Now quit that, Fred. Let it be still."
"I didn't touch it, I swear."
"Just the same, put your hands in your pockets."
Fred did as his mother asked. She reached out to touch the egg and it started to rock, much harder this time. She pulled her hands back, and again, it stopped.
"See Mom. It wasn't me. It was the egg doing that"
"I see. It seems alive!"
"I want to make a nest for it in my room and let it hatch. Then we'll know what it is," said Fred, as he was getting down from the chair.
"I don't know, Fred. Some terrible creature could be in that egg."
"But Mom, the Easter Bunny wouldn't bring a terrible creature." Fortunately for Fred, his mother agreed with him that the Easter Bunny is good and kind.
"You're probably right about that. OK. Let's work together to make it a nice warm nest. What do you think about using those old white towels that are almost worn out? I think they are nice and soft and clean, but I'm not sure they will be good enough for such an important guest."
"Well, he can rock. He can let us know if he likes the towels when we put him on them," said Fred. "We can use my bean bag chair for his nest. He'll like that."
So, Fred and his mother set about making a nest for the egg. When his mom tried one more time to pick up the egg, it stayed still. She placed it on a clean towel and put another one over the egg.
"Do you think he'll be warm enough?" The egg rocked gently and then stopped. "I think he likes it. I just remembered the box. I'll bring it upstairs and let him pick between the box and the nest." Fred ran downstairs and quickly returned carrying the pink plush box. When Fred touched the egg, it didn't move, but when he tried to pick it up, it started to shake and shiver.
"He wants to stay in his nest. Don't you think so, Mom?"
"I do. Let's let the egg rest and go downstairs and have some lunch. I'm hungry!" They both left the room and quietly closed the door.
Fred could hardly finish his lunch, he was in such a hurry to go watch his egg. When he was done and had picked up after himself, he ran upstairs. He opened the door, expecting to see the egg in the nest where he left it. But, it wasn't there. Instead, there was a bird sitting on the head of Fred's bed. Each feather was a different bright color. It said "hello, Fred. Happy Primordial Smoke Day to you."
"What? Who are you? Did you come from the egg?"
"Of course, I came from the egg. It is my home. I am a Smoke Dragon, the oldest of all creatures on the earth."
"Did the Easter Bunny bring you?" asked Fred.
"I am the Easter Bunny. I am the Tooth Fairy. I am Santa Clause. I am one of many Smoke Dragons. We create and sustain all magical creatures on earth."
"Charlie will never believe this!" commented Fred.
"You are right. There are humans who welcome us, and those who don't. We don't worry about the ones that don't. We just do our jobs and go back home to our eggs. Today, my job is to talk to you so you don't have to feel bad when people like Charlie bug you. You know the truth. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other visits to make." The creature morphed into a cloud of smoke, shaped like a dragon, and then, vanished into the egg and the egg disappeared, along with the pink plush box.
Fred ran down the steps and told his mother all about it. She suggested he get out his colors and paper and draw the story while it was fresh in his memory. She said she would write any words he wanted to include in his story.
Fred was amazed at how well he could draw that day. He and his mom made a whole book about it and he put it with his other books to keep.
"This is the best Easter ever! And, Primordial Smoke Day! What does that word mean, Mom? Primordial?"
"I don't know," she replied, reaching for the dictionary. "Let's look it up."