Wolverton Falls

05. Words of an Unfriendly Nature

"WHAT HAVE YOU done, child?!" The woman screeched; her voice cracked. The unpleasant gravelly tone, caused by the cigarettes she smoked excessively, made her appearance only more sinister. Her skeletal white hands reached out to grip the small girl's brown hair.

The eight-year-old girl let out a painful yelp as the old woman, Mrs. Williamson, knotted her hair into a tight bundle. Her long fingernails scraped against the skin of her scalp.

Mrs. Williamson screamed at her, wildly gesturing with her other hand to the accidental mess the small girl made.

Scattered across the ground was the shattered pieces of a prized, beloved figurine that her foster guardian cherished and cleaned every morning at five. Its crumbly remnants and powdery strokes of dust covered the tiled floor. The dissembled figurine that once resembled an angel was undoubtedly unrecoverable.

The girl, Maggie, spluttered a string of apologies, tears streamed down her chubby cheeks, "I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to – I swear! It was an acci–"

She was cut off when the snarling woman tugged her hair earning a sharp yelp from the sufferer.

"You've been here only three weeks!" Mrs. Williamson screeched, her height and thin figure towered over the whimpering child as she leaned in to sneer, "You are a walking disaster! Fifth! Worthless! You will pay for what you have done!"

Maggie's trembling hands shook with terror, her heart rapidly thumped in her small chest. Tears fell at a relentless rate; splashing on her threadbare shirt.

She had been listening in on Mrs. Williamson talking on the phone with the foster care she had been at since her parents' death.

Her heart had torn into slivers when the police officers told her and her older brother that her parents had drowned in the ocean. They caught fish to provide for their family – often gone a few months during the prime season. The boat capsized. No survivors.

A constant ache seemed to throb at the thought of her deceased, treasured mother and father. Now nothing but a depthless pit of sadness hovered in her heart's place; and being separated from her thirteen-year-old brother worsened the depressing feeling.

When little Maggie passed Mrs. Williamson's room she overhead her speaking and at the mentioned her name. She had stumbled when she walked backwards and knocked over the miniature statue. She knew she was in a whole new world of trouble once that crashed onto the ground.

Maggie just wanted her parent's back. She wanted to see Max. All she could do was hole herself up in her small, isolated room, curl up into a ball and vulnerably cry until she had nothing left.

"Maggie?"

Hearing her name and mentally shaking away the old memory, Maggie blinked the unshed tears that welled up on the brim of her light brown eyes. She tilted her head up from her cup of tea and looked at Max's worried expression.

"Um," She cleared her throat as she decided to quickly throw away suspicion with a question, "What – What days did you say you were working?"

Max frowned before sighing heavily, "Uh, five P.M to two A.M, Tuesday to Sunday,"

Slumping in the chair, Maggie grumbled under her breath. She was glad he was able to get a job at short notice, in a small town. She would have to start looking for a job later today.

"You'll be alright on your own?" Asked Max after a moment of silence. He cocked his head to the side, gesturing to her concerned expression.

Maggie nodded with a forced smile before saying, "I'll be fine. I'll try and call the doctor today,"