The violent wind startled the family, tearing them from their dreamscapes — their soundless slumbers.
The boy and girl sat upright in a panic, screaming and bolting toward their parents’ bedroom. The walls of the old house shook. Windows rattled and whistled at the children as they sprinted past.
Seeeeee youuuu the wind called to them. Moonlight glimmered.
Before their parents’ feet touched the floor, the children leaped into bed with them and pulled the covers overhead. Small quivering bodies nestled into larger ones.
The family huddled together under their fortress of warm blankets, trying to muffle the sinister howls. Still, the children trembled and cried out.
But then the mother sang. Somehow, the calm in her voice — the quiet tenderness — blocked out the cold and the dark and the monstrous wind. It didn’t take long for the children to close their eyes and find sleep again.
When day broke, the boy and girl stepped outside to a world of stillness and light.
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Take care, and thanks again.
Then the parents packed their bags, moved away, and sold the house. 😉
I loved the mother singing part.
I love your family-oriented stories! It's interesting how our phase of life seeps into the stories we write.