Yesterday we arrived home from a day out at the beach to find this sitting on the doormat:
I was immediately suspicious.
“It probably contains a bomb,” I muttered.
On the other hand, it was my birthday recently … so maybe it contained a lovely surprise!
Gingerly, we removed the lid.
The contents included: the entangled, dried up, roots and remains of a dead plant; a polaroid of a kitten; a small gauzy, golden bag filled with coins; what looked like a doll’s pair of underwear; and a tiny Hello Kitty figurine.
Reader, it was terrifying.
“Either a child made this,” I declared, “or else …” I didn’t finish the sentence, but the words going through my mind were stalker; psychopath; serial killer; ghost??? Doll come to life????
A few minutes later, I glanced out the kitchen window and spotted the younger—who was not in my charge that day—on the grassy verge outside my apartment. She and her friend seemed to be settling down for a picnic.
I went out and was greeted with peals of giggles. After establishing that they were there with permission, I went back in, grabbed the box and marched back out.
“Did you two leave this on the doormat?” I demanded.
More peals of giggles.
“But what does it … mean???” I asked, as if there could possibly be a reasonable answer to that question.
The younger shrugged, giggling. “It was just a prank, Mom!”
I shook my head and walked inside, muttering under my breath, leaving them giggling gleefully at how thoroughly they had unsettled me.