Hello to those who have read Aunty T’s other 2 stories, this is the first in the series with the ‘story’ that got Aunty T in trouble. I hope you enjoy. Thanks
The scary story – 1
The children gathered around me, their excited little faces looking up
Then they asked ‘Aunty T, would you please tell us a story’
‘Yes, I will tell you a story ‘I replied in a singsong voice. This was all part of the routine I had introduced to all the children that attended my story sessions at Greenfields primary school. I had been teaching at the school for 3 months as a ‘story teller’, a job that my parents were not too pleased about.
‘Storytelling, like the tales by moonlight woman?’ my mother asked
My father put down his paper and looked at me over the top of his glasses.
‘Is this one of your jokes, ’Cause I don’t get it?’ She continued
‘It’s not a joke, Mummy, it’s a real job title’ I replied
‘Tochi, if you knew you wanted to do that, you should have gone on TV instead’
At that moment, I wanted to scream at my mother. How could she forget that I had actually wanted to study theatre arts at University, she said at the time that it would be over her dead body that I could do such a thing. My mother loved drama, the rest of us didn’t and I did not want to kill the woman so those dreams were shelved in favour of her long life. I opted to study English instead.
‘What school is this’ my father asked
‘Greenfields primary school……but before I could continue, my mother interrupted
‘No wonder, that their school proprietor looks like someone that would employ a teacher to tell stories to little children, maybe they told stories to children when she was in England’ she said
‘Anyway Tochi, my father continued, ‘I’m not really happy with this job, but we support you in this. In any job, valuable experience and skills are gained so no job is worthless .With that, he continued reading his paper while my mother decided from then on to start calling me ‘Aunty Storyteller’. I got inspiration from that and introduced myself to the children as ‘Aunty T’.
I liked the children, their excitement every time they entered the story hut made me confident that they loved my stories, I was always on a high during my story sessions and not even thoughts of my mother’s taunting could bring me down. And it turned out that some of my new colleagues shared the same views as mother dearest but like I said no one could spoil my high.
Smiling, I continued to say to the children ‘ today I’ve got a poem for you instead of a story’
They looked too excited to care whether it was a poem or story just as long as they got to hear one. Their enthusiasm excited me and so I began
‘The title of my poem is The Lost gift’
There was once a little girl
Always lovely and jolly
A bright smile for everyone
Surrounded by many friends
Laughing, playing and running about
She was funny, so people loved her
A charming little one, everyone adored her
‘This one is destined for great things, you just watch’
The grown –ups would often say
While pinching her dimpled chubby cheeks
Yes, our little girl was ready for her grand debut
She was to conquer the world
Then the lovely little girl grew up
Her bright smile, ever present, hid her pain so well
She laughed with her friends but cried to herself
As she thought, ‘I’ve made my grand debut but greatness fell by the wayside’
Our little girl had achieved her dreams but she misunderstood greatness
She felt she ought to own the whole world
No one reached out to her to say
That greatness came in different shapes and sizes
And her’s was a perfect fit
And so she remained trapped in a cage of confusion and sadness
Her precious gift wasted until
Our lovely not-so little girl became lost to the world
They sat motionless, weird expressions plastered across their faces, the earlier excitement gone and its place, confusion.
I didn’t expect any questions so I was surprised when a hand flew up, ‘Yes, Ayo?’
Ayo spoke up, ‘Aunty T, who is the girl and can we give her another gift to play with so she won’t be sad again?’
I opened my mouth to speak before I realised I couldn’t answer the question and just then, the bell for break rang out.
‘Alright children, time for break, I will answer your questions in our next story session.’ I said as I began to lead them out of the story hut and into the courtyard for break. I returned to the staffroom to ponder my dilemma, I really hoped that the kids would forget about the poem by the end of the day otherwise how would I to explain to them that the little girl did not actually exist?