The Scary Truth

Carl thought he was a secret agent.

Harriet watched his dark shadowy form creep past her open bedroom door.

He wouldn't tell her what he was up to. He never would. He said she couldn't handle the truth. Well, the mystery was about to end.

She followed her brother down the hallway. She moved like a cartoon character taking elongated pink pajama-strides, her fingers clenched like cat's claws.

She could see Carl downstairs, a pen-light between his teeth. Then the basement door opened and he was gone again into darkness.

The blackness in the basement changed to soft orange light. She could see Carl was dressed all in black. He even had a black ski-mask pulled over his face. She was amazed. He really was a secret agent!

Harriet watched spell-bound from the basement stairs as he began to climb spider-like to a cupboard which he opened silently. Inside were presents wrapped in all colors.

“I knew it!” Harriet whispered in ferocious disappointment. “There's no Santa Claus!”

“SSSSH,” Carl hissed, a scowl on his face.

She watched him produce a box-cutter and begin to expertly slice open the red wrapping paper.

“Train-set!” Carl grinned down at his sister.

“There's no Santa?” she asked, tears showing. "Tell me..."

“Need-to-know only,” Carl responded.

Sometimes Harriet hated secret agents!

“What'd I get?”

“One present,” Carl said with a flick of his box-cutter. “Uggs boots.”

“Pink?”

“Pink.”

Harriet watched her brother re-tape the packages. He had a Polaroid picture of how everything was before. Then he began removing finger-prints.

“It's mom's stash,” she was told when she was back in bed.

“Really?”

“Santa brings more.” Carl whispered from the doorway. “You know that. Cheer up!” And he was gone.

“Need-to-know only.” Harriet whispered to the dark ceiling. “Secret agents are so way cool...”

300 words-