Chapter Two

Ch. 2 of Any Old Thing Will Do

Any Old Thing Will Do

Chapter Two

In a small, gray alcove that was too small to be called an attic, a young girl was lying on the floor and staring up into the rafters. Dust floated through the sunlight that filtered through a nearby window and she made notes of their swirls and patterns; it was the most exciting thing that she had done all day. The girl was Jenny Strumpet, and she was officially ten years old.

She heard plodding footsteps on the floor downstairs and then a heavy rattling as somebody came up the ladder. Mr. Strumpet’s head appeared through the attic door. It took him a moment to find her, stretched out between piles of old boxes and stacks of old books.

“Come on down. Mom will be home soon.”

“I don’t want to come down,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m pretending.”

“Oh?” There were another few steps and the upper half of her father emerged into the attic. He leaned down on his elbows, looking over at her. “And what are you pretending?” he asked.

“I’m pretending that I’m dead,” she said, matter of factly, “and this is my tomb.” Now Jenny had been pretending no such thing, but as she said it she thought that it probably wasn’t that bad of a thing to pretend. It had to be much more exciting to be dead than it was to be alive. Anything had to be more exciting than living in her boring old house.

Her father was silent for a long moment. Then, with a faint chuckle, he said, “Well, then, I guess you don’t want any cake or ice cream. Dead people don’t eat cake and ice cream.”

“Of course they do,” said Jenny, pushing herself up on her hands quickly. “Dead people can eat whatever they want. They don’t have to worry about calories and fats, or anything like that.” She turned to look at her father, who she mostly thought was the most wonderful person in the world. “Can’t they?” she said, dusting herself off as she stood up and made her way toward him.

“I guess that could be true,” he said. He ducked out of sight and Jenny followed him down the attic stairs and into the hallway. The door to his office was still wide open, the bright white light of his computer screen flickering in the shadows. She continued to follow him as he made his way into the dining room, where a lopsided homemade cake with bright yellow frosting sat proudly at the center of the table.

“I guess it could be a Death Day cake,” she said, skirting the edge of the table to get a better look at it. Swirls of frosting that almost passed for flowers dotted the edge of it. Her name was scrawled in large pink letters across the top. She reached out a finger and picked up a glob of the letter “J”. “A Death Day is more interesting than a birthday anyway,” she said.

Mr. Strumpet laughed as he moved into the kitchen. “Really?” he asked.

“Much more interesting. I can’t even remember being born.”

Her father moved back into the room with a pile of paper plates and a large tub of ice cream, swatting her hand away before she could sample the cake again. She stuck her tongue out at him just as she heard the click of keys in the front door.

“Mom’s home. Time for cake!” said Mr. Strumpet, tousling Jenny’s hair. But Jenny was suddenly distracted by the appearance of a large white bag.

“Is that my present?” she asked.

“Cake first, present after,” said her dad, rumpling her hair. But her attention was now captured as her mother pulled a large, old looking blue box out of the bag and sat it gently at the center of the table. There was something odd about it; although what, Jenny wasn’t entirely sure. The only thing that Jenny did know, even though she didn’t know how she knew, was that something strange and wonderful was about to happen.