“No.” Mother said.
“May I go outside and play?”
The children knew Mother would say no, but they asked anyway. They asked everyday.
Truth was the children had not been outside for as long as they could remember. A window facing the street was as close as they had ever come.
They hated their mother. Even when she cooked them the food they loved or brought them brightly colored toys with which to play.
One day she brought a box of old toys from a yard sale. At the bottom of the box was a strange figure, covered in curious symbols. The children thought it odd, setting it on a shelf and forgetting about it.
The next day Mother refuses to let them play outside again. Again. Again. The months passed as they always had.
They began to hate Mother.
One night, the children could take no more. “We hate Mother and wished she would go away so we could be free!”
As they spoke the words, the strange doll fell from the shelf and shattered.
The next day they woke to find the doors would not open, the same strange symbols that were on the doll now on the doors and above all the windows.
None would open.
They screamed and knocked, but none passing noticed. They tried smashing and breaking the doors and windows, to no avail.
By the third day they were hungry and dirty. They missed Mother. It was then at the window the children finally saw her.
Walking by, it was mother with another family. Three happy kids walked at her side, smiling and laughing. The children in the house beat on the windows, calling for Mother.
She turned toward the house, stopping a moment. She stared at the house, wondering who lived there before turning back to the kids pulling her hands and disappeared down the street.
They never saw her again.