The Laughter of a Child

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Who doesn’t love the laughter of a child? A sound so blessed and beautiful, with the imagery of a little face creased into a delicate smile. A sound so soulful; the gentle giggle presenting bliss in its purest form.

 

The laughter of a child could be heard in the arms of her mother. Belle lay cooing in a bundle of deep blue blankets, her eyes a gleaming pair of stars. The little blonde hair on her pale head lay flat and her tiny fists shook softly in response to the lullaby her mother sang. Sandra’s slender, yet strong arms rocked the baby as her lean frame swayed to the tune of her voice. She stood, in a floral slip- dress and a pair of beige boots, at the doorframe, as her husband loaded their car with carrier bags and a large pram. Their eldest daughter May stood beside her mother, gesturing to little Belle. Her thick blonde curls fell about her trimmed waist as she shook her head, contorting her pretty face, so that Belle’s giggling fit continued. Her mother hushed the gentle chuckling, as she planted a kiss on May’s light forehead. Belle waved and attempted at the word, goodbye, though only uttered the first and last few letters. May’s father entered the house in a smart shirt and structured blazer, embracing her warmly, before turning back towards the car. The three of them entered the vehicle, allowing the bright headlights to bask May in an orange glow. The car backed out of the driveway and, in the tinted windows, several waving hands could be seen.

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The three of them were on their way to their grandmother’s house, singing and chattering away as the winding roads went on and on. May made her way to the second floor of the house, entering her bedroom in the far corner of the corridor. She curled up under her duvet in a white lace gown, drawing her locks into a neat bun. Her little red nose and snivelling manner was subdued by a mug of warm milk left at her bedside by her mother, alongside a post-it note that read, ‘Get well soon! We’ll text you when we reach grandma’s to wish you goodnight. From mum, dad and Belle.’ With a feeble smile, May glanced at her phone. It was already 9:00 pm. She lifted herself off the bed, drawing her curtains shut, so that the neat lawn outside disappeared behind a thick layer of velvet. Turning the lights off, May fell into her bed, letting her eyelids, slowly shut.

The darkness of the room was broken by the soft glow of May’s phone upon her oak desk. The time read 01:00. No new notifications were displayed. There was a stillness about the house; not a creak could be heard by the staircase, not a clock ticking in the hallway, or a page turning in the study. All was silent.

 

The phone, again glowed a bright white, displaying the time 03:00. A scratching could be heard at the window, piercing through the silence that shattered into fragments. The scratching intensified to the point that May, abruptly sat up in her bed, awoken by the noise. She rubbed harshly at her bleary eyes, lifting her phone from the desk. She had neither been called or texted by her parents. She messaged the both of them a quick ‘goodnight’ before rising from the bed, once more. Dimly discernible in the dark, May allowed her fingers to wrap around the curtain, assuming to find the thin branches of a tree scraping the window. There was nothing outside. No tree. No squirrel at the windowsill. Nothing.

 

Assuming that the wind had been rapping at her window, May dialled her father’s number, in hope that he would answer. She called her mother too, though neither accepted the call. Her greatest reassurance was that they must be asleep.

The sensor hung above the driveway of the house was, immediately triggered and a white light seared through the darkness. Again, there was nothing- all that could be seen was the thatched roof. The wind must have been the culprit, especially considering the recent harsh weathers. Despite this idea, May was made uneasy. Her concern for her family swelled within her as she sat contemplating her options so late into the night. Then, the sound of laughter startled May. The sound of a child’s laughter. Belle’s laughter.

 

It was 04:00. May listened closely to the continuous giggle though there was no specific prompting of its origin. The echoing sound seemed to be taunting her.

 

She made her way to the lights and flicked the switch. The room remained dark.

 

The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she grabbed her phone. It would not turn on. Her shadow, visibly darker than the room itself, followed her down the stairs and into the lounge as the sound of laughter grew.

 

Within the lounge, the curtains were drawn, and the large windows displayed a clear view of the family car. Within it, May’s mother, father and younger sister lay, lips slightly parted and leached of colour and life. They had never left.

 

Who doesn’t love the laughter of a child?