An Easter Story | The Egg Stone

colorful easter eggs

A seasonal short story I wrote as a youngster for you to read to your kids… Happy Easter!

When I was seven years old, I was sent to spend Easter with my granny in the country. I loved Easter more than any other occasion, even Christmas and my birthday, although all were eagerly anticipated for the treats they would inevitably bring.

My passion, however, was for chocolate eggs, and of course these only came once a year, but in all shapes and sizes, and I would happily gorge until I felt distinctly ill, smearing all in my vicinity with sticky fingerprints, making my annual Easter mark on the furniture and the walls.

On this occasion, my mother was expecting the imminent arrival of my sibling, and experiencing complications, and so was admitted prematurely into hospital. I was not unduly worried; the excitement of a train journey, several extra weeks off school and the indulgence afforded me by my grandmother far outweighed my previous impatient interest in the new addition to my family.

Granny’s cottage was situated amongst open fields on the outskirts of a tiny village. The cottage itself was quaint, and antiquated with practically no amenities. Every inch of space was crowded with a lifetime’s collection of memorabilia, creating for me days of endless fascination. The fields round about were perfect for hunting wild man-eating bears, fighting scalp-hunting red Indians, chasing robbers and other boyish occupations far too numerous to mention. In those days, WII and DS were futuristic fantasies, and few benefited from the luxury of television.

When I came down to breakfast that Easter Sunday, Granny said that she had a surprise for me on our return from church. Looking round, I discreetly noted a distinct lack of chocolate eggs. I was too well behaved to comment, but disappointment set in. How could Granny forget? Easter just wasn’t right without  chocolate eggs. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became. But what of the surprise? Pouting sulkily, I decided that nothing would compensate for an egg- less Easter. Yet, despite myself, curiosity heightened within me like a coiled spring, and I could not sit still through the service but must wriggle and squirm as a means of release. Granny pretended not to notice but there was no mistaking the half smile of amusement which crossed her features.

After lunch, Granny turned to me with an enigmatic glimmer in her eye and said, ” I have hidden something for you in the garden; if you can find it, it is yours.” Then she took up her crochet and would say no more. There was something enticingly mysterious in her manner.

Something hidden for me in the garden, I mused. How strange! It must be my chocolate egg! But how was I to find it in this rambling chaos my granny kindly referred to as her garden? I begged and pleaded for clues and directions, but when none were forthcoming I set about my task, a mission which to me equalled life or death – chocolate egg or no chocolate egg!

After two hours of searching I was hot, sticky, red in the face, becoming increasingly irritated, and still had found nothing. What was I looking for? I started again… and again… and again. I left no leaf untouched, no stone unturned. I befriended every slug, snail, beetle and spider co – habiting there, and by teatime was just about to give up in floods of tears when… there it was, sitting patiently and obviously in a place I had searched dozens of times to no avail.

‘It’ was a very SMALL cloth wrapped package. Very small, and very lonely. I was indignant. All this effort and heartache in just one day, and my only reward was a single tiny egg! Was this Granny’s idea of fun? Rebellious thoughts rushed through my head.  I picked up the object. It was very heavy for so small an item, far too heavy for an easter egg, and I would know, this being my area of expertise. What, then, could it be?

I carefully unwrapped the cloth and into the palm of my hand tumbled… a pebble. Tears stung my eyes. Was this some kind of cruel joke?

As I examined the object, I realised that this was no ordinary stone. It was so tiny that it fitted snugly into my little hand. It was smooth and perfectly egg shaped, and very, very cold to the touch. It was a rich translucent amber in colour, with dark veins running through it. It reminded me of my spider marbles. At its heart, light seemed to gather and writhe like flames in slow time. I was entranced.

I decided I liked the stone after all, although I was at a loss as to what to do with it. Granny would know. Holding it reverently  before me, I rushed to her side.

” Thank you for the egg – stone, Granny. ” I said politely.

” Ah, so you have it, then. ” she said gruffly, without looking up. Her hands moved faster over her crochet.

” Er… what is it? “

” Why, its an egg – stone, of course. What did you think it was? “

” Well, what’s it for? It took me ages to find. “

” You didn’t find it. It found you. Now, listen: it found me too when I was your age. Look after it, and it will look after you. You must polish it occasionally, and hold it every day, but you must never ever let anyone know about it, or see it. ” Granny was looking at me very intently, her eyes burning into mine.

” I promise. ” I replied solemnly. I could hardly do anything else!

I hid the egg stone at the bottom of my bed, underneath the mattress. Later, I took it out to examine it more closely. This time, it felt quite warm, cupped in my hands. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with homesickness, and a longing to be with my family. A little chocolate egg would have gone a long way towards cheering me up!

Then I was shaken from my thoughts by Granny’s voice calling me downstairs.

” There is a visitor for you. ” she said.

Strange! No one from the village knew me.

I skipped down the stairs to find a large woman and a small girl standing in the hallway. The girl smiled shyly and offered me a straw basket, in which nestled three small, perfectly formed mouth watering chocolate eggs! I gazed at her in jaw dropped amazement. I understood the magnitude of this sacrifice.

We sat among the flowers and shared the eggs, and then she and her mother stayed to tea.

The next day, a telegram arrived. Gran read it in silence, then smiled a slow smile.

” You have a baby brother, and your mother and he are both doing well. ” she said, ” and I am to put you on the next train home.”

I went upstairs, sat on my bed, and took out the egg stone. I felt very uneasy.

” You’ve done this. ” I whispered to it.

All the things I had wished for the night before had come true; a new friend to ease my loneliness, the gift of chocolate eggs, the return to my family. Of course, it was coincidence. Or was it? The heart of the stone glittered.

Although I was sad to leave my gran, I had a joyful reunion with my parents. My new brother was not what I expected; I wanted a brother I could play football and climb trees with, but all this one did was eat, sleep and cry. But I was happy to be home, why there was even a host of Easter eggs decorating my room!

There was only one dark cloud on the horizon.

School. And that meant Brian.

Brian was the typical school bully; every school has one. Big, fat, stupid and mouthy, with the weight and the cronies to back him up. He had picked on just about everyone in the school at one time or another, and had yet to be defied. I knew with a sickening certainty that now it would be my turn. I took the egg stone with me for  support.

On my arrival at the school gate, a crowd gathered around me. Well, I had just had an extra fortnight off school, been to the country, and had a new baby brother! Brian did not like anyone else to be the centre of attention and so in the lunch break he made his move.

” Got a baby brother have you? ” he sneered. ” Bet he’s ugly, just like you! Ginger nut, carrot top, speccy speccy four eyes! “

His friends joined in the cruel chorus. He took a menacing step towards me, and began pushing me backwards with each jeer until my back was pressed hard against the wall.

” And now do you know what I’m going to do? ” he threatened, ” I’m going to smash your specs and then I’m going to give you a black eye! “

I braced myself, slipping my hand into my jacket pocket, and felt the egg stone nestling there, smooth and reassuring. Unfortunately, this did not go unnoticed.

” What you got there then? ” he demanded suspiciously. ” Get it, lads! “

A hundred hands reached for the egg stone at his command, taking the opportunity to aim a few well directed thumps in my direction as they did so. Struggle as I might, I could not resist them.

” Well well, what have we here? ” Brian gloated, turning the stone over curiously in his hands.

” It’s only a rock,” said one of his gang disappointedly.

” Shut up! ” snarled Brian.

” It’s an egg stone, ” I muttered sullenly, ” and its mine. Give it back! “

” Finders keepers! ” trilled Brian.

My resentment suddenly flared into anger. I lunged at him. At the same time, the egg stone began to glow fiercely with heat, there was a shriek from Brian and it fell from his hands. It hit the tarmac with a resounding crack and shattered into a million pieces.

There was shocked silence, broken only by Brian’s blubbering. He was blowing on his hands, trying to cool them. They looked badly burned. All eyes were on me. Full of righteous rage, I flew at Brian, hating him, wanting to kill. After a few seconds pause, the whole yard full of children poured around me, screaming their encouragement, some even joining in the attack.

Of course, I was punished both by the school and my parents, but I didn’t care. Brian and his mates never bullied anyone again, so it was a small price to pay.

As for the egg stone, to this day I still keep a shard of it at the bottom of my bed, underneath the mattress.

13 Comments on “An Easter Story | The Egg Stone

  1. Wow, what a great creative nature you had at such a young age…really brilliant Ali. You’ve talent that most just dream about ~ that Celtic charm I think…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much! I have always loved to read and write. I often think I am just a vessel into which words are poured for me to bring to paper or screen. So I will take your compliment on behalf of whatever source they come from! 😁

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    • I cant remember exactly, but I was quite prolific between 14 and 16, but I think I wrote that one a bit earlier, maybe 10 or 12.

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  2. That’s so cool that you were an aspiring author even as a child, Ali. Your story is very well written and is a glimpse of the author that you were to become with an inclination towards the magical and mystical. And I like that the bully got what was coming to him…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Rachele! I always loved writing as a kid. Unfortunately I dont have many of the ones I wrote as a kid, all that kind of stuff was lost when my parents split up. I remember my mom used to have some really funny ones from before I could spell properly.

      Like

    • Thanks for reading it! I wrote it when I was a kid. I edited it a little bit but left it mostly alone. It reads very much like a kid trying to write like a grown up, but I like that…

      Liked by 1 person

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