The Wikkeling Read Online Free

only old house, the only house without a front yard, and the only house with a steep, shingled roof. It had originally belonged to Henrietta’s grandmother, who had given it to Henrietta’s parents two years ago when she’d married her longtime friend Al and moved with him to Sunset Estates retirement community, far into the Addition. The old house was rundown, leaky, cramped, and full of the strong smell of lilac air freshener, which Henrietta’s mother used to cover the dusty, mildewy smells of age.
    As Henrietta reached the front door, she saw a moving van parked across the street. Several people were carrying boxes from it into a new house that had been erected the previous week. Henrietta saw Gary turn into the drive and enter the house through the garage. He was her across-the-street neighbor. This meant she might see him the following morning at the bus stop, a prospect she didn’t choose to dwell on at the moment.
    She crossed the narrow petunia border between the sidewalk and her front door, which opened as she approached to reveal her mother, a woman of medium height with Henrietta’s closely spaced eyes, ruddy skin, and blockish body. She wore a pair of tan, fitted pants and a loose, white blouse, which made her somewhat resemble a vanilla ice cream cone. She ushered Henrietta inside and closed the door, shutting out the traffic noise.
    â€œHow was school?” she asked, giving Henrietta a brief hug.
    â€œIt was okay,” said Henrietta.
    â€œNo makeup work?”
    â€œI did it fast,” said Henrietta as they entered the living room.
    â€œThat’s good,” said her mother. “That’s an improvement.”
    â€œHello, Henrietta,” said her father from the living room couch, where he watched the large, flat-screen television that hung in a picture frame on the wall. He was a bland, unobtrusive man dressed in jeans and a gray sweater.
    The sound was muted on the TV, and the screen showed an advertisement for bathtub cleaner. Henrietta and her mother sat on the couch with her father, Henrietta between the two of them.
    An animated soap bubble gleefully ate the scum ring from around the inside of a bathtub, and then the news resumed. Her father reactivated the sound to listen to the lead story, in which a family who lived in an old house was crushed when it fell in on them. The next story featured a boy who was scratched across the eyes by a cat. The scratch got infected, and the boy had to have his eyeballs amputated.
    The ads returned, and Henrietta’s dad muted them.
    â€œHenrietta,” said her mother, “stay away from cats.”
    â€œI will,” said Henrietta. The story had scared her.
    â€œHenrietta,” said her father, a note of annoyance in his voice, “why can’t you complete your work at school?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Henrietta. Her parents had asked her this question before, and her inability to answer it, or change her behavior, was a source of constant friction. She restlessly pushed her hands between the pillows of the couch.
    â€œSorry won’t help you if you get Finished,” said her father. He pointed at her with the television remote.

    â€œOh, Tom,” said her mother, grabbing the remote from him. “Don’t be so hard.”
    â€œWell, she needs to think about it,” said her father. “I don’t want her driving a garbage truck the rest of her life.” He looked down at Henrietta. “Do
you
want to be a garbage truck driver, Henrietta? Is that what you want?”
    â€œNo,” said Henrietta, staring at the television screen where a magnetic kitchen cabinet door helped a woman lose weight.
    â€œGood,” said her father, folding his arms decisively. He turned to the television also, as an animated toothbrush began to dance in a mouth full of happy teeth.

    Later, after eating dinner and watching more TV, Henrietta retired to her bedroom, where she