Mrs. Anderson's husband, Mr. Anderson, had the week off from his job, meaning that the two would be able to spend some time together. Their children were both at summer camp, and were, by all accounts, enjoying themselves. They finally had time to do the things they enjoyed but couldn't drag their children to, like go to the museums, see movies, and, their favorite, see one of the plays or operas being put on by the Salem Theater Association. It was days like these that Mrs. Anderson lived for, and she was quite grateful that she had what she considered a perfect life, and a perfect husband.
Mrs. Anderson was not a Salem native. The last eight years of her life here made the place feel like home. The only thing that ever made Mrs. Anderson question her sense of place here in Salem were the rare occasions that she caught a glimpse or happened to be within the vicinity of the dreaded Abner family. She'd always been taught to be wary of those edgy loser goths and other assorted rejects that wore all black and listened to dreadful music by her private-school teachers and parents, and had always assumed that the phase was relatively self-contained to high school students and Hot Topic employees. She nearly went over to an Abner and gave them a scolding the first time she happened to walk by one, though her husband, a local, hurried her away from the scene and was able to dissuade her from saying anything. "Those aren't goth kids all grown up, those are Abners. I don't know if they're vampires or warlocks or what, but they're weird, and everyone around here knows it's best not to upset them if you find them in your way."
Mrs. Anderson tried to be reasonable about this over the years. She usually tried to be polite and ignore the dark, macabre antics of the family whenever they came to town. But sometimes, she just couldn't stop those feelings from boiling over. She never got into a confrontation, but she would often whip herself into a frenzy, muttering under her breath and clenching her fists about those freaks and how they should just be normal.
So, when Mr. and Mrs. Anderson planned out their perfect week together, they took every pain imaginable to make sure that they would avoid seeing the Abners. Mr. Anderson had even come up with a contingency: if he spotted an Abner, he would make every subtle maneuver imaginable to either scare off the Abner or to prevent Mrs. Anderson from noticing the Abner in question.
The week began smoothly. A trip to the history museum, and then a light lunch at a cafe nearby. The museum visit went smoothly... until Mrs. Anderson became agitated by what she swore was an old woodcut image that she swore depicted some wretched Abner ancestor in early Salem. Mr. Anderson, trying to please his wife, asked the museum guide whether or not the depicted person was a Salem relative, and was most dismayed to learn that the person depicted was one of the founding members of Salem! Mrs. Anderson calmed herself, pretending as though she heard nothing, and walked away.
The next day, the pair went to the aquarium. So far, so good. They sat down for a presentation about the penguins that the aquarium had acquired. Mrs. Anderson, however, became loudly agitated when the patron of the aquarium - a certain Mr. Abner - walked on stage to assist in the demonstration. An embarrassed Mr. Anderson had to usher his wife out.
The next day, the two were supposed to go to the art museum. But, they cancelled their plans, as one of the Abner daughters - Althaia Melinda Abner, to be precise - had given money to the museum to display many of the Victorian dresses that the family had in their old closets. Mrs. Anderson despised the Abner sense of fashion - all black and either far too formal, or far too jagged and edgy. The art museum was off limits until that exhibit was gone.
And then Thursday came. The lovely couple was due to se a performance of Tristan and Isolde, a most tragic opera. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson both wept at crucial parts of the play. But, up in the box seats, Mrs. Anderson heard laughter when the rest of the audience wept. At first, she tried to tune it out, shaking with rage. But, inevitably, her curiosity got the best of her, and she used her opera glasses to peer into box 5. There, she saw the dreaded Abners. It appeared that Mr. and Mrs. Abner were both in attendance, along with a few of their daughters. At least, Mrs. Anderson assumed they were daughters. It's difficult to tell with Abners. Mrs. Anderson silently got up, clenching her jaw, and shoved her way past ushers and theatre employees as she marched up to box 5. Her husband trailed behind her, trying to calm his angry wife down.
"CAN'T YOU FREAKS BE NORMAL?" she screamed as she barged in to box five. The Abners were rolling on the floor with laughter; everyone in the theater could hear them. They were so preoccupied with the deaths occurring on stage that they did not notice or hear the fuming Mrs. Robin Anderson demanding that they stay silent and act normal.
She yelled once more, which caught the attention of Maureen, the family matriarch. She rose up from the floor, wearing a wide, thin smile. She could barely speak without giggling, which was not a common sight. Usually, Maureen kept a calm, cold, detached demeanor she had cultivated.
"You're in out box. Please leave" she said, finally able to speak after the scene had ended, and she was no longer howling with laughter. It was intermission, and there was still going to be an hour of the Opera left.
"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU!" Mrs. Anderson screamed. "ALL WEEK, you DAMN freaks have RUINED my WEEK OFF! WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?"
Mrs. Abner's smile faded. "I don't even know who you are. Get out of our box, now." she said. The rest of the Abners, silent, turned their heads to watch. They looked like owls.
Mr. Anderson caught up, and grabbed his wife's arm, trying to escort her out of the theater. "Honey, we really need to go now..." he whispered.
Maureen waved her hand, and the doors to the box shut. "Where are you going? There's still an hour of the play left" she said. "And I think there's been a misunderstanding, so I'm going to invite the two of you to our box to watch the rest. As a way for us to bury the hatched" she said. Her smile returned, but her wide, red lips were hiding something.
Mr. Anderson looked relived. "That's very gen-" he began, but Mrs. Anderson was fuming. She was about to yell over her husband, when Maureen snapped her fingers.
In the blink of an eye, the Andersons found themselves staring not into the dark eyes of Maureen Abner, but her shins. The two craned their necks and looked up at Maureen, hands on her hips, who looked smugly down at the now-tiny couple. "Please, stay. We insist". She had miniaturized them. Mr. Anderson was a measly four inches tall, while Mrs. Anderson, normally shorter than her husband, found herself at six inches tall.
Mr. Anderson tried to flee. He began running towards the doors, making it only a few inches before Maureen stepped forward and gently pushed her high heel onto his back, pinning him on the carpet. She bent down and grabbed him with her left hand, dangling him from her fingertips. Mrs. Anderson, believing her husband was about to be squashed, ran towards the gigantic Maureen, pounding on her ankle in an attempt to drive her away. Mrs. Anderson too found herself dangling from the fingers of Maureen's right hand. Maureen walked back, holding her two prizes at about breast level as she sat down in her chair. Mrs. Anderson thrashed and screamed. Mr. Anderson was silent, his eyes bulging out of his head in terror.
"I have no need for another man wrapped around my pinky when I have you, dear" Maureen said to her husband. "So, girls, who wants a little man to play with?" One Abner girl, tall and thin with unblinking eyes and wavy black hair, reached her palm out and had Mr. Anderson deposited into her hand. She wrapped her pale, hard fingers around him. Mrs. Anderson heard him squeak as he was taken away, but only saw the giant Abner girl moving her hands. Mr. Anderson did not sound like he was having a pleasant experience in the hands of his captor, who had a wicked smile on her face.
"As for you," she said, dangling Mrs. Anderson in front of her face. "I think you need to learn how to be polite and to get along with other people. Salem is a place for people of all stripes, and we Abners have been here since the start. So you will learn manners and respect from us. Your first lesson will be learning how to be polite to your neighbors" she said. Maureen then slipped her heels off and then not-so-gently placed Mrs. Anderson between her bare feet.
"So, for the rest of the performance, you're going to sit with your new neighbors. And if they hear as much as a peep from you, you're going to get a talking to from them." she said, in her ethereal voice.
Mrs. Anderson immediately tried to protest, to which Mrs. Abner's left foot rose up and poked Mrs. Anderson in the stomach with her bare toe, knocking Mrs. Anderson over. When Mrs. Anderson yelled something out, she found that foot on top of her, pressing down with enough force to muffle her and keep her in place. She thrashed and tried to free herself, and, thus, remained there for the rest of the show.
When the play ended, Maureen removed her foot, plucked Mrs. Anderson up off of the carpet, and carried her captive home. Mrs. Anderson tried to listen for her husband, but heard nothing. Was he dead? In a pocket? Left behind at the theater? There was no way to be sure. Mrs. Anderson tried to reason with Maureen, who ignored her, only occasionally squeezing her to silence her.
When they arrived at the Abner residence, Maureen placed Mrs. Anderson in a glass jar near the front door. She stared a death stare down at Mrs. Anderson, and then she and her family walked off to other parts of the house.
The next day...
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