The boy woke up before dawn. The horses were restless. Something wasn’t right. He rose and tiptoed quietly down the hall, careful not to wake his mother. She was exhausted after last night’s experiment. Why his mother was so obsessed with making things tiny he still didn’t know. It wasn’t that he hadn’t asked, he tried every day. She would just stare at him wistfully for a moment and then change the subject.
Rounding the end of the old wood-paneled hallway Petey checked on the miniature corral that took over the living room. At first glance it looked like a simple child’s toy barn set, albeit with far more intricate detailing and a chicken wire fence surrounding it. Petey squatted down and watched the palm-sized ponies pawing at the ground.
Windsock, the dappled grey, trotted up and down the ring, snorting blasts of air and tossing her mane. Stitching his brows together Petey pressed his lips into a thin line. Windsock was usually so docile, what was going on?
Wood creaked on the back porch, bringing the hairs on his neck straight up. The outline of a person appeared through the glass sliding doors. Petey scanned around himself and caught sight of his mother’s “nighttime” syringe. Running to the large needle he held it in front of himself. The figure tapped on the glass as a frail feminine voice croaked out.
“Petey, it’s me Olivia. You have to come with me!”
Petey’s eyes went wide as he looked at the old woman before him. His mouth went slack as he studied the features beneath the wrinkles. What had happened to his little sister?