The Faith Oddities

The Faith’s weren’t a normal family by anyone's standards. Their views on the world around them were unique, and often pushed people away from them, not that they minded. They were more concerned with things others would consider trivial. The oak tree in the backyard was dying. They were finally adopting the ‘stray’ garden snake that had been visiting the garden frequently over the past week. They were going grocery shopping to buy seeds for the birdhouse they’d built on the balcony since the babies inside would need the extra nutrients. 

Their nighttime routine went just as abnormally. Susan Faith sat on the edge of the bed, criss-cross applesauce with her daughter, Hannah Faith next to her, a book resting in their laps, Susan’s calming voice soothing her child’s restless mind. 

Soon enough, the book had ended, but unlike other children, Hannah was still awake. She wouldn’t fall asleep until she did her nightly ritual. With her normal gait, she approached the closet, wrenching it open to survey the darkness. When she didn’t see a monster, she sighed melodramatically, turning back to Susan tiredly. “No monster yet. Will I ever get one?” 

You see the Faith’s were firm believers that there was no point in being afraid. Humans will all die eventually, the circle of life unavoidable. The Faith family didn’t care if that death came sooner or later, only that they made their own choices during this time. Monsters were considered protectors of the house, the oak tree was beginning to die, and could very well fall on their house, but they refused to cut it, insisting it must die naturally. The garden snake, though not venomous, would’ve been embraced as family anyhow, and the bedtime routine in the Faith household was just as unusual, as their daughter herself checked every nook in cranny for a protector, brought the garden snake into her bed, sighed, and wrapped it in her blanket, curling up happily with the serpent. Dan Faith moved into the room to swiftly hug her goodnight before leaving to go to his nightshift, and Susan kissed her daughter’s head, smiling. “Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite!” The sentiment was unneeded however since both of the women in the room knew that the bedbugs wouldn’t bite Hannah. They had their own nest in a mattress in the attic, specifically made into a nest for them. As Susan left, Hannah burrowed deeper under the covers with the snake. “Night Momma.” The little six-year-old mumbled, sinking into a deep sleep, welcoming her dreams as the lights in the house flicked off one by one.