The Broken Glasses

As expected, my nephew’s glasses didn’t withstand the test of time. One evening, as my husband settled on the couch, we heard a resounding snap. To our surprise, he pulled out my nephew’s glasses, broken right down the middle. I immediately called my nephew over, who was busy at the dishwasher, and had a serious talk with him. I made him sellotape the glasses back together and added an extra hour of daily chores on top of his already substantial three-hour load.

Later that night, a peculiar letter arrived on our doorstep. It bore the same loopy scrawl as the one tucked in my nephew’s blankets before. The letter demanded that we take him to the best optometrist in Cheltenham and included cash to cover the visit. However, I couldn’t succumb to such threats. My family was respectable, and we didn’t bow to the demands of a supposed wizard gangster claiming to be a magical school headmaster. I tore the letter into pieces, burnt the cash, and firmly returned my nephew to his cupboard, along with his broken glasses.

I vowed not to subject him to another kid’s eye test, no matter the consequences. But my determination was met with strange occurrences. Owls swarmed our house, perching on street lamps and rooftops. A mysterious cat followed me whenever I stepped out, and my roast chicken even burst into flames on the kitchen bench. The taps in my bathroom turned dark and frothy. Despite these bizarre events, I refused to give in to the wizard’s pressure to get my nephew new frames. I was resolute in outlasting him, and nothing would sway me.

As the days passed, the unusual happenings intensified. Books flew off the shelves, and my nephew’s toys moved on their own. It became evident that the wizard gangster wasn’t going to give up easily. But neither was I. I bolstered our defences and remained steadfast in my decision. My nephew didn’t want to be part of some magical school; he just wanted to be a regular kid.