Spotty

Christine looked at the witch through the eye holes of her mask. “Wilma, have you always had gray spots on your hands?”

“That’s paint. I was working on an art project earlier and must have gotten some of the gray skies on my hands.” She stood up and walked over to the door. “Now let’s move forward with the plan, children, shall we?”

The fake Poople and Noople walked outside into the afternoon sun. Christine, who was Poople, looked at Noople, who was actually Josephine. “Are you okay with stealing jewels?”

“I don’t think so,” Noople Josephine said. “I mean, no, actually.”

They walked down the path, a little bit away from the witch’s house, and then Poople Christine leaned against a tree. “I think something is going on with Wilma.”

“You mean her hands? She said it was paint.”

“I don’t buy it. The real Wilma wouldn’t ask us to steal from a store.”

“So what’s with the paint?”

“I don’t know. Something is happening.”

“Oh dear. In my condition, I just don’t know what I can do.”

“You’re always pregnant! You’re an ant queen. You can do anything and right now you need to become a spy.”

“A spy?”

“That’s right. We’re going to spy on the witch and see what she’s up to.”