Thor lifts his blue plastic hammer. "I am Thor the Thunder‑Bringer!" He slams it against his toy castle.
A long CRACK of lightning splits the sky. Thor's smile freezes, his fingers tightening around the hammer. The bulbs above his bed blink once… twice… and die.
Thor marches to the door, hammer held out like a sword. He creeps down the hall.
BRRRMM! The thunder rolls so loud the floorboards vibrate. A grandfather clock’s pendulum swings wildly, clicking faster with every rumble.
Thor stops dead, pressing his back against the wall. He takes a deep breath, steps away, and tilts his hammer toward the sound. "I’ll tame you," he whispers.
Thor climbs onto his chair and peers through the rain‑streaked window. Lightning flashes, turning the yard into a brief black‑and‑white photograph.
Thor’s breath fogs the glass and he wipes it away. A leaf dances in a puddle, spinning faster as the wind plays with it.
Thor grins and tells the leaf, "You’re not scary." The wind answers with a tap‑tap‑tap against the shutters.
Thor grabs his hammer and marches to the center of the room, planting his feet wide.
Another CRACK splits the sky, shaking the pictures on the wall. Thor’s knees knock together, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
But then he opens them, looks at his hammer, looks at the window, takes a deep breath, and points the hammer toward the storm, yelling, "Come on!"
A low rumble answers him, not scary, almost like a chuckle. The rain slows to a tick‑tick against the roof, and a soft golden glow returns to Thor’s room.
He walks to his bed, picks up his hammer, and gives it a proud pat before placing it on the nightstand.
He climbs into bed, pulls the covers up to his chin, and smiles; the house is quiet except for the steady tick of the grandfather clock.
