This is a culmination of my too many interests. It's is an in-between place. It's more focused than my Myspace blog, but less so than my author blog. Here you can find artwork, photography, writing, poetry, book covers, manga and pointless videos. All of these things mesh together to become a reflection of their creator in an in-between place colored like shadows and flavored like frappuccinos and chocolate. It's one heck of a world.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

The Junior Warlock of Maple Leaf Drive

The Junior Warlock of  Maple Leaf Drive

The house across the street is old and dark. I stare at it anyway, gingerly holding the ice pack to my swollen, black eye. I know Mr. Langstrom will be home soon, and when he is, he’s going to get a surprise!

I move from the window and stop at the tiny pot simmering over the potpourri burner. It isn’t like I can have a full fledged cauldron with a roaring fire in my bedroom. My mom would ask too many questions about that, so it’s miniature for me. Besides, it’s big enough. The essence just needs to be there.

I give the pink liquid inside a stir and mutter the closing words of the spell, “Stelligin mycollick frissel, thermanth omnivoris uncathental.” A small cloud puffs up and then disintegrates, leaving behind a foul odor that makes me cringe. But if I think this is bad, it’s nothing compared to what’s going to happen to him!

It’s only a few minutes until I hear his car, and hurry to the window. I watch him get out of his car; he’s six foot, graying hair and watery eyes. He closes the door and troops through the snowy yard, books under his arms, unaware of is waiting inside.

I stifle an evil giggle and watch eagerly. He stops on the porch and shifts the books from one arm to the other, slips the key in the lock and-

“Peter, what are you doing?”

I spin around to find my mom eyeing me suspiciously. She sniffs the air and then seems to instantly zoom in on the potpourri burner. “What on earth did you put in my potpourri pot?”

“Um, just stuff,” I mutter, one eye on the frosty window. But, I’ve missed it. Mr. Langstrom is in his house, the front door is closed, and there is nothing. Didn’t the spell work?

“Well clean it out and get down stairs. Dinner’s ready.” She glares at the room in general as though it’s offensive and then disappears down the stairs. I listen to her heavy footfalls, all the while waiting for something to happen across the street. A light snaps on. Then another. But, that’s it. No screaming, no shouting; nothing.

I finally have to go down to dinner, or risk too much suspicion. I stop and clean out the makeshift cauldron, then head down to find my parents at the table. My dad looks at my swollen eye and whistles, “so what did you do, again?”

“It was that stupid little dog across the street,” I mutter. “Mr. Langstrom’s mutt. It jumped in front of me and I slipped on the icy sidewalk.”

My little sister laughs - again - and my dad just shakes his head. “That dog seems to like you.”

“Like me?” I demanded as I plopped into a chair. “It’s a menace! It’s trying to kill me! I’ve told that rotten Mr. Langstrom before that he better do something about it before I call the pound. And do you know what he said?”

“That he’d send YOU to the pound!” my sister answers.  She’s heard the story before.

“Oh, Peter,” my mom shakes her head with disapproval. “It’s only a little dog. Let it go.”

But I have no intention of it. That’s why I summoned the creature from the darkest pits of despair to eat the beast. Only, I have the distinct feeling that the spell didn’t work.  Dinner ends and I escape to my room. I watch as the lights go out, and then the house across the street is once more dark and silent.  By the light of cell phone I reread the instructions for the summoning spell, wondering where I went wrong. I was sure I did it all right. As dawn approaches, I fall into an uneasy sleep.

My mom wakes me up too early, and I shuffle sleepily to get dressed and try to look presentable for the day. As I brush my hair and stare at the swollen eye, I vow to try that spell again. That rotten little dog will suffer, and so will that crabby old man!

I manage to escape my mother’s well intentioned breakfast, but once I’m on the street, the door across the street opens and Mr. Langstrom calls to me. I freeze in place, eyes wide as I look at him, but he shouts again, “Get over here, kid. I want to have a talk with you!”

There’s no way he could know about what I’d done; the spell failed, after all. Sure, he’s the town librarian, but I didn’t exactly get that spell book out of the public library, now did I? There’s absolutely no way-

“Get over here, I’m freezing my tuckus off!” he shouts again, and then slams the door closed.

I decide it can’t hurt, but still I’m in no hurry, so I let my feet drag through the snow and over the icy sidewalk. His porch is covered in faded outdoor carpeting, and I wipe my shoes off on it. As I reach to knock on the door, it jerks open and a withered hand stabs out, grabs a handful of my coat, and yanks me inside before I even have time to shout.

The inside of the house is dim, and it reeks; like the smell of the dissipated smoke in my room. It’s kind of like Pepe LePue had been hanging around. 

 Mr. Langstrom stares at me, hands on his hips and fire in his eyes. “I believe I have something of yours.”

“Mine?” I ask weekly, eyes darting through the gloom. Something dark moves in the shadows; something dark and tentacly…

Mr. Langstrom jabs a finger towards the shadows. “Do you know what happened to the last kid who sent a creature from the pits of despair into my house?”

My jaw drops and I have no words.  How does he know what it is? How does he know I did it? How did he escape alive and manage to subdue it? Wait - what does he mean “the last kid”?

“Chester!” he shouts, and, on command, that annoying little yapping dog comes scooting around the corner. It sees me and its tail wags as it dashes full tilt towards me.

“Oh god!” I cry, my arms up. “You fed them to Chester?”

“No.” Mr. Langstrom’s voice drops, but somehow it seems louder, anyway. “He IS Chester. So, unless you want to end your days as a Yorkshire terrier, I suggest you give it up.”

That night, my mom asked me what I was burning in the barbeque.  I told her it was some old school papers. After all, I couldn’t say it was a spell book, now could I?


Sharon S. said...

that was wonderful . heehee

Joleene Naylor said...

Thanks! ;) It started out as a woman, then went to a teenage girl, then by the time the mother came it it was a teenage boy, LOL! So, I stuck with that ;)

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