The unexpected Trip

Chapter one: Unexpected Trip

On the far corner of the little town of Focal Borough, in a large castle-like house lived the Fenimors: George, his wife Miranda, and their son Derik. In many ways, the Fenimors were considered the richest family in Focal Borough, and how proud they were about it! Occasionally, Mrs. Fenimor would lord it over to the lady next door, because she thought it was necessary for keeping some demeaning things under wraps. Derik was large and porky, a small version of his mother. It was unlikely though that he would have inherited any trait from his father because the latter had bony proportions. The story of this young huge boy was both strange and remarkable. It began, as every remarkable tale should start, on a cloudy evening while Derik was, as usual, watching his favorite podcast about the newest video game on his smartphone.

"Come down, Derik dear." Called Miranda nicely in the hall under the stairs.

George had just got back from work. He slumped down on the big armchair near the fireplace as he always did, and took out his glasses to read the morning paper.

"That's the twentieth time now, Merry," he said, adjusting his thick brown-framed spectacles over the bridge of his nose, and looking at the ceiling where Derik's room must have been.

"What do you want me to do, darling?" said Miranda, coming back into the dining-room, and sitting exasperatedly at the table next to him, "you know how he is like. Edgy."

"Blunt!"

Miranda didn't take it for sarcasm, because she knew quite well what sort of boy Derik was. Therefore, she only sighed and watched George disappear back into his newspaper.

With a long sigh, Derik dropped his smartphone carelessly somewhere between the sheets and rolled out of his bed. He almost stumbled as he lumbered across his large bedroom, which was wider than a tennis court, and leaned over the window. Under the gibbous moon, the cobbled street below gave no sign of movement. A cold wind ruffled his blond hair and whipped his rosy face. He turned and yawned, looking toward the far end of the street. The little ice cream shop of Ron and Jerry had long been closed for the night. The sign "R&J Creameries" was glowing on and off over the steely roller door. Derik was staring dreamily at it, the neon colors reflecting in his big green eyes even from that distance. He tried to imagine his favorite chocolate Nogas that Mr. Jerry always placed on the rear shelves. In fact, he was just beginning to make his mind to persuade his father to buy him a piece when so suddenly a little something hobbled past the door. By the time Derik looked down, the little thing was half-swallowed through the darkness on the other side of the shop. For a brief moment that was what he saw, or rather thought he saw. A little figure of somebody. He didn't even know if it was a person. A black roundish figure and a pair of gleaming beady eyes staring back straight at him. That was all. Could it be a smallish alien-like those big-eyed creatures on television? He thought. Nonsense. Aliens don't exist. That was the rule he learned two years ago. Ever since Oliver, one of his best friends, had told him about the tooth fairy. Derik had come home that day from school and threatened his parents to run away if they wouldn't bring him a tooth fairy at once. George and Miranda had found themselves running in and out of London theater doors for an actor to perform the role.

Derik brought his camp binoculars to the window and looked in it. He spied out all the range possible of the neighborhood. Nothing was spotted. The aliens were still bubbling through his mind with all their funny and scary shapes when a sudden bang came up the door of Derik's wide room. Panic-stricken, Derik squeaked, and the binoculars fell off his hands, shattering into pieces over the drive below.

"Derik!" Miranda shouted angrily, "get yourself up. You will come with me this time. I had enough of climbing the stairs for one day. Derik!"

Derik sighed in half in relief.

"I'm coming mum."

Ten minutes later, Derik was sitting at the table. George and Miranda were quite surprised to see him munching his waffles without any complaint. Indeed, it was the first time they ever saw him eat any meal without throwing a tantrum. Miranda exchanged odd looks with her husband, who was watching Derik intently and rapping his fork on the table absentmindedly. They didn't know that the only reason that prevented his tantrum was the fact that he was still pondering what he had seen over his bedroom window. While on the bed, Miranda turned to her husband with a wide grin on her face. George's confused pale face, however, gave no sign of cheerfulness at all.

"Any thoughts?" said Miranda.

"Nope." Said George, pulling the furry bedsheet over his legs.

Miranda's face lit up even more as she propped herself on the headrest.

"I think he might be changing." She said.

"I think there is something wrong with him."

"But why?"

"I don't know," George paused, looked at the window for a few seconds, and then back at her, "Do you think it has got something to do with__ you know_ her?"

"Oh, no," said Miranda, "of course not. She's not due to come until tomorrow evening. Besides, what about her?"

"I mean," said George, "she could have done something to him like already talked to him while we're not there, while he's playing with his friends. Don't you think?"

Miranda thought about this possibility for a moment.

"Well," she said, "first of all, Derik doesn't go away to play. Oliver and the other skinny girl, what's her name" she clicked her fingers, "I kept forgetting her name, good Lord_ "

"Mireille."

"Yes, Merle. I would go to the backyard every now and then, and there they are every time, for the whole day, just sitting there, infuriating the chimps. And when a chimp is winded, they go to look for an exciting one. This comes to approximately a week. The other thing is Marygreth lives far, I believe somewhere in Edinburgh. She couldn't possibly afford to travel back and forth. She is only coming tomorrow because it's the weekend."

While the Fenimors talked, Derik lay wide awake on his bed, the murmurs of his parents sneaked through the hall and crept into his room. But he couldn't hear what they were exactly saying, because all his attention was fixed on the strange incident. It could be a light trick staring at R&J Creameries for a long period of time, he thought as best as he could. It must have been midnight when sleep finally overwhelmed his eyes. He yawned and fell asleep. His most comforting thought before he slept, and he was very happy that he had arrived at it in time, was that Old Jerry might have accidentally dropped a rubbish bag, whose one of its contents happened to be a dead beady-eyed cat. The bag was so heavy that once it hit the hard pavement it bounced off into some dark corner by the shop. That's why when he had looked for the second time, he wasn't able to see it, because it bounced. He didn't think it could be something else that had anything to do with him.

It wasn't until the next day's diner that the things began to unravel. Like always, at nine o'clock the Fenimors sat as usual at the long table in the living room. George and Miranda were sitting at either end of the table, while Derik sat in the exact middle.

"Eat up sweetie," said Miranda her eyes all in tears as she watched her son wolfing down his soup.

Derik was blinking carelessly at his steamy spoon. The living room was dead silent, except for the occasional clattering of a spoon or a plate. George and Miranda were admiring their son, whose mouth went up and down in a monotonous sort of way. They were contemplating him with intent, as though he were going away. Every now and then, Miranda would look up at the wall clock, and back at him once more.

"She is not coming, is she?" she whispered anxiously across the table.

George swallowed uneasily and forced a fake smile when Derik caught his eyes.

"She will, Mery darling!" he said casually, "she must."

Definitely, something was going on, but whether it was good or bad, Derik had no idea. Miranda had dialed a foreign number last night. The talk had been too short to suggest there might come any troubles out of it. But as fate writes it, they did! And very unusual they were.

Derik stared heedlessly across the table; steamy white plates and gold-trimmed bowels twinkled under the large chandelier overhead. That brought only more dormancy to his uninterested eyes. George and Miranda prayed to spend the remaining time peacefully, at least for an hour or two. At fifteen past nine, Miranda jerked her head to the wall clock. She seemed so anxious as if she had invited somebody and now wished she hadn't.

All was peaceful until. . .

"Soon the cub will grow up to a strong tiger, won't you Derik?" said George in an ingratiating tone, "I tell you, my darling, Derik will grow up into a fine gentleman." He put on rather a hoarse roar to boost up Derik's low spirits, "like a tiger!"

The fact that Miranda and he were sitting on the opposite sides of the table, it was quite difficult to make out what was happening in the middle. In a moment Derik's lips were twitching, and his brows were scowling. It was indeed obvious that something wrong was going on in his mind. But their parents only continued to laugh, not taking any notice of their far away son. Had they known about the outcome of this, such as would occur and include them, they would never have laughed as merrily as they had. Derik's face started to go pale and his cheeks boiled with a sudden rage.

"Grow up!" he murmured rather uncomfortably.

George and Miranda didn't see it coming. They hadn't expected that this word could do much of a fuss. In few seconds Derik had hurled his soup around the marble floor, and was just on the course of lifting the table, had it not been heavy for him.

"Oh my God!" cried Miranda.

"Grow up!" Derik cried between a mouthful of waffles and soup, "grow up, you said?"

Honeyed waffles and grease were Derik's all-time favorites, but now neither the former nor the latter could stop his fearful fit. Manning up, George strode over to the end of the table but stopped halfway, both his hands rising to cover his face. This was Derik having his dinner-time tantrum. Once or twice, Miranda ducked her head under the table as two plates zoomed past her head. She squealed and shouted for nearly the twentieth time:

"Retreat, George, retreat!"

Afterward, the house was a hubbub. Poor George and Miranda were running around the table, stooping, and jumping out of the way. Derik was after them, throwing plates and glasses at them. George's once blue pajama had now wavy strips of yolk, and his lank black hair caught the eggshells around the prongs.

"I don't wanna grow!" he shouted, and he aimed a raw egg at his father's head.

When he was run out of ammo, he went all the way to the fridge, unpacked what he could of the eggs, and came running back to the living room, where his parents flinched under the table. The neighbors didn't wake that night, nor in any other night before. Most of them wouldn't risk the trouble, because they knew what sort of a boy the Fenimors had. Had you asked them their opinion about him, they would have looked at you wistfully, and said shortly, "He is a pig!"

Down in the street, everything was quiet. Nobody stirred except for a black mongrel, which had barked once or twice and then silence once more. As a matter of fact, it was now staring at a very little figure, standing just by a small minivan. In a minute, the black figure loomed out of the tree shadows, and stamping from side to side on a twisted cane, a short old woman in dark robes emerged. But the pale light of the lamp posts caught only a scarf and a number of grey shabby locks. From the way she walked, this little woman could as well be who Derik had seen the night before.

While she hobbled along on her walking stick, the mongrel went slowly by her side.

"Could you show me the way?" she said to the stray dog.

The dog overtook her ahead immediately. It seemed as though it understood, because it trotted on rather importantly, raising up its tail without looking sideways, straight to the newly-trimmed lawn of the Fenimors.

Miranda was still under the table when the doorbell gave a gentle ring. Derik didn't seem to have heard it, because he took up catapulting things again.

Din Dung Din came in another yet louder ring from the door.

"Derik, you stop that now," Yelled Miranda angrily, dodging a raw egg, which crashed into the wall.

She stood quickly and stormed out of the dining room just in time. Derik threw a plate behind her, hardly three inches missing her head. She stopped just behind the door to clear her hair off odds and ends of foods that had stuck, and for Derik to calm down.

"Oh my god," she bleated frighteningly under her breath, "What am I going to do if it's Mrs. Mc Carthley on the door? It would be a dreadful outrage if it's so. After all, I told her about Derik being the nicest kid. Oh no."

Mrs. Mc Carthley was the lady next door. Miranda and she would often have coffee in the remote corners of London, and talk for hours on end. Their talks were chiefly about whose children had the best school in the town, and why Mrs. Smallings kept buying second-hand toys for her daughter. Because Mrs. Mc Carthley would always agree whenever Miranda mentioned Derik as the nicest boy in Focal Borough, she was her best friend.

But in case you are wondering why Miranda couldn't just ask her to her house, it was partly because of a regretful event that happened a couple of years before. In fact, it was the most important part, and pretty much the reason Miranda didn't want to have guests around the house anymore. Derik had misspelled Mrs. Mc Carthely's name, "Mrs. Mc Rat-lee" on purpose.

Miranda carefully turned the handle, and the door swung slowly to one side. She was cautious to give away only the smallest view of the inside to whoever was going to be on the door. So, the door was much less than ajar, and Miranda was standing by it, trembling all over.

She was surprised to realize there was no one on the door at all, save for a cold current, pushing against it. She felt a sudden surge of bewilderment mixed with fear. Her lips twitched nervously, and her eyes, wide open, traveled from one extreme part of the street to the other. And there she caught sight of a pair of headlights, shimmering dimly under the gibbous moon. She could see a little van with words on its side, but she wasn't able to work out what they meant just then.

"It's probably a tourist caravan," she opined. And she was extremely glad to think it must belong to some tourist family, who, after a laborious day of moving, happened to stop for the night. She even thought to ask them over to the diner, if it wasn't for Derik.

"My ears must be imagining things," she told herself, poking one finger into her ear, "I had better get in before I turned into a cold statute."

Miranda tilted her head and was about to button up her navy-blue nightdress, when her eyes fell instead, just an inch below her waist, on the little old woman. She jumped backward and walloped her head against the painting in the hallway.

"Oh goodness!" she exclaimed when she got back, "you've almost frightened the hell out of me." She laughed falsely, caressing the back of her head where the painting had hit her.

"Actually,' she added, "mistook you for someone else__ taller."

The old woman, however, was leaning on her walking stick and didn't respond. Her eyes were as beady as the moon above, and her hair was both white and disheveled. Her nose was long, and on the edge of her small chin, which shaped about as nearly as number three, was a large wart with two locks of hair growing at the edge. She wore a colorless uniform that was mostly tucked under a silver metal belt.

"Where is he?" she squeaked.

"He's inside," answered Miranda, her smile fading.

"Get him out!" said the old woman firmly, "we have got to go as soon as possible, dear."

Miranda's smile faded completely now. Her face took the expression one gets when they swallow vinegar. But the old woman twitched her nose indifferently.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

"Oh, dear," said the old woman soothingly, "look,"

From the back of her robes he fished out a silver torchlight, and clicking it on, she pointed it at the minivan on the street. The pale light fell on a set of gilded letters, and as the light moved from right to left, the words were built slowly in Miranda's eyes. They read:

S.O.L BOARDING SCHOOL

For uncontrolled children

"The service is not for everyone, dear Merinda," she explained, "but, oh dear, you surely deserve a better boy."

Then she blundered across the neat lawn of the Fenimors, totally ignoring the sign 'Keep your feet off the grass!" much to Miranda's frustration. She opened the door of the minivan, and stroked the engine alive, while Miranda stepped indoors.

It was now clear what the phone call was about. For many weeks, Miranda had been trying boarding school numbers to get rid of her son for the summer holiday. But every time the voice on the other side said "Yes, the registration is still open. Should I register your name, madam?" she would hang up. Perhaps because she didn't seem to have found what she was looking for, or merely because she wasn't ready to throw her son away. About five weeks ago, she had gone shopping in London with her friend Mrs. Mc Carthely. After they had done, they sat for a cup of coffee as usual. After some minutes, an old woman with dark robes came up to them. Taking her for a beggar, Miranda went to buy her a sandwich from a sandwich stall across the street. And because Mrs. Mc Carthely was generally indignant toward beggars, she refused to join them and decided to wait until her friend came back. So, Miranda was left completely alone with the stranger. But only while they were by the sandwich stall had the old woman inquired her about whether she was looking after a summer school for Derik.

"Who told you so?" Miranda had asked.

"You were gossiping aloud, dear!"

"Yes, I am."

By the time she had come home, Miranda had forgotten everything about the old woman. Even the card that the old woman had given her was left upon the sideboard in the bedroom, and for weeks no one touched it there. One day Miranda picked it up and dialed the number that was written on its side. This time her doubts were cleared, and she didn't hang up the phone. The papers were signed, and the day was chosen.

Miranda had just got out of the door, dragging Derik onto the doorstep. It was indeed a great deal of trouble trying to force him into the van. For instance, his father had had to wrestle him all the way out of the dining room, and his mother, in turn, kept disarming him off spoons and stools he collected on the way, lest he might harm his father.

"You'll be alright my minion," said Miranda, as the minivan door slammed shut on Derik's round face.

Derik saw his scrawny father smiling assuredly, and pointing his thumb at the little woman behind him, "she'll take good care of you."

After that, his mother brought out a lumpy backpack and loaded it into the trunk at the back. Then gently she slammed the doors shut, and came to stand by her husband.

Once inside the van, neither Derik nor his parents could hear what everyone was saying. Even when Derik screamed out, "why me!" "why me!", his words were shaped conspicuously in his mouth but weren't as near as heard at all. At last, he thumped his fists angrily on the dashboard and gave up talking through the window.

For him, everything was ambiguous and unfair. He hadn't evidently been told of the news of his departure to a summer school until now, and he hadn't quite expected there could ever be so a little person as ugly as this woman, except in his nightmares. And what's worse, he had never imagined that one day his nightmare would really come true, and this ugly old lady would actually be seated beside him so closely. The screams and wails he produced at that moment would have sounded miles away!

Derik's last desperate attempt was to pretend sick and was about to die. George and Miranda came by the front window, hummed something to the strange woman, and quickly backtracked onto the pavement. Obviously, they had told the old lady that she needed not to worry and that Derik was only pretending. With the last smiles and words, the minivan backed out of the Fenimor's drive and rolled out down the cobbled alley.

Derik turned over his seat. There his parents stood, still waving their hands for a good amount of time before they vanished around a corner. Derik didn't have the nerve to ask or say anything at the moment. His head was naturally spinning with questions. But he couldn't help keeping silent about it. What would you do if a shriveled old woman decided one day to snatch you right from the comfort of your house? And what's more, your parents seemed absolutely fine with it!

The minivan rushed along the smooth asphalt road so fast buildings and lawns seemed to be blending in a distorted haze. Soon they turned a corner and took to a wide road that opened out of Focal Borough.

Derik gave a short peep at the old woman next to him. She stared back at him. The fact that she was sitting on a box, her gray eyes were in level with Derik's. Derik looked quickly away. But after a moment he couldn't help peeking again. So he jerked his head slowly towards her, and once again he caught her grave gaze.

It took a while to force his eyes to look at other things. But when he started to look around, one of the first things he noticed was this: The old lady had very small legs, sticking under the hems of her robes. But they were too short. Even if she sat upright, her full size would still be nowhere near reaching the brakes below. But this was before Derik was aware of the fact that the minivan had no brakes at all. This didn't bother him in the least, because he was in one way care-free, and nothing had ever bothered him. So he seated himself up and shrugged his shoulders.

The asphalt road was now tailing off, and the minivan started to slacken on the harsh gravel. They went around a great arch that disappeared into a hilltop. A foul smell of swamps raked in. They were still going up around the arch when a flock of geese appeared at the end of the curve ahead. They had come out of a tree cluster and were crossing the road. Although it was dark, Derik could still see their swaying shadows bobbing on the road. There was also a car that caught up some yards behind them. In a minute, this car had deviated aggressively and overtook them.

"Get out of the way grandma!" called a bunch of youngsters from the window, as they went past.

The youngsters haven't noticed the geese crossing, thought Derik, for if they had, they wouldn't drive so hurriedly. Sure enough at a couple of yards, the car suddenly braked sharply. Derik saw the tires squealing with smoke as the car slid across the road, and crashed into a tree. Startled, Derik screamed. They were going to collide into the car. It was barely twenty yards away now. But almost suddenly the minivan skidded promptly just a few inches off the other car's bumper. The old woman looked out of the window at the moaning youngsters and grinned.

"Who should be out of the way now, hoodwinks?" she said triumphantly, and switching the gears without any other word, she drove onto the empty lane. Sighing in relief, Derik wondered how she managed to brake without brakes.

On the leather box, she was sitting on, sprouted four iron legs pivoted halfway to the box. At the end of each was a pedal that could fit the feet of the old lady. Every now and then, one of these legs would move either up or down when the old lay stumped on them. Now Derik understood how she had pulled off the trick. But that wasn't the only thing in the van that enthralled him. The dashboard items were completely unknown to him. Unlike the ordinary dashboard, this one had no speedometer, nor a rev counter, nor a fuel gauge. Instead, it had only what looked like two energy lines. Inside one were three colorful divisions to show the progress of some sort. And by their outer rims, one line was named (AIR) and one was named (LAND) carved neatly beyond the steering wheel. Derik, however, had not yet the idea of what these were meant for.

They hadn't gone in the highlands for long. Now they were driving down through a fold of trees that had tumbled suddenly out of the dark before them. At some point, the trees leaned with half-fallen branches, which looked rather like skeleton hands. The moon was bright, and a silver patch beamed through the leaves into the windscreen. Once more, Derik wondered what sort of a boarding school awaited him in such a place. The old lady drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she hummed a mysterious song Derik didn't understand.

O little ones come and hear this song

Dark, dark be world without a king

Dark, be bonds that were forsaken

A weary task indeed it is

Of retrieving of the blade

O little ones come to hear this song

Through stone solid, he wished it lies

His wish is said and matter done

To name the stone Blazing Kernels

O little ones come and hear this song

Reward shall indeed be gained

Yet of gems and jewels do beware

Things as such only fools retained

If fool so fain you like and care

Farewell as one, your task is done!

Throughout the song, Derik had tried to say something, but it wasn't until they reached the northern borders of the town that he finally spoke.

"Who are you?"

The old woman peered sideways, a wide foul simper splitting her wrinkly face.

"Well, well, well," she said in a shakily croaky voice, "Look whose tongue has decided to wriggle now! Finally!"

"I have many names, dear," and she started to count on her emaciated fingers, "Nomadora, Morgan le fee, Minerva, Selma… But I suppose you can call me by Marygreth If it's all the same to you."

"What am I going to a boarding school in midsummer for?" asked Derik, who wouldn't have dared to ask, had he known with whom he was sitting now. But Derik grew up asking for things, and his requests were always met favorably. And when they were not met as favorably as he wished, he would throw tantrums, and his parents, who foresaw a potential scandal, would eventually attend to them as best as they could. By the same token, Derik was now having a tantrum, and he didn't expect less than a favorable answer.

"And why mom doesn't say anything about it?" he went on, "and why dad's alright with it?"

"You have got to turn back, or I will . . .!" the rest of the sentence drowned in Derik's mouth. The minivan veered sharply into a byway, leading straight into the woods.

"You speak too loud," said Marygreth, holding on to the steering wheel tightly. Derik's face was flung flat against the window glass.

"Ouch!" he cried

"No wonder why poor Merinda doesn't want guests around the house," murmured Marygreth, "Blimey! Even the neighborhood dog complained about your barking! Oh, poor creature. His loveliness is unusual for a dog, though sometimes it is lost to cats. But I figured his reason is unquestioned, though as simple as it may seem. "

Derik sniffed and rolled his eyes in response. "I found in his words the very wisdom that I couldn't find in your parents. 'What he needs is a good spanking' he said simply. And he was actually right, for if you had been spanked in time, you would be a different boy now, and need not come on this journey. But unfortunately, it is too late. Now, as it appears, the spanking is out of time, and you need something harder."

The minivan teetered and tottered on the trodden road and among the trees. Derik caught glimpses of things hovering ghostly on the side of the road.

"Where're we going?" he asked, less rudely.

"That remains to be seen!" answered Marygreth, not looking.

"What are you anyway?" Derik muttered to himself.

He was getting more and more frightened by the eerie shapes manifesting occasionally past him. And by the time Marygreth answered his question, Derik's skin was prickled all over with goosebumps.

"I am a witch!" she had said.