Story's Mission

Story’s Mission

Finally, the library was one of the few places that offered any comfort in the old drafty Woodleigh Manor. The roaring fire was the main, though inadequate source of illumination in the cavernous book lined room. The light from the candelabra at Sir Percy’s elbow allowed for reading but did not reach beyond the well-worn leather club chair.

Sir Percy turned the page of his book, pushed his half specs back in place and reached for the brandy snifter. Suddenly he paused in the lifting of the glass, his body at full alert. His breath caught in his throat; ears pricked trying to decipher what sound he thought he had heard. Had he heard a door close or was it a tree branch rustling and tapping against the window? Was someone out there? Had his barricades been breached?

For the umpteenth time he reached down toward the floor and touched only empty air. Again, he mourned the loss of his faithful companion. Old Snow, his black lab would have alerted him if anything had been amiss. Sir Percy cursed the old house, this mausoleum of his long-dead and estranged family. Even after all these years, he could not distinguish one creak from another.

The library door creaked. “ … erm, sir. Excuse me …”

Feeling jaded, a bit discouraged writing yet another Sir Percy mystery, Author welcomed the interruption. Looking up from the computer screen, he turned toward the door.

“Well, hello there. Who are you?”

“I-I’m one of your stories, sir.”

“Yes, I can see that. But which one, pay tell? Come a little closer, let me have a better look at you.”

The pages rustled as they crept across the floor, trying not to get tangled in the fringes of the antique oriental rug.

“I’m URSA, sir.” The story's panting showed both its fatigue and relief when all its pages had reached Author’s chair.

“Ursa?” Arthur mumbled, pensively, leaning down to gather the pages.

“Yes sir.” URSA answered with a shaky voice while Author tamped the pages on his knee, bringing them back in line.

“Ah yes. I think I remember.” A wistful smile softened the creases in his brow. “You are the grandchild of Wall-e and EVA, are you not? Their son, Wall-S somehow mated with Roomba-S, the space edition, and you, Universal Recycling Solutions Appliance, were the result.” Author chuckled. Thinking back with fondness to his childhood imagination. “If I remember correctly, you stowed away on Earth Viability Explorer III, did you not? And met your grandparents and all sorts of new things, like blades of grass and operational Mac computers, am I right?”

“Yes sir!” URSA was thrilled that Author remembered. “I had a lovely adventure, sir. I meant to thank you. but …” the story shrugged, creasing a few of its top corners in the process.

“But you ended up stuffed in a box. Yes.” Author sighed, trying to flatten the pages. “I was only twelve or so, when I wrote you. Didn’t think I had done a good enough job. I was too self-conscious to show my work to anybody. And then I got busy with school and girls.” Author shrugged. “That’s on me, I should have come back and given you another chance, shouldn’t I? But what brings you down here, at this late date?”

“We-Well….” URSA nervously twisted a few of its bottom corners together.

“Spit it out, little one.” Author admonished while smoothing those corners flat again.

“W-Well, the place where you store us …?”

“The attic.” Author nodded.

“Yes, sir. It’s kind of damp. Remember the Haunted House?”

“The haunted house?” Author frowned. “Let me think, for a minute. Oh, you mean the Unicorn and the Ugly?” He huffed a dry laugh of self-mockery. “The reverse from the Beauty and the Beast.” He nodded.

“Yes, sir Well, most of it is a wet blur. I was on the bottom and have stayed dry, so far. But that one is all brown with big ink blob ...” The story’s voice trailed off.

“Oh, dear.” Author shook his head. “I was quite proud of my reverse fairy tales. Thought making the beast pretty and the woman ugly would be most ingenious.”

“Yes, sir. It was. I- I quite like the unicorn, and the woman is kind, once you get to know her.” The pages rustled eager to continue with its message. “But Bert Big Toe also has many brown spots and blue blobs already. And the Prince and his toadettes. Well, the toadettes don’t seem to mind the water, but …” The pages slumped and folded in on themselves. “They are my friends, sir.” The story whispered a sigh.

“I see.” Author nodded. “Yes, I quite see.”

Author, deep in thought, trying to remember all the stories he had scribbled in his youth, slowly stroked over the old pages of ring binder filler paper. He read a misspelled word here, flattened out a dogear there. URSA purred with pleasure at his touch while he toyed with a small rip near a perforation.

“Well then,” banking his reminiscing, Author came back to the present with a start. “We better go take a look.” Rolling URSA up and stuffing the pages in his jacket pocket, Author left the library and climbed the stairs to the attic.

“Oh, dear!” He sighed with dismay when he saw what was left of the old cardboard box.

“Now then, let’s see. Oh, my! Poor Unicorn … And Bert, old fellow. Tsk-tsk. I wonder if I can salvage you guys. Hah, Ursa, you forgot to remind me of Laddy and Young Brown. My shaggy dog story.”

“Well, yes, sir … The thing is.” URSA’s voice was a bit muffled inside his pocket. “They like to lick the paper, sir. They are sloppy, you know.” The story shuddered its pages.

“They do? Yes, I bet they do. Big sloppy dogs will do that. And you, Ursa, are all about clean, aren’t you?” Author chuckled softly. “Oh look. The unfinished adventures of ‘Alec Up A Tree’.” He shook his head with mirth at the audacity to try to reverse Alice in Wonderland. He even had briefly toyed with an upside-down version of Oz.

Author reached in his other jacket pocket and retrieved his phone.

"Mac, old boy. How are you? ... Good, good thank you. Listen, who was the roofer you hired last summer? ... Do you recommend him? ... Yes, it looks like I do, yes. ... Oh, would you? Please do text his number, will you ... Yes, it's a bit of mess up here ... No, some of my old stuff ... Oh? And what can I help you with? ... Do I know? ... Yes ... Yes, I think I do know a children's author ... Yes, let's. Next Friday, some G&T's? Smashing. See you then."

With a smile Author stowed his mobile in his pocket and looked down at the old box.

“Let’s bring you lot downstairs and see what’s what.”

A sigh of relief from a moist prince, a wiggle from a fungal Big Toe, croaks of pleasure from a couple of toadettes, a wag from a tattered tail or two and a weak, watery rainbow sputtered from the old cardboard box when he picked it off the floor.

Before leaving the attic Author looked around and saw a few dusty ring binders on a shelf nearby. A sketch or two of pirates, mermaids and aliens were peeking around the edges of the binders. A parrot’s feather and a squawk escaped when he tucked those binders under his arm.

“You know, lads,” Author whispered with excitement as he carried his childhood fancies down the stairs. “I think it’s time to put Sir Percy’s murder mysteries aside for a while. What do you say, shall we work together and find your happy endings at last? Besides, I’m long overdue for my second childhood.”