by Eydis
falling asleep that night. He grabbed the next opportunity he could to go roaming through the park, holding firmly onto his map, as if the firmer he held the more likely the map was to lead him to a pirate treasure. He followed the directions to the Astley Drinking Fountain by the duchess of Connaught Tree. He took three steps in the direction of the X. Then he stared. He stared all around him and he stared at the map. It was quite a while before he tried to take one hundred and twenty three steps, but once he did, he discovered it. It was a little circular door hidden in the earth, decorated in grassy patches. Almost impossible to see unless one were harbouring the notion of finding something in particular. It had a bit of a twisting mechanism. Probably to keep it closed. It took him a few attempts but he managed to open it in the end. He climbed down the stairs and held his breath. The darkness was unbearable. His visit ended there. Our Boy hurried home to fetch his flashlight so that he could investigate the shelter properly. It was small, very small, but there was enough room for a simple bed and a wooden table. Not enough for a chair. There was however a rustic or crude looking cabinet to the side and some boxes under the bed. Our Boy sat down on the bed. He felt a little disappointed. No treasure, then. His gaze drifted over to a letter on the middle of the table. It was a bit difficult for him to read the handwriting, even though it was a very neat and clear one, as far as handwritings go.
My dear son,
I am getting old, too old to venture here by myself, so this is my last visit to my shelter. If you are reading this, then that means that you have found my map in your old pirate book. I'm glad you did. I hope that it also means that you have found it in your heart to forgive me, the old fool that I am, for my misgivings.
Sincerely,
Your remorseful father.
There was no name on the letter and no means for Our Boy to locate either the owner or the owner's son. He figured they'd both be long dead by now, anyway. After all, they had been pirates, and pirates lived a long time ago, in the murky past, as far as he was concerned. If he had bothered to read up on the history of Connaught park he would quickly modify his theory accordingly, given that it was highly unlikely for a pirate treasure to be hidden amongst park features that clearly dated from the Victorian era. But he was not a history enthusiast. So pirates it was. And so it seems a rather natural course of action that he were to keep the shelter hidden. It was his. It was private. He could take shelter there if the weather was bad. Once the winter had passed he had clearly made it his own. And again, the story might well have ended here, were it not for the fateful event of the nasty struggle.
Something or another
Bullyboy and his minions had decided to play football at Connaught park. I say decided, but it was actually out of sheer necessity. The big boys had come along and driven Bullyboy and his minions away from the football field. They would just have done the same as usual, that is watch the older boys play or go for a game of tag, but it just so happened that one of the minions had spent the previous Sunday at the park with his family and remembered seeing a football field. Therefore Bullyboy and his minions went to Connaught park. When they entered the park they saw Our Boy walk off the path ahead of them and into the web of trees. Curiosity drove them to investigate further. They followed Our Boy. He in turn quickened his step. They saw him climb down into his shelter and close the door behind him.
Up until now Bullyboy has been a bit of an ambigious figure. Here you'll come across a defining moment. He did do the following. As for why he did, it is not really for me to divulge. I suppose, what I can say is that it happened in the way that any sibling who has fought for the right to exist would recognise. It just happened. Bereft of reason and logic it had happened before anyone fully realised anything at all had happened, really. To be absolutely fair, it is also possible that Bullyboy might merely have suggested it as a joke and lost control to the mob mentality of the minions. Whatever the cause was, Bullyboy and the minions moved a huge rock on top of the shelter door. Our Boy was stuck. He did not come home that night. Mrs. Paige came unhinged.
The old Police Sergeant felt rather awkward upon hearing this calm and respectful woman suddenly fraught with panic and fear.
'Don't worry, Mrs. Paige. I'll send Johnny on the lookout for him.' he said on the phone.
'I'm sure your boy will be home soon.'
Even though the Sergeant's response seemed to calm Mrs. Paige a bit it didn't alter the fact that Our Boy didn't come home soon. Our Boy didn't come home at all that night. He spent in alone, stuck down that shelter feeling very miserable for himself. Mostly he felt boredom, though. He had browsed through everything in the shelter ten times already. It didn't help that he was uncomfortably hungry. He fetched one of the boxes from under the bed. It had old biscuits and tinned food in it. He didn't like it. It tasted funny. But he was too hungry not to eat it. Then he fetched another box. It had, amongst other things, old money and coins. He had played with that the most out of all the things in the shelter. It was his pirate treasure. He didn't care much for a lot of the other stuff. Stamps, books with tiny fonts, some itchy clothes, old posters and so on. Eventually he grew tired of his treasure and fell asleep. He slept remarkably well, considering his circumstances. Mrs. Paige, on the other hand, didn't sleep a wink, exactly as one would expect. By morning she had plagued the Police Sergeant enough for him to organise a search party. Everywhere in town was abuzz with the news. Especially the school. Mrs. Paige had naturally called the parents of every child in Our Boy's class, in case they knew anything. The minions were too afraid of Bullyboy to say anything. So they didn't. The day passed. And another. And another. Our Boy had set up a primitive chamber pot in the corner and was godawfully sick of those foul expired biscuits. It was one of the minions who finally caved and informed the teacher of Our Boy's whereabouts. Of course in Tattletale minion's version of events it was all Bullyboy's fault. It's a very human thing to shy away from responsibility. The police, a medical team and Our Boy's mother all hurried to Connaught's park. The Tattletale minion's description had been rather vague, in the way that children's descriptions often are, but thankfully it was clear enough so that they managed to stumble upon the shelter. Once they had removed the rock and opened the door Our Boy's mother burst forth and climbed down before anyone else had the chance to, much to the Police Sergeant's dismay.
'Mrs. Paige, that is not proper procedure! Mrs. Paige!' But she paid no heed. Down she went, clearly all jittery, and felt overwhelmingly relieved to find her boy alive and well, if maybe a tad pale. It was a long hug.
The Police Sergeant, still a little touchy after Mrs. Paige's disregard for proper procedure, did not have much patience for all the hugging. He stood next to the door opening and looked grimly down upon them.
'If you don't mind, Mrs. Paige, then I need a formal statement from the boy.'
'Statement?'
'Yes. We are going to have to investigate this as a criminal offence.'
'Criminal... but... why?' Mrs. Paige felt rather uneasy at the thought of her child being under inspection like a criminal. Especially now that she had just reclaimed him from a sheltery grave, so to speak.
'Because of the rock.'
'The rock?'
'Yes, the rock,' the Sergeant replied, getting marginally more short tempered at having to state the obvious.
'What about the rock, Sergeant?'
'Here we have a child which was stuck in an underground shelter. Here we also have a rock which had been placed on top, to imprison the child. Then there is the matter of the other child's testimony that we need to verify.'
'Oh, I see,' replied Mrs. Paige, feeling a little relieved to hear that the sergeant didn't mean her child any harm.
'So, if you would, please Mrs. Paige.'
'Oh, you mean right now?'
'That would be preferable, yes.' There followed a thorough examination, the outcome of which did somewhat verify Tattletale Minion's story.
'What happened?' Implored the Sergeant.
>
'The door was shut and I couldn't get out.'
'Who put the rock on the door?'
'Rock? I don't know. There was no rock.' The frustrated Sergeant emitted a loud sigh.
'What else happened. Did you see anyone?' At this point Our Boy hesitated. He had seen Bullyboy with his minions follow him off the trail but if he admitted that then his mother would know that he had lied about being friends with Bullyboy. Possibly making her prone to organise another playdate. There was something in the Police Sergeant's tone, however, that reassured him that Bullyboy had been in the wrong. And he did want Bullyboy punished.
'Yes. Bullyboy and the minions. It was all Bullyboy's fault!!' Our Boy needn't have worried. There was something primal in Mrs. Paige reactions, possibly brought on due to her lack of sleep and anxious days fearing for her son's safety. Instead of her usual stoic expression she clung to the righteousness of the situation. A playdate was the last thing on her mind. When the Sergeant had heard enough he finally allowed the medical team to check up on Our Boy. After that his mother could take him home.
The whole thing got a huge interest in the media, especially the local paper, maybe not least because the old items were auctioned off and somewhat surprisingly fetched quite a fortune, out of which Our Boy
