Green Planet

by Anthony E. Southby

  Mathias jumped up and down, screaming a final blood-curdling monkey cry of bitter resentment, and bounded off into the woods on all fours with his tail coiled between his legs like a whimpering dog.

  The boys were absolutely stunned and stared after him with their mouths gaping.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Chimzen said, handing them his little black book of magic open somewhere near the back. ‘It’s a mirror spell. It backfires on any evil spell aimed at us.’

  ‘But what is it supposed to say?’ Philip asked, pondering over the strange Gothic text.

  ‘Sorry, of course, they don’t teach you this sort of thing at school,’ he chuckled. ‘Let me translate.’

  ‘The wicked incantation of darkness, truth to the night,

  If ever that should haunt us, let the rebellion turn and fight,

  Evil turned on evil, the mirror knows no right,

  Reflect all that’s destructive, protect truth and purest light.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ Philip gasped.

  ‘Oh, I get it!’ Frank exclaimed, ‘So you never had to break any wizard laws by changing Mathias into a monkey yourself; instead you just let him do it all by himself.’

  ‘You are catching on quickly, lad,’ Chimzen squeezed his shoulder gently and smiled. ‘I did have to stop him from talking though, which wasn’t altogether the right thing to do.’

  ‘I think he is an exception to the rule, Chimzen,’ Philip said, in awe of his amazing powers, ‘and you had every right to do what you did, considering all the terrible things he has done.’

  ‘I guess so,’ the good wizard answered softly, leaning over on his staff and staring blankly into the distance. ‘Anyway, I think it’s time you boys went home already. It’s getting terribly late.’

  Frank and Philip’s hearts pounded in relief. Mathias had eventually received a suitable punishment fit for his crimes, and the boys would finally be leaving for home!

  Chapter 26

  The trio were chatting anxiously amongst themselves, deciding on which one of the boys they would teleport home first.

  ‘Don’t be silly Zip,’ Zen snapped, spinning around his sister ball in frustration, ‘it really makes absolutely not one bit of difference whichever way we do it.’

  ‘Let’s take them both to Frank’s house first, seeing as he stays furthest away,’ Zet suggested, ‘then we can take Philip home on the way back.’

  ‘How will the trio know where we are staying?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that my boy,’ Chimzen chuckled, ‘the trio know Senton Village like the back of their balls. Many a night do they take to your neighbourhood for a pleasant little joy spin.

  ‘They have your addresses already so there’s no need to worry yourselves. In a few minutes you will both be as safe as a monkey in a cage.’

  ‘Let’s just forget the talk of monkeys, why don’t we?’ Frank suggested, sad to be leaving his kind wizard friend behind. Chimzen apologized for the comment, clearing his throat with a big grin on his face.

  ‘Will we ever be seeing you again, Chimzen?’ Philip asked, looking very sad.

  ‘W-well,’ Chimzen stammered at a loss for words. ‘I don’t think that will really be possible, if you know what I mean?’ There was a long silence, the boys stood with their heads hung down looking very mournful.

  ‘We’ll make a plan, okay?’ the kind wizard encouraged, arranging the boys back to back in teleport position. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make a plan to see you soon.’

  ‘But how, Chimzen?’ Philip asked with a note of urgency in his voice, ‘there is going to be a big wall surrounding the woods very soon.’

  ‘Never mind, never mind, my friend. You will see me when you see me; don’t you worry about a thing.’ Chimzen had grown fond of his two new friends and it saddened his heart all the same to have to see them go, although he did try his best not to show it.

  The boys waved a reluctant goodbye while the trio took the coordinates of their exact positions. Then they spun off towards Senton Village to deliver their precious cargo.

  * * * * * * * *

  Frank walked down the narrow little pathway to his house. His knees trembled and his heart thumped in his chest. He was expecting the worst when the front door was finally opened. This was even more frightening for him than his confrontation with the Indian plants. In fact, the poor boy was scared clear out of his wits. He raised a trembling fist to knock on the door. As his hand came down for a feeble knock the solid oak door swung open, and Frank’s father stepped out.

  His father was a well-built man with olive skin and his hair was cut in a short brush cut the same as Frank’s was. His facial features were hardened with well defined facial lines, and his chest was a solid board as a result of hard physical daily training, blood, sweat, and tears. He was dressed in full military uniform with a full spread of colourful rank displayed across his left pocket.

  Much to Frank’s absolute surprise, his father leaned forward and embraced him like never before with tears of relief streaming down his cheeks.

  ‘I love you son, I love you,’ he cried, tightening his grip all the more.

  ‘I love you too, dad, but …’ Frank started.

  ‘I don’t want to hear it son!’ the soldier commanded, grabbing him firmly by the arm and dragging him inside. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. You are home, safe, alive and well. Losing your mother is more than I can handle; thank God you’re okay, son.’

  Two years ago Frank had lost his mother to cancer, and ever since then things hadn’t been quite the same between him and his father. Things were now strangely different though; this was the first time he had seen his father cry since she was gone. There was just no way Mr Featherstone could handle the loss of his son as well. Ever since the death of Mrs Featherstone Frank’s father had grown strangely distant, pushing his son to one side, and placing his militant position of authority first over his relationship with him.

  This had been a wake-up call, and from now on he would spend all his spare time with his precious boy, a special young life taken for granted in the past. Funny how we only really miss someone when they are gone, isn’t it?

  So that night Frank and his father caught up with old times and not once was the journey to the woods ever even given a mention. His father had made a meal fit for a king: roast lamb and potatoes. Boy, it was good to have a decent piece of meat for a change after eating nothing but fruit for so long.

  Frank soaked in a long hot bath, while his father discarded his sweaty old school clothes. A nice change of clothing was like having a body with a brand new layer of velvet skin. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the boy was out for the count just like the competitor he had knocked out in the Senton boxing championships the month before.

  * * * * * * * *

  Philip waved the Malco trio goodbye, his heart grieved by having to suddenly bid them a farewell. His mother was a very different kind of person compared with Frank’s father. She gave him far too much attention. In fact she could be quite a nag bag at the best of times. Being that way inclined, she insisted on having all the dirty details. Philip tried his best to avoid all the far-fetched meaty events of his and Frank’s adventure together, but without them the story would have been completely impossible to tell.

  ‘What on earth happened to your school uniform, Philip? How did you manage to destroy your shirt like that?’

  Within a very short space of time she had managed to drag the entire story out of him from monkey boys to fairies’ petals.

  Mrs Birch was a plump lady with short dark brown hair, and she wore a pair of bottle bottom looking thick lensed glasses. She looked nothing like her son at all, but Philip’s father, however, was the spitting image of his son, with the same lanky structure and untidy ginger hair.

  He was an archaeologist, away in Africa at the time, somewhere near an historical burial site. He had been informed of the mysterious disappearance of his son a few days back, and was unable to fly home stra
ight away due to the poor transport facilities available in that remote part of the country. The poor man would only be able to return the following day.

  Mrs Birch was classified as the town gossip, and she drooled over Philip’s daily events as if they were a “Sunday Times” newspaper. The two of them were constantly fighting as there was no real father figure in the house to maintain any kind of order. Mr Birch was always gallivanting from one continent to the next in search of buried artefacts that would somehow change the history of the world as we know it today forever. I guess Mrs Birch never showed her son very much respect, and never really cared for his opinion on things either, so how could she expect the same in return?

  ‘Philip, you had us worried sick,’ she moaned, shoving a plate of meatballs and potatoes in front of him. ‘Your father has been phoning me on the hour to see whether we have found you or not.’

  ‘Wow, that’s really big of him,’ he muttered.

  ‘What was that, Philip?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Either you are running a temperature boy, and you are a bit delirious, or you are telling me a serious nonsense story.’ She placed her hand on his forehead to check the warmth of his skin.

  ‘It’s the truth for goodness sake, mother!’

  ‘Phew, you stink,’ she answered, taking no notice of his adamant statement. ‘Go and bath when you are finished eating, and give me what’s left of your school uniform so I can throw it in the wash.’

  Philip had decided that arguing with his mother was a complete waste of time, and wolfed down his meatballs as if it were his last supper. They really tasted good.

  * * * * * * * *

  ‘Why did you bring me here, mother? You’re the one that’s crazy,’ Philip moaned. They were waiting at Dr Rubenstein’s consulting room the following morning – an extension to the Senton Village psychiatric institution.

  ‘I need you to tell the good Dr Rubenstein your little story, then he can decide how mentally stable you are, my child. We can’t have you making a big scene at school about fairies, goblins, and pixies, now can we?’ Philip sat quietly with his arms folded. It almost appeared as though black smoke was rising from his ears.

  Dr Rubenstein was a lanky man in his mid-forties with a long pointed nose and a severely receding hairline. It was quite apparent that he was very stressed out, and that he had more than his fair share of chemically imbalanced minds to deal with.

  ‘What is the problem, young man?’ he asked shortly, fiddling nervously with a fountain pen.

  ‘Nothing at all, doctor.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Tell the doctor what you told me last night, boy,’ Mrs Birch asked, stroking his hand, and using her sweetest possible tone of voice.

  ‘I told you nothing last night mother.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me Philip!’ she snapped, gripping his hand firmly with her semi chewed fingers. ‘What is it that you told me last night?’

  Dr Rubenstein’s eyes stared at Philip’s mother like gaping tunnels. She shook Philip’s hand like an FBI agent trying to shake a confession out of someone. With Philip choosing wisely to follow a vow of silence, Mrs Birch proceeded to tell Mr Rubenstein his fairy story.

  ‘Really?’ he nodded. ‘I’ve head some interesting stories before but this one really takes the cake, my boy. ‘I must say, you do have a wonderful imagination.’

  ‘My mother has a wonderful imagination doctor, not me,’ Philip insisted, without so much as a blink.

  ‘How dare you say that that was my story?’ Mrs Birch exclaimed in horror.

  ‘Because it is your story mother; that’s why you came to see the doctor in the first place. You need help, mother.’

  Dr Rubenstein clicked frantically at his pen while Mrs Birch took her nappy rash out on poor Philip.

  ‘That’s enough, Mrs Birch!’ the doctor rapped. ‘Please take a seat!’

  Mrs Birch looked at Dr Rubenstein, a bit shocked, and sat down quietly blushing with embarrassment.

  ‘I have decided to give you and your son both something to calm yourselves a bit.’ He reached across the table and handed Mrs Birch a small white Senton psychiatric issue packet filled with little orange tablets. ‘Take one in the morning and one at night. I think that both of you just need a bit of calming down, that’s all. And it’s nothing to get embarrassed about; we all have our issues, Mrs Birch.’

  ‘Yes doctor,’ Mrs Birch answered, sounding rather feeble.

  Without any further ado, she grabbed Philip by the shoulder and snuck out of Dr Rubenstein’s consulting room. Philip’s poor mother could have died with embarrassment. She would be the laughing stock of Senton Village when word got out about her little trip to the hospital. She was very mistaken about that though, because Dr Rubenstein had better things to do with his time than spread cheap gossip around.

  Chapter 27

  Philip woke up with a startled jump as Mr Whittle slammed his cane on the board.

  ‘When will you ever get it into your thick head, Mr Cresnut?’ he ranted, waving his stick about like an orchestra conductor. ‘All-the-angles-on-a-straight-line-sum-up-to-180-degrees!’

  Ralph Cresnut had been placed in the front row of the classroom due to his severe lack of understanding of the basic principles of geometry. Mr Whittle could have placed him on the moon for all it mattered though. Ralph was a long way off understanding mathematics or anything to do with school for that matter.

  It was a blistering hot summer’s day. Mr Whittle’s face glowed bright red from the intense heat combined with his soaring blood pressure, caused from the stressful position of trying to educate lethargic and disinterested 8th Grade pupils.

  Beads of perspiration poured down Philip’s freckled cheeks like dewdrops from a leaf.

  ‘It can’t be!’ he moaned, gazing about the classroom half dazed and confused. Sharon Warne and Emmaline Sawyer were seated at the corner classroom window, watching him awake from his afternoon nap.

  Philip’s hair was a soaked ginger mangled mess, and his left cheek was stamped with the fine measurement imprints of a Senton High issue ruler. The girls chuckled amongst themselves, and it strangely reminded him of something he had heard before.

  ‘Hey, classroom dreamer,’ Sharon whispered, chuckling at the poor boy in mockery. ‘What planet have you been on for the past half an hour, dozy-boy?’

  Mr Whittle, even with the aid of his thick lensed spectacles, couldn’t extend his vision much further than the first two rows, and was completely unaware of Philip taking a little afternoon snooze.

  ‘It can’t be a dream, that’s impossible!’ He mopped his sopping head with his freshly pressed school shirt sleeve, then shook it wildly with the feeble expectation of suddenly shaking himself back to his dream world experience.

  Sharon and Emmaline burst into a hysterical fit of laughter, pointing at him as if he were a circus trick or something. He spared them a glance in his bout of confusion, and immediately started to blush red with embarrassment. The two girls were the classroom sweethearts, and he had previously made it his life’s endeavour to gain their favour, to impress them somehow, and this most certainly was not the way to be going about it. A beautiful blonde and an equally stunning brunette – both with stunning bodies and gorgeous bright blue eyes that any schoolboy would quite willingly die for. It had turned out an absolute nightmare. He leapt up from his desk in eagerness to prove his unbelievable dream a reality.

  ‘Frank, Frank!’ he yelled, tripping over a brown suitcase in desperation to get to his beloved friend.

  ‘Have you gone completely insane, young man?’ Mr Whittle barked, slamming his stick on Ralph’s desk in anger. Ralph was at the point of drifting off into a peaceful place of slumber. After having spent until the early hours of the morning furiously pushing the buttons to the controls of his new computer game console, a good snooze was exactly what the doctor ordered. He bounced up from his chair like a jack-in-the-box yelling, ‘I-am-a-champion!’ at the top of his voice.
The entire class burst into a fit of hysterics with fat Robert nearly falling out of his chair in a fit of deep bellied giggles. Mr Whittle decided to ignore Ralph’s disjointed scream, because if he had to take all of his crazy reactions into account, Ralph would be doing detention every Friday for the rest of his life.

  Philip ignored his teacher’s question and proceeded to grab Frank by the shoulder.

  ‘Was it all a dream, Frank?’ he demanded frantically.

  ‘Was what all a dream?’ Frank replied, backing off in surprise.

  ‘Right, Birch!’ Mr Whittle bellowed. ‘Now you can join Featherstone in detention tomorrow! I have had enough of all this horsing about. I think that the two of you need to be taught a bit of respect. Get back to your desk at once, Birch!’

  ‘I was just kidding,’ Frank laughed, winking slyly. ‘Of course it all happened. Silver balls, wizards, flowers. Now at least I’ll have some company in detention tomorrow.’

  ‘You two stop this talking at once!’ Mr Whittle persisted. ‘And Mr Birch, get back to your desk this instant!’

  Robert noticed Philip chatting with Frank and nearly fell out of his chair all over again, this time in complete and utter disbelief. They were enemies the other day, now they looked like old buddies. How very bizarre!

  Philip returned to his desk with a big smile plastered on his face, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the two class beauties watch in surprise.

  ‘Since when did Philip become such good friends with the classroom stud?’ Sharon asked her friend, gaping in astonishment.

  ‘I-I dunno,’ Emmaline replied, looking equally puzzled.

  ‘How dare the two of you talk to each other when I am speaking?’ the teacher snapped, homing in on the two ladies with his pointing stick like a fencing champion dashing forward to claim the winning strike.

  ‘Sharon! Emmaline! Detention on Friday!’

  ‘But, Mr Whittle!’ Sharon complained.

  ‘No more buts, Sharon! You lot need to show me a little bit more respect from now on. And there will be no more acting the goat, is that clear?’

  Everyone was surprised, and a bit shaken by their teacher’s unusual display of assertion.