A Strange Tale

by James Somers

  Percival stood in his room. The smell of ten-year-old gym socks hung heavy in the air. Percival happened to be fairly OCD about hygiene and neatness, so it wasn’t the usual smell. He looked back toward the closet where he had evidently come through. Only his scattered clothing and several science project awards remained. There was no sign of Mr. Lonely, the manor house, or the looking glass he had just passed through.

  Mr. Lonely had told him to think about his proposal, but Percival decided to go through with his own threat. His and Violet’s families needed to know what was going on. After that, he would tell the police then lead them all to the house in the woods. Once they cleared the border of trees, they would see for themselves.

  Percival walked past the mirror mounted on his dresser. Something odd struck him. For a moment, he thought he saw another Percival staring back—actually staring and not walking as he had been. But when he looked a second time, paying closer attention, the image appeared normal. He moved on, opened his bedroom door then called out to his parents.

  “Mom! Dad! I need to tell you something!” he shouted.

  “We’re down here in the kitchen, honey,” he heard his mother say. Just then, Percival realized that it was almost dark outside. Surely he hadn’t been gone that long. It should have only been about noon. He paused, thinking, then went downstairs into the kitchen.

  He found his father sitting at the kitchen table and his mother cooking at the stove. Several pots bubbled, spitting columns of steam into the hood vent. “You’re late getting home, Percival,” his mother scolded gently. “I hope you haven’t been out looking for Violet again.”

  “As a matter of fact, Mom, I know where she is. There’s this old house out in the woods. I first found it when I followed a bank robber—”

  “Bank robber?” his father interrupted. “Whoa, wait a minute. What bank robber?” His father folded down the newspaper in order to scrutinize his son.

  “Well, the other day while I was out collecting some specimens, I heard police sirens out on the highway,” Percival explained. “Next thing I know, this car comes barreling through the woods nearby and crashes into a tree.”

  Percival’s parents looked at one another suspiciously. Percival carried on with his story despite their obvious skepticism. “Anyway, this guy got out of the car with a bag of money that had a dye pack inside. It exploded on him. Then he headed off into the woods. I decided to follow him and see what he was up to and where he was going, so I could tell the police later.”

  “Wait a minute,” his father said. “You never said anything about this before.”

  “That’s because the bank robber went to this old manor house in the woods and he never came out. But that’s not the only thing. When this guy passed into the clearing around the house, the weather changed and these zombies came out of the ground. They chased him inside then I heard him scream. He never came out. Then the house went back to the way it was before.”

  Percival’s father chuckled. “Zombies, Percival? Have you been sniffing glue or something?”

  This was it—the hard sell. Percival knew his story sounded too fantastic to be true, but they just had to believe him. He decided to bypass the incredible events and get to the real meat of it. “Dad, the people living in that house kidnapped Violet.”

  Percival’s mother came away from the stove and caressed his arm. “Honey, we know how hard this has been on you, with Violet being your best friend, but you’ve really got to calm down. I suppose it’s not unusual for a boy to make up wild stories to explain the disappearance of a good friend, but—”

  Percival felt wounded. “Mom, I’m not making this up. I know some of it sounds incredible, but they really do have Violet inside that house. If you would just come with me, we could take the police out there, and you’d all see for yourself.”

  Percival’s father rolled his eyes and went back to reading his paper. His mother pulled out a chair for him at the table. “Before we do anything, honey, I think you need to have some dinner. Then we can discuss this some more.”

  Percival sat in the chair feeling very discouraged. What could he possibly do or say that would make them believe his story? His mother placed a bowl on the table before him, then went back to the stove. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Percival’s father folded down his newspaper eagerly. “Good, I’m starving.”

  His mother came around the table, carrying a pan with a potholder and began to serve his dad. Percival looked outside again. In only a few minutes, the sun had gone down. It was already pitch black outside with a full moon. “What the?”

  Percival’s mother served his father then moved around the table to his bowl. “I saved the best part for you, honey.” She ladled out a grayish stew into his bowl. When the pungent vapor hit his nostrils, Percival’s nose curled. He looked down into his bowl.

  A soggy rat head sat inside, staring up at him. “Ah!” Percival jumped away from the table, nearly overturning it in the process.

  “Hey! Watch it, Percival,” his father complained. “You almost spilled my dinner.” He smiled hungrily then returned to his bowl. His father picked out what appeared to be a thick noodle. “You can have the head. I like the tail the best.”

  Percival watched in horror as his father slurped down the rat’s tail like a spaghetti noodle. “Oh boy, that’s good,” he said, smacking his lips. He looked up at Percival. “Aren’t you going to eat your food?”

  Percival stared, bewildered by his parents’ behavior. They laughed gently to themselves. His mother had gotten a portion for herself by now and was eagerly picking out the best pieces of rat-meat.

  Percival backed out of the kitchen, keeping an eye on them both. They remained seated at the kitchen table completely engrossed in their dinner. When Percival reached the living room, he turned and burst through the screen door, practically leaping off the porch into the front yard. The sun was already coming up, again. “What’s going on?” Percival wondered. Nothing about this was right.

  Just then, Percival noticed Violet’s father leaving his own porch, heading for his rolled newspaper lying on his sidewalk. Her father wore his blue bathrobe over a pair of red flannel pajamas while sporting a pair of furry black slippers. He shuffled out onto the walkway, yawning and scratching himself on the backside through his robe.

  Percival ran across the lawn toward him. “Mr. Charms! Mr. Charms! I need to speak to you about Violet, sir!” Percival crossed through the dew-wet grass into Violet’s yard, puffing on the chilly air. His breath escaped in a vapor as though it were the middle of January, despite the fact that July had just begun two days ago.

  “Weird,” Mr. Charms commented.

  “Sir?” Percival inquired.

  He looked away from the street toward Percival. “No, not you, dear boy…I mean the strange weather we’re having. Freezing cold in the middle of July. What in the devil is the world coming to? You don’t suppose those loony tree-huggers are right do you?”

  Percival looked at him, still perplexed. “Sir?”

  “Oh, you know, global warming and all that stuff.”

  Percival tried to shake Mr. Charms’ ranting out of his head. “Sir, I must speak to you about Violet…she’s in great danger.”

  Now it was Mr. Charms’ turn to give queer looks. “Danger? What on earth are you talking about, Percival? My daughter is up in her room, still in bed. Her mother and I just looked in on her.”

  “In her room?” He wanted to ask if Mr. Charms was quite sure Violet was in her room, but it seemed foolish given his assertion that he and his wife had just seen her.

  Mr. Charms laid his thick hand on Percival’s shoulder, smiling. “I know this has been a traumatic experience for you as well. After all, you and Violet have grown up together—the best of friends—and you were so good to run all over town on your bicycle trying to find her. But it’s all over now. You can relax. As I told your parents yesterday, Violet was only hiding in her closet those days. It’s a wonder we didn’t find
her before yesterday.”

  Percival blinked, confused. He knew she couldn’t have only been lying around hiding in a closet. It wasn’t Violet’s style at all. Besides, his gut told him that she really was being held captive inside the Lonely Manor in the woods. He couldn’t have imagined it all.

  “Well, I suppose you’d like to see her for yourself, eh?” Mr. Charms started to climb the steps to his front porch then looked back. “Aren’t you coming, Percival?”

  He looked back toward his own house. No sign of his parents. He trotted up the steps behind Mr. Charms. “Yes, sir, I’d feel much better seeing her for myself.”

  Mr. Charms led the way inside the house. He paused at the base of the stairs to inquire of his wife. “Linda, are you up there?”

  The muffled reply came from upstairs. “Yes, I’m up here with Violet.”

  “Well, Percival has come over and wants to see Violet. Are you two decent?” Mr. Charms turned to wink at Percival, awaiting the answer.

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Charms said. “Bring him on up.”

  Mr. Charms started up the stairs. “Let’s not keep the women waiting.”

  Percival followed him up then down the short hall to Violet’s bedroom. Mr. Charms pushed the door open and stepped inside. When Percival stepped inside Violet’s bedroom, he found everything awash in pink hues—the dresser, the carpet and the drapes. Even the clothes, seen hanging inside Violet’s open closet, were all pink.

  Immediately, Percival realized this didn’t look a thing like Violet’s bedroom. She had always been a tomboy. He had often thought that her room might seem more masculine than his own. Then he looked at the bed.

  Where Violet’s old bed had once been, there stood a white canopy bed draped in swathes of translucent pink silk. Mrs. Charms sat on the side of the bed, as though she’d been tending Violet during a time of illness. She smiled and looked inside the drapery. “Look who’s come to see you, honey.”

  Mrs. Charms opened the silk curtain. Percival smiled, looking down at Violet, only it wasn’t Violet in the bed at all. A life sized doll lay in Violet’s bed. It had black button eyes and dark yarn for hair. Percival gasped, looking to Violet’s parents for an answer.

  “What’s wrong, Percival?” Mr. Charms asked.

  “That’s not Violet…can’t you see?” Percival said.

  They looked down at the doll, then at Percival. “Are you sure you’re all right, son? Maybe you’re coming down with something,” her mother said.

  “They say the flu is going around,” Mr. Charms added.

  Percival looked back at the doll lying on the bed. The doll’s head turned to look at Percival. A smile, wrought in black thread, spread across its face, laughing at him.