by James Somers
Mr. Lonely led Percival through the parlor beneath the dilapidated old staircase into a room that seemed as out of place as could be. An old woman, dressed in a fine dining gown, conducted a menagerie of dining room chairs, fine china and silverware, all sailing around the room. As the old woman pointed out each piece to their place, they flew immediately to position and stayed there.
The old woman suddenly noticed them. “Oh! Charles, you’ve brought the boy! I hoped he would come back.”
Percival stood watching as the remaining place settings came together on the large table dominating the entire room. Like the Looking Glass Chamber before, Percival noticed how impeccably clean the dining room was. He couldn’t find a speck of dust anywhere. The table was made of polished white marble. Columns of the same stood at intervals along the wall, which presently changed color to match, right before Percival’s eyes. “Just a bit more and I’ll have everything ready, Charles.”
Percival looked at Mr. Lonely curiously. “Charles?”
Mr. Lonely glared back at him. “Yes, Charles. Is there a problem with that…Percival?” Mr. Lonely surveyed his wife’s handiwork. “Dear, the settings look very nice, but the room…we’re going to need much more room. The delegates will no doubt have their servants with them, you know.”
“Quite right, Charles.” She turned to the opposite wall and waved her hands, as though shooing chickens off the front porch. “Go on, back, back, back, back…give us a little room.” The wall responded like a scolded pup, receding away from them, stretching the entire room in the process. Indeed, not only the room stretched, but the table elongated in order to match. Place settings multiplied themselves, and so on, until the dining room had become a dining hall nearly twenty yards long. Reason said there was no way for it to fit inside the manor house’s dimensions, and yet, there it was.
In the midst of all the fantastic things taking place, Mrs. Lonely had paid little attention, suddenly focusing on her own hand. “Oh dear, I believe I’ve chipped a nail.”
Percival smiled a little. He wanted to laugh, but didn’t. After all, this was still a serious situation. These people, or ghouls, or whatever they were, still held Violet prisoner against her wishes.
“Percival! How are you?”
He turned to find Violet coming into the room, wearing an elegant dress. He’d never seen her in anything like it. Jeans, yes. Tee-shirts, yes. Evening gowns? Never.
For a moment, Percival didn’t know what to say. His mouth hung open as he stared at her, not believing she was real, not believing the same Violet he knew, who drop kicked older boys in her martial arts class like it was nothing, would ever be caught dead in such an outfit, and not believing how wonderful she looked in it. He felt a teensy bit conflicted.
Violet stopped before she reached him, frowning. “Is there something the matter, Percival?” She looked down at her dress, turning to see if something about her was amiss. Percival snapped out of his shock. “No…I mean nothing is wrong. I just, uh…I’ve never seen you wear…”
“Don’t you like it? I look awful don’t I?” Violet pouted.
Percival stammered. “No, not at all. I mean I think you look great—really—pretty.” He wasn’t sure if that word might get him slugged in the arm. But looking at her, he honestly couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Violet walked over to him and Mr. Lonely. Mrs. Lonely had stopped arranging the room in order to admire Violet in her dress. “You look just lovely dear…I knew you would.”
Violet smiled sheepishly at Percival. “Mrs. Lonely thought I should wear this for the big dinner. She thought you might like it.” The statement seemed more question than anything, searching for a hoped-for response.
“Oh yes, well, I definitely agree. You look really…beautiful, Violet.” Percival began to sense that instead of belting him for such compliments, Violet was hoping for them. After all their years of close friendship, this may have been even weirder than all he’d faced up to this moment since finding the Lonely Manor.
Violet stepped closer to him, speaking low now. “I heard you went looking everywhere for me when I disappeared from my room and that you even came back here, not knowing what dangers you’d face in order to find me.”
Percival felt heat gathering in his cheeks, even a little dizziness, but Violet’s grin anchored him. Finding no words, Percival simply nodded.
“I think that’s really sweet, Percival,” she said.
Percival smiled, nodding, then wondered why he was smiling…and why was he nodding. Had everyone suddenly gone bonkers? “Wait a minute. I don’t get any of this. Are we all suddenly friends or something? Violet, they’re holding you against your will. They’ve kidnapped you, and they’re blackmailing me to get you back!”
He looked at Mrs. Lonely, who studied him while scratching her wrinkled chin. “I’m afraid you’re very underdressed, Percival. You’ll never do in that—not with Violet so beautifully dressed. What would people say?” She strode toward him and started to pull his tee-shirt over his head as though he were three years old, and his mother was drawing a bath for him, complete with a yellow rubber ducky and G.I. Joe action figures.
Percival protested, but Mrs. Lonely ignored him. By the time his shirt sailed over his head and off, Percival was horrified—especially with Violet watching. But he quickly realized a tuxedo remained in its place. His pants had apparently changed on their own as well.
Violet giggled at the expression of shock on his face. “I just love it when they do that,” she informed him.
For his part, Percival remained quite perplexed. “Okay, okay. I have no idea what’s going on around here, but I sure wish someone would explain it to me.”
A thunderclap boomed throughout the house. Mr. and Mrs. Lonely both looked at one another, then at Percival. “I’m afraid we don’t have time right now, dear,” Mrs. Lonely said. “The delegates are already arriving.”
“Come with me, you two,” Mr. Lonely said. “I have to get you to Marlon.”
They looked at one another. “Who’s Marlon?” Percival asked.
Mr. Lonely hurried out of the reformed dining hall, back through the dingy part of the house, toward the staircase. “He’s one of the delegates.” Mr. Lonely waved them on. “Come, come, we must hurry.”
Percival looked back to Mrs. Lonely, who was now speaking with one of the zombies from the yard—only he was now dressed in a porter’s uniform, standing next to a great arch midway down the dining hall. A set of ornate doors sat within the arch. Percival was certain it hadn’t been there before.
Violet grabbed his hand, leading him around the staircase, following Mr. Lonely. “Come, we must hurry,” Mr. Lonely called down to them as he climbed the stairs.
Percival allowed Violet to pull him along, enjoying the fact that she was holding his hand in the process.
“But I thought we were going to be at the dinner, Mr. Lonely,” Violet said as they joined him at the top of the stair case.
“You are, you are, but things must be done a certain way.” He walked down the dusty cobweb-strewn hallway. “Marlon, one of my very good friends and the honorable delegate from Fantastique, will bring you and Percival to the dinner with him.”
They reached the same mirror at the far end where Percival had previously entered the Looking Glass Chamber. “Wait. I don’t understand any of this. Why are we going to a dinner? And why are you going along with all of this, Violet?”
She gripped his hand tighter. “Percival, do I look like I’m in any real danger here? Give them a chance to explain.”
“But why don’t we just leave?” Percival pleaded. By the way she looked at him, he already knew he would give in, but he hoped she might still listen to reason.
“Percival, just trust me. It’s important that we don’t leave.” She looked into his eyes. The battle was over. He’d lost before he started. Truth be told, he didn’t mind the losing so much. Part of him had grown m
ore curious about the house and what was going on here. But another part kept him planted, because Violet had asked him to stay.
Percival drew himself up, nodding to Violet. She smiled, and they continued down the hall to where Mr. Lonely waited impatiently at the gilded mirror. “Come along. We haven’t much time,” Mr. Lonely pleaded. “Marlon will be expected soon.”
Percival stopped short of going through the looking glass. “All right, but I’m warning you. When you explain this whole thing to me, it had better be good,” Percival persisted.
Mr. Lonely nodded. “Fair enough.”
