PETER PUMPKIN GOES INTO THE DARK

By Peter Nanra

Danger and peril surround pumpkins everywhere and every day. They're unavoidable. They create such unlivable conditions that its all they can do but just to survive. And none of it is their fault. 

Yet, pumpkins must deal with these nasty uncertainties, as they arrive one after the other. They were delivered from all creat

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Summit House
• Release date: Nov 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781957054230

Peter Nanra

Peter Nanra was born in Leicester, England, and lives in Vancouver, Canada. He earned a bachelor’s degree from the University of British Columbia, and he views reading as a key element in the education and development of children. He is also the author of Peter Pumpkin Goes Trick-or-Treating.

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Peter Pumpkin Goes into the Dark

Peter Nanra

Copyright © 2021 Peter Nanra.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-957054-24-7 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-957054-25-4 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-957054-23-0 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to the real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 315 288-7939 ext. 1000 or 347-901-4920

Email: [e-mail]

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

THE HAND OF A WITCH

MESSAGES

Those stupid bats

Clandestine Operations

In Sickness and in Health

Abduction

The Eastlands

PLAN B

A midnight stroll

The P Order

Once in a Lifetime

In Mourning

An Open Letter

Chapter 1:

THE HAND OF A WITCH

The bat wouldn’t stop peering thru my window. I could clearly see all the details of its blood shot eyes when its lids remained open for extended periods. Which they often were. The beet red pupils surrounded in blood were shiny. Their reflection was so irresistible. I could feel their power even when I did manage to sink my head fully hidden underneath my blanket.

I wondered how they could do that. Avoid blinking for so long. I could never do that.

I didn’t want to make direct eye contact with it. I didn’t want the bat to know that it had caught my attention. But most definitely it had. How could it not? Because when something is invading your private space and is staring right at you, constantly, its hard not to take notice. It was like someone had focused a flashlight right onto me, illuminating light at the very time I relieved myself in the toilet.

The tapping of its wings against the window ledge created the most annoying sound. Having to flap its wings up and down, so that it could maintain its position. And then it would nibble at the window pain corners to gain an advantage. Gnashing at it with its teeth, as if it could pry it loose to gain entrance inside. Obviously too ignorant to realize that the window handle was on the inside. And it was locked.

Maybe it should have bashed its head against the glass, to smash in the window, if it really wanted to come inside. If that’s what it really wanted to do. It might have had more success. And it might have lost consciousness in the process too, which would have ended my temporary misery.

But perhaps it didn’t care to come inside. Maybe it couldn’t get any of the others to join him and didn’t want to be alone in my bedroom. So, it was left to annoy me from the outside, only. And figured that the window taps were the best way to do it.

The noises it made, however, were the most irritating. The things it said. The squawking sounds it made. I might have been fine if it was just the one. I could have tried to block it out. But that notion soon lost its lustre when a second arrived. And then a third. And in short time there were at least a half a dozen of them.

I should have considered a more proactive approach. I should have risen, grabbed a piece of wood, gone outside, positioned myself right next to them, and see how many I could belt right out of the patch with a few full swings. To knock them right over Caswell river and out over to the other side.

But that would have only invited more. And provided them with a motive to seek revenge. It would have been immediately satisfying, but it would have created long term effects. It would have been like scratching my back with a hacksaw.

And I was too tired. Too sleepy to do anything about it. Even too sleepy to get out of my bed and spend the rest of the night on the couch. And away from the window. And that wouldn’t have been a good idea anyway, because that would mean to accept defeat. That they had been successful to have chased me out of my private space. And then what of the next time? And then the time after that? It would have only given them incentive to come back. They would have been relentless. Like sharks that see blood in the water.

I only had the energy to ask questions to myself. Like what did they want? And why they couldn’t just let me sleep in peace? There was nothing in my house that could interest any of them. I had at least three more hours of quality sleep time. Even holding down my pillow over the back of my head to cover my ears made little difference. The taps against the window and the squawking noises were such an irritant that sleep seemed an impossibility. It was like trying to dance and to get in sync with music that had no rhythm.

Even though I had managed to avoid looking at the bat directly in the eyes, I couldn’t avoid it when it first made an appearance. It was familiar. Like I had seen it before. The face, not on a bat, but on a vampire. Because if that bat was a vampire, he may very well have transfigured into Virgil Vampire. And even if it wasn’t him, was this all his doing? Did he send those bats to my bedroom to spy on me? To watch my every single movement during the middle of the night. Did he want to know if I had important business to take care of?

I had known him all my life. And I’ve never been surprised of how low the depths of his manipulation could go. He was a sneaky one. He only had one mission in his life, it seemed. And that was to get the better of any creature that he had come into contact. Probing and delving into them to get an idea of how evil they were. And how they fit in today’s world. Information retrieval was his only objective. He had become notorious for it.

Or did he send them here to break my will? And to use torture techniques to damage my mood, with sleep prevention. And leave me groggy, tired, and deprived of any energy to implement a solid plan to fix a problem.

Spies did all types of things. There were no limits to the extent that creatures would go to, just to accomplish something for the collective good. For their own collective good, that is. And they came in all shapes and sizes. Magical creatures that would suddenly show up, pretending to be a camouflage in the wind, but having impeccable vision and the most adept alertness to take a note of every little move that was made.

I was forced to abort a mission many years ago because I had feared that mysterious owls were watching. Call it a sixth sense I had, at the time. I delayed and delayed, wasting time until I was completely alone, before I replaced that red apple with a rotten one, in that grocery store in the city. In the hope that the person would choose that very rotten one. But when I saw that vampires face outside the window that evening, my sole objective had taken a complete turn. And I got out of that store as quickly as possible with little damage done.

I became convinced that the city politician had hired Virgil for his services. To act as a nighttime watchman. Because he feared that a rival had every intention to take him out. And maybe the rotten apple was poisonous. Maybe it wasn’t. I certainly didn’t take a bite out of it. It had been delivered to me in a securely sealed box.

Perhaps it was the stress of my constant paranoia that prevented sleep. That it was all my own doing. Because that had accumulated to the size of a large mountain.

And then suddenly, after what seemed like an eternity, my room became completely dark. Even darker. Any light provided by the reflection of the stars outside had disappeared. As if something had covered up the window entirely. And it had come with a loud growl. I had to lift my head out from the blanket, and turn it sideways, yet again to look outside. It was worth it, to see what exactly had happened.

A vampire had appeared. It had to be. His wide-open face and sharp teeth would have replaced the flapping wings and tiny eyes from my view. But they didn’t because all I could see was his large, red tongue dropping out bright watery saliva like a lion preparing for his evening meal. It was a brutal sight.

I didn’t know whether to pay attention to it or tried to ignore it. I wanted them all to just go away. Closing my eyes and hoping for the best, was the option I took. And maybe that worked. To prove to the vampire that I wasn’t interested in any shenanigans that night. Because after it let out another sharp growl, it flew off. The bats included. All of them.

Was play time over for the tiny creatures? That its father had called them home for their daily sleep. Because it was about time.

I was relieved. I knew I needed the sleep. The depressed skin below my eyes was beginning to be a worry. Pumpkins had concerns about it. And I did too. The bags were deeper than the Grand Canyon. I wondered if they were the cause of my deteriorating eyesight. That was the most worry, more so than their appearance. That it would be taken away from me. The way a chicken worries over its new laid eggs.

And I wished their departure had been the end of my nightmare. And that sleep would overtake my senses in short order. But I should have been so lucky.

Soon after the bats left, and before I began dreaming about the niceties of life, I had to deal with the knock on the front door. Ignoring that wasn’t going to be the solution. That was for sure. I soon realized that. Because when there was no action on my part to open it, there were more. And then more. They caused a headache. Like the sound of a hammer pounding a nail into my stem.

Those were the times I wished I had a roommate, that could take care of such business. To take care of the inconveniences that can bog down a household. A young pumpkin that I could not only prepare for the dangers of pumpkin life, but also put to good use. Like answering the door. Those were the times when I rued my decision. The one I made many years ago to not accept a new roommate after Pudge had been given.

Getting up and out of my bed in the middle of the night was certainly not one of my favorite past times. And I had to keep my eyes closed for as long as they could, not needing any light to find my way to the front door. Every second my eyes remained closed was the most pleasant of sensations.

Portia began speaking as soon as the door opened. Her voice ended the sensation in a heartbeat. It was a disappointment. The same feeling you get when a parasite sets down right on top of your chocolate cake.

Are you attending the Council meeting? Do you know that Pajaree found a severed hand this morning? And we think it belongs to a witch! she said.

I heard the words, but I had no analyzation or evaluation skills whatsoever. I felt like saying What? What did you just say?

Are you awake? she asked.

I should have responded with And what do you want me to do about it? But it wasn’t as simple as that. It was no time to shirk any responsibility. Pumpkins discovering a hand that belonged to a witch was indeed a big deal.

Yes. Okay, I said. It was all I could muster. I didn’t have the energy to overly excite myself about it. I had to admit, that things didn’t process so quickly, so early in the morning. Still in the middle of night.

And I wasn’t so eager to attend the Council meeting to discuss it. Having to listen to all the Elected Elders voice their rightful opinions. I was certain they would be the same arguments that were made only a week ago. Debating amongst ourselves whether we had done anything wrong, after we had discarded a nose. And then proposing options to the witches, that would show our weaknesses.

Accepting soft tactics was never anything to look forward to. Especially from Portia. Those should always be the last options in such delicate circumstances. Her ideas were gradually making me numb. Listening to her was like having an ice cube screwed into my eardrum.

Luckily for me, that was all that she had to say that morning, outside my door. It wasn’t a long and drawn-out conversation. Nothing was required of me at that point in time. The Council meeting wouldn’t start for hours.

Don’t you have anything to say about it? she asked. What are you going to say at the meeting?

Why was she always so eager? Why was she always so excited to act, when the action didn’t always make the best sense? As if any mere action, was the desired result. Its not the quantity of action that is important, but rather the quality.

Why? What are you going to state at the meeting? was something that I might have asked another. But to ask it to her, would have only made my imaginary ice cube even colder.

When I confirmed to her, that I would indeed attend the meeting, she was satisfied enough to turn and walk away. Even before I had the gumption to close the door.

And it was straight to bed. I let myself tumble down onto the mattress, my head perfectly in place to land on the soft pillow. This time with it under my side cheek, and not strapped over the back of my head. Thinking about the hand of a witch was the last thing that I wanted to do. And I re-closed my eyes, to a peaceful serene sound. No bats. Nor vampires. Just only to the slight whistle from the wind blowing outside.

For at least until there was another knock on the front door. The blissful moment didn’t last long. My eyes had already opened a split second before that, when I heard her voice outside. I didn’t need to open any door to know who it was.

Hello. Hello. Pug are you home? Come and open the door. Let me inside, the voice said. I didn’t want to hear it. Yes Pompess. What did you want? Why are you here?

And it was the same routine. First moving the soft bed covers reluctantly away from my body. And then kicking out my legs until they landed on the floor. Ensuring my right hand was extended, fearing an odd and unidentifiable object that could unexpectantly get in my way during the walk to the front door. All the while keeping my eyes sealed shut, until the door was fully opened. And it was such a pain to open them. Like someone had used a pick and shovel to pry open the eyelids.

Pompess didn’t need the door to be open to start talking because she never stopped in the first place.

Look. Here. I wrote them all down. All the things that went wrong with the Tea Party last week. And they all need to be fixed. Look at them, she said, waving the booklet in front of my face, waiting for me to take hold of her detailed registry.

I didn’t want to. Nor did I need to. Especially since she had reiterated the countless indecencies and plots and immaturity and lack of rules and decorum and all the rest of it, every day for the past week. Following me around the patch like a rat looking for dinner.

There were so many of them. Such as the inappropriate method of choosing the winner of the Pilton. The authority granted to five random pumpkins selected from the audience. She thought that Posh had overstepped her bounds.

And the organized effort by some pumpkins to serve tea and other drinks to every elder, except to her. I never received a single drink, she complained. Not a single one. Why? And how she could prove that it was Petrina and her band of delinquents that led the boycott.

And pumpkins stealing and hiding the chairs. The grass was all soggy Pug, she had said. And you know how I detest sitting on the dirty grass in the first place!

And on and on the diatribe went. I knew I had to interrupt her before she began to explain the notes and recite those incidents, in the most excruciating detail.

Fine. Point understood Pompess. Why was it necessary for her to make a visit at that hour anyway? In such a rush. Like a snake slithering thru the grass to be first in line to lick the werewolf meat. She knew I couldn’t do anything about them at that time.

I will Pompess. They all need to be looked at. And I will, I said. Barely having any energy to stand up on my own two feet.

But I knew that mere assurance wouldn’t satisfy her. She wasn’t going away that easily. She wanted a sense of accomplishment. She knew I realized that she would go on and on, until I did something. To prove to her that I was on her side. And the sooner the better.

I took hold of her doctrine and flipped over the first few pages. Pretending to read a few lines of each.

Can I read this first? And we can talk later, I said, proving my sincerity while displaying my sleepy eyes to her.

It did the trick. She turned and walked away. I even made sure that I paid attention to her, all the way until she left my view. Past the house next door. I had to. Because she stopped, then turned to look at me. I knew she would. Because if I had gone back inside, she would have returned and had a second go at me. I’ve learnt from my past mistakes. Experience can count for something.

And I still had time for sleep. But there wasn’t any use. Not ten minutes had past since I laid back down, before there was another knock on the door. And as soon as I saw her face out through my window, I knew that was my cue. Third time lucky, I thought sarcastically. No more sleep. Ponye only came by when she thought it was necessary for me to attend a Council meeting. That it was in mine, and her, best interest to do so.

She pushed my chest away from the front door with her left elbow, as if she wanted to enter. She would do that. But she didn’t enter that time. Instead, it was one of her bluffs. A feint, to get me away from the door, just so that she could control it. She was probably too busy to provide a boring lecture that morning.

I didn’t want her to explain the reasons why I should attend the meeting. I didn’t have the energy for it. I was too busy at my attempt to have one more relaxation of my eyes. And to think of nothingness before I finally said goodbye to that idea. I was purposely stubborn.

And Pius still wants you to meet with our guests. Right after the Council meeting, she concluded.

And she didn’t leave until she gave me a succinct nod. As if to state Get away from the door and go and get ready! Because the meeting would start in an hour.

There was no going back into bed. And shutting my eyes. And feeling the warmth of my soft blanket. Instead, it was a trip to the toilet. And a very thorough cleansing of my teeth. And then a trip to the icebox.

How could the discovery of a hand be so important, in the middle of the night? Clear headed decisions were never made in a moments’ notice. What were we going to do with it? was the question. What were our options?

I opened my icebox that was placed on my kitchen counter. I wanted choices in there too. I had grapes. I had apples. But I really felt like cherries for breakfast. And a trip to the farm to pick out the fresh ones, would have been my favorite choice.

Pug. Pug. Are you still home? I heard. And not two seconds afterwards, Pinky had walked right in. Ponye was sure to leave the door ajar. Not even having the decency to respect my privacy from any unwelcome intruders. Pumpkins who could think to walk along my column, and then wander inside whenever they felt like it.

What did Ponye think? That by leaving the door open, I would ready myself any sooner. It was a wonder, though. Why I never had the courage to re-close it. Instead choosing to brush my teeth and to select breakfast. And to ignore any luxury I craved for sleep and rest.

And then pumpkins would claim and question as to why I was always so grouchy. Ponye included. Why my skin was darkening and softening under my eyes.

I didn’t need to look at Pinky. Nor did I want to. I let her speak. She mumbled away. I didn’t hear any of it. The pictures of the fruit were so much more refreshing. I had taken out the reddest apple that I could find. And I barely was able to grab onto it because my fingers had swollen. Probably due to our hazardous environment. They had become so thick and useless, that they felt like pork sausages.

Are you listening? she asked.

No, I thought. But for some reason, that latest question caught my attention. She didn’t speak again until she had my full attention. I had to look at her before anything else was said.

And are you coming to the meeting? she asked.

Again, with the meeting?

Why do we need to have a meeting in the middle of the night? I asked finally. To someone.

What? Its not the middle of the night. Its eleven in the morning, she answered.

I was dumbfounded. I asked the only question that made sense.

Then why is it so dark outside? I looked right thru her, out the door, to confirm that I was fully alert on my surroundings.

Its the solar eclipse. Don’t you remember? We talked about it, just the other day, she said.

Yes of course. I did remember. The day when we would be in the dark for extended hours at a time. And this eclipse was different because … I had forgotten. Did I have the nerve to ask her?

Because the werewolves are celebrating their wave of victories against the witches. And because its the three-hundred-year anniversary of Wyvern Werewolf’s death today. No one knows for how long the moon will remain in its current place. Covering up the sun, said Pinky.

Oh yes. Wyvern. I had heard all about him. And I had even glanced thru some of the doctrines he had written. Outlining his thoughts for the emergence of the new species. And his arguments to combine the intellect of humans, with the quickness, strength, and abilities of a wolf.

It was full of possibilities, I had to admit. His arguments had merit. But the new species may have had more success, if he hadn’t overvalued, in his assumptions of peoples’ intellect. If they had been more accurate, he could have set better expectations.

I even had the pleasure of meeting one of his great grand sons, believe it or not. But that was a story for another day. There was no time to reminisce in that brief encounter.

Pinky wanted me to acknowledge the meeting request. And to maybe even respond to any of the subjects that she had mentioned. None of which I had an opinion. But she wasn’t going to leave, without me taking at least some of an interest.

We need one-hundred percent participation. Every Elected Elder needs to have an opinion on what we should do. We can’t just sweep this under the rug.

So? What do you think we should do with this witch hand? Is it intact? I asked.

It has been severed right off! she said.

No. I mean the hand itself. Is it crushed or mangled? Is it identifiable? I asked.

So much violence. The aggression from the witches had been non-stop. Tempting people to react because of their dwindling salt supplies. The witches had been so reckless. Causing so much destruction everywhere. And death to their own kind. Not even caring about the outcome of their actions. This whole thing was their fault.

It had been going on for over a week. Their latest war with people. It began with a crazy notion that the witches had, to remove all the rain from our skies. And they led an assault on the salt factories in the city. And people didn’t appreciate it, to say the least. Neither species could ever have a true peace in their wish list. They would prefer vengeance and retaliation. And hatred and evil.

And why was our patch always in the middle of it? Why were we always the ones to suffer when other species take up arms? And fuel antagonism. And promote distrust. All of it. The salty air. The severed limbs. We were like deer, stuck in a pastureland full of manure. And there wasn’t a whole lot that we could do about it.

Well. We know it belongs to a witch. That much we know. Dr. Pumpkin has confirmed it.

What a task that must have been. Trying to discern a severed limb and having to conclude if it had belonged to a person or a witch. Or to whatever creature. My initial thoughts were one of pessimism. Ever since Portia became the bearer of bad news.

The hand should never have been touched. That was our first mistake. Because once an original sin has been committed, there was nothing that could be done to fix the damage it could cause. We needed to learn from our mistakes. Getting anywhere near that hand was a huge error in judgement, just as picking it up and moving it. Once something like that is done, it sets of a series of actions, none of which could be good. Solutions are ripe with errors and would only add to the damage.

What did that person say so many years ago? Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice, to deceive.

I never thought in my wildest imagination, that I would have to pass a resolution, demanding no pumpkin be allowed to touch, nor inspect a witch body part, without the proper authorization. But to critique the ineptitude of those involved in transporting the hand, in front of Pinky at that time, had no benefits, whatsoever.

Yes Pinky. I’m just getting ready now, I said. I grabbed her by the elbow and moved her along, closer to the door. I’ve only been told about it twenty minutes ago. Let me hear what the others have to say, first.

I couldn’t believe it was past eleven. That realization aroused me more than any of the conversations I had that morning.

I was relieved when Pinky stopped talking and left. Her voice was so high pitched. Especially when she was excited. And hyper. Which she always seemed to be. It came out like the squeal of a pig after it had its mud bath. And the thought of listening to them all in the meeting was a nightmare waiting to happen.

I wanted my life to go back to normal. I wanted the salty air to go away. To not have any of it stuck in my nostrils. To be able to walk to the farm in the mornings without wearing my mask. To be able to take in the sweet smell of the flowers and the refreshing aroma of the air. I was tired of wearing the mask that I draped over my nose and mouth. But I’ve had to. Breathing had become more difficult amidst the salty air. But it was necessary if I wanted to keep it all out of my system.

I wanted to sleep at night. Properly, and stress free. And without any interruptions. And to wake up in the mornings feeling that it was going to be a splendid day, full of hope and promise. And not full of dread and misery.

And to participate in Council meetings that had a positive and progressive impact on our patch, rather than discussing ways and methods on how we could merely survive. A normal way of life. Where witches and people and vampires were not at each others’ throats.

Why couldn’t everyone just get along? Why wasn’t that possible? Had we all become so selfish and so self absorbed in our own endeavors that we had forgotten the benefits of contributing to the greater good? The chaos that the witches constantly created prevented us from achieving any meaningful and long-term success. Their actions established the terrible sequence of ensuring a step is taken backwards, after one is taken forwards. Their misguided efforts created issues for us, the way the ocean waves come crashing down on a beach. It was never ending.

I wanted peace and quiet in our world. A real one. Where trust and responsibility and goodwill were the key words of the day. With a long-lasting peace, and the days of living in constant fear and danger were past us. Where there was no more aggression. And no need for retaliation. But that seemed like an eternity away.

By the time I finished bathing, it was half past eleven. The meeting would start precisely at twelve. Ponye had said there would be no exceptions or delays on that day. And because of the strict time constraint, there was no trip to the farm. Instead, I grabbed my apple, ensured my mask was squarely over my nose, and mustered up the courage to open the front door and to brave the elements for that long walk to the Office. A long and stressful walk.

And it took just a split second to realize how dark it was. I couldn’t believe it. Was the moon that powerful that it could block out all the rays from the sun so easily? Rendering it so completely useless. Were the werewolves that powerful that they could affect the moon so greatly?

Such dreadful and depressing thoughts on a dreary Monday morning.

But at least I took solace knowing the moon would move away. The darkness would lift. And all the salt would eventually go away. Those all were environmental issues. And our natural environment had never let us down before. Not ever. Those weren’t the issues of importance on that day.

It was the hand. Because that issue could evolve to something more powerful and intrusive than our environment. To something so much more dangerous. From something so evil that it had all the incentive to make our lives exceedingly more difficult, whenever we thought deception was the best course of action.

I was much more pleased after another visitor had arrived that morning. Pampozzo had been ready to knock. He had his right hand locked in a fist, with his knuckles ready for action, but had stopped his thrust just when the door had opened. The darkness was depressing, to say the least. The early morning guests were a nuisance, at best. But at least Pampozzo was a welcome visitor. At least he was one that I thought would be a nice conversationalist during the walk to the Office. He was always so even keeled. He spoke in certainties, for the most part. He never offered any opinions, that I had never asked for. He had been sturdy and steady for many years. And not just in his demeanor. He was stout in appearance also. He was a stocky fellow. And strong as a bull. He was built like a fire hydrant.

And I knew the topic would be interesting and entertaining even if his news wasn’t all good.

Pau managed to have that talk with Milton Munchkin, he said.

I ensured my creaky door was fully sealed and locked in against the latch before I paid any attention to Pampozzo. And I needed a minute to get used to the air, after I ensured my mask was comfortably draped over my nose and mouth. Because sometimes those first few breaths could be a struggle. And only when I took my first step forward, did I turn my attention towards him.

Good. Very good. And he wants it in his possession, obviously, I said.

Well. I’m not sure. He didn’t believe everything Pau said.

Oh. Which part?

The part where we’re not asking for anything in return.

And he doesn’t believe that we’re doing this just out of our own goodwill, I confirmed.

No. I don’t think so. He believes everything else though.

Oh really? I said. That was a surprise. Because I couldn’t believe it myself. How we had managed to secure video of munchkins having conversations with witches in the village of Hatred. Witches that they were prohibited from talking to. Because they weren’t just any witches. They were dis-loyalists, as they were known. Witches that didn’t see eye to eye with their leader, Wanda Witch.

And if Wanda found out who those munchkins were, well that wouldn’t be so good for them.

Tommy Troll was able to secure that video. And he sent it to me. Because he owed me a favor. He had thought that it could be useful.

There. Now we are all even. I don’t owe you anything, he had said.

What am I supposed to do with this video? Why do I care which munchkins talked to which witches? It seems like a useless bit of evidence, I said.

But he didn’t care. Because when someone owes you a favor, and they return it, no one can reject it. Or else, the same attempt may never be made in the future. And that was true for any troll.

And out of the goodness of my heart, I was willing to pass it over to Milton Munchkin. Without any conditions, or prerequisites or ulterior motives. Because it could have value to him. But like most creatures in our world, trust was something taken out of an imaginary fiction book.

He wants to talk to you. Directly.

Why doesn’t he just accept it. Did he want to see it? I asked.

He didn’t ask about that.

Fine, I thought. Why not have a conversation with him. It was the business that I was in. Of making deals and concessions. Anything that could prove beneficial down the road. I was never one to turn away a customer. Especially if I knew they had something interesting to say.

And I had time to think it thru. Because Pampozzo was a slow walker, despite his strong lower body build. Extremely slow. One would never think it, that a pumpkin could exhibit so much power and force, to take the most measured and low distanced steps possible. I could never get used to it. But I accepted it.

But it could be frustrating, trying to slow down to keep up with him. He moved forwards the way a caterpillar would advance across an arid stretch of dessert.

Chapter 2:

MESSAGES

What in the world? Didn’t Pug even know what time it was? Was he going crazy? Had he lost all his senses? Or was he just taking it easy and having an extra long rest. Lounging around, probably in and out of his bed throughout the whole morning.

The moment I took those steps to leave his house, I began to think if I should have stayed longer. I could have gone back inside and insisted that he acknowledge me. Maybe even to have talked until he agreed to my points. At least some of them. Any of them. But I wondered if that would have made any difference. I could have talked until I was yellow in the face. Because if Pug wasn’t interested, then nothing I could have said would have caught his attention. I should have been just fortunate if he had even heard me. He was so much in a daze. He looked so sleepy. As if he was in a trance.

Or was it just an act? His sleepiness, just an excuse to ignore me. He never took his eyes out of his icebox. He wasn’t sleepy for his fruit snacks. He didn’t even look up at me, even for a second, to try to understand the serious and grave ramifications of the discovery.

Was he fixated on something? He must have been pre-occupied with something. His focus couldn’t have all been on his hunger. But what? What was he thinking about? What was more important than discussing the latest predicament that we had found ourselves in.

Maybe he was coming down with something? It wouldn’t be a surprise. His eyes looked so droopy. His skin grooves were very weak. His lips were flabby. His face lacked vigor. I was desperate to comment, but I decided against it. Instead, I felt a sympathetic seed rise to the forefront. Telling someone they looked out of it wasn’t always so pleasant.

Or maybe I decided to let it go, because I didn’t want to get on his bad side. I probably already was. I didn’t want to irritate him. There were no positives from that endeavor. Because maybe I had exaggerated the situation. Making too much of his demeanor.

My mind was racing again. My legs couldn’t move any faster, as I walked up along Column TS01. I had a million things to do. I had to clear the sweat that formed onto my forehead with the back of my right wrist constantly. And it didn’t accumulate with sweat from the heat. I couldn’t believe how hyper I had gotten.

Oh my gosh! Calm down Pinky, I had to convince myself. Just relax. Breathe. And refocus. And do what was most important. Do what you do best. Collect information. Try to stay informed. Act on the things that I can control. And be prepared to respond to anything that comes my way.

I had to remind myself of those things every so often. I didn’t want to be flustered and act out of composure. Good decisions were never made in haste. They were never made without a patient, strong and a complete sense of mind.

Pug had been my third stop that morning. And I still had three more to make. I wanted to know what he had thought of the hand discovery. I had already spoken to Pomanong. I thought that she was the one who found the hand that morning, but she wasn’t. She told me that she had already confirmed with Poppy, that Pajaree had found it and she was only there after the fact. But locating Pajaree that morning was a problem.

I wanted to ask her questions. When did she find it? Where was it exactly? And what did she do afterwards?

Plus, I wanted to see the hand for myself. I had never been one to fall for conjecture or speculation. It wasn’t because I never believed anyone. I had faith in others. But this was important. Vitally important. I was always one to verify things with my very own eyes. Not that I had any experience identifying witch body parts. How could I? But seeing is believing.

It wasn’t an interest out of mere curiosity. But one of responsibility for having the