Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the HU BA HOU, chapter two

 

Chapter Two

Cereal that tastes of Sawdust

The easy-going Wot

After lying on the cold, hard floor for almost an hour, reality began to return to Wot’s shocked

brain, but his new perception of reality was far different from that which he had known up until

then known.

“Oh my head!” he groaned. “What happened?” Looking up and down the hallway, but seeing

nothing out of the ordinary, he whispered, “Was I dreaming?” Nobody answered. Silence

prevailed.  Whispering again, he said, “Nott, was that you?” He heard nothing. He received no

reply. Whispering a little louder, he said, “Nott?”  Still there was silence. He was confused. He

was worried. Then he shouted, “NOTT! ARE YOU THERE?”  Yet again, he received no reply.

The Christmas card lying on the floor suddenly caught his attention. Picking it up, looking into

the window of the old house, the same window in which he had seen Nott waving frantically at

him, he said, “Was it all in my imagination? And if it was, then what a peculiar thing to imagine.”

After several minutes, with no sign of his lifelong friend to be seen in the window, Wot sighed

dolefully, returned the card to the coat stand and then headed for the kitchen.

Once inside, he plugged in the kettle, preparing to make himself a nice cup of tea. “That will

clear my mind,” he said. After the kettle had boiled, he made the tea. Steam rose  high into the

air as he poured the hot water into the teapot. When he had mashed the tealeaves, he filled

his mug with the wonderful drink, poured in some milk, grabbed a mince pie, and then

left the kitchen, heading for the sitting room. Settling comfortably in his favourite armchair,

taking a huge mouthful of the wonderful imbibe, then biting down hard into the mince pie,

he tried to work out what had been happening. However, after finishing his tea and ‘pie,

Wot still had no idea as to what it was all about. The best that he could come up with was

that he must have slipped in the hallway, bumped his head and knocked himself out. While

he had been unconscious, all the strange happenings regarding Nott and the

Christmas card must have been one hell of a weird dream.

“Yes, that must be it,” he said, trying to convince himself. Looking over to the clock, Wot saw that

it after eleven and therefore time for bed. Feeling shaky from his ordeal, he decided to make

himself a nice mug of cocoa, to bring upstairsto bed.   “This will help me to sleep,” he said,

climbing the stairs.  “Yes, a good night’s rest will do me a power of good. I will be back to normal in

the morning, so I will.”

“It might sort you out, old friend, but it certainly won’t help me,” the mysterious voice boomed

louder than ever. On hearing these words, Wot lost hold of his mug. Shooting high into the air,

the mug, somersaulting twice, spewed its entire contents, like a wet brown Catherine

Wheel firework, over him. In his confusion and panic, Wot lost hold of his footing and

tumbled unceremoniously to the bottom of the steps, landing in an undignified heap,

as the remains of hot, brown liquid rained upon him. The mug, glancing off his temple,

entered oblivion in a thousand sharp, shiny pieces, as it struck the hard, cold floor. 

“Nott? Is that you?” Wot asked, rubbing his sore head and licking the dribbles of cocoa

running down his face. 

“Of course it’s me!” Nott sarcastically replied.  “Who did you expect, the Queen of Sheba?”

Grabbing hold of the Christmas card, staring into the leaded window within it, Wot saw his best

friend, Nott, waving out frantically at him. “So, I wasn’t imagining it after all!” he proclaimed

triumphantly. “You know, I was beginning to think I was seeing things, perhaps even losing my

marbles!”

“That’s assuming you had any to lose in the first place,” Nott quipped, before asking, “Why did

you drop it, the card, again?”

While sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, licking the cocoa running down his face, Wot

explained how that the shock of seeing him in the card had caused him to pass out. “After I

regained consciousness,” he said, “I called out to you so many times, but I received no reply –

nothing. Finally, I concluded that I must have dreamt the whole episode. That’s the best I

could make of it, sorry.”

Nott gave him an extremely odd look.

Nott, at the ready...

Wot concluded, saying, “I was just off to bed when you finally called out. Why didn’t you answer,

before, when I was calling you?”

“The reason why, should be quite obvious,” Nott replied. “I was also unconscious! I was

knocked out cold when you dropped the card!” Then he added, “It’s a miracle I haven’t

been killed, being continuously dropped from such great heights!” Wot felt so bad, hearing

this. Nott continued, Are you going to help me to get out of here?”

 “Of course I will, that goes without question,” Wot replied. “But how did you get in there, in the

first place? What is it like inside there, that house? Is it just like a real house? What is it like to

be so small?  Who knocked on my front door? I never found out, you know!” Rolling his eyes up

towards heaven, Nott began making some very strange noises indeed…

25th December.

The next morning it was Christmas, a Christmas that was to prove like no other before it,

where Wot and Nott’s world, and their perception of it, was to change forever.  Wot awoke

first; the falls and knocks of the previous evening having taken their toll on his tired body,

had sent him into a deep, restful sleep. He said that had never slept so well in his entire life

and was feeling totally refreshed after it. Nott, however, was another matter altogether,

because when he awoke he proclaimed quite sarcastically that he found it difficult to sleep

inside a Christmas card, especially one that had been left in a cold and drafty hallway all night.

Ignoring Nott’s complaints Wot made himself a wonderful Christmas breakfast, a fry-up to

beat all others. The succulent aroma wafted out from the kitchen and all around the house,

including the small Christmas card that he had placed on the kitchen table.

Smelling it, Nott began shouting, “That’s right; make me feel worse than I already am!”

“What are you on about now?” Wot asked.

“The smell of the fried breakfast, of course – it’s driving me bananas! All I have to eat in

here is dried-up cereal that tastes of sawdust! Argh!”

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Wot replied. “But it is Christmas, and I was starving.”

When they had each finished their decidedly different meals, Wot cleared up the breakfast

paraphernalia, then returned to the card atop the table. “Right then, Nott,” he said. “Tell me

the whole story, how you got into your predicament and why you cannot free yourself from it.

Then we will put our heads together and see what we can come up with.”

Biting his tongue Nott agreed to tell him the whole story, but only if Wot promised not to

interrupt, not even the once.

Nott began… “It started on Christmas Eve morning. The mail arrived earlier than usual, just

as I was finishing breakfast. I was surprised to see that it consisted of only the one small

envelope. Picking it up, I walked into the sitting room, sat down and continued to study it,

there. There was no address on it, or even stamp. There was only my first name ‘NOTT’

written in capital letters upon it. I thought it was rather strange, but convinced myself that the

postman hadn’t delivered it. Perhaps a friend or neighbour had dropped it in, I thought.

I studied the writing, but failed to recognise it. I was so annoyed that anyone could be so

stupid as to address an envelope in so a reckless manner. On opening the envelope, I

found a Christmas card inside, the same one that I am speaking to you from. Apart for

the printed Happy Christmas greeting there was no other writing on it. This got me even

more worked up than I already was. I fumed at the stupidity of anyone doing such a daft

thing, and I said, I wish I knew what this was all about.”

“Then I heard a sound.”

“Sound, what kind of sound?” Wot asked.

“I told you no interruptions!”

“Sorry.”

“It was the sound of the winding blowing, blowing,” Nott explained. “It was faint at first, but it

continued to grow louder and louder, stronger and stronger until it filled the entire room,

whirling and circling around me. It frightened me, Wot, it really did! As it continued to grow,

it began forming a vortex, the centre of which was the small Christmas card I was still holding.

In shock at what I was seeing, I dropped it. Then, then I felt the wind pulling and tugging at

me. It lifted me off the floor, Wot, pulling me around and around me in ever decreasing

circles. I was its captive. I wanted to escape, I tried to escape, but it was far too strong to

break free. Before I was able to get my head around what I might do to free myself, the

wind drew me inwards and downwards, faster and faster, towards the card lying on the floor.

I was vanishing, waning from the reality I knew. I was disappearing, with no idea where it was t

aking me.”

“It wasn’t long, however, before I found out, for in no time at all I had crash-landed with an

almighty thump on a hard, wooden floor. ‘What happened?’ I cried out. ‘Where am I?’ I was

alone. No one answered me. Staring at the unfamiliar surroundings, I could see that I was

in a small bedroom. Then I shouted, ‘My God, that wallpaper is absolutely awful!’ That

ghastly wallpaper was the first thing to catch my attention, Wot. It was weird. I could hardly

drag my eyes away from it. I continued to speak, saying, ‘If this is a practical joke being

perpetrated on me, by Wot or anyone else for that matter, they will see my temper, so they will.’

Then I moaned again, complaining, ‘My God, that wallpaper really is dreadful.’”

“For the first time in my life I found myself in no hurry to get up, or do anything. You see, Wot,

I literally had no idea what to do next. All I could do was look at that hideous wallpaper,

unable to drag my eyes away from it…”

“It was quite a while later when I finally got up, dragging myself away from the horrible

wallpaper. Having nothing else better to do, I went exploring around the rest of the house. 

Firstly, I studied the room in which I had crash-landed. While the furnishings were old and

traditional in style they were certainly not antiques by any stretch of the imagination.

There was a double bed, alarge wardrobe and a dressing table with a mirror atop it. In

front of the mirror, there was a large, china bowl, water jug and neatly folded towel. 

Apart from the aforementioned bad taste in wallpaper, I thought it a nice space.

Perhaps a tad old fashioned for my taste, but I warmed to it, anyhow. In

total, there were three good-sized bedrooms, all with the same taste in furniture. The

bathroom definitely fell into the old-world category. The toilet had one of those high water

cisterns with a chain hanging down from it, with the thickest, darkest wooden seat I had ever

laid eyes on. The large, imposing bath sitting in the centre of the room had a wonderfully

ornate claw foot at each corner.”

“Heading downstairs, I was surprised at how narrow and steep the staircase actually was.

Holding on tightly to the rickety banister, I descended the steps until I was standing in the

sitting room, below. Although it was darker than the floor above, it was once again pleasant

in an old-fashioned sort of way. There were the usual items of furniture, which I did not pay

much attention to, and a large grandfather clock standing proud in one corner. This caught

me immediate attention. There were two reasons why, Wot. The first is that it was quite

imposing, with the sound of its slow tick-tocking filling the entire room. The second is

because it had only one hand on the dial – the minute hand to be precise. The hour

hand was resting on a ledge beneath. I reached up to have a look, but I was unable to

move it. You see, someone had screwed it down to the ledge – it was there for a reason.

They did not want the hand moved. I had no idea why this was so. ‘How very peculiar,

’ I thought. Leaving the puzzle of the clock for another time, I continued exploring...”

“After meandering through several more items of nondescript furniture I spied a Victorian

chaise longue, and it cheered me up no end. I headed straight for it, for as you know,

Wot, I have always wanted one of them. As I sat upon it, thinking how grand it was, and

of how well it would fit in my study, a solemn voice interjected, ‘If you help us, Nott, it is yours,

and anything else that you might want.’”

“Although this mysterious voice had come right out of the blue, I didn’t take it seriously. You see,

Wot, I thought it was you still playing a rather complicated practical joke upon me. I thought that

now you had finally made contact, the strange goings-on would soon be over. Therefore, I

hollered, shouting that when I got my hands on you there would be hell to pay for what you had

put me through. However, the only reply I received was no reply. I was unnerved, and I shouted at

you a second time, but yet again I received no reply. Finally, plucking up enough courage to eat

humble pie, I said ever so meekly, ‘Is there anybody there?’ I said that I was sorry for shouting,

and I pleaded with the voice, whoever it was, to answer me.”

“Looking around the room, trying to spot something, anything I might have missed, I noticed a

figure in the far corner, diagonally opposite the old grandfather clock. I was sure no one had

been there only seconds earlier. Shrouded in shadows he was sitting in a large, leather

armchair, seemingly in no hurry to speak again. Eventually, in a humble voice that seemed

quite out of character for me, I plucked up enough courage to ask who he was. He remained

silent. All sorts of feelings and scenarios rushed through my head as I waited for him (it?) to

address me. The perspiration trickled down my forehead, over my brow and down my hot

cheeks. I was afraid it was a devil that could wipe me out as easily as the wink of an eye.

I wanted, I needed to wipe the sweat from my brow, but I was too frightened to move.

I was scared, too scared to move a single muscle, and all through this terrible ordeal of

waiting the grandfatherclock ticked, ticked the seconds slowly away…”

Chapter Three: Umahia, the Grand Mystic

Want to read more? You can purchase the entire quadrilogy,

Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the HU BA HOU, by visiting my online bookshop.

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008