Dire Woods

The sun was disappearing behind the trees when John Joseph finally approached Alabaster Manor his feet dragging along the gravel path. His knapsack felt as if it weighed twenty pounds. It had been extremely hard to leave the warmth of Mrs. Wickaby‘s kitchen and he wondered what would meet him when he walked through the door.

For the first time in his memory, the manor was dark and uninviting. The only light visible was coming from the dining room. Curious, John Joseph inched onto the wet grass and tiptoed up to the window. His aunt, dressed in a long, silver gown held a crystal wine glass to her lips. A lavish dinner was laid out before her upon a crisp, white, linen tablecloth. His mother’s favorite candles shot sparks of light through the air. As John Joseph watched, his aunt tipped her glass forward and a resounding clink followed. His aunt was not alone.

He craned his head sideways to get a better view. A mousy figure with long dark hair that hung like a waterfall on the either side of her pale face stared down the long table. The visitor’s head nodded every few moments, the waves of hair almost covering her large, dark eyes. John Joseph inched away from the window and headed for the back door. It was open.

He managed to negotiate the dim hallways without running into anyone. He hoped that the strange woman in the dining room was the person his aunt had been waiting for. As long as she kept his aunt busy, she just might leave him alone.

His dinner was waiting for him on the bedside table. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes with dill, string beans and a crisp bun. The food was cold. John Joseph kicked off his shoes and settled down to eat and think. It was time to come up with a new plan now that talking to Mr. Longbottom was not an option.

He could still take a hike up to the old camping spot if he could avoid his aunt, but Mrs. Wickaby had already been there and found nothing definite. John Joseph was sure she would be better at finding telltale hints of magic than he would. So what could he do other than slumping off to that miserable school and dodging his aunt?

He twirled his fork and it dropped to the floor, he grabbed his wand from the table and vigorously speared a piece of chicken.

Obviously not much.

He finished his dinner and took his grandfather’s books from his bedside table, brought them to his nose and took a sniff. He could almost feel his grandfather in the room with him. A slight smile formed on his face. He’d come up with something. He had to. And at least he had a friend.