Dire Woods

John Joseph Alabaster felt excited, scared and vaguely sick all at the same time. He was finding it extremely uncomfortable. He wondered if everyone else felt this awful before their first sleepover.

Probably not.

He decided to check his pack before heading off to school in case he’d forgotten something. He didn’t think he’d need time for breakfast; his stomach was churning so fast even the thought of food made him feel sick.

With a whoosh and a few quick jolts, he dumped the contents onto his unmade bed. Shorts, pants, socks and wrinkled underwear tumbled onto his patchwork quilt. Two well-worn books fell from the bottom of the bag, bounced off the crumpled pillows and landed awkwardly, their fragile pages fluttering.

John Joseph darted forward to grab them. Cripes, they were falling apart already, they couldn’t take much more tossing around! He picked them up quickly, his solid fingers smoothing their ruffled pages. A Dragon’s Eye View and The Adventures of Cornelius Wiggins. They had been his favourites ever since his grandfather had first read them to him.

He really wasn’t sure if he should be bringing books with him at all. He definitely wasn’t up on what was acceptable behavior for sleepovers. Was reading a good thing or a bad thing? Who knew? He held the books to his nose before wrapping them in a wrinkled t-shirt. They smelt of wood smoke and peppermint, just like his grandfather.

John Joseph decided to tuck them away in a large side pocket, keeping them safe but inconspicuous, just in case. Unfortunately, the section he had chosen was already occupied. He pushed his hand into the pouch and pulled out a long slender stick.

It was his wand. Ten inches long and made of hand-rubbed mahogany, its rich, dark colours made the intricate swirls of silver etched into its sides stand out like starlight. It was absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. But unfortunately, as he was hopeless at magical studies, it was about as much use as one chopstick.

John Joseph jammed it into the back of the pack and tumbled his clothes in on top of it. He could always use it to stir his tea.

“John Joseph, are you in there?“ His mother asked from the hallway.

“Just packing,“ he answered.

Mrs. Elizabeth Alabaster poked her head through the door, her brown curls bouncing. “I thought you packed last night!”

“I did, Mom,” John Joseph agreed, “but I figured I’d better check and make sure I have everything I need, I sort of threw things in earlier.”

“Are you sure you don‘t want to just cancel the sleepover and come camping like we planned?” She asked, her smile wavering. “We’ve been going camping on this weekend since before you were born. It’s sort of a family tradition.

John Joseph forced a smile on his face. “It’s only one camping trip, Mom, and this is my first sleepover.”

His mother leaned forward and flicked a speck of invisible dust off his pack.

“Sorry for acting like a nervous mum,” she apologized. “And I understand you’re excited about this sleepover, but I do wish you’d picked another weekend.”

So did John Joseph.

“Maybe you could stay over next Friday,” his mother suggested, reaching forward to comb back his brown, wavy hair with a lightly freckled hand.

“It’s too late to change plans now, Mum, ” he said.

Mrs. Alabaster slipped a sturdy gold-tipped wand from the pocket of her sweater and pointed it at the overstuffed plaid bag. “Want me to straighten this up for you?” she asked. “It looks like you jammed everything in with a stick.

“It’s okay, Mum. Things will just get a little wrinkled,” he answered, giving a false grin. “I think it’s expected, actually.”

His mother smiled, gave him a quick hug and headed for the door. “I’ll see you downstairs in a couple of minutes. I’ve got your breakfast ready on the table.”

John Joseph dragged his bulging, but amazingly clean backpack down the carpeted hallway towards the wooden staircase. Flanking him on both sides and giving him rather grim looks, were heavily framed portraits of his ancestors.

Most had taught at St. Francis Academy, just like his father, and each and every one had been a talented wizard, unlike himself.

The way things were going. His portrait was probably destined for the cellar.