Thursday, October 1
The woods of the Enchanted Realm in America are different from those I knew in Scotland. Different, but not unpleasant. Oak, ash, and beech still abound, which is comforting.
I made good progress today. The curse has kept me very agitated, but the closer I get to where I belong, the more it seems to settle. So I was actually able to enjoy the walk for the first time since I set out.
On the other hand, the closer I get, the more I fret about what I will find when I arrive.
It will be a relief to reach the end of my journey and return to my true work of keeping things neat and tidy.
To: My Fabulous Students
From: Mrs. Winterbotham
Subject: JOURNALS
Date: Friday, October 2
Dear Writers,
As discussed in class today, next week we will begin keeping journals. This is a special assignment, something that you will be doing more for yourselves than for me. I am never going to read them. I promise! These are just for you!!
Why do I say “journal” rather than “diary”? Here’s one way to look at it: A diary is about what you do, a journal is about what you think! About what you want to work on in your life. About figuring out who you are. A diary tells us what you did. A journal discusses who you will become!
This is how it will work: Three times a week (M/W/F), we will take class time to work on our journals. I say “we” because I will be journaling right along with you! I will not be working on lesson plans or correcting papers. I will be doing the same thing you are.
I feel this is the best way to show you how seriously I take this.
Your assignment for this weekend is to find a blank book of some kind to serve as your journal. Please have it in class for Monday.
I call this project a lifesaver…you are saving something of yourself FOR yourself!
Remember the proverb: “The shortest pencil beats the longest memory.” I guarantee that the day will come when the YOU you are to become will be delighted to have this.
—Mrs. W
Friday, October 2
Today as I was scrambling over a rock formation, a person suddenly loomed before me. He was a giant as compared to me, yet no more than waist-high to an adult human. His skin had a coppery cast, and his long hair was midnight black. He wore blue pants. His white shirt was bright with beadwork, done in patterns new to me.
Why did it never occur to me that there would be people native to the Enchanted Realm on these strange shores?
“Well, little man,” he said. “Why are you crossing my lands?”
“I am nae a little man!” I cried, on the edge of a fit. I managed to pull myself back. Unlike the selkie, it was possible this…person did not know a brownie when he saw one. I was now on the far side of the sea, after all.
“Then what are you?” asked the big fellow as he bent to look at me more closely. “I have never seen your like.”
I did not like being examined like this, and it pushed me into crankiness. “I am a brownie,” I snapped. “It’s plain as day, and if ye canna see it, then you need new eyes!”
The wretched fellow laughed at me! “And do you know what I am?” he asked.
“Now how should I know that?” I asked angrily.
“Well, how should I know what you are?”
That stopped me in my tracks.
“That’s quite a temper you have, brownie,” the fellow said.
I hung my head. Though I am by nature as sweet as dew on a rose petal, my temper is my downfall. And here I was, in this new land, meeting my first new person, and already acting the pepperpot.
“So, you’re a brownie,” said my new acquaintance. “I’ve heard of your kind, but never met one. A long way from home, aren’t you?”
“A very long way.”
“Have you come to steal our land?”
I looked at him in puzzlement. He smiled, showing admirably white teeth. “Just a joke. A lot of land stealing went on here in the past, so we ask that question of any newcomer.”
“And who is this ‘we’ you speak of?” I asked.
“I am one of the Makiaweesug.”
“And what might be the Makiaweesug?”
“We’re people of the Enchanted Realm, just as you. We have been here since time out of mind.”
“And how do you know I’m of the Realm?”
“Well, there’s your size, to begin with. But mostly there’s the fact that you are here in the Realm to begin with.”
This made me feel a right fool. Drawing myself up to my full not quite twelve inches, I said, “Though I am of the Realm, I am just passing through. I’ve been assigned to a lass who lives not far, and I am bound by ancient pact to her family.”
“Ancient pact” is not quite true, of course, as it is not an agreement that ties me to the McGonagalls but a curse. But I do not like to speak of that.
“And how do you know where to find this girl?”
“I canna help but find her, for I am drawn as a moth to the flame, a fish to the worm, or a needle to a lodestone.”
“Rather fond of words, aren’t you?” said the Makiaweesug.
I paused for a moment, then said, “Yes.”
This short answer earned me a smile and his name, which turned out to be Weegun.
When someone of the Enchanted Realm tells you his name, it is only fit and right that you should do the same, so I bowed and said, “I am Angus Cairns.”
“Well, Angus Cairns, would you like me to walk a while with you?”
It was a pleasant offer, and Weegun seemed a good-hearted fellow. Or perhaps he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t up to any mischief. Either way, I did not think I could refuse him. “I would be glad of your company,” I said, which was hardly a lie at all.
So on we walked. As we did, Weegun told me about his people. Unlike we brownies, they have as little to do with the human world as they can.
My new friend also named for me the trees and flowers that I did not know. I began to feel quite glad that I had met him.
We had been going a bit when I said, “The pull on my heart grows suddenly stronger. I think we draw near my new home.”
“Then I will leave you here, Angus Cairns. We are close to the edge of the Realm, and my people do not leave it unless we must.”
I thanked him for his company, and he wished me well.
Soon after, I came to a place of mists and knew I was about to return to the human world. I decided to write this before I did. Who knows what I will find on the other side? Perhaps this will be the last time I ever make an entry in this diary.
Besides, I must wait until dusk, for I must not be seen.
—
LATER
I just read over what I have written, and realized I do not need to put down who said what so often. It was clear to me when I was talking and when Weegun was talking.
That’s good writing, I think.
This will save me a lot of time and ink.
Also, it’s neater.
10/2
Dear Ms. Kincaid—
Thank you for telling us your concerns regarding Destiny. Her father and I had a little talk with her this evening, and I am happy to report that the situation regarding “Herbert the Goblin” seems to have resolved itself. To be specific, according to Destiny, “Herbert left because he had to go back to work.”
She did cry about this a little.
I hope this change will make the classroom situation easier. We appreciate your concerns for our child.
Sincerely,
Ellen Carhart
Saturday, October 3
I have reached my goal.
More than that I cannot bring myself to write just now. I need another day to recover not only from the terrors of the journey but also from the shock of what I found when it was over.
For now, I will say only that I can see it was fate that brought me here. Bringing order to this place will not be merely a task.
It wi
ll be a sacred mission.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: 10/3
Subject: My Room
Tiana—
AAAAAAAARGH!
My mother is driving me crazy! She keeps yelling at me to clean up my room.
I hate wasting time cleaning. It’s stupid.
BESIDES, I LIKE MY ROOM JUST THE WAY IT IS!
Wanna swap moms?
Alex
PS: I measured today and my braids are almost down to my butt! Another few months and I’ll achieve my goal of being able to sit on them.
PPS: I am looking forward to using the knots in the ends of my braids to bonk boys on the head!
Sunday, October 4
I think I have recovered from my frights enough to write down what I have done and what I have seen.
By the way, Cousin Fergus was right after all. Keeping this diary does help. If I were not writing these things down, they would be exploding inside me.
Back to where I left off…
Once dusk fell and I left the Enchanted Realm, I found myself at the edge of a forest, with no idea how much farther I had to travel. I hoped it was not far. Being out in the open at night is dangerous for one of my size. My greatest fear, of course, was of being taken by an owl. That goes back to Da’s adventure 300 years ago…which is why I am in this situation to begin with.
As it turned out, owls were the least of my problems. The great danger came from the human roads. Och, never have I seen such roads! Great rivers of stone, with cars and trucks barreling along as if their arses were on fire!
I waited for hours at the edge of the first road. Well, I stood at the edge for a bit, then drew back and lurked in the bushes, because the noise and the wind caused by all that metal hurtling by were like to drive me mad.
As the night grew late and the road grew calmer, I finally had a chance to cross the wretched thing, dodging only one truck as it raced towards me.
My ability to scurry came in handy here and likely saved my life.
I had to cross several more roads before the night was out. Fortunately, none was as wide and horrifying as the first.
After an hour or so, I came to a collection of houses. I felt myself pulled irresistibly towards one of them.
I had reached my new home at last!
At that realization, I was struck by a greater pang than I had expected. It is a sad thing to come home after a long journey and have no one there to welcome you. It is even worse to have no one know that you’ve come home at all!
Well, let that be. The first problem now was how to get inside, something I hadn’t had to worry about in more than half a century. I circled the place, looking for a door into the cellar. To my surprise, there was none.
I did not worry, for it was a brick home and therefore easy to climb, since bricks are almost as good as stepping stones for my small hands and feet. Without much effort I scrambled up the wall to a windowsill. But when I climbed over the edge, I found that the window was sealed tight.
No matter, thought I, I’ll just move on to the next. Ha! I circled all the way around the wretched place without finding a single window open by so much as a crack.
What do these Americans do for fresh air?
I climbed to the next level and found the same problem. The only bit of progress here was that as I made my way around the house (clinging to the wall some fifteen feet above the ground, a vast distance for one of my size), I found the room that my heart told me belonged to Alex.
Not that it made much difference. Her windows were shut as tight as all the others.
Filled with despair, I returned to the ground. Circling the house once more, I was surprised to discover a flap in the back door! It was only about a foot high, and so easy to push up that I had to wonder if they had been expecting me. No, that couldn’t be possible. But what kind of thinking is it to seal a house so tightly, then put in a flap that would give entrance to any small wild thing that pushed against it?
I can write no more. My hand trembles with horror as I think of what happened next.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: 10/4
Subject: Missing Assignments
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Carhart—
Did you receive my previous note regarding Alex’s work and her desk? I have been awaiting a response.
Sincerely,
Sheila Winterbotham
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: 10/4
Subject: Missing Assignments
MESSAGE REJECTED. MAILBOX FULL.
Sunday, October 4 (continued)
I’ve had time to settle, and I think I can finish now.
So…when I went through the flap, I found myself in the kitchen. But I scarce had a chance to catch my bearings before I heard a sound behind me, and then a questioning “Meow?”
I turned in time to see a CAT come pushing through the flap. That was when I finally realized the true purpose of that insane contraption: to let the CAT go in and out at will!
And this was not just any cat. It was a huge and nasty brute with thick orange fur and the devil in its eyes.
That I am not resting in its stomach even now is mostly due to the fact that it was outside when I came through the flap myself.
What manner of people are these that I’ve been sent to live with, who keep a monster as a pet and give the thing free access to the outside world so it can prey on any wee creature that takes its fancy? I shudder to think how many poor little birds have uttered their last note—not a sweet song, nae, but a strangled squawk—as a result of a fur-faced, carrot-colored demon being free to use this devil’s doorway as it pleases.
I cannot help but ask myself anew why, oh why, did Da see it his duty to help Ewan McGonagall all those years ago?
When the monster (which is to say, the CAT) spotted me, I thought all was lost. If I could not escape, I might fare no better than the helpless, blood-drenched songbirds I was sure had perished in those slavering jaws. The beast crouched into a hunting pose and its tail twitched in a way I knew all too well. It had murder on its mind and a taste for blood on its tongue!
I took my pack from my back.
The beast sprang!
I swung my pack and smacked it square on the nose.
It let out the most horrid yowl and leaped back. In that moment, I was able to bound away. The fiend recovered, then sprang again. But I had time to scurry behind the refrigerator (which is twice the size of the one my Sarah had in her little kitchen).
To my disgust, the backside of the coldbox was thick with dust and grime! Just thinking of it makes me want to leap into a tub and scrub myself clean!
The cat crouched outside my hiding place. I could see one burning eye, like a lamp from the pits of hell. A huge paw reached into my filthy place of refuge, trying to snag me with its daggerlike claws. I shrank back just far enough to avoid those deadly hooks.
The beast stayed there for what seemed like ten years, though that could not have been the case, since the sun had not yet risen when my nemesis finally got bored and went back out through Satan’s Flap (as I now think of that hole in the door).
I waited until I was sure it would not return. Then, grateful that the family had yet to wake, I made my way up the stairs. Climbing stairs is an effort for me because of my size. But these stairs were easier than the ones I was used to, as they were covered with a thick blue carpet I could wedge my fingers into to pull myself up.
The upper floor had four bedrooms. I already knew which was Alex’s, as I have an excellent sense of direction even after being chased by a slavering beast, then going round a twist in a stairway. Of course, even lacking that I would have been drawn to her room by the binding of the curse.
Alex’s door was not closed, so I was able to enter easily. My first piece of good luck that long, hard night!
T
he floor was cluttered. This made me twitch, but there was no point in starting to tidy up right then. I was too exhausted.
I needed a place to sleep, so I went to the closet. The door was not closed tight, but when I pulled it open by another few inches, my heart sank within me.
I was faced with a wall of clutter!
What kind of mastermind of messiness was this child to whom I had been assigned?
I climbed the Clutter Wall. I found the top of the mess about three feet above the floor. Rumpled clothes and a couple of empty shoe boxes covered the surface. Three garments actually hung from hangers. I climbed one of these easily enough, got my hands on the rod that went from wall to wall, and was able to grab hold of the shelf. I swung a leg over and scrambled onto it, blessing the great strength that is my birthright. Once there I pushed a few things around to make room enough to hide a shoe box. Then I returned to the lower level and, with some effort, dragged one up. Then I slept.
Had nightmares.
10/4 (Sun.)
Mom bought me this journal for Mrs. Winterbotham’s crazy new assignment. I decided to practice writing in it before Monday. But I don’t know what the point is. It’s not like anything interesting ever happens to me. Of course, Mrs. W said our journals are more for writing about what we think and feel than what we do.
She also promised she would never read them.
I wonder if that is true.
Okay, here is one thing I think. I think our teacher has a strange name. Winterbotham. What kind of name is that? It makes me think she must have a cold butt.
I wonder if she sits on ice cubes when she goes home.
Wow. I can’t believe I just wrote that down. This journal keeping could be dangerous.
I guess I’ll find out pretty soon if Mrs. W was telling the truth when she said she wouldn’t read these!