Over the Eternal Garden Wall and Into the Unknown

Chapter 8: Call It Weird

Chapter 8: Call It Weird

“See?” tiny troublemaking Tom clarified, standing at the doorway of Greg’s room with a surrounding cluster of the younger portion of Beatrice’s family. “I told you the weird guy is weird. That’s why he wear weird blanket and big red carrot hat.”

“And his brother’s got a kettle on his head,” a male of around seven with deep brown hair mused, standing tall above the others. “That’s a little weird.”

“No, Victor,” a small girl with amber braids frowned, pushing her brother aside to take a peek at Gregory. “It’s not weird! You’re weird! I like kettles!”

“Not on people, you don’t. It’s not something we wear,” Victor responded factually to the six year-old, making a face. “And it looks strange.”

“Does not!” his sister rebuked, puffing up her cheeks and crossing her arms.

“Yes, it does, Nancy! Do I have to prove it to you?” he frowned, about to march straight into the room and put the teapot on himself.

Victor’s twin brother blocked him from entering, though, his peach limbs acting as a shield. “Hold it, Vic! Ma told us not to bother our guests or she’ll have us punished. Do you really want to take that chance to prove a point? We’ll be doing extra chores for months!”

Victor grunted, but backed down. No one liked doing extra chores as a punishment. Those fit for misbehaving children were usually the worst out of the pile. “Fine, Joseph. I won’t take the kettle.”

“Sure?” the boy asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Yeah, whatever.” came the non-committed reply.

Joseph stepped out of the way despite his brother’s lack of enthusiasm, freeing the doorway as a window. Beatrice’s present siblings all pushed forward to stare at Wirt and Greg again, the blockade of tall brothers no longer an issue.

The bedroom was small and held only a single twin-sized bed and a small wooden table accessorized with a couple of kiddie chairs. The tea-kettled boy — Gregory — laid in the bed, his face pale and small rings under his closed lids. Beside him sat his older brother Wirt, who was bent over in his seat, fast asleep. Likewise, it was morning, and the amature poet had obviously dozed off while visiting his brother late last night.

Nancy giggled. “Weird Guy snores like Daddy.” Her comment produced a chorus of laughter from the group.

“I-I can’t believe Big Sis talked about Weird Guy so much in the before,” Thomas cracked up, his voice muffled by his chortles. “He’s too weird for being a talk-about.” Cackling mirth soon followed, filling the hall with muffled tittering.

Sadly enough, their brief escapade rapidly came to a close when Beatrice found them all blocking the doorway, a displeased frown on her face. Thomas immediately excused himself, taking off in the opposite direction in apparent fear, knowing all too well that the look she was giving them meant trouble. Everyone else was rooted to the spot.

“What were you talking about just now?” she started in a penetrating voice, her eyes following Tom as he bolted away on his little five-year-old legs. The redhead didn’t pursue her youngest brother, too occupied with her group of snoopers. She'd get him for it later.

Nancy — being the smallest and most naive — perked up, attempting to slide them by any consequences from her eldest. “We were trying to see how funny Weird Guy and Teapot Hat were, so they told us a funny. I mean, joke. They told us a joke.”