Peculiar Adventure (MPHFPC Millard X Reader)

The House

     Jet-lagged and exhausted, we went to sleep early-or rather we went to our beds and lay in them with pillows covering our heads to block out the thumping cacophony that issued through the floorboards, which grew so loud that at one point I thought surely the revelers had invaded my room. Then the clock must've struck ten because all at once the buzzing generators outside sputtered and died, as did the music from downstairs and the streetlight that had been shining through my window. Suddenly I was cocooned in silent, blissful darkness, with only the whisper of distant waves to remind me where I was.

     For the first time in months, I fell into a deep, nightmare free slumber. I dreamed instead about my grandfather as a boy, about his first night here, a stranger in a strange land, under a strange tongue. When I awoke, I realized it wasn't just my grandfather's life Miss Peregrine had saved, but mine, too, and my father's. Today, with any luck, I would finally get to thank her.

     I went downstairs to find my dad already bellied up to a table, slurping coffee and polishing his fancy binoculars. Just as I sat down, Kev appeared bearing two plates loaded with mystery meat and fried toast. "I didn't know you could fry toast," I remarked, to which Kev replied that there wasn't a food he was aware of that couldn't be improved by frying.

     Over breakfast, Dad and I discussed our plan for the day. It was to be a kind of scout, to familiarize ourselves with the island. We'd scope out my dad's bird-watching spots first and then find the children's home. I scarfed down my food, anxious to get started. 

     Well-fortified with grease, we left the pub and walked through town, dodging tractors and shouting to each other over the din of generators until the streets gave way to fields and the noise faded behind us. It was a crisp and blustery day -- the sun hiding behind giant cloudbanks only to burst out moments later and dapple the hills with spectacular rays of light -- and I felt energized and hopeful. We were heading for a rocky beach where my dad had spotted a bunch of birds from the ferry. I wasn't sure how we would reach it, though -- the island was slightly bowl shaped, with hills that climbed toward its edges only to drop off at precarious seaside cliffs -- but at this particular spot the edge had been rounded off and a path led down to a minor spit of sand along the water.

     We picked our way down to the beach, where what seemed to be an entire civilization of birds were flapping and screeching and fishing in tide pools. I watched my father's eyes widen. "Fascinating," he muttered, scraping at some petrified guano with the stubby end of his pen. "I'm going to need some time here. Is that all right?"

     I'd seen this look on his face before, and I knew exactly what "some time" meant: hours and hours. "Then I'll go find the house by myself," I said.

     "Not alone, you aren't. You promised."

     "Then I'll find a person who can take me."

     "Who?"

     "Kev will know someone."

     My dad looked out to the sea, where a big, rusted lighthouse jutting up from a pile rocks. "You know what the answer would be if your mom was here," he said.

     My parents had differing theories about how much parenting I required. Mom was the enforcer, always hovering, but Dad hangs back a little. He thought it was important that I make my own mistakes now and then. Also, letting me go would free him to play with guano all day. 

     "Okay," he said, "but make sure you leave me the number of whoever you go with."

     "Dad, nobody has phones."

     He sighed. "Right. Well, as long as they're reliable."

Kev was out running an errand, and because asking one of his drunken regulars to chaperone me seemed like a bad idea, I went into the nearest shop to ask someone who was at least gainfully employed. The door read FISHMONGER. I pushed it open to find myself cowering before a bearded giant in a blood-soaked apron. He left off decapitating fish to glare at me, dripping cleaver in hand, and I vowed never against to discriminate against the intoxicated.