Harry Moffer & the Dumbest Story Ever!

Chapter 2: An Invitation to Warthogpox High School

By the time that Harry Hames Moffer turned 14 years old, he was completely dependent on himself for care.

It wasn't like he didn't care about his uncle and aunt's opinions about him or their treatment of him, but it was more than that. Harry had issues with trusting adults, especially since it was known that when he was a year old, a trusted adult had burst into the Moffer house, killed Hames and Linny, and gave the little boy the dreaded scar on his face. Since then, Harry grew up hating and fearing adults, often hiding in the cupboard under the stairs for hours at a time to avoid interacting with Vilmon and Pritimia.

There was also the fact that Harry couldn't trust them to feed him or to take proper care of him at all. For the most part, he had hidden every illness and whatnot so that they didn't know about it and have to "help" him and he didn't have to interact with them. As for the glasses that he wore, Harry picked out the cheapest kind, the kind of glasses that had thick rims on it, the kind of glasses that made him look like a nerd. (Of course, the other kids had made fun of him for wearing "nerdy" glasses. Children are cruel.)

When it came time for him to be registered at the local elementary school, he made sure that the school he attended was far from his cousin Dillon. He never liked Dillon and I'm sure that the feeling was mutual. After all, how can you afford to like someone like the Dourfey family? You can't, unless you like spending the rest of your life wearing a huge straitjacket and sitting in a room filled to the brim with stuffed animals.

Well, all of the hiding, lying, and denying was coming to an end; something big was about to happen...

On the night of Harry's 14th birthday, a man strolled into the house where the Dourfeys lived while the family was having dinner. Harry was getting ready to begin attending Branford High School while the perpetually stupid Dillon Dourfey was going to attend some elite private school somewhere upstate.

The man was described as a clever fox, with almond-shaped coffee-colored eyes, and luxuriant, curly, gray hair. He was tall, had an overmuscled build, tan skin, thin lips, and a strong chin. He was wearing a yellow slogan shirt, a pair of yellow slacks, and a pair of sandals.

He said, "I believe that this is the home of Vilmon and Primitia Dourfey?"

Vilmon noticed the man and said, "Who are you and why are you here?"

The man said, "My name is Loomius Tafrin and I am representing the school of Warthogpox High. I believe that the boy Harry Moffer is living here."

"Well, this is our son, Dillon," Primitia began, but Tafrin cut her off by saying, "I am not interested in that waste of space that you call a son, and I'll be dealing with that eventually, but where is your nephew, Harry Moffer?"

"He's over there," Vilmon said as he pointed to Harry, who was sitting in a corner of the kitchen. "But you really don't want to talk to him; he's a weirdo who hates people. Now, Dillon on the other hand..."

Tafrin ignored Vilmon and stared at the boy for a long time. Harry had brown eyes, which were hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, extremely short brown hair, and tan skin. He also had a huge scar in the shape of a messed-up C under his right eye.

Tafrin said, "How long has the boy been living with you?"

"Thirteen years," said Vilmon. "He's been like this since the social workers brought him in when he was a baby."

"Really?" said Tafrin as he glared at Harry. "It seems to me that the boy has been abused. Have you or your wife been beating him?"

"N-no," Vilmon cried out.

"Indeed," said Tafrin. He then said to Harry, "I'm here from Halfus Snibblepore, the principal from Warthogpox High. He is extending an invitation for you to join him there."

"But I'm already going to high school," said Harry without looking up at Tafrin. "In fact, I begin classes at Branford High in about two weeks."

"No you're not," Tafrin said to him in a stern voice. "You're going to Warthogpox High and that's final! Or do I have to drag you there on your bottom?"

"Uh, no?" said Harry. "But I..."

"Your parents said in their will that they want you to attend Warthogpox High and Snibblepore vowed to carry that will to the letter," said Tafrin. "Your mother had specifically said in her will that under no circumstances that you were allowed to live with her sister at all. But from what I see, someone didn't do a good job of reading her will."

As Tafrin was speaking, Harry looked around and saw the scores of family pictures that lined the walls of the Dourfey house. The pictures were mainly of Vilmon, Pritimia, Dillon, and himself standing stone-faced in front of some mediocre background, with frozen stares on their faces that would last for eternity.

Suddenly, he realized that if he continued to stay with them, he too would go on to attending a mediocre high school, go to a boring college, completing some wishy-washy degree, getting a completely useless job, marrying some boring girl who faked interest in him, and having several sad, ugly, and pathetic children who would spent most of their lives hooked on technological devices before meeting an early death before age 50. That was the way that Vilmon was going to end up; this could not be HIS future.

"Anyway," said Tafrin to the Dourfeys, "I'm here to relieve you of the boy. You are to give him up immediately and not to resist; if you do, then I will be forced to hurt you and you really don't want that."

Vilmon and Primitia knew what was good for them; they silently told Harry to go to his room and pack his things. Within a few minutes, Harry had packed his lifelong possessions in a small suitcase and was standing next to Tafrin by the door. He turned to the Dourfeys and said, "Well, we're off; don't bother looking for him. You won't be seeing him again in this lifetime."

Then with a shocked look from the Dourfeys, Tafrin and Harry left the Dourfey house, never to return there for as long as they both lived.