Charlie Sanders and the curse of the pixies

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The ball under the tree

Our story begins on one stormy October evening, when it was pouring heavily like every day that week. This was the time of the month when the rivers were near flooding, all flower beds had turned to muddy, wet holes and everything from trees to cars was washed clean. No soul was to be seen on the deserted streets of the tiny village of Shawmead near the grand city of London. The thunderous rain had kept everyone locked in their rooms near blessed fires.

 Except perhaps, if you looked closely, you would see the young Charlie Sanders, drenched, cold and shivering, walking across the street to the local market, which was nowhere near bustling with the usual crowd of people. There were barely two or three faces to be seen, all of which belonged to homeless people. He scurried across the edges, trying to complete his task of getting grocery in this wretched weather.

He got to the supermarket just before the curtain of rain thickened and put down his list in front of the grinning shopkeeper.

“Evening, Mr. Couch” he said politely before he sneezed loudly and excused himself.

“Hello, Charlie” replied Mr. Crouch as he got to work taking out the items mentioned on the list. Mr. Crouch was a fat man of forty five, with a pudgy face and a cute moustache. Everyone in the village tagged him as the owner of the grocery shop and Charlie had been coming to him for ages.

He handed Charlie a brown paper packet filled with the shopping. “Five pounds fifty” he said.

Charlie hand him the change and with a half-smile, he left the warm comfort of the shop, stepping into the downpour again.

He was in such deep thought about how much of a scolding he would get from his adopted grandmother for wetting the stuff, he failed to hear the sharp horn or see the harsh headlights of the approaching sedan until the last moment when he was pushed roughly to the side and fell down near a tree.

He landed on the soft, wet mud of the side garden and felt something poking him. He got up and twisted around to see a slight blue bump in the mud. His brown paper bag was momentarily forgotten as he set to work digging the spot under the shelter of the tree leaves.

By the time he had uncovered half the objective, which looked like a brilliant, blue marble ball, the rain had almost stopped. With much difficulty, he jerked out the object.  The bottom half of it was even more remarkable than the first half. It had silver engravings on it, designs and patterns forming into words of a language he didn’t quite understand.

He ran his hands on the smooth surface, something he had never felt before. The foreign thing in his hands was very light, and seemed to glow from within. It even felt right. He got up, straightened his pants and turning around to check that no one was looking, he pocketed the object.

As he trotted back home, happy at his discovery, he probably did not notice the tiny creatures which were observing him keenly from the branches of the tree, gasping with awe at the brave feat he had done unknowingly and neither did he register the fact that his boring life was about to change forever.

He reached the doorstep still grinning and just as his hand reached for the doorbell of the Russells’ little house, he remembered he had left the bag under the tree which he had found the ball-ish thing. He had to run back down and get it.

When he was finally home, panting for breath, one looks at Mrs. Russells’ face, he knew he had had it. The yelling went on for what seemed like hours, finally ending with him having to skip supper and going straight to bed.

“As if she ever gives me supper. It’s basically dry bread and sometimes soup if I’m lucky” he muttered as he made his way upstairs. He was glad for once, that time, as he would have some precious private time to carefully examine his find.