Charlie Sanders and the curse of the pixies

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Renderferr Plaza

Charlie was still draggy when he woke up to a pair of beady eyes staring at him. The first image he saw after his slumber was a very fat and very short man staring him down. Charlie, for one could surely say that he was the weirdest man he had ever seen.

He was plump and round like a ball, barely four feet high. He wore a red colored pinstriped coat which seemed a size to small. His frameless glasses were triangular in shape and he carried a long, crooked walking stick. Atop his head was a long, pointed blue hat. A small parrot sat on his shoulder. The best part was that his shadow seemed to be red in color.

 His abnormally long nose was almost touching Charlie’s own as he leaned in closer to check if he was really awake. Charlie detected the faint smell of rosewood around him.

“All good an’ up, boy?” he asked in a loud voice while reaching for a bowl on the side table. Then he put his hand in his humongous pocket and took out a small bottle, from which he carefully added two drops to what looked suspiciously like a vegetable broth.

Charlie propped himself on his elbows and put on his most innocent face. “Sir, where am I? Can you please tell me?” He tried to sound miserable, but internally, he was very excited. Were his hopes of the blue ball being special really true?  His stomach was fluttering with the thought of something unusual happening.

“You are in Gareth, ‘course young man. Where else would you be?” he replied as if Charlie has committed a crime by asking him so.

“Where exactly is Ga-” his question was left hanging as a relatively old man entered the room. He was more of a usual sight to Charlie’s eyes than the red guy.

He was long, lean and quite shabby. His grey clothes were very shabby, torn and dirty, like what of a poor man. His face was consorted to a scowl, and judging by the lines under his eyes, it was permanent. He kept on stifling his long, crooked nose.

“Please excuse us, Dr. Wonveroy,” he said in a hoarse voice while dragging his feet forward. As the doctor shuffled out, he came and sat on the bunk. He then put his hand in his pocket and took out a kind of form and a long, pointed stick.

Then he spread out the paper on the bedside table, flattening the folds. He held the stick in his right hand just like a pen and touched its tip to the parchment. “I, Gullet Pikes, of Flybent Academy of Shadow Training,” he announced loudly, “posted as senior discipline and security manager, start officially interviewing our new candidate for admission.” As he finished speaking, he let the stick, but it kept standing where it was, suspended in mid-air.

“Name” he asked.

“Charlie Sanders” he replied somewhat hesitantly.

“Age”

“Fourteen and a half” all this while the stick kept scribbling the details on the surface.

“Color of Shreg”

“What’s a Shreg?” The man stared at him blankly. Even the stick stopped writing. Could he be so stupid so as to not know what a Shreg was?

“You don’t know what a Shreg is? I’ll tell you what a Shreg is. It’s a shadow holder, round and colored. You’ll be finding either a yellow, red blue or green Shreg. And you can only touch a Shreg if it wants you to touch it. You have a Shreg? Now tell me its color.”

“You mean the blue marble thing? I think it’s blue. And by the way, it’s at home.” He replied gingerly. 

“How did you come here?” he continued.