Mr. Thomas Nathair was a peculiar man. While every person is peculiar in his own way, Mr. Nathair was more peculiar than most — he was extraordinary, in fact. For one, he was a very good neighbor. In a world where people’s indifference towards others is the norm, he was one of the exceptions.
He lived alone in a one story whitewashed brick house in Number 12 Buddley Street, situated just at the outskirts of town, surrounded by a small copse of trees that partially hid the house from the road. The house itself was nothing spectacular, but it had a huge well tended lawn encircled by a white picket fence. He was nice enough to allow his neighbors’ kids to play in his lawn since the local park was several minutes ride away, putting him in the good graces of both the kids and their mothers.
Every summer he always invited everyone around to a barbeque party; he never skimp with the food, which were always mind blowingly delicious and, as an added spice to the whole affair, some dancing and fabulously fun games. Come autumn, was the much anticipated Halloween Party, complete with very large Jack-o-lanterns, bats (lazily flapping their wings as they flew around the place) and floating orbs of light, and delicious sweet treats for the kids. Some busybodies always asked how he got the bats and the floating orbs, to which he would always reply with a twinkle in his eyes, “that’s a trade secret, boys.”
Since he was such a nice guy, people often dismissed the odd things about Mr. Nathair. Like the fact that he liked to keep unusual hours – he was known to roam around the neighborhood with his walking stick during the wee hours – or that he had a huge fireplace in his kitchen that was continually lit, complete with a big cauldron. Or the odd things that happened, every now and then, around him: kids miraculously getting unscathed after falling down a tree, flowers blooming uncommonly well, broken down cars working perfectly fine after he gave it a good thump with his walking stick. The only peculiar thing about Mr. Nathair that sometimes troubled the neighbors was that he hardly talked much about himself. Oh, he loved to talk to people and he always have time to chat with his neighbors and exchange pleasantries, but he hardly talked much about anything personal except from the occasional comment on his favorite food whenever the topic strays to cooking; or that jazz was his kind of music. In a close-nit neighborhood like Buddley Street, where everyone knows everyone's business and everyone shares a gossip or two about their own personal lives, Mr. Nathair was the sore-thumb.
His neighbors dare not try to be too nosy, though, when someone was as good a neighbor as him people were apprehensive to be uncouth enough to unwittingly insult the guy. So they kept to their business and just accepted Mr. Nathair as a kind, but slightly strange, old man, and just dismissed the other unexplainable things that happened around him as just mere coincidences. After all, if not coincidence then it must have been magic, but as all adults with a good sound head would know – there are no such thing as magic.
For several weeks that summer Mr. Nathair was away. He told no one where he was going and when he would be back. For awhile the neighbors were starting to be concerned if the old man was alright. The kids were also concerned, but more for the anticipated barbeque party than for his health. They all agreed that it would be such a drag if the party got canceled; it was already Wednesday and Saturday was Barbeque Day yet there was no Mr. Nathair in sight. Fortunately, Mr. Nathair arrived early Thursday morning. “Good old Mr. Nathair was never one to disappoint,” said the kids to each other.
Some people noticed, though, that he seemed worn out from his trip. It was the first time that they saw Mr. Nathair without his usual zest; he even looked bothered over something. His usual comforting smile was replaced by a deep frown; his spare frame looked leaner and bent. His once twinkling eyes looked dimmer and worried.
