Robert and the Goblin Tree

Goblins in the Garden

Robert looked at his watch.

"It's 8:38," he announced to the occupants of the car.

Father didn't say anything, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened noticeably for a few moments.

"We'll be there soon, Robert. I promise," Mother reassured him. "The rent house should be just down this road."

"You already said that," Robert reminded her.

"It's not my fault the English don't like street signs!" Mother sighed, raising her hands in a mixture of exasperation and surrender.

Robert was 17, just on the tall side of average, and liked his light brown hair tightly cropped. He hated leaving his house, except perhaps to go to school or occasionally to see a movie and was greatly worried when his parents announced that they would be leaving Alaska and staying in an house in England for the next year while Mother taught at a local university.

At last, the car reached the end of a long driveway and stopped in front of a house with two turrets, a tall pointy roof, and a thin wisp of smoke curling from its tall chimney. The front of the house was painted in dark colors, and the dark shutters on the many windows were closed.

Robert's home in Alaska was a conventional split-level with three bedrooms, one bathroom, and a single-car garage.

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Father asked, leaning forward gazing up at the house through the windshield.

"This is the address the realtor gave me. I checked it three times when we left town—and according to Google, that's where we are."

Father turned off the car but continued to look out the windshield, considering the Victorian monstrosity in front of them. The sun was sinking quickly and darkness gathered around the eaves and creeped across the porch.

"Okay," he sighed. "Too late to turn back now. You have the key, right."

Mother held the single key by the ornate keychain out for all to see but said nothing. Her own doubts and concerns were obvious on her face.

They climbed out of the rental car, three doors slamming in unison. Three people stood silently around the car.

"What is it?" Robert asked.

"A house," Father answered. "I hope."

They each grabbed their bags from the back hatch and made their way across the stone walkway, overgrown with grass, to the front door. The deepening dark made it hard for Father to get the key in the keyhole, and he scrapped and cursed, looking down to line up the key three times before getting it to work.

"Knock knock! Let us in!" Robert demanded.

"All I ask is that the lights and heat work. That's all I ask. And maybe that the bed is soft. That too. It's been too long of a day," Father sighed.

"Where's your spirit of adventure!" Mother laughed weakly.

"I lost it somewhere in London traffic," he dead panned.

The door squeaked loudly as it opened.

"Of course!" Mother,pretended to be cheerful but was turning slightly pale.

Father set his bag just inside and fumbled around the door facing looking for a light switch. Not finding one, he widened his search. Running out of wall and meeting window, he panned left and his arm hit a floor lamp. Fumbling under the shade, he finally found a cord and pulled it. A single light came on, poorly illuminating a large entryway. By now the sun was almost completely set, and the porch had grown dark. Father stepped in, allowing Mother and Robert to pass into the room, setting down their bags. Mother and Robert instinctively removed their shoes, while Father panned the room and the front porch for somewhere he could wipe his shoes. Sighing again, he closed the door, and leaning on the door handle, removed his shoes as well.