"Another Fairy-Tale part 1 - Dark Alley" by Helfried ´RRJ´ Haider

Peter trodded nervously from one foot to the other, and repeatedly resisted the urge to bite his nails. The pedlar was too late, he had told him to be in the “Dark Aley between Cho-Mein and Burgis’ Bookstore” at noon, and by now it was twelve minutes after twelve.

Not that he minded waiting, he was quite used to it, but it felt a little awkward and creepy, considering that the dark alley hadn’t been there yesterday, or the day before, or at any other time Peter could remember.

The people passing the Alley didn’t give it a second glance, as if it had always been there, but Peter knew it hadn’t been there yesterday, as Jeremy and his gang had chased him through the street. He could have used a good right turn at that moment, but there hadn’t been one.

So he was standing here, with a black eye, getting more nervous as time was ticking by. “A few more minutes …” he told himself. “Just a few more minutes.”

So he stood there waiting in the darkness, all by himself, pressed against the filthy wall. The people rushed by in a haze, and as they didn’t look into the Alley, they never noticed Peter, something Peter was used to; grown-ups seemed to avoid him anyway. Although he was fourteen and a half years old, he hadn’t grown in quite a while and was still less than five feet tall. The only effect puberty had had on him was blessing him with pimples; lots of pimples; loads of pimples. Peter had tried every trick in the book (and a few others), but none of them worked.

His hair was extremely short, his father liked it that way, and Peter was too young to protest, when his father rapped on the door again, bringing his “woolsherer” (as Peter liked to call it), with him. His father then usually said something like: “Saves money.”

Needless to say, being short, having pimples and short hair didn’t improve his popularity in school very much either.

He had met the pedlar yesterday, after his run-in with Jeremy and the others. Peter had been leaning on a wall, crying, holding his slowly swelling eye, as he heard a voice behind him.

“Ganged up on yah, did they?”

Peter turned around, slightly shocked, and saw a man behind him, dressed in a dark cloak, wearing an old-fashioned hat that covered not only most of his head but also his face. The lower part of the face that could be seen was shaven, and full of wrinkles, showing that this man possessed a ripe old age.

Peter wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, and regretted it a second later as the salty water mingled with his pimples, causing an annoying burning sensation. He wanted to leave, he had no desire to be mocked, or worse yet, pitied by a stranger, but the stranger showed no intent to do either.

“At least you gave ‘em a good run, five blocks, that’s quite sumethin’ for a lass like ye.”

Not sure what to make of this comment, Peter shrugged his shoulders. “They always catch me.”

“Of course they do.” said the man again. “’’Tis hard to outrun three lass, taller then ye, cuttin’ ye down at corners.”

Peter was slightly baffled. “How … do you know about this?”

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. “Ahm keepin’ mah eyes open, thass all. Livin’ round here, yah see things.”

“You live around here?” Peter asked, trying to remember the stranger, but he couldn’t.

“Tass what Ah said, didna I? Yah’d better start listen when people ‘r talkin’, then yah might also see a thing’r’two when yah keep yer eyes open.”

“Sorry.” was all that Peter could manage. By now, he had the strong urge to disappear again. At least his tears had dried. He picked his bag up from the ground. “Well, I’ll be off then, my father …”

“… is surely still at work. Dontcha have time to talk to an old man anymore? Youths, nowadays, ah tell ya, very different from when Ah was young.”

‘Must’ve been ages ago.’ Peter thought to himself, but didn’t mouth it.

“Anyhoo, ah’ve got business ta tend to mahself. Ol’ Remfield croaked, he surely left sumethin’ of value behind. Yah take care, will ya?”

Peter nodded, glad to get away at last. Hurrying, he ran a few feet, as the stranger called for him.

“Hey, lass! Ah’ve probably got sumethin’ for ya. Yah seem to be a decent fella, an’ mah bones are creakin’, nasty sound that is … Wanna do me an’ you a favour, then come to the dark alley between Chow-Mein and Burgis’ Bookstore tomorrow at noon.”

And now, here he stood, at twenty past twelve, and the stranger was nowhere in sight. Peter sighed, he should have known better as to get his hopes up. He was ready to leave, as he heard a squeaking sound behind him. Curious, yet still frightened, he looked around and saw an open door; although he was quite sure that not even a closed one had been there a few seconds ago.

A familiar voice called from inside. “Now c’mon, ah haven’t got all day.”

Slowly, Peter walked towards it, although something in him told him he’d better not.

As he was standing at the door, he could peak into a small room that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in several years, cobwebs all over the place, and he could smell dust up to here, making his nose tickle.

At least it was well-lit, although all that could be seen were shelves full of pots and jars, chests and boxes, all neatly tucked side by side. The old man was sitting in a chair next to a small table, a half-full glass in front of him, his feet resting upon another chair in front of him.

He didn’t have his hat on that time, and Peter was astonished by the amount of wrinkles he could now see in full light.

The hair of the man was white as snow, and looked thin and brittle, neatly combed backwards. “Don’t just stand there starin’, c’mon in here.” the old man sad, putting his feet off the other chair as if it were an invitation.

Again, there was a voice warning Peter that this probably wasn’t a good idea, but after a long, heavy sigh, he made his way inside.

“Take a seat, lass. Make yerself comfortable.” The man said, and pointed to the chair.

Peter didn’t dare not to, but defiantly, he turned the chair around before settling down to it, his arms resting on the backrest.

“Sorry te keep ya waiting, but ah had another customer ‘fore yah came along. Gotta make good business, getting’ harder day by day.”

‘Another customer?’ Peter thought, his eyes searching the room for another door, but he couldn’t see one. Still not very convinced if the old man was a loon or not, Peter said nothing.

“Anyhoo, thass not why ah asked ya ta come here, fella. Ah’ve been searchin’ this town fer a good boy a while now, and ah’d have to say, yer mah best choice so far. So, if yer willin’, I’ll sell something to ya that’ll make it worth yer while.”

Again, Peter said nothing, but he was mildly disappointed as the old man said ‘sell’. Obviously, he was trying to trick Peter, but although he wasn’t all too pretty, or very tall, he was quite smart, even if some exam grades tried to prove him otherwise. But then again, it couldn’t hurt to hear an offer. “What do you have?”

“Ah, sumethin’ of greater value than you can imagine mah boy.” The man said and got up – and surely enough, Peter could hear the bones creaking, as the old man had implied the day before. His movements sounded as if someone opened a very old door, very slow.

At first, Peter thought he would get something from the shelves, but the man went into a corner of the room, where something lay, covered only by a blanket. Grasping it, he went back to the table.

“Here we are.” The old man smiled as he put in on the table with a soft thud.

“What is it?” asked Peter curiously, glancing at the blanket, that covered something about one and a half feet high, with a round top.

“That’s ma most priced possession, one ah wouldna sell fer a million bucks, if the wrong people ‘re askin’ me. But you …” he glanced at Peter, and Peter noticed he was smiling, and his eyes seemed unusually warm and comforting. “… you can have it for one dubloon, no more.”

“Dubloon?” Peter asked confused.

“… yeah, or whatever currency yer usin’ now, whatta ah know? Ah’ve forgotton more things lately than most people learn in their lifetimes. ‘s time ah got rid of this ‘fore ah ferget about it, too.”

“So, what is it?” Peter asked again, and then, after three long seconds to build up suspense, the man lifted the blanket to reveal an empty cage.

A jolt of disappointment hit Peter as he saw it. Although it looked quite nice and was probably worth a dollar or two, he had hoped for something more exciting. “… a cage?” he finally asked, as if not sure if that wasn’t really what the old man wanted to show him.

The old man glanced down in slight disbelief, then a smile flickered over his lips. “Ah, ‘s that trick again! She tried to do it ter me once, had to wait three days ‘til she realised ah wasna gonna open th’ cage!”

‘Ok, he is mad … can we go now?’ the voice inside Peter asked politely, and Peter was thinking hard about what to say to his inner self to justify not standing up and leaving right away.

‘If he’s mad, he might hurt me?’ Nah, didn’t sound too convincing.

‘He’s just a poor old man … Probably got no one else.’ That sounded better.

‘Just a minute or two … leave him rambling … then we’ll leave.’ He could almost hear his inner self sigh as it responded, but it obeyed him nonetheless.

“Now, listen to me, young man, an’ don’ take me lightly. Don’t open this cage, no matter what happens. It won’t do yah no good, trust me. Ah’ve run into their bunch a long time ago, an’ although she seems decent enough an’ all, Ah still wouldna trust her as far as you could throw … ah … me.”

“I still can’t see anything.” said Peter, trying to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

“Course yah can’t. Ah told ye, she’s used this trick before. She’s tryin’ to fool ya already. Now, I may seem like an ol’ loon to ya …”

‘May?’ Peter could hear laughing in his head.

“… but trust me on that one, an’ ye’ll find out for yahself. Now, ah’ll leave her with you, you’ll get acquainted soon enough. Oh ye, an’ …” he went to a shelf and pulled something very dusty from it. “Yah’d do well ta memorize this.”

He handed Peter an old book, about a foot high, covered cobwebs and a finger-thick layer of dust on it. “Yeh’ll need it.”

Peter looked at the book in astonishment, he was quite sure he never had something this old in his hands. He slowly opened it and saw scribbled handwriting on the crumpy old pages, in black ink, but he had a hard time reading it, still he didn’t say anything – this book made the whole crazy trip here worthwile.

“That one’s free of charge fer yah, you’ll need it, but fer her …” The old man pointed at the cage. “… Fer her yah owe me a … whatever.”

Almost absent-mindedly, Peter fumbled in his pocket for a coin and gave it to the old man. The book had to worth more than that!

The old man seemed very pleased and slumped back into his chair so hard Peter wasn’t sure if it was the chair or the man’s bones that creaked.

“Thanks.” Peter glazed at the old man with delight.

“’s okay, ah paid no more than you did. An’ if ye get tired o’ her bickering, be sure to sell her to a decent fella. ‘Though I don’t trust her, ah wouldna like the thought that she’d be mistreated, get mah drift?”

Peter nodded, then took the cage from the table, hurriedly putting the book into his bag first.

“Thanks again. Well, have a nice day, and … I’ll be seeing you?”

“Somehow ah doubt that, mah fella. Somehow ah doubt that. But now, scuttle off home. An’ remember ma words, even if yah don’ believe me now.”

Peter left the room, not looking back, but thinking of this old book in his pocket. Had he looked back, he might have believed the stories of the old man, as the door he closed disappeared into the wall, and as he walked on the street, the two houses slid together again, to close the dark alley that had never been there in the first place.

But Peter’s eyes were elsewhere, he scanned the surroundings for any sign of Jeremy or others of his gang, but to his delight they were nowhere to be seen. So he hurried home, the cage clenched to his chest.

At home, he put the cage on the floor in the corner of his room. Once more, he glanced inside it, but there was nothing to be seen, although Peter noticed a small, fragile lock on the only door in the cage, that looked as if he needed a key for opening it.

With sigh, he got up again, shaking his head. Whatever the old man had seen, he couldn’t – but it didn’t matter, he still had his interesting book.

With a smile on his face, he opened his bag and took the book out. It was still very dirty, and Peter began carefully cleaning it, freeing it of cobwebs and dust as good as he could.

Peter put it on the table, softly, and opened the first page – but it was empty. So was the second and the third, and Peter felt another sting of disappointment, flipping trough the book.

As he came to about a third of the book, he finally saw writing. His heart gave a jump as he saw this, and a few seconds later, he recognized his error – he had opened the book from the wrong side.

After calling himself a fool several times, he flipped the book and opened it again, this time from the right side, and, sure enough, this time, there was something scribbled on the first page in big letters. It was still hard for Peter to recognize the words; the writing was different from anything he had ever seen before, but he managed, knowing that it would take him a looong time to get through this book. On the first side it said:

The book of rules: The do’s and don’ts

By Harold K. Shimmer

Although Peter had imagined something better than a book of rules, he still was intrigued and wanted to read on, as he heard the door open. His father had returned home.

In a hurry, Peter stuffed the book back into his writing desk, and got up to meet him.