FICTION | FANTASY | URBAN FANTASY
A Hell of an Investigation
Part 4 of A Hell of a Bedtime Story — After her dreams of unicorns are shattered, Ria convinces her friend Tommy to investigate their teacher.
“I believe she isn’t a unicorn, after all,” eight-year-old Ria whispered to her best friend, her voice trembling.
Tommy felt devastated when he looked at Ria. Her green eyes, sparkling emeralds on a typical day, seemed as dull as seaweed. His best friend had been convinced their teacher was such a pure soul she had to be a unicorn. Until today, they saw their teacher covered in blood and feathers.
“Something isn’t right about Ms Fuller,” Ria added when he didn’t directly reply, “did you see how she looked?! I will have nightmares!”
Ria was so agitated that her braids jumped while she talked. Again her request remained unanswered. Not because Tommy didn’t want to answer but because his mother started picking imaginary fluff from his Paw Patrol jacket.
“Mummy, stop!” he cried desperately.
Why couldn’t his mother concentrate on her mobile like the other parents? All the other kids were ushered home like a herd of sheep while their parents were busy talking or typing boring stuff on their phones. At least half of them held the phones in front of their face and not to their ears.
Everybody was forced to listen to the various voices babbling through the phone speakers. But at least they didn’t embarrass their kids all the time. As if to answer his plight, his mother ruffled his dark hair and cleaned candy from his chestnut-coloured face — with her thumb and some spit.
Ria’s dad was the exception. The tall, athletic man smiled broadly, seemingly lost in a fantasy world. He always looked like that when he met Ms Fuller, but Tommy was sure the man with the long, gelled hair dreamed of the candy he could eat whenever he wanted. Adult privileges.
“Psst! Tommy,” Ria said, “We need to investigate Ms Fuller.”
Warily, Tommy looked back and forth between his mother and his best friend. Ria bit her lip, and he realised her eyes had turned into shining emeralds again. Those eyes fixed on him in anticipation. He knew that stern look. She had set her mind on a task, and she’d rather cut off her auburn braids than climb down.
“We need to get rid of my mummy,” he whispered.
“Make her discuss politics with my dad!”
“No,” Tommy said silently, “They’ll fight, and it’ll be a hassle for us to meet and play.”
Luckily, Tommy’s rescue came in the form of a ringing mobile, his mother’s work phone, to be precise. Sour-faced, she checked her chignon in the display’s reflection before picking up. A habitual but unnecessary gesture considering she answered a voice call. A spark of annoyance still glimmered in her eyes when she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Fletcher?” the short woman snapped, “Yes, that Fletcher! Who did you expect, bloody Santa Claus Fletcher!”
Tommy’s mum answered a few inaudible statements or questions with a staccato of “Yes” and “Hmmm”. Then, the conversation ended as abruptly as it began.
“I’ll head over there. Do not blow everything up if possible.”
Kids and parents alike stared at Tommy’s mum when she hung up. Ms Fletcher glared at them like Chuck Norris facing a group of goons. Quickly, they turned away. Even Chuck Norris knew not to quarrel with Ms Fletcher.
“Richard,” Tommy’s mother addressed Ria’s dad, “Something important came up at work. Could Tommy come with you and play with Ria? My husband will pick him up later.”
Ria’s father turned around, his right hand smoothing his hair. After he gazed at Tommy’s mum for a second with pursed lips, he smiled and spread his arms in an inviting gesture.
“Sure, we’ll have a hell of a time, right, kiddos?!”
Tommy and Ria looked at each other excitedly. Finally, Ria could discuss her theories about Ms Fuller with Tommy, who was more excited about something else. He knew Ria’s dad would defy what his mother would say next.
“Tommy,” she announced, looking down at her son, “Mr Stevenson will watch you until daddy picks you up. Do your homework. No candy. No TV. Do you understand?”
At that moment, a black SUV with darkened windows stopped next to them, tires screeching. A man in a black suit stepped out and wordlessly took the handbag and jacket that Ms Fletcher held toward him. She was almost in the car when she turned her head one last time.
“Be a good boy,” she said, looking intently at her son. Tommy knew what it meant, be good, or I’ll be bad.
With an audible bang, the man in the black suit closed the car’s door behind Tommy’s mum. With a grim expression, he glared at the group of parents and kids that only lingered because of the car’s sudden appearance and Ms Fletcher’s equally sudden disappearance.
“A hell of a woman,” Mr Stevenson said.
He watched as the SUV raced out of view. That dreamy look had returned, and he bit his lower lip. Then, he turned toward Ria and Tommy.
“Who wants some freakin’ cartoons and candy?!”
“Do you remember how she made us learn that Christmas song?”
“How could I ever forget,” Tommy said and shuddered, “Oh, Krakenbaum! Oh, Krakenbaum! Wie glitschig sind deine Tentakel!” (Oh, Kraken tree. Oh, Kraken tree. So slick are your tentacles!)
Ria was deadset on discussing “the case of the strange Ms Fuller”. It was a case now, and Tommy had no way out of this. Longingly, he looked at the TV and his favourite cartoon about a bunch of dogs saving their town from disaster.
Like always, Mr Stevenson had switched on the TV and given them candy before he disappeared as soon as he saw his neighbour in the garden. He had smiled with shining eyes. Ria’s dad really must care for his neighbours.
“Tommy?!”
His friend’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
“You have a terrible concentration span, even for a kid,” Ria said, “There is no time for cartoons. You can have some candy.”
Grudgingly, Tommy took another chocolate bar, though he had already started feeling sick in his tummy. Tommy tummy. Tummy Tommy. Tommy’s tummy. He giggled at the thought.
“Tommy?!!”
“Krakenbaum!”
“Exactly, that is the problem,” Ria said, walking up and down the living room with a thoughtful expression and bouncing braids, “I have inquired into that. It does not mean a Christmas tree! But ….”
Ria paused for dramatic effect and stared at Tommy with her hands folded behind her back. He wondered if she secretly watched those murder mysteries with the moustached Belgian detective mummy liked to watch.
“TOMMY!!!”
“Hercules Poirot! That’s the name!”
“What?! No, it is not. It means Kraken. Hence, Krakenfest probably does not mean Christmas either.”
She looked down at the pile of discarded candy wrappings and raised an eyebrow.
“Tommy? I think you will throw up soon.”
He grinned apologetically and, unable to stop, answered with a burp. Ria rolled her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose.
“I can’t work like this, Tommy Fletcher,” she said, imitating his mother’s tone of voice, “You have to be a good boy now.”
Tommy gulped audibly and considered hiding somewhere.
“If Krakenfest is not Christmas, she was preparing for another celebration in December. One unknown to the larger world, perhaps,” Tommy suggested to a satisfied-looking Ria, “This would possibly contradict your earlier theory that Ms Fuller turned into her unicorn when school was closed because of that completely untypical snowstorm for this warm region.”
Despite the tears swelling up in Ria’s eyes and her mouth’s effort to form a perfect imitation of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, he had to go on.
“In that case, she neither visited Santa Claus to become a member of his sledge-pulling crew.”
Another nail in the coffin of Ria’s innocent belief in her teacher’s kindness. The tears started to run down her face, and Tommy swung the metaphorical hammer to drive that figurative nail deeper into the coffin.
“Therefore, she hasn’t transformed into a unicorn during that unexplainable snowstorm but something else! Something darker!”
Tommy stuffed more candy in his mouth when Ria started sobbing. As a punishment, he felt a stabbing pain in his belly. Being cured of sugar-craving for the foreseeable future, he offered his friend a hug.
Once Ria had calmed herself, she gently pushed her friend away and straightened her back. Stone-faced and with her hands on her hips, she looked at Tommy like a judgemental statue.
“Then, we need to break into her house and investigate!”
Two things happened to Tommy at that moment. First, a chill went through his body, and fear settled in his stomach. Then, the fear and candy overload mixed, and he had to run for the bathroom. It reminds unclear whether it was because of fear or candy.
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What is happening here? Easy! It is my response to A Hell of a Prompt by Rayne Sanning and a continuation of my stories based on Jonathon Sawyer’s mashups.
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