Bumblestook: Book 1, The Accidental Wizard (4 page)

She wore a pair of expensive jogging shoes with thick ridged soles that lit up when she walked and added about an inch to her height. (She didn’t
actually
jog, but wearing them made her feel as if she did.) She carried a bright-blue, canvas diaper bag, covered with a playful pattern of baby animals.

“Oh no,” she exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. “I’ve interrupted your breakfast.”

“Morning, Myrtle,” mumbled Lance, quickly retreating behind his newspaper.

“We were just finishing up,” Olivia reassured her. “Would you like some waffles or an English muffin?”

“I wish I could, but I just started that new Grapefruit-Seaweed Diet. Everyone in Hollywood is doing it. Gotta lose this baby-fat.” She glanced enviously at Olivia’s slender figure. “Geeze-louise, Olivia, how’d you do it? Both of us had babies, but you’d never know it to look at
you
. It’s like magic!”

“Magic!” Olivia laughed. “Don’t I wish.” She opened a cupboard and got out a mug. “How about some coffee, then?”

“Well, alright, just one cup.” Myrtle put her bag on the counter and took a seat at the kitchen table. “But only a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of cream. And I really should eat a
little
something—to keep up my strength for the baby. Maybe one waffle. Just a dab of butter though, and not too much syrup. Are those sausages I smell?”

From the floor beside her chair came a choking noise; sounding oddly like a snicker. Myrtle looked down and was surprised to see a cat.

“Hairball,” said Lance, rustling his paper as he glared at Tom.

“You’ve got a new cat!” Myrtle exclaimed, looking the creature over. She reached down to pet him. “What big eyes you have. And what a long tail! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat like you.”

“He’s a mix,” Olivia replied, quickly placing a plate-full of waffles and sausages, dripping in syrup, in front of Myrtle. “So-o-o”, she asked innocently, sitting down beside her neighbor. “How’s the
baby
?”

Thirty minutes later, Myrtle had polished off her breakfast and several baby-related topics of conversation. She was just getting started on the started on the Great Diaper Debate (cloth versus disposable) when a soft sound, from the bassinet beside Olivia’s chair, interrupted her train of thought.

Fiona had awakened. When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the sparkling crystal dangling from the top of the bassinet. It had captured a sunbeam streaking in through the kitchen window; turning it into a rainbow of dancing colors. Reaching out with her fingers and toes, she gurgled in delight.

Myrtle popped up to look in on the baby and the sparkling light caught her eye. “Oh, what an interesting—thing,” she remarked, staring mesmerized at the dangling crystal. “Did you get that at Baby World?”

Olivia laughed nervously. “Oh, no! It was a gift, from an
uncle
. He’s a bit eccentric,” she explained in a rush. “But the thing is, Fiona just
adores
it. She fusses if we take it down. It’s—well, it’s her
Most Cherished Possession
.”

“I know exactly what you mean!” Myrtle exclaimed. “My little Farley feels the same way about his little blue rattle.”

(The newspaper rustled, as Lance and Olivia exchanged furtive looks.)

“Oh-my-gosh, that reminds me—that’s why I’m here!” Myrtle whirled about, retrieving her diaper bag and plunking it down on the table. “Somehow I picked up
your
bag by mistake. Can you believe we bought the
same
one? I mean, what are the odds? We must’ve got them mixed up yesterday— you know, when you asked us over to look at baby pictures. This morning, I went to get Farley’s blue rattle out of the bag and got Fiona’s
pink
one instead. Then, I saw
her pink brush and her bows and realized I had the wrong bag.”

Mumbling something about a strange coincidence, Olivia hurried out of the kitchen, returning shortly with the errant bag. She placed it on the table next to its twin.

Myrtle sighed with relief and opened it immediately. “Farley’s gotten so attached to that silly rattle. He gets quite upset when it’s missing.” She frowned as she rummaged through the bag. “It’s not here. Guess I’ll be making another trip to the store.”

“No time like the present!” Olivia interjected, picking up the bag and thrusting it into Myrtle’s arms. Firmly taking hold of her guest’s elbow, she steered her out of the kitchen. “I hate to cut our visit short, but we’ve got an appointment with Fiona’s pediatrician today. It’s her first, so I’d hate to be late.”

“On a Sunday? That’s odd.” Myrtle remarked as she was hustled down the hallway.

“Not at all—it’s perfectly normal,” Olivia insisted, nudging her neighbor out the front door. “Ta-ta!” Quickly, she shut the door and peered through the peephole; watching as Myrtle stood on the porch, blinking in surprise.

After a few moments, the befuddled Mrs. Bumblestook shook her curly head, as if to clear its contents, then turned and headed for home.

******************************

Far away, in a dark, cavernous room, the bearded man sat gazing into a chunk of raw crystal, the size of a teapot. Suddenly, he barked out a short, triumphant laugh and uttered a single word. It echoed ominously in the hidden depths of the room.

“Bumblestook…Bumblestook…”

*******************************

Farley Bumblestook was an interesting child.
Every
body said so. When people saw him, rolling towards them in his little blue stroller, their faces spontaneously split into wide, silly grins. Sometimes, they even laughed out loud! Perhaps it was the shock of thick, dark-brown hair standing up all around his head as if electrified. Or the oversized ears that seemed to have gotten a head start on the rest of his body. Maybe it was the way his big, chocolate-brown eyes sparkled in delight, while his little monkey face dispensed infectious smiles to one and all.

“What an interesting baby!” they exclaimed, smiling uncontrollably as they were inexplicably drawn to him.

In actuality, Farley was
far
more interesting than anyone could ever have imagined! He was born with a unique ability (once attributed to shamans of ancient peoples, now all but lost in the mists of time) to communicate with the spirit of the Earth itself.

Like other babies in the womb, his tiny, newly-formed ears transmitted sounds from the outside world. He could hear voices (mostly those of his parents) as well as faint background noises. But
un
like most babies he heard other voices as well; a multitude of them, speaking in low, raspy whispers somewhat like a zillion grains of sand, continuously cascading through a giant hourglass.

When he was born, the sound swelled as if an invisible audience welcomed him into the world. In the days to come, it accompanied him wherever he was carried; from the hospital nursery, to his mother’s room, to the car, and finally to his new home. In the first few weeks of his life, the sound seemed to come from everywhere. It was as if he lived inside a giant seashell, surrounded by the soothing sounds of a vast, unseen ocean. In the months that followed, he developed the ability to distinguish individual voices within the sound; akin to hearing single drops of water, in a heavy, tropical rain. He discovered that some of the sounds emanated from sources close-by. The big, grey rock, standing steadfast in the front yard, the stones bordering the flowerbed and the tiny pebbles in his mother’s flowerpots; all emitted the same whispery, raspy noise.

At first, it was just another pleasant sound, like the reassuring noises his parents made. Then, just as he grew to understand Human speech, eventually he recognized it for what it was; another language, different from his parents’, but equally familiar. It was the language of the planet, of Earth itself, calling out to him! The big, grey rock invited him to bask in the warmth of the midday sun. The rocks bordering the garden called out to him to dig in the soft, moist earth. The little pebbles, in his mother’s potted plants, pleaded with him to take them out and roll them all about.

As a tiny baby, enfolded in his parents’ arms, strapped into a carrier or plopped into the playpen, he was frustrated by his inability to heed their calls. But, once he learned to crawl, he pursued the objects of his interest with single-minded determination; crawling over, under and through all obstacles in his path, as if they didn’t exist. This tended to be a bit rough on furniture and other such things that couldn’t get out of his way. To top it off, he was
extremely
clumsy.

Now, most babies
are
clumsy. After all, that’s part of being a baby. But with Farley, accidents just seemed to happen from the moment his mother took him out of his playpen till the time she put him to bed. Curtains and blinds, table and floor lamps, bookshelves and end tables, footstools and chairs; all fell victim to his headlong explorations. Fortunately, he was also incredibly resilient, almost superhumanly so! Miraculously, he was never seriously hurt, but soon everything
else
in the Bumblestook home was either bunged up or broken beyond repair. His parents desperately hoped it was a phase he would soon outgrow.

In the meantime, they set about
super
-childproofing their home. All of the sharp-cornered furniture, glass dishes, bric-a-brac, and pointy utensils were banished in one huge, garage sale. Their home became a model of soft-cornered, cushy comfort. Bean-bag chairs and kooky, inflatable furniture provided seating. At mealtimes, they sat on big, soft pillows and served the food on plump, round ottomans. They ate off of plastic plates, used plastic silverware and drank from paper cups.

First-time visitors to the Bumblestook home eyed the odd décor with extreme curiosity. They sat awkwardly on the beanbag chairs and inflatable sofa. Women struggled to keep their skirts (and dignity) in place, as they sank into the beanbags, waving their legs about like beetle-bugs on their backs. Worse, anyone sitting on the inflatable sofa emitted rude, farting noises with every little movement. If they tried to avoid this by perching on the edge, the slippery surface invariably dumped them onto the floor!

Poor, sensitive Myrtle, red-faced with embarrassment, was constantly apologizing for her choice of furniture. However, she discovered that if she introduced Farley and explained that it was all for
his
benefit, her guests immediately forgot their discomfort.

“What an interesting little boy!” they exclaimed delightedly as they searched their pockets and purses for treats to give to the smiling child.

The
real
trouble began when he learned to walk. Once Farley’s little legs were strong enough to take him wherever he desired, there was no holding him back. He seemed to have a knack for getting out of playpens and strollers, or any other thing his parents devised to keep him out of trouble.

The first time he escaped from his stroller he was with his mother, Christmas shopping at the local mall. Myrtle’s back was turned (she had spied a sale rack of t-shirts adorned with a variety of cute baby animals) when Farley discovered, if he slumped down in his seat to one side and wiggled a bit, he could slide under the safety belt and onto the floor.

The first hint Myrtle had that something was amiss, was a shriek from two aisles over, as a display of gift-wrapped boxes came tumbling down. She whirled about to check on her child and found that he was gone! Next, a dozen or so decorative balloons somehow came untied, floated up to the ceiling and began popping noisily on the hot fluorescent lights! Then, a wheeled clothing rack careened wildly down another aisle, before falling over with a crash!

“Farley!” His mother called out desperately, as a row of mannequins fell like dominoes!

Abandoning the stroller, she followed the trail of minor disasters to a small crowd of shoppers and salesclerks. As she suspected, her little boy was the center of attention. He had been scooped up by the store manager and was now sitting contentedly in her arms, smiling innocently at all the sympathetic faces.

“Poor little tyke. Lucky he wasn’t hurt!”

“Lost his mother, poor little guy.”

“Look at all that hair!”

“And those ears! What an interesting child!”

Myrtle rushed forward to claim her son. “I just turned around for a minute and he slipped out of his stroller,” she explained to the crowd. She turned to apologize to the store manager. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble—” she began, when the woman interrupted her, handing a lollypop to Farley.

“No trouble at all!” the beaming woman exclaimed. “It wasn’t the little tyke’s fault. He couldn’t have caused all this trouble, could you poopsy-woopsy? It must have been an earthquake. I’m just glad he wasn’t hurt.”

Myrtle eyed her skeptically, having experienced plenty of these so-called “earthquakes. Keeping a tight hold on her little one, she retrieved the stroller and hurried home.

After several more incidents of this sort, Farley’s parents resorted to using a strap; the kind that attaches the toddler at one end, to the parent’s wrist at the other. Myrtle, being a kind-hearted, sensitive soul, cringed inwardly at the disapproving looks and remarks directed her way for “putting that child on a leash”. She bore it all in silence, knowing the alternative could very well be a minor catastrophe!