by Erik Boman
Once Upon a Time in Peter’s Special Book
by Erik Boman
Published October 2014
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This eBook uses some actual locations and family names, however all events are fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living, dead, or living between the pages of your nearest book, is entirely coincidental.
Cover image montage by Erik Boman
Copyright © 2014 Erik Boman
www.wanderingmind.net
Once Upon a Time in Peter’s Special Book
Peter had a secret friend.
He had many friends, at school and among his neighbours, but no one was quite like Vangar. Peter had never met anyone as brave, fast or adventurous, even though he suspected Vangar sometimes exaggerated a bit. And most of Peter’s friends were surrounded by parents, siblings, chores and homework, while Vangar stayed in a castle full of secrets, traps, vicious monsters and hidden treasures.
And, of course, Vangar lived in a book.
The Secrets of Zot was a special book. Its thick, creamy pages and its covers of brown leather were protected by a plain but thick wooden box, with purple velvet padding inside and the book’s title embossed on its lid. When the book had been discovered in Peter’s grandmother attic after she had passed away, Peter’s parents had presented the book as a Christmas gift for Peter. It was the centrepiece of Peter’s bookshelf and always his first choice for bedtime story.
His mother and father had a library where they often sat late at night and read. Peter did not need a library – he had his special book – but his parents insisted that Peter read other books as well. On these nights, having sat through tales of silly children doing silly things in obviously dangerous situations, he waited until his parents slept and then padded to his bookshelf, pulled his favourite book out of its box and snuck in under his blankets.
There, in the weak light of his flashlight, he listened as Vangar told of his fantastic adventures.
Vangar first talked to him just after midnight the day Peter turned six. Eyes heavy after a day filled with cake, presents and games, Peter had been on the brink of sleep when the hushed voice sounded from his bookshelf.
“Hey,” it said. “Over here. No, here. Stop staring at your teddy. Where are you going? Come here and take me out. That’s a boy. Now pay attention. I’ve got lots to tell you, every scrap of it true. But we haven’t got all the time in the world.”
Vangar was clever, too. He never spoke when Peter’s mother or father read from the book, although sometimes he winked at Peter from the pages. Peter thought about showing his sisters, but Louise was too big for story books and Nina would want more pictures and less text. Only when Peter opened the book alone did Vangar clear his throat to say hello.
“They would never understand,” Vangar said. “And some of my quests are on the spooky side. We don’t want to give your dad nightmares, now do we? Now point your light over here, and I’ll tell you how I found Baron Vileheart’s chest of gold…”
And so it went for four years. Every night Vangar had a new story ready for Peter. Vangar knew a thousand ways to defeat the dangers that lurked in the castle’s dark cellars or in the moonlit forests beyond the moat. No trap was quick enough to catch (or impale, or behead) him, no riddle too difficult to solve, no beast’s hide too thick for his sword. Vangar, armed with only his blade, his armour and the occasional map or convenient tool, was a master of inventions and narrow escapes.
All Vangar asked for was for the book to be put back in its box each night. “Never forget to tuck me in,” Vangar said. “It’s very important. Adventuring is hard work, and bad sleep makes me bleary-eyed.” So Peter always slipped the book back in place before he returned to his bed.
Then, two weeks before Peter’s tenth birthday, things started to go wrong.