Chapter One - A Knock on the Door
24th December.
Sitting comfortably in his favourite armchair in front of a roaring log fire, Wot was looking forward to a relaxing evening at home, watching his favourite Christmas television programmes. He had already opened the present he had bought himself – a really warm and comfortable pair of Christmas slippers, decorated with all sorts of festive scenes and motifs. Before he turned on the television set, Wot withdrew a little red book from out of his shirt pocket, and then opened it. It was within this small book that he partook of his favourite pastime – writing poetry. He loved writing his poems. He received so much pleasure when writing them, and he never suffered from writer’s block, which so many other writers endure. When he took pen to paper, with the words flowing freely, he was in another world. Some of his poems were long, others so short they were finished almost as soon as they had begun. He wrote happy ones that made him laugh, sad ones that made him cry and every other conceivable type in between. Down through the years in which he had been writing, recording his thoughts and feelings in rhyming verse, there was one thing he had always felt, and somehow known; it was a talent he possessed, a gift that he must never neglect. Picking up his pen he wrote down the following words...
“Christmas Eve so still I know,
But something’s in the wind,
There is a sense of magic about,
It’s now we need our friends.”
Those were all the words that came to Wot at this time, and they puzzled him, so. What meaning or relevance they had, if any, eluded his tired mind, but he recorded them dutifully into his little book, calling his poem ‘Words in the Wind’. Before putting his book away, he tried reading the poem out aloud, hoping he might somehow gain a better understanding, but it still made no sense to him. Giving up, returning the book to the safety of his shirt pocket, Wot relaxed in front of the warm fire, listening to the logs crackle and sparkle up the chimney. It was such a splendid start to Christmas, he thought. Indeed, he felt so content he could have sat there all night without a care in the world.
Suddenly, a loud knock on the door interrupted Wot’s relaxation. His first thought, in his half-sleep, was that he had imagined it, so closing his eyes he relaxed again, listening to the logs crackling and sparkling up the chimney.
To his utter annoyance, another even louder knock struck the front door. “Who on earth can it be?” he grumbled, reluctantly rising from his wonderfully comfortable chair. Approaching the door, Wot found himself staring at the coat stand beside it, upon which he had placed a peculiar Christmas card, earlier that day. It was small, very small. His friend, Nott, had sent it to him. He picked it up, remembering how surprised he had been that Nott – his best friend – would have sent so small a card. Looking at the picture, a wonderful summer scene of a house in the country, Wot found himself once again intrigued by it. He studied it closer…
The house in the card with whitewashed walls and weathered, wooden beams, strategically placed for the maximum visual pleasure of the onlooker, had a cottage-garden in the full bloom of summer. There was a duck-pond, an arbour, a rustic garden shed, a wishing well and so much more, and all of this enclosed by a white picket fence. It was the perfect picture of summer, not your usual Christmas card theme by any means. Studying it in fine detail, Wot held the card closer to his face. He had completely forgotten by now to open the front door, to see who was out there. Wot’s eyes, once again magnetically drawn to the picture, noticed how big and sturdy the door of the house in the card actually was. It was dark brown in colour, sporting a large, brass knocker. “They don’t build them like that anymore,” he said, inspecting it further.
“It’s a bloody good job they don’t,” a voice suddenly boomed.
On hearing this, a disembodied voice speaking to him, Wot got such a fright he dropped the card and very nearly jumped out of his brand-new Christmas slippers.
“Take it easy, you could have killed me!” the mysterious voice boomed again.
Imagining there was someone hiding, playing a prank on him, Wot searched the entire room, trying to find the hidden person, but he did not find anyone. He was confused; he was puzzled with no idea what he should do. In fact he was not one hundred percent sure that he had heard the voice at all. “This might all be in my imagination,” he said, though not very convincing, as he stood there in the room, unable to decide his next move.
“Are you listening to me?” the mysterious voice boomed again. “Wot, I am speaking to you!”
Being personally addressed by a disembodied voice, confused poor Wot no end. He wondered was it a ghost, or was he simply going mad?
“Pick me up!” the voice shouted at him.
Pulling himself together, trying to show at least some courage, Wot whispered timidly, “Where are you?”
“On the floor! At your feet!” the voice tersely replied.
However, on looking down to the floor, the only thing Wot could see was the small Christmas card he had dropped, so he said, “I can’t see you! There’s nothing there!” Looking up and down the hallway, hoping to spot the person playing such a nasty practical joke upon him, Wot, however, saw no one. “I can’t see where you are!” he whispered to the disembodied voice.
Beginning to lose patience, the voice shouted, “Wot, I always thought you were a bit slow – now you have proven it. I AM IN THE CARD. Pick it up! BUT CAREFULLY!”
Confused, wondering how anybody could possibly be inside a Christmas card, Wot bent down and carefully picked it up. Opening it, Wot half expected to see someone crammed inside, but there was no one. No. Except for the short, standard greeting of Happy Christmas, there was nothing out of the ordinary inside it.
The mysterious person, loosing what little patience he had left, interrupted Wot’s floundering thoughts, shouting, “LOOK IN THE WINDOW, you berk!”
With those words, something clicked in Wot’s bamboozled brain. The voice, THAT voice, was starting to sound familiar! Scratching his head, trying to figure out just who it might actually be, Wot closed the card and looked again at the picture on its front. His eyes, drawn to the quaint old house with its wonderful leaded windows, saw something, something MOVING! It was a person, someone he recognised! It was his best friend, Nott, staring out from one of the small windows, waving frantically in a most agitated manner. This was just too much for Wot and he passed out, dropping the card onto the cold hard floor once again…
Wot, Nott, Kakuri and the Hu Ba Hou - Part One: The Fabled Crest Page 2