Pen & Book

Pen & Book

The window was open. Fresh air blew through the house and brought a welcome sense of nature to the stuffy old dump even though there was a distinct chill in the air. Penelope finished her cup of cocoa and sat back, taking in the withered face of her great aunt. She sat on the other side of the table sipping her tea and looking appraisingly down her nose at Penelope.

Pen had come because her mother had asked her to stop by and wish her Great Aunt Cordelia a happy birthday. She was turning 83, and Pen’s mother always made sure to bring her a bouquet of flowers on her birthday. When Pen arrived, flowers in hand, Cordelia had taken them and laid them down on the table without even a thank you. Pen’s mother had told her that Great Aunt Cordelia was crazy, or at least excessively eccentric. But, it was said she had a fortune, and if Pen played her cards right she might have a chance at an inheritance when Cordelia passed on.

“So, Aunt Cordelia, what do you do with your time these days?” Pen asked, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence that had lain over them like a blanket of fog since she had arrived.Taking some time to answer, Cordelia finally replied in a thin croaky voice,

“I read, and I knit, and I sit in my garden listening to the grass.”

Listening to the grass? How very strange, Pen thought. She started to wonder if her mother might have been right about the old woman’s state of mind.

Cordelia had once been a high-powered executive in a bank. Pen’s mother Agnes sometimes likened the old woman to one of the goblins in Gringotts Bank, mean, focused and highly suspicious. After a long career she retired at age 72. Her husband Clarence had died some ten years before, and she became more and more reclusive as the years went on.

“When you listen to the grass, what does it say?” Pen asked. She was trying to maintain the meager conversation she had drummed up, and thought it was probably harmless to indulge her Great Aunt’s fantasies.

“It gives me images of wild places. It assures me I can visit these places if I just believe. But, I’ve never quite believed strongly enough. So, I suppose I shall remain a crazy old woman without any magic to speak of.”

Pen started to feel a frisson of fear, like an icicle down her back. Something about the old woman’s words unsettled her, and she jumped to her feet, suddenly anxious to leave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got to go,” she said nervously. “Thank you for the cocoa, Great Aunt. By the way, Mom asked me to invite you over for our Christmas celebrations next week. My dad can come by and pick you up.”

“Why thank you, Penelope. I will gladly accept,” Cordelia said, smiling distractedly. “Before you go, I do have a favor to ask.”

“The grass told me to go to the bottom of our garden, and dig at the base of the apple tree. I don’t have the strength, so would you be so kind as to do it for me?”

Pen didn’t want to be rude, despite the creeping uneasiness crawling up her spine. So, she agreed, and was instructed to find a shovel in the garden shed.

She went to the apple tree and started digging, the earth soft and easily moved, despite the low temperature. She had on a large wool coat to protect against the frigid air, and as she continued to dig she began to sweat. Just as she began to wonder how long she would have to keep it up, she heard a clunk as her shovel hit something in the dirt. She dug more hurriedly now, the end in sight, and finally unearthed what looked like an old cigar box made out of beautiful mahogany. She carried it inside to Cordelia, and set it on the kitchen table.

“Look what I found Great Aunt! But, how do we open it?” The box was locked, and so beautiful that neither Pen nor Cordelia had the heart to break it open. After a moment or two of sullen silence Cordelia interjected,

“Well, the key might be around here somewhere, if I can only find it.”

“But, if you didn’t know it was there, how could you have a key for it?” Pen asked, becoming more and more confused by the second.

“Oh, that’s easy darling. I recognize that box,” Cordelia replied, smiling wistfully. “That box belonged to my great grandmother, and disappeared when I was a young girl. Seeing as this was once her house, I might be able to locate the key before I come over next week for Christmas.”

Pen was stunned by this revelation. Great Aunt Cordelia seemed endlessly full of secrets and mysteries, and she wondered what could possibly be inside that box. But, it seemed she would have to wait until Christmas to discover the truth. So, she left the old woman’s house deep in thought, clutching the basket of apples Cordelia had given her as a parting gift as though they were precious cargo. What a weird old woman, she thought to herself. Is the grass magic? Is the tree magic? Or is Great Aunt Cordelia a witch?

As the week dragged on, Pen could not stop thinking about the box she had found in her Great Aunt’s garden. She sat sullenly by herself at school recess, ruminating on the mystery, hoping the old woman would have some luck finding the key, because she couldn’t stand to wait any longer. She needed to know what lay inside. It was at this very moment, as she bit down on one of Cordelia’s apples that she received a small clue. She felt a crack as her teeth hit a solid object within, almost chipping her tooth. A small golden key.

“Oh my god, I found it!”

A few days later it was Christmas Eve. Pen’s father Robert picked up Cordelia in the afternoon, and that night they all sat down for a grand feast. After they’d all finished eating, laughing, and singing carols, the family fell into a comfortable contented silence. Agnes began clearing the table, and Great Aunt Cordelia pulled out the old mahogany box, placing it in the middle for everyone to admire.

She began to explain to Pen’s parents the mystery of the box, the apple tree, and how she had come up short when searching for a way to uncover its secrets.

“Anyone have any ideas on how to open it?” she asked the group.

Pen’s eyes lit up, and it was at this point that she excitedly produced the key.

“I found it in one of your apples, Great Aunt! It must be the key!”

The rest of the family looked at Pen in awe. Could it be? The key to this magical secret lay buried inside an apple? Cordelia smiled, feeling in her bones that something magical was happening, and slid the key into the worn lock.

It fit! The lock popped open, and Cordelia gently opened the lid, the rest of the family watching with anticipation.

Nothing but an old black notebook. It looked somewhat decayed and dog-eared, and upon opening it there seemed to be mostly blank pages, with only random scribbles on some.

Pen looked down at her lap, disappointed. She had hoped there might be some magical item, or at least some treasure from Great Aunt Cordelia’s past.

“Oh well,” Agnes sighed. “I suppose that’s a bit of a letdown, but that shouldn’t stop us from celebrating Christmas!”

And so, the evening went on as if nothing had happened. They enjoyed a wonderful game of Yahtzee while Great Aunt Cordelia dozed in the big armchair. They roasted chestnuts over the real log fire, and sipped eggnog together, laughing and recounting memories from the year past.

The notebook still sat on the table unassuming. Pen glanced at it distractedly as she stretched to pick up her eggnog, and as she reached she knocked over an unfinished glass of water. It flooded the table and soaked the notebook.

“Oh no, it’s ruined!” cried Pen, scrambling to sop up the water.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” her mother said. “I’ll put it on the stove to dry, and it’ll be good as new in the morning.”

Some hours later, as everyone began getting ready to go to bed, Pen made her way to the kitchen to check on the notebook. She was still holding onto some small hope that there might be something magical about it after all.

She picked it up, and began leafing through it, and to her surprise, was met with a small spidery script on nearly every page. It must have been invisible ink, she thought. The heat from the stove uncovered the writing!

Excited at her discovery, Pen showed the newly filled notebook to her parents and her Great Aunt. After some time reading through the scribbled pages, Cordelia came to the conclusion that it must be the diary of her great grandmother. They flipped through the pages, and came upon what seemed to be a number of incantations of a very archaic sort.

“Do you have any idea what this might mean Cordelia?” Robert asked, confused at the strange script.

“I’m not quite sure, my dear. But, why don’t we discuss it in the morning. Right now, we should all be getting to bed so that Santa can come and do his work.”

With that, Pen dutifully set out a few mince pies and a brandy for Santa. Even though at age 12 she knew it was her parents who did everything at Christmas, she liked to keep up the tradition, just in case.

Christmas morning arrived crisp and clear, and Pen got up early, eager to open her presents. She’d asked for a proper adult bicycle because she loved to ride around in the park close by. She’d been getting by for months on her old, small bike that still had the training wheels on, and she was fed up with it.

Penelope was to be disappointed, though. Her father had had a very bad year as the assistant manager at a clothing store. He was paid miserably, and got by only on the small commission he made for every sale. So, as Pen ripped through her presents she found a Barbie, some chocolates, a new hairbrush, and a pair of jeans, but no bicycle.

They continued to open the presents until it seemed they’d gotten through them all. Some Earl Grey tea for Great Aunt Cordelia, a pair of gardening gloves for Agnes, and a new beard trimmer for Robert. As Agnes began to clear the wrapping paper wreckage, Pen noticed one last gift sitting under the tree. An ornately wrapped box with a small golden tag.

“To the Griffin family, from Santa,” she read, looking up at her parents excitedly.

“You open it Pen,” said her mother, smiling at the surprise she assumed Robert must have planned.

Pen tore through the paper, hoping it might be something special just for her. But when she finally opened the box, she was surprised to find a large stack of crisp bills.

“What is this?” exclaimed her father.

“Where did you get this, Robert?” her mother asked.

“It wasn’t me,” he replied, looking just as confused as they all felt.

“Well then, it must have been Cordelia,” she posited, looking at the old woman inquisitively.

“I must confess, it wasn’t me either,” Cordelia admitted.

“I’ll count it!” Pen announced, and began sorting through the numerous bills. Once she had finished, she was astonished to find that in the modest box lay $20,000.

“It must have been stolen,” Agnes said. “We have to give it back.”

“NO!!” Robert cried emphatically. “All we know is that it was a gift for us from Santa. So, we’ll use it to help ourselves. We don’t even know who to give it back to. We cannot look a gift horse in the mouth!”

After putting up a bit of a protest, Agnes was eventually convinced to use the money for themselves.

And so, as soon as the shops opened a couple of days after Christmas, they went out and bought new clothes for Mom and Dad, and a new adult bicycle for Pen.

New Year’s Eve came and went. Great Aunt Cordelia had returned home, and Pen had taken to riding her new bike in the park every day. On January 2, however, there came a knock at the door. Agnes opened it and was surprised to find the owner of the shop where they had bought Pen’s bike. He looked angry and very unhappy.

“What is this?” He demanded. “The money you gave me for the bike isn’t real, it’s just folded newsprint! You can either pay me what you owe, or give me back the bike.”

“Hold on, hold on” Agnes said, perplexed and a little frightened of the angry shop owner. “Robert, go find the money and let’s pay this gentleman.”

When Robert returned, he held in his arms stacks of cut up newspapers, confusion and concern clouding his face.

“It’s all disappeared,” he said, stunned.

Without enough money to pay the man, they were forced to hand over Pen’s beautiful new bike. And as heart-wrenching as it was, things only got worse as the hours wore on. By the end of the day, all the other shop owners they had purchased from that week showed up without fail, demanding money or their merchandise back.

Pen cried over the loss of her precious possession, looking out at the garden, the trees swaying in the wind. As she watched the branches dancing, she started to think of Great Aunt Cordelia. She thought of the talking grass, the old box she had found, and the notebook, filled with puzzling scribbles and incantations. Could the diary have had something to do with this strange turn of events?

The next day, she decided to visit Great Aunt Cordelia, and ask her about the strange book.

The house was still as stuffy and gloomy as ever, and Cordelia invited Pen to partake in some cocoa again. As they sat and sipped, Pen explained what had happened. She described each of the angry shop owners, the loss of her beautiful bike, and the piles of cut up newspaper they had discovered in the money’s place. The more of the story she told, the more she could see a chilling look sweeping over Cordelia like a sudden rainfall.

“I’m starting to think it has something to do with that notebook,” Pen said at last, looking at Cordelia with concern. “Do you have any idea what could have happened Great Aunt?” The old woman looked down at her tired hands, and then back at Pen.

“I do,” Cordelia said reluctantly. She confessed that she had read one of the incantations out loud to herself before going to sleep on Christmas Eve. She had been curious about the magical properties she was sure the book contained, and had thought there couldn’t be much harm done from simply reading a passage. But, clearly something had gone awry. So, she grabbed the notebook and showed Pen the passage in question.

The dog is in the bone

The apple’s in the orchard

If money you would find

Then see it in your mind

To have it for a week then

Just call hokey pocus

To have it for a lifetime then

Eat it with all gusto

“It seems that if you want it forever, you then have to eat it. I didn’t want to eat money, so I just called hokey pocus. I suppose that’s why it disappeared after a week.”

Pen made a sour face. The idea of eating money did not appeal to her at all. But, she thought of her beautiful new bike, and the stricken faces of her parents as all their new possessions had been taken away. The thought that this might guarantee them some money to live on left her questioning whether she might be able to do it after all.

After they had both finished their cocoa, Cordelia made a trip to the restroom, and Pen was left alone with the notebook. She stared at it, glued as if by some magnetic power, and without thinking stood up to hold it in her hands. Before she could stop herself, she began chanting the incantation, imagining in her mind $50,000 of those crisp new bills.

She opened her eyes as she finished the last few words, awakening from whatever trance she had fallen into. She felt a chill creep down her spine, but the wind outside was still and the world seemed oddly quiet. She wondered if her spell had worked, or if she was simply going as mad as Great Aunt Cordelia.

The old woman returned then, and Pen felt the same uneasiness she had felt that first day they had dug up the box. She decided it was time to go.

“Great Aunt Cordelia,” she said as she gathered her things. “Could I possibly borrow this box to take home? I want to make a drawing of it for my art class.” Pen knew it was wrong to lie, but she felt that Cordelia might not approve if she knew what she was up to.

“I suppose that would be alright,” her Great Aunt replied. “Just as long as you are very careful with it, and return it to me by the end of the week.”

Pen promised to take special care with the old box, and rushed out the door clutching tightly to her secret.

The next morning Penelope woke, eager to see whether her spell had in fact worked. To her delight upon opening the box, she was met with the same pile of fresh new bills she had found on Christmas morning. Except this time, the pile was even larger. She knew what this must mean. It had worked, and this time she would have to eat every last dollar.

Over the next few days, she began to tear up the money bit by bit, and sneak it into her food. She didn’t tell anyone what she was doing. Unpleasant as it was, she was bolstered by the image of that shiny new bike, and the smiles on her parents faces. She would save their family and all would be right again.

Pen checked the box every day, hoping for her good deed to pay off. She had eaten the entire pile, and she was starting to think it had all been for nothing. It wasn’t until a week later that she began to feel something going on in her body. Her insides churned, and her skin started to feel thin and papery. Pen’s mind reeled. What’s going on? What’s happening to me?

That night, Agnes knocked on Pen’s door. Her daughter had been locked in her room all day, and she wanted to make sure she was coming out for dinner.

“Pen honey,” she called out. “Are you alright sweetie? Dinner’s almost ready.” She pushed into Pen’s room, thinking that the girl must be taking a nap or listening to her music too loudly.

When she made her way inside, her daughter was nowhere to be found. It seemed almost as though she had disappeared. Sitting on the bed was the old mahogany box, and a large stack of crisp new bills, $50,000 to be exact.

Pen was never seen or heard from again.