Chasing Gavin
Of books, lampposts and pixiedust
This is a story of a twelve-year-old boy,
Who was very strange indeed.
He was tall yet skinny with hair that was brown;
And fine-looking eyes of green.
This boy loved to draw and to write and to read,
He had none but a world of his own.
Now this little boy, odd as he may seem,
Has a story that's waiting to be told.
So read along now, and read along slow,
Find out what happens in between.
Surprises await, you'll never learn,
Lest you read what this story would soon bestow.
Ethan Powell was one very strange boy. Yes, he was very strange indeed-out of the ordinary, I must say. Not that he looked utterly different from everybody else, but he possessed just about every strange peculiarity that one young boy must have too much. Sensibly every excessive feature distinguishes one after from like having six fingers on each hand or having bizarrely enormous feet -but not this little boy...not little Ethan Powell.
T'was only in the crack of dawn when train came to a sudden stop. The passengers hurriedly leaked out of each car, trying to force five after another through the narrow doors. Little did Ethan know that it was already time for them to leave; so he slept there, as his thoughts whiled away into the vast skies of-
"Your trunk, sir."
"Your trunk," the voice repeated.
Ethan opened one sleepy eye, "Wha- my trunk?"
"Your trunk, sir. It's unbolted."
Squinting his eyes, Ethan tried to register the words into his head. A tall man in striped clothing came into his view, giving him one toothy grin. Upon the floor lay his trunk chock-full of garments and books of every size, all scattered across the flooring.
"It flew open when we stopped, sir. He was rather careless on the brakes, that Charles," explained the attendant. "Let me help you with that."
Ethan remained silent as he shoved his possessions into his trunk. The man stared at him intently, and raked every title upon the books on the floor.
"Mmmhh..." He mumbled on Bothersome Elves and How to Lose Them.
"A-a-a-a..." He muddled on Whimsy Goobertail's Guide to Home Cooking (frogs' legs, caterpillars, and ladybugs-no sweat!)
Ethan made a grab for the book and jostled it into his rucksack. "It's my mother's," he muttered, as his ears turned bright pink. "It's not supposed to be there..."
A newspaper clipping fell from the book.
"Lakeside Inn...I've heard of this place. They say it's by the lake...planning to stay there?"
"No," returned Ethan, hurling his rucksack and lifting his trunk. "I've got to run off now. Thank you."
The man opened the door for him. Ethan jumped down, dragging his trunk behind him: bump, bump, bump, and bump. He settled on sitting on the bench at the end of the station, beside the lone lamppost that illuminated the entire alley. He loped along the sidewalk as he breathed in the crisp, night air. Closer and closer he came towards the bench...the light on the lamppost gleamed and flickered as he took each step.
Tap, tap, tap, and tap...
To Ethan's surprise, somebody was already seated on the bench...
That somebody was rather small for a grown-up man; nor was it relatively odd for a little child to dress. It wore a pair of tight leggings with red and yellow stripes, a pair of pointed purple shoes, a blue mink coat, a funny collar and a colorful jester's hat with tiny bells that jingle-jangle on the ends.
The somebody on the bench tapped its pointed shoes upon the sidewalk...reaching out into his pocket every so often to look at something that went tick, click, tick, click...
It stood up.
It looked left.
And then right.
And then up.
And under the bench--but whoever it's been waiting for hasn't shown up a hint of his presence. The creature in the jester's hat sat down once more, and tapped even harder. Tap, tap, tap, tap...
As Ethan inched closer, and closer, and closer until-
"It's him, is it?"
"Yes, yes...you mean him?"
"Just look at him! Exactly how Chesta described-"
"The Ethan Powell? Is he the one?"
"Mark my word!"
Surprisingly, two plump women appeared before Ethan out of nowhere. Both of them wore jet-black coats with knee-high socks patterned with black-and-yellow stripes. They each held bright, red umbrellas with tiny bells upon every corner.
Bowing slowly, they held out their hands to Ethan's and shook vigorously. They beamed to him and chortled, "Pleased to meet you!" But even before Ethan could say anything, they were gone in a "pop!"
Ethan shuddered and peered behind him, yet the two women left with not a single trace.
Tap, tap, tap and tap...
That somebody on the bench was still there.
He hesitated at first, but next lit lamppost was nowhere to be found. So Ethan resolved on carrying on, shuffling closer to the bench as the taps went louder...
"Oh dear," he sighed, "it's one of them."
That somebody on the bench sighted Ethan. In fact, it was even more appropriate to call that somebody a creature rather than him or her, because of its long, protruding ears and extraordinarily full-sized feet. It beamed widely at Ethan, like a long lost pet with puppy dog eyes. The bells upon its jester's hat jingled and jangled as it skipped and prodded its hands towards Ethan.
"It's you, sir!" bawled the pixie, firmly squeezing Ethan. "It's you!"
Enormous tears fell from the pixie's cup-like eyes drenching Ethan's dungarees. Its little elfin hands grappled the back of his sweater as it carried on sobbing like it would never stop.
"Heard of Cair Alseides sir? Yes, yes...Chesta's been there too, sir," sniffed the pixie as more tears brimmed upon its eyes. Rummaging into its pocket, the pixie brought out a large, red handkerchief and started wiping itself. Not long after that, the handkerchief was so sodden that the pixie had to wring it a few times.
Ethan rubbed his front. Not wanting to hurt its feelings, he asked politely, "Who are you?"
"Hasn't Chesta introduced himself yet? Dear, dear..." baffled the pixie. "I'm sorry, sir but it's me, Chesta. Dalet instructed me to teach you, sir-about the new policies of the system."
Ethan raised his eyebrows, "And just what system is that?"
Bewildered, Chesta's eyes widened like saucers, "Ethan Powell doesn't know what the system is?"
"Er...no."
Chesta bit his lip and clasped his little hands together while shaking his head.
"Got to consult the handbook. Helps all the time, sir."
Ethan watched him produce a huge book from his pocket, turning the pages with a quick snap of his fingers.
Flip, flip, flip, flip, flip...
"Nope."
Flip, flip, flip, flip...
"No, no."
Flip, flip, flip...
"Hmmm..."
Flip, flip...
FLIP! "Aha!"
Chesta grinned at Ethan and read, "E.L.F.S., sir. The Elfin Levitating Freeport System, sir. The new thing."
Ethan knitted his eyebrows together and gave Chesta a confused stare.
"The Elfin Levitating Freeport System, or more commonly known as E.L.F.S. is a portal system drawn on by those who can sense it (see p.735) and by paranormal beings (a.k.a. elves). Universally used for quick transport schemes, the E.L.F.S. involves the use of customary lampposts (fig. 4.7) and fig trees (you know what fig trees look like).
"This system originated from the former use of fire hydrants (fig. 4.8) as free ports. But due to the inconveniences it caused to humans at that time (Fire Hydrant no. 34 Incident- pp. 467-473), the agency settled on the use of lampposts and fig trees.5
"The E.L.F. system worked as expected; it provided the much needed convenience among elves and humans alike. Alas, the system gained its popularity, not only with the inhabitants of the paranormal world, but as well as the side of the dark forces. By and by Doppelganger posts (fig. 4.9) appeared without the awareness of the authorities, causing the spread of incidents. To prevent further injury and inconvenience, the E.L.F.S. Foundation released a few models of Doppelganger trees that take the place of original lampposts."
Chesta gave out a sigh and shrugged. He slammed the book shut, as tons of smoke and dust emerged from the sides of the book. Trying to stuff the huge volume back into his pocket, he mumbled,"That's-just-about-it, sir."
Ethan coughed and fanned himself to get rid of the dust.
"Can you say that again and in pure English?"
Chesta wiped his forehead as his face began to turn beet-red. He started acting oddly: wringing his arms and starting to rock back and forth and a rather odd sort of way.
