Hide the Seek the Freak Mail

There was going to be hell to pay after that one, thought James to himself. How did those snails come to life, wondered James to himself. But that wasn't his biggest worry right now. In a few minutes Uncle Midas would come looking for him ready to hunt him down. Although Uncle Midas was skinny as an eel, always impeccably dressed and politely mannered, woe betide anyone foolish enough to anger Midas Goldman. Though he preferred Belgian Waffles, he would probably be eating James alive later this morning. He could still hear screams, since they still must not have had the snail situation under control.

He was safe for now. James took a moment to observe his surroundings; it may be his last time to see them. Normally, whenever something extremely unusual happened around James, (about once a moth,) Uncle Midas gave him a serious beating with his cane.

It was always the same long hard birch cane. James rubbed his butt ruefully. James subconsciously scanned the attic for a place to hide. He could almost hear harsh but steady footsteps coming closer and closer. But it was only the creaking and groaning of the attic. It was like a dying wounded animal, always moaning quietly and emanating strange sounds. It was all white noise to James though.

James had never taken the time to really appreciate the attic. He had only been exiled to live in the attic a couple of weeks ago and figured he might as well see what was inside here. Old mothballed pieces of furniture lay forlorn like forgotten children. James pulled of the cover to find a rather comfy sofa.

There was tons of valuable stuff in the attic, an old PlayStation three that Hector didn't want anymore. The air rifle he had been begging for last Christmas lay untouched. James peered onto a dirty old diary sitting on the sofa. The cover had been ripped of and the pages had the tea stained look of a particularly ancient book.

"Ginny Weasley," read the inside cover. James held his breath for a moment; he knew nothing about his mother. Although he didn't remember what she looked like, he knew exactly how much he missed his mother. He gingerly opened the first page of the diary squinting to see what was written. There was only a small antique gas lamp in the attic barely illuminating the room. He couldn't make out a single word of her scribble; James and Ginny both shared an atrocious scribble. He stared at the diary imagining what might be written in there but nothing came to his mind. He stuffed the diary into his pocket dejected that he couldn't find any real information about his parents; everything Mr. Gadfly told him was lies, they had to be lives. But maybe he could find more of his parents' stuff hiding in the room.

He poured through the room, looking through every nook and cranny to find signs of his parents. Yet all he could find was the trash the Goldman's had. Princess's old Cinderella costume, Uncle Midas's collection of the most hideous ties ever. Aunt Ursula's literature, (The National Inquirers and other such reputable tabloids)

Although James didn't have a watch, he was certain it was well past twelve when he fell asleep. His drive in trying to find something about his parents was maniacal but his human need for sleep override his enthusiasm.

He woke up the next morning writhing in pain. Blaring light shone into his eyes; there was no way that light could have came from the windowless attic.

"I'll bet you those freaks will start writing him letters soon," said Aunt Ursula worriedly,

"I still don't get how he got those snails alive," muttered Uncle Midas angrily from the distance. James realized he was lying on the cold hard floor of the cellar, the light he saw was Aunt Ursula pointing a flashlight into his face.

James tried to get off of the floor, but felt something yank him backwards making him crash painfully back onto the cold stone floor. Aunt Ursula chortled in the back saying, "I love doing that to him,"

James had absolutely no idea what was going on but he groaned in pain nonetheless. "Where am I?" he asked dazedly.

"We're keeping you here in the basement for the rest of the summer," grunted Uncle Midas, "You'll be fed every now and then and we'll check up on you from time to time to make sure you're still breathing. There's some food for you in the corner if you want. Consider yourself lucky that we're still willing to feed you. Other than that, you aren't to ever leave the cellar and we've tied you up so you don't escape. After the summers over, we've arranged for you to be sent to St. Brutus's Center of Incurably Criminal boys."

"I don't want you and your freakish ways in this house anymore," said Aunt Ursula sniffing loudly, "you've done enough to emotionally scar both of my precious children. I think I'll have some ice cream to eat to make myself fell better." She carried her porky self up the stairs holding her nose up high in a haughty manner.

"Things are going to be different now," rumbled Uncle Midas ominously, "Really different." He stared at James harshly for a few moments before following his wife up the stairs.

Sat up on the cold hard floor shivering noticeable and coughing loudly. He could feel the coarse twine rope hanging on his neck like a noose. It was bound tightly and there was no way for him to squeeze out. The rope was abrasive and unpleasant but there seemed to be no way of taking it off.

Aunt Ursula had been kind enough to leave him a flashlight. He scanned the cellar with the flashlight. There was the old boiler churning and bubbling as always. No lights were present in the room; he didn't like the pitch-blackness. Next to him was a large white basin and Aphrodite's old paint set. Some of he pictures were still hanging on the wall. After her painting craze ended, (It lasted a week. After that, the new 'in' she became obsessed with ponies) no one ever seemed to come down here. There were pipes tubes and wires running up and down the wall, a cut wire dangled from the ceiling radiating sparks threateningly. The cellar sounded like it was constantly groaning when in reality it was just the noise from the houses utilities and the muffled sounds of daily life filtering down from upstairs.

When James was younger, he was terrified of the cellar because of the frightful noises that emanated from it. James knew now that there were no such things as ghosts and spirits. The Goldman's had made a point to teach him that there was no such thing as magic. Still, the cellar gave James the creeps. He would have much rather avoided the place.

While James had always been afraid of his Uncle Midas, he dread had been heightened to a new level. Normally he would beat James and forget about whatever mistake James made. But Uncle Midas looked dangerous now. James had a nasty feeling that he was serious about sending him St. Brutus's this time. Despite all of his imminent problems, his stomach was still grumbling loudly. James spied a plate with a few old biscuits on the floor. The biscuits looked a little moldy but food was food. James inched towards the biscuits, but he could feel his leash tightening and tightening. Soon, he was sprawling on the floor, hands outstretched trying to reach a few nasty looking biscuits.

James managed to get the tips of his fingers over the cusp of the corning plate slowly pulling towards him. To his deep chagrin, the biscuits weren't just moldy; they weren't meant for humans. They were doggy biscuits. Even James's stomach, which was dieing of hunger, revolted at the thought of eating dog food; he was still a human being. James grabbed the plate and threw it to the other side of the cellar; tiny bits smashed onto the grounds showering James with sharp shards. Luckily, James escaped the barrage of jagged splinters unscathed.

Bored of sitting on the floor James got up to explore his new living space; he might as well know the place he would be spending the next week in. It was late August and there was another week until James could get out of this cellar. But then he would be stuck He could take five steps in any directions before his leash would hold him back. That was what he had been limited to; five steps in any direction and dog food.

James sat glumly in his cell for hours. Maybe they were right about him. Strange things that James could never explain always happened around him. Maybe he was putting everyone in danger. What if the Goldman's were right in keeping him isolated and then sending him away to St. Brutus's.

A shiver went down his spine at that thought. No he decided, he wasn't incurably criminal, just exceptionally unlucky. There had to be a way of escaping this black hole. If only there was something sharp. Of course, the broken corning shards were sharp and everywhere. He quickly grabbed one of the larger pieces, ignoring the pain as the sharp edge ripped into his hand. He carefully tore the ropes that bound him making sure he didn't cut into his own skin.

Throwing the ropes aside, James crept up the staircase. He placed his ear onto to the door making listening in to see if anyone was standing outside.

"It's a good thing we have the freak tied down in the basement," said his Aunt Ursula, "We've already got a deluge of mail from that- place."

"Don't worry," said Uncle Midas, "I made sure that little rat was tied up properly."

James chuckled to himself; he wasn't exactly tied up now. James waited until he couldn't hear a single sound outside. He opened the door slowly, praying it wouldn't creak but his prayers went unanswered when the door screeched like an owl. Luckily, no one was in the hallway.

He could hear the steady tap of footsteps come from the living room. Panicking James dashed as quickly as he could into the nearest bathroom locking the door sharply.

"Who's in the bathroom," said Aunt Ursula, "It isn't you, Hector is it? If its someone else say something."

He couldn't tell her it was James so he instead gave no response trying his hardest to pretend that he didn't really exist while sitting on the toilet seat with a furry pink cover.

"Hector," said Aunt Ursula in a strangely sweet voice, "I know you have problem dear, but I can help you. I mean I can at least help clean up."

James sat on the toilet seat in stony silence; hoping Aunt Ursula would forget about him and move on. He was sweating profusely as he tried in vain to banish thoughts of the punishments Uncle Midas would concoct for James now.

"Hector dear," said Aunt Ursula again, "I know about your problem in controlling going to the bathroom. Its perfectly normal, some kids just don't get potty trained until they're a little bit older."

James almost fell off the toilet containing his laughter. Big tough Hector still needed diapers.

Aunt Ursula, mistaking his contained laughter as sobs said consolingly, "Don't cry. I'll be back later, to clean everything up."

James walked out of the bathroom careful not to make sure no one heard him. Now he had only one thing left to do: get out of this fearful house. Unfortunately, James was smack dab in the middle of the palatial mansion. James peered into a large glass vase absentmindedly noticing the shreds of a large white letter. That was strange; James thought to himself, the Goldman's normally made a point to keep everything squeaky clean. James reached into the vase to pull out whatever it was nearly knocking the urn onto the floor in the process. In his hands was a fistful of shredded papers. The urn stabilized after shaking precariously like a drunken man trying to regain his balance. James gave a sigh of relief glad that he didn't have to deal with the attention of breaking some probably antique vase in addition to all the noise he would have created.

He could be as curious as he wanted to be once he got out of the house. But he nevertheless, after making sure no one was around, looked to see what was on those letters.

"To James Pot," he read on one of the shreds. On another shred he read, "Hogw," All he held in his hands were dozens of envelopes with only his name and random gibberish written on them. But why would anyone want to send him a letter? He had never received mail in the past, much less huge bundles of it as he was now. Something unusual was going on and James had a growing itch to find out exactly what.

But Aphrodite saw James. Her face turned ashen and she screamed like she saw a dead man. James was about to be a dead man once Uncle Midas or Aunt Ursula found him. He dashed through the hallway, knocking Princess over.

"Get back here," she screeched sounding like nails against a chalkboard, "You're going to be in so much trouble." She fell over onto the ground clutching her knee in pain. Normally he would have helped her back up, but this time he just kept running.

Go, Go, Go James urged himself as he kept running. He said his last goodbyes to the gold-framed portraits and the Italian marble as he sprinted to the door. He said his goodbyes to the walls which he could get a beating for if he touched them with his hands. He passed by the last door before freedom, a door leading into an empty closet. He could remember hiding in that closet scared silly of what Hector was going to do to him next. He peeked around the last corner before freedom. To his chagrin, his Aunt and Uncle were standing in front of the door. For the first time in his life, he saw his Uncle in sweaty overalls and his Aunt wearing garden work clothes.

"All the boards have been shut," grunted Uncle Midas holding the tools in his hands as if they were made out of bird droppings.

"Ruddy owls," whined Aunt Ursula, "They've ruined my perfect flower garden. They keep carrying more and mail. It's a good thing we have James under lock and key. Those freaks won't put us all into danger if I can help it."

At that precise moment, James sneezed like a foghorn announcing his escape to everyone around him.

"Damn Owls," shouted Uncle Midas through clenched teeth. James ran for cover, jumping into an empty closet. It was a small cramped closet, cramped but safe. The servants kept their supplies in here, brooms and mops, old dishrags and a trash bin. The closets of the house were James's real home. Time and time again, James hid inside these closets while the Hector or Uncle Midas looked for him.

Just one last time, James told himself. After this, I'll never have to hide from them again.

"So explain to me what this is all about," said Uncle James from outside the closet.

"James," said Princess in a soft voice from outside. He could her sobbing loudly outside. She was probably crying too. She'd learned how to fake tears years ago.

"He got out of the basement," she sobbed, "and he beat me up too. He took a bat and started hit me as hard as he could with it. And then he broke your old pot."

"He what," said Aunt Ursula livid with anger, "We take him into our house. Feed him, clothe hi and give him shelter and this what he does."

"I worked so hard to make him popular in school," said Princess earnestly, (She had been taking acting lessons for years and was really a natural), "I don't why he could do something so terrible."

James cringed silently.

"Aphrodite," said Uncle Midas in his, loving, tender fatherly voice, "Your mother and I need to discuss some matters privately. Could you please do something else."

"But I'm hurt really bad," whined Princess for more attention.

"Go to Gertrude, (The Maid,) I have more important things to deal with." said Aunt Ursula curtly.

James almost fell over in shock; that was the meanest thing James had ever heard Aunt Ursula tell Princess.

Princess stomped up the stairs distraught.

"Now to business," said Uncle Midas almost panicking, "We need to have a plan to deal with the growing James threat."

"He's already escaped the cellar," said Aunt Ursula despondently, "There's no telling how much damage he could do."

"Don't worry dear," said Uncle Midas consolingly, "We'll get him before he finds his letters."

"But that's what I'm worried about," sobbed Aunt Ursula, "He's becoming more and more of a freak every day. He might have all kinds of dark powers now."

"No point dwelling on details like that," said Uncle Midas, "Let's just catch that mangy dog before he gets his hand on those letters."

Scratch the old plan, thought James to himself. There had to be something really important in those letters addressed to him. There was a trash bin behind him and James gently tipped it over to see what was inside. Besides rotting banana peels and empty milk cartons and all the other ordinary every day trash, there were the tell tale white scraps of paper. James grabbed the letters as stealthily as he could. He quietly walked out of the closet.

He felt something cold and clammy wrap around his neck. It tightened faster and faster. And then it hit him- someone was choking him.

"Got you," snarled Uncle Midas from behind, "nasty little freak. Doing your crazy- umm stuff- around this house."

James shoved his elbow into Uncle Midas's family jewels who promptly fell on to the ground groaning. But Aunt Ursula and Princess were both standing directly in front of the door growling menacingly. Aunt Ursula gave a nasty hiss that was more frightening than a lion's roar. And then they attacked furiously biting and clawing at James. Without thinking, James started running up. He didn't look back but knew one angry man and two angrier women were chasing him. In front of him stood a gorilla better known as Hector. James

James hesitated for a second twisting and sidestepping his way away from Hector. Hector's long swinging arms missed James entirely but instead made hard painful contact with Princess sending her spinning backwards into Aunt Ursula and Uncle Midas. The massive wreck tumbled down the marble stairs leaving a bloody mess at the bottom.

James didn't care to watch any of it as he kept running up the stairs into the attic. He was about to slam the door to the attic open when he realized there was no door. They must have pulled it out the night before when the dragged James out of his bed. James walked into his attic room searching for a place to hide but there wasn't much cover.

He could hear the footsteps of his uncle; "I'm warning you," he bellowed, "Get down here this instant or- or- I'll be really angry."

James knew better than to come down; he was going to savor being alive for as long as he could. But time was slipping away as the bloody red faced horde closed in.

"There he is," shrieked Aunt Ursula who was carrying a frying pan in her hand like a club. More ominously, Uncle Midas had a small pistol in his hands.

"Don't move a muscle," said Uncle Midas, his voice almost a whisper. James clung onto a ragged trunk in the back of the attic like it was a buoy in the ocean.

Suddenly, James felt a hook on his navel pull him forward. James felt his feet fly off of the ground as some magical force pulled him magnetically onwards in a tornado of light and color.