Harold’s arm still stung from the scrapes and bruises he had sported from his so-called “friends”. Earlier, he had been egged on by his friends to grab an old man’s wallet. But what did they do when he successfully retrieved his prize? A great old beating as they took his possessions! They were friends for two years, but at the sight of money and riches they lunged like a pack of savage hyenas. They had merely used him for their dirty work! It made his blood boil thinking about it.
Ever since then, Harold plotted his revenge. He had heard an old tale that circulated in his town; the one about the Magic Workshop. According to legend, a mysterious magic workshop would appear in the center of the forest at midnight, when the night was dark and the air was cold. Warm sparking smoke would arise from the chimney, and it was said to have an odd aroma of sweet wood. If you entered, a foreign magic would grant you any wish or power you could dream of!
Of course, nobody in town believed it. It was a fool’s legend. But Harold was too busy seething at the incident to care, even if he was swallowed by an alligator to get back at them. Maybe he was a fool, but what could he possibly lose probing the silly myth?
So, on the most bone-chilling night of December 1st, he bolted out with three thick layers of coats and wandered into the shadowed forest. The trail seemed to go on until it reached the other side of the world. It twisted and turned and swiveled in all directions, each dark, menacing shadow seeming to get bigger and bigger and bigger. Harold thought he might go insane. What he thought was a short trip resulted in nearly three frostbites and fearful paranoia. Harold began to think of turning 180º straight back home, where there was warmth.
Just as he was thinking about snuggling in his bed sheets, Harold suddenly jumped, startled at what he saw in the distant sky. A great grey cloud was rising and almost covering the entire moon. Harold rubbed his eyes. Was he hallucinating? Had he finally gone mad?
“You know what,” Harold declared aggressively, as if challenging the forest (though he did not look menacing with his chattering teeth). “I don’t c-care, as long as I have a n-nice toasty f-fire!”
He ran towards the smoke hurriedly as it grew larger and larger, faintly sniffing a pleasant scent of wood. Dreaming of melting in a blast of heat, Harold mindlessly approached a small cottage in which the smoke was emitting.
But as he entered, instead of a cozy hut he envisioned, he was barraged with all sorts of machinery, instruments and automata. He could not make sense of it all. It was a giant glow containing a vast forest of robotic arms, clinks and clatter springing in every direction, gases being pumped, tiny but complex automata spinning wildly. Suddenly, it clicked—the rising smoke, the smell of sweet wood, and these strange machines… Could it be the Magic Workshop?
Harold forgot all about his poor frozen fingers and excitedly explored the place, in search of the promised magic power. He then stumbled across a door. But it was locked! Harold jiggled the knob in vain. He sat down for a moment, thinking of any method that could possibly work. Harold viewed a small rogue nail rolling on the ground. He grinned at an idea.
Harold quickly snatched the nail and fumbled it into the small keyhole, poking and stabbing this way and that. Click.
Inside, it was a small, dark, but lightly cozy room. A toasty brick fireplace burned lazily on the left. It was a stark contrast to the noisy, hectic actions of the outside.
In the middle of the room stood a shining pedestal, holding a magnificent book glowing with letters and symbols all about! Awestruck (and a little fearful), Harold stepped forward cautiously. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a small feathered pen dashing and darting across its pages like it was possessed. Could this be the magic spoken about in the legend?
Harold suddenly gasped in shock. It was drawing the exact scene of his friends robbing him of the money he got. Punching him in the face. This book drew the past… and the present, and—the future? Harold grinned greedily in giddy excitement. Galloping gargoyles! He could possibly write the future in that book; he could draw his “friends” becoming pantsed and beaten in public! Ha! Harold made a sudden move, lunging at the magic pen with his hands.
But the pen merely zipped out of his reach and scribbled a silly mustache on his face.
Harold angrily reached to grab it again, but a voice behind him made him jump.
“Why are you trying to write inside that book?” an old voice asked. Harold spun around to see a hooded Keeper near the doorway. You could only see the lower part of his face. Harold was stunned speechless, his face flushed
The Keeper laughed. “Don’t be alarmed, now. I see you have attained some injuries,” he nodded to the bruises Harold had earned from his friends. “It’s best not to meddle in this room, my dear boy. The power is too strong for anyone to play around with. Let us go to someplace peaceful.”
The Keeper raised an eyebrow at his mustache, which Harold quickly wiped off. “I’m Harold… and I wasn’t tryn’ to mess around…” But his sentence broke off under the man’s gaze.
They left the room and traveled across the small cottage into an expanse which was half bedroom, half infirmary. Harold sat down in a bed as the Keeper selected a cotton-edged pick and some alcohol. He sat beside Harold, gently taking his arm and dabbing it as Harold winced.
“That one was from my supposed ‘friend’,” Harold scowled at the injury as the Keeper silently treated it. “He robbed and beat me today after he was the one who told me to get the stupid change!”
“…I see. You know, a similar thing happened to me today as well,” the Keeper replied. “Someone also robbed me of my fortune.”
“Then why don’t you take it back, give that robber a beating or two?” Harold replied, dumbfounded. “You could use that book to bring them to justice! Why don’t you?”
“Then there would be no mercy left for anyone in this world!” the Keeper said patiently, slipping a bandage over the stinging spot. “My dear boy, everyone in this world has done a deed to wrong another, including us. Without forgiving one another, we would all be punished.”
“But they deserve it, for treating me this way!” Harold exclaimed angrily.
“Forgive them, Harold,” the Keeper said. “Just as you have been forgiven from other great wrongdoing, forgive those around you.”
Harold turned his head in frustration. What exactly had he done so wrong? He thought back to the time he was beaten. He hadn’t wronged his friend at all in that situation! But then Harold thought back to the old man, whom he had taken the money from. A wave of guilt washed over him.
“Alright,” Harold replied quietly to the Keeper. The Keeper nodded approvingly.
After a long good talk about life, some trivial matter, and more tea, the Keeper sent Harold away, all warm and fuzzy inside. The forest did not seem so threatening when he returned home. Harold slept peacefully.
The next morning, Harold decided to visit the old man he had taken the wallet from, bringing his own pocket allowance snug in his coat ready to repay. However, when he arrived and saw the old man outside on his level deck, he looked horrifyingly familiar. Harold felt himself boiling in shame. The old man he had robbed was the very Keeper that had treated him so kindly.
Just as his courage failed him, the old man ushered Harold closer. Terrified but too guilty to run away, he slowly inched forward in apprehension. But the old man merely smiled at him.
“I’m… sorry, sir,” was all Harold could muster. “For s-stealing your money. I really mean it. I—I came back to return it.” Harold fished out his cash with shaky hands.
“Apology accepted,” the man replied gently, taking the cash. “Let’s all get this behind us! Come, let us enjoy a brew of warm soup and cake.”
So the old man and the boy sat together and ate the soup and cake, watching the blue sky unfold into a beautiful blue afternoon.
THE END
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