Googol Boy and the peculiar incident of the Great Quiz Trophy, John Michael [white hot kiss txt] 📗

thing, he liked to paint. Now, I know that painting in itself isn’t unusual, but Mr Ditherington would only paint one thing — unicorns. And they were everywhere... hanging up in his office, along the corridors, as murals on the school walls, and his paintings were also sold at school fetes. When asked about his unicorns, the principal would always respond with the same line. “Unicorns still exist you know... most certainly! Nowadays we just dismiss them as chubby rhinos.” In addition to the paintings, Mr Ditherington was also an avid writer of poetry. To top it all off, he loved to randomly throw French words into conversation.

The principal just stood there, observing the situation before him, he then let out a despondent sigh and pulled out a poker-dotted handkerchief and gave his glasses a thorough clean, before he addressed the policemen.

“My good fellows, we can call these the worst of times, a phase of treachery, a season of melancholy, this is the winter of our discontent. C'est pas terrible. Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. To be concise, this is some messy business, most certainly.”

“Indeed... messy business!” responded the tall policeman.

“Yes... this business is a mess!” added the short one.

“A rather peculiar incident,” stated the tall policeman as he tweaked his moustache. “We can understand the money being pilfered but why the trophy?”

“Peculiar indeed,” reiterated Roger as he scratched his chin.

“Oh! I see you don’t know the fable of the trophy!” stated Mr Ditherington.

“The fable?” replied both policemen.

“Yes... a captivating and stimulating fable, a fantastical and bombastical fable!”

“Oooh, I do love a good fable!” replied the short policeman.

“Yes... please do proceed,” added the tall one.

“Well, okay then... let me tell you the story,” began the principal.

“One day, as Ezekiel Quockingpoll, the great founder of our town, was going on one of his weekly strolls along the Anonymous Chicken River, he came across a little man who seemed to be performing some strange ritual. He was no taller than a hobbit’s shadow and was dressed in a dapper green suit with shiny emerald buttons and a matching top hat with a silver buckle at the front. He was in quite a frazzled state, bopping up and down, moving from side to side.

“Hello there fella,” stated Ezekiel.

The little man looked up with a startled expression. “Oh me... where de dickens did yah come from? Yah gave me such a froight!” he exclaimed. He had a trimmed red beard which matched the tufts of red hair which poked out from under his velvet top hat. On his back he carried a golden sack which he grasped tightly.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The little man looked Ezekiel up and down and, seeing that he didn’t pose any threat, quickly composed himself. “Naw harm done good sir and top of de mornin’ to yah. It’s entirely me fault. Oi tend to get a bit jittery at times,” he answered with an Irish lilt.

“Good morning to you too. I hope everything is alright, you seem to be off the beaten track.”

“Ah, de truth ter be told, Oi’m glad dat yah’ve come by. Let me introduce meself. They call me O’Penny, Seamus O’Penny,” he proclaimed as he reached out his delicate little fingers and shook Ezekiel’s hand most vigorously.

“Well, I’m Ezekiel Quockingpoll and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Sorry ter say, but Oi seem ter be in a spot of bother.”

“Bother? What kind of bother?” enquired Ezekiel with intense curiosity. On the one hand, Ezekiel was struck by the oddness of this little man and, on the other hand, he was wondering why he was performing a peculiar Irish jig in the middle of nowhere.

“Oi was futtin’ along just mindin’ me own business, not partakin’ in any shenanigans or de like, when dis rabbit ’ole appeared out of nowhere.”

“Rabbit hole? Well that explains a lot. So, you’re stuck tight?”

“Tight as a prize pig in a peat bog.” His pale blue eyes and rosy cheeks twinkled as he answered.

“Have you tried wiggling your foot?”

“Ah ter be sure... I’ve wiggled it, waggled it, jiggled it, and even joggled it!”

“Well... I guess that you’ve tried just about everything then,” replied Ezekiel as he scratched his head.

“Ah ter be sure... indeed!”

“How about I lend you a hand?”

“Yes dat would be grand, if yah could lend me a ’and as I’ve been stuck ’ere since Turrsdee.”

“Turrsdee?”

“Aye that's what Oi just said... since Turrsdee!”

“Oh, since Thursday!”

“Aye! But Oi hate ter cause yah any trouble.”

“No trouble at all, you’re just lucky that I happened to come by.”

“Ah ter be sure... there’s a lot to be said about luck. Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day yah’ll have good luck!”

“Well I guess there’s no option left but to man-handle you out of there.”

“Man-handle?”

“Yes... I will have to give you a swift heave-ho to free you.”

“Ah... de ol’ heave-ho, ter be sure. Just be mindful of me ’at!”

“Your what?

“Me ’at,” he repeated as he tipped his green hat and gave Ezekiel a wink.

“Oh yes... your hat! Don’t you worry... I’ll be careful.”

Ezekiel grabbed the little fellow by the waist with both hands and tried to dislodge him.

Seamus started to laugh. “He he he... Oi’m sorry... don't mind me.”

Ezekiel grabbed him a second time and again he started to giggle, this time like a giddy school girl. “Oi’m ticklish as de dickens!”

“Okay Seamus but you’re going to have to try to hold it in if I’m going to get you out of this mess.”

“Aye... there’ll be naw more of dat... naw more shenanigans!” the little man promised as he took a deep breath and held it.

Ezekiel once again grabbed Seamus by the waist.

“Okay... one last time... one, two three and

He pulled with all his might and they both tumbled backwards towards the edge of the river. Luckily, they just stopped short of falling in or their fate would have been the same as that anonymous chicken explorer fellow.

Seamus sprung up off the ground in a sprightly fashion. “Ah... yah