Chapter the First

Upon the garden wall there lay a mackerel. Bernie Durseldüf regarded it with some trepidation. You see, mackerels don’t usually reside on the tops of decorative stone walls in suburban neighborhoods in England, especially not mackerels attempting to look inconspicuous, a task at which, by the way, this particular mackerel was failing miserably. Bernie shook his head and continued on his way. It was bad enough to have renegade mackerels running rampant around town without having to acknowledge the little biowastes. There was no room for that sort of nonsense in the clean, perfect life that Bernie lived.

He opened the front door and closed it quickly. His wife Spitoonia looked up from feeding their little boy, Flukely, a child so small and slender that he required the assistance of several telephone books to reach the top-most edge of his feeding chair. “Was your day satisfactory and productive, Husband?” she inquired with her accustomed cheer.

“Indeed, Wife, it was,” Bernie replied, although somewhat without his usual glee. The aberration of that afternoon was still on his mind, and in fact, it was likely still on the wall. “Buckle production was increased by 2.374 today.”

“That is indeed excellent, Husband. I am indeed proud of your success as the vice-president of your company, Lemmings: Manufacturer of all Manner of Fine Buckles.”

Bernie opened his mouth to express his gratitude, but at that precise moment their conversation was interrupted by the merry sound of the doorbell.

“Ding-a-ling-dong,” went the doorbell.

“You are indeed a ding-dong,” said Flukely.

“You are indeed a clever youth!” exclaimed Spitoonia as Bernie went to answer the merrily ringing door.

Suddenly the merriment ceased. Bernie opened the door apprehensively. A strange old man stood before him on the stoop, a man wearing clothes strangely resembling those sported by the earlier mackerel.

“Hello, Bernie,” he intoned ominously. “I am your father.”

“Er,” said Bernie.

“JUST KIDDING! No. Really, my name is Headmaster Bumblebore of Boarbunions School for Enchanted Creatures of Various Varieties.”

“Indeed, we already have one,” Bernie stated flatly, starting to close the door.

“I don’t think you do,” said Bumblebore, starting to look slightly confused. “Perhaps you’d better let me inside.”

“Er,” said Bernie. “Indeed, I do not believe that will be necessary.”

“We will conduct our business here, then,” Bumblebore said cheerfully. “This is yours. Express shipment, you know. Flying pontoon boat, and all that.”

“Er,” said Bernie.

He held out a basket containing a small, blanket-covered lump. “This is your nephew, Squawker. Blarry Squawker.” Lightning flashed ominously, causing Bernie to flinch with alarm. Bumblebore continued unabated. “Your wife’s sister Drilly and her husband Maimes have recently died in a tragic accident of mass proportions involving many unpleasant circumstances.”

“Er,” said Bernie.

“Being the boy’s only remaining relatives, it is only natural to expect you to raise him as your own son.” It was at this point that Bumblebore saw, over Bernie’s shoulder, the infant Flukely, still chanting ‘You are indeed a ding-dong’ with oblivious happiness. “Well, perhaps not as your own son. However, you will still be expected to raise him.”

By this point, Bernie had slightly regained his composure. “Er, very well,” he stammered, “We will indeed take the boy.”

“Very good, very good,” beamed the man. “Well, I must be off! Seven more deliveries this afternoon, you know.” The Durseldüfs watched with amazement as he clambered onto his pontoon boat and drifted off into the afternoon sky. The Mackerel flolloped away conspicuously.