The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse. Nicholas Gannon

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      ♦ YEARS OF WONDER ♦

      Archer awoke to a bustling and clanking of pots and pans. He rubbed his droopy eyes and hurried down to the kitchen. The stovetop was roaring, and Mrs. Helmsley was dashing this way and that, cooking everything she could get her hands on. Archer kept his distance, fearing she might fry him by mistake. His father sat alone at the table.

      “Are Grandma and Grandpa home?” he asked.

      Mrs. Helmsley nearly toppled onto the stove.

      “Not yet,” Mr. Helmsley replied.

      Archer wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t want to meet his grandparents on an empty stomach. He took a plate and a fork and went to the counter, buried beneath eggs and bacon and toast and pancakes and waffles and oatmeal—and his mother showed no sign of slowing.

      “I can’t take much more of this,” she muttered, peering over her shoulder as Mr. Helmsley refilled his coffee. “I was at Primble’s Grocery yesterday, and when I got to the counter, they told me to take my business elsewhere! Where are we supposed to get food?”

      “They’ll sort out whatever is going on,” Mr. Helmsley assured her. “In the meantime, I’d like them to have their room on the third floor.”

      “But we’ve been using it for storage! It’s filled with boxes.” Mrs. Helmsley clicked off the stove and frantically wiped her hands on her apron. “We mustn’t upset them. They might get violent!”

      Mrs. Helmsley hurried up the stairs. Mr. Helmsley sauntered after her.

      Archer panicked, standing alone in the kitchen. He’d been waiting for this moment for as long as he could remember, but now he didn’t think it’d be anything like he’d expected. Overcome with an urge to retreat to his room, he made for the hall, but froze at the sound of a knock at the door.

      All throughout Helmsley House, the animals erupted in joyous furor. Archer had never once heard anything like it.

      “It’s time!” a porcupine bellowed. “It is time!”

      “They’re home!” cheered a zebra. “How do I look? The stripes, I mean. I should have had them pressed!”

      “Shut it, you fool,” the ostrich snapped. “And would someone take this blasted lampshade off my head?”

      “Are you sick?” the badger asked Archer. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

      Archer was too fixated on the door to respond, and he was so flustered he didn’t realize he was still clutching a fork as he inched his way toward it.

      “We’re gone for nearly twelve years and they change the locks?” came a voice on the other side.

      “I’m sure they were changed the moment we left.”

      ♦ TEA WITH GIANTS ♦

      Archer took a deep breath and opened the door wide. He was immediately engulfed in the blinding whiteness of snow whirling into the foyer. He couldn’t see anyone, but heard two voices, filled with laughter. Archer squinted. Two faces emerged. His eyes widened. Archer was staring at his grandparents.

      “Why, hello there,” they both said, with smiles so large they might crack lesser faces.

      Those three words filled Archer all the way to the top.

      “Hello,” was his nervous and quiet reply. “I’m Archer Helmsley.”

      “How can you be Archer Helmsley?” Grandpa Helmsley asked. “The Archer I had a brief encounter with many years ago was dressed something like a Christmas tree. And if I’m not mistaken, he also had a peculiar fondness for cucumbers.”

      Grandpa Helmsley was as broad as he was tall. His beard, a mix of white and gray, matched his hair, which was pushed back from his forehead. But it was Grandpa Helmsley’s pale green eyes, sparkling with something wild, that held Archer entranced.